Looking
back: Thoughts on Frendo Spur.
[If
the terms “Engineer” and “Artist” make no sense then that's
ok. It means you'll have to read through a book by Mark Twight called
Extreme Alpinism. Other than being full of useful information
based on his own experiences, it's full of stories and opinions in a
blunt and witful style that makes it a fantastic read, especially
seeing as it could be quite a boring textbook on alpinsim]
The
Engineer
It's
seem like all the route we've done up to this one have been training
for Frendo. I'd like to think when I look back that Frendo itself was
used a training for bigger and better things. Through out each trip
into the mountains I've been doing little things like keeping an eye
on how much gas we've used so that I don't over prepare, making note
of what gear was actually used and what was just left in the pack
(like my down jacket, which was left behind) and how much I need to
keep on top of a mirad on little things that don't seem important at
the time, but in the long run are important... like drinking and
eating.
We
did almost everything right on Frendo down to spending weeks before
hand training up on other routes, constantly getting used to
different snow conditions throughout the days, carrying almost only
what we needed. We're almost on first name terms with the guides at
their office in Chamonix (they have a funny smile, which seems to say
“oh no, here come those British Lads again” every time we walk
in) after going in over and over to ask about conditions and routes.
Hell, this was my 5th proper alpine route and Andy's 4th
and he's ony been ice climbing since Easter this year! We were lucky
with our ascent, not because we needed to be but because we prepared
for it correctly.
I
don't think it was all a fairy tale ascent though. We didn't drink
enough water (barely 1.5 litres each) throughout the day and by the
end of it we were both lagging and suffering with dehydration. It
also meant that we had to force loads of water down our necks at the
bivi. Eating was another issue, but in an odd way. We had surplus
food by the time we'd finished which meant that on both days we'd not
eaten enough during the day. I know day one seemed to consist of a
couple of bars of chocolate, some goats cheese and half a pack of
Frites (the cheapest of sweets from Super-U). Day 2 wasn't much
different after we'd had breakfast as it was back to the frites from
me and virtually nothing for Andy. It's just a small thing to
remember for next time I'm climbing. I'll make sure I'll put me food
and water in the top of my pack so that I have them ready to hand at
each belay or whenever we stop.
I
know some people will think it quite sad that I do this after each
route, sit down and analyse the climb to see what I could have done
better but I don't care. I like to think of each climb as a learning
experience (some can be a lot of steeper than others!) and being able
to do this might just make me a better performing, safe and faster
climber.
The
Artist
Looking
back how was the route; what did I enjoy and what didn't I enjoy? The
first isn't hard to answer at all. The ice on day 2 was my favourite
part of the whole experience, made all the better after spending the
night on the ledge and watching the sun go down. We'd spent hours
deciding whether to go left or right for days really, but in the end
right was the obvious choice as far as I was concerned, it stay in
the shade till later and was longer, longer being important. I don't
get to climb as much ice as I'd like so when I do I'll take the
opportunity. Climbing ice is so unbelievably simple, from climbing it
to belaying on it to everything about it (ok, I know it's not
actually “simple” but compared to technical rock climbing it is).
Everything in my mind quiet, like some form of bizarre meditation
where all I can here is the screaming of my various muscles (mostly
my calves). The screaming sounds like the noise at the end of a
tunnel though, it doesn't realy bother the solace in my mind.
The
other side of it is when the ice meets the rock. Then the mind is
focused, so much on a point (literally sometimes on the point of my
axe or crampon) that everything is still silent. I have no worries,
no cares, no concerns . Whatever is going on in the rest of my life.
The climbing is suddenly engaging, like climbing a steep slab where
at any moment your foot could go... but instead it's somethings all
your points of connection. Working out how I'm going to haul myself
up some steep groove with weird cracks and small amounts of ice just
mentally sandblasts me. It feels like my mind has been cleaned out
and all the little things don't matter.
Sadly
you can't stay up there forever and sooner or later the rope pulls
tight at your waste. It's the end of the line and the pitch is over.
In the smallest way it's back to reality but you know there'll be
another pitch. When the climb is over is when I get really sad. You
just don't know when the next one will be.
Oddly
enough it was the rock climbing on the first day that I enjoyed the
least. There is plenty of rock in England and I get to climb on a lot
of it but there's not much ice and mixed. I spent most of the time
thinking “once this rock is over then it'll be back to ice and
possibly mixed, just keep climbing and waiting”. That's probably
quite a sad way to view it but it was just a means to an end. I like
rock climbing when it's challenging.
