Autumn is a strange time of the year for me. Motivation for wingsuit and BASE jumping is low. It’s the end of the jumping season and wet valleys create low lying clouds. Damp fields and cold morning temperatures disparage me from committing to long hikes for the jumps. The higher mountains are also in between seasons. Gondolas are closed and the snow isn’t quite there for complete ski descents. Alpine ice is not yet formed.Â
But it is the perfect time for climbing Moulins. Moulins are formed by the glacier melt water carving holes through weaknesses in the ice. Too early in the season and a torrent of icy water cascades down these holes. Too late in the season and the holes are full with snow, or even worse; they are only slightly covered, creating a dangerous trap door. They are elusive and sought after as many alpinists are seeking methods of training for the upcoming season.
The Mer d’glace holds a few of these moulins. We had a rough location and aimed to find the deepest one. All three of us spread out across the glacier like a search party looking for a missing person. On the corner of a bend we found the formation but a river of glacier melt was still spilling into the hole. A narrow runnel protected us mostly from this icy onslaught. I abseiled down onto a small ledge. It was ice climbing like I’ve never experienced before. 3 dimensional climbing, throwing my leg out behind me to chimney up the runnel. My technique and arms are weak at the start of the season. Water was constantly spraying me and my gloves were wet through. Laboriously I climbed higher and higher. A stream of water was now coming down the face of ice. I topped out into howling downpour. Rain blowing sideways. In the dark icy pit we were all blissfully unaware.
We aimed to go back on a bluebird day the following week, but as we boarded the Mer d’glace train back to the Valley below the familiar rumours started again about a French lockdown.
We turned our attention to the Swiss glaciers. Scouring google earth looking for the glacier terrain and streams that created these formations. The road up to the Moiry glacier was shut from the dam onwards which added another 5km to the access. We walked on the glacier scouring the horizon, looking for the divots and dimples in the snow, hoping they would open up and present the abyss when we looked in. As we walked closer to the final depression it grew and grew until the full pit presented itself. We made an anchor and threw the rope in. 35 metre of steep ice.Â
The floor was flat and spacious. It had clearly been a small pond that had frozen flat, but I could still hear the gurgle of water in the corners and crooks deeper in the crevasse. I unclipped my axes from my harness and swung into the ice, shouting to Will I had begun climbing. The ice was a brilliant blue, brittle and bullet hard. I was climbing a corner of ice. My left boot could kick into the left side giving me a chance to rest my pumped forearms. Sometimes a swing of the axe would crack the ice causing a horizontal split in the wall. It would emit an unnerving noise and sometimes a chunk would fall from the corner. It was a strange feeling, climbing out of a hole; having only one way out.
I topped out onto the dazzling white glacier. The sun was minutes away from hiding behind a distant peak. I made the most of the warmth to recover from my hot aches. The next day the road to the dam closed completely. In between changing seasons and corona restrictions we had managed to find these amazing moulins I had been hoping to climb for years.  Â
