Today was the day to ascend the Aiguille du Midi. Earlier than the previous day, I met my guide in the hotel lobby at 7:30 in the morning, and we headed for the cable car station. It was still early, and naturally there was hardly anyone there yet.
But when my guide checked the weather conditions, his expression clouded over. At the summit station, the temperature was said to be -15°C with snowfall, and the live camera image displayed on the screen was nothing but white fog and snow. “This is just like winter,” he grumbled.
He proposed three options.
The first was to go rock climbing at Gaillands.
The second, which I did not fully understand, involved going elsewhere and doing some kind of via Ferrara-style sightseeing route.
The third was simply to go up to the summit station anyway and wait to see whether the weather might improve.
Although the forecast for tomorrow was sunny, today’s weather could hardly have been more disappointing. Since I had come all the way to Chamonix, it seemed a shame to leave without even touching the Aiguille, so I chose the third option and decided to go up to the summit station regardless.
The cable car could not depart on schedule, and before long a huge queue of Chinese tourists began to form. Gigi said we would take the second cable car and moved to the back of the line again.
It was after 9 o’clock before the cable car finally began operating. As we climbed higher, the ground below the intermediate station at Plan de l’Aiguille was already completely white with snow. Once we entered the fog, everything around us turned white and nothing could be seen. We reached the summit station before there was any chance to enjoy the scenery.
Leaving the tourists behind, we put on our gear inside the tunnel. Besides ourselves, there were several other groups that appeared to be guides and clients. Some of them carried double ice axes attached to their helmets, so I asked Gigi whether they were planning to climb rock routes. “No, impossible,” he replied immediately.
In any case, I followed my guide out into the snow. The moment we exited the tunnel, we were descending a sharp snow arête. Although he belayed me continuously, I made my way down with uncertain footing. Snow stuck to my glasses, and my breath fogged up the lenses, making it difficult to see the snow surface clearly. When I removed my glasses and continued, Gigi asked whether I had sunglasses. But attaching sunglasses over fogged-up glasses would only make things worse. When I answered no, he exclaimed, “Oh no!” Yet I had never imagined I would need goggles and a balaclava. I continued on without glasses.
Later, after returning, I thought that if I had clearly seen just how knife-edged the ridge actually was, I might have been even more frightened.
After descending for a while, we reached the lower slopes beneath the south face of the Midi. We traversed the gentle glacier, but all around us was an endless white void.
Gigi had originally planned to guide me to Point Lachenal for its magnificent views once the weather cleared, but under these conditions that was impossible. Instead, we decided simply to head toward the Cosmiques Hut. Any thought of climbing the Cosmiques Arête had long since become out of the question.
At the hut there was also a French group that had arrived ahead of us. After coffee and an omelette, The warmth and food finally brought me back to life.
While we ate, I listened to Gigi’s stories.
“What was your highlight climb around here?” I asked.
He answered that it was freeing a route on the Grand Capucin — the very wall where Walter Bonatti had once struggled upward using aid climbing.
“And your greatest climb overall?”
His answer was an unclimbed route in Greenland, first ascended after three bivouacs, along with three other first ascents there. His stories were endlessly fascinating.
Though I had assumed he was French, he was actually Italian and lived near Courmayeur. “Only about twenty minutes by car,” he said. He told me many other stories as well.
But with weather like this, today’s mountaineering amounted to little more than walking. After resting for a while, we decided to return.
As we made our way back, the weather gradually began to improve.
Gigi pointed things out one by one: “That’s the Grand Capucin… that’s the Tour Ronde…” Soon we could also see the téléphérique leading toward Pointe Helbronner. Through breaks in the fog, the south face and summit of the Midi came into view as well.
Although I never touched the rock itself, it was nevertheless a deeply satisfying day.
Back down in the town of Chamonix, I thanked Gigi and handed him a tip before we parted.
When I asked what he would do next, he said he would continue guiding for the rest of the week, and then in October would go to Sicily or Malta. (Later, Mr. Kanda told me that he had a holiday home in France, and that Malta was for studying English.) He also worked as a ski guide in winter. When I asked whether he guided the Haute Route, he nodded and said, “Yes — many Japanese clients too.”
He remarked that weather like this year’s was very unusual. “Come back again,” he said.
“If I have the money and the time,” I replied.
“That’s true for everyone,” he laughed.
If the opportunity ever arises, I truly would like to return. And I would want Gigi to guide me again.
The next day was already the day of my departure.
Mr. Kanda came to the hotel and accompanied me to the station. While waiting for the train, he told me many stories. He had lived in Chamonix since around 1970 and had looked after numerous Japanese climbers over the years.
Yasuo Kato, Naomi Uemura, Masaru Morita, Tsuneo Hasegawa, Noboru Yamada…
“The people I looked after have all died,” he said for a moment, gazing off into the distance.
“Japanese climbers tend to push too hard. They commit themselves too far.”
The words carried weight, coming from a man who himself had pioneered a new winter route on the Grandes Jorasses around 1971.
When I asked whether he still worked as a guide, he answered that he had stopped several years earlier.
“There are many ways to enjoy the mountains,” he said. “You just adapt your style to your age.”
Still, he added again how unusually poor the weather had been that year.
“Normally September has much better weather, and the rock is dry. It’s a shame. But come back again.”
When I asked whether he would ever return to live in Japan, he smiled gently and said:
“I already have my chalet here. My life is here now. And besides, even if I returned to Japan, there’s no place left for me there anymore.”
It was truly a case of “wherever one goes, one may find one’s resting place beneath the blue mountain.”
Only on the day of my departure did the mountains finally appear beneath a perfect blue sky. The summit of the Midi, hidden in cloud the day before, stood out in crystal clarity. Mont Blanc shone white against the sky.
“So frustrating — just one day too late,” I thought.
But Mr. Kanda remarked that the fresh snow would still make climbing difficult even today, as the rocks would be plastered with snow.
He kindly took a photograph of me with Mont Blanc in the background.
Thinking once more that I would dearly love to return someday if the chance ever came, I left Chamonix behind and headed toward Geneva by train, watching the Swiss landscape pass by outside the window.
English version prepared with AI assistance
(Originally written in Japanese)
Japanese version:
https://hifuka-otibohiroi.net/シャモニの休日3/
Summit conditions: -15°C and snow
Advancing through severe weather
We gave up the Cosmiques Arête and headed only as far as the Cosmiques Hut
Gradually the visibility began to improve
Tour Ronde and the Grand Capucin
Tour Ronde North Face 1977
My guide Gigi
The south face of the Midi — even when I climbed it long ago, the upper section was covered in snow
The weather finally clearing
Clear skies at last on the following day
Distant view of Mont Blanc from the station
Traveling to Geneva aboard a Swiss mountain railway
Map of the Mont Blanc Massif
From Rock Climbs of Europe
by Yasuyuki Komori