Sitting on the summit, the first thought that came to me was “du hast ‘nen Dachschaden” which roughly translates to “you’re insane”. Though those who know me may be quick to assume that this was me praising myself, the thought held some significant and critical truth. The tone wasn’t dismissive or condescending, but more matter-of-fact mixed with a bit of astonishment and in hindsight it was as if the rational half of my brain was doing a poor job of rebuking me for what I’d just done. In fact, the part of me that had just pointed this out to myself was bewildered and incredulous to find myself sitting all alone on this rocky outcrop, when only a few hours earlier it would never have believed it. An instance later, however, another, more familiar and positive thought surpassed the first: “wow, this is absolutely fantastic”! The reason for this inner confusion was the fact that I was sitting on the summit of the Aiguille Dibona, one of the most beautiful peaks in the alps, after having just soloed the south face in total isolation. Understandably, now that I was sat on the very sharp summit and my mind could somewhat withdraw itself from the fully engaged soloing mode it had been in since the early hours of the morning, what I had just done became a little clearer. And although I had not yet had much time to reflect, I felt tolerably insane and appropriately pleased.
Climbing the Aiguille Dibona had been a wish of mine for a long time, though the idea to solo it appeared only a few days beforehand and at first was nothing more than a joking thought. But for some reason it never really let me go and as the days passed, I thought increasingly more about it. At first I found the motivation, then the weather window, then I found an easy enough but completely classic route of mostly 5a/b terrain and in the end, an idea transformed into a plan. The entire time my reasonable half justified my outrageous planning by saying that by taking some gear I could always bail if I did not feel well and so the whole idea lost some of its severity. Friday evening I had packed my small bag with all the essentials and finally was sure that I was prepared for all. The only remaining unknown was whether or not I would run away in fear when stood alone directly below an unknown 300m face. Knowing that this only mystery – the good type of fear – was something that would keep me safe, I was happy to set off.
Ready to set off into the unknown
Just before 6ish Saturday morning I left my car and made my way to the refuge Soreiller a good kilometer above. After a distinct lack of alpine atmosphere in the past months, it was nice to be fast, light, out of breath and filled with the nervous anticipation of what was to come. Since leaving Grenoble I had not met a soul which facilitated getting into the correct mindset for a big, serious day and as such I was alone with just my thoughts of what lay ahead. This anticipation soon gave way to reality when my approach changed from rock to snow. Lots of hard, icy snow. What should normally be a beautiful hike along a steep riverbed and then open plains now looked more like the Kandahar ski race course and kitted only with tattered trail-running shoes I felt a little dumb. I had considered taking crampons, but had decided it would ruin my plan, and so had rapidly dismissed the idea with an “oh it’ll be fine”. It was quite nearly not fine at all and in the end I think I nearly bailed about five times, each time only to be saved by the beckoning sign of a streak of hiking trail amongst the white. The final meters to the hut felt steep in my shoes and even with the frozen steps trampled by people the day before, I was using both hands and feet to crawl upwards. Were it not for the old tracks I would have had to either turn around or wait for the sun to soften the snow, the latter of which I would need in any case to descend.
The beautiful Aiguille Dibona and lots of snow
Magnificent rock from bottom to top. My route climbed mostly up the right hand side.
I stealthily passed the quiet hut and finally stopped only some meters away from the wall. 300m of featured granite were now looming steeply above and the prospect of climbing that beautiful lump of rock was enticing. The line I was going to take was quite clear and I knew that it would be hard to get lost with the many topos I had with me. Actually, as I stood at the foot of the rock I somehow knew that I could get to the top: I was in a good mindset, I felt my soloing head was on and most importantly I now wanted to do this. Climbing the tower above me would be exactly what I love about climbing: big historic peaks, snowy alpine surroundings, complex long approaches, fantastic rock, interesting ground, moving fast and little gear. This day would tick it all and I knew I would return home satisfied if I did it.
Selfie Sunday below lots of granite
There was however an enormous trouble weighing heavily on my mind and as I was considering this I was once again on the limit of bailing. Having already experienced a slightly treacherous snowy approach, I knew I’d struggle to descend anything steep if the snow did not soften. I also knew that the descent from the peak was steep, currently covered in snow and west-facing. The sun would not reach it until later – when was not clear – and whether or not it would be enough for me to descend with my inadequate shoes was a big concern. I knew I could climb up, but could I also get down? In the end good old psyche pulled me through and I decided that if I could not walk down I would climb and abseil down the same way I had come up. It would certainly be a nuisance with only one rope, but at least I now thought I knew that I could get up and down this peak. With that, I walked to the rock, changed into shoes, harness, helmet and pulled out the topo once more.
The first pitches did not go by as easily as hoped and a mixture of relatively hard climbing and cold, wet rock had me stopped at one belay considering to pull out my rope and abseil down. Tenuous climbing due to unexpected circumstances: a soloists dream… “I’ll just go a bit further and see what happens”, I told myself, knowing that it was still simple enough to run away without any issues with the gear I had. Luckily, the seepage stopped and I could see that what lay above was going to be wonderful. Now fully in the sun, I headed upwards, following my topos, the odd guiding bolt or peg and not worrying about rope-drag, gear or belays, but only climbing. It was never really easy and some sections definitely required some thought, but it was fun. Golden, sunbathed, warm granite, not a single loose rock, perfect crack systems, good jugs and even smearing here and there on fabulous slabs. And to add to all that joy, the steeply increasing exposure was not frightening, but something pleasant that I felt in control of.
View from the Boell ledge
By the time I reached the Boell ledge I was fully immersed in the soloing and was completely comfortable with what I was doing. So comfortable in fact, that when I was having some food on this ledge, I decided I would climb the famous and tantalising Madier crack pitch just above, instead of taking the intended easy way around this section. At a grade of 6a, I would, however, use the rope and gear which so far had only been in my bag. I hadn’t planned on rope soloing anything today unless in an emergency, but all of a sudden the idea seemed brilliant. To say I’ve got experience in rope soloing would be a lie and all I’ve done was try the rope-work while stood wearing a harness in my room. Of course, halfway up the Aiguille Dibona may not be the best place to learn, but I knew that the method I was going to use would at least prevent me from dying and so I was relaxed enough to climb a pitch that should be well within my ability. All set up, with lots of backups, I was happy to try the sparsely bolted pitch. It turned out to be hard for 6a, with lots of smearing and off-widthing, and I was very glad to be tied in to a bolted anchor below. The crux itself needs a size 5 cam to protect, so for my lead it was a rather run out situation and I was more than glad when I straggled to the final peg. In hindsight this could have been a much easier pitch, but on the one hand a lack of gear meant splitting quickdraws which meant rope-drag and on the other hand rope soloing meant faff. Lots of faff. Reaching the anchor, I abseiled down my rope, stripped my gear and began the painful process of ‘jumaring’ up the thin rope with my gri-gri. Watching the incredibly thin rope rub over granite near the anchor as I jumared definitely marked the most scary (and exhausting) part of the day. Lesson learnt, don’t use ropes…
Stripping the fissure Madier pitch I rope soloed
I packed all the gear away again and climbed another pitch to below the next-most famous pitch, the Cannelures Stofer: wonderfully featured granite, riddled with cracks and holds, all wanting to be climbed. One bomber handjam followed another and after climbing a small roof 250m off the ground, I was on easier ground, not far from the summit. Or so I thought. At over 3000m I was definitely starting to feel the altitude and slowed down considerably on the final hundred or so meters and when I finally mounted the summit I was craving a sit down.
Reaching the peak of Aiguille Dibona after having soloed the south face was quite an experience, mostly a mixture of incredulity and delight. The weather was perfect, the view was fantastic and I was sitting alone at the top of one of the most beautiful spires of granite in the alps. Until now, the day had been all I wanted and although I decided I was crazy for apparent reasons, I was content that I actually made it to the summit. Rather contradictory, so far the climbing had been the most enjoyable and least worrying part of the day and the main troubles had been the approach and the descent still to come. Though quite a crazy, almost idiotic idea at first, the more I had thought about it, the less it let me go. And now that I had done the outwardly insane part of my plan, I could sit on a lonely summit, stare at the rest of the Ecrins massive and be deeply satisfied with having turned a wild near-dream into reality. What a feeling.
With all the worries I had about the descent and knowing that in this case the summit was very much only half way, I headed down towards the snow that was thankfully now in the sun. The descent to the hut was only a little sketchy since it was as steep as imagined but the snow had softened enough. Nonetheless, I faced inwards most of the way, to make sure not to fuck it on the final meters. A small wave of relief swept over me when I saw the hut as it marked the end of the dangerous part of the day and an ear-to-ear smile broke out on my face.
It was just past lunchtime, but since I had no food I did not stop at the hut for longer than it took me to take off my harness. And anyway, it was busy, with many climbers planning on staying the night to climb Aiguille Dibona the next day, and the noise was very much ruining the tranquility of my day. From the hut I ran to the car, using the snow to boot-ski most of the way, earning disheartened looks for my easy progress from those who were slaving uphill with heavy packs. Back at the car I lay in the sun for a long time, tired, achy and as content as I could be, having found an enormous adventure only a good hour away from my house. Truly a crazy, and once again mega day, but perhaps not something I’ll be making a habit of.
Some Average Climbing 