Magnificent— the only word I had in mind to describe the colossal aggregate of glaciers and rocks that was now before me. The mere thought of having to reach the top the next day triggered a feeling within me, which I had never felt before. Was I ready? Was I physically and, most importantly, mentally prepared for the challenge ahead? I would have to wait and see.
“Get in the car, you are driving!”
With this sudden command, my dad snapped me out of my awe. I was excited to drive, as I had just earned my license and was already traversing one of the most bizarre places in Europe: a twelve-kilometer tunnel between Courmayeur (Italy) and Chamonix (France) paved right under Mont Blanc.
We gathered our gear and tidied our packs, and at 07:30 sharp, we were ready to take a cable car to the starting point of the hike. As the cable car ascended, my father briefed my brother and me on the itinerary. The journey would take place over two days with the summit as the midpoint. Nearly a kilometer and a half of altitude stood between us and the Aiguille du Gouter, the nearest hut where we could rest and recover. A mix of hiking and climbing for an entire morning would get us there.
Our hike entailed two halves: a long and dusty path that covered my hiking shoes in light brown dust and a vertical climb which covered me with sweat. The intermission between these two distinct terrains is known as Death Couloir, a seventy-meter rocky traverse where stones can fall from above at tremendous velocities. True to its name, the Death Couloir is one of the most dangerous places in the Alps and has the highest casualty rate among routes in the area. It was not an easy task to cross, especially in a group.
Simply put, we needed a strategy. After discussing the best plan of action, we agreed on the following: as one of us moved across the couloir, the other two would watch for dangerous boulders. Although we passed this stage safely, we were not in the clear, as we found another dangerous trial ahead. A niveous six-hundred-meter climb measured our ability to breathe at high altitudes; the continuous pulling and leveraging made the elevation increasingly noticeable.
We arrived at Aiguille du Gouter exhausted physically and mentally, and we proceeded to the cafeteria where we recuperated our energy. Slightly after midnight, we woke up and devoured our breakfast before embarking on the next portion of the climb. The adrenaline kicked in and washed away any drowsiness, and I was determined to reach the summit.
Although it was pitch-black, the moonlight shone on the snow and ice and created a reflected blue light that contrasted the night sky and the magnificent mountain. At first, the terrain sheltered us from the wind and allowed us to climb with ease. It all changed at the crest. Fierce and chilling blasts of wind numbed my finger and toes, forcing me to rely on the ankle support of my hiking boots to keep balance. A safe-haven appeared ahead of us— the Vallot Hut. Our fellow hikers and their sleeping bags crowded the floorboards, leaving us with little space to take a seat. After refueling on energy bars we resumed our hike; we only had four-hundred meters between us and the summit. We were close.
I climbed the highest mountain in Europe step-by-step alongside my family, and wind speeds of thirty to fifty kilometers per hour constantly berated us. I continually reminded myself to be patient and take each step to achieve my goal and surpass this trial. I demanded that my body continued through the harsh conditions, as the reward was within reach.
I throw my ax into the snow and catch my breath at the summit, and I raise my head to reward myself with one of the most mesmerizing views of my life. Distant mountain peaks are but islands in a sea of clouds. After a two-day hike and thousands of meters, I had finally achieved the ultimate ambition of an alpinist: witnessing nature’s poetry.
Section Editor: Emily Gonzales
Section: Travel & Culture
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