The Rising and Falling of Late

It’s raining this morning, now this afternoon. The whole of the valley is enveloped in a cool grey mist, which obscures the peaks and walls hovering above. I’ve spent the past 10 days or so here in Chamonix, alternatively climbing and thinking about climbing while waiting to climb. My head is generally screwed on tight. Climbing encourages my focus of mind. Even while it drizzles and drenches the walls of my mind’s eye, I wait relaxed and with a light heart.

The irony is that much has gone awry since I arrived. The truth however is that none of these mild mishaps have been within my sphere of control, nor really of my own initiation except perhaps in the broadest sense of karma and ultimate destiny. In a strange way, I have come to appreciate these twists of (ill) fate, the least concern of which is the sloppy weather of late. In order to better understand this nouvelle state of mind of mine, I should attempt to at least begin to recount the progression of events and the nature of the changes.

The drama begins with the failure of my climbing partner Steve, to well, climb. Before this week in the Alps, I had not actually climbed with Steve but for one day back home in the Shawangunks. Undoubtedly though, Steve is a climber (and a human being) of the highest caliber - extremely committed, knowledgeable, safe and strong on the sharp end of the rope. I first met him during my last day of Northeast climbing before I left for Africa last October. I was looking for a partner that fine Monday morning when I came across Steve sitting on a boulder aside the carriage road waiting for his climbing buddies to show up. Within minutes of talking, we realized uncannily that both of us would be in Ethiopia and perhaps Europe at the same times during the coming year. By the end of the afternoon, we had tentatively agreed to meet up in Addis Ababa for a meal and to discuss putting together climbing trips to Jordan in November and Chamonix in August.

Sure enough, I arrived in Addis Ababa in early November and made a beeline for the National History Museum where I found Steve and his boss in a ground floor office at around 4PM, working away diligently – both are archeologists with a specialization in stone tools – to identify and catalogue copious piles of Ethiopian made stone chips. Steve has the rare combination of being an extremely hard working, easy going yet focused, dynamically talkative and innately intelligent guy from Long Island. Being myself, of a similar inclination except from the Jersey side of the JAP belt, I felt particularly equipped to make these judgments and get psyched about organizing together for some far flung climbing trips.

Alas, when Steve informed me three weeks later that he would not after all be able to meet in Wadi Rum Jordan for a week of sandstone climbing in the desert, I thought little of it. I had no prior knowledge of Wadi Rum and therefore no major climbing expectations, so it made little difference to me whether Steve would show up with the climbing rack or not. In the end I decided to go regardless of lacking a partner and gear, and sure enough by the grace of the Hebrew god, I found myself climbing with an outstanding young Israeli who had all the gear and more local beta than perhaps anyone but the Bedouins themselves. But little did I know, the foreshadowing had begun. An outstanding week of climbing and desert solitaire produced by Steve’s lack of commitment and my desire to go forward regardless of the adversity. Indeed there is gold at the end of the rainbow, which is as it turns out a lesson not as easily applicable to women as to trips into the mountains.

The Chamonix plan was different though, mainly because Steve was already set to be in France for the summer working on a dig in the Southwest. In addition, he had extensive prior experience in this sector of the Alps, having spent a part of the past seven summers in the Chamonix Valley. For him it was essentially normal and seemingly natural to commit yet another chunk of his summer to climbing on and around the Mount Blanc Massif. For me however, it was the opportunity of a lifetime; a 20 day stint in the alpine climbing capital of the world with an experienced and somewhat stronger climber as a partner who could lead the stiffest pitches. There it was, too good to be true, unseen but so it went. In late June, we agreed the arrival date would be August 4th. On July 31st, Steve told me he wanted to push it back to August 5th which I was more than happy to do since it gave me additional time with Irene who was visiting in Switzerland that week. Then two days later on August 2nd , Steve informed me that the earliest train he could catch from the Southwest would have him arriving in Chamonix on the morning of the 6th. I was disappointed for a moment but still eager and excited to meet up and start climbing.

When the morning of the 6th finally rolled around, I was as the Spaniards would say mildly rabid to climb. Steve strolled into the hostel around 10:30AM, dropped his bags and within two hours we were walking toward the town crag. I led every pitch that morning as Steve expressed no desire to climb, but only to relax and get some rest after a long overnight train ride. That was fine with me, though in my eagerness I was quick to overextend and pump out on routes that would not otherwise have been overly strenuous for me. We finished up at the Gailland Crag around six and headed over to the Micro Basserie de Chamonix for the best (and only) local beer in town. Over beer and burgers we discussed Steve’s general state of lethargy, physical ailments, and mental limitations. Very shortly it became clear that Steve’s head was not screwed on with climbing threads. The beach was more where he was at, having just completed a grueling summer’s unpaid archeology grunt work and having found a girlfriend who was occupying the remainder of his free time and energy. It was apparent that this was not the committed Gunks climber I had met last October but an overworked, physically suffering and emotionally dispatched guy who was far more eager to get back stateside than to get up high on any Chamonix alpine rock. By no means am I implicating that Steve or I were to blame for this unfortunate situation, predicated by a lack of clear communication. The fact is he has good reason not to be present. One cannot help but think about the fact that he starts a PHD program at UC Davis in two weeks, moves his life to California and on the way stops through Florida to see his new girl and confirm indeed that she IS the one. With these distractions plus a whole set of chronic health problems, Steve is obviously not the climbing partner I was expecting. Unfortunately it took an additional six days of back and forth for Steve to admit this to me completely.

I took off with another climber for three days to a remote glacier hut, expecting to come back and find Steve refreshed and ready to get out on some easy to moderate routes. It seemed this was indeed a possibility three days ago. The storm that raged for a day cleared out that evening and left crisp sunny skies with 30-40KM winds on the high ridges. We waited out the winds and the next morning at 7AM headed down to the gondola to ride up to the base of an easy 8-pitch climb that Steve had selected for its lack of commitment and ascetic ridges. Upon arriving at the gondola station, I went straight to the ticket counter while Steve studied the latest weather forecast print out. I walked over to get on line but Steve quickly informed me that he was not comfortable with the forecast. Though it was certain to be a bluebird day with zero risk of precipitation, Steve was convinced that the forecasted winds, 40-80KM/hr at 3500 meters, would adversely affect our route topping out at 2800 meters. In other words, he was simply not willing to climb if there was even the slightest risk of being uncomfortable. Steve was the first to tell me that this was unlike him and in any past season he would have had the same drive and vigor that caused the other 100 or so climbers who had also read the morning’s report to get on line and take the ride up to 3800 meters regardless of the potential to encounter a breeze. But today, this week, this summer, Steve was in no mood to suffer, and this was the end of a long week of heal dragging and reluctance to be forthright. After an hour of me attempting to convince him otherwise, I threw in the towel and accepted that my climbing partner was not going to be climbing this summer in Chamonix. I don’t blame him, I don’t blame myself, I only realize the need for better communication around these projects in the future.

After parting ways with Stevo, I headed straight for the Mountain Guides Office of Chamonix, which serves as information and reconnaissance base for all Alpine endeavors and potential climbers in the Valley. On the map table in the office, one can find the famous green covered Climbers Message Book, which contains all sorts of notes on route conditions, hazards, gear for sale, lost items, and most importantly for my sake messages from climbers looking for partners. I jotted down four names and numbers of potential partners, all of who mentioned having full gear racks and climbing comfortably at similar grades. When I returned to the hostel with numbers in hand, Steve the ever encouraging always forgiving former partner, generously offered me the use of his French mobile.

After several fruitless voice messages, I was fortunate enough to link up quickly with two Spanish climbers named Jose Maria and Oscar. We met yesterday morning to sus out our abilities on a moderate and extremely beautiful six pitch crack climb located on the Red Pillar of Blatierre, one of Mt Blanc’s many northerly satellite spires. It proved to be a brilliant experience, my first all Spanish speaking multi pitch endeavor, providing a much needed jump start before setting off for Barcelona in ten days. The climbing was strenuous but not exhausting. The views of Chamonix town, 2000 meters below, were spectacular. The weather was impeccable right up until the descent walk back to the cable car station during which in began to sprinkle lightly. Jose Maria and Oscar were both hilarious dudes, full of the classic Andulucian humor and laidback-ness that goes a long way to tame and amuse the typical rabid American.

We landed back on the Valley floor around 6:30 yesterday evening. Immediately I darted over to the nearest pay phone and once again began calling the list of potential climbing partners I had gathered the day before. The first guy I got on the line was Stefan, a very mellow, even-tempered, yet quirky and potentially hilarious Kiwi who has been living in France for the past year. He’s wanting to climb long rock routes, leading at a maximum of 6b+, and especially in and around the beautifully remote L’Envers Refuge, a mountain hut at which I spent my first three days of alpine climbing. This is essentially the perfect partner for me - bilingual, balancing temperament, and climbing just slightly harder than me. But of course, as it’s been written, twas too good to be true. He has no lead gear, nor ropes, and neither do I. So once again we both begin the search on our own.

After I reluctantly parted ways with Stefan, I went briefly to the supermarket for provisions (an easy 30 euros for one bag of groceries, ouch!) then marched back up the hill to the hostel where I stay when not at the L’envers hut. The ‘Ski Station’ hostel is located at the top of the hill on the south facing/north side of the Valley, directly adjacent to the Brevent Gondola, hence the name. It’s a long walk up the hill – especially the fifth time in a day after a few beers - but very straight up and good for catching a nice rhythm. In the middle of the hill yesterday evening, I came up behind a woman walking very pointedly, and fast. From what I could tell, she had blond hair, surf shorts, a tank top, and was nice to look at from the downhill perspective. Of course I was compelled to say something that would cause her to slow down and look back in my direction. I think my particular comment was something like “thanks for setting such a good pace.” Turns out I was right on with the compliment idea as she allowed herself to let up the pace enough for a conversation to develop while we walked up the rest of the hill. She told me she was actually in a hurry – that she was not normally a speed walker of the Rue de Moillard – to meet her two other blond Swedish friends who were waiting to go for a sunset hike in the hills. I kept walking with her to the top of the hill where one of the two friends was already waiting. There I said goodbye casually and started walking toward the hostel door, but quickly reason and good judgment caught hold and I turned around in mid stride.

When I returned to the corner, the third and final member of the team was approaching. When she arrived, I learned that all three are long time friends and have been living in the Valley for seven years, having fallen in love with the mountains and the vibe. Two of the three own Chamonix’s most successful language learning (English and French) school. The other, the speed walker Martina manages a local guide service and climbs on her days off. Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised and extremely happy to find a team of three ahem Swedish team members, two of which who could potentially be my future bosses and one who was willing to go climb with me on her next day off. The day ended on a decidedly high note for this and other less tangible reasons. And today, now nearly transpired, has continued to uplift, though the rain continues to fall steadily.

Tomorrow I climb with a mellow Korean-American dude originally from L.A., now permanently relocated to Chamonix. We’ll head up at 8AM to the less committing south side of the Valley for some shorter sport climbs. Forecast is for zero precipitation. Should be well. The next day is another story. I have no idea what it shall bring. For the moment though, I am grateful for this simple and encouraging day-to-day program. This of course will also end, but for now I must let out a loud sigh as I do and pursue exactly what makes me happy, and I can only wish that everyone else can take a moment to do the same. Okay.