Voie Lesueur - Purgatory in the Poubelle

 Under the cover of darkness George and I sprinted through the deserted streets of Chamonix. Sticking to the shadows, big boots clomping on the tarmac, I felt like an off brand spy in a knock off film trying to sneak through an enemy stronghold. It was 4 am in the early months of 2020 and lockdown had just been brought in across the country. We had decided however, that the weather was too good to ignore and that the North face of Les Dru was our nearest objective. Walking up the mountain path we jumped at every shadow, convincing ourselves the Gendarmes were hiding around every corner waiting to fine us. By the time we reached the Montenvers station we had managed to talk ourselves out of it – we didn’t want to be made an example of. I could see the headline with our faces underneath: “Arrogant Brits flout Covid lockdown to climb Dru North Face”. Thus we hurried back down to avoid getting caught on the street without an excuse before curfew was lifted. 

Spring 2021. Although still plagued by restrictions we were mercifully allowed into the mountains, so with a similar weather window myself and Connor Read decided to head back to that tantalisingly pointy mountain for a winter ascent.

Connor breaking trail during out 8 hour approach

The Lesueur route, climbed in 1952 (First winter ascent 1983), follows a strong line that traverses the north face and spits you out at the Breche du Drus.  Mid pitch - I attempted to delicately traverse out over empty space hoping to find a crack line heading up, I couldn’t help but be astounded at the cunning involved in finding a route like this. My friends give me grief for over-using the word outstanding but the climbing on this route was consistently out-standing!   

One of the most spectacular bivi spots in Chamonix

The 2am alarm wasn’t jarring; dazzling moonlight had kept both myself and Connor awake as soon as it crept around the side of the Dru.  Skinning up to the base of the Allain-Leininger route, we made steady progress through the dark. As I motored up the snowfield above, headtorch off, climbing by moonlight I couldn’t help feeling somewhat guilty about my situation. We were lucky enough to be allowed into the mountains during a pandemic that was confining many people to their homes. Unfortunately, I had to snap out of this reflective state and switch on as the climbing ramped up towards the series of crux cracks and chimneys.

Alongside first light sneaking over the horizon Connor made his way steadily up a pitch leading to the first crux. Thereafter, we found continuously engaging and wonderfully intricate climbing. Never desperate, each pitch required constant attention.

Climbing with bags on is never fun but abnormally we felt relatively light and made steady progress to the base of the crux chimney. Leaving my bag at the belay I started up towards the intimidating overhanging chimney cracks which form a sort of chimney at the top. This was the famous Ueli Steck - “yeah baby!” moment I’d heard about and when I reached it all I could find to shout was, “it’s surprisingly steady!”, I’m not sure anyone will be writing books about me any time soon.  I have yet to learn the art of creative exaggeration in my re-telling of routes.

On the 'Crux' pitch 

 The real crux for me came much higher, desperately tired and requiring food we reached the snow ramps with an “M4 chimney” in the middle. This turned out to be a desperate pull through a small overhang with approximately no footholds. Hilariously we had been using an otherwise fantastic NZ alpine club description of the route, which states:

 "Move together for around 4 – 5 pitches with a stiff m4 corner in the mid-section (put tibloc on after the corner to protect the leader, then left moving snow traverse."

I think most mortals wouldn’t mind a belay on this section. I’m not sure I would have been happy to stick on a tibloc on and keep climbing even if I was fresh. My feet scratched desperately to find any tiny crystal for purchase, cursing anyone who calls this M4 !  Shortly after we climbed the crack pitch to then abseil onto the ‘plush ledges’, space for 2 just about I’d say! We melted snow and made food; Connor repeatedly nudging me awake to eat the meal slowly cooling in my sleeping bag.

 The morning brought the 6b crack pitch which I started up without crampons or gloves, mistakes were made. The crack is short lived and relatively straightforward; however, with increasingly numb hands to worry about I hurriedly swung into suspect snow pulling up on my axe which promptly ripped and left me hanging on my gear, frustrated having wasted the on-sight on a move I could do. Following this we climbed a series of simple but burly chimneys and moves, bringing us to sugary slabs. The kind of slabs, which require a good breaststroke and steady head instead of strong arms. Eventually the top of the Petit Dru came into focus, the Grand Dru rising up to our left. 

Connor going down to sit by the ever watchful summit Madonna

Thankfully the descent down the north couloir is straightforward (and spectacularly steep) having been equipped with V threads and tat from the parties before us this winter.

Connor on relatively simple but steep descent in the North Couloir

And like that we were finished ! So we thought as we sat in the sun melting snow at our bivi spot from the day before. As always in the alps, you’re never finished until you’re in the car, we hadn’t thought about the fact that we still had to tackle the 300m couloir called Poubelle, which I later found out means trash can.

As we approached the Poubelle in the heat of the afternoon, we could hear snow sliding from slabs all around. A crack whoomphfed into existence beneath Connor’s skis which propagated across the basin, setting off a medium-sized avalanche that stopped us in our tracks. It was the classic moment where you know you should stop but home is in touching distance, that deeply uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach twisting your mind. Connor made some very convincing arguments for sitting down until the temperature dropped, so despite our desperate need for pizza we sat and watched the sun drop over the mountains.

As anyone who climbs in the alps will know, stopping for any reason feels un-natural. Thus followed an un-natural 3 hour pause; listening to music and sleeping in the sun, sounds blissful, unfortunately my exhausted body and empty stomach was unsatisfied with the change of pace and urged me home. Thankfully with phenomenal willpower Connor repeatedly told me no, wait just a little longer.

At 8pm we started our purgatory in the Poubelle, I believe this is something of a rite of passage in Chamonix but as I took the first few steps up the couloir with my skis, boots and bag on my back I genuinely nearly gave up. Despite all the scary climbing of the past few months, this moment tested my mental capacity more than anything. Playing footstep roulette, possibly sinking to your waist, on a 45-degree slope when you’re already beyond exhausted in something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Crawling out the top of that thing at 10pm brought a new sense of elation I’d yet to feel in the mountains (turns out a friend had done this same thing with 25kgs on his back so fair play!)

We had finally reached the recognised ski area again; skiing perfect piste for the first time all winter top to bottom was a moment of pure relief, who knew piste could be so enjoyable!

This brief but painful ordeal did remind me just how powerful the mind is when it comes to pushing on or backing down. Okay, that’s a fairly unoriginal statement; I’m hardly the first to point out the necessity of mental resilience and that the ability to dig deep mentally can over-ride most physical exhaustion. I have never had to dig so deep climbing because there is a reward in the pain but slogging up that couloir was something else entirely.

Thankfully with that memory almost a year away now, the anticipation for a new season of slogging, wading, suffering and shivering has returned. Winter, as it has for generations of climbers, holds more for the soul than easy days on rock, no matter the grade, the winter experience is like no other. Everything feels like your own micro expedition, battling to walk 100m from the carpark or desperately tunnelling through a cornice. So let’s get after it!

Ps.

Like many others, I have been having a bit more of a grapple with mental health these last few years. As we know, not all issues are equal in their magnitude, not all depression is crippling, not all anxiety comes in tidal waves. Some battles are easily visible and others impossible to perceive from the outside. This does not diminish at all from the need to address them. What last winter really brought to light is just how all-consuming the regular small habits of negative self -talk, indulging insecurities and letting them take hold can be. I have found the need to find ways of over-riding negative mental patterns more pressing than ever, there is an increased urgency in the need to confront the dark shapes in the back of the mind. I feel urged to write this because I’ve seen them moving in others, the 2020 season was plagued by friends battling to keep their heads above the emotional waters. I include this, because I think to write about adventures and not the reality behind the photos, feels like feeding the toxic perma-positive world of social media. This is just a reminder that behind all of the outings there is a wealth of other days where the mountains are much less physical.