Phill Williams wrote:
Now to this August, 2006, and another celebration, much less noteworthy. Nine members of my family, mainly the children and grandchildren in this country, gathered for my eightieth birthday. Encouraged by the grandchildren, we decided to mark the occasion by climbing Snowdon, up the Miners and down the PyG, something I first did in 1944. Unfortunately, my birthday fell on the bank holiday, so in spite of an early start our party, ranging in age from nine to eighty, was nearly overwhelmed by the huge crowds shuffling up and down the paved path: how times have changed!

Shaun West write:
The walk up 900m to the Refugio di Chabod (2750m) had a guidebook time of two hours so as I was feeling groggy I was please to get there in the set time. My climbing partners (a small group of Belgians) were a good chatty bunch and luckily they were happy with my terrible French, which was no worse then their English. Still feeling 'iffy' I managed to eat my dinner (mostly) and then got off to bed only to be woken at 3am for breakfast, oh joy.
The morning was wonderful with a cloud inversion over the valley below. The walk from the hut to the glacier went very quickly but we were the last party, which was good as it meant that we could pick our own speed (slow as I was still feeling 'iffy'). We climbed the lower glacier roped up, moving together. The route is easy and nowhere is it too steep. In due course we joined up with the normal route from the Refugio Victor Emanuel and turned a little to the east and joined the queue of people en route for the summit. The queue was amazing so many people trying to summit and such a small way to the top. The view from top was stunning from the Ercins, across the Vanoise, to Monte Bianco, Grande Combin, Mont Cervin, Dent Blanche and Monta Rosa.
The way down to the Victor Emanuel Refugio was good, a mixture of glissading and walking, slipping and sliding. At the refugio we shared a beer before going our separate ways. I ‘only’ had another 1000m of descent down a desperate zig-zag route to do to get back to the car park. The way down was full of wildlife and would have been very quick without the previous 1000m from the summit!
It is a great route with wonderful views and well worth the effort of a weekend's trip.

Shaun and Shelagh West write:
We’ve been doing our best to visit the entire arc of the Italian Alps this summer, stretching from the Val d’Aoste to the Dolomiti (still to come). The arrival of Jakob in May has kept walks shorter than usual – Shaun has discovered that carrying 5kg or so of baby on his front is quite tiring but at least it slows him down enough for Shelagh’s unfit legs to keep up. The Italian Alps are beautiful and the food, well you’ll get jealous if we say too much. The other reason for the frequent escapes to the mountains (only 2 hours from Milan and visible from the office) is that it is rather cooler and fresher up there than at home with dodgy air-conditioning. The mountaineering highlight of the summer was probably Valsavarenche in the Gran Paradiso National Park. Scenery rating – stunning. Wildlife – tame chamois everywhere. Mountaineering – an ascent of the Gran Paradiso is “do-able” in a weekend (if your family doesn’t mind being abandoned at their hotel for 25 hours) although your knees might ache afterwards.
Shaun's birthday present for this year was a night of peace and quiet away from Jakob - which he chose to spend in a refuge at 2700m in a dormitory with another four people ALL of whom got up at 3am. Foolish really since this is when Jakob tends to wake up anyway.
The reason for all this was that he wanted to climb the Gran Paradiso. Since Shaun wasn't due at the refuge until late afternoon we spent the morning trying the off-road potential of Jakob's pram - and then deciding a walk down the road might be an easier option. Shelagh and Jakob then spent the rest of the weekend enjoying the scenery from a largely recumbent position until it was time to collect Shaun.
Meanwhile Shaun having galloped up 900m to the refuge was almost felled by a dodgy tum. Luckily having to spend the evening talking to three Belgians and an Italian in FRENCH provided enough of a cure to get him out of bed and up the mountain the next day. 2000m of descent were tough despite meeting the almost tame chamois on the way back to the car park, which in early July was bristling with ice-axes, crampons, large rucksacks, heavy boots and smelly mountaineers (it was hot) representing all European nations.

Reiko Elliott writes:
3 AM, got to Caseg at last! Traffic on the M25 was not good and Stuart had to have a nap before we set off from Croydon. The weather forecast was good for both Saturday and Sunday in North Wales, but arriving so late, doing anything hard on Saturday did not appeal. “Well, we’ll see how we feel in the morning.” I thought as we crawled into our sleeping bags.
John Hampton walked into our room looking for a bat. “Crikey, what time is it?” I thought and opened one eye to look at my watch. “Goodness, it’s only 9.30 AM! That’s it….doing anything hard is out of the question and anyway, Stuart won’t be up for it. Damn!” I thought.
It was a glorious morning. A perfect day for doing something hard. Stuart announced that he felt that a cold was coming on and that he was not up to going for Cenotaph Corner but would be happy to second Cemetery Gates if I was thinking of doing it.
Cemetery Gates. Yes, I’ve been wanting to do it for the last couple of years but the weather was never right. Often we would drive past it with me straining my neck to look at it thinking, “One day, I will lead it!” and today, on this perfect day for the climb, I felt groggy, my body felt sluggish, and the feeling of frustration was slowly building up inside!
We decided to go to Dinas Cromlech anyway to have a look. We could even do something like Sabre Cut we thought and if it’s too hot we could always do something on Dinas Mot.
Got to Llanberis Pass at around midday and we were lucky to find a parking spot near Dinas Cromlech. We began the long steep approach to the bottom of the routes. Half way up, I noticed someone on Cemetery Gates. Wasn’t sure if it was a man or a woman but as we got closer, I saw that it was a young woman leading. Suddenly, my earlier thoughts were replaced with “If she can do it, so can I! It’s a perfect day to do it….I would be stupid not to give it a go….Okay, I’ve only just recovered from a lower back ligament injury and my physiotherapist did say that he preferred that I didn’t climb this weekend….but if I can’t do it, I could always retreat…..I’ve got to give it a go……I do feel strong enough …I’ve got to give it a go!”. By the time we got to the bottom of the Cenotaph Corner Area, I had convinced myself that I was up for it….that it was going to be today….my appointment with Cemetery Gates.
After lunch, we geared up and made our way to the start of the climb. Stuart was not pleased about my decision at all! He had allowed himself to feel relaxed about the day as he thought that we were going to take it easy….he no longer liked the idea of seconding Cemetery Gatesl…it was not his idea of taking it easy! I ignored his moaning noises. I’d already made my mind up.
The first pitch felt surprisingly do-able…I was really enjoying it. “This is great! It doesn’t feel half as hard as Manzoku (at Stennis Head, Pembroke) that I did last year!” I thought.
The young woman before me had done the route in one pitch choosing to go directly up joining the last few moves of The Grim Jim and Right Wall. When I got to The Girdle ledge, it made sense to go straight up, so I carried on as well after letting Stuart know of my intentions. A guy was struggling on the last 10 metres of Cenotaph Corner, grunting and talking frantically to his belayer…he eventually made it by pulling up on a cam and I think the relief of getting to the top made him go into a ranting overdrive … he just carried on babbling loudly. By this time, I was wondering why on earth I had opted for the direct route…for I had reached a tricky point ….a man was babbling loudly…..I could not hear myself thinking ….I need to focus…oh God, my arms are getting pumped…quick, I need to put something in….oh, please, shut up, I need to focus…..”Stuart, can you hear me, I can’t concentrate…I can’t hear myself thinking!” I bellowed down, hoping that the man would get the message….I heard the second say “I think she’s having a hard time there …”. “That’s it!” I thought, “I’m going up. I’m not going to put up with this!” I somehow found renewed energy at that point and I powered myself up to the top.
At the top, I came face to face with a familiar face. “Libby?” “Yes” “Stuart, Libby’s up here!” “Yes, I know” he said. Libby Peters, she taught us gear placement five years ago on one of our ULMC meets….what a coincidence to bump into her again at the top of Cemetery Gates!! Now it was my turn to start babbling with elation!
My Cemetery Gates project was complete. Strangely, I did not feel as overjoyed as I did when I “conquered” The Sloth (Roaches) last year. That’s probably because The Sloth project involved several months of continuous roof traversing training in the Monkey Room at Mile End and there was a build up of emotion of anticipation before the day of the climb (23 July 2005) unlike today when events simply crystallised per chance…..but I was happy….what’s my next target on Dinas Cromlech….Left Wall, maybe.

Sue Esten writes:
Gentians, more gentians and yet more – combined with hillsides of alpenrose and masses of pansies to name but a few of the wild flowers we saw – these were the memories of an energetic wander through the Alpes Maritimes. Mike and I started our walk in Tende, on the French side of the frontier and home to a magnificent museum dedicated to the Merveilles, the Bronze Age graffiti. Don’t miss it if you are in Tende! Our route took us to Casterino and then on to the Valmasque hut from which we climbed the Baisse de Valmasque to descend into the Vallée des Merveilles. The Merveilles hut, which has 4x4 access, was heaving with noisy French and we decided to plough on over the Pas du Trem to the Relais des Merveilles in St Grat. The western side of the Trem was chaotic – massive boulders, through which we threaded our way on a faintly marked path. That led to a beautiful valley with the inevitable steep descent through woods to end the day. We then crossed to the Refuge de la Madonne de Fenestre, another hut at a road head, but quite uncrowded and with a superb chef! From Madonne de Fenestre we went to Lac Boréon – a day punctuated by some navigational errors simply due to not paying attention! We spent a couple of nights in the gîte de Boréon and climbed the Cime de Mercantour (2772m) at whose top we were greeted by some cold squally weather. Check out the summit record book if you get there and you will find our names! The day was the longest of the year – which the French celebrate as the Fête de la Musique and the patron of the gîte marked the occasion by offering his clients an aperitif accompanied by ‘la musique’, a large cow bell! Next day saw us crossing back into Italy – we had flown to Turin and ‘trained’ to Tende - in order to start making our way back towards the Italian transport system. We crossed the Col de Salèse and then the Pas du Préfouns, a dramatic col enclosed by towering cliffs. Our destination was the Rifugio Questa. Next day was a hard one and involved crossing the Colle di Valmania (2922m), the southern side of which had fantastically engineered mule tracks, but only a faint path on its northern side. We should have crossed the Colle della Paur, which has permanent snow; its southern side had a lot of snow too – hence the opt-out to the Valmania – a very long way round to our destination, the Rif Livio Bianco. We had a great welcome from the hut guardian and from a party of ‘Bolognese’ who were going to reverse our route of that day. It was a fun end to a very enjoyable trip. Our last day saw us walking down to St. Anna Valdieri from which we caught a bus to Cuneo and so on by train to Turin and the flight home. The flowers were magnificent – the wild life too – lots of ibex, marmots and chamois. Each hut seemed to have its resident chamois population! Oh, and plus tumbling streams, rivers and waterfalls…..

Stuart Elliott writes:
‘Have you brought your sun cream?’ she said as the warm sun appeared momentarily from behind a concrete grey wall of cloud that loomed angrily next to our bright blue sky. ‘No I forgot!’ I replied waiting for the familiar bark. ‘Stupid!’ she said.
We were on our way to visit Rem the fisherman of Clovelly and to meet his beautiful family. As we arrived Rem was outside leaning over his car boot depositing some fish in it. We enjoyed several hours of Rem’s animated tales before departing for the cliffs at Cornakey.
As we parked near Cornakey by the tearoom ‘The Rectory’ I fondly remembered the copious rather lovely cream tea that we had consumed the day before after our energetic recognisance of the right cliff. Gathering up our gear, we crossed the car park and climbed over the stone stile into the churchyard. As we walked through the graveyard I noticed a cluster of the same family names on the gravestones. Nearby a fresh posy of sweet peas whispered of grief, but we did not listen, we had a purpose. We strode past the bleak black shuttered church and past the old vicarage with a sign saying something about being a private vicarage. The footpath wound and descended through a densely wooded copse and as we entered we felt the warm moist air and smelt the pungent wild garlic, wet moss, rotting wood and sickly sweet hedgerow flowers.
We emerged and crossed the meadows, walking up and down a couple of valleys and there in the distance was the enormous cliff of Cornakey. Clean rock sinking into an oozing mass of loose rock and landslide. After taking in the view, we ascended to the top of the cliff and set about gearing up ready for the descent. The cliff top was deserted apart from a distant farmer on a tractor turning the hay. The wind had picked up and the hay field was alive! My eyes attracted by the movement darted towards the swirling grass as wild coarse clumps rose and danced before flying off with the wind forever.
It was 4 o’clock and the tide was now out. We started to descend leaving our water and emergency gear in our bags, which we secured to a bush. It soon became apparent that what had looked like a simple descent was complicated by very loose rock. We hopped from one massive rocking boulder to another. The boulders appeared to be held in place only by a loose network of brambles. Where the rock ran out we jumped into and waded through the brambles, which tore at our clothes and tried to steal our shoes and murder us. With every step our options were diminishing. There seemed to be no prospect of a retreat back up this overgrown no man’s land …. the adventure had begun. The wind was really howling around us now as we finally reached the last 40 feet of the descent. We were standing on what looked like a pile of builder’s rubble and dirt with landslide all around us! We found a ragged in situ nylon rope and inched our way down the pile of dirt as it disintegrated around us.
At sea level we were rewarded with an amazing rock formation. The earth had spewed up rock platelets that had folded over on themselves forming huge black waves. Some of the crests of these waves had fallen and were smashed into the ground around us. We moved carefully away to the beach and safer ground. The beach was covered in wreckage, bright coloured buoys, twisted and mangled wood, metal and plastic tossed like used toys up against the cliff, waiting for the sea to come back and play again. The rocks on the beach were pumice grey and perfectly rounded and as we prepared to climb I enjoyed their cool smoothness under my bare feet.
As we surveyed the gigantic cliff towering over us, we argued about the correct start. There were 3 pitches of about 150 feet each, the first pitch having no technical grade, the second 4B and the 3rd 4A. I was to climb the first 2 pitches and Reiko the last. I set off as the sky turned black, feeling a renewed sense of urgency! The rock was loose and I could not find any protection. However, the climbing was easy and I made good progress. At about 120 feet my nerves began to trouble me as I traversed around the arete and into a chimney. I managed to place a nut but the softness of the rock was worrying and every hold seemed to move. I was searching for gear when I was relieved to see a couple of old pegs up at the top of the chimney. I made a belay and Reiko quickly joined me. The next pitch started well and at about 30 feet I found 3 good bolts, which I realised were the normal anchors for the first belay. This was a little worrying, as I knew that there was a possibility of running out of rope before reaching the next anchor. However, this worry was soon trumped by the beginning of the storm.
Reiko shouted ‘Don’t worry about those spots of water it is only the sea spray!’. I knew she was just trying to reassure me. I moved quickly finding better gear and by the time I arrived at the anchors the rocks were thoroughly wet. I looked back down at the beach and was dismayed to see that the grey white pebbles had now turned glossy black! Reiko climbed easily and reached me as the full force of the storm was on us. ‘I can do the top pitch as well’ I heroically shouted in the howling wind. Reiko thought for a moment then bellowed, ‘No, I’ll do it!’ I felt a double-edged relief as Reiko’s one and only major leader-fall had been in the wet and I was worried that the memory of the trauma may affect her or me. However, Reiko made steady progress stopping only to wait for a gap between gusts of wind to place her gear and once to discard a hold that came off in her hand.
I felt very cold as the rain had found a way into my jacket along with the wind and my body was shaking and my teeth were chattering. I had to sing and dance to keep warm and control my nerves. When Reiko was finally safe, I made my escape and was surprised at how good the wet holds were until my foot slid along an edge like an iron on a wet shirt! I carefully replaced my foot and respectfully continued up to the top.
We made it! We felt exhilaration at the top to have taken on the ‘wreckers’ storm in what felt like one of the wildest and loneliest places on earth. Sun cream was not required.
We made our way back across the field where the wind was strong enough to blow you over. We got back to the car (by now the only one in the car park), changed into dry clothes and very soon found a pub that had a wonderful fireplace, wonderful food and beer. Joy

Geof and Margaret Batten report:
Having read John Parson’s account of his and Joy’s hut-to-hut walking in the Vanoise last year (see Newsletter No 207, September 2005), we were encouraged to spend a week there at the end of June on our way back from a stay at our caravan in the south. We decided to base ourselves at the Refuge de l’Orgère which stands above Modane at 1935m close to the GR5 and which is accessible by road. It offers beautiful views of Aiguille Doran behind and across the valley to the Point du Fréjus on the French-Italian border. All this plus comfortable bunk rooms and superb food, especially for those of us staying for more than one night.
We did three walks from the hut: along the GR5 to Col Barbier; up to Lac de la Partie with a good view of the snow-covered Col de Chavière and a half-day ‘nature walk’ around the head of the valley above the hut. Our other walks involved moving the car: to above Aussois to visit the Refuge de la Fournache with good views back across to the Col Barbier and down to the two hydro-electric reservoirs Plan d’Amont and Plan d’Arval; to Vancendières above Bessans and then by foot to the Avérole refuge at the head of the valley and, finally, up to the Bellecombe parking above Termignon to walk to the Refuge du Plan du Lac and on to the Refuge d’Entre-Deux-Eaux with the massif of La Grande Casse (3855m) behind it. On every walk we encountered the most amazing range and quantity of wild flowers- we think the most spectacular we have ever seen in the Alps- and all in virtually unbroken sunshine.
Like John Parson, we would heartily recommend the Vanoise: easy to get to, great scenery and a network of attractive huts. As always, please contact us if you would like more information.

Nigel Bowen writes:
Tim, can't resist catching up with you!  Do you remember our youngest son,Jamie? - the one that beat you at pelmanism in Caseg Fraith many, many years ago; well he is now a pilot.  He spent a year in China trying to teach Chinese airline pilots how to fly; most frustrating, smog & bureaucracy making the task almost impossible.  Since returning with a lass that he met out there (Liz is Canadian) he has had a fabulous contract flying wealthy o'seas clients around the Southern Alps, landing on the beach in the Milford Sound, down to Stewart Island & up around the Marlborough Sounds: visit their website www.flyinn.co.nz  We stayed with them in their ramshackle farm cottage in Tarras, which is situated in the heart of Pinot Noir vineyard territory, between Wanaka & Cromwell. Jamie used to keep the plane tied down in his back garden & one day flew us around Mt Cook.  I never realised the turbulence is so extreme in the mountains - sometimes trying to descend, with the propeller feathered, the plane is still ascending at 500 ft per minute!  But the air flow is much smoother close to the mountain ridges, so we were flying within 30 ft or so of the mountain face; whilst Penny was sitting in the back having kittens!  A memorable flight, and, at my age, the nearest that I am likely to get to standing on top of Mt Cook!
I was out at Cape Brett a couple of weekends ago (still recovering from the arduous tramp!) and have it in mind to return by sea, as there is a fabulous rock face just offshore, perhaps 300 or more feet high, that is crying out to be climbed; probable standard, a flakey VS, protection uncertain – any takers?!.
That youngest son, Jamie, has returned from Canada & has a job in Queenstown as a "meat bomber" - the jargon for the pilot of a plane carrying parachutists!  So, if you know of any members who want to try parachute jumping during your coming winter, just let me know!

Stephen Olivant writes:
This year’s trip was to the beautiful valleys and quiet peaks of the Gran Paradiso National Park. It used to be a huge hunting reserve for the King of Italy and it has more alpine wildlife than anywhere else I have been in the Alps. We were south of the Mont Blanc massif, so we had better weather than the Chamonix valley. It is easily reached from Chamonix, via the Mont Blanc road tunnel, and I would recommend a visit in winter or summer.
Graham Ball and I joined a Ski Club of Great Britain party led by Bruce Goodlad IFMGA accompanied by Guy, an aspirant guide who had decided after finishing medical school that the NHS didn’t offer enough exciting outdoors work for him. Both Bruce and Guy are smashing chaps and I have signed up for Bruce’s tour in the Silvretta next year. There were three other members of the party including Roger Hobbs, who was on his ninth consecutive week of ski-touring trips… what a marvellous way to spend retirement!
We drove from Chamonix through the tunnel towards Courmayeur and, because the weather forecast was poor, we spent our first day off-piste skiing at la Thuile. I had stayed in this nice little resort on a family skiing holiday years ago, but I was quickly lost when Bruce took us up from the top of the highest lift into clouds and deep snow like well-cooked porridge. Roger broke one ski pole during the ascent but, amazingly, seemed to be able to skin up and ski down without it. He must have been practising during the preceding eight weeks.
We stayed overnight in a splendid old style hotel just off the main road to Aosta and had the biggest meal I have eaten since I was a student. It was a special Easter feast and we lost count of the number of courses the elderly non-English speaking owners loaded onto our table. How they smiled when we held our stomachs and rolled our eyes after each course.
The second and third days were in the lovely Val di Rhemes. We drove past the hamlet of Rhemes Notre Dames to the valley head and then skinned up to the Benevolo hut in the morning. There, we dropped off our overnight stuff and went peak bagging during the afternoon and the next day. The snow was much better than at La Thuile and we had some beautiful skiing down 1,000 plus metre routes chosen by Bruce and Guy.
After staying overnight at Rhemes Notre Dames, we drove round to Pont in the neighbouring valley and set off up a long track up to the Vittorio Emanuelle hut in burning sunshine. Whilst enjoying lunch on the terrace of this amazing 3 storey curved aluminium hut, I left the skins on my skis in the sun, so that some of the glue on the skins transferred it itself on to the skis. Everyone on the terrace enjoyed the sight of me rubbing the skis with my fleece gloves for the next hour or so to get the amazingly sticky skin glue off. It’s a mistake I shall only make once in my life.
We were away early next morning and skinned up the huge shoulder of the Gran Paradiso, before using crampons and ice axe for the last steep snow field. We kept our crampons on for a scramble to a rocky summit with a famous statue of the Madonna. The 4,000 metre summit is the highest (wholly) in Italy and gave a wonderful sunny panorama of the whole Mont Blanc massif and the descent chosen by Guy was the best continuous skiing of the week. The next morning was cloudy, so Bruce and Guy used their excellent mountaincraft to find an excitingly steep ski descent to the main valley. From there, we slalomed around boulders and a scary half-hidden torrent back to the cars at Pont.
Three weeks later, on a 1,200 km cycle trip from Geneva to Venice, and I was able to look across a valley at the Gran Paradiso and have the quiet satisfaction of having shared its summit for a few minutes with the Madonna

Mike Esten writes (below!):
This route, running through Central Switzerland from Realp in the South to Engelberg in the North looked so tempting that this year saw the usual team of decaying oldies hyping themselves up for it. The plan was for four of us to start from Realp, to be joined a few days later by Richard Morgan as we passed through the summer rock-climbers’ Mecca of Goscheneralp. However, whilst I was away in NZ, plans changed. Two of the team due to start from Realp dropped out leaving Dave Lindsey and I to do the most difficult first section as a twosome. The other change was however a bonus in that that Richard, entering at Goscheneralp, would now be accompanied by his son Jon .... who just happened to be a guide coming along for the fun of it, and just happened to be fresh back from a winter ascent of the Eiger North Face. Well, that would certainly be a help !
Dave and I had a pleasant ski up from Realp to the Albert Heim hut although the following 5am breakfast didn’t appeal. The route from there climbed steeply up to the Winterlucke but it was a pity about the view from the top ! The weather was crystal clear with exciting views all around …. until we looked westwards toward the Lochberg where we could see our route leading up from an bottomless couloir where it would be crampons and skis on the rucksac. It looked very exposed and …. we chickened out ! Had there been a third member in the team we would probably have gone on (a twosome is a bit lonely for ski mountaineering) ….. and had it been a misty day obscuring the view we would certainly have gone on ! Having neither of these advantages we skied back down the 1500m of descent to Realp, caught the train round to Goschenen, and walked up to Goscheneralp where we met up with the Morgans.
The following day’s pull up to the unguarded Chelenalp hut carrying our food etc went well enough until the last few hundred metres where it was skis on sac and miserable steep scrambling over rotten snow and rotten rock. Not surprisingly we had the rather spartan hut to ourselves. Next morning saw a continuation of the same terrain until we could get our skis on to climb through a beautiful glacier basin to the Sustenlimi col from where a glacier designed perfectly for ski-tourers led comfortably down between seracs towering dramatically on either side to the comfortable Steingletscher bunk-house and therapeutic beers.
A steep climb the following morning led up through the elegant rock architecture of the Funfingerstock where in worsening weather an unusually steep descent (i.e. an enforced lengthy sideslip for normal people) led to a complicated traverse line to the Sustli Hut which fortunately was guarded.
The following day led past the summit of the Grassen from where, in bad visibility, Jon unerringly picked out our route to the next col, the Wendenjoch where a cornice with a drop of some 10 ft on the other side awaited us. Great stuff ! A wet ski in the mist and sleet down the glacier on the other side under the massive walls of Titlis led to Engelberg and a chance to clean up.
It was a really good quality tour. After leaving Goscheneralp the Swiss Alpine Club ski touring guidebook graded all days between alpine AD and D. And what about the day which Dave and I chickened out on? Well, that was graded D+ and at my age I don’t feel too embarrassed about being chicken at that level ….. but given a bit of mist and we would probably have done it !!!

Green Tour of the Glaciers of the Vanoise Summer 2006
Tom Bryson reports:
I found Pralognan la Vanoise in Oxfam; in a little book, Savoy Episode, by Hugh Merrick, mountaineer, violinist, translator and oldest ever contestant on Mastermind. It is the story of a summer spent climbing and walking in the Vanoise in 1936, it’s a bit turgid, but the black and white photographs are stunning. A photograph of the glacier of La Grande Casse taken from Lac des Vaches shows a river of ice running from the peak to the valley, I wondered if we could view it from the same spot to see how much it had shrunk; and anyway a walking tour of the Vanoise would be a good idea before the ice fields disappear completely.
The glaciers of the Vanoise run in an 80km arc south west from Tignes to Aussois, at their heart is Pralognan la Vanoise a perfect alpine village. None of the buildings is taller than the Church, dark peaks and hanging glaciers dominate the skyline, brown cows graze up to the forest edge and since the “Bureau des Guides” was founded in 1895 it has been a centre for skiing, walking and mountaineering.
Eurostar from Waterloo, a nice lunch in Paris, the TGV to Lyon, and a regional train to Moutiers then post bus to Pralognan wasn’t expensive (you can buy on line at www.voyages-sncf.com for 30Eur in advance); our journey was comfortable, relaxing and surprisingly fast when compared with flying. The drive to the airport, parking, check in, security, hanging about in departures, then being trapped in a tiny seat for hours, nasty food, the baggage reclaim, rental car pick up or transfer to the station for Moutiers leave you completely frazzled. Do your own comparison of all of the costs and you’ll probably find that rail and bus is cheaper than flying.
As a Pensioner I never stay in anything grander than 2 star hotels. The bedrooms in the Hotel Grand Bec are a bit cramped but there’s a view of the mountains and the food is superb, it’s an ideal base for local walks and a few days of acclimatisation before the tour. You can even leave a bag of decent clothes for when you return.
For hut to hut tours carry the absolute minimum, no more than 7kg; waterproofs, fleece jacket and trousers, the evenings are cold at 2,500m even in summer, a change of socks, water bottle, ear plugs and toilet stuff. Huts provide a good dinner and breakfast of sorts but the bread is so old it squeaks when you bite it so carry a few cereal bars.
Your first hut, the Refuge de la Vallette is an alpine classic, perched on a rocky ridge at 2,700m below Mont Pelve. Check in with the gnarled, grumpy old Guardienne, she will give you a numbered place on the communal sleeping bench upstairs. Rucksacks and boots stay downstairs and you take your kit up in a basket. Climbers who intend to do Mont Pelve get up at 2.00am so they are allocated places near the door. It is a truly spectacular setting especially at 3 am when I went to the loo, as Pensioners do, the sun was rising on one side of the ridge and a full white moon was setting on the other behind the glacier.
Day two involves a number of descents and tough reascents on the way to the Col D’Aussois at 2,916m then the final descent to the Refuge du Fond D’Aussois at 2340m. This hut has been recently renovated; it has solar panels, hot showers and a young, charming and beautiful Guardienne who is an even better cook than M. Lafarge at la Vallette. From here to Refuge D’Arpont the next day is a breeze compared with the Col D’Aussois. It is relatively easy to get to this hut from the valley so its best avoided on Saturday night when you find that it’s not just Brits who do binge drinking.
On the last day the trail winds round to the Col de la Vanoise and the Felix Faure hut, the oldest in the region, you can stay overnight or just have a drink and descend into Pralognan by Lac des Vaches to inspect the Grande Motte glacier from Merrick’s viewpoint. Yes it has shrunk; to about two thirds its volume in 1936. But you will have walked through one of Europe’s wildest and most beautiful regions while minimising your impact on the environment, maximising your contribution to the local economy and ticking all the boxes for ecotourism.