“No man has ever conquered a mountain. He has climbed it, which is quite an achievement, indeed a wonderful thing. But only for a moment in the course of eternity does a man linger on a peak, and receive admission into a world otherwise closed to him.”
-Gaston Rebuffat, Starlight and Storm

I first came to the Chamonix Valley 25 years ago. I took a bus from London, and it was a cramped and uncomfortable 24 hour journey. When the bus rounded the corner in the final canyon, giving a view up into the mountains, I remember being vaguely disappointed. The mountains were small and dirty, and seemed to be falling to pieces. Then we rounded another corner, and I saw Mont Blanc, white and imposing, looming above many other sharper granite spires. It was almost Himalayan in its separation from the valley and lower peaks. I proceeded to fail to climb it for the next 25 years.

I came back to Chamonix many times over the following few years, although never on the bus. At the beginning of each summer I would stagger into camp with all my gear, and set up shop for the season. I usually met people in the campsite, and we would pick our objectives, and go climbing. Being high above the glaciers and valleys, and struggling for each vertical meter gave Young Me a sense of purpose I had never had before. In the mountains we were completely free, able to go wherever our skill could take us.

Every now and then my eyes would turn back to Mont Blanc, not a terribly interesting mountain from a climbers perspective, but still the tallest around. I spent a few days in a snow cave on one attempt, as a storm blew through, killing four other British climbers. This was one of many occasions I was glad my mother doesn’t pay attention to the news. On another effort my partner and I bivied in the Vallot Hut, while it was buffeted back and forth by a gale on a knife edge ridge all night. In the morning we descended through a maze of crevasses covered in fresh, wet snow down the Grand Mulets route. Whenever there was a nice weather window we tended to focus on other objectives.

Now, returning to Europe for the summer, and committed to spending two months in Chamonix, Kate said that she wouldn’t object to climbing Mont Blanc. This was fine with me, as it would provide variety from running every day. During our first week in the valley we took the cable car up to the top of the Aiguille du Midi, to admire the view. On the ride up, the cable car passes directly over the Frendo Spur, a classic route that ascends the North Face of the Midi. Although not a terribly difficult route, Old Me could not conceive how Young Me had climbed it, and thought it quite a good time. The steep ridges, and the final headwall of ice seemed absolutely insurmountable. It was in this frame of mind that we began thinking about our ascent of the mountain.

First we had to buy gear, and we were able to find most of it used for fairly cheap. Then we went again to the Midi, to go walk around on the glacier, as it had been a long time since either of us had roped up in crevassed terrain. We got geared up in the tunnel, and then stepped out through the gate onto the north east ridge of the Aiguille du Midi. What I remembered as a casual slog down a trench now felt like a death defying tightrope walk. A slip to the left would send you 3000 feet down to the glacier. After a nerve wracking few minutes we found ourselves on the flatter terrain of the glacier. We walked over to a little snowy ridge to practice different techniques, and then made our way to the Cosmiques Hut, a refuge at the base of the Midi, and one of the starting points for climbing Mont Blanc. We had a delicious and overpriced lunch, and then made our way back up to the cable car station for a ride back to town.

On Friday we got up early, and drove down to Saint Gervais, where we caught the Tramway du Mont Blanc. This gave us a considerable head start. Getting off the train, we started hiking uphill. We had decided to hike in running clothes, with all our mountaineering gear in our backpacks. This turned out to be a good call, as we were able to stay in our lighter clothes all the way to the Gouter Hut. As we passed the Tete Rousse Hut, there was a large patch of snow, but we were able to navigate it in our running shoes. Then we came to the Grand Couloir, the most dangerous part of the route, notorious for severe and sustained rockfall. Luckily we had reached it early, and it was quiet. We ran across, and then ascended the loose, chossy rib up to the old Gouter Hut. In places there were cables to aid in the climb, and we passed many other climbers coming down. From the old hut, it was a short walk across the snowy ridge to the new hut. Shaped like an obese UFO, the new hut is quite modern and fancy. We checked in, got some snacks, and settled in to wait, as it was still early in the day.

Hanging out at the hut, we watched other climbers come and go, and observed the shadows move across the various faces and valleys of the range. We read our books, and took some pictures. I took a nap on one of the benches. Being up high reminds me of other forays into the mountains, but being in a hut is a comfort unique to the European mountains, where things are civilized. At dinner there is plenty of food, and there are lots of people around the table, all of whom hope to climb to the top in the morning. We go to bed early.

In the mountains I generally wake up before my alarm, and this morning I crawled out of bed around 2:30. Gathering our things, we went down to breakfast, where we ate what we could. Then we went down to the cloakroom, and got suited up. One of the headlamps we had brought was broken, which was super cool, so I decided it would probably be fine to climb with the light on my phone. Shoving it in a pocket so the light stuck out, we were ready to go.

The Gouter Route is mainly a long walk, and the first part of the day was a sustained slog up a low angle slope, with a small hop across one crevasse. Then it steepened a bit, and we encountered some blue ice. This can be unnerving if you are not used to it, and we tottered across, before the slope relented, and we reached the Vallot Hut, my previous high point. As we continued up the ridge steepened and became more exposed. There were nice steps cut into the slope from the many climbers who pass this way, and we settled into a comfortable rhythm, with our crampons crunching and squeaking in the frozen snow. The sky was clear, the stars were out, and there was a faint glow beginning in the east. A small breeze prompted me to put my jacket on.

Before too much longer, we were on the summit ridge, and the pitch lessened, as we emerged onto the large dome of the summit. Right at this moment the sun came up, and we were alone on the highest point in the alps. That was cool. We took some photos, and hung out for a minute before heading down. On the descent we stopped and ate a sandwich at the Vallot Hut before going down to the Gouter Hut, gathering the rest of our equipment, and then heading all the way down towards Tete Rousse. As we were gingerly climbing down the dirty ridge we observed intense rockfall in, and to the side of, the Grand Couloir. This made me nervous, as it was the last thing that could be a problem. We got to the Couloir and observed it for a moment, before the frantic sprint across. We managed to make it without getting hit in the head by any adventure ending rocks. From there it is just a slog, and we quickly made it to the train station.

We drove back to town hungry and dirty. We showered and hung out in our micro-apartment for a few hours before driving into town to a friend's house. Sasha, one of my friends from highschool, has a house in Chamonix, and I was going to surprise him by showing up unannounced. One of my other highschool friends, Alan, had arranged the whole thing. We rolled into the driveway, and I saw a kid, around 12 years old. I asked for Mr. Alexander, and the kid ran into the house. Sasha emerged, and recognized me right away, even though we hadn’t seen each other for over 20 years. I introduced Kate to his family, and Alan, Sasha and I, as well as our families, spent a great night hanging out and visiting. We continued for the next few nights as well.

This was a special day for me. It is amazing to be married to someone who also wants to go on adventures, and can keep her head together in the mountains. Also, our level of fitness in the mountains is really similar, so we move uphill at the same pace. It was really fun being high up in the mountains with my wife, instead of a bro. Then, later in the day, hanging out with my best friends from highschool, who were all drawn to the Chamonix Valley for the same reason I was so many years ago. It was an interesting transition, as we move away from the mountains, and towards the sea.