Rolling Stone, 1983

by Jon Muir


As a 15-year-old, I read the book North Face-the Second Conquest of the Alps. The North Face of the Grandes Jorasses has fascinated me ever since. Although I'd climbed it by the classic Walker Spur in 1982, I was still obsessed, and keen to attempt one of the more 'modern' routes.

A year later, this time with four powerful British climbers, I headed up the Leschaux Glacier once more. We planned to make the second ascent of the 1979 route, Rolling Stone. We were a very experienced and determined team, and set off with the feeling that nothing could stop us.

After a huge feast, we bedded down on grassy terraces beside the glacier. In the first light of the new day, we sweated under heavy loads as we approached the start of the route. It was a beautiful morning, but something wasn't right.

Conditions were too dry, too hot, too...something I couldn't quite fathom. The atmosphere was charged with foreboding. Most of us had the giggles, a sure sign that the subconscious was registering danger even though none was apparent. Around us was a deathly silence.

We came across an ancient rucksack with odds and ends scattered about. A stove, bits of rope, a boot complete with foot-that sort of thing. It didn't do much for my already dampened spirits.

It can be hard to suggest retreat when all appears to be going well, but one must never allow pride to cloud one's instinct in a dangerous environment. I voiced my concern. The team was divided, and those in favour of continuing wanted to discuss things at the bergschrund the point where the face emerges from the glacier.

We stood at the foot of the wall. Above our heads rose 1200 metres of vertical. I was afraid. It seemed to take forever to convince everyone of the folly of continuing in such warm, dry conditions.

The return to Chamonix was finally agreed upon. Rob set off. He'd gone only four metres down a steep slope when it happened. Thousands of tonnes of rock, some blocks bigger than trucks, came screaming down from high on the face. The fear of death gripped us all as we struggled to get packs over our heads. Rob tried to regain the vague shelter of a small overhang just above us, but was hit in the side by a rock the size of a brick. He crumpled and began to slide down the slope towards a crevasse. His close friend and climbing partner, Jon Tinker, leapt out into the firing line to save him. We watched horrified as rocks of all sizes fell among them. On reaching Rob and arresting his slide, Jon shielded Rob's body from further injury with his own. It was the bravest and maddest human action I'd ever witnessed.

We dragged Rob away from the wall and examined him. There was a huge gaping hole in his side and we sent someone to organize a chopper. Suddenly Rob leapt to his feet and insisted that he could walk down. Blood gushed from his side, completely soaking his pants and staining the snow. He looked at the wound, bewildered, and turned white.

'On second thoughts, get me that chopper!'