Postcard from Chamonix (postmarked 10 March 2017)

This week has been an epic week, one for the record books, in particular for my personal Guinness Book of Records. I'll start at the end where all great beginnings have their roots...

The last ski run of the day started at the summit of Grands Montets, one of six distinct ski areas comprising Chamonix-Mont Blanc, accessible by first riding up a gondola from the base, then a chairlift and finally a large cable car that holds up to 50 excited skiers, each one either staring silently out the hard, plastic windows, all scratched up by thousands of ski tips having rested against them over the years, at the slopes far below, hypnotized by the expansive barren terrain, or, debating intently with his or her ski buddy about the perfect ski to use for today's conditions, or of a recent alpine experience, frequently in some foreign tongue. As we ascend it slowly becomes evident how high above sea level we are: the sky gradually becomes deeper blue, blue within blue -- I am reminded of how the astronauts get to witness how the sky becomes deeper blue, then still darker until it finally morphs into black after they blast off from earth into orbit! The cable car finally arrives at the very peak, over 3,300 metres above sea level, and we all must, unusually, trudge down over 150 metal steps in ski boots, braving the fierce, bitter wind at the peak, carrying our skis and boards, to the actual beginning of the trail, below the arrival station. Before doing so however, nearly everybody pulls out their smartphones to take pictures and selfies despite the howling wind: at this elevation, we can see over all of the nearby mountains to the faraway peaks and even over many of those to the horizon where there are still more snow-covered peaks, most of them very rugged and craggy in this section of the French Alps. Only Mont Blanc, a few kilometres away is much higher than our vantage point on this precipice, majestic against the rich blue within blue sky, usually sporting its own personal wispy, lenticular cloud, as it is at the moment, shrouding its very peak from sight. It is awesome, if not overwhelming, a sight that I will never take for granted, as so very few people ever get here to witness the panorama.

There are now two options for your pleasure: option one is skiing down the expert trail, groomed and well marked to keep skiers from getting lost on the way down. Because we are far above the tree line, there is little difference between the marked trail, which is all covered in snow and perfectly safe to ski, and off-trail which is also all covered in snow but quite risky as it may lead to gullies, cliffs and dangerous crevices. Those people turn right once they've arrived at the bottom of the long noisy flight of aluminium stairs. We choose option two by turning left and traversing over to the top of the Argentière glacier. With our guide in the lead, we know that the way is safe as long as we follow him down, more or less. The slow continual downhill advance of all glaciers does result in numerous crevices forming, sometimes as deep as 300 metres, I am informed, so following the guide is advised. Not only is the sky deep blue and the sun brilliant above us, not only is the frozen icy glacier beneath me covered by a three-metre thick layer of soft powdery snow, not only is the slope steep but not too steep, but it is also wide, so wide that I cannot see from edge to edge, it is a dream. 

I take my first turn and then my next and then I realize I can competently keep my rhythm but am entirely unconstrained as to how long or how wide my turns can be. Fluffy snow kicks up behind me, blinding anybody who foolishly chooses to follow me as I slalom down the huge expanse of freshly fallen snow, sometimes veering way left as I please and other times right, with little forethought or reason, feeling childlike as nothing else (nor anybody else) in the world matters at the moment. The fresh brisk dry air tickles my nostrils as I inhale and it fills my lungs, but my breathing soon becomes more laboured partly due to the rarefied air at this elevation, partly from the effort demanded by my legs. I am mindful of the soft snow sliding under my skis with every second's advance downhill. I feel rather proud as this hors-piste descent is apparently never-ending and I am managing the ride with more skill than usual, which adds further to my delight! It is as silent as it is breathtaking up here on top of the world and time appears to be ticking by slowly for me which I notice and which I appreciate. Of course I stop to catch my breath every minute or two, but these rest stops afford me the added pleasure of gazing around and performing a reality check: am I really here? I do not answer. Before too long I have mastered the summit and have indeed enjoyed one of the longest runs of my life, eventually rejoining the groomed trail for the last section and arriving at the base, over 2,200 metres below, probably a 6 km ride, never to be forgotten.

La Mer de Glace snaking its way through the Vallée Blanche behind me

Yesterday was altogether different: the town's inhabitants awoke to a thick fog which obscured all the surrounding mountains. In fact, the visibility at ground level was not fantastic either so the decision was to take the day off from zero-visibility skiing and instead visit the Vallée Blanche glacier, la Mer de Glace, the largest in France. It is 6 km long and 200 metres deep and is located on the northern slopes of Mont Blanc. An interesting train ride from Chamonix up a steep climb brings us in twenty minutes' time to a spot 400 metres above the glacier's leading edge. I had read that this glacier, in the distant past, filled the entire valley, up to and above the point at which we disembarked from the train (see the picture, above). It was over 700 metres thick at the time! The train itself is powered by electric motors which turn several gears positioned vertically under the train's carriage. These gears interlock with large metal teeth that are secured to the railroad bed from beginning to end. As the motors turn the gears, the train advances uphill.
I apologize for the mechanical details (which fascinated me!) and will now return to the glacier. I am sure that many of you reading this postcard have seen glaciers first-hand if not having at least seen photographs. In this case, we took a gondola down 300 metres along the valley's wall, and then still had to walk 400 stairs further down to the glacier's edge. This is where the fun begins: every winter, a team of engineers spends over a month drilling out an ice cave by digging horizontally into the glacier. The cave is more like a tunnel shaped like a loop which is burrowed 75 metres into the glacier! And into this cave I enter. The ice walls inside are so cold that when I touch them and rub my fingers over them, the ice will not melt -- my fingers remain dry. Can you imagine, I am literally inside the glacier, surrounded by many tons of ice possibly frozen for thousands of years, barely lit by several hidden lights, giving the entire length of the ice cave an eerie shine, deep blue in colour. If you are the least bit claustrophobic, you will likely not be venturing inside. For the rest of you: Add this experience to your bucket list!

Here's hoping you are checking items off your own bucket list!

Ski bum Barry