Vallée Blanche:un-pisted, un-groomed, unsup

Listed in the top 10 things to do before you die, the descent of the Vallée Blanche existed in my mangled mind as an identical split of both desire + dread. A 22km journey of uncertain land laid before me as I racked up 30 minutes early to the infamous Telecabine d'Aguille de Midi to meet my freebee guide and cluster of a group whom I would embark on this great expedition with. I'd had a conversation with my pal Tom the evening before as we'd slurped wine on his balcony + watched the light slowly disappear from the monstrously intimidating peak of the Midi- it both filled me with fear + fantasy as he regaled his stories from the Blanche experience he'd just completed a few hours before; "watch out for them Crevasses love" is all the advice he could give me. Gazing up at the famous landmark in the ever mysterious twilight of the mountains, it seemed almost impossible in that moment to entertain the reality that after a short sleep I would soon be roping up to my life-line harness along a thin ledge with shear drops of hundreds of metres either side of it.

I wondered why none of the other hoards of skiers ladended down with magnitudes of impressive looking climbing equipment looked in the least bit fazed by the shuddering splintering journey to the top, jangling and clang-ling around with their rainbow collections of extreme ropes and janitor like collections of caribiners + bolts, crampons, pick-axes + radio transmitters encircling the torsos whilst the extensive harnesses that would soon be attached to one another to mark the various descent groups of choice fashioned similar alluring collections of colours that my frantically fear filled eyes couldn't keep away from- at least until I realised I'd spent the last half an hour staring at the bums + groins of my fellow Blanchers, and made the instant decision to try and pull myself together.

The top two snaps mark the first few steps of the excursion; I was delighted that we as well were set to join The Extreme Club, adorning ourselves with collections of colour clad safety apparatus. After we'd trundled through a collection of ice caves, which walls were so solid that people attempting passing fleeting hackings off were pulling their axes away with alarmingly-so surprised expressions on their adventurous faces. Once out into the open, it soon occurred to me that everything I'd heard and read about the first passage of The Blanche was so very very true. A disturbing distance of excruciatingly thin paths zigzagging across the summit unfolded themselves to us as we were allowed to gasp for just a moment before our blunt, but exceptionally dishy fifty-something guide named Patrick urged us to get a move on whilst fearlessly strutting alongside us as we began fidgeting our slow way down the crippling paths, squeezing onto the accompanying safety rope as if it was the only thing that existed between life and death; perhaps it was. It didn't take long for a formidable group camaraderie to form, as we were now all attached to one another- essentially all existing as one another's desperately under experienced life-lines.
And so the bottom pap leads us to the rest of the journey; a number of hours marvelling our way making fresh powder tracks, obediently following Patrick like a pack of loyal snakes; not daring to make any turn different from his through fear of falling 200 metres down a hidden hole. Surging great natural ice structures accompanied us all the way down, with views melting my eyes and ones that I was sure only existed in my over active imagination. There were great stretches that it felt like we were the only people in the mountains, with our pupils crazily focussing on the ever changing dramatic depths of field; it could've been miles.

Convinced beforehand that I would hold everyone up with my inconsistent goating ski technique, I was relieved that the all-male group I was with were both at a very similar standard to me but more importantly didn't reveal any such similar male-crazed attitudes I'd become so depressingly accustomed to over the last few days.

I felt like a spoilt kid when it became apparent we'd reached our destination finale; the bright red chuggety ski train that would once again bring us back to the world that in my mind had stopped moving for the past four hours. "More, more, more!" I pleaded with crossed fingers, wishing to once again be whole-heartedly immersed in the endless jaw bending beauty, one that sits at the top of the earth. And whoever gets the chance to gawk and peer at its vast offerings with their own eyes, is a contented happy person, brimming with luck and seamless glowing memories.