A Sense of Occasion

Rob Wright

"Beep Beep Beep". Before the third beep was finished I had hit the alarm clock and the noise stopped. Peace! It seemed only a few hours since I had fallen asleep. Not quite peace however.

Around me the thirty or so bed spaces were empty or emptying. Their alarms had already gone off. And all was a scene of feverish activity carried out in a semi conscious state it was, after all, one o'clock in the morning! A strange time to get up out of bed you might think, but for Alpinists it is the norm when you are looking at climbing a 4000m high mountain. Here at the Gouter Hut perched on the Aiguille de Gouter, high above the Chamonix the target was Mont Blanc.

I gave Angie a dig in her ribs to rouse her. Her reply was not one of thanks. We had been together for two years now and this was her first trip to the Alps, it was my fifth. I knew the routine and Angie did not enjoy it. Up before dawn to start climbing in the dark. The rushed breakfast, forced down. The final visit to the toilet before the off. When I say toilet, here, I mean the wooden coffin-like box perched precariously over the edge of a cliff. The seat non existent, a hole in the floor and the long drop beckoning below. A wet wipe to clean up, job done.

Dressed in thermals, balaclava, double layer gloves and down-filled wind-proof jacket I was ready to go. Rucksacks full of only necessities, extra clothes and food sits heavily on our backs. Big plastic boots and crampons clamped on. We set off linked by a short length of rope, ice-axe in hand. Each with a head torch casting its beam onto the glistening snow for light. The darkness envelopes us leaving each in a tiny pool of light, our own little world. We were oblivious to the world outside the beam. Oblivious to the drop all around.

All the others were long gone, either more practiced or up earlier than us. They had disappeared into the night. We followed in their trail, slowly getting used to the crunch of crampons as they bit into the hard ice. Heads throbbing, pounding with every effort. Here at over 3800 metres the air was thin and cold, very cold. We breathed deeply savouring each breath whilst feeling it cool our body as it entered our lungs. We had acclimatised well over the past three weeks and this our last climb of our holiday. A fitting climax. The big one. Not technically difficult but long and high, very high, 4807m high.

Up and up we went, stars still bright in the sky. Every now and then we spied the twinkle of another party as they turned and their torch was directed downward, another star in the sky above. Hours passed and little was said, we were saving our energy for the effort of the long day ahead as we gradually gained height. The Vallot Hut came into view with the rising of the sun. Its metal walls glinting and glistening a welcome. Here we rested inside hoping for some warmth. None was available. It was bitter, ice cold. Bodies lay around deep in sleep, curled and cocooned in sleeping bags . A cold silence. We whispered not to disturb them . We ate a snack from our lunch packs and tried to warm our fingers over two candles which spread a little light and even less warmth in the gloomy surroundings. We climbed outside again and found the warmth of the bright sun blazing down. How long had we sheltered? Surely not many minutes but looking at my watch we had lost almost 30 precious minutes.

We set off up the approach to the Bosses Arete, a broad ridge to begin with but one which narrows and steepens to become a knife edge to the summit. Up there on the summit trail there were hordes of people. We were, I realised, more than an hour behind them! I likewise realised that when we would be on the narrowest part of the ridge going up, they would be coming down! I thought long and hard as I stepped closer to this inevitability. The passing of what could be a hundred or more climbers on such a spot was not in my plan. This was supposed to be a holiday! It was supposed to be fun! Angie had only worn crampons a few times. A mistake by one or a nudge by another as we passed the crowd could end with a fall of thousands of feet for someone! Furthermore the snow would be softening in the heat of the sun, the danger of a fall increasing with the passage time and of booted feet. Time which was ever passing. Not how I wanted to end a holiday. I stopped. We talked. I explained our position. Angie had followed me up Munros, steep Rock Climbs and now high Alpine peaks doing always as I asked. Complying with my decisions but ignorant of any danger. This time I spelt it out clearly. It was not wise to go on. We were too slow. We had lost time. The mountain would still be there next year. We turned and headed down.

There was still one thing left I had to do though. I looked for a good spot. There on the Dome de Gouter a 4300m high lump of snow, slightly off route we stopped again. It was here I thought I would do the deed. It gave a sense of occasion. Yes, here would do nicely. I asked simply and quietly "Angie will you marry me?" A pause. It seemed an age in passing. Her eyes lit up. She said "Yes". We hugged and kissed. I explained I had intended proposing on the summit of Mont Blanc itself.

The descent to our tent took many more hours of effort but the joy of the day saw us through it. In the valley we celebrated. We had enjoyed a great holiday and had a lot to look forward to.

15 years on we are still together still climbing mountains but we have still to go back and reach the summit of Mont Blanc.