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#44. Chamonix Redux: 17-18 June 2024

Updated: Oct 17

A knee injury in October 2023, followed by a 4-day, 48-mile hike in Chile, landed me back in PT. Despite 2-3 sessions a week for six months, I could no longer deny the reality of my situation; I was not back to 100%. Dr. Heard, the family orthopedic specialist, ordered an MRI. Results: a torn meniscus combined with moderate arthritis in my right knee. In the past, Dr. Heard famously said “your injury may hurt you, but you can’t hurt it” (meaning, you won’t do yourself more harm by continuing with your usual routine). This time the message was different and sobering: avoid high-impact activity.The return trip from the DRC via Paris in June 2024 promised to be the last for a while, as I started cutting back on my work at Tulane. Julie invited me to spend a few days with her in Chamonix, where she had again rented a house for two months. Precisely because our trip to Chamonix the previous year had been so active, with non-stop hiking four out of the five days I was there, I hesitated to accept. This year would be different, and it wasn’t clear that I’d be able to hike at all. Julie had watched me struggle to descend the stairs at Walnut St a few weeks earlier and was keenly aware of my limitations.

 

The weather for the two days I’d be in Chamonix could not have been more perfect: cool temperatures and clear skies. Well acquainted with the many mountains and trails surrounding Chamonix, Julie proposed a hike that she figured would be feasible: six miles total, 1200 feet in elevation gain. As we hopped on the train that passed a quarter of a mile from her house headed for the Vallon de Pierre à Bérard, I wondered if she and Dr. Heard had the same definition of “mild hiking.”

 

The train left us directly in front of the trailhead, and we lost no time in getting on the trail. In a previous life, I would have classified the route as “easy.” But as we continued to move up the mountain, I was very conscious that every step upward would require a step down on the return. An occasional misstep reminded me of my problematic knee, but for the most part I seemed to be doing fine. Moreover, the scenery was a great distraction: the snow-capped Alps surrounding us on all sides, the canopy of foliage covering the trail.

 

 


We detoured up a set of metal stairs, feeling a spray of mist from a raging waterfall descending the side of the mountain.

 

As we continued upward, Julie suddenly stopped in her tracks. Standing a few feet away from her were two adult and a young ibex (wild mountain goats), sporting very impressive horns.

 


The leafy trail gave way to a large stretch of meadow that leveled out for almost a mile and a half.  Soon our destination came in view: a refuge (small restaurant/hut) perched well above us on the side of the mountain. This quarter mile of zigzags might have been the steepest portion of the trail. Julie figured we had it made; I wouldn’t give up with the hut within our sights.

 

 

We made ourselves comfortable at the picnic tables by the hut. Julie was finally able to make good on her promise of blueberry pie, a staple of mountain refuges (she assured me) that had eluded us the previous year. As we enjoyed our lunch, several groups of climbers continued up the mountainside behind us. I was relieved to learn that that was not our plan.

 

 

As we prepared to head down, I dared to believe that my knee would continue to cooperate. By now I had unconsciously developed a system for protecting it: walking normally if the next step were less than a 6-inch drop, leading with my right leg if it were more. It seemed to work. Soon I had something more immediate to worry about. Another ibex with imposing horns was firmly planted by the narrow trail. How pleased was he to be sharing his space with intruders?

 

 

Some five hours after we’d started the hike, we were back at the trailhead – none the worse for wear. Instead of just reveling in the satisfaction of completing this (albeit modest) hike, my mind was already racing ahead. In the period of five hours, I moved from being convinced my hiking days were over to reprogramming my summer. Could I climb Black Elk Peak in South Dakota the following month during the Highpointers Convention? Might I reconsider Katahdin in Maine in August?  We celebrated the triumphal hike by stopping at Richard’s ice cream stand in downtown Chamonix for a double cone of passionfruit and blackberry sorbet.For Day #2, Julie had planned a trip up l'Aiguille du Midi, a must-visit tourist destination in Chamonix. A set of cable cars carries thousands of tourists a day to a lookout station and museum built atop one of the highest promontories in the area. An impressive feat of engineering, this structure consists of multiple walkways, rooms, and lookout decks, affording a 360-degree view of the surrounding mountain ranges in France, Italy, and Switzerland. From the lookout points, it becomes far easier to understand the location of the different peaks and the routes to reach them than from street level in Chamonix.

 


Most of the passengers on the cable car were tourists like ourselves, including a group of 40 Chinese who shared our cable car. But there were also some serious alpine enthusiasts, identifiable by the gear they carried and the boots they wore. We watched as different climbers roped up before exiting through a snow cave onto a steep, narrow path that would take them to level ground below to begin their respective excursions. Through the telescope on one lookout deck, we watched with fascination as climbers inched their way up the glistening slopes in the direction of Mont Blanc, eventually looking like ants as they became more distant. Julie traced the route that she and her guide Dimitri planned to take on their own ascent up Mont Blanc later in the summer.

 

Closer in our line of vision were rock climbers, there to traverse a jagged ridge of boulders that eventually circled back to the very platform we were on. One group of eight teetered on a ridge with little forward motion for almost an hour. Apparently one of the climbers had “frozen” at the prospect of rapelling down a near vertical rock wall, creating the roadblock for the remaining seven. Julie could feel their pain, having traversed this ridge herself in the past. “The problem up there is that the winds are coming at them in both directions, and on the other side from us is a vertical drop-off.” Yet another set of rock climbers were ascending an 80-meter rectangular gendarme (vertical block of granite). Julie surmised that they were shooting an advertisement with the iconic Mont Blanc in the background.

 

 

As we moved between the different lookout platforms, Julie pointed to other peaks of granite that jutted out against the horizon, identifying those that she had climbed. As proof, she produced photos from her phone of her perched on top of these unfathomably challenging structures. I knew Julie was a superb climber, but seeing the actual peaks she had summitted gave me a whole new understanding of her level of expertise and drive.

 

 


It was fun too to view the historical photos through the ages of mountaineering. If Mont Blanc represents a significant challenge for today’s well-equipped hikers, what about climbers a century ago with beret hats and thin leather boots, who brought along a blanket to protect themselves from the elements? In 1808, Marie Paradis, the first woman who summitted Mont Blanc, appropriately wore a skirt.


As if I weren’t already shocked/scared by Julie’s exploits, we then visited the room that introduces visitors to the array of dare devil sports that challenge the crazies who participate in them: clawing oneself up a wall of ice with two ice axes (no ropes), using one to stay in position, the other to advance. Tightrope walking over a line 1.5 inches wide extended over a cavernous gap (although in this case the climber is attached to the line in case of a fall.) Paragliding - hurling oneself into the void before pulling a rope that unfurls a colorful sail. Most terrifying were the skiers who shot down a 45-degree slope that had no “level spots” to slow their downward motion. Julie explained that there is one turn that was essential to execute correctly if the skier hopes to survive. I came away from this display in awe of the persons who risk everything to show themselves and the world that they can pull off such feats.As we rode down the cable car, Julie mentioned in passing that the one piece of equipment she was missing for her own summer’s exploits was an ice axe. Having just exited the dare devil room, I insisted we detour past the local sporting goods store and that she buy the most expensive one on the shelf. Having seen the peaks that she had already scaled and the challenges she was planning to undertake this summer, I wanted to make some small contribution to her coming home from them safely.


 


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