It was late and fudging foggy. We caught the last lift, and, as is normal for Chamonix, there would be a few other crazy bastards, friends with special minds, going for the same idea. Skinning across the glacier in a whiteout it was easy to imagine hanging ice, the big white faces, and steep couloir, invisible, but towering above us. The Back 9 are some of the most condense NE facing lines on the planet, and only a short slide away from the Refuge d’ Argentiere.

10 friends going for different runs, old friends really, strange to already know some of them for 15 yrs. So many memories flooded back while relaxing with the brothers. Sipping a glass of wine on the porch, staring out into the white, I realized how lucky we were to still be alive, sharing in the power of this place.

After trying to sleep, dreaming fitfully, of what could be, I was happy to be awake and put my boots on. We started off at dawn feeling fortunate that there were stars and the outline of the peaks in the wakening sky.

As the sun crested the Aiguilles to the east, our objective was clear, “Qui Remus.” First skied by our master, the late, great, Remy Lecluse. I remembered fondly, asking him about the line years ago. Remy was the reason I believed and first skied it.

Crossing the rimee/bergshrund it was hard to tell if it was gonna be good. The breakable crust and a lot of sluff coming down made it easy to want to turn around.

Ced was feeling shitty and Mark just got off the plane so they made the call and turned around. I had a feeling it was gonna be good, so with the brothers watching from the glacier, I had extra power to make it to the top.

Sunny, clear and above it all, I clipped into an old sling and drank deeply of the energy.
The Chocard came, two of them, soaring the Col and saying hello. The best of signs. It was easy to feel good, give thanks, and step into my skis.

It’s like I just woke up, wild to feel alive again. Clear and confident, I made big turns above the ice, flying in a dream, down to my friends who were waiting to embrace me on the glacier below.

It’s just one descent, but hey, that one smooth run can change your life.

Thanks, Cedric, Nate, Damien, Mark and Remy Lecluse.

Text by Michael “Bird” Shaffer
Photos by Bird & Cedric Bernardini

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On the last day of my one and a half month long trip to Spain, I decided to leave the Neanderthal project for some on-sighting (editor: To climb a route that you have not prepared for before the send) in Rodellar.

Rodellar is a place I have spent a lot of time in over the years. Usually it offers cooler temperatures than other climbing crags in the area, due to the altitude. The sector Piscineta is one of the newest sectors in Rodellar, yet in my opinion the best one. I had been there only once before. Back then I took the one hour long trail over the mountain, this time we wanted to try going up the river with a little inflatable boat we bought at a supermarket.

I didn’t know when the sun would hit Piscineta, but I knew it was a morning crag, the sun would hit sometime during the day, so time was of the essence. We got up relatively early for what we thought would be a 1,5 hour drive from Santa Linya, but roughly 5 kilometers before Rodellar we had to wait an hour due to roadwork on the narrow mountain road. Not a good start. Getting up the river proved to be a cold affair. After 10 minutes on a trail alongside the river, it suddenly stopped. There were 20-meter cliffs on both sides of the river and we could not see the end of it. The little rubber boat could only hold one person and our bags, and the rest of us would have to swim, for how long we did not know. As I was the one to suggest Piscineta, I felt it was my responsibility to swim first. It proved to be only 200 hundred meters, but felt like ages. I had to grab on to some holds I could find on the way just to catch my breath and get my body above water for a few seconds. The fact that we swam against the stream made it even worse.

Photo by Henning Wang

After getting to the other side, I could only wait for the boat to come with my warm clothes, hoping that this was it, and that there would be no more swimming. Luckily there wasn’t, but on several occasions we had to walk up the river with water above our waists. When we finally reached the 55 meter long cliff of Piscineta two hours later I was both freezing and sunburned at the same time. We sat around for almost an hour to dry our clothes and gain energy to climb. Surprisingly enough my body actually felt pretty energized and awake after the cold swim. I started warming up by onsighting the first pitch of Black Pearl 8a+. Things felt good, despite the epic journey we had getting there.

As usual I went there without any plan but as I was feeling strong and psyched I wanted to give something really hard a good insight burn. My eye was set on Cosi fan tutti. In my opinion the best line on the wall; 55 meters of overhanging climbing.

Photo by Henning Wang

The first part of it is 8a+, which I managed to climb without any difficulties. I got through a wet part of it without hesitation. The first part was followed by some easy climbing before I got up to what I thought was the physical crux; a section of some small, but positive holds. Again I didn’t hesitate. I got through the part, by looking at it, choosing a sequence and sticking to it. I started getting pretty pumped, but got it back on some jugs higher up. I was now on the very top of the route, all that remained was getting around the lip and a few meters of slab. I stalled as I couldn’t see any obvious holds. From a good undercut, where I could rest, I grabbed a two-finger pocket and reached as high as I could in hopes on finding something to pull on. Many times I retreated to the undercut. The sun was shining directly on the slab and in my eyes, making it even harder to see where I was supposed to go. After repeating the process of searching for holds and resting I knew I had to do something before getting too tired to have any chance. So I grabbed the pocket, reached as far as I could. I only got two fingers on a sloppy edge, and thought I was going to fall. I then bumped to get my remaining fingers on the hold, before I jumped to a decent looking hold. My feet cut, and I desperately got them above the lip. I grabbed some sloppy crimpers without any chalk. Then reached out to the top hold, thinking I could fall at any moment. Not until I had clipped the chain I was safe.

Photo by Henning Wang

It was a very satisfying feeling to for once win a desperate on-sight battle expecially since only 4 other climbers have ever on-sighted an 8c+ route before (Patxi Usobiaga, Adam Ondra, Alexander Megos (9a) and Ramon Julian Puigblanque). I feel like I’m in the shape of my life after investing so much time in Neanderthal. Unfortunately it didn’t go this season, but at least I got to put the shape in good use.

Photo by Chris Holter

Text by Magnus Midtbø

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