Mallory-Porter Solo

“I can’t believe anyone is crazy enough to climb this sheer wall!” I vividly remember the thoughts racing through my head on my first ride on the Aiguille du Midi cable car, heading to Europe's highest lift station in the summer of 2024. As I entered the gondola at Plan du Aiguille, I shuffled between people and backpacks to reach the large panoramic window at the front. From there, I had a clear view of the north face of the Aiguille du Midi, rising sharply over a thousand metres. At that time of year, the face looked decidedly uninviting, with dark, crumbly rock contrasted by patches of remaining snow. All the while, a large serac towers above, threatening to tumble into the void below and crush everything in its path. It was my first visit to Chamonix, and while I knew people climbed (and even skied!) the north face, I had no conception yet of what that truly entailed. Back then, it seemed improbable to me that anyone could safely make their way between the cliffs and rock bands towards the hanging serac looming beneath the Aiguille du Midi. Little did I know that less than a year later, I would be among the tiny figures in the snow, climbing the steep slopes beneath the gaze of those choosing the easy way up in the gondola. And I would be even more flabbergasted had someone told me I would climb there alone, without a rope, on a spontaneous solo adventure. But that was precisely where I now found myself on a warm spring day in May 2025. As I left Janna and Bas farther and farther behind me, each step reaffirmed my decision to venture ahead on my own. The trail was good, and the snow remained firm despite the warm temperatures that weekend. I was now nearing the first mixed crux of the climb, where I would have to decide whether to truly solo the Mallory-Porter route on the Aiguille du Midi north face or wait for Janna and Bas to join me so that we could climb together with a rope. In the back of my mind, I had already made that choice, but I hadn’t yet dared to think it out loud. As I reached the outcrops of rock, I thought back to how this trip had started and how far away everything else now seemed…

Yesterday, a day after we arrived in Chamonix in Bas’s new, partially built-out van, we had to abandon an attempt to climb Beyond Good and Evil. It was this route that had drawn me to Chamonix, as it looked to be in extraordinarily good condition. Pictures from people’s recent outings showed the wall plastered with snow. However, we had just arrived at the cusp of a spell of warm weather, and it seemed we had missed the last chance to climb it this season by only days, if not hours. We briefly considered climbing the Mallory Porter route as an alternative, but the warm temperatures deterred us. Bas was especially worried about fighting through increasingly soft and unstable snow. So we decided to head up the Aiguille du Midi and climb on its northwest face instead. At the lift station, we encountered some Dutch friends of Bas, who planned to climb the Mallory Porter route and reported good conditions with a solid track that evening. Their update eventually gave us the confidence to try this famous climb the next day.

The following morning, we woke early again, still exhausted from the previous day's adventure. Stepping outside, we were once again hit by the unusually warm air for this time of day. We followed the trail towards the lift station, this time in climbing boots instead of ski boots. From the station, a clear track led around the eastern perimeter of the Glacier des Pélerins. Despite the warm temperatures, the snow remained firm beneath our feet, allowing for quick progress. That was until we had to start traversing massive avalanche debris at the base of the Aiguille du Midi's north face. With no track, the snow was softer in places, and I sank nearly to my waist every few steps. The final stretch to the couloir at the start of the Mallory-Porter route seemed interminable. Janna and I caught up to Bas, who had gone ahead, and the three of us took a brief moment to stop and gaze ahead at the imposing fortress of rock and ice. I felt drained just getting to the base of our route and wasn’t entirely sure about our plan anymore. But I wasn’t about to turn around without giving it a try. While Janna and Bas prepared, I decided to move ahead on my own to test how far I felt comfortable climbing without a rope. I let them know I would wait for them if the climbing got too tricky, not yet knowing that this would be our last exchange until we met again at the refuge more than six hours later.

“Am I really going to climb this entire thing by myself?” It was the first time I voiced this thought aloud. The trail was still solid, but these were the first more exposed steps, requiring me to traverse beneath a huge boulder. I knew the route's first crux was coming up very shortly. So far, everything had gone much better than I expected. The snow was firm and compact in the initial section, where I followed a funnel formed by avalanche debris, providing very solid placements for my axes. Eventually, I had to exit the funnel and traverse onto the slope. The snow was softer here, but following the tracks, I still felt quite secure. Bas and Janna were now out of sight, far below me. For a couple of minutes now, the idea had started to take shape in my head that I might actually complete this climb solo. When I reached the first mixed crux, it looked decidedly unintimidating, and I quickly climbed it with a few good hooks and just three moves of front-pointing on rock. “That was much easier than I expected." I was left unsure whether this was truly the crux I had anticipated.

The terrain ahead, however, checked out. As I crossed the prominent diagonal snow field, I started to feel the exhilaration of managing the first crux in a relaxed manner. The snow on the slope was soft but not as bad as I had feared. Following the tracks, I never felt uneasy about my footing. As the terrain grew steeper, I could place my picks into the packed snow beneath the tracks, giving my axes solid purchase. Occasionally, I moved on front points over some harder ice, but mostly I could just follow the snow track, turning the challenge into more of a test of cardiovascular fitness than of technical climbing ability. Checking my watch, I realised I was making good progress and would likely reach the Aiguille du Midi in 4 hours – the lower end of the guidebook's estimate. I once again experienced how a seemingly exhausted body can suddenly tap into unexpected energy reserves once settling into the steady rhythm of climbing. The tiredness from earlier faded, and my legs felt fresh and powerful. Moving through this terrain with such confidence and strength was exhilarating. Still, I reminded myself not to get ahead of myself, as I knew the real crux of the climb still lay ahead.

Eventually, the traverse concluded on the crest of a small snow ridge, and I recognised the terrain from the many videos I had watched. This was the crux of the Mallory-Porter. Initially, I had to carefully move a few metres along a snow-covered rock band, staying close to the wall, almost hugging it, while behind me a significant drop loomed. I chose not to contemplate what a misplaced step could mean here, but I knew the consequences would most likely be fatal. Thankfully, I could rely on solid steps in the snow, but I realised that breaking trail through fresh, unconsolidated snow would be quite a bold affair without a rope. After these few delicate steps, I found myself below a short section of steep climbing. It was only about three metres, but it was vertical and exposed. I moved close to the rock, trying to stand as high as possible on the snow below and with my tools, reach into the deep crack splitting the wall. The hook felt secure, but I moved slowly, always planning my next moves and choosing stable foot placements to take my time inspecting the next section. It wasn’t very strenuous, as I could rest often, but I had to do a few committing moves on my tools. The wall I was climbing was tucked right against a corner, making the climb quite three-dimensional despite its short length. I used every opportunity to leverage the rock's features, spreading my legs and stemming between the wall's corners, sometimes using my tools, sometimes just holding on with my gloved hands.

As soon as I had started the technical climbing, it was over again, and I found myself standing on a gentle snow slope. I quickly tied into the belay to rest and enjoy a small snack. I knew the technical difficulties were behind me, and I now just needed to continue following the track in the snow. I glanced at my watch; it was a little after 9 a.m. I had been moving for three and a half hours – two and a half of those spent climbing the Mallory-Porter. Part of me wanted to push forward and see if I could reach the top in under four hours, but I realised that was probably a bit too ambitious. Still, I was determined to use my energy reserves and see how fast I could go on that last section.

It was warming up, and the snow was softening in this next section. Ahead, I saw two people and realised others had got up even earlier than I had. The two were perched against some rocky outcrops, apparently taking a short break as I passed. Turning the corner around these rocks, I sensed I was nearing the final summit slope below the Aiguille du Midi station. There was one more party ahead, and as I caught up with them and left the trail to overtake them, I realised how significant the difference was between following a track and breaking trail for this kind of objective. Once I stepped off the track, I nearly sank up to my knees, and each step required more than twice the effort. I paused briefly, gathered my strength, and with a burst that caused searing pain in my thighs, I sprinted past the mountain guide and his client. Back on the trail, I caught my breath before gradually leaving them behind. I could now finally lay my eyes on the last traverse across the hanging glacier to reach the Midi arête. From Chamonix, this massive, looming serac looks impossibly steep, and it seems ridiculous to think anyone could simply walk across it. However, up close, the slope doesn't appear terribly steep, and with fresh snow and a good track, there was no fear of hitting the hard ice underneath.

Only now did I realise how much my recent outings and acclimatisation had contributed to today’s effort. At nearly 3800 metres, the air was thinning, but despite the strain in my legs from climbing, I still had energy and felt as strong as when I started the first technical sections a few hours earlier. I could imagine that this final traverse might feel like an endless last obstacle if one isn't properly acclimatised. I enjoyed those final metres of climbing, now standing exactly where I had looked with reverence from the cable car not even a year ago. Now it was me moving across the snow while the gondola, with all its curious eyes, rushed over me. I exited onto the Midi arête – probably the first to reach the top of the Mallory-Porter that day – and felt a strange mix of achievement and being out of place as I shuffled through the tourist-flooded hallways of the lift station. I checked my watch. It was just past 10 a.m., meaning it took me just over 4.5 hours from Plan du Aiguille, with around 3.5 hours spent climbing the Mallory-Porter itself. Not a bad time, undercutting the guidebook’s 4-hour estimate. Though I certainly couldn’t have gone nearly as fast without the excellent trail.

I briefly considered waiting for Bas and Janna, but I had no idea how far behind they were. So I headed towards the gondola. It wasn't even noon, yet I had already accomplished my goal for the day. I would spend the rest of the morning relaxing in a lounge chair at the refuge, waiting for Bas and Janna, eating cake and drinks down my dry throat. As I moved through the corridors past the people, I felt a sense of satisfaction. Not only had I soloed the Mallory Porter, but I had felt confident throughout, never leaving my comfort zone. When I entered the gondola and gazed down through its windows, I scanned the steep terrain once more. Now, instead of the hostility of a repellent rock-and-ice wall, as I had seen when I first laid eyes on the mountain, I saw a welcoming passage through this snowy maze.

Breithorn Traverse

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