Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
was enlivened by a general abundance of porridge and spaghetti and a general ab-
sence of salt and sugar. Over the ensuing weeks forays were mounted against the
ridge until the team, suitably accustomed to the view (and in my case at least severe
indigestion and headaches) was declared nearly, almost, possibly fit enough for the
face.
For the face we had to struggle. On the col, in a vision of blitzkrieg the evening be-
fore, we unpacked the not quite bulging sacks and ejected all manner of essential
items. A little after midnight we struggled out of our sugar-coated Frosties into a
night of rare beauty, awash in moonlight and clear to the ends of the earth. The east
face, dressed for the occasion, beckoned cold and blue. A chill breeze whipped across
the col. We promptly disappeared back into the tents to repack the ejected items be-
fore disappearing, à la The Wild Bunch, four abreast down into the snow basin and
away to the back of the amphitheatre in search of our climb. Daybreak caught us dal-
lying on a compact rock buttress, trying to force a slim sliver of ice, which melted all
too fast but not quite fast enough and we were through onto the slabs above, thread-
ing and twisting through this compact formation by utilising runnels and funnels
and fields of snow, as we did for much of the time which followed. A midday brew
was enjoyed on a small rock knoll so out of character with the rest of this face. High
white wisps scudded in from the west. We consoled ourselves with our knowledge,
'an afternoon deterioration, only to be expected', and carried on up while a cauldron
formed on the upper wall. The thunder rolled in, the view rolled up; it began to
snow. Acres of the stuff fell on the face above and the whole caboodle dumped itself
on our heads. On cue the breeze stiffened to a gusting gale.
Sanctuary was sought, out to the right of the main fall line, beneath an inadequate
little rock wall which failed to do its job and offered us no protection. Half-cooked
ganders as some hours later in the same spot the realisation dawned that we were
standing on our beds. Anxious fashioning produced little in the way of a home, for
the ice adheres to the tile-like formation of this rock in no great quantity, and both
teams enjoyed a poor night, speculating on the foresight of the Argentinian lads back
in 1954 who had used dynamite to produce a home, or the ingenuity of the Swiss in
1958 who used bed frames to build platforms, an apparently usable solution to this
commonly shared problem of sloping campsites. A poor night, but not so bad in ret-
rospect.
The next was an absolute horror. The day had started okay, dawning sunny and
hanging on in there with passing blue patches but deteriorating fairly quickly into a
mean parody of a Scotsman's winter holiday. The evening crescendo left Ludwik and
I stranded high, but none too dry, on steep brittle ice, battered by a fiery spindrift
flow, unable to move up and unwilling to be moved off down. Forty mean, motion-
less, finger-frozen minutes. Then a lull let us go and a struggle put us out onto the
mixed ground to the right where we had hoped to take out a mortgage on a decent
doss. Nothing: no ice, no ledge, no bed, just more loose snow and compact rock.
We worked into a bitter night but to little avail. In the end René, Ludwik and I
shared one two-man sack in a claustrophobic, oxygen-starved atmosphere endured
in a variety of cramped, tortuous positions. Constrained in the middle and suffocated
