Well, there we all were in Bregaglia, centre of the universe. Within the past two days four Brits had been hit by rockfall, so it was obvious that it was coming to us soon. Hence the decision to try and slip in a biggy first.
Balthazar (a Swiss friend), Brendan and I set off for the bivouac about 100m up the N.E. face of the Piz Badille, and eventually arrived at a truly inspired bivvy site. Here I encountered the first hazard – my wonderful ledge was piled up with turd that Ray had kindly left for me a fortnight before (see a doctor, Ray – you’re ill!). Actually, it wasn’t too uncomfortable as it had a kind of cushioning effect.
At dawn I set off solo and Brendan and Balthazar followed behind. After an hour or so we had to part company as I was cunning scared from a second alpine hazard – Italians. The Italians regard you as part of the rock and will climb over you, oblivious to the fact that you’re only held on by two broken fingernails and a wet EB.
I eventually arrived at some harder sections and had to wrestle with a third, self-created hazard – learning how to self-belay whilst on the route. I tried out a multitude of methods, all of which were good only in so far as they guaranteed sudden death at the foot of the mountain, as opposed to multiple injuries part way up. Reaching the top, some 800m later, I finally realised that I must have had my prusiks in the wrong place, which would explain why I had had to haul myself arm over arm half way up the Cassin route.
But all this paled into insignificance on the summit, where I gazed at the most incredible views for four hours before trundling down to a hut on the opposite side of the Piz Badille. I was met later by Brendan and Balthazar so that we could jointly experience one of the most objectionable hazards of the Alps – the price of huts. Brendan and I didn’t care any more, especially as Balthazar paid – if only to escape from the pair of us, whom he regarded as the greatest hazard of them all.