Andy gets stuck on a mountain

I'm not really the worrying type. I've learned to accept that when Andy heads off to do one of the many dangerous activities he likes to call fun, there is little point in me worrying about whether or not he's still alive, as it won't make much difference to the outcome. I have been through the scenario of the policeman knocking on the door with a grave look on his face too many times now to keep going through it. When Andy is away climbing/mountaineering/ski-touring/biking I just distract myself with other things. And so it was on Sunday, as Andy had headed off to the Alps to do a late-season route with a colleague from CERN.

We had enjoyed a lovely Saturday together, visiting the Grottes des Cerdon, near Nantua - a hugely impressive series of caves beneath the mountainside, full of some of the most spectacular cave formations I'd ever seen.

You are taken up to the cave entrance in a little train, and you then descend around 100m through the caves to arrive in an enormous cavern which was once used as a fromagerie.

That night Andy reviewed all the options for the next day's climb and decided that doing the route they had originally planned - the Midi Plan Traverse - wasn't really an option. The first cable car didn't leave until 8.30am, and the last cable car back down was at 4.30pm. The route would take 4 hours, plus 4 hours to return to the cable car station, and since it would take at least 30 minutes to an hour for them to get started after catching that first cable car, it would be impossible to complete in the time available. The maths just didn't stack up. The only other option would be to descend from the end of the ridge and catch the train from Montenvers, but time was a bit tight to do that too. They decided to do another route that was much shorter and didn't involve these logistical problems. Andy had a plane to catch to London the next morning, so getting stuck on a mountain wasn't an option.

But get stuck on a mountain he did. After whiling away the morning visiting the excellent market in Thoiry, finishing off my latest book (The Most Beautiful Thing by Fiona Robyn, definitely recommended) and doing various chores, I was quite pleased with how well I had distracted myself from Andy's mountainous adventures. Then at 3pm I received a text (I'll omit the sweary bits): 'Disaster. Decided to do the ridge after all. Just at the summit now. Definitely missed the last cable car. Going to have to descend the glacier.' Don't panic, I thought (ignoring my incredulity that they'd decided to do the one route that they definitely didn't have time for). They'll descend the glacier and if they're lucky they'll get to Montenvers just in time to catch the last train down. I spoke to him a little while later and he told me the descent to the nearest hut should take a couple of hours and they'd ring me and update me when they got there. If I hadn't heard from them in 3 hours I was to assume a) they had no phone reception or b) they were in trouble.

I rang 3 hours later. They were still stuck in the middle of the glacier, barely two thirds of the way down it and winding their way around ridiculous crevasses and seracs in the fading light. It sounded pretty hairy, by all accounts, and we made a deal that if they were still on the glacier in half an hour and the light had disappeared that they would call mountain rescue. Another hour to the hut, they reckoned. I distracted myself with a film and tried not to picture them at the bottom of a crevasse, singing 'Brown Girl in the Ring' by Boney M (this reference only makes sense if you've read/seen Touching The Void). An hour later and they had just about finished the glacier and reckoned another half hour to the hut. By this time, it was 8pm and their only option was to sleep in the hut overnight and get up very early to continue their descent. Catching the plane to London was no longer an option.

Unfortunately, they never found the hut. I spoke to Andy again at around 11pm (thank goodness for mobile phones, or I'd have called out mountain rescue long before this) and they were effectively lost. At 2am he rang me to say they'd decided to bivvy (camp rough without a sleeping bag, mat or anything at all) on the mountain and continue their descent at first light. At 6am, I awoke to an immense thunderstorm which crashed around for a good hour or so - the same thunderstorm that would later hit the mountain Andy was on in Chamonix...

Having expected Andy home around 7.30pm on Sunday evening, he finally arrived home at 2.30pm on Monday afternoon, tired and full of aches but otherwise in one piece. The 3-hour descent promised by the guidebook took them 11 hours. Today he is hobbling around on a very swollen ankle and I am trying to remain sympathetic. I can't help feeling that my preferred option - market/reading/afternoon at home - turned out to be the better option.