The Forbes Arête, 2018

by Robin Ward

On our last Alpine trip, four years ago now, we started our two weeks with an ascent of the South Ridge of the Aiguille Purtscheller (3478m), part of the Mt Blanc Massif on the France/Switzerland border. This gave both of us a bit of a fright, but we got up (and down) competently enough. Then we had a few days of sport climbing and longer rock routes, before settling on the Forbes Arête route on the Aiguille du Chardonnet (3824m) as our next ‘snowy peak’ objective.

We made a good start at 02:00 from the Albert Premier Refuge (2702m); gearing up we were both noticeably more subdued than when we had prepared for the Purtscheller the previous week! But we got on to the Tour glacier in good order, and soon got into a rhythm for the long trek across it.

We arrived at the start of the climb in an ‘acceptable’ time, i.e. acceptable for climbers of our age and fitness level; not exactly guidebook time, but good enough. There was what seemed a large party ahead of us just above the steep ice ‘Bosse’, which is the defining feature of the first part of the route. There seemed to be quite a lot of shouting going on, and ‘unusual’ rope work – we chose not to think of the consequences for ourselves if anyone above us slipped. Instead, because they were speaking French, and there was a well-equipped Frenchman giving authoritative sounding orders to everyone, we assumed they must be far more competent than us. Or maybe it was a guided party?

George tends to lead on rock so I led the Bosse; it was great. There were a few centimetres of snow over good ice, I could clear the snow to place a good couple of screws, then up, up and away! Up 50+ degree ice with solid ‘thunks’ as I buried each tool in turn, I was soon over the bulge and making use of a horizontal ice axe belay someone had previously prepared.

Once we got to the ridge proper, things took rather a turn for the worse. Where there should have been firm snow, there was steep rubble and loose rock; and what we had thought was a single competent French party was, in fact, two parties, each equally out of their depth. Both teams were attempting what looked like proper rock climbing, but wearing crampons, scraping and scrabbling, and hanging off gear. We waited politely for a while, then George did his thing and bypassed them by a neat 4c slab, done with no fuss, no protection and in big boots. We had a scrabbled descent from a pinnacle back down to the ridge to find we had just about overtaken most of our rivals, but not all. Finally we pushed past and pitched the next unstable part of the ridge, and while George was leading through I had the disconcerting experience of one of the parties coming up behind me and asking my advice where he should place each foot! I’m afraid I declined the responsibility.

Once we got clear we were away, leaving the shouting, clattering, clanking crowd behind. We knew we were well behind time, so ‘not being last’ was a major consolation. The rest of the ridge was tough; these were lean conditions and what should have been a snow arête with the occasional rock step was mostly rubble, soft snow and loose rock, but with the same massive exposure as you’d get even if the conditions were perfect. But we kept on, and finally reached the top, which we had to ourselves – a fantastic moment, only marred by the fact that mist was rolling in and the weather was taking a turn for the worse.

Needless to say, we made a complete hash of the descent, beginning the descent from the main ridge far too soon. We made endless abseils in deteriorating weather, getting ever colder and wetter in the process. I was very relieved when the cloud cleared briefly and we could see the Albert Premier hut, a long way below, but at least approximately where we expected it to be.

Surprisingly, the rope jammed only once, and then only when we were very close to the glacier. Well, George had done most of the leading of the descent, so it was my turn to climb back up and free the rope; fortunately I only had to climb up a little way before the change in the angle of pull meant that it came free.

Finally, we were above the bergschrund, which thankfully wasn’t much of an obstacle, and we began the long trek back along the well-marked groove in the glacier. We were still roped up though, as we’re never confident that we have ‘escaped the killer mountain’ until we take those first steps back on ‘solid’ moraine. As we approached the hut in the fading light, we heard the clatter of helicopters; looking back, we could see a rescue operation taking place. All the climbers who had been following us were being air lifted off; at least we’d escaped that indignity. We got to the hut at about 21:00. A moment’s rest, then we set off back down the valley in the dark. It was long, painful and slow, but we knew the way and thought it was danger free, although there was a final twist. At about 23:00 we met a British couple coming up the path from le Tour, goodness knows why at that hour. We exchanged words, and they warned us of monster sheep dogs that were thirsting for blood by the side of the path further down! Fortunately, we only ever saw their eyes in the distance, burning like coals in the light of our torches, and we were back in the van at just about midnight.

Now, here’s the point of the story. This was a 22-hour day, on a biggish route, in increasingly poor conditions. At the time George was 62 and I was 64, not great ages but we weren’t spring chickens either. Of course we were tired, but not completely drained; and although the conditions had been difficult we’d handled it, and I’m pretty sure with less stress and angst than we might have done 40 years previously. After a rest day or two we were both up for some more rock climbing, and for another trip the following year. Well, that didn’t happen, but this year it will, with some more worthwhile routes to get done and snowy peaks to climb. In short, we’re not writing ourselves off just yet. Our ambitions may be modest, but we’re still doing it.

Forbes Arête at dawn
Alamy stock photo

Success!
Photo by Robert Ward

Return to the top of this page, or to the complete Index, or to this section's Index.