Chamonix, June 2002

Baz and I had decided to make the most of the UK's momentous Golden Jubilee by leaving the UK for a week and heading for the French Alps to test our mettle on Europe's finest mountains.

We drove across France through the night, covering the 550 miles from Calais to Aix-les-Bains in 6.5 hours, and dropped my friend Nick and his charming daughter Elea-Jane for their holiday at 8am by the side of a divinely sunny Lac du Bourget.

Baz and I moved onto Chamonix fairly soon and pitched our tents in the glorious sunshine. Too tired to walk after the overnight journey the rest of the day involved watching the world cup, playing pool, drinking beer, reading and sleeping - thus setting a pattern for the rest of the week.


Crocodile Dundee at base camp		Where's the hill?	The Mont Blanc Massif	Sleeping beauty

Chamonix is in a fabulous location, throughly justifying its reputation, sitting at the foot of two great ridges of peaks that look exactly like mountains should do. Great glacial tongues lick the fringes of the lower forests while the needle summits (Aiguilles) play hide and seek with the clouds

Feeling lazy on the Sunday we opted for the cable car ride up to les Aiguilles du Midi. The cable car was apparently built as some kind of bet and involved huge teams of Alpinistes dragging the cable up to the fabulous summit.


At the mid stage	Les Grandes Jorasses		The Mont Blanc Massif and the Massif Baz

The supervillain like mountain-top viewing platform (and associated restaurants and gift shops) lets lazy tourists and earthbound walkers catch a glimpse of the places climbing heroes strive and die to achieve. At the 3800m summit, on a clear day, an astounding mountain view opens up, the Alps lazily showing off their classic peaks - Les Grandes Jorasses, Les Drus, Mont Blanc - in a benign way.

In order to assuage the guilt caused by using ski lifts and cable cars we decided to head up other side of the valley the next day. Sneering at the cable car on offer from the town centre, we ascended to 2000m through the glorious pine forest, slowly putting distance between ourselves and the bustle of Chamonix.


A forest walk with Baz		Les Drus	Chamonix	As wet as Wales

Once we reached the first cable car stop we looked upwards at the peak, a further 600m higher. And looked upwards whilst the large electrical storm rolled in and the rains started falling. Whilst looking cool (and actually being entirely unnecessary) carrying a large, pointy, wet ice-axe on the outside of my rucksack in a lightning storm got us both a bit nervous and we opted to traverse the mountain on the Grand Balcon Nord instead.

It could have been lovely, instead it was just wet.

The next walk was Chamonix to Montenvers, and this time the weather was in our favour. Again the path weaved through Alpine forest, and again the shady corners of the path were filled with lush mountain smells and verdant vegetation.


The climb to Montenvers		Les Drus

Once Montenvers is reached, the sheer North face of the Petit Dru launches itself up from the other side of the valley. It looked peaceful, lonely and huge.

Beneath flows the Mer de Glace, the kind of glacier that only appears on TV documentaries


Mer de Glace (disappointingly inaccurate translation: The Sea of Ice Cream)			Just one step further back Barry

We walked back along the Grand Balcon Sud with staggering views of Chamonix. Just as we reached the cable car the weather turned, and with alarming speed, clouds and rain descended on the hills. We later found out a couple of British climbers went missing at the same time.

The final walk of the week was to be our only proper summit, the Aiguillettes des Possettes, a 2400m peak at the end of the valley. The night before had been heavy, with me proving my mastery of the poolic arts over a confused and befuddled Baz. I paid the next day in hangover.


Setting off, hungover "like a motherfucker"		A lovely view	An unlovely view	"Like a shrew in the cold" apparently

The weather stayed perfect, cool, but with high shifting clouds that allowed for views of the peaks all around


Hip-hop hero	Still no need for the ice-axe	The crowded summit

As we descended the day got warmer and better, and we finished in time to watch the afternoon's World Cup Game.


Some mountains, yesterday	The walk off			Hip-hop hero (again)

There was one final treat left on the trip, a drive over the Col du Galibier. We drove up and up, around insanely bendy hairpins and past melting snowbanks, over the painted names of cycling heroes until we reached the impossibly high summit. There the clouds had cleared.


Scientist prove that the col is 2645m high			From the top

If you would like a high resolution copy of any of these pictures, mail me