June 22, 2008

As far as climbing goes I describe myself as being semi-retired. Which basically means that I've stopped going to the climbing gym and dont train very much at all. About all that happens these days is that Leila and I go jogging, great for soleus but lousy for brachioradialis. So I dont do much heavy lifting anymore.

Martijn had found himself abandonded for couple of weeks as Lara resumed her globe-trotting ways, and therefore was a bit starved for entertainment. While we were down at the Andorra bar watching Holland get trashed by Russia in the world cup he asked me if I wanted to go climbing the next day. I was a couple of beers into the evening and therefore agreed. We didn't even discuss where to go, just sorted out a time for Martijn to pick me up which was neither too early for me nor too late for him. Bloody hell, the football was really boring.

In the airconditioned comfort of Martijn's hulking great black eco-destroying SUV we discussed the plan. He asked me if I wanted a long hike but easy climbing or a short hike and hard climbing. He maintains that I chose the latter, but I only did it when after first selecting the former he looked so crestfallen that I changed my mind. I figured that Martijn could do all the leading and it wouldn't matter where we went. Two hours later we were at the Klausenpass, parking next to a cow-shed and getting suited up.

Neither of us were particularly well-prepared for the hiking. Summer had come a little late this year, and although it was pretty hot there were still large patches of snow around the place. We could already see that it would be impossible to avoid them. I was wearing sandles and Martijn had footwear only slightly less inappropriate. Oh well, at least I had remembered to bring the 60+ sunscreen this time. The hike up turned into a bit of an epic by itself. We tried to avoid the snow as much as possible, not always succeeding, but this had us scrabbling around (frequently on our hands) across very slippery talus. We ended up doing a fairly hairy traverse as we tried to correct a slight navigational error (lost the trail) and get to where Martijn wanted to climb. We each had a bit of an uhoh moment, getting stuck on narrow shelves covered in dreadfully loose scree and having no clear idea of what to do next. Falling down was a poor option.

Nevertheless we found an appropriate trail, got to the base of the climb that Martijn had selected and I took a proper look at the guidebook. Agh, even on paper the climb (Le coeur de la mer, 6c) looked bloody hard. All leading will be done by the big bloke. It was too, but in the end Martijn only managed three pitches. It wasn't his fault, after I followed the first pitch (6b) there was nothing much left in my arms and he had to literally pull me up the second (harder 6b, which took me forty painful minutes) where I announced that the charade must summarily end. I belayed for him as he went up the third pitch but did not follow, preferring to bake in the sun on a thin grassy ledge and admire the spectacular view (I could see the stark profile of the Gross Ruchen [3138m] southwest of us). Martijn abseiled back down and then we both descended to the base. The walk back to the car had us both slipping and sliding down precipitous snowfields, which I had to stop and tip out of my sandles every few hundred yards.

Jumping on something that tests Martijn (who is, as far as anyone can tell, a very large collection of ambulatory muscles) probably doesn't make for a wise first choice of the season.

I didn't take my camera along, but there are some photographs (taken by a fellow called Marcel Dettling) on the web which show the location and climbing route very well.