Day 4
Does anyone else feel bad about disturbing fresh snow? I know I do. However, when it is 0600, I am roped to three fellow luntaics and there is a peak to be bagged, I feel somewhat different.
We weaved in and out of the gaping crevasses in the glacier, guided by headlamps and an 'airy Frenchman called Mathieu. The clouds stubbornly refused us the Alpine sunrise that we were so desperate for, and battered us with freezing wind which had the delightful habit of whipping the now not-so-innocent snow into our faces.
It was indescribably wonderful.
I say 'indescribably' as a cheap and easy way of not having to describe it - you either, like me, think it's wonderful, or, like most people, you think we are masochistic freaks. Well you're right, but what I do at weekends is my own business.
To cut a four hour story short, we made it to the top, 3,544m, a new personal high. The route involved hauling ourselves us a short 80* slope with the help of ice axes, followed by thirty minutes of climbing through loose rock, which was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure. I think I might have develped a couple of new addictions.
From the peak, Mont Blanc was visible, but only for seconds at a time as the cloud played games with us until finally clearing for the descent.
On returning to the hut, I was sporting a fashionable pink face, caused by the sun that had replaced the coulds with aplomb. The best part of all was the clearly-defined white stripe caused by the strap of my helmet. When I get back to Berlin, this new trend will really take off.
