Looking at photos of the recent club trip to Chamonix, I got to reminiscing about my own trips there and was inspired to write a poem about an ascent of the iconic Rebuffat-Bacquet route on the South Face of the Aiguille du Midi, back in August 2012, with Tim Larrad. (For those of you who like technical details, it’s in haiku – three line verses of 5/7/5 syllables. And yes, I do really love long words!)
Rebuffat-Bacquet, Aiguille du Midi
still warm to the touch never let finally cool – orogeny’s fire
bright granite aiguille burning through millennia of Chamonix sun
our needle of noon rushing from the glacier emptying the air
in high summer Alps: struggling from boots to rock shoes stork-like on the snow
canicular heat irradiates brain and bone exalts rock and sky
so beauty dazzles crystalline, imperious orange and cobalt
but granting passage to suitors from the snowline treading so softly
through their doubts and dreams up sinuous cracks and flakes layback, bridge and jam
hours merge, shadows shift ticking round the Vallée Blanche till we flop, sprawl, bask
complete at the top… now just multiple abseils to pick up our gear
and catch a late ‘phrique: mist phantoms gather and dance along the last ridge –
clumsy with fatigue back to the sun decks and shops threading the summit
still in harnesses clanking with ill-sorted gear and dying for beer
long holiday queues and two hours’ wait for the ‘phrique – but mountain sense tells
at the info desk: flash your unpacked cams and win the magic tickets
alpinists only and straight to the next car down: the attendant smiles,
touches hand to brow:
mock salute or shield against
the glow from our eyes