Alps, Switzerland //
The giants in the mist
A two day adventure beneath the Dents du Midi range
Date March 2010
Posted November 2011
Posted November 2011
The clanking of the lift machinery faded away to leave just the sound of our own movements through the snow. The lifts took with them the bustle of the ski resorts further down the mountain, their runs cluttered with families whose carefully packaged ski holidays seemed to amount to little more than a tentative foot placed in the shallow end of something so much deeper.
Venturing 'off piste' (in both a metaphorical and a literal sense) provides for something far less predictable. It's an opportunity to step out of the bubble and sail closer to the wind. The risks and responsibilities are heightened, and with them so are the senses. In some ways such environments are almost polarised, switching dramatically from one extreme to the opposite. It's why, for me anyway, my calmest and most fraught moments alike have been lived through in the mountains. It's why I do this, and it's why I always come back.
The snow was as soft as the going was hard. By now it was late in the season and the thaw had begun, our snow shoes little help against the wet drifts. Soon the white would dissolve, its spring migration taking it back down into the valleys below releasing plants and animals alike. That's not to say that there was no evidence of life - small animal trails crossed our paths and fir trees emerged from the snow here and there. But the feeling of remoteness always feels accentuated in the winter.
During this transitional phase in the landscape, we were suffering, feet sinking deep into the snow with each step. Given the weight of our kit (about half each man's bodyweight) this was becoming an extremely inefficient way to travel. It's hard when each movement requires the foot to be lifted over 12 inches.
The skiers, northcave and Jamie, would soon reap the benefits of their heavier kit. They departed from the top of the couloir soon becoming little more than black dots upon the landscape as they made for the reservoir, Lac de Salanfe, which was still frozen and covered with snow. Behind the reservoir steeper slopes rose up to the glacier and the peaks of the Dents du Midi, these our giants peering down from the mist.
As the skiers struck out onto the lake myself and J-Roy skirted round and crossed the dam. Still there was no sign of life save for the ski trails and the animal tracks snaking off among those scattered trees. Here then was that calm, that feeling of being so far removed from daily life.
A while later and we'd circled the end of the lake and could see ahead to where Jamie and northcave were leaving the frozen lake and beginning to tour up the couloir, which would eventually lead to the glacier. J-roy and I had managed to locate a refuge beyond the dam that would serve as a fall-back incase anything went wrong. It was getting late now, the sun not so high above the distant mountains on the horizon, and we'd never make it back out of the range again by night.
An hour or so later and we'd all regrouped close by a wooden building, an old cow shed or something, which was securely locked. Out here there was little if any shelter. By now the light was fading, and with the disappearance of the sun behind the peaks above the landscape turned a deceptively flat white. Features were hard to identify and we would have to rely on GPS navigation alone, something which in itself is far from ideal. Relying as we would be on the refuges, we carried little sleeping gear, and most of the cooking gear had been ditched in favour of more climbing kit. The tables seemed to be turning.
I read once that being a good mountaineer is about knowing when to turn back, and this will always come down to an individual's perception of the situation. And here I was, faced with a difficult decision. The others were prepared to go on, confident that we could make it. I thought otherwise, conscious of the potential exposure. How would we manage if we missed the refuge? Would it be possible to descend quickly without skis?
If you find yourself in such a situation and feel intimidated and don't want to speak up, then you're with the wrong people. Our own discussion made me realise the importance of undertaking such ventures with people who you can trust. Here we were now discussing our options, disappointment clearly in the eyes of northcave because reaching the refuge had been his project. We all wanted to wake up there and watch the sun come up above the glacier, but now were faced with a trek back to the refuge below. We were quiet as we moved, but I pictured the more unfortunate possibilities should we have continued, and reasoned that the mountain would be there still next season.
The refuge was cold and dark. An electricity meter demanded Swiss Francs, and we had none. A hasty audit of our new home found blankets for all, a quantity of meths, some well-used cookers and a few pans. Outside again in the cold a search of the local area revealed the half-buried village of Salanfe, it's big hotel projecting eerily from the snow much like the one in Kubrick's The Shining. A little higher the bell tower of a small chapel rose out of a snow drift. Of other people, there was no sign, and there was no salvageable fire wood or supplies. We were now reassuringly cut off.
Back in the refuge the last of our water went in the pan, followed then by snow. Melting it in this fashion takes an age and it was probably a good couple of hours before dehydrated meals had been prepared. Now it was getting cold and I felt relieved that we were here and not in the open. Plans were discussed for making an early ascent the next day or abandoning the escapade entirely and going somewhere else instead.
That night I shivered, fully clothed and wrapped in 5 blankets I was. The four of us laid across a raised wooden platform, a kind of makeshift bunk. I seem to remember having some disturbing dreams, then suddenly awake, light reaching in through the gaps around the wooden shutters which covered the only window in the room.
Over breakfast the decision was made to find a different way back down to civilisation, leaving the Dents way up there in the mist, beyond reach. If it hadn't been for flights back to the UK in two days' time, then we may well have committed to reaching the glacier, but this time it just wasn't to be. I couldn't help but feel bad, but sometimes you just have to make a decision. Quietly I wondered if the others would resent the concerns I'd voiced that had made us abandon the trip, but at the same time we can never know just how things would've turned out should we have pushed on up the mountain.
The descent took most of the day, following trails winding down through tall pine trees which eventually delivered us onto a rough track. This route followed the path of the river through which the reservoir drains during the warmer months, and after some hours (and a little playing around on the ice and snow) we emerged into a clearing flanked by wooden chalets. Eventually the road would take us down into the valley below, by which time we'd all resolved to pack considerably lighter next time.
As it turned out the next day didn't go to waste, three of us climbing Mont de Grange over the border in France. Northcave, to whom thanks are due for making it all possible, returned to the Dents this year with Jamie and successfully ski-toured up to the refuge on the glacier.
Venturing 'off piste' (in both a metaphorical and a literal sense) provides for something far less predictable. It's an opportunity to step out of the bubble and sail closer to the wind. The risks and responsibilities are heightened, and with them so are the senses. In some ways such environments are almost polarised, switching dramatically from one extreme to the opposite. It's why, for me anyway, my calmest and most fraught moments alike have been lived through in the mountains. It's why I do this, and it's why I always come back.
The snow was as soft as the going was hard. By now it was late in the season and the thaw had begun, our snow shoes little help against the wet drifts. Soon the white would dissolve, its spring migration taking it back down into the valleys below releasing plants and animals alike. That's not to say that there was no evidence of life - small animal trails crossed our paths and fir trees emerged from the snow here and there. But the feeling of remoteness always feels accentuated in the winter.
During this transitional phase in the landscape, we were suffering, feet sinking deep into the snow with each step. Given the weight of our kit (about half each man's bodyweight) this was becoming an extremely inefficient way to travel. It's hard when each movement requires the foot to be lifted over 12 inches.
The skiers, northcave and Jamie, would soon reap the benefits of their heavier kit. They departed from the top of the couloir soon becoming little more than black dots upon the landscape as they made for the reservoir, Lac de Salanfe, which was still frozen and covered with snow. Behind the reservoir steeper slopes rose up to the glacier and the peaks of the Dents du Midi, these our giants peering down from the mist.
As the skiers struck out onto the lake myself and J-Roy skirted round and crossed the dam. Still there was no sign of life save for the ski trails and the animal tracks snaking off among those scattered trees. Here then was that calm, that feeling of being so far removed from daily life.
A while later and we'd circled the end of the lake and could see ahead to where Jamie and northcave were leaving the frozen lake and beginning to tour up the couloir, which would eventually lead to the glacier. J-roy and I had managed to locate a refuge beyond the dam that would serve as a fall-back incase anything went wrong. It was getting late now, the sun not so high above the distant mountains on the horizon, and we'd never make it back out of the range again by night.
An hour or so later and we'd all regrouped close by a wooden building, an old cow shed or something, which was securely locked. Out here there was little if any shelter. By now the light was fading, and with the disappearance of the sun behind the peaks above the landscape turned a deceptively flat white. Features were hard to identify and we would have to rely on GPS navigation alone, something which in itself is far from ideal. Relying as we would be on the refuges, we carried little sleeping gear, and most of the cooking gear had been ditched in favour of more climbing kit. The tables seemed to be turning.
I read once that being a good mountaineer is about knowing when to turn back, and this will always come down to an individual's perception of the situation. And here I was, faced with a difficult decision. The others were prepared to go on, confident that we could make it. I thought otherwise, conscious of the potential exposure. How would we manage if we missed the refuge? Would it be possible to descend quickly without skis?
If you find yourself in such a situation and feel intimidated and don't want to speak up, then you're with the wrong people. Our own discussion made me realise the importance of undertaking such ventures with people who you can trust. Here we were now discussing our options, disappointment clearly in the eyes of northcave because reaching the refuge had been his project. We all wanted to wake up there and watch the sun come up above the glacier, but now were faced with a trek back to the refuge below. We were quiet as we moved, but I pictured the more unfortunate possibilities should we have continued, and reasoned that the mountain would be there still next season.
The refuge was cold and dark. An electricity meter demanded Swiss Francs, and we had none. A hasty audit of our new home found blankets for all, a quantity of meths, some well-used cookers and a few pans. Outside again in the cold a search of the local area revealed the half-buried village of Salanfe, it's big hotel projecting eerily from the snow much like the one in Kubrick's The Shining. A little higher the bell tower of a small chapel rose out of a snow drift. Of other people, there was no sign, and there was no salvageable fire wood or supplies. We were now reassuringly cut off.
Back in the refuge the last of our water went in the pan, followed then by snow. Melting it in this fashion takes an age and it was probably a good couple of hours before dehydrated meals had been prepared. Now it was getting cold and I felt relieved that we were here and not in the open. Plans were discussed for making an early ascent the next day or abandoning the escapade entirely and going somewhere else instead.
That night I shivered, fully clothed and wrapped in 5 blankets I was. The four of us laid across a raised wooden platform, a kind of makeshift bunk. I seem to remember having some disturbing dreams, then suddenly awake, light reaching in through the gaps around the wooden shutters which covered the only window in the room.
Over breakfast the decision was made to find a different way back down to civilisation, leaving the Dents way up there in the mist, beyond reach. If it hadn't been for flights back to the UK in two days' time, then we may well have committed to reaching the glacier, but this time it just wasn't to be. I couldn't help but feel bad, but sometimes you just have to make a decision. Quietly I wondered if the others would resent the concerns I'd voiced that had made us abandon the trip, but at the same time we can never know just how things would've turned out should we have pushed on up the mountain.
The descent took most of the day, following trails winding down through tall pine trees which eventually delivered us onto a rough track. This route followed the path of the river through which the reservoir drains during the warmer months, and after some hours (and a little playing around on the ice and snow) we emerged into a clearing flanked by wooden chalets. Eventually the road would take us down into the valley below, by which time we'd all resolved to pack considerably lighter next time.
As it turned out the next day didn't go to waste, three of us climbing Mont de Grange over the border in France. Northcave, to whom thanks are due for making it all possible, returned to the Dents this year with Jamie and successfully ski-toured up to the refuge on the glacier.
