The Conclusion of Winter
This is a story about drama, ambition and the ego. It takes place in Chamonix, France (home of big cheeses and Big Cheeses), around the twist of 2024 into 2025. There will be fireworks, swearing, and first ascents.
As the winter approached in November 2024, I felt my excitement shiver. Frosty fingers clawed into the valley and the snow line dropped, icing the stoic pines. I braced myself for the season of sliding, and began scoping jagged mountain faces. The peaks are more impressive in their winter coats, and although this makes alpinism more of a faff, it can also be more rewarding.
But overall, I was more focussed on rock climbing. Somewhat sated after two good expeditions that year (Alaska with Gašper Pintar and Pakistan with Aleš Česen), I switched my energy to warm, sunny crags. I had a goal and it was going to happen: I wanted 8b+ or more.
I worked with a coach all autumn, only briefly distracted by the Bonatti Route with Olivier Gajewski on the north face of the Toblerone (a new trademark name for the Matterhorn?). Training went well - until I injured a pulley in my finger. How classic: start training, get injured. More like, “how annoying!” I whined. I didn’t listen carefully to my body, and suddenly even crimping the air was painful. “Fuuuck..!” (I warned there’d be swearing.) The problem was exacerbated because, like an addict, I kept climbing. The injury hurt even more. “Double fuuu…!” In hindsight I should’ve rested properly and immediately, but for some reason I was incapable. “Ooooh!” I said as fireworks brought in the New Year, although maybe I was just poking my finger.
I thought holding ice axes was marginally less painful, so I went climbing - do you see a theme here? When Gašper visited in February, we went for Les Barbares 2 on the Pre de Bar wall (good, hard but quite chossy) and then did the Dru’s North Couloir Direct from the first lift (steep, short-lived but excellent). By 10pm we were eating pizza and drinking a beer, before heading to the Cham Bala rave, bouncing giddily in our smelly clothes.
Leo Billon and Enzo Oddo established Les Barbares 3, giving an impressive grade of M10. This re-energised me to find my own hard test-piece. I like to grade harshly and fairly, subsequently down-grading many routes I’ve climbed, resisting giving big numbers. Thus, I was initially surprised by a grade like ‘M10.’ I started looking for the biggest thing I could find, my ego wanting to declare the same ‘M10 level’ of Big Cheese. It was time to go shark fishing. Noticing my prattling on about the Barbares, Christelle started singing, ‘Barbara Ann’ by The Beach Boys.
In early March, some friends were going for the same idea as me on the Barbares wall, so I pivoted and went to the Dent du Requin (‘Shark’s Tooth’) with Rob Smith. It was a little frustrating and strange to think the mountains were ‘busy’ and that another team had ‘rights’ to the same climb because they were going a day earlier than me, but I opted to leave them to it. Instead, over three days, Rob and I established a brilliant new route up the north face (never believe it when the people who put up the route say that). It featured steep dry-tooling, some mixed climbing, and even a rock-shoe pitch near the top. We called it Shark Attack and hopefully sandbagged it at ‘M7.’ (Great, five stars, maybe…?!).
The finger still didn’t get better - how strange! - so I decided to properly rest. In the meantime, Ben Tibbetts and I nearly went to the top of the mountain via the Supercouloir (strong line, great conditions, go early). Then Christophe Dumarest invited me to climb the Croz/Slovenian Spur on the Grandes Jorasses (bold, fun, impressive on the F.A.!) with his client, Didier. Finally combining climbing with paragliding, I flew down much of the descent, and although I crash-landed, at least I was close to the pizza.
By April, the sun was “bloody fucking hot” as my Aussie friend Kim says, and it felt like time to send all my rock projects, but my finger still wasn’t fixed. Silvan Schüpbach tempted me with Les Barbares 3 (“how many are there now? 48?!” said Christelle). “I’m curious about this ‘M10.’ Maybe we’ll find it hard?” Silvan said. A strong climber, particularly with axes, I was inspired by his open confrontation with his ego. He simply wanted to try and was open to the outcome, which is better than not going at all.
We boldly braved hot temperatures and dehydration as we quested up the wall, but unfortunately ran out of steam on our second day. Silvan wasn’t enjoying aiding up the M10 pitch and decided to come down. At the moment I should’ve said, “I’ll take over”… I said nothing. My legs had gone numb from the two-hour hanging belay. Down we went. I’d like a rematch some time.
Was this finger injury a way of forcing me to take it slow, to detach myself and my ego from my goals? I’ve had to accept that hard (for me) rock climbing shouldn’t - and won’t - fit neatly into one of my grand plans. Just because I made 2025 the year for these objectives doesn’t mean I’m ready for them. I’m also very lucky to have been able to climb in the mountains with great friends as an alternative. Although it might seem like a distraction from a finger injury, in truth I’m very happy with the winter and the routes I’ve climbed. As always, the list of climbs I’d like to do has become longer, not shorter. At least I now have clear ideas for when the temperatures start to drop and the nights arrive earlier.
After Les Barbares 3, I decided the winter was officially over for me, and I wrote a version of this story. But like a speeding fine, the piece sat here without me wanting to touch it. Now that it’s June and my pulley finally seems to be fixed, I feel like I can close the chapter of ‘winter,’ even though it technically ended months ago. This story didn’t seem finished until now, because otherwise I’d be writing without a conclusion. That’s climbing, isn’t it? It needs an ending. It’s about climbing up and coming back down.