In the summer of 2020, Tristan (aged 12 and 38kg) and I (aged 51 and 68kg) decided to rock climb the easiest line on Pierre Avoir; the isolated peak that looks down onto Verbier from the Savoleyres sector. It is a 120m route comprising a series of four pitches graded 5a, 5a, 4c and 5c which is comfortably within my range for leading and very straightforward for Tristan as the second.
It began well and I felt good although Tristan was a little tentative to begin with – there is a lot of exposure and it feels intimidating so I could understand his reticence. On the second pitch he had found his confidence and we were climbing well together. The third and easiest pitch was a breeze and we arrived at the start of the final climb.
I looked up and saw an old piton hammered in 10m above us and it looked a lot tougher than its 5c grade. However, we did not really want to retreat so I set off towards the piton. It was tough and at the piton I clipped in and looked up wondering how I was supposed to make any more progress. The climbing was on the edge of my skill level and I could feel a sense of anxiety rising as I tried to wedge myself a little deeper into the crack below the piton. I could see a nice shiny bolt over to the left and readied myself to commit to the next sequence of what looked like really challenging moves. It all felt very wrong.
I started to make progress but then suddenly I was falling – I do not really know what happened, I must have lost my footing, as usually you know when you are about to go and can prepare for the fall. It was a long enough fall for me to have time to think “I hope that rusty old piton holds” and then I stopped – I was hanging upside down, face to the wall and looking down at Tristan who had, thank heavens, held the fall. As I am twice as heavy, he had been jerked into the air and was suspended above the rocky ledge, lifted up by my weight but held down from the anchor I had secured him to.
My first thought was, well the system works and then, how lucky the rusty old piton held my fall as otherwise it would have been pretty nasty and possibly fatal. I looked around to work out what to do next and spotted a couple on the ridge to our right taking a photograph of what must have looked like a fairly chaotic situation!
Tristan however, had just seen his dad drop like a stone, was suspended in the air and not surprisingly, close to panicking and starting to hyperventilate. Despite my own precarious situation, I was strangely calm.
I righted myself and calmly spoke to Tristan, telling him that he needed to keep it together as he had to be responsible for my safety and lower me back down to the stance and keep me safe. Despite everything, he was able to do as I asked and carefully lowered me back. I held him tight, not only for his sake but also out of gratitude, he had probably saved my life. It took a few minutes but he began to get his breathing under control and I explained we would need to climb our way out.
It was at this point I noticed the blood. As the rock face had been pretty much vertical, I had not received any impact on my fall but somehow I had sliced open my elbow (it later required a few stitches) and slit my fingers – there was a lot of blood. Other climbers on the other side of the gorge shouted across that the route was to our left. I peered around a rocky outcrop and there was a nice series of shiny new bolts and a much more manageable 5c looking route. I made a mental note that I would never set off on a route in the future unless I was certain it was the right one and that generally in Switzerland, bolted routes are really well bolted and the solitary, rusty piton should have been an obvious warning sign.
Lesson noted, we had to get ourselves out of this situation. Tristan was able to continue to belay me and was calm again. I was still bleeding from the tips of my fingers quite badly and it made climbing difficult – I had to keep putting my hands into my chalk bag to give me any traction. It was also the most challenging section of the route but I climbed it relatively easily despite the slippery, bloodied fingers. Tristan followed and I kept the rope very tight to give him additional reassurance but he climbed well and did not really need the help. We appeared on the summit of Pierre Avoir and joined the hikers who had scaled the iron ladders to enjoy the view.
I was incredibly proud of Tristan – he stayed calm and was able to function in what was a terrifying situation for anyone, let alone a 12 year-old. He has climbed since and with confidence and like many of the adventures in the mountains, I hope that an experience like this has taught him how to handle himself in challenging and difficult situations. I feel somewhat foolish for having made such an elementary route finding error – compounded by the fact that I had a photo of the route on my phone at the time and which clearly indicates the route was to our left! It all makes for a good story though!
Expeditions 