After months of saving and weeks of perusing climbing websites and stores, I now had the essential kit for our trip to the Alps. I had no idea at the time how important this specialised gear was going to be or how much I would grow to depend on it, respect it and love it. While walking out of climbing stores in Covent Garden with hundreds of pounds worth of goretex, I would think back to my surfing days and be pleasantly amused at the kit comparisons. Board, bikini and towel. Things have certainly changed.

Preparing for this trip didn’t take much either. Stopped smoking and was spoilt with a stunning mountain bike for Christmas which spiked my fitness levels, soothed my post smoking muchies and increased my overall happiness tenfold during my first English winter.

Three days before Friday, my boss told me I will be required to fly to Hamburg on Tuesday morning (eight am flight from Heathrow) to attend a business meeting and will be there for two days. Getting back from Chamonix on Monday midnightish would mean some extra special logistics and planning would be required.
Nevertheless, with three days before I leave for the Alps, the last thing on my mind is a business meeting in Hamburg!

Friday arrives and I walk out of the office with an abnormally large bag, large and heavy enough to look suspiciously like some one who was headed towards the Thames to “dump” the contents, I started my journey towards Heathrow. By this stage my adrenelin had peaked so high I had become restless and anxious. So many thoughts were running through my mind of what lay ahead of me. I tried to imagine what this weekend would be like, repeatedly reading the alpine route descriptions, hoping to find a clue that would settle my now wild imagination. Nothing helped except the beer at the airport with Rich. And on the flight to Geneva, mentally exhausted, physically lethargic and yawning uncontrollably I really felt like I was starting to slip into a dream.

Discharging at Geneva airport and jumping in a taxi that took us straight to Chamonix, I was left alone once again with the frantic thoughts of what lay ahead while Rich snoozed on the back seat of the taxi. As we crossed the French border and drove into the Alps, it was going on 10h50 and the towering opaque mountainous outlines assembled either side of the freeway made me stare so hard into their dark shadows, hoping once again, to find a sign. But they were not revealing a single secret tonight.

Our arrival at the inn was so late, the bar was shut and it was decided we best go straight to sleep for the lunacy tiredness had developed into extremely annoying grumpiness. As we climbed into bed well after midnight we decided to set our alarm clocks “just in case”. For what, I was still not sure.

The 4am mobile phone alarm is chiming and a bolt of reality surges through my body. I remember where I am and the excitement of what lies outside wakes me up faster than my body wants to. Rich is lying next to me in the darkness and causiously asks “Sparkle, should we go climb something”, to which I reply, “Hell yes! I didn’t come all this way to sleep in”.

There was just enough dawning light for a sneak peek out the window to reveal the majesty and grandeur of the biggest, whitest and most remarkable mountains I have ever seen in my life. After chucking my sparkling new kit on, we were off. Bags packed, kit assembled and we’re marching towards the Aguille du midi station. 4 hours sleep and no food. A nervous energy is bouncing between us. Not much is said but we are smiling loudly. The daylight has leaked into the darkness and I have no idea whats going on. We arrive at the aguille du midi station pumped and looking totally gnarly. Except we are two hours early. Damn station doesn’t open till 8. When normal people get up. At least it was running. Rich had feared it would be totally closed as we were doing this trip between seasons so we knew it was a risk from the start. Nevertheless, climbers, skiers, tourists and a group of crazy Ozzies filming some sort of documentary of themselves jumping off the top of the midi station and then unleashing crunched up parachutes from their hands in mid air provided some far out entertainment. The cable car starts running and as we jump in I realise this is my first time in a cable car and am amazed at how thin the cables are. Once we are at the top I follow Rich though warren of freezing, damp and icy tunnels of solid granite to a cave with a frozen ice floor and and porthole mouth of white fragmented light and certain death.

We lay our bags down on the ice and I copy Rich as he puts on his crampons. Its my first time wearing crampons and I am completely bewildered by the feeling of crunchy ice under the spikes. Rich passes me the rope and tells me to tie in. I go blank, like the first time I performed at the Kwa-Zulu Natal Theatre house in front of a packed audience. Its gone, I don’t know whats happening anymore and all I can see is that vortex in front of me, raging and howling with its blinding light. Finally we are tied in and roped up and as I wait for Rich to walk into the white abyss and bid him farewell for I shall wait for him to disappear forever and never see him again, he looks at me and says “youre going first”.

You're going first!