Fin de Saison. Where one season closes, another begins...

It’s May 1st . I’m sat in front of a roaring fire in Chamonix, sipping a healthy glass of red wine. This weekend marks the ‘Fin de Saison’ meaning that ski-season is unofficially over and many of the lifts around Chamonix are now closed until the late autumn snows return.  

Sitting here I can’t help but reflect on ‘fin de saison’.  A year ago today, I was still ‘stuck’ somewhere on the Nepal - Tibet border. We had just begun our evacuation off of Mount Shishapangma following the Nepal earthquake and it was the start of several very intense weeks in Kathmandu and an emotional year for me both personally and professionally.  

Since those rather tumultuous few weeks, I returned to a job which both challenges and inspires, I’ve met wonderful people – many of which I’m now fortunate to call friends. I’ve worked on fascinating projects both inside and outside of work, travelled to new countries, shared new experiences, climbed a few more mountains (real and proverbial)… I’ve moved, changed roles, taken on more responsibility in life. Friends have passed away and new life has been brought into the world.  I’ve returned to Nepal on several occasions, followed my heart more faithfully than my head. 

More crucially, I’ve had the opportunity to ‘heal’ and ‘grow’ and take some time out to reflect on this crazy thing called life. Many people say that this is normal following an experience of rapid and unexpected change – so I’m going with it. I just thought it was part of ‘growing up’… I remember that my Dad used to have a coffee mug that read, ‘Middle age is when a broad mind and a narrow waist exchange places’. Maybe this is what’s next?

So, where are we, ‘one year on’ at ‘fin de saison’; how has this story come full circle, and what have I learned?  Well, I’ve already mentioned I’m in Chamonix, sat in front of a fire on a long overdue holiday. I went alpine climbing yesterday for the first time in ages and it was amazing. Whilst the UK basks in 1st May sunshine, here in Chamonix huge snowflakes fall outside.  My guide Jon led a fun 5-pitch route called La Pepite - a fantastic choice given the morning started in sunshine and ended in snow bearing clouds. 

On the second pitch I found myself wedged between a rock and a hard place (literally!) with my ice-axes scraping against the cold granite desperate to find even a hint of a crack from which I could ‘hang’ my trembling frame. As adrenaline pulsed through me, I felt well and truly alive. It was the most alive I’ve felt in a long time… a shame really as life is so bloody short. But it was a wonderful reminder of how important it is to do more than merely ‘exist’ on this crazy journey called life.

It’s so easy to ‘exist’. What I have learned this year is that sometimes ‘existing’ is all that we can do. I’ve learned to be happy in the moment but, like climbing, know when you need to make that big ‘reach’ up to make the next move – even if it’s hard and even if it’s only a few precious centimetres. Those precious few centimetres here and there do add up. 

This year I’ve learned that reaching out and taking someone's hand to get to that next move is the beginning of a journey. At other times, it is allowing another to take yours. The ‘push’ or ‘pull’ from a climbing partner – or family, friends, colleagues - all those people you meet along the way -  who provide help and support in getting to where you’re truly meant to be. Sometimes it’s pretty and sometimes it’s not (in my case yesterday, my unelegant moves on the second pitch).  But there’s comfort in the self-belief that you will get there and you have the support system around you to ensure that you won’t ever fail… Even if the route that takes you there isn’t necessarily the one you thought would and even if sometimes it takes longer than you expect.

Another thing that I have learned over this past year is that it's worth lingering on the journey for a while before getting to the destination. In the past I have rushed from one project to the next, from one expedition to another without taking much more than a moment to reflect. My journey over the past year has been quite different. It’s involved some lingering in unexpected places and at unexpected times - and I’m not sure yet whether I’ve actually reached the destination…but I’m ok with that.  In that lingering, I’ve learned more about myself and the world around me than I ever dreamed possible. I also know that in lingering I’m taking each day one step at a time, and doing my best to appreciate, learn from, and savour every single oxygen filled moment. Because life is so damn short – it would be a waste not to.

So, how did yesterday’s climb end and what about ‘fin de saison’? Well, I’m pleased to report that I did finish the 5 pitches thanks to Jon’s encouragement and leadership. I had a brilliant day out. The conditions were variable but predicted – the snow and poor visibility certainly wasn’t a surprise in the mid-afternoon. As the sun disappeared and the snow began to fall, I found comfort in knowing that a hot chocolate and heaping plate of nachos were not far away.  To every cloud there is a silver lining…

Fin de Saison. The journey that I’ve been on over this past year has been an unexpected adventure. Despite the fact that it has been ‘the road less travelled’ and challenging at times, I'll never ever look back and think that I’ve lost or wasted time. Despite the ‘narrow mind’ that threatens as I near ‘middle age’ (if my Dad’s coffee mug is correct!), I’ve learned there are no short cuts to life. It took each and every situation that I’ve encountered on this crazy journey called 'life' to bring me to ‘the now’. And ‘now’ is right on time and has brought me to exactly where I’m meant to be…

And on that note, the fire in the fireplace has gone out, my wine glass has finished, the snow continues to fall outside and it’s time for me to go to bed. 

Jon celebrating success

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The People You Meet Along the Way: “Everything you want is on the other side of fear.”

“Everything you want is on the other side of fear.” Wise words by American author Jack Canfield. The meaning of these words had been playing in my mind over the past three months since the Nepal earthquake. When the earthquake struck on April 25th, 2015, my climbing Sherpa Lhakpa and I felt its terrifying force as frozen tsunami-like waves rolled under our feet and sent us sprawling across the glacier while avalanches tumbled down around our 6,000m perch in the high Himalaya. At the time of the earthquake, we were enroute to Camp 1 on a mountain called Shishapangma, the 14th highest in the world. 

I hadn’t fully appreciated how much the earthquake its 250-plus aftershocks had affected me until I returned back to the UK in early June. I realized how constantly ‘on edge’ I’d been during those 5 weeks in Nepal after the quake. Old habits die hard. Despite being on significantly more stable bedrock of the UK, I continued to sleep with the door open to facilitate a ‘quick exit’ from my flat and felt imagined aftershocks on an almost daily basis... Even the dull rumbling of the London Underground deep under my flat would send my pulse racing. In a room or building I’d always look for the nearest exit... 

Exhausting hypervigilance.

‘Wouldn’t it be nice’, I often wondered, ‘if we received an email or a text message before an earthquake arrived…’ 

For me, life has now returned to ‘normal’ and hypervigiliance has been dialed down. But ever since my return from Nepal I’ve wondered, would I still be ok in the mountains? Those who know me well and understand my passion for mountains and mountaineering, will understand how this ‘fear’ has gnawed at my emotions and the longer term impact its had on my personal ambitions. This gnawing fear became subtle undercurrent, a controlling force, a domino effect that continued to grow and gnaw at my rational, intelligent thinking self and stopped me from pursuing two of my passions – planning to climb and climbing itself. 

My friend Nick House and alpinist and guide Jon Bracey helped to break the ice last weekend. Back in March, pre-earthquake, Nick and I decided that we would return to Switzerland this summer to climb the Eiger, a project we started 2 years ago but were knocked back on because of dangerous snow conditions. Trusting the guide, trusting your climbing partner, trusting yourself – these were aspects of climbing that had become part of my usual ‘routine’.  These elements were and will always continue to be part of the journey and are controlled aspects of climbing that fell within my comfort zone. A number of years ago I overcame a massive fear of heights. But now, I had a new challenge to overcome - trusting the earth was something that I perhaps took for granted and a new stake in the game…. 

But then we arrived in the Alps and I saw the panorama again – a mountain vista framed by blue skies and mighty snow covered peaks. Last weekend, during our acclimatization climbs on the Italian side of the Mont Blanc massif, I took a few deep breaths and said out loud, ‘You’re ok. You’re ok.’ 

And I was. 

But I know that I’m lucky.  I’m incredibly fortunate to have formal and informal support networks in place to help deal with these fears in a safe, controlled and rational way. And I feel blessed to again realize that I’m safe and happy in the high mountains… that seismic shifts are part of the inherent risks involved in mountaineering - risks that I’d perhaps never considered but have always been present. Afterall, my rational self reminds me, mountains are born from earthquakes… 

But I can’t help but wonder, what about those hundreds of thousands of people in Nepal that eek their daily lives out of the mountains, where aftershocks are now part of the new normal and the threat of the next ‘big one’ is an omnipresent and inescapable reality…? 

Whilst the headlines may have disappeared, the people of Nepal now face a silent threat that will linger long after the aftershocks have disappeared. Helping these people and doing what I can to play a role in the rebuilding – both physically and emotionally – has become part of my ‘new normal’ and a new proverbial summit and a much longer journey.

We didn’t summit the Eiger last weekend. The day of our ‘summit bid’ called for an unleashing of yet another of natures’ forces – the weather. The threat of electrical storms, heavy snow and white-out conditions had us reassess and rejig our plans for an ‘atmospheric’ and shorter climb of Trugborg while the weather system rolled in. The climb offered everything that I love about the sport – heart stopping exposure, snow/rock mix, a breathtaking sunrise, sharing a rope with new friends, and a bit of character building 4am trail-breaking…

It's also helped me to realize that my climbing journey is far from over. It’s only just begun. I’ve learned a tremendous amount from my experiences in Nepal and with these lessons come a new chapter and new opportunities – a strengthened soul, inspired ambition, and a new vision of success.  It turns out that everything I wanted was on the other side of fear all along. 

Onward and upward to the next climb and the next chapter…

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Looking for Love on Ice: "Tinder" and Ice Climbing in Cogne, Italy

If you compared ice-climbing in Cogne to the popular ‘Tinder’ dating-app, you could be picky and ‘swipe left’ for hours before finding the ‘perfect match’. A ‘perfect match’ would reflect preferences in ice conditions, level of gnarly-ness, number of pitches etc.  By ‘swiping right’, you would be given the option to explore the route further and check out photographs to decide whether the route is worth pursuing and whether or not to add to a growing list of ‘potentials’. Unfortunately, with no significant snowfall to date (no pun intended) and a season marked by relatively warm temperatures, this year Cogne was having a ‘dry-spell’ (literally) and it was going to be a logistical challenge to celebrate the Cogne Ice Opening festival in traditional style… In short, there would be a minimal amount of ‘swiping right’.

Based out of Cogne, Aosta Italy, professional ice climbers Matthias Scherer, Tanja Schmitt and Heike Schmitt, organisers of the third annual Cogne Ice Opening Festival met the challenge with a passion. Leveraging their creativity, energy and a contagious passion for the many disciplines of climbing we soon forgot that there was a shortage of ice and took the opportunity to embrace and refine new skills including mixed climbing, dry-tooling, and ski-touring… and learn one of the fundamental lessons of alpinism… you can’t do anything about the weather.

I attended the Cogne Ice Opening Festival last year when, through perfect weather conditions leading up to the event, we were spoiled for choice with short approaches and a plethora of routes suited to all levels of ability. The festival, one of the first key social events of the winter in Cogne, is an opportunity to learn, have fun, meet new people and share experiences. The event is sponsored by Arc’teryx, Black Diamond, La Sportiva, Suunto, Sterling Rope, Gloryfy and Chimpanzee who are all on-hand to answer questions, sharpen tools and ensure that even if you were to show up in a pair of Bermuda shorts you could be fully kitted out, cramponed up and walking to a frozen waterfall in about 5 minutes.

Despite the lack of ice this year, the first sip of hot mulled-wine (Italian style) in the bar at the ‘Apero’ on Friday night indicated that the festival had well and truly begun – ice or no ice, the atmosphere was buzzing and a growing group of participants were chatting about the new options available. I signed up for mixed- climbing which means climbing on a mix of rock and ice – something I had only done previously in Nepal so very excited about the weekend ahead..!

The next morning we broke out into our groups under a blue sky and temperatures hovering just above zero.  Led by IFMGA guide Patrick, our group headed off to do some roadside crag-climbing to take advantage of the mixed conditions. After scrambling down into a small ravine, we stumbled up on a rock face dotted with patches of ice, rock and frozen clumps of grass where Patrick set up three routes– a one pitch ice climb route over some fragile ice waterfall sections, a one pitch mixed route offering a challenging mix of rock and ice, and a one pitch route of very thin and fragile ice over a rapidly flowing waterfall. We took turns climbing and belaying between the routes and the day passed quickly. As much as I enjoy ice climbing, I find mixed-climbing tremendously satisfying and enjoy the different ways that the earths’ natural ‘ingredients’ provides the ballast to support a body inching its way up a steep face.

We had an absolutely brilliant day out - I learned plenty of new techniques and certainly gave my arms a workout. It was fantastic to share the day with friends, both old and new. By around 3pm the ice on the waterfall had begun to melt and the mud began to thaw so we all piled back into our cars and headed back to the bar for some liquid refreshments and the opportunity to share stories with other groups coming back from their own adventures.

In the evening we headed to the Sala Grivola in Cogne for an ‘All about the Ice’ movie night. With rosy cheeks, pumped-arms still throbbing and bellies full of Italy’s finest pizza, we all sat back in the theatre to be inspired… and we certainly were not disappointed. With presentations from athletes in word and film including extreme climber Rudi Hauser (Austria), Klemen Premrl (Slovenia), Mael Baguet (France) as well as the inspirational Tanja Schmitt and Matthias Scherer (Cogne) we quickly realised the tremendous dedication, passion and commitment required in climbing – or any sport for that matter. You can find some highlights from the clips shown here: Reborn - the quest for early season ice and  Climbing icebergs in Greenland.  

Sunday presented us with equally stunning blue-sky and crisp clear conditions. There was a rumour of forming ice further down the valley so our group, led by guides Heike, Isabelle and Patrick, we piled into our vehicles and sped off down the road to find out if the rumour was fact or merely a case of wishful thinking. After a 40-minute walk in, we looked up to see two pitches of beautifully forming... and virtually untouched ice..! RESULT! The next 3 hours were spent reviewing the basics in ice-climbing, swinging our ice-tools, screwing in ice screws, kicking in our front-points and pushing our personal limits on the icy-face. Whilst the ice conditions weren’t as ‘gnarly’ as previous years and we weren’t spoiled for choice, the day proved to be a tremendous success simply because we, a group of passionate climbers, adventurers and friends, had gathered outside around the ice and were cheering each other on, exchanging stories and planning future adventures. I couldn’t stop smiling. It was a brilliant day.

Huge thanks to Matthias, Tanja, and Heike for organising the event, for your creativity and for sharing your passion with us..! Thanks also to the event sponsors Arc’teryx, Black Diamond, La Sportiva, Suunto, Sterling Rope, Glorify and Chimpanzee for supporting the festival and helping to spread the ‘love’ for ice... Despite the lack of snow and ice, we certainly were given plenty of opportunity to 'swipe right'..! 

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Benighted and 'Au Cheval' on L’Arete a Marion in the French Aravis

I asked the question I swore I’d never ask…

‘Are we there yet?’

Our guide Jon looked at me incredulously. ‘There!? We’re not even half way! We still have at least two more hours!’

Not the response I’d been hoping for. 

It was nearing 4pm and dusk had started to cast its shadow on the mountain panorama sprawled out below.  We were ‘not even half way’ through a very wintery climb of L’Arete a Marion in the Aravis. During the  summer the route is a straight forward, ridge walk… during the winter, a corniced hell of seracs, avalanche prone slopes and icy-cold wind whipping up from the valley. It was ‘an adventure’ to say the least… much more of an adventure my climbing partner Nick and I had anticipated. And it didn’t sound like it was going to end any time soon.

I took a deep breath, dug in my heels and held the rope tight as Nick fell through yet another cornice, arms flailing for the stability of the rock.

‘Whoops. There’s some deep snow there’ he called out. I followed closely behind him, looking down into the ‘snow hole’, saw the blue sky through the other side.

Our journey had started much earlier that day.  We (ok, Jon) had begun to break trail up to our objective for the day at 9am after a scenic hours’ drive from Chamonix. It had been a bit of a risky decision to head to the Alps so late in the Autumn season with many of the lifts providing access to more popular routes still closed. The previous evening we’d all met in the bar in Chamonix where our guide Jon Bracey of Vertigo Guides promised us he’d do our best to find something fun and challenging - and he certainly delivered.

Less than 10 hours later Jon was skilfully and steadily breaking trail over the corniced, snowy ridge, brushing away the snow from the ridge to dig out the bolts. A precarious conga line with consequences. We’d already found ourselves 'au cheval' in uncompromising positions straddling the icy ridge as if we were riding a horse and trying to pull our bodies along while the wind whipped at our cramponed heels. 

As Jon navigated the route along the ridge, Nick and I held back, tied into the anchor and waiting for Jon’s signal that it was safe to continue. Many times he would disappear out of view, winding his way around rocky outcrops and using the featured terrain to create safety anchors for the rope and for us to move along. While he did this it left us to stand patiently, discussing all of the food that we were craving whilst trying to gauge of the type of terrain which lay ahead by how quickly the rope led out. We deduced that if the rope led out quickly it meant that the terrain was straightforward… when the rope remained limp it meant that Jon was ahead trying to navigate a more technical section. We quickly realised that what took Jon 5 minutes to navigate would take us 10… Our imaginations grew proportionate to our growing appetites and to our levels of exhaustion.

And we weren’t even half way there yet.

Jon had disappeared from view and the rope lay limp over the snow indicating that he was working his way through what appeared to be a technical section beyond our view. I wondered aloud the option of rappelling down a steep section to the right might be possible given that it was getting dark. Before we even had time to reflect on what that decision might have been, the rope went tight and we heard John shout over the wind. 

It was go-time.

Nick rounded the corner before I did. His running commentary provided a hint of what lay in store. ‘I don't have a good feeling about this’ he muttered balancing the front-points of his crampons in a tiny seam in rock-face with a 300 foot drop behind his heels. Reaching up, I followed, planting the tip of my axe in an iced seam in the rock. The 20 degree angle of the face made it incredibly hard to climb as you literally had to pull your body over the  almost flat icy smooth surface. From there I inched my way upward along the ice, praying that the axe tip was ‘bomber’ and would stay firmly lodged in the seam. The front points of my crampons scraped against the rock as  I tried to get enough purchase for the next move. And so we slowly and methodologically inched our way up the face.

I love the sense of relief after passing through the crux of a climb and when you are again fixed solidly to an anchor with precious moments to recompose and refocus. We arrived at the anchor gasping, eyes wide but laughing… experiencing a rush of endorphins with the crux now behind us. The summit of L’Arete a Marion was now within reach. We navigated the final section and popped out onto the summit just as the sun disappeared over the horizon.

A congratulatory handshake summit and then we quickly prepared ourselves for a rapid descent to make the most of the final rays of light before darkness fell.

“It is what it is” was Jon’s response when I questioned the descent conditions as I tried to mentally prepare myself. 

Exhausted but buzzing we arrived at the car for 8pm. The last hour had actually had me thinking that snow-swimming should be made an olympic sport, so much agility and flexibility was required when moving through waist-deep snow. It had been an absolutely BRILLIANT day. 

Massive thanks to Jon Bracey for organising such a fab day out, guiding us, and for doing the hard work..! 

Benighted - 8pm at the carpark

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"Keeping it Real" - Ice Climbing in Cogne, Italy

Every once in a while I have to remind myself to ‘keep it real’. Life is short, it can be tough. There are moments when reaching for a hand-brake to slow things down a notch or two would certainly help provide the life-balance when it flips out of kilter. In the absence of a ‘hand-brake’ I have found the perfect alternative – the great outdoors. For me, there’s something incredibly therapeutic about being outside and ‘feeling’ – feeling cold, hot, happy, scared, tired, hungry in a pure, unadulterated state…. engaging the mind by trying something new and drawing energy from the passion of people you meet along the way. 

I was just coming off of a hectic few weeks at work and was feeling the need to ‘keep it real’. When my climbing guide and friend Isabelle Santoire suggested that I join her for a weekend of at the Ice Climbing Opening in Cogne, Italy I jumped at the opportunity. Having spent an exceptionally cold but fun day learning the basics with Isabelle in Cogne last winter I realized that this was fantastic way to get back into the ‘groove’. What better way to feel alive than to embrace the biting cold in the shade of an icy rock face at the end of a belay or to climb up a frozen waterfall, arms pumped, trying hard not to think about the sheer lunacy of hanging off of a frozen waterfall on ice only a few centimeters thick by only a few sharp metal points. On the flip side, what better way to feel alive than drink hot chocolate so thick you can chew it and laugh so hard with people you’ve just met that it makes your belly ache.

The annual Cogne Ice Festival is organized by hugely talented, hardcore ice climbers, Matthias Scherer and Tanja Schmitt. The festival is a quirky, fun, non-pretentious gathering place which presented an opportunity to learn, to have fun, to meet new people and share experiences. It was sponsored by Arc’teryx, Black Diamond, La Sportiva, Suunto, Sterling Rope, Glorify, and Chimpanzee who were all on-hand to answer kit questions, sharpen tools and ensure that even if you showed up without anything you could be fully kitted out and walking to a frozen headwall in about 5 minutes.  I tried out a new set of Black Diamond Stinger crampons and a new BD  Speed-range climbing pack – both of which exceeded expectations.

It was an absolutely brilliant weekend. A number of clinics were on offer ranging from navigation through to the more hard-core ice-climbing clinics. For both the Saturday and Sunday I joined a women’s clinic with 7 other women of mixed abilities but all sharing common goals – to have fun, to laugh, to learn. And that we did. In spades. We proved that the outdoors can bring together a mix of cultures – in my group alone we were a feisty mix of Brits, Swedes, Italians, Canadians, Norwegians, Germans, French. With a shared passion for the outdoors we proved that this shared passion can transcend language barriers and spent the two days on routes which offered different levels of challenge and opportunity. And learned, amongst other things, one key message – “Don’t let go”. A message which was confirmed during Saturday evening’s programme.

On Saturday evening, we were treated to several presentations from the athletes including Jeff Mercier showed a video on his new route in the Dolomites. Klemen Premrl presented Wolverine, a short clip about his achievements with Tim Emmett, Will Gadd and Raphael Slawinski, on Wolverine, one of the wildest, steepest and most difficult ice climbing in the world located in Helmcken Falls, Canada.  Matthias Scherer and Tanja Schmitt showed their movie on Kjerrskredkvelven, the giant ice line in Norway. Finally, Matteo della Bordella and Luca Schiera talked about their new route on Torre Egger, and Ezio Marlier talked about Repentance, one of the most iconic ice falls in Cogne.

I sometimes find it tedious watching accounts of adventures which focus purely on ‘The Epic’ - the records broken, the near-death experiences, the summits achieved, the testosterone-driven ‘gnarliness’ of it all… especially when the ‘gnarly’ isn’t appropriately balanced with the reality of why these amazing athletes push themselves to these extremes of challenge and discomfort. It’s certainly not about the money or the fame (we’re talking about climbing here!). It’s the buzz. It’s about keeping it real. It's about the thrill of the challenge and the fun. This came through in the videos - especially Tim Emmett's account of how he and his team mates approached Wolverine (I encourage you to boil the kettle, make yourself a brew, and take a few moments out of your life to enjoy it). I absolutely loved it not only for the aesthetic elements but also for the passion and enthusiasm for the project before, during and after the climb. This passion was something that we could relate to as we’d experienced it first-hand on a smaller scale during our own ‘epic’ experiences on routes significantly less gnarly. 

There are few things in life as vicariously satisfying as self-indulgence after a big day outside. On Sunday afternoon we found ourselves back in the pub with rosy cheeks with steaming cups of hot chocolate and mulled wine… and sorting out our next adventures as we flipped through our reams of photos documenting our ‘hero shots’. We agreed to meet again for more shared fun in Norway on 21 Feb for the Rjukan Ice Festival‏..! 

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Feel-good endorphins reactivated after a weekend in Chamonix

There's nothing like heading out into the great outdoors to awaken the senses. After even just a few minutes outside the grass just seems greener, the sun seems brighter, and somehow challenges which seemed gargantuan before now seem so much more manageable... 

Anyone who has gone for a run around Hyde Park, a climb up Ben Nevis or enjoyed the snowy slopes of Whistler or Chamonix would certainly be able to relate to the (not surprising) findings from a recent study published in the journal Environmental Science and Technology, conducted by a team at the Peninsula College of Medicine and Dentistry which found that exercise in natural environments was linked to greater feelings of revitalisation, increased energy and positive engagement. Levels of tension, confusion, anger and depression were found to be lowered by exercising outside.

I was feeling the 'need' for some of these feel-good endorphins at the start of last week so immediately gave my good friend and Chamonix-based guide Isabelle Santoire a call to see if she could squeeze me in for some 'fresh air therapy'. 

Needless to say, Isa delivered and the weather did as well - despite arriving in Chamonix to an orchestra of torrential rain, thunder and lightening show which would have made Danny Boyle sit up and take notes... 

The forecast remained bleak so we decided for a straight forward walk up to the Charles 1er hut on La Tour to see how the weather would pan out. Our plan was to do some scrambling on ridges near the hut and then climb the Aiguille du Tour - a nice easy and straightforward climb (plod!). 

I'm not sure if it was the good karma generated by helping with the dishes that night in the busy hut or whether we just had some good ol'fashioned luck as we were greeted by clear, starry, moonlit skies at 4.30am as we set out for the summit. The conditions were exquisite - crunchy snow, mild temperatures and not a soul to be seen. I was reminded with each step why I love the balancing-feeling of being outside, in the hills, doing something I love.

Feel-good endorphins clearly reactivated!!

Happy that the sun is finally beginning to appear 

Doing dishes in the kitchen at the Charles 1er hut

Isa and our AMAZING Argentinian kitchen staff!

Hot tea after a wet walk up to the hut

Stellar climbing conditions

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