An account of a first alpine season in Arolla in the Western Valais Alps in Switzerland undertaken by Colm Ennis and John Kinsella in July 2003.

Above: The Pigne d'Arolla as seen from the summit plateau of Mont Collon.

Standing sweating with a mountain of gear at the check in desk of a so-called low fares airline in Dublin airport is an experience filled with dread for many Irish mountaineers. It’s a bit like confronting the midgets at Luggala or an impossibly soft cornice at the top of some ridiculous gully in the Cairngorms – it’s hopeless but you just might make it. The sweating of course comes from wearing enough layers to comfortably bivvy on the summit of any major alpine peak in winter and also from the gripping fear of being directed with every piece of mountaineering equipment that you own to a US Special Forces trained excess baggage supervisor. We were spared that interaction this time though and all that remained was to stroll through the security checks with our 50 litres of hand luggage. We watched nervously as the other travellers that were also wearing large and heavy, semi rigid boots instead of flight socks did the same. No problem.

Above: A view of the Douves Blanche and the Aig de la Tsa during the ascent to the Arolla Glacier.

The in flight Kulana orange juice or water decision kept me entertained for a while and I continued trying to guess if we were ready for our first trip to the Alps. I felt strongly that experiences like miserably wading waist deep through slimy boggy rivers in the Black Valley in Kerry, running the Mourne Mountain Marathon in a fairly bet pair of Meindl Mountain Cracks and thinking we were climbing a classic route in Llanberis only to top out and find that we were actually at a different crag, were surely the perfect preparation. We would have to wait and see.

Above: The Pigne d'Arolla as seen from L'Eveque.

The Swiss public transport system which includes very non Irish features like having their train station beside their airport meant that we hoped to be delivered to the campsite in Arolla just twelve hours after leaving Waterford and we weren’t disappointed. The yellow post buses and the slender pillars of earth and stone of the Pyramids d’Euseigne impressed me almost as much as my inability to use nine years of French language education to order a quarter pounder meal in McDonalds in Sion. In Arolla, with the warden away from the campsite we selected an excellent spot. Ignoring the stove, we ate out for not the last time and worried that we would now have to go and climb something.

Above: Ascending Mont Blanc de Cheilon.

Looking at 1:50,000 maps in the Alps is very different to doing so at home. When you are used to having to come up with anything from 30 to 60k routes, it’s very easy to plot yourself a course that in theory would see you on the summit of the Matterhorn in a few hours. However the Pigne d’Arolla – Mont Blanc de Cheilon traverse was the logical first choice. We started the route from the dramatically placed Vignettes hut, where they let us in without a booking once we cleared up that we were members of the Austrian and not Australian Alpine Club. To be honest we didn’t know what to expect from an alpine hut although carrying up the sleeping bag was a waste of time, as was trying to sleep and I may never find out what the bowl of yellow powder we got for breakfast was. We also decided to take a chance on the water tap with the skull and crossbones sign over it – it being preferable to cold tea from a zigg bottle or bottled water at 10 francs a go.

Above: At the Col de la Serpentine with Mont Blanc de Cheilon in the background.

We were way ahead of any other parties with their eyes set on the Pigne d’Arolla that morning and the view at the top was incredible. It was cold and clear and you could basically see everywhere. It was back into the shade for us to cross to the highest point of La Serpentine and descending the arete from it gave us our first taste of really loose rock. The excellent route from the Col de la Serpentine to the summit of Mont Blanc de Cheilon gave us a bit of confidence. We moved quickly up the solid rock to the summit, from where there was a fantastic view northwards of the Lac des Dix and to the south-west was the inviting lonely peak of La Ruinette.

Above: Ascending the final section of Cheilon with the Glacier de la Serpentine below.

Two steep ice slopes were the only thing that slowed us down on our descent to the Dix Hut. It’s a much friendlier spot than the Vignettes, although I suspected that the warden was disappointed that we didn’t live up to our national stereotype and run up a large wine, beer and spirits tab. It wasn’t the only misunderstanding as the ‘one lunch for two people’, which I ordered, was met with horror when it was received the next morning. A carrot, a piece of rancid sausage, a small baguette and a bar of chocolate being unlikely to sustain the two of us for more than a half hour. Deciding on our next route had also been tough. We should of course have headed back to Arolla but the AD+ British Route on La Ruinette was but a long slog back up the valley and we actually thought that we would get back to Arolla the same day once we had knocked it off.

Above: La Ruinette at dawn from the Glacier de Gietro.

After some discussion as to what a series of gendarmes should actually look like and some loose rock swimming, the route eventually became interesting. The mountain of course was deserted, something we experienced for most of our time in Arolla and once we joined with the mountain’s southwest ridge it was a really enjoyable climb to the summit. They are into their steel crosses on summits in the Alps it seems and although the one on La Ruinette was small, it felt great to be on such an isolated and impressive peak.

Above: On the summit of La Ruinette (3875m).

There are three parts to successfully completing a route anywhere that you must not take for granted. Firstly you have to find the route, secondly you have to climb it and thirdly you have to get down from it. Getting one or all of these wrong creates epic days which should always be avoided when a carrot is likely to form the main portion of your food intake for the day. Looking at the map you would think it impossible for us to miss the pair of logical and obvious descent lines from La Ruinette, but we did. I was, as predicted, the first of us to break through a crevasse and neither that nor junior certificate geography had me well prepared me for our absorbing and prolonged descent onto the Glacier du Brenay.

Above: The Glacier de Gietro as seen from La Ruinette.

The first half of the descent was like half a dozen other precarious and tedious steep descents we had made over the years. However I never considered that we would meet what basically seemed to be the sheer gravelly side wall of the glacier which must have been left there as the glacier melted over the years. For a moment we hoped that by scaring some Bouquetins (bit like a deer) they would show us the route down. They of course had no intention of going downwards and had probably never even seen humans before. We settled on a steep loose grey gully and we part abseiled, glissaded and lowered ourselves down before emerging about an hour later on the dry floor of the glacier.

Above: On the British Route on  La Ruinette.

It was getting late and dark of course and the new plan was to stumble off the glacier and pick up the track which headed for the Cabane de Chanrion. That morning we had been expecting to be about 20 kilometres the other direction back in Arolla. Live and learn. I was exhausted and had John not waited for me while we headed off the glacier I would have thrown my hat at it and just laid down on the gravel. The painted markers that lead you towards the huts, which had seemed so excessive before were now the best idea ever. Of course when we eventually got to the hut at 11.30pm they were all gone to bed. I walked in to the dining area where the tables were filled with bread for the breakfast but I was unfortunately too honest to walk back out with it. We bivvied a couple of hundred metres down from the hut. It was quiet and cool but not cold and better than any hut.

Above: The Lac de Mauvoisin.

We gave the alpine starters the next morning something to point their head torches at and two hours later I bought all the bread and chocolate I could carry before putting my mind to figuring out how we were going to get back to Arolla. The signpost time from the Cabane to Mauvousin was 2h30 and we set off with less than two hours until the only bus to anywhere that day left the village. A fairly healthy pace took us past several marmots, a mean looking herd of bell carrying cows, a couple of tunnels, that dam from the superman film and finally to the bus stop. The Swiss are big into their mountain engineering and the post bus ride out of the valley revealed all sorts of concrete tunnels and structures protruding from the most unlikely places. The bus took us to a train which would bring us to Martigny and then another bus to Sion and then two more buses to Arolla. It was 34 degrees and I was never so absolutely hot and filthy and less in form for travel in all my life. It seemed like we had left Arolla about a week ago. While waiting in a thunderstorm for the last bus from Les Hauderes we met a group of Dutch lads who had so much new gear they looked like they had just walked from the covers of a Field and Trek catalogue. They actually asked had we been up in the mountains.

Above: The impressive north face of Mont Collon with the NNE Ridge on the left.

Its fair to say that we don’t come from the lets take it easy school of mountaineering and climbing so we made do with a half day’s rest just to rehydrate. In the absence of anybody to tell us we were nuts, we picked the impressive Mont Collon as our next objective. Mont Collon dominates the Arolla valley and the guidebook sold us the formidable looking North-North East Ridge. We had a vague notion of making a very early start the next morning, climbing the route and then being able to descend the west ridge on the other side. We carried sleeping and bivvy bags for when we got down (we thought). We spent a comfortable night at one of the weird concrete hydroelectric structures on the side of the valley, which with a couple of massive steel staples appeared to be holding up the entire mountainside. The black horned, devil like bouquetin which walked right across the platform in front of us during the night was a bit unsettling but we were up and walking by 3.30am.

Above: Colm Ennis while ascending Mont Collon.

We quickly learnt the lesson that when you get up in the middle of the night it’s hard to figure out where you are going or even what you are supposed to be doing. I absolutely hate trying to find the start of a route and I equally hate the feeling of not being sure if you are in the right place and on the right line. You would think that something that is so obvious from the door of the tent back down in the valley would be equally clear half a kilometre away. When we finally got to the right side of the river and to the base of the right mountain we made a number of false starts and it was well after 9am before we got to the 2800m level which was supposed to mark the start of the climb. It felt like we had already been climbing for hours.

Above: The Arolla valley as seen from the NNE Ridge on Mont Collon.

Once again we had the route and the entire mountain to ourselves and perhaps there was a good reason for that. We moved together up the loose rib guessing all the time about where the route was supposed to go. I delayed three quarters of an hour on one crumbling rock band before we picked up the pace again. About half way up we could look right into a snow basin that we had seen beside the route from below. It was only then that I really started waking up – it was a fantastic day and this was a pretty impressive mountain. Our progress seemed to be very slow but the ridge did gradually move from being very loose to just loose and then solid in places (just watch for the loose bits).

Above: A tricky rockband on the NNE Ridge of Mont Collon.

There was some great climbing and it reminded me of Curved Ridge on the Buachaille in Glencoe with its impressive expansive drop back down into the valley beneath you. And it just kept on going, we kept thinking that we were approaching the top only to discover that we had read it wrong and there was still much further to go. We stayed focused, the climbing was good and we even found a bolt that cheered me up no end. We undoubtedly pitched more of the upper part of the ridge than was sensible if you were looking to make guidebook time. We were four hours over the suggested five in the book before the last few sensational piches brought us finally onto the summit plateau. There, I thought Dent Blanche was the Matterhorn for some reason, so pictures had to be taken before we headtorched our way towards the summit.

Above: John Kinsella on the summit plateau of Mont Collon with Dent Blanche in the background.

We were blissfully unaware that below in the Vignettes hut, the chief warden was very concerned at our progress and had his binoculars trained on us while we wandered around near the summit. We were actually looking for somewhere to bivvy and we thought we had found a snow cave for a minute but eventually we settled on some flat ground at the top of a gully. The MSR stove which needs all sorts of pumping, priming and blowing wasn’t working of course and but for my more practically minded climbing partner, it would have found itself and its over priced titanium pots hurled off the side of the mountain. He also kindly volunteered to scramble down the gully in search of water and was successful. The smell of the pasta carbonora I dribbled all over my jacket was to stay with me for the rest of the trip as a reminder of our new highest bivouac record.

Above: Descending the west ridge from Mont Collon with the Glacier D'Arolla below.

Despite our second ridiculously long day, the next morning we were feeling pretty good. We enjoyed the summit and all we had to do was get down off the mountain along the "best and quickest descent route". We went west as required and did indeed find the west ridge. It was solid down-climbing although I felt like sleeping when I had to belay once or twice. There was a lot of old tape and slings around at one point, which we probably ignored and headed straight past. The compass of course would have indicated that while we were still on a ridge it was no longer really going west. We eventually came to a dramatic rock pillar with an even more dramatic sheer drop on the other side. No going that way. There were coils of old blue rope and some slings at the top of a dirty looking gully and the decision was made - a couple of abseils and surely we would be down. Four abseils and four abandoned slings later we were down but faced with slow and tricky traversing back across to the west ridge.

Above: The first of many abseils on the alternative Mont Collon descent route.

We just couldn’t make it easy for ourselves and we were down to drinking gravel from the end of the water bottles. It felt brilliant to finally get down onto the glacier but the long traverse back to the Col des Vignettes was mostly uphill and very slow going. We avoided the temptation of going in to the hut for food so as not to spoil our pure alpine ascent of the mountain and a run down the glacier followed even though there was only a bag of chocolate peanuts to look forward to in the tents. Wandering through the last part of the forest back down into Arolla we had a great view of the ridge we had ascended and the summit we had slept on. What a brilliant climb.

Above: Mont Collon as seen from the village of Arolla.

Dehydration had to be aggressively tackled the next day – an actual whole day off. It was hard to believe it was Sunday already, we had packed a lot into the previous eight days. We were on a roll, were starting to figure out what we were doing and were looking for something else respectable to take on. Dent Blanche at 4357 metres by its south ridge looked perfect. Hike over tomorrow and climb it Monday, there’s nothing like having a plan. It always seems to us that an awful lot of climbers and mountaineers do far too much hanging around and there was plenty of it going on at the campsite that day. In fairness it’s a good spot for it, fresh bread every morning, clean toilets and showers and two quirky but friendly wardens. But order that bread before 6.30pm or its slim pickings in the morning. We were also slowly turning against swiss super muesli and for a change before we set off, had good old-fashioned cornflakes with UHT milk.

Above: Luminescent and carnivorous Alpine Flora (Yellow Gentiana).

Of course it didn’t look it on the map but it was a fair trek over to the Cabane de la Dent Blanche which I had booked by phone. Linguistically, ‘Ennis’ is not a good name to book anything with and on reflection even the taxis in Waterford have difficulty with it, but they would surely get the idea. We set off anyway and my feet were falling apart. I was blaming the 34 degrees multi train and bus day when we had also walked around Sion for hours looking for an outdoor shop. John was unaffected as usual but we eventually made it to the sun drenched Col de Bertol. It’s a busy spot, which is towered over by a massive hut and is the meeting point for a variety of traverses and alpine crossings. We followed the footprints for a while but as is our wont left them eventually to head to a rock ridge overlooking the stunning Glacier de Ferpecle. You wouldn’t take a shortcut across that glacier, so after a spot of meandering around some hefty looking crevasses we wound our way in to the Col D’Herens.

Above: At the Col de Bertol with Dent Blanche in the background.

The Matterhorn (we were looking at the right mountain this time) lives up to its reputation as a perfect looking mountain. We wanted to head across right then and run up its side. At the time the mountain was actually falling to bits and seventy people were being helicoptored off the other side but to us it looked quite peaceful and inviting. Some day. In the meantime we got the feeling that not many people approach the Cabane de la Dent Blanche from the direction we were taking. The route wasn’t very obvious and indeed most parties walk up from Ferpecle. At 3507 metres the small hut is perched neatly beneath the south ridge and it was so different from the other huts we had stayed in. It was much friendlier and had much more of an atmosphere. Indeed there was only fourteen of us sitting down for dinner including a German couple who were camped just across from us in Arolla. We worried about the forecast with them for a while and then got some sleep as breakfast was at 4.00am for a change.

Above: Ascending the south ridge on Dent Blanche.

Dent Blanche is a magnificent pyramidal mountain. It has four great ridges meeting at the summit and our route was the most commonly ascended South Ridge. We had to admire the two climbers who had arrived late the evening before and had successfully traversed from the north ridge and then down the south. For us it was a bit overcast and windier than any day that we had set out previously. A French guide reckoned that conditions were to deteriorate in the afternoon and guidebook time said 4-6hrs from the hut. We had had fairly mixed results on achieving guidebook times so far but there was seven others setting out, so off we headed.

Above: Negotiating the many gendarmes on the south ridge of Dent Blanche.

Groups in front of us are always a great motivator and we picked up the pace to pass them out. After crossing a snow ridge and getting on to the start of the rocky ridge we hit the first of the Gendarmes. These were a lot more obvious than the one’s on La Ruinette and the guidebook was kind enough to point out which of the big ones to turn on the left or the right (It’s easy – left, right, left). Being on the crest was impressive and as it brightened and became clearer, there were fantastic views to either side. We overtook the one half of the German couple who had ventured out on his own and got to the metal cross in time for a good clearance. "You ran to the summit", the German suggested as we swapped cameras for photos. In fairness we had carried very little, moved together more or less all the way and so reached the top in two and a half hours. That’s the way to do it.

Above: On the Summit of Dent Blanche (4357m).

Interestingly enough getting down took three and a half hours and we experienced snow and hail while on a route for the first time. It was nothing too serious though and after apologising to an unamused John for trying to climb down a section I should have been abseiling, we made good progress and were back at the hut for 10.30. Of course we were than faced with trekking back across the glaciers to Arolla. Thankfully, our German friends intervened to offer us a lift in their car, which was down at Ferpecle. It should have been perfect and we stayed with them the whole way down through the rain on the glacier. Of course we picked up the pace on the forest track, lost the couple, missed the village, missed the car and kept on going. With that same mad determination that ended in our epic descent onto the Brenay glacier, we kept on going down the road, thinking we would hit the right village and find the elusive VW Golf which was our ticket home. Of course it was never going to happen and as walking up is so much harder than walking down (I thought), we had to keep on going.

Above: Descending the Glacier du Mont Mine from the Rossier Hut with Dent Blanche in the background.

There’s nothing like descending 3000 metres in a couple of hours to really break you up and my feet were protesting as was some new muscle I didn’t know I had in my left shin. On the plus side it was fantastic countryside and we discovered that the Swiss build lots of stone huts in their fields. And what do you think they store in those stone huts? Stones. You also have to admire their ability to neatly cut and stack jigsaw like, great piles of firewood. They probably never burn it but it certainly looks impressive. Quite a few kilometres later, we finally came in through the winding abandoned backstreets of Les Hauderes and waited once again for a little yellow fun postbus. The fun bit being when they blow the horn going around corners and before diving scarily into tunnels. Back at the campsite the Germans thought we were mad or stupid. They never said it, but it was definitely in their eyes.

Above: L'Eveque to the left and Petit Mont Collon to the right as seen from the Cabane des Vignettes.

After a day of resting and limping for me, the weather and the limp the following day allowed us to make an attempt at some crag climbing in the valley. Les Follieches entertained us for the afternoon and we finished with its ‘tooth’ a nice easy multipitch with a great abseil descent whose location reminded me a bit of the Bishop – a more crumbly but equally atmospheric crag tucked into the back of the Wicklow guidebook. With landscapes, everywhere reminds me of somewhere and to be honest I keep running into Crotty’s lake. However, the un-Comeragh like traverse of L’Eveque was to be our last route. Not just because we had heard some friends of ours had experienced a route finding epic on it (never follow Italians) but also because it looked like a great mountain. We also wanted to be the "technically competent climbers in their first Alpine season" that the guidebook was going on about. So it was back up to the Vignettes hut where I snuck in a delicious cheesy, egg and ham omelette while waiting for John to arrive (he being behind me only because I had left three hours earlier).

Above: Ascending the southwest ridge on L'Eveque.

The next morning we sped across to the col below the route. We were on our own once again for some of the best climbing of the trip. We stayed on the crest as much as possible and there were a few very memorable sections before the final sharp section to the top. I am certain that the description in the guidebook that says go down the NE ridge is wrong as slanting right if you did would lead to your definite demise. Going NW was loose and tricky and there was abandoned gear, tapes and slings all over the place. After a couple of abseils and after abandoning a bit of tape ourselves we were back on easier ground. As promised in the guidebook, the Mont Collon glacier had the biggest crevasses around. I broke through a very small one (my third) on the way back across to the Vignettes where we had our last sups of gravelly glacier water before our final descent into Arolla.

Above: The Mitre de L'Eveque as seen from the southwest ridge.

We spent the following day climbing bolted but as usual perfectly protectable climbs at Pra Grasette down the valley. Of course I ran in to my brother who was just wandering through from Chamonix to Zermatt or some such madness. The next day we were delivered back to Geneva with the usual efficiency where a visit to the United Nations headquarters won out over watching Terminator 3 only because it was in French. In Dublin we hadn’t a clue where we had left the car and knowing that eight hours later I was going to be sitting sleepily in a meeting with my boss, was a major shock to the system. Seven days previously I was climbing Dent Blanche and my head was going to be stuck there for a couple of days at least. Thinking back, we had been ambitious, made some interesting decisions and had done some unforgettable climbing. Would we be back for more? Absolutely.

Above: L'Eveque with the southwest ridge on the right.

Above: On the summit of L'Eveque.