A BIT OF A SHOCKER!
A Tale of a chilly night out on the Dent du Requin
Route: Renaudie Direct (Central Spur) 570 M - Grade V.
by Ian Grimshaw
"This is a classic route on the East face with sustained climbing of medium difficulty. It is arguably one of the finest routes if its class in the Alps".
The guide hook description outlined exactly the right route for our first of the one
month climbing holiday to Chamonix. Tom and I were pretty confident of our ability - this
was a mere "warm-up" before we moved on to bigger and harder climbs. Little did
we realise as we set off from the Requin Hut just how warm things were going to get later
that day. Under blue skies and with the promise of settled weather, we tramped through the
soft snow of the approach glacier.
We had overslept, having driven from London the night before, and as the glacier
steepened, our haste was checked by one or two small slips, culminating in one huge slide
as I shot down past Tom.
"Always a good idea to get some ice-axe breaking practice in", I puffed as I got
back to where Tom stood, somewhat bemused.
With a little more care we reached the bottom of the route, geared-up and moved together
up the initial easy terraces to reach the steeper part of the face, at the foot of a huge
diedre. The climbing became harder as seven pitches of cracks, corners and slabs followed
one after the other. It was all absorbing, and as we neared the top, we hadn't
noticed how quickly the sky had darkened, or how the time had eased into mid-afternoon.
"Only 3 pitches to go; with luck we can be back in the hut for about 8!" said
Tom as I set off on the next pitch.
It was just then that the hail started - there I was, balancing up on small holds on a
steep slab with water and ice running down over my hands and up my sleeves. I was
freezing. When you're leading a pitch, time seems to stand still, while your belayer
wonders what the hell you're doing. At this stage I knew I'd been an age,
probably about 45 minutes, wondering how to overcome the next two moves. The slab was
covered in ice and I was numb - I tried everything: standing on gear, pulling on gear, but
I couldn't reach the respite of bigger holds above. Eventually, I called to Tom to lower
me down to a ledge, and I brought him up to have a go. As he got to me I was too cold to
mention the list of excuses I'd formulated - just as well, because Tom sped past the
difficulties with one huge reach and ensconced himself on the arete above at the belay. By
now the rock was covered in ice, and we were both wet and cold. A "buzzing"
noise warned us of the risk of lightening as the rock around us charged up; we both
suffered small indirect hits, I suppose similar to being hit with a cattle prod, (just
another of the editor's social interests), but we still took the time to change into
our plastic boots for the last pitch. This made the climbing harder, but at least we had
the benefit of some feeling in our feet. The final pitch lay up some snowy ledges and a 9m
corner. It was whilst engrossed in slithering up, and down (more than once!) this corner
that I failed to notice the buzzing, even louder and building to a huge crescendo.
I was back on the ledge, the smell of singed hair a pointer as to why I was there. I
shouted a few choice words and tried to pull myself together. My right arm was quite numb
and I couldn't grip anything, but with a surge of adrenaline and annoyance I stuffed
the corner full of gear, pulled, pushed and sat on all of it, and found myself at the top.
From here lay the easy way down: 3 abseils and easy ledges to the glacier, 400m. below.
We set off - the first abseil went O.K.; the second the rope got caught pulling it down
and we were forced to cut it. On the third, one of the pegs "popped" after
I'd gone only a few metres. We were cold, my nerves were shot, I was pissed-off and
it was just about dark. "I suppose we could bivvy" said Tom, eyeing a small
niche. He hadn't finished and I was already trying to get comfortable: pretty
difficult with no bivvy gear and made even harder later on with Tom snoring, wrapped in
his bivvy-bag on his mat!
By morning things hadn't really improved, despite the sun we weren't warming-up,
and my arm was still stiff and numb. It was with reluctance that I got the mobile out and
set the wheels of evacuation into motion, ( well the choice of 8 hours to Chamonix on foot
via the hut, or 10 minutes, hmm....). The rescue team were shocked to find we had even
contemplated trying to get down under our own steam, and by 10 o'clock I was being
stuck with needles and linked to all the machines they could find in Chamonix Hospital.
(Well worth a visit if you're in the area boys - not an antler to be seen).
"I suppose we've had an epic", said Tom later that day.
"We didn't cry did we?", I replied.