Not the Haute Route

And just like that, four months in the mountains comes to an end. Somewhere there are statistics on the trip (metres climbed, burgers per week, spend on Moody’s coffee etc) but there are more convenient treatments for insomnia than that particular infographic.

The last few weeks have been some of the best yet. At the start of April, Kiki – followed by Bernie and Natalie – arrived in the mountains, triggering a blind panic to clean the flat, trim the beard and generally make myself presentable for polite company. Those efforts were just about successful, aided by half a cow, most of the local cheese and two to three macarons.

The unseasonably good weather continued, especially on the Italian side of Mont Blanc. Piste powder in the morning and Aperol (or gelato) in the sun in the afternoon is spring skiing at its finest. Unfortunately, it is not enough quite enough to offset the calorie intake from #cookingwithBernie and #diningwithBernie. So much for the mountains being good for you.

On the plus side, I was pleased to discover that my spare belly still works. And I like to think the lamb was pleased to play a starring role in our Easter feast too. It may have been past caring.

To book Bernie, contact Storm Model Management

After the last visitors left, it was time for the final adventure of the season. A 120km ski tour linking the home of ski mountaineering in Chamonix with what the Swiss would claim is the home of ski mountaineering in Zermatt. Plan A (you can tell where this is going) was 6 days of hut-to-hut travel and high mountain passes across the Massif du Mont Blanc and the Pennine Alps.

Alas, the mountains can be cruel and were at pains to remind us that we are guests on their turf. Plan A was frustrated by equipment troubles (do not try and cross crevasses with a broken binding). Plan B came a cropper thanks to the clouds (do not try and cross crevasses in zero visibility). Plan C met a similar end (do not try and climb high alpine cols in a blizzard).

And yet, even Plan D served up the goods. We had to bail early – down to the tiny Swiss resort of Arolla – but the final 1500m descent served up the best powder of the season. A slim weather window and 60cm of glorious fresh powder was our reward for battling through the previous day’s blizzard. The previous 4 nights of hut food meant our legs were primed and fuelled to take advantage too.

Ski mountaineering is easier not in a blizzard

Then that was it. Back to Chamonix to wax and pack skis, and lock up the flat for the winter. This post is being written on a dreary Friday afternoon in London where everything feels rather … flat. Luckily the next adventure is just a few hours away: I have zero hopes for Scottish croissants but am eagerly looking forward to an Irn Bru.