Journey to the Summit

Waking up in the Chalet, and looking out to the Mont Blanc range from my bedroom window I could not help but think about the previous evening’s briefing.



Neil had been very clear about what we were about to face in the coming days. This was not going to be a walk in the park. The following days were going to be tough, cold, stressful and physically very demanding.

Sitting down to a hearty breakfast and the animated chatter of our Irish team mates, I try to push my nerves and apprehension to a back burner. Not very successful is my attempt as they affect my appetite. My stomach has decided to close itself up making the digestion of a fresh croissant as difficult as trying to chew a stone, but I need the energy and I make an effort to have a good breakfast.


Shortly after breakfast Miles and Jean Marc arrive at the chalet. They will be assisting Neil in guiding this trip. Miles is American from Seattle and Jean Marc is French from the Ardeche region. As instructed in the previous night’s briefing we all lay out our equipment for checking.

Jean Marc comes in to check our equipment ensuring that our equipment is adequate for the coming adventure. After the inspection we go downstairs to collect our helmets, harnesses, crampons and ice axes. Boots will be hired from a shop down in Les Houches.



Neil explains that today will be an easy day with a short three hour trek to the Albert Premier Hut, which at approximately 2,300m will be our refuge for the night. After buying food and last minute equipment from Chamonix we head off to the Telecabine du Tour to catch the cable car which will take us to the start of the trek.



Prior to setting off on the cable car, Neil, Miles and Jean Marc take a quick look at our equipment. The weather forecast is not good – rain is predicted. It’s not a matter of if but when it will start pouring. Waterproofs on we head towards the Telecabine. A short ride up to higher altitudes takes us to the start of the trek. The weather is deteriorating fast and we can barely see the chairs in front of us.






The trek takes us about three hours and as Neil explained was a straight forward one taking us through a narrow path on the mountain side. The downpour increases as we progress along the rocky track but does not deter us from stopping occasionally to take a photo of our surroundings. Although the trek was moderate with an average gradient, I feel my calf muscles working hard. I am thankful for the hours spent at the gym lifting weights and working the step machine. Although I am not feeling cold, the cold climate makes it difficult for my muscles to warm up.


John, one of the Brits, takes a very fast pace but we do not attempt to catch up with him. This was not a race after all. Keeping Andy’s words “keep breathing from your mouth” in my head I just did so filling my lungs with the air which became thinner as we reached higher altitudes. As the Tanzanians always used to warn us when climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro the pace has to be pole pole (Swahili for slowly slowly). In an attempt to better acclamatise ourselves the forthcoming days would be spent trekking up higher altitudes but evenings would be spent at lower altitudes.



As we slowly made our way up, Conrad’s feet started to be plagued by blisters. Not good to have those on the very first day. The misery on his face was so evident as we climbed the last few metres to the Albert Premier hut, which would give us shelter from the storm that was fast approaching us.



The Albert Premier hut is an overcrowded and primitive hut. Although the toilets have running water, they are dirty, mainly due to the fact that there are only three loos to serve approximately hundred climbers at a time.



As soon as we change our boots for slippers, which are provided in every hut, we are shown to our dormitory. Two rows of bunk beds, housing approximately twenty crammed climbers are found in each of the five dormitories. We are provided with a pillow and duvet which at initial glance does not convince me that it will provide me with the warmth I require. I lay out my belongings on my duvet, a sign to others that this bed is taken. Conrad is sitting on the next bed, carefully nursing and medicating his blisters some of which are quite nasty. Hopefully the blister packs that we bought will alleviate some of the misery.

Our turn for dinner is booked for 7pm. There are two sittings in order to feed all the climbers. Our group is settled in the far end of the room. Squeezed on benches, just as if we were like a can of sardines, it is impossible to maneuver. A friendly member of the kitchen staff shortly turns up with two large pots of hot pumpkin soup which is served with pieces of bread and cheese. We do not know what is going to be served after this so I decide to take two helpings just in case the second course is not as appetising. The wind outside is becoming stronger and the crowded room provides a welcome warmth.



Soup quickly finishes and shortly after we are served with a plate of bolognaise pasta. The sauce is not too bad but the pasta is far from al dente, but actually quite rubbery. Under normal circumstances I would not have eaten it but we need carbohydrates to provide us with energy to attempt the climb in the next day. However I draw a line when bowls of rice pudding are shoved onto our table. Neil is encouraged by Alice to have some which he does but abandons his spoon in the bowl, deciding to leave his portion relatively untouched, after the first morsel. When all the plates are taken away, the spoon is removed and I have a strong suspicion that this was not the last that we saw of this rice pudding!

After dinner, we all huddle together on a table and play cards. The Irish group teaches us the game of 45, which is a complicated game involving manipulation and guesswork. Conrad, Neil and I are beginners so each of us is ‘assigned’ to someone to help us play. Marie takes me under her wing and we spend the next hour playing this game which through beginner’s luck and her assistance I win. Mary, an Irish university lecturer decides to read our fortune through cards. Whilst normally I would not undertake such an offer, she clearly explains that it is just a bit of harmless fun which should not be taken seriously.



My cards are quite interesting – they show that I am full of adventure and seek adventurous challenges, haven’t been too lucky in love and that there is a blonde alpha male somewhere in my life. Naturally all eyes were focused on Conrad because he is clearly not blonde but the fun of this card exercise was a welcome distraction from the thoughts that were going through our minds.

Prior to settling down for the night, Neil gives us a quick briefing - breakfast tomorrow will be at 5am and we leave the hut at 6am sharp - we cannot delay as we need to try to get as much good weather as possible.


Bedtime is at 9pm. It’s very dark outside and a blustery wind is blowing outside. The duvet, as predicted does not offer the warmth I need so I resort to wearing my thermals and warm fleece. Thankfully I drift into welcome sleep after a few minutes, the warmth generated by all the bodies in the room enveloping me into sweet slumber.

Journey or Destination?

As I sit down on my bed, nursing the damaged ligaments in my knee, the adventure is over.

Although the ending was not quite as I had hoped for, my climbing trip to the Mont Blanc range can be thought of as being successful. Why would I look at it as being successful when in reality I never reach the summit, irrespective of any reason preventing me from doing so?

Well, the answer is all about being positive. I might not have reached the summit (reasons and explanations will be given out in subsequent chapters of this story) but I experienced adventure that few people I know would dream of. I have scaled new heights - literally, physically and mentally. I have made new friends, discovered new talent and above all learnt more about myself and what I am capable of and what skills I need to develop.

But most of all I've learnt that at times it's all about the journey not the destination!

Able, ready and willing

Kitted up in overalls, already muddied by the previous adventurer, I start to descend the iron steps that lead deep down into the centre of the earth. A wave of adrenaline rushes through my bloodstream. Slowly I start descending, making sure my karabiners are secured to the iron cable that serves as a safety line, the world’s only underground Via Ferrata. Italian for "iron road", a Via Ferrata is usually a mountain route which is equipped with fixed cables, wooden steps, ladders, and bridges however, here in La Mouliere, this technique is used to discover this cave. Stalactites and stalagmites bear a testimony of this centuries old cave.

As I go down I only pause to give instructions to Chris, a thirty six year old Ability Challenge participant. Chris has a hearing impairment so I have to explain how to proceed to the next level of the cave by using sign language, slow speech and clear demonstrations on how to use the safety equipment provided for this journey. The dim light provided by our torches is not conducive to easy communication but this is all part and parcel of the Ability Challenge.


Just out of the cave....muddy but happy

The Ability Challenge, now in its third year, is organised by the Razzett tal-Hbiberija and it’s objective is to provide participants with a unique opportunity to push themselves to the limits whilst allowing space for personal growth and self-development. More importantly it gives able bodied participants the opportunity to interact with individuals having a physical disability removing physical, mental and social barriers.

The Challenge consists of a full week of adrenaline pumping activities including Paragliding, Canyoning, Mountain Biking, Caving, Trekking and Kayaking. The activities are supervised by qualified personnel from the Razzett tal-Hbiberija as well as professional guides trained in the various disciplines being undertaken to ensure that no unnecessary risks are taken and to ensure the well being of each participant.



Ready to jump into the Canyon at St. Auban

The South of France provided a wonderful backdrop for all the activities, giving the twenty eight participants the opportunity to paraglide over typical French hillside villages.


Perfect landing after a 20 minute paraglide over Greolieres

Kayak approximately half a mile offshore from the French Riviera town of Cannes to the Île Sainte-Marguerite, the island famous for its fortress prison in which the so-called Man in the Iron Mask was held in the 17th century.


Kayaking, with Chris, from Cannes to Ile Ste. Margerite

Delve deep into the centre of the earth during a caving expedition. Enjoy an orienteering game during a trek through lush forests whilst enjoying the clean and fresh mountain air of the French Alps.


Orienteering ourselves during the trekking activity


Taking a break from the steep uphills of La Mouliere

Participants, split into teams of seven, were accommodated in tipi tents located in a sheltered campsite in the middle of a forest. Kitchen facilities were basic which made preparing food for twenty eight people quite a task. Each day a different team was responsible for the preparation of breakfast, lunch and dinner as well as the subsequent cleaning of the kitchen. No one was exempted from these duties.



Taking a break from kitchen duties

The campsite was equipped with three showers which at most times did not have hot water, thus making it very interesting to see the number of techniques adopted by participants to ensure that they were in time to savour some hot water, especially after a day spent canyoning, jumping and swimming in freezing cold water!

This is the third time that I have participated in such a Challenge. The adrenaline rush provided by the various activities fades in comparison to the satisfaction that one feels when through team work a person with a disability successfully completes an activity which to us might seem like child’s play.

One can really see the effect the Ability Challenge has on persons with a disability. I could see the great improvement from last year by two participants that decided to experience the Ability Challenge again this year.



The return home.....a group of happy, satisfied and tired participants

MEMORABLE QUOTES

"No pessimist ever discovered the secret of the stars,
or
sailed to an uncharted land,
or
opened a new doorway to the human spirit"

Helen Keller, Writer

The White Taxi

7am. Saturday morning. Although the weatherman has promised us another relentlessly hot day, the sun has not yet made her strong presence felt. A cool, crisp early morning breeze gently brushes my face as I prepare to go out for a spin on my beloved Honda. A bright yellow CB400, of which I am proud owner since February 2007.





I am purposely selective when riding my bike. When buying the bike, I was looking at the pleasure of riding on open empty roads rather than looking at the practicality of it all, even though our heavily congested roads do encourage such means of transportation.

Riding early in the morning, on relatively quiet and resurfaced roads, is a joy that I have recently rediscovered and started to indulge in again. Not usually being a morning person, my passion for riding outweighs my natural instinct to enjoy a long lie-in.

Nothing beats the feeling of tackling a sharp bend. Feeling the wind against my bare arms keeping me cool from the warmth that radiates from the engine. Just looking at my shadow driving ahead of me on the long stretch of smooth road leading from Mosta to Gnejna. Simple pleasures.

However the concentration required to ride safely whilst enjoying the whole experience is sometimes jolted by some irresponsible and ignorant driver who shows no respect towards bikers who are out for a pleasure ride, minding their own business. Whilst there are a number of irresponsible riders who annoy other motorists with their reckless driving however it is no excuse and riders should be treated with equal if not more respect.

Case in point. Saturday morning. Qormi/Zebbug roundabout. A white taxi, belching black smoke profusely, decides to overtake from my left hand side, in the narrowest part of the road. I find it hard to believe that he has not seen my brighly coloured bike. I give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he has had a busy night, ferrying tourists to and from the airport. Perhaps he is tired and just wants to go home to sleep. Whilst attempting to keep my balance, I politely make use of my horn just to make him aware of my existence. He has in fact seen me. His response? A pudgy middle finger, attached to a fat hairy hand, promptly waved from his window. What is the use of sending some expletives in his direction? Even if he hears me through my full face helmet why should I stoop to his level?

I find myself thinking what a blessing the recent public transport strike was. The roads were safer and less polluted. Motorists less inclined towards fits of road rage. Selfish as it might sound, the roads are better off without the majority of these people. Whilst not all taxi, bus or minivan drivers are thugs or thugs in the making, I think that deep down we all agree that the bulk of these drivers are rude, do not give two hoots about the environment and even less to the rest of the population who has to endure their troglodyte behaviour.

The Art of Dressage

"Riding a horse is not a gentle hobby,
to be picked up and laid down like a game of Solitaire,
It is a grand passion"

Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803 - 82)


Dressage, a French term, most commonly translated to mean "training", is a path and destination of competitive horse training.

Its fundamental purpose is to develop, through standardised progressive training methods, a horse's natural athletic ability and willingness to perform. Dressage is occasionally referred to as "Horse Ballet"

Prior to setting off on my Argentine Andes adventure I had no inclination to participate in competitions, although giving up riding had clearly not become an option.

On the 31st May 2008, I participated in the pre-preliminary Dressage competition at the Tal-Maghtab Stables. The heat of the afternoon sun was beating upon Jasper and myself. Although each rider takes approximately four minutes to complete the course, it felt like ages before I could start practising.




A foreword in a book I recently read about horse riding describes the horse and its rider as a six legged creature. Mounting the horse is just not merely seating oneself on a form of transport but a metamorphosis occurs making the horse and rider into one.

It is soon my turn. Dressed in accordance with the formality of the competition, I no longer feel the heat in my black jacket. I hear the whistle. It is time to start.



Although I have practised the course regularly I am afraid that I will forget the sequence of exercises. Will I lead Jasper properly to form a correct twenty metre circle? Will I change reign at the right time? As soon as I enter the school I become one with Jasper. We are ready!



Throughout the course, I block all that is around me. All I can hear is Jasper breathing. Soft words of encouragement are said, his ear's movement indicating an acknowledgement.



In four minutes I have completed my course. I halt at the imaginary G and salute the Dutch judge who in an gentlemanly fashion stands up and lifts his hat, saluting me back.

It is over. I have thoroughly enjoyed this experience. Whatever the outcome, I am satisfied.


Author's Note: My satisfaction was further enhanced when it was announced that I had placed third in my category. I had competed against seasoned riders and I had done well.

Photography - Conrad Chircop May 2008