"So how did you get into climbing?"
- Anthony
- Feb 15
- 10 min read
Where it all began
I gingerly placed my foot on the narrow section of snow that bridged the gap across the crevasse.
The other 3 team members had just crossed without issue, so surely it was solid.
I weighted my feet and instantly felt the snow give way beneath me. Pin-dropping through the bridge, the rope went tight, and my eyes became level with the snow.
I was at the border between Italy and Switzerland on the Monte Rosa massif, surrounded by many of the 4000 metre peaks of the Alps.
Using my ice axe and kicking my crampons into the crevasse wall, I extracted myself from the hole and looked down to see the dark, foreboding chasm.
But what had brought me here? The reason was the result of a search to a simple question: how does one get started in climbing and mountaineering?
Unless you are naturally brought into this realm of alpinism and climbing (as some are fortunate enough to be), it is not something you can wake up one day, and go, 'I think I might go and climb a difficult, technical mountain today', at least not without recklessly putting your life on the line. It just doesn't work like that! What gear will you need? Will you need a rope? How hard is 'hard'? If I have a rope, what am I meant to do with it??? To understand what had led me to this point will require stepping back another 12 months…
In 2016, my brother Ryan was gearing up to finish his final year of high school. He was trying to figure out what to do after his last exam to celebrate. Craving an adventure and to see the world, he pulled me into helping him ideate on options. Everest base camp trek was floated as an idea, and I had managed to get myself an invite.
Everest Base Camp
On 12th December 2016, our DCH-6 Twin Otter plane took off from Kathmandu airport, and the pilot set a course for the Tenzing-Hillary Airport in Lukla, notorious for being the "most dangerous airport in the world".
Thankfully, we had good visibility; a factor that - historically - seemed to contribute significantly to the likelihood of survival.
As we approached the mountainous region of the town of Lukla, the tiny airstrip came into view and we touched down safely at Tenzing-Hillary airport. Getting off the plane, I was filled with inspiration. Even here at the doorstep of the Himalayas and days away from the true Himalayan "giants", the landscape seemed surreal.
Our trek consisted of a 10-day march through the lower mountains, through the township of Namche Bazar, and into the inhospitable high Himalayan valleys. Up here, the air became drier, the vegetation disappeared, and burning yak dung replaced wood fires to warm the tea houses. The hostile landscape grew in magnificence as we climbed higher up the Khumbu on our approach to the highest landmark of them all.
Witnessing these magnificent peaks for the first time was awe-inspiring. I had seen all the photos and documentaries about the Himalayas, yet nothing could prepare me for the impression seeing them first-hand would make. Yet, despite the experience, I felt that something was missing. I wanted to be on the mountain, climbing and ascending the ridges and faces, not merely passing through. The distinction between trekking and the inaccessibility of technical climbing - where strength and fitness alone are not sufficient to be successful - became apparent. This world of mountaineering and the elusive, jagged peaks had captured my imagination. I wanted more.
I left that experience in Nepal enthused to level up to the next adventure and work towards something more serious. Immediately after arriving home, my search for the next adventure began. My research brought me to a logical next step when I learnt about Chamonix, the ski resort town in the French Alps, and Mont Blanc; standing at 4808m, it is the highest summit in Western Europe. I signed up for a 6-day program with Mont Blanc Guides, and boarded a plane for my first trip to Europe, just 6 months after returning home from Nepal.
European Alps
My exposure to the European Alps was very different from the Himalayas—the accessibility of the mountains in Europe is unmatched; you can quickly find yourself in serious alpine terrain. This was the opposite of our Himalayan experience which had involved days and days of trudging up valleys to reach the high mountains. If the Himalayas were a cathedral, the Alps felt like a playground.
The experience on the Mont Blanc course was my first exposure to legitimate climbing. There was limited technical instruction, with our guides tying us into the rope and telling us what to do, however, it was a fantastic introduction that pulled back the veil on what is required to operate in an alpine environment.
Our first acclimatisation climb was on Grand Paradiso, the highest mountain which lies wholly within Italy. We hiked up to the Rifugio Chabod in the pouring rain, where we spent the afternoon drinking coffee and looking at the magnificent North Face of the Grand Paradiso. We would be taking the more manageable Chabod route to the summit.
We set off early in the morning of the 21st of July, our head torches lighting the way. The glaciated route appeared imposing from the hut, but the gradient was fairly moderate in reality. Weaving around crevasses and plodding onwards up the glacier, we gradually gained altitude. As we ascended, the mist accumulated in the valley and flooded up the glacier. The visibility deteriorated, and before too long, I was straining to see the next person in front of me, separated by just 10 metres of rope. I distinctly recall looking down at the ice axe in my hand, the climbing rope tied to my harness, and the sea of white all around, and feeling immense stoke at the fact that I was doing a legitimate mountaineering thing!
Before long, the first distant rumble of thunder rolled over us. We kept plodding on, hoping to make the top before the weather deteriorated further. But the situation worsened, with the occasional distant rumble becoming more close and distinct. Our guide, John, announced, "One more thunderclap, and we are turning around."
Two minutes later, we were walking downhill; there would be no summit today. To our amazement, there were a number of parties still heading up the hill on their way to the summit, seemingly unconcerned by the approaching thunderstorm. John talked to us about risk management, and how the odds are nine times out of 10, we would have been fine to continue on. But there is that one in 10 times when it could all go terribly wrong. I have taken a similar approach to managing risk in the mountains and in my climbing since.
That evening back at the Rifugio Chabod, we received the news we were all expecting but not wanting – we would not be climbing Mont Blanc this year. The storm that had moved through the Alps had deposited deep powder snow along our climbing route, meaning progress without skis would be near impossible. We would have to pivot to a different plan.
Our short trip for an attempt of Grand Paradiso was an honest introduction to mountaineering – where the summit is not always guaranteed and the conditions can change your plans in a heartbeat.
After a time-filler day on a via-ferrata whilst the mountain conditions consolidated, and a day on the Aiguilles Marbrées traverse, we set off for our revised itinerary: the Monte Rosa Massif, lying on the boarder of Italy and Switzerland.
We drove back into Italy, headed up the lifts and traversed across to the Gnifetti Hut. Our objective the following morning would be to gain the summit of any 4000 metre peaks that we could – there are a few within reach and the day's accomplishments would depend on the weather conditions and the fitness of the group.
The weather turned out to be even worse than on our Grand Paradiso attempt (sans thunder), and the poor visibility was combined with snowfall to ensure our range of view was extremely limited. We toiled away in the cold for a number of hours, with our guides stopping to make navigational and itinerary decisions a few times along the way. The surface of the glacier was broken with crevasses, and we had to cross a number of snow bridges; a novel experience for most of us. This is the point where this post started, with me punching through the thin layer of snow across a crevasse, and climbing back out. Our guide at one point also fell into a crevasse, and the 3 clients on the rope helped to pull him back out.
We reached our high point on the summit of Vincent Pyramid (4215m). Whilst being a snowy summit of modest difficulty, the conditions made it feel a worthy objective and was the cumulation of a week of patience, effort, changed plans and education on mountaineering. Within a few hours, we had descended to the lift station and down into a sunny Italian valley. We lounged on a deck, sipping espressos in the sun, looking up at the mountains where we had been only a few hours ago. Now you can't do that in the Himalayas!
After the Mont Blanc ascent course concluded, we all went our separate ways, and I explored other parts of the Alps. I travelled into Switzerland: Interlaken, Grindelwald and into the quaint ski resort town of Zermatt, home of the iconic Matterhorn - one of the most archetypal mountains you could imagine. I walked and ran through the sub-alpine area and gazed at the surrounding peaks in wonder, promising myself to return with the skills and experience required to venture onto the higher peaks. I got busy thinking about how I would honour that promise and gain the experience required.
I made some friends in a campground in Zermatt, two of whom were an Australian couple from the Blue Mountains. Looking up at the Matterhorn, we got talking about climbing and their experience, which mainly revolved around rock climbing. They recounted stories of adventures those rock climbing skills had allowed them to take, and related the technical difficulties of various climbs back at home to some of the classic mountaineering objectives of the Alps. This was one of numerous conversations where the technical skills of rock climbing had been identified as a crucial skill to be deployed on many mountaineering objectives.
Complex ascents in the mountains require a range of skillsets. Rock climbing, and specifically "trad"* climbing seemed to conveniently offers many of those: movement over complex, steep terrain, rope management**, anchor building to attach you and your fellow climber to the mountain, and the risk management that comes from assuring your safety whilst moving through hazardous terrain.
*short for "traditional" climbing - where the climber is secured to the rock primarily by making use of the natural features of the rock, as opposed to bolts and permanent anchors
**how to prevent 60 metres of rope turning into a tangled mess of spaghetti!
Whilst I was constantly reminded in Europe that there "Ain't no mountains in Australia!", I realised that if I wanted to prepare myself for climbing more challenging mountains, I would need to embrace rock climbing as a pathway to gain the skills required.
Now, there may not be much technical mountaineering in Australia; but rock climbing? By god there is some good stuff! Locations such as Arapiles, the Grampians, Mount Buffalo, the Blue Mountains, Warrumbungles and the Glasshouse Mountains to name a few offer exceptional rock and climbing opportunities that make Australia one of the international destinations for rock climbers.
My first rock climbing experience came from tagging along with the Bedfords, some family friends of ours to Arapiles on a December weekend in 2017. I had perfected the figure-8 knot to tie the rope to my harness at the local climbing gym in Nunawading, and was ready for my first visit to the spiritual home of Victorian rock climbing.
I had heard about this iconic mount in Western Victoria and how it was a beacon for climbers from all over the state. Driving into the Pines late on Friday night, there was nothing to suggest anything out of the ordinary. Waking up on the Saturday morning however, I started to understand what all the fuss was about. Bard Buttress looms high over the camping areas at Arapiles, its imposing 100m rocky formation jutting out of the Wimmera plains and inviting climbers to it.
After dialling in a few skills on the shorter single-pitch rock climbs, we tackled the 4-pitch, 130m Eskimo Nell. What an adventure! I was really just along for the ride, seconding each pitch behind the leader with the assurance of a rope anchored from above. The sensation of being multiple pitches up in the air, ascending near-vertical terrain was an amazing experience. This would be my first of many climbing trips to Arapiles, and the beginning of an obsession with long, exposed multi-pitch climbs.
It was now the end of 2017. I had caught the climbing bug. Now I needed to learn what the hell I was doing. So far, I had gained some incredible experiences, but as far as safely operating independently in an alpine or vertical environment, I was about as useless as an RP in an offwidth*. But I had made the most important step - getting started. I could now construct a plan to acquire the skills required to climb safely and independently, allowing me to take on my own objectives in the mountains. What those objectives would be, I didn't know yet—but I was determined to find out.
*Pretty useless!