Snow Days in the Alps

North

The world curves away
into dark cuts and cliffs.
A breeze cool with sound
drops from the mountains.
“join me” it calls to the unwary,
“join me” seductive whisper.

Walk away, it is not time.
Go back to the trees that root you,
a home with fingers deep in the soil.
Sit in the shade of the oak and wait
for the mountain, for another time
of high places and the damp scent of snow.




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Some days you look at the mountain and know it is not a good time to go up there. No matter how much you want to. Or how much preparation you have put in to get to that point. Walter Bonatti, A hero of mine, who spent the first half of his life climbing some of the biggest rock faces of the Alps, summer and winter, and mostly solo, said that you can always come back. No mountain is worth your life. Some people disagree, I don’t. There is still too much to see.

Pete, by the rock La Pierre Grosse at the bottom of the climb to Col du Gary

We arrived here late in the day and bivvied outside a hut. The following day we started the climb to the Col. But found the snow to unstable, with no safe route and a run off over the edge we decided against the Col and chose to walk the ridge to La Tete du Vet.

Col du Gary

La Tete du Vet at the end of the ridge.

Mountains

Its been a while, over two weeks since I posted. Busy in the house doing renovations and just getting on with summer. I have managed to get out and about lately though. Once to the Chaudefour Valley, in dubious weather and another locally, walking from a village called St Just Pres des Brioude.

The Chaudefour Valley is I think my favourite place around here. It is just a stunning place. Waterfalls, fantastic volcanic rock formations, a sparkling spring. And normally views all round. This time however the cloud was low and the wind high. So I opted for some exploring around the base of the glacial valley.

Crete du Coq in the clouds

The whole area is a nature reserve, so no cars, bikes, dogs or crowds. Even more so on a day when it is drizzly. But not a problem when seeking some space. And the water just adds to the waterfalls anyway.

Chaudefour Valley waterfall

Last week, it was a different track to follow. Through a mix of farmland, woodland and abandoned objects. 13 miles around old mills, fields and villages. With good weather and only mushroom hunters looking on suspiciously as I passed. They don’t want anyone to know their secret places. The French seem to have a penchant for leaving cars to die where they drop. Hence my banner at the moment, and the following photo, found as I walked.

Rusting cars in the French countryside

I have found myself struggling to write at the moment, and am not sure of the reasons. I keep trying but find it unsatisfying when I am unhappy with the results. This piece is from the walk above, it is still in progress. May never go further, it is just part of writing to break the deadlock.

Wind Sound
The sound of a waterfall is a tree in the wind,
the terraced hillside crumbling, returning slowly,
like the ruin of a car sitting on the boundary
between field and woods, rusting, overgrown,
browning into history, its Parisian numberplate,
painted by hand.
A valley drops deep on rain scoured tracks
into a woody bog hollow, where a collapsed mill waits.
Looking for salvation through empty windows,
a small hidden view shows inconspicuous detail
that a summit sweeps out wide.
Blue flowers and breeze blown corn rattle.
Blue sky cirrus drifts, sunlight makes hay.

All over there are guides and help pages about writer’s block, I shall be trying out many of the ideas over the next couple of weeks to try to get back on track.

Just one last mountain picture though, since this weeks picture theme was mountains. This is from Puy d’Angle, below the Puy de Sancy. Taken This February while walking with friends.

Puy d'Angle

Enjoy.

Climbing Mountains

Mountains of the mind or the real thing, all are hard work but both should leave us with a feeling we have achieved something when we overcome them.

I read this to some friends at the top of Mount Snowdon Wales. A great snowy day.

Quiet differences are lit by morning sun,
we rise out of one moment into stillness
and wait for the world to spread around us.

Colours so clear, strong dazzling light
returned from so many years that this
one time is not even real any more.

We leave with reflections in mind
of blue sky inverted and light the only
way to take the mountain with us.