The Ascent of Mont Pelvoux 3,946 metres 28th 29th August 1990 My Summary

When I read Phil’s story I remembered that after we returned to England, I made a tape recording of the climb.  I either was too lazy or had no time to write down the details.  Amazingly, I found it in an old tape deck and it is in good condition.

My story with my voice is not as entertaining as Phil’s written word, but I suppose somebody in the family will play it one day and be reminded of me.

There are no discrepancies between the versions, even the times are the same; set off at 5.20am, summit reached at 10.50am, return to hut 14.50hours.

I made more of the dangers we encountered.  For example as we climbed up the Coolidge Couloir the mist and clag crept up the mountain, threatening to envelope us so that we could not see where to go.  In addition, I recorded that crossing the bergschrund was very difficult.  Short climbing on loose rock with crampons scraping for purchase and an ice axe thumping into fresh snow trying to find something to pull up on.

I noted Phil was in good form leading up the couloir.  He climbed for two hours without a stop!

On the descent I recalled that we had three choices to cross over the bergschrund.  Firstly to back climb, but that was too dangerous; secondly to literally run and jump, but there was a high chance of falling and breaking a leg, or falling into an unseen crevasse; thirdly to abseil off the frozen rock.  I noted and respected Phil’s good judgement in choosing the rock from which to abseil.

In my conclusion, I said that I would never forget this day out in the mountains.  I also commented that I was pleased, privileged and happy to be with two good climbers on day that we will never forget.  This is spirit of mountaineering with the Powsers.

Sadly, Phil died about eight years ago following a stroke.  Everyone that knew him misses him.  His sense humour often got him to trouble, but he was able to laugh at himself.  I still vividly remember him singing Danny Boy in Irish accent in a very Welsh Anglesey pub at a Saturday night singsong.  Not exactly the best choice of song, especially as he forgot the words and we were invited to leave!

As I read his story of the Ascent of Mount Pelvoux I heard Phil telling the story.  The words in capitals are exactly the words Phil would emphasise as he narrated the tale. 

It is 21 years this week since our epic adventure.  Doesn’t time fly?

Phil on the summit of Mont Pelvoux with his favourite SNICKERS

Phil and Pete back at the hut after our epic

The Ascent of Mont Pelvoux 3,946 metres 28th 29th August 1990 Part 2

Phil's drawing of the route taken

Ascent of Mont Pelvoux (3,946metres) 28^th 29^th August 1990

By

Phil Winder

Part 2

No problem returning to the col, but the couloir looked a lot steeper going down.  We also had a new problem.  The layer of new snow which had adhered to the ice and provided some support earlier in the day was now AVALANCHING down without any help from us.  Every few steps and we went into an involuntary slide.  OK except that there was a large crevasse below us.  All did several ice axe arrests – Pete decided to turn face into the slope.  Progress was slow.

The way over the bergschrund looked dodgy; it was either a spirited leap or an abseil.  A convenient rock embedded in the ice provided an anchor.  Ray was doubtful.  A channel was cut in the ice round the rock (just like John Hard showed us at Torside J).  Phil tried it.  OK.  Next Pete, then Ray.  The angle of the slope relaxed as we reached the main glacier.  Back to the rocks and moraine and a rest and off with the crampons at last, after 7 hours.  The ice slope was avoided by skirting around it.  All that remained between us and the SAFETY OF THE HUT were the dreaded ICE SERAC BLOCKS.  It was a desperate spot.  The Glacier du Clot de l’Homme hung in natural ice arches above us.  The blocks as big and green as snooker tables were fresh and clean.  Pete scrambled half way across and stopped.  MY GOD he’s stopped in the middle.  ‘I have to clean my glasses’.  Phil shot past him muttering unprintable words.

Twenty minutes later (1400 hours) we were in the ‘nice’ cabine consuming omelettes au champignons and a nice bowl of TEA.  It was Phil’s turn to carry the ROPE AGAIN.  Just below the hut, a loud rumbling (not the effect of the omelettes) signalled yet another fall of ice blocks – thought provoking?  (One of those could alter your looks).

Trudging down the lacets (remember that word?) and along the valley, savouring the tranquillity of the alpine scene and the contentment after an epic ascent.  Past the pinewoods, overtaking tourists, past the towering rock faces – ‘NEIL! NEIL! Climb when you’re bloody ready!’

FIN

Foot notes

—        When making ice axe arrest you should caution it with the words, ‘Anything you say may be used in evidence.’

—        Glacier du Clot de l’Homme – probably means something rude.  Clot is from the verb ‘clore’ – to close, shut or end.

—        Repere – means a mark – this peak has a trig point

—        Le Phoque (m) means a seal – the one that smells of fish

 

P.W.



Couloir Coolidge (photo by Thomas Gurviez from http://www.summitpost.org/ - permission pending)



The Ascent of Mont Pelvoux 3,946 metres 28th 29th August 1990 Part 1

Phil Winder

Ascent of Mont Pelvoux (3,946metres) 28^th 29^th August 1990

By

Phil Winder

Part 1

Not since 1953, when the Queen, after her coronation, climbed Mt Everest with Sherpa Tennison, has the news of a greater ‘feet’ of mountaineering broken on the unsuspecting British public than the ascent of Mt. Pelvoux (Poldu or Poldark according to Ken O’Connor).

When their leaders, John Hughes and Peter Neumann, abandoned the base camp and its rarefied ATMOSPHERE, three members of the expedition remained.  They were (in descending order of weight) Peter Griffies, Ray Withnall and last and certainly least, Phil Winder.  They had resolved to do something BIG.  (But Bob Wint wasn’t there). Their attention was turned to Mont Poldu (sic).

No information was available concerning the route; bookshops were scoured for information, in vain.

‘We will just have to give it OUR BEST SHOT,’ said Ray as Phil brought him his tea in bed that fateful morning on the 28^th August.  The day had dawned warm and sunny with no hint of WHAT WAS TO COME.  The meteo was quietly confident of ‘beau temps’ for the next day.  The first plan was to take the mountain by STORM tactics (a la Neumann / Winder method) but this was rejected because of a lack of confidence in the route and the fact that we thought it would be too ‘naquering’.

Mid afternoon saw our intrepid trio, fully accoutred, moving up the valley path from Ailefroide (1,500 metres).  ‘NEIL! NEIL! Climb when you are ready.  (Pause) NEIL! Where the bloody hell are you?’  Just some Brits on a 1,000 foot rockface.  Other expletives.  NEIL was not very popular.  Someone abseiled from an invisible platform.

The path rose gently up the valley beneath the pines.  Sweat rolled off Pete, even though PHIL WAS CARRYING THE ROPE.  After about 1 ½ miles the path divides (1,932 metres), one along the valley to the Refuge du Sele, the other straight up.  What seemed like 87 lacets (French for zig zags) and 1 hour 40 minutes later, a huge cairn appeared.  The Poldu (sic) hut (2,704 metres) is cunningly set back and not visible until the last moment.  Plan B* looked doomed to failure – La Cabine de Mont Pelvoux was EMPTY.

Alors, the hut lady was very friendly – if a little fat – and produced ‘eau chaude’ and ‘potage’.  Later two guides arrived with their clients – one was to climb Pic sans Nom, which initially follows the same route that we were destined to follow.   Phil, lapsing into fluent vernacular, chatted up, first the lady client and then the guide and was HORRIFIED to hear about the DESPERATE long way up Pelvoux with abseils and large crevasses, until he realised the guide was talking about the TRAVERSE of Pelvoux.  However, the Couloir Coolidge was not recommended – tres dangereux – better go by the Rochers Rouge.

‘Right, we’ll give it our BEST SHOT’, said Ray and we walked outside behind the hut to reconnoitre the start.  The path ran for 50 metres to the base of a grade 2 rock scramble up a cliff.  Should be fun in the dark.  Clouds were covering the peaks as dusk turned into night. 

That night Ray wrote in the hut book, ‘This is a nice hut’.

Time for bed – just seven of us in the dorm.  ‘Thank God Ken O’Connor is not here’, and other prayers for success on the morrow.  Instead of Ken, God sent his second best SHOT, a THUNDER STORM to keep us awake.  The rain lashed down, HOPE OF SUCCESS WAS EBBING – ZZ ZZ Z ZZ……

‘Bonjour, il est quatre heures!’

‘Merci Madamme’, a dit Pierre.

‘Phoque off’, replique Phillipe et Ray.

The guides and clients got up.  ‘Jasus d’ey’re goin on de hill.’

‘Go and see what the sky looks like Pete.’

Peter returns – ‘A bit cloudy, some stars.  You go Phil, see what you think.’

‘Sod it’ etc.  Yes there was a chance, anyway we had PAID IN ADVANCE for morning tea water.  That was the decider.

There followed a leisurely breakfast.  The guides left well ahead of us.  5.20am found our heros blundering up the ROCK BAND to the path above.  Two sets of lights away to the left gave us a rough idea of the route.  Our faint path led us to the moraine below the Glacier du Clot de l’Homme where we were confronted by huge SERAC blocks.  Luckily, we could not see where they came from.  Beyond, a traverse left over broken rock led to a STEEP ICE SLOPE.  So crampons on.  What we took for a path across was just a dark band of the ice – we crossed the ice onto broken slabs, but obviously off route and too high.  Crampons off.  Route found, round a rock bluff and up loose scree and rock ledges to moraine by the Glacier de Sialouze.  Dawn approached – she told us that we had passed the Rochers Rouge, but high up on the right ran the COULIOR COOLIDGE, under six inches of new snow.

Ray was carrying the rope now, so Phil was well ahead.  Pete had taken an original route on the ice, which put him in third place.  We’d passed the rocks SO THE COULOIR IT WOULD HAVE TO BE.  Crampons on…….two hours later, having crossed the bergschrund via a rock ice scramble, and with mutinous mutterings from Ray below, Phil announced that he reached the col and the upper glacier.  JUBILATION and A REST.  NOTHING COULD STOP US NOW. (Is that a pop song?)

The Glacier de Pelvoux was nothing like so steep as the coulior.  At first on the ridge, and then with the ridge a gauche, and roped up, we simply followed the edge of the glacier until we reached the SUMMIT rocks.  It was 10.50am.  Sunlight bathed the glacier and rocks of the Repere on the far side, whilst below a sea of cloud hid all but the Barre des Ecrins (scene of earlier triumphs).  FANTASTIC – CONGRATULATIONS – HANDSHAKES (no kisses) – PHOTOS – EAT SNICKERS BAR and a cup of coffee.  Phil wandered off to a minor summit to check that it wasn’t higher – it wasn’t.

The drop on the left was horrendous.  We solemnly toasted ‘ABSENT FRIENDS’.  ‘This is a nice mountain’ said Ray.  He decided that he would write that in the hut book when he got down – if we got down!  Will Ray, Phil and Peter GET DOWN – Stay tuned for Part 2 of this gripping narrative. 

Commercial break ‘I bet they drink Carling Black Label!’

Ray Withnall in his climbing days

Pete Griffies with Alpenstock and Peels Arms sweater

Twenty One Years Ago This Week!

I think I have to add this blog post to my Life in Asia blog even though it is not about Asia and it is a story about an event that took place twenty one years ago this week.

In some ways there is a connection with my Asian exploits because it is a story of adventure into the unknown, friendship and an element of danger.  At the time I was a very active mountaineer and climber.  My life revolved around finding excuses to climb mountains and rock faces.  The story is set in the year that I resigned as financial controller of a snack food company in Skelmersdale to go to the Himalayas and climb a 6,000 metre virgin peak near Makalu.  I returned to England via India, and after a brief couple of days to change my clothes, I set off for Clavier on the border between Italy and France where I spent six months as a ski technician.  It was the best job I have ever had - the pay was rubbish, but the working conditions were out of this world!

After the snow had disappeared, I spent the summer between England (I wonder where Patsy is now?), the French Alps and Turkey. 

This story is about an epic climb in the Alps, very close to Briancion in the Parc National des Ecrins.  I was climbing with Phil and Pete and between us we trusted our lives.  That is a powerful experience!

My climbing exploits are zero nowadays.  This saddens me, but the journey that took me to Asia started all those years ago.

I was reminded of the climb only a couple of weeks ago by Pete.  He sent me a photocopy of Phil's story of the 'Ascent of Mont Pelvoux 3,946 metres'.  Sadly, Phil is no longer with us.  He died about eight years after a short illness, and we miss him to this day. 

Phil's story comes in two parts but I have added a summary to make some further points.  I hope you enjoy it.

I have copied Phil's story word for word to post in the blog to celebrate the twenty first anniversary of our epic, and in memory of Phil.

The Champasak Palace Hotel

The fact that the photographs of the Champasak Palace Hotel are impressive and the rate offered at www.agoda.com was even more impressive, I was immediately hooked on this gem of a hotel.

It really is a former palace of a former King, really!  Well at least the advertising blurb says so.  I have tried to research the last King of Life, a certain Mr Jao Ma Ha Chee Vit, without success.  It seems the palace was built in 1969, but wasn't this the height of the Indo-China war?  Lao territory was crucial to both sides and the proximity to Ubon's US held air-base springs to mind as well.  From 1964 to 1973 the USAF flew 580,944 sorties, (average of 177 per day!!!), and dropped 2,093,100 tons of bombs.  That's one plane load of bombs every eight minutes round the clock for nine years!

I would love to know more about the construction of a palace in the midst of all the bombing.

However, Mr Jao Ma Ha Chee Vit left Champasak for France in 1975, before the palace was finished.  This probably co-incided with the proclamation of the Lao People's Democratic Republic on 2 December 1975.  The king abdicated and the communist government, fearful of a Royalist reprisal, imprisoned the royal family in a cave close to the border with Vietnam.  Sadly they died and the Lao monarchy was gone for ever.  If Jao Ma Ha Chee Vit was related, he had a lucky escape.  But what happened to him?

The Champasak Palace was renovated in 2004 by Thai investors. The result is an excellent and fine example of Laotian craftsmanship.  With the opening of the road bridge over the Mekong and a direct road route to Thailand, the area is currently thriving with commerce and the hotel is well placed to take advantage.  In addition, a hotel with a unique style will appeal to the tourist, especially on their way to or from Thailand.

I really like the hotel.  It is quirky though, and tries very hard to keep up to the image portrayed by its marketing department.  It boasts a coffee shop (the area around Pakse has excellent coffee plantations), but it is the same as the restaurant, and you cannot see the difference.  It boasts a gym (yes I packed my trainers and shorts) but the equipment is broken and has grey strings of cobwebs hanging in shame from dumbells and barbells.  The running machine belt was ripped and obviously not in working order. It has a laundry service, but Khamma could not borrow an iron.  There is also a sauna, spa and massage but we did not check this out.

But, and it is a big BUT, the rest of the hotel lived up to my expectations.

Everywhere was very clean.  The bedroom was very large with AC (although the room had a curious front and back door arrangement I could not get used to).  A good bed that was wider than it was long, an excellent bathroom, although the bath plug was missing.  Good TV, good internet, good food, wonderful friendly staff. 

If you are staying in the area I recommend the Champasak Palace Hotel.

The price was £44.71 for two for two nights.  Good value.

A quick visit to Laos - Part 1 The Journey to Pakse

I previously mentioned that on my birthday, Khamma and I were in Laos.  Actually, to be more precise we were in Pakse, which is in the south and about one hours drive from the Thai border at Chong Mek.

On occasions whilst waiting for a bus to somewhere in Ubon’s busy bus station (opposite Big C), I had an urge to jump on the ‘International Bus’ to Pakse and see what was going on over the border.  I visited northern Laos about five years ago and with Dave, where we travelled for three days on the river Nam Ou from Luang Prabang to Phongsali close to the Chinese border on local cargo boats.  It was a wonderful river trip into the heart of the Golden Triangle, and I spent most of the time thinking about the movie Apocalypse Now!  About the scariest thing to happen though was the trussing up of pigs for transport to market, although we did spot a local with an AK-47 slung on his shoulder.  Anyway, I digress….

The bus leaves Ubon at 9.30 in the morning.  You can only book your ticket at the time of departure and you obviously need your passport.  The ticket clerk enters your passport details into a ledger, and issues you with a ticket.  The cost is 200 baht.  There was plenty of room on the bus, but I think it gets crowded at weekends and holidays.

Once on the bus it is about one and a half hours to Chong Mek.  On the journey, it is worth filling out the immigration forms if the bus company hands them out, otherwise make sure you have your pen handy for later.  There is a great market at Chong Mek selling clothes, snacks and all the usual stuff, but you do not have time to wander round.  The Thai border station is in the process of being upgraded, and will be a fine building when it is finished.  The bus driver will ask you to leave the bus to enter Laos on foot.  Going through the Thai border is simple enough and is similar to the process at the airport, just a short queue and a patient wait (Ha Ha!!).

Walking through no man’s land, you can sense you are entering a country where the apparent affluence is not as great as that found in the country you are leaving, which is not exactly flush either.

The real fun starts at the Laos Border Control.  Signage is non-existent at worst and misleading at best.  But, that’s part of the fun.  As Johnny Foreigner, you are required to pay US$35 for a visa, and everybody has to pay 50 baht for an entry stamp in their passport.  Eventually, after a confusing fifteen minutes or so, you are free to walk into Laos and back on the bus.  There is a moment of panic when you think the bus might go without you, but the driver counts everybody out and everybody back in.

I love border crossings.  As we entered Laos, we quickly saw the similarities and realised the differences.  Khamma was pointing at the rice fields and the houses and said ‘same Thamuang’, but there was less sparkle about the temples and the roads were not quite as good as Thailand.

We reached Pakse and the sight of the Laos-Japanese Friendship Bridge across the wide river Mekong.  The building of the bridge in 2003 has created a trade route into Thailand from southern Laos and transformed Pakse into a vibrant commercial city.

Even so, I thought Pakse presented an air of promise that something was about to happen, but of what it was not sure.  It was like an actor frozen on the stage and staring into the footlights, knowing he should be doing something, but for the life of him could not remember.  First impressions are often wrong, as were mine on this occasion.

Once off the bus, we had to find the hotel, but first we needed money.  The Laos currency is kip and there are about 13,750 of them to the GB£.  Unusually, the main currency exchange is the Western Union money transfer office rather than the bank.

With a fat wallet containing nearly 1,ooo,ooo kip (I wished it were GBP) we caught a taxi to the Champasak Palace Hotel.

It was at this point that Khamma realised the local dialect was the same as hers and should speak quite freely to the locals.  A fantastic asset to have that would save lots of bother during our stay.

Our Friendly taxi driver.  Passengers sit on a seat under the canopy.

The magnificent Champasak Palace Hotel