3ieme jour LHR

We woke to general pukage. With 10cm at this low altitude, things were obviously going to be precarious up high. At this point on the High Route, one can opt between the harder and more technical "Classic" route, or take a taxi to Verbier, which is the easier and more frequented route with better huts. Luc had chosen the latter for us, possibly because of the huts, but more likely because he hadn't known our abilities. And on a day like today, we were glad for his discretion.

Leaving the last lift at Verbier, I felt an awful sense of foreboding. As a father of three, just how sensible was it to be heading off into a high alpine wilderness in the middle of a blizzard with the avalanche flags flapping at a seriously upgraded level three?

Even Luc didn't bother with consulting his mobile under the pretence of texting a friend. He had the Garmin out and was consulting it every 50 meters. The only consolation was that there were other idiots doing the same, including a group of elderly Japanese gentlemen (average age 75!) who were travelling with a young Italian guide who couldn't communicate with his group. As if only to instil confidence in our situation, Luc remarked frequently on what dangerous lines they were skinning.

However it was on this day that the jet lag began to ebb, acclimatisation started to weave its wonders on oxygen carrying capacities, and we finally gelled into an alpine touring unit. Our steps ever upwards began to resemble the mechanised clockwork of the Swiss, our tips and tails moving in synchronisation, inches apart.

And then, on top of one of the half dozen cols we ended up crossing that day, the most remarkable thing: a dog. Some party had chosen today to do this tour with some mates and their dog, just as I might whizz out to Feathertop and back alone without a worry in the world. It finally dawned on me that this was a new kind of normal for people of this part of the world and that nothing bad was likely to pass.

I think we all sensed it. If a dog could cope (with every skin transition, she would jump up onto a relatively warm pack to keep her feet warm), then so could we. As the snow continued to pile up past the half meter mark and other parties decided to retire to the valleys, we decided to kick on up to summit Rosablanche - if not for the views which are allegedly sublime, then for the kick-arse powder descent all the way down to Prafleuri, where we were finally rewarded with a clearing in the weather and a hearty roesti washed down with several beers at puffy o'clock.    

Day 3: Taxi from Champex to Sembrancher (Verbier). Skilifts up to 2894m and then progressive descents and climbs to the Col de la Chaux (2940m), Col de Louvie, and Col de Momin all through a blizzard. Despite the poor visibility we decided to climb Rosablanche (3336m), and were rewarded with a magic powder descent to Cabane Prafleuri (2662m).

La Haute Route 2ieme Jour

We woke up on the second day to find that the bad weather had come in again leaving us with 10cm fresh and lots of gloom. On the first day, fitness for some of us had been tested, with acclimatisation proving telling. Day 2 would prove one of the hardest, both physically and technically, with a significant rappel from the top of the Col du Chardonnet, and a balls to the wall ice climb up the Fenetre de Saleina. Nearly 2km up, 3km down, and 15km long.

Long before departing, I had read of one older woman who ran sub-3-hour marathons proclaiming that the High Route was the hardest thing she had ever embarked upon. This had spurred me on to near age-perfect fitness, which made concentration on the trickier bits much easier.

It felt disappointing for me to be leaving the motherland, although I soon realised that French Switzerland is more French than Swiss, and that a common alpinism is shared. So the language is the same, the different currency is just annoying (the costs ratchet up), and the quality of food and plonk diminish ever so slightly. The chocolate is better though, and we spent a leisurely hour shopping for energy supplies. I found a friendly ski repair to fix my Dynafit boot which had fractured at the achilles link yet again.

Skiing down from the Cabane du Trient was full on. Slides and dark crevasses everywhere, including one which had swallowed a young girl, skis and all, writhing and screaming at her guide who seemed calm as strudel as he tried to yank her out. 

Some kind soul had left a rope for us to yank ourselves up through the mud to the Col des Ecandies, and the couloirs dripping down from behind Trient might have been a better option. The entire descent down to Champex was in mist and rain, which was a real shame. Half way down, we passed the most amazing avalanche debris - massive walls of snow rubble that had travelled hundreds of meters, although Luc said that these are slow wet sliders. Still, I wouldn't like to be in their path no matter their speed.

The hotel in Champex was gold. Hot showers, a fire, cold beer, nice food. Unless you want to be a he-man, breaks like this are a welcome godsend for this tour. We put on our puffys, and soaked it up.

Day 2: Down to Argentiere Glacier (2300m), then a long climb up to the Col du Chardonnet (3323m), a short hairy rappel into Switzerland, down to traverse the Glacier de Saleina, another hairy ice climb up to the Fenetre de Saleina, past the Cabane du Trient to Col des Ecandies, and a final long descent in the rain down to Champex (1477m)

L'Haute Route Premier Jour

From that first ducking of a rope at Hotham when knee-high to a wombat, ski-touring has always seemed like a natural progression for me. Untracked snow is always so much more appealing to the naked eye or ski. 

Relative to the Northern Hemisphere, resorts in Australia are constraining, yet we have no crevasses and minimal avalanche risk. And still our mountains are vast and exquisite once away from the noise, combustion and metal of the resorts. Our unique snow gums in particular lend our older weathered mountains an elegance and drama that is increasingly addictive to myself and a small but growing posse of friends. 

The astonishing evolution of lightweight touring equipment only abets our habits such that with a pair of skins, a pack and a little energy, we are finding that Australia offers a lifetime of alpine adventures beyond the ropes and crowds.

And yet, in an information age, it is impossible to ignore pictures and tales of ski-tours from abroad; including that most famous and coveted of them all, La Haute Route.

First traversed by British mountaineers in the 1860s, the High Level Route was first skied in 1911 by a French doctor. Many variations of this fabled tour connect a myriad of substantial peaks and huts over a distance of around 200km, usually taking seven days (but as few as two!), and with a maximum attained altitude of 3800m depending on seasonal snows, weather, fitness and courage.

I've been skiing with Darbs since our first days in med school. Morry and Hans have joined us in recent years, and its always good having a neurosurgeon and emergency physician as part of the team.

I'd been angling for this trip for the last half dozen years, however every window seemed to be thwarted by my wife either getting pregnant or actually having babies. We're very lucky to spend a decent part of every year in the Alps, and I find them creeping into my sinews as much as my own small hills back home. I'd done a few pretty significant summer ascents to gain some basic mountaineering skills, and felt that I was ready for the main course.
However five days before arriving in France our guide fell through with sundry excuses. We found out that the refuges hadn't been booked. And then it looked like the weather was going to conspire against us with the snowiest April for many years creating serious avalanche risk.
We spent a few days in rainy Chamonix shopping like chicks and generally feeling anxious about the whole ordeal whilst a new guide and plan was organised. My French was certainly getting a good workout.
On the last day before we could depart and still make it back to Paris for the marathon, a window appeared in the weather and our new guide Luc, reassured us that it was time to give it a crack.   

Mt Blanc (4810m) and the Aiguille du Midi (3842m) from our starting point of Grands Montets (3295m) from where we skied down the Rognons and then Argentiere Glaciers in powder, then up to the Refuge d’Argentiere (2771m) on skins to ditch our packs and climb up to the Col du Tour Noir (3535m) before skiing back down to the refuge.