HANGING ABOUT ABOVE THE GRAND BALCON SUD
It was a trip that so nearly didn’t happen. I’d booked the flights a couple of months earlier, on the promise of some late summer sun and fewer people among the mountains above Argentière. And then spent the intervening time attempting to regain some hill fitness without inujuring myself. Predictably a reccuring back problem flared up with a week to go. In fact it was the most painful episode yet and I doubted my ability to travel for the 6 or 7 hours required, never mind run the 6,000ft ascents these hills demand.
Surprising myself more than anyone else it seemed, I went anyway. And to my amazement, on arrival, it seemed if anything that things had improved slightly. It was late afternoon and the light on the granite spires and snowfields above was hard to resist. Swapping a cocktail of cocodamol and ibuprofen for the camera, shorts and a small pack, I set off up the Grand Balcon Sud - probably the most popular trail in the region, but one which offered a gradual climb and short descent back to the valley if things didn’t work, and a granstand view along the way. As I’d hoped, there were very few people about - I passed just two couples as I ran tentatively to the treeline on the rocky path.
There is also some good cragging above the pines. I’d climbed here years ago and spotted some familiar lines above the Aiguillette d’Argentière, along with someone completing a roped solo on the slabs. I passed beneath as they abseiled towards the path and was greeted by an Italian lady - perhaps in her 40’s though it was hard to tell. Her face spoke of a lifetime among the hills rather than years lived below, and was clearly practising the techniques required for something significantly more demanding. She seemed happy hanging out a few metres above the path, and we spoke briefly. I asked of her plans as she organised gear on her harness. These seemed to include everything from big walls in the U.S to first ascents in Patagonia. Visiting friends just over the border in Switzerland, she was simply keeping her hand in before the next trip and like me, enjoying the early evening light across the valley. I sensed she could have told any number of stories from mountain ranges in as many countries, but my back was stiffening in the cool air and I pressed on, climbing the ladders quickly and running slowly, keen to reach a better vantage point before descending.
Too soon it was time to return. I waved as I passed beneath the Italian lady, now high on the cliffs above, and settled into a steady rythumn among the roots of the granite strewn path, alive to the sensation of every foot fall on the steep drop. My back seemed no worse, though the pain flared with any poor footwork. But for now, though my plans seemed pedestrain by comparison to those of the climber above, the possibilities of the week ahead seemed promising.
