Dreaming of Mont Blanc

I am lying on a worn mattress, face up, looking at the wooden slats that run two feet above my face. The wood is so close that my nose feels pressed into the grain, against the rafters of the hut. Next to me, Steve and Katie pretend to sleep on the alpine bunk. For me, it is futile. I cannot sleep. Two Spanish mountaineers talk fervently in the room, spitting out thick words and jangling their climbing gear. I give them a piercing look for making so much noise but it's pointless; there is no etiquette here anymore. It's just a resting place for mountaineers who wait to battle on the slopes.

I look around to see other alpinists sprawled out across their bunks. These men and women look jaded, their faces sculpted by sun and wind over years. They have aged like the mountains they have grown to know. One day, I hope to look the same. Tomorrow, I will not recognise these people. Tomorrow they will be armoured with rope, torches, spikes, axes and helmets while they work. They will wear brightly coloured jackets, and to me they will be another danger on the hillside to watch out for. I roll over. Pff.

I am resting in the Cosmiques hut, French Alps, due to rise in three hours time to climb the highest mountain in Western Europe. Months ago I did not care for this ascent. But now I understand what it means to climb Mt Blanc, standing at 4810 metres above sea level. I understand how the mountain fits into the history of alpine mountaineering and the development of Chamonix town.

In reality, I am another consumer, hungry for fast food alpinism. Does it matter? There is an addictive mix of excitement and anticipation flowing through my blood like a recreational drug. Images of overhanging seracs, the size of a two storey house, flash through my mind. They are perched on the Tacul face waiting for me to arrive. I imagine the feeling of being avalanched and having to ‘swim’ for survival. I explore every possible outcome of the day ahead. I feel ready. All of these risks, which months ago gave me fear and self doubt, now charge my body with an intense energy to climb.

The room is hot and the tatty curtains flowing by the window are the only sign of a breeze in this place. I don't want to sleep; I want to climb Mont Blanc now.  

The summit dome 12/7/2013

The Last Wilderness

This was a draft article, penned in April 2013. The comment and analysis was based on original research using academic and internet sources. The author retains exclusive rights to the work.

Attempts to drill for Arctic oil prove that governments must act together in protecting Polar Regions

Image source: Morguefile.com

 



The icy landscape surrounding the poles is often described as the last great wilderness. This is a strange turn of phrase, because in reality, the Arctic is anything but ‘barren’ or ‘empty’. It is bursting with life. Think of the BBC’s Frozen Planet series. So, when the big oil firms continue to drill for crude oil in the fragile environment of the Arctic, a debate ignites over the risk of pollution and the value of the ecosystem.

Drilling in the Artic presents challenges. In December 2012, Royal Dutch Shell’s offshore rig the ‘Kulluk’ beached onto an island in Alaskan waters as it was being towed back to the US. According to media reports, rough seas meant that towboats could not regain control of the rig and it hit rocks on a small island in the Gulf. Luckily, the Kulluk’s fuel tanks remained intact and no oil was spilt, but it’s another incident to suggest that the harsh conditions of the Arctic increase the risks for drilling. If a spill does occur, with low temperatures and storm events it may not be possible to begin clean-up operations for days or weeks - known as the oil spill response gap.

   

These operations in the Arctic Circle are made financially viable because of a high oil price, linked to our insatiable demand for the crude stuff. If prices fall, as in the financial crisis of 2008, the industry suffers too. Approximately 25% of the world’s remaining oil and gas reserves are found in the Arctic. Shell has invested nearly £3.1 bn to date on their Arctic drilling programmes, but as the events in 2012 showed, their success in the region has been limited so far and they were forced to halt operations in Alaska in February. Environmentalists were overjoyed.

Adding heat to the debate, governments in the US and the UK have played a regulatory role in Arctic oil, which has been met with public support. The US Department of the Interior launched a full investigation into Shell’s 2012 activities, concluding in March that the organisation was underprepared for the testing Arctic environment. The federal government report does not suggest that Arctic drilling is impossible, but that more time and money must be invested into the planning stage before drilling should occur. It sends a clear signal to oil firms that safety is key. MPs in the UK Parliament’s Environmental Audit Committee have echoed these concerns, calling for greater transparency and public scrutiny of Arctic drilling plans. Across the Atlantic, Greenland’s new administration has stopped issuing new licenses for drilling, in a move celebrated by Greenpeace and other NGOs.

Where does this leave the industry? Shell’s previously unrivalled reputation for technical expertise in harsh environments has been damaged by the episode in Alaska, but they are not the only one forced to re-think. The Norwegian state company Statoil cancelled its drilling strategy for Alaska in March, following the demise of Shell in the region, as revealed in an interview with Bloomberg news corporation. Statoil does not expect to make a decision on Alaskan drilling until at least 2015 now, with the potential for operations to kick start in 2020.

Controversially, while western governments cast doubt on the safety credentials of the big oil firms, drilling in the Russian Arctic is set to expand. In a press release on 8 April, the Russian energy giant Gazprom revealed that its subsidiary company, Gazprom Neft, was to sign an agreement with Shell for joint working offshore of the Siberian coast. Russian President Vladimir Putin and Dutch Prime Minister Mark Rutte were present at the signing in Amsterdam, owing to the scale of the new pact. This development has been criticised by leading conservation charity WWF, who see the move as exporting failures from the United States to Russia.

The developments in Arctic oil drilling prove that the regulation of oil reserves in the Polar Regions is marred by complexity. There are obvious issues such as: who owns the rights to Arctic resources? Who should have a say in their exploitation? And what are the risks of pollution? In times like these, governments must turn to international institutions like the Artic Council for reprieve. Through a global dialogue, national governments can decide whether drilling for Artic oil is a good idea at the present time, or if it’s even necessary at all. This is challenging for international relations and energy security, but it’s a crucial step that could determine the future of the last great wilderness. Until then, we can only hope that the oil doesn’t spill.

Sad news for Chamonix Valley

Severe prognosis for alpine region as climate records show decline in snow below 2000m

Kim Willsher published an article in the Observer last weekend, which reports on current climate research by meteorologists in Chamonix. 

In short, climate records show that increasing temperatures are having visible effects on the alpine landscape below 1000 metres. Accumulations of snow below this altitude have decreased by 40% in the last fifty years. These trends are expected to continue with long term climate change. As Willsher acknowledges, Chamonix is lucky in that many of its ski resorts operate at higher altitude, where the effects will not be so acutely felt, but this is not true of all resorts in the Alps.

Additionally, scientists are monitoring the changes to high altitude glaciers in the area and there is clear evidence of glacial retreat: the Mer de Glace has lost 65m of depth in the last 20 years and 300m in length since 1996. When I was trekking along the Mer de Glace last July, I was surprised to hear that the glacier was considered the largest in the Western Alps. It was a thin, mere film strip of ice coated by rubble deposits from the adjacent slopes.

The top image shows my view from the Mer de Glace railway station at 1913m. In the bottom picture, I was hopping over crevasses on the dry glacier surface with two guys from Flight of the Frenchies.

For climate scientists, glacial retreat is a simple, physical change to the environment that reflects a fluctuation in climate. It's easily observed, and it's easily understood by the public. This helps to explain the recent success of Chasing Ice - a documentary film I saw in Leeds - about the attempts of photographer James Balog to capture glacier retreat in the Artic Circle, using time lapse photography. The film combines his personal story with images depicting the beauty, scale and ultimately the fragility of ice masses during climate change.

It does make me question the morality of using an energy-intensive, artificial indoor ice wall when the ice out there is melting around us (see Ice Ice Baby). But hey, maybe we'll need more indoor ice climbing centres in fifty years time when the world is a few degrees hotter... ?!

Just as the causes of this global issue are bound up in human activity, so the effects for the Chamonix Valley are inextricably linked to people. There are obvious socio-economic impacts for tourism in the area, as the quality and availability of snow depreciates. Willsher makes reference to this in her article.

So, here's another story telling me that the effects of climate change are distributed unequally. Some regions in the world may experience increasing precipitation levels, but for the Alps it seems to be thaw all the way. Read more by the IPCC for clarification on this. Certainly, meteorologists suggest there's a difference between low and high altitude slopes, so it'll be interesting to see how localised the impacts really are.

For climbers and mountaineers, it brings a stark message that we can't hide from this by jetting to the Bernese Alps or sailing to Greenland. We're in it together. Climate change is having a detrimental impact on the mountain playground within our lifetimes.

Ice Ice Baby

Ellis Brigham Vertical Chill review

Pictures from my recent trip to the Ice Wall at Ellis Brigham store, Manchester. Thank you to the staff at Ellis Brigham and the Merrell reps who organised a free climbing session for the Leeds Uni Hiking Club.

Ellis Brigham offer the latest climbing equipment for hire, and I was pleased to test out the DMM Apex axes (pictured). 

The ice wall is made using a mix of waste snow-ice from a nearby indoor snow dome, and this snow is plastered to the walls. Large refrigerator fans maintain the temperature at -12 degrees C. The ice is heavily pockmarked and can be climbed without swinging axes/kicking crampons in, just using simple placements more akin to the mixed game. Because the ice is plastered on it's likely to break off in large chunks, which can be infuriating at times if you're trying to hone a fine axe swing. A overhang obstacle also provides a few laughs.

Essentially, for 8 metres of ice climbing in the centre of the Manchester conurbation, it's a great facility and you can't expect an indoor centre to imitate the beauty of ice as Mother Nature makes it. The equipment and staff are great, though the climbing can be limited. Perfect for beginners and those needing to re-unite with their tools.

Live Better by Consuming Less?

This post borrows its title from Tim Jackson's (2005) work on sustainable consumption.

Newcomers to this blog may have the read the article published on UKC this week: A New 'Style' Of Climbing: The Eco-Mountaineer

I wrote the article at Christmas last, after a lot of academic reading on low consumption lifestyles. The UKC article throws up a multitude of global issues (rising population/climate change) and presents sustainable consumption as a theoretical answer to many of these problems.

It's great that UKClimbing is willing to host this kind of debate on its website and I'm forever grateful to Jack Geldard for this.

If you're interested in these ideas, have a look at the video clips below and put 'voluntary simplicity' in your search engine.

I'm off to Fort William on Thursday...  yes, in shared transport before you ask! Hope you have a good week.

Landscape

During research on landscape values in the Peak District, I came across this little gem by the Council for the Preservation of Rural England (CPRE): a film produced in 1938 entitled 'Rural England'. It goes well with a cup of coffee.

Aside from the archaic language and politics - 'spasmodic building' - aren't we thinking the same ideas today?

Hooked: Scottish Winter

View of the Ben, Feb 2011

   


With a coating of powder and lots of freezing, the climbing landscape in Scotland can evolve into an ugly and challenging place. The risks may be greater when climbing: feeling run out on a couple of poorly bedded ice screws, if you fall your picks and spikes may rip through your waterproofs. This will hurt. Climbing can be slow and arduous, as my recent experience following Matt and Joe on Castle Ridge pointed out. 

But the biggest risks surpass the immediate pitch, when external forces come into play. Avalanche. Weather. Foresight and good judgement are needed in the winter climber's arsenal. The extreme cold may prove a problem for the belayer freezing their tits off, or for the climber whose hot aches burn like buggery. The low temperatures demand a methodical approach to fuelling yourself and changing layers between pitches.

For me, the brutality of winter climbing is overshadowed by the beauty of a discipline with more adventure than Ueli Steck on steroids. It has history and ethics to the sport which need respect. This kind of mountaineering is far removed from the monotony of plastic holds on a straight-line route at the indoor wall. On these routes, decisions are taken. Errors are made. The shit gets serious.

My debut on Scottish winter came in December last, taking our luck on Castle Ridge (III), Ben Nevis. With mixed forecasts and far from perfect conditions, I had low expectations of the day, unsure about our chance of success and needing more psych really after a couple of hours sleep then hitting the road for Fort Bill. Maybe I was doubting my own ability more: a lack of experience and desperately wanting technical axes. I had put in the physical training, scrubbed up on winter reading and got some practice with tools at the Leeds Wall, so why not make a go of it?

Coatings of sheet ice at the North Face Car Park and along the track that follows would be the first obstacle, stacking it onto the ice several times, then sheepishly standing up and regaining composure as amateur mountaineers would. 

Castle Ridge offers pleasant winter scrambling interspersed with steeper sections that warrant a grade III label. Seconding Paul for all but one pitch, I was thankful for Matt and Joe breaking trail ahead of us. Dumpings of soft powder were making it difficult to place protection and get a purchase on the rock or in the snow pack. Joe was our snow plough for the day.

On Castle Ridge

  
At the crux pitch, I was baptised into Scottish winter climbing. There was no font, no religious words said, but bouts of swearing as I heaved on dodgy axe placements. The pitch involved a verticle rock step of a few metres, with desperate pulling and body tension to keep hands and feet in the right place with directional pull. The winter climbing style as a form of movement isn't natural - tools and crampons pushing you away from the rock, making the climb feel steeper and ultimately like hard work. But it's the most epic fun you'll ever have in the Scottish mountains.

Our climb finished in classic style with a descent in the dark and a hot meal at the bunkhouse. Thank you to the guys for a good day out. 

Links
Ben Nevis winter routes
BMC Winter climbing conservation tips
UKC Winter conditions
Scotland Avalanche Information Service 
Gresham and Parnell's Winter Climbing+ book

Not the most psych-laden video I've seen, but it gets you in the mood:

  













Happy climbing

New Year, New Baktun

This webpage began six months ago, a summer project for me whilst I had my nose to the grindstone. 9-5 Office work. Blurgh. I backdated some writing so that it made the blog look more established...
 
It's still a bit basic, and given more time I'd edit the HTML code more and make the blog a whole lot funkier. But it does what it says on the tin, I think.

Now with more than 1,100 page views, I hope that all you surfers have had something good to read or look at. If not, feel free to send abusive complaints.

Now we've survived the Mayan apocalypse ...(it's worth noting that the Mayan civilisation never actually predicted the end of the world for 2012, but the end of a period of time, a baktun, as a recent article in the Observer pointed out to me)

What are your dreams for the new dawn of time? 

Some things in life are worth chasing - I'd like to run my first ultramarathon this year (no less than 50 miles). And climb more, climb harder. But then sometimes it's better to just be happy.

Action for Happiness 

Here's something else to brighten your day, a video of travelling in NZ made by a friend of mine:

 

Midnight Run

Running late at night has huge appeal for me in Warwickshire. The roads are deadly silent, except for the distant hum of a car on roads a mile or so away. Rabbits and owls make themselves known but otherwise it's just me and the light pounce of my feet on tarmac. My headtorch beams up the lane and the place is there for exploring.

Route map
Walton Hall Circuit
5.5 miles in 37 minutes
 

















Example's video to Midnight Run was shot in .... You guessed it! ICELAND!

Feast Your Eyes On This

There's something circulating the interweb that is bold, crisp and brilliant. Mount Everest in 2 billion pixels. Be inspired









Click here for GlacierWorks

Tri, Tri and Tri Again

“One sport is not enough.”

 

It’s a compelling mantra by Triathlon Plus magazine, and it’s an idea embedded in the minds of triathletes who seek the ultimate endurance competition. I shied away from the demands of the sport for many years as a poor swimmer - growing up watching my two sisters glide up and the down the lanes of our local lido while I thrashed around, getting nowhere. I was an impatient kid that sought thrills, not the chlorine-soaked verruca-encrusted poolside. Ten years later and I fell into the sport again by accident.

 Swimming in the spring of 2012 was an activity designed purely to compliment other sports: a cure for shin splints, for recovery and flexibility in climbing, to cross-train for running and cycling. So I never anticipated it would become a sport for me in its own right.

zimbio.com

 The summer brought a jewel box of sporting history, with all the hype and glamour you could ask for. From an office in Warwick, I watched as Alistair Brownlee finished the Olympic Men’s Triathlon in 1^st place, taking the Gold medal that he duly deserved with Jonathon not far behind, a brilliant moment. Yorkshire lads too, I was rooting for the home boys and it’s hard to deny the Brownlee effect, giving the sport a popular face (or two) and a great media story. Sport England recently increased the funding for triathlon by 30% for youngsters and it’s no wonder why (BBC News). 

Yet my imagination was really taken by open water swimming. The call for ripping up coastal waters around the UK still abounds in me but experience and training has to come first. In October this year I enlisted the help of a swim coach to learn freestyle technique, the first step on a path I hoped to becoming a wildswimmer and triathlete. What came next was hard, gruelling even, and I’ve never had such a mental challenge trying to feel comfortable in the water. 

Each coaching session raped my cardio-vascular system for all it was worth. My lungs screamed for air and my mind logically said bring my head above the surface. Forcing myself to push on and attempt another length was difficult. It's a wonder that I survived nine months swimming in amniotic fluid before birth. Practising freestyle by myself in the mornings before uni, the experience was at times miserable if not a little stressful, full of negativity like, “I’m just not a swimmer. It's probably time to give up.” Why take up a sport that you don’t enjoy and you’re no good at?

Because life will throw up the same challenge eventually, and we all make choices whether to turn back for the comfort of mediocrity or to stand our ground. 

The Brownlee effect remained still, and I was researching a story for the Leeds Student on their upcoming race in Auckland (heavy editorial bias), which meant I had my finger on the pulse of elite tri competition. I kept putting the hours in at the pool, wanting to ‘feel’ the water. Another lesson from my coach and things started to fall into place. There was a consistency and a smoothness to my stroke which all adds to efficiency. Eventually I started to make serious gains and was putting power through the glide, which had been there all along but I never harnessed it thanks to poor technique.

  

The cool feel of the water rippling over your body as you pull deep into the pool, rotating, propelled forward and smashing out the next stroke like Michael Phelps. Your cardiovascular is in overdrive and your muscles are reaching new levels of endurance in calm and controlled showmanship. This is the lure of the swim.

 In late November, an opportunity came up that continued to play on my mind. The Edge’s ‘Super Sprint Triathlon’ for Children in Need involved a 400m swim, 10k ride on spin bikes and 3k on the treadmill. 400 metres equates to 16 lengths in the pool, which is easy for an average swimmer. For me, it would be the culmination of weeks of work. So I entered the day before and didn’t tell anyone about my attempt, except for my girlfriend - she used to swim at county level and that was pressure enough! But without too much expectation, it was just me and the pool and the clock.

There’s a buzz at the start of any race. Adrenaline, hopes and fears all play a part. I was proud to finish the Super Sprint with a respectable time of 41 minutes, including a fast time on the bike. So there’s promise for the real triathlon experience in spring next year and open water tris are the real goal.

Until then, good luck with winter training folks, be it in the pool, on the roads or high mountain.

Update on PEACE Ride 2014

Kyrgyzstan countryside

Back in August plans for the Pan EurAsia Cycle Expedition [PEACE] were posted online. Leaving London in March 2014, the route will undertake 9000 miles across country, desert and mountain to the base of India, via the Himalaya.

This ride has captured my imagination, and of those who kindly nattered with me about cycle touring, the tiger nations of Asia and travelling in general. Thanks to Euan and others who shared their experiences.

I'm happy to say that the ball is now officially rolling, like the wheels on a lubed and loved bicycle. So much so, I had to the cheek to give a talk to LUUHC on my prep for the exped, called 'How to Cycle 9000 Miles and Not Get Lost in Kyrgyzstan'.

The route between Istanbul and northern India needs more work, which I'll start in August 2013. I understand the areas like Chechnya, past Georgia, are politcally hostile. Two Brits honking and waving their way through outpost settlements in Russian satellite countries won't go down well, especially if we haven't got official visas to be there.

The great news is that a graduate and friend from Leeds, Lewis Gibbs, is keen on joining me for the ride. If you want to join the team get in touch via email.

If you can offer accommodation between London and India or you have detailed knowledge of travelling in these areas please contact us [benjamin-lewis@live.co.uk] We'd love to hear from you.

A Mountain of Knowledge

The Leeds University Hiking Club met with Sir Chris Bonington last week in Harrogate!

Full story here

The Sharpest Edge

A classic Lakeland day on one of Britain’s finest ridges

This content has been written for Blacks Outdoor Retail Ltd and should not be redistributed. 

Blencathra, at a height of 868 metres, is one of the northern guardians of the Lake District and is accessed easily from the A66 road near Penrith. We set out for the popular summit top via Sharp Edge, the prominent rocky arête beside Scales Tarn. 

It was a promising autumnal morning, a blanket of cloud keeping us warm and no wind to quell our plans. We started early, snaking around the hillside on a good path into steep valleys. Climbing up to Scales Tarn, Sharp Edge came into view and we would have the ridge to ourselves. It was a secluded and peaceful place next to the tarn, stopping for a bite to eat with banter amongst friends. 

Sharp Edge scramble (Grade 1) gave us a sense of adventure and exposure on good rock, but in poor conditions it could be a more risky experience. I was glad for sturdy boots and good waterproofs on this classic ascent of Blencathra. After clambering up steep ground we reached the rolling mountain top, and paced off to bag the nearby summit of Bowscale Fell. 

The surrounding area in the northern Lake District is often ignored by walkers that head for the honeypot locations at Windermere or Ambleside. Yet they are missing out on a landscape undisturbed, barren and interesting, which asks for exploration of the rolling upland plains, reminiscent of the Welsh Carneddau. 

By lunchtime we were crossing back to the summit of Blencathra and the views were sublime. From there we could gaze south… the iconic Lakeland fells rising skywards, covered in a patchwork of sun and shadow. 

Our route descended via Hallsfell spur, south of the peak, and we strided down the jagged rib with smiles, taking photos and feeling lucky for a dry walk on the hill. 

Blencathra offers an impressive mountain day for any person: the occasional rambler or the mountaineer. So get your kit together and make the journey to try one of Britain’s finest ridges. 

Vintage Psych

Do you feel the weight of mountaineering history resting on your shoulders? No, probably not.

 










How about now?

As walkers and climbers, we're not a mere blip in the storyline of moutaineering. We're at the forefront of it, called the present. Cragging it up on a weekend keeps the passion alive.

Mankind's knowledge of mountains has grown with the efforts of thousands of ordinary individuals, trekking in high passes and attempting dogged routes on high peaks. Admittedly the chapters are complicated by class and gender struggles.

Alongside human exploration and fascination for the big peaks, technology has developed. More extreme expeditions required better gear. Today's generation is gifted with advanced materials and technical equipment... B3 Scarpa 'space boots' as my housemate called them, over the hobnail leather boots of old. Does the wealth of knowledge and skills passed down to us, give us a responsibility to use it? That's something worth thinking about.

Public Service Broadcasting are a London-based duo that mash up archive footage with music. More on their website.