The KCLMC Alps trip is I am reliably informed an institution as old as time itself. Every June since time immemorial, exam weary KCL mountaineers have decamped to Ailefroide in Ecrins national park. The 2011 Alps trip began when, in the early hours of Tuesday the 7th of June, three cars set out in convoy for the South of France...
Throughout the year I had a steady drip feed of tales of Alps trips past, so to say my expectations were high would be an understatement. Cramped in with tents, bouldering mats and other climbing paraphernalia we crossed the channel and sped south. Near the end of the long drive we picked up Arthur, a local student who Edd had met on his year abroad. He was to be our guide for the prologue to the Alps trip proper: three days deep water soloing on the French Mediterranean coast!
Arthur took us to the giant sea cave at Saint Pierre and we spent hours climbing the walls as high as we dared before plunging into the deep, warm water with a crash. You could also scramble round the sea cliffs to a secluded bay where it was possible to set up a slack-line over deep water. By night we camped on the beach -it was heavenly!
On the third day however, things went tits up in dramatic fashion. First, as Edd shut the boot of his car the glass shattered without warning, showering the sandy ground with glass. Sorting this out was a hassle and put paid to another day of climbing, so we made the best of it and spent the day on the beach. In the evening we ate a delicious dinner and set up a slackline between two palm trees.
That was the cue for the next unfortunate event; Rosie took a tumble off the slackline, landed awkwardly and dislocated her elbow.
Fortunately KCLMC is infested with medical students so short of slack lining in the hospital car park, Rosie could hardly have been better placed to receive first aid. When we met Rosie after she was discharged from hospital the following day she had dreadful stories to tell of sadistic French doctors and cruel nurses who would not let anyone stay with her, even after Edd pretended to be her boyfriend. On the other hand I have heard from other sources that the food in French hospitals is excellent, which was surely some consolation. After picking up Rosie from the hospital we said goodbye to Arthur and drove to Ailefroide. It was dark and rainy when we arrived and we rushed to pitch our tents, the surrounding peaks looming over us in the blackness.
At Ailefroide the initial expedition was met by two more car loads of climbers and a few people arrived by flying machine, swelling our ranks to over 20. On day one, while the others bumbled off to go bouldering while Hells and I raided l'Argentiere for provisions. As you can imagine, feeding a group of 20 plus hungry climbers requires quite a lot of grub so it was quite a struggle coaxing the heavily laden car back up the steep roads. Returning to find the camp empty we began unloading heaps of food to put it in the mess tent only to discover that while we were gone someone had struck upon the tremendous idea of backing Jen's car into the tent in what I can only describe as some sort of “practical joke”.
We began our first proper day by walking en masse to a crag just over the river and beyond a blooming alpine meadow. For a number of people this was their first time climbing out of the confines of the castle. After a quick skills sesh courtesy of Jen everyone acquitted themselves well. Some of us learned how to run down slabs when falling on lead while others demonstrated how NOT to do it and end up with cuts and scrapes for their trouble. Later in the trip we tended to split up into smaller groups to avoid monopolising crags with swarms of outrageously talented KCLMC climbers, what a considerate lot we are!
Veterans of last years trip will be pleased to hear that the fire shelter sign was found planted next to a tree. Work soon began on a new shelter. Ben, Edd, Sam and assorted men, brimming with testosterone, chopped logs & dug holes etc. By all accounts the structure was not as impressive as the previous year's construction. Said men blamed a lack of suitable timber, as opposed to general incompetence. As it happened a much better excuse came along a few days later: when the camp-site owner stomped over to us with a look of rage in his eyes! Now my knowledge of the French language is patchy at best, but even I could tell this man was not happy with us at all.
Apparently the fact that last years fire shelter had gone up in flames at the end of the trip, leaving a smouldering ash heap had not left him in a good mood.
But since it happened on the last day of the trip, he had had all year to fulminate and brood on the matter. Result: one hopping mad Frenchman. Somehow our illustrious president dealt with the situation diplomatically and satisfied him that we were not a society of serial arsonists, but at the price of promising to cease work on the new shelter.
Immediately around Ailefroide the climbing predominantly involved delicately padding your way up granite slabs, but a short car journey away there was a huge variety of types of climbing and types of rock. For instance, Mont Dauphin is a conglomerate crag beneath the battlements of a 18th century fortress. The rock looks like a kind of pudding mixture made up of sand and pebbles. Roche Barron is another memorable crag. It is in a particularly beautiful situation and the fields around it are swarming with grasshoppers. As we parked they were swept before us in great fluttering waves. The rock is limestone of excellent quality criss crossed by diagonal breaks in a crazy paving pattern.
For months before the trip freshers such as myself had heard rumours of the legendary mountain guide who is traditionally hired by KCLMC. As long as anyone in the club can remember, and as long as anyone they remember can remember, Murray has been a fixture of the Alps trip. “I heard he once killed a man with a pair of crampons for getting up too late on a summit day”, said Cat. “Well I heard he Is eight feet tall and is immune to cold and ice!”, claimed Ramona. “That's nonsense”, corrected Jen, “But he was raised by wild chamoix!” There were two groups going on mountain days with Murray, each numbering about 4 mountaineers, and they set off for a training day on the glacier in a state of nervous anticipation. After a day of teaching, covering rope work, ice axe arrests and the like, Murray deemed them ready. The 2nd group returned to the camp site and the first remained at altitude. They grabbed what sleep they could in the Glacier Blanc hut before an early start. At about four in the morning they began; hours of trudging over glaciers and up steep snow fields were rewarded with a spectacular summit view from the top of La Rauchefaurio.
As well as the mountain days, Murray took three small groups up multi-pitch rock routes. Edd, Maeve, Murray and I climbed a huge lime stone pinnacle which jutted proudly from the top of a mountain and was surrounded on all sides by endless scree slopes. They seem endless, at any rate, when we were hiking to the base of the route. I had done multi pitch sport routes before, but nothing this spectacular, exposed and intimidating. Doing this route with a guide was a huge confidence booster for me.
After two weeks of climbing we could no longer avoid the real purpose of the trip: excessive drinking and debauchery in Flagonage.
Flagonage is a contest of endurance and speed at drinking flagon. Tim Rogers, as acting flagon master (the present flagon master was absent) retired to the privacy of his tent to devise this years rules. After several hours he emerged with an evil grin on his face.
The party was split into four groups: Polo, Clio, Ibiza and Passat. Competitors who displayed good form in previous years were seeded and these included Lightbody, Rogers, Oliver and Vaughan. In the group stage each competitor had to consume their measure of flagon and assume the finish position by kneeling with place their drinking vessel placed upside down on their head. The two rounds of the group stage selected two victors from each group to proceeded directly to round two and the losers were sent to the bonus group: Space Star. The members of Space Star were randomly split into two teams for a boat race. The winners of the boat race were given a reprieve in spite of their sub standard performance in the group stages, entitling them to compete in round two. Oliver and Vaughan unexpectedly fell in the group stages and headed straight for Space Star, however Vaughan was in the better team for the boat race and saved himself from an ignominious exit.
The next round was musical flagon in which the remaining competitors arrayed themselves in a circle. In the centre of the circle a number of measures of flagon equal to the number of competitors were placed. When the music began the competitors were commanded to promenade in a circle around the flagon until the music ceased, at which point they raced to the nearest vessel of flagon, drank it with haste and then assume the finish position. Musical flagon was repeated in several rounds to select the eight most formidable competitors to compete in the knock out stage. The knock out stages consisted of one on one face-offs, best of three for the quarter finals and semi finals, best of five in the finals. Rogers seemed unbeatable and was joined in the final by Lightbody, who had put in an exceptional performance so far.
She had shown good endurance and technique but was smitten with a fit of the giggles immediately before the finals commenced.
Just when Oliver was about to crown Rogers the victor as acting acting flagon mistress, since the acting flagon master was a competitor, a last minute intervention by Lightbody's lawyer (Matts) halted the proceedings while Lightbody recovered with the aid of her dietitian (Johnson). In what was widely seen as an upset, Lightbody defeated Rogers emphatically and was crowned 2011/12 Flagon Mistress. Long may she reign.
Full details of the evenings celebrations have been redacted to safeguard the reputation of all concerned.
Suffice to say it involved (voluntary!) public nudity and interpretive dance.
Also, Kat started a fight with some climbers from Brixton. Enough said.
During our three weeks in Ailefroide the weather was glorious for most of the time but could take a turn for the worse in not time at all. A few days were rained off by thunder storms, but an enforced rest day is no bad thing on such a long trip. To occupy ourselves, aside from spending a lot of time in the pub, Sam and I had a snail race, Renos organized a poker tournament and Ben had a pull up competition.
I won the snail race, Renos won at poker, but Ben “which way to the gun show” Hill was defeated by a 13 year old girl.
That particular rain day was also the day that exam results were published for many of the medics; this was a cause for much celebration which, for some, took the form of getting hammered and wrestling in the mud. I had decided to forgo the boozing for once and went on a walk up to Pelvoux hut. Unfortunately, it so happened that the only person I had specifically told where I was going and when I would be back was Sam who, having passed second year exams was in no fit state to be explaining to anyone where I had gone. The upshot of it all was that I had the dubious honour of being the only person on the trip for whom a search party was sent out, albeit only for twenty minutes before they met me walking back into camp.
On the hottest days we left the crags by mid afternoon and flocked to the lake a few miles down the valley from l'Argentiere. This was usually very relaxing, with the exception of the last day where we had a titanic naval battle between two pedalos.
When most of us were too tired or injured to continue just Ben and Edd were left grappling on the foredeck of one of the craft. Look up Cain slaying Abel by Rubens and you will get the idea.
Needless to say it was all rather sad when the time came to pack up and go home after three weeks, although sadder than any of us was probably the owner of the pub in Ailefroide, who seemed to have fallen in love with Jen over the course of the trip. Curious, after the Orange Mechanique incident of 2010... The fire pit had to be filled in, the shelter dismantled and our tents packed. All to quickly we were on the way home (all except Edd and his passengers, whose car broke down in Briancon and had to be rescued by the insurance company to race home in time for Maeve's graduation)!
Written by Ali Heggie
