Le Dernier Combat- Super Couloir solo

Some climbs stay with you. Through the years they linger always there just above or below the conscious. I had first been up to the Super Couloir on the Mont Blanc du Tacul in 1988 with Mark Bebie, we had done the Eperon Croz and Le Ginat on Les Droites so the Super Couloir seemed a sure thing. There was ice all the way down the first section but water was running beneath. We waited for the cold but Mark was no longer there, he was dreaming of a woman who didn't really care for him anyway, we bailed...

Mark later did the route with another guy from Seattle but they avoided the direct start going up the Gervasutti. That guy died on Mt. Hunter in Alaska, mark was killed on Slipstream a year to the day after I had gone solo up this one, two other guys from Seattle died with him.

I went back up in 1989, then in 2005, in 2008 I wanted to go but my partner was "sick", France was a long way from Colorado...

Suddenly I was back in France at La Gorzderette I climbed on the incredible ice tower there every day. Damien Souvy graciously took me down the Bellecorte north face so I could practice my skiing, the weather was perfect so I made my plan, drive to Chamonix early, catch the first telepherique up ski to the Super Couloir solo up to the end of the ice rappel down ski down to the Montenvers all in one day.

I had food poisoning early in the week now a cold. Still, this was it, there would be no other chance, I could sleep on the plane. I put my climbing boots, crampons, harness, helmet, two quick draws, my F2s and gloves in my pack, water, some biscuits. There was no new snow in the Mont Blanc Massif. I skied the boiler-plate neve down below the MBdT then skinned up for a look...

The route Jeff Lowe called "the most compelling high-mountain ice route I have ever seen" looked dry only rock shone on the steep initial section. Not only that but there was a party on the climb moving slowly up the initial mixed section, plenty of ice on the nearby Lafaille which would still be a good send...

But I had not come across time and the Atlantic ocean for this, it was to be the Super Couloir. This was my day in all the cosmos, I had been crowned "Best Climber in the World" at La Gorzderette, after all, what harm was there in having a look?

Changing into my climbing boots I dropped my ski boot it rolled 200 meters down the slope came to rest against a block of ice. No matter, it would be there when I got down. I started up the climbing steep but good ice in the cracks the climbing got steeper but the hooks were solid in the cracks anyway there were fixed pins everywhere I could always rappel if I got stuck.

The climbing is magnificent, there is always a solid hook when I need it. The F2s feel totally secure although it takes a while for my hands to warm up even though I am climbing in full sunlight. There are some small rests but mostly I keep going my eye is on a mass of ice blocking the exit into the upper couloir. The one bad part comes when I bash my shin on a fixed pin, I feel dizzy and sick for a moment but suppress this feeling, if I black-out it is a long ride down the Valle Blanche...

Although a clear day drafts of spindrift pour down now and again filling my collar making for some cold moments, this sets the tone for the day which is move or freeze. My hands thaw right before the ice-exit where two fixed pitons would protect the crux if I had a rope. To these I clip the quick-draws and my tool tethers now if I slip at least maybe I won't crater. I get a good hook in a crack up left then make a big reach over the ice lip for a decent stick but as I pull over an incessant stream of snow pours over the top blinding me, ah, to suffer with such purity...

I don't have to go home but I can't stay here so I power over landing big shots feet in space just like the surplomb at the Tower only here there is no "take!" so I un-clip the last quick-draw and pull over. When I try to stand up though the tether has wrapped around the ice, I'm stuck... I can neither go down, un-clip nor straighten up, choice words in the air and always the snow blasting down my collar.

Finally I manage to reach down disengage the tether but I'm frozen and dazed, too much fun really...

There is ice ahead, then more and more ice, hard, gray unmarked ice save where the French guys have scratched their way up. But I need big sticks to be safe so I blast away big shots with the F2s picks and points now dull from the dry-tool and the file in the car to save weight. My calves protest but then there are my arms to take over all those laps on my home cave pull-ups on the power-board now they don't seem so excessive you can never be too strong only strong enough. Above me at the top of a steep bit the French guys stop then down they come rappelling my way, "Are you going up there?" they gesture. "Yup, I am..." This ends now I tell myself no more pining for the Super Couloir I am NEVER COMING BACK HERE EVER!!!

So as they shrug and slide off down the couloir I steel myself for the final passage, eat some chocolate fix my boots drink some icy water then staying on the left where I can scrum against the rock I throw my hat over the wall and follow it.

On any other day this wouldn't be too bad maybe 5-/5 but now I'm frozen my legs are wasted and my left shoulder is starting to give out. To compensate I tap the left tool with the right to set the pick when all of a sudden the left tool plates out so I'm standing on my rock-smashed front-points 600 meters off the deck with no placement...

Big whoopsie-doodle there so I swing frantically both hands at once like a monkey hoeing lettuce equilibrium restored I toil on until at last I see the rappel station the couloir levels out into a rock-strewn alley I clip the slings and dig into my pack for the 7mm rappel line.

Which promptly tangles like the proverbial love affair, not just then but on every single mother-loving rappel. Plus the 80 meter length is too short to hit most of the stations so there is more profaning plus sketchy down-climbing as I ferret out anchors past and present some so bleached as to defy all trust. But the cold prods me along its go down or freeze to death so I slither down my tiny boot-lace of a rope comforted by the fact that I've lost so much weight in the preceding week shitting my guts out that the heaviest thing about me is my new gold crown.

At the top of the mixed bit the light is starting to go I drop over the edge marvel at the angle of the climbing those Frenchies really have something with that artificial ice tower I must say 'cause without it I never would have got up this thing. In the alpenglow I come to a lonely ledge one ice-encrusted lost-arrow peg sprouts from a crack, I slip one of my four lucky carabiners through the eye clip my twine in mutter "inshallah" and drop in. Thirty seconds later I'm in the snow with a whoop I crab down to my skis gather up my kit and make for the errant ski boot. It's still there albeit filled with snow but I stuff my foot in anyway clip on my skis and begin the world's record side-slip.

Now on a nice day with a fresh load of powder the vallee blanche is one of the great off-piste runs today though with no snow in the last 5 weeks and night coming on it's an icy horror-show. Not only that but to save weight I've left my head-lamp behind in the car I ski by feel mostly keeping an eye out for the yawning crevasses none of which is aided by the fact that my left foot is utterly frozen and insensible.

No matter, the Refuge du Requin has to be here somewhere at least it was 22 years ago when I last came this way. Amid the gloaming the path becomes narrower more steep hemmed in by evil-looking slots when there below the Dent du Requin I make out two yellow spots of light the windows of the refuge...

I opt for the direct traverse which fortuitously leads me right there. Richard the cook is on the deck having a smoke when I stumble onto the icy wood and promptly eat shit going down in a heap, "bonjour" I gargle as I struggle to my feet. Inside it is warm, lit, Burning Sear is playing and the several beautiful young French women who serve as guardians eye the strange creature that has unexpectedly washed up upon their shore from out of the night.

Beer, food, water, wine, follow as I hang my sodden gear give thanks to whatever gods are listening that I am not out on the glacier somewhere slowly converting into a lump of malodorous frozen meat dressed in clashing outfit. I would have slept but every two hours a muscle spasms wakes me in agony, then there are the pee breaks as I have made every effort to rehydrate prior to bed.

Come morning I don't feel too bad although when I peruse my descent route from the night before it is only too clear I have absolutely cheated the hangman. For I divined the only navigable route through a maze of holes turning off at just the right moment going further would have meant a descent into a dead-end maw of jumbled slots. I down a few coffees kiss a few women thank everybody profusely and boogie off down the increasingly stony glacier.

After a long clank up the iron stairs I try and board the train, a recalcitrant Frenchman tries to deny me passage based upon the fact that my ticket was for yesterday. I probably look like I just sacked Rome yesterday, he eyes my jagged ice-tools, shrugs and motions me forward.

On the train down I put my pack on the seat my ski boots up on my pack watch the Grandes Jorasses north face emerge from behind a ridge, the Colton-Macintyre sure looks in...

Photos: Upper- The Super Couloir on the morning of battle, a fairly dry-looking direct start. Lower- The view down the initial mixed section from fairly high on pitch 2. The black spec in the snow is the errant ski boot. Bottom le Refuge Requin, nice... All photos: RCC.