We were ecstatic when we reached the Breche (the snowy saddle between the Grand and Petit Drus), and I made Tobin stop, so I could get the camera out and snap a shot. This image, emerging from the dark depths of the couloir, is my favorite memory of Tobin, who died while soloing three years later.


We knew that the climb was a plum and we couldn’t believe that we had actually pulled it off. It was especially surprising for Tobin, who hadn’t climbed a single pitch, rock or ice, for the first 8 months of the year due to surgeries on his shoulders. His very first climb in the Alps was 700 meters of steep ice, a new line on one of Europe’s most fabled and striking peaks, and Tobin’s smile had the look of the cat who ate the canary.

There was still some excitement to come when we made a series of rappels down the sunny south side of the Dru. A ways down, Tobin went first and I was waiting to hear “Off”, so I could start down. I waited a decent interval, but there was only silence. I leaned over and yelled down to him but still nothing. I yelled again louder, but no answer. The thought flashed through my mind: he’s gone off the end of the rope. I yelled frantically now. Finally, I grabbed the rope and started down, calling as I went.

Halfway down, Tobin finally responded and I was able to inhale again. When I got to him, he sheepishly told me what had happened: he had plopped down on the ledge and promptly fallen asleep. His amazing, off the couch effort had finally caught up with him.

Tobin lower on the descent

Recently published photos and videos of the Direct brought back vivid memories of this route, and prompted me to revisit the story of the first ascent. This was something ST’s official historian, Steve Grossman, had asked me to do a while ago, so here, for the ST record, is the story.

Jon Griffith’s beautiful photos and account of a recent ascent, featuring modern, athletic dry tooling are here:

http://www.alpineexposures.com/blogs/chamonix-conditions/5916109-dru-north-couloir-direct

Video is here: http://vimeo.com/40253797

I will dig out my old magazines and scan and post later the original article I wrote for Climbing magazine back in 1978, as well as the short write up that Tobin submitted to the American Alpine Journal. John Long and Dean Fidelman's Stonemaster book includes an edited version of the Climbing article.

The pictures from the ascent are below, taken with a little Rollei camera that I bought for this trip.

Bivouac below the face. We approached via the Grand Montet lift and were delayed waiting for a storm to clear before starting up.


After the first third of the route which consisted of 60 degree ice, we reached the first pitch of the Direct: Fine, plastic ice and my lead.


First pitch higher up. We used 9 mil ropes, climbed on one and hauled with the other to avoid climbing with packs.

Around the second or third pitch.

Above the last pitch crux of the Direct and into the upper couloir


Upper couloir


Bivuoac in the upper couloir, near what is now called the S curve



Looking down at the bivuoac site


Reaching Montenverts.


On the trail: happy campers.



Looking at Griffith’s photos, the differences between 1977 and today are remarkable. 1977 was a year of record snowfall and we had thick and plastic ice for much of the route, with a couple of short aid sections.

But one thing has not changed: the last pitch of the Direct, before it meets the upper couloir, was the crux , then and now. I started leading that pitch with Tobin belaying on a stance below the big corner, about the same place indicated in the recent photos. I got to Steve’s last gear, where he had lowered off a couple of days before, a tied off ice screw with a carabiner on it.

Above that was a 4 inch wide strip of ice that filled the corner flush to the edges of the crack. Approximately thirty higher, at the top of the corner, right where Huey battles in the video to get picks into the thin ice patch, there was a gigantic overhang of rotten, black-stained snow and ice. It overhung at least 10 feet out from the rock and it looked nightmarish and absolutely unclimbable.

So I looked for another way. The right wall was featureless, but it seemed like there might be a weakness on the left wall: a thin crack system parallel to the corner. This crack system is prominent in the recent photos, but back then it was concealed under a sheet of ice, an inch or two thick. There was a one or two foot foot wide ledge out on that left wall and it looked like I might be able to get to it, stand up on it, and see how it looked from there.

So, I tension traversed out from the screw, got to the ledge, and pretty soon I was committed to either standing up on that ledge or taking a nasty fall back into the corner straight onto Steve’s tied off screw, which was about as solid as it sounds.

I was truly gripped when I stood up on that ledge. It is dead vertical there and I was able to mantle/balance up onto it, and get the picks of the Terrordactyls into the verglas. It was time to get some gear in, but there was nothing to be seen. I held on with one pick and chipped the ice off around the crack with the other Terror. A thin crack appeared and I managed to bang a pin in and lowered off to clean, since I had used up all of our meager gear. This was strenuous because I had to swing back into the corner to retrieve each piece. When I got down, Tobin took over the rest of the pitch of vertical, thin ice, which got us around the ice overhang and within reach of the easier angled, upper couloir.

On the hike down after finishing the rappels, we passed some French climbers going up and one asked us what route we had done. “Couloir Nord Est” I replied, using my best high school French. I proceeded down and at a switchback happened to glance back up the trail at them. They hadn’t moved and were still staring, so I gave them a big smile, like Tobin’s at the Breche.