We’ve produced a lot of media from this trip and here is an attempt to gather it all here! Browse and enjoy!
First up are the videos, click through to Vimeo to watch in HD and please do leave comments if you like what you see!
Here too are the slideshows that show some of the impressive shots that we took during different parts of the trip, again in HD on Vimeo.
Finally there is a copy of the full expedition report. It is a word document and can be downloaded here. I’ve pasted in the text below but there are lots of lovely photos and much more information on the area in the report. It’s nearly 7000 words long but try to enjoy it!
We’d like to thank everyone who helped out with our fundraising for their generosity to The Esther Banjamins Trust. We raised over £500, check it out here.
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Traveling this year was easy for the most part. Despite a slightly nervy session in Edinburgh Airport while my first flight was delayed for snow I made all the connections to Buenos Aires where I met Mason in arrivals and we cruised through the city and onto our final flight with the only hinderance being £250 of excess baggage charges. In Rio Gallegos we just missed the bus which would have made for an incredible link up and so spent a night in a hostel. The next day filled itself with a bus and three taxi rides and before we knew it we’d made it to Puerto Natales and were shaking hands with Omar, our friendly hostel owner.
Sadly George was delayed by three days due to the snow in England and so Mason and I took our time buying all the food and equipment we needed around the town. A quick chat to some climbers who had already been in the park suggested that the snow had been slow to melt from the main towers this season, but there was no concern for us as our objective was much lower. Once George got into town we got packed up completely over the course of a day. This included weighing the bags that the porters we had hired would be carrying. The rate was very reasonable and they each carried a forty kilogram bag for fourteen kilometres to our base camp.
Once in the park Mason and I headed to get the permit from the headquarters where we met a Russian team who were also planning to climb on Cerro Cathedral. We couldn’t believe the chances but they seemed a little disgruntled and told us that ‘there aren’t any holds for you [to free climb] up there’. With that comment taken for what we hoped was odd Russian sarcasm and our permit in hand we headed back to the pier to wait for the ferry. To pass the time we played catch with an ice axe which is great fun. It progressed rapidly into ice axe keepi-uppies which is a lot safer than it sounds and produced a record of six.
After the boat got across the lake it was around 7pm and our first long day really began. With loads around the fifty kilogram mark the first relatively flat section of trail felt crippling and it took us nearly three hours to walk the seven kilometres to Campomento Italiano at the foot of the French Valley. At this stage, with two hours steep trail to get to our base camp we left most of the gear and took just enough to make camp. By midnight and through driving snow at times we made it to the shelter of Campo Brittanico at midnight to see our three porter haulbags waiting patiently. A long lie in the next morning preceded George and I returning to the bottom of the valley to walk the monster loads up the hill to camp and just like that we were all setup.
The next day dawned bright and we went for an explore to scope out the path to the cliff. After hacking through some woodland on the far side of the river for a while we emerged into an unexpected and beautiful alpine meadow which forms a plateau at the head of the valley. On a rumor we’d heard of the existence of a cave in the boulders we spent a long while searching to no avail amongst the masses of boulders at the top of the meadow. We eventually settled on a small opening that looked like it could be improved and spent a few hours excavating which produced a very reasonable gear store but no palacious home. Walking back to camp after the disappointment we checked one final set of boulders and were rewarded for our persistence with a massive cave which would be perfect for our advanced base camp.
After a day off for recovery from all the hiking of the last few days our alarms woke us to clear skies and so we headed for the face to find out what we were in for. The approach took us just over four hours crossing massive piles of moraine before eventually hitting the final snow slope which leads steeply to the face. Arriving at the crest of the slope we could now see the full extent of the face, from the grey band at the base all the way up the massive corner systems to the summit ridge. The sun was shining brightly at the base and as it said A4 on the topo I tied in to see if I could get the rope to the first belay. The climbing started as 5.9 slab climbing to reach the first gear, a hanger-less bolt at around thirty feet. After this some large loose flakes and some delicate face moves traversed to the second bolt. Stood above this I spent a good while searching for anything hook-able on the face. There were free climbable holds that led upwards but they weren’t holding my hooks and being over racked and in the wrong footwear to attempt the moves I lowered down and let George tie in to try a different approach to the section.
Sure enough George kept moving once he’d reached my high point, moving steadily and finding some smaller gear above he made it to the top of the dark rock without too much concern, albeit a little run-out. The granite overlaps above however looked bank and closed but sure enough George kept finding small edges appearing at just the right time to keep tempting him upwards. Eventually committing to a set of holds on the face of the overlap he soon found himself just a metre away from the belay crack which was hiding round the corner to his right. ‘I’m going to jump’ floated down the face a minute later, snapping me back to some truly attentive belaying. ‘3, 2, 1!’ and George lunged round the overlap and latching a small square edge on the back of the corner his feet whipped round underneath him and as I sighed relief he pulled the last few moves of an incredible onsight and put in a belay.
Mason followed and then got on lead on the wet second pitch. After freeing the first section he pulled through the rivet ladder while checking the holds and confirmed he thought it would certainly be possible in the dry. A little more free climbing under a roof led to a final corner which was also wet. A valiant attempt at some run out climbing up the corner was ruined by a wet foot and he tagged the pin rack to finish the pitch to the belay.
We returned to camp extremely pleased with a progress, emphasized by the fact that the Russians climbing to our right had only managed one short pitch. Following this we started moving our equipment up to the cave and onto the base of the wall during the poor weather that followed. Moving up to live in the cave give a very different feel to the tourist travelled valley and we started to focus more on the weather and getting some progress. Each morning the weather looked half good we’d pack some bags and head for the face and each time we always seemed to end up soaked to the skin and unable to climb. On our fourth attempt to use a reasonable day and go climbing the weather came in thick and fast pouring stair-rod thick rain on us and our loads. Taking shelter under a boulder in the snowfields we agreed that, with the weather as it was and more rain forecast we had to return to town to pick up enough food so we could stick it out to the end of our available time.
What followed was truly fortunate. It was 9am as we deposited our bags under the boulder and began to run. We thought that the ferry left at 1pm and so we had plenty of time to cover the 13 steep miles back down to the trailhead. The first half of the run went well and we paused for a sat phone confirmation of the forecast which was as we expected and so carried on romping out towards the boat assuming we were making good time. As we crested the final rise well ahead of our schedule the ferry was already at the pier and we quickly realized that our assumed timings must be off. The final mile went as fast as our now fatigued legs could propel us and we were last onto the ferry a full thirty-seconds before it left the dock, some call that perfection, but not me.
After or few days in town buying more food we headed back in with much easier loads than previously and made it all the way to the cave in around 5 hours and made a huge and impressive meal of lentils and cheesy naan bread and just like that we were back in the fray. The next day dawned clear and so we headed straight to the wall to try to get some more rope up. Mason jugged the fixed lines first and nerve-wrackingly managed to put a double core shot in my brand new dynamic which got caught behind a huge flake. Lessons learnt about more effective tie downs and alpine butterflies tied George then Mason each onsighted a new 5.10 pitch each in good time and thus we had all our static rope fixed to the top of the fourth pitch by the end of the day.
Needing a rest day following this outing the bad weather that followed in the morning wasn’t too disappointing. The three days after this when the rain and sleet kept coming however were slightly challenging. Many books, a little homemade chess and a focus centered on food helped the time pass by. We managed to get an afternoons bouldering between the showers that was really enjoyable, doing fun problems above grassy landings in the incredible meadow setting above the valley.
Eventually, with our text message weather forecasts improving the plan was formed to move out the next day and get ourselves onto the wall. An early start (by our standards) and a properly loaded porridge had us ready, and even though there was 4 inches of fresh snow excitement was high. For me there was a good amount of relief that this would be my last time on the approach as my knees and ankles were starting to tell the tale. The face was plastered in snow and our route was visible from a long way away as a 2000 foot white smear as the whole corner had been plastered in snow. The sun however was trying to break through and it looked like a great day to be hauling.
At the base the bags were sorted while the snow and ice started to clear from the face in a constant hail of small and medium sized chunks. The slabs at the base kept us well out from the debris, but standing and watching it all fall was quite mesmerizing and slowed packing a touch. George jugged first and did stirling work stripping up to four inches of ice from the rope in some places. Leaving Mason on the ground I too headed to the second belay through pouring slush that was inches deep filling my boots and soaking my legs.
Having left the ground in baking sun and blue skies the weather turned worryingly quickly and just when George and I began an airy space haul, on a backed up single bolt anchor, did the spindrift start with a vengeance. The haul took as long as you’d expect for a 100 metres of heavy bags and thankfully there were almost no hang ups. Mason began his 100 metre jumar as George and I moved up to the top of our fixed lines for a slightly easier 50 metre haul to the high point. Once everyone had arrived at the top station Patagonia really got going with the weather and the snowfall increased by a factor. At one stage I was knocking about 4 inches of build up from the top of my boots every minute, I’ve never seen snow like it. On the bright side it was polystyrene light thanks to the now frigid temperatures, so we were staying bless-fully dry.
Mason, having avoided hauling duty either by luck or skill, was freshest and now poised to take us to a suitable site for our first camp on the wall. Hammer in hand and A3 pitch ahead he did some incredible work nailing his way up the corner above. By the time he reached the belay it was starting to get dark and really cold. While George and I got progressively more chilled at the belay Mason began placing the first portaledge bolt at the anchor, all the while being pummeled by spindrift which at times obscured him completely from our view.
At around midnight we had the bags to the top of the pitch and began to set up the ledges. With the Black Diamond ledge in place we thought it wise to refuel before completing the set up and so around 1am we had our first wall dinner of polenta with a packet of soup which as always is a great deal more delicious thanks to the situation.
Venturing back into the fray to complete the set up of the belay and Georges ledge disaster stuck. At some stage of transit the wall side pole of Georges ledge had taken a hit and the male section of the joint had been shoved back into the pole rendering the whole ledge completely unusable. After a couple of hours attempting to split the frame with an ice axe and various amounts of duck tape, string, ingenuity and jolly cold fingers the decision was made that the three of us should spend the rest of the night in the ledge that was already set up.
I don’t know what the other two were thinking at that stage, and it was definitely not the time to ask, but my thoughts were of my retreat. I figured I’d let the two young guns take the one working ledge and I’d go and do some relaxing trekking or something even more sensible. Between the brutal weather, the excessively long night and sleeping in a truly uncomfortable squash in the overpopulated ledge that dawn came particularly slowly.
In the morning George seemed unnaturally energetic and due to the thankfully calmed weather he managed to cobble a ledge together that looked like it had only been hit by a small car rather than the train wreck it was the night before. After this the weather held remarkably well over lunch time, allowing the remaining ice from the previous day to melt off. The boys dropped down a pitch and freed what Mason had aided the night before via an incredible handrail feature at the right of the original line at 5.11+. Mason, still with the feel of the hammer in his hand from the night before then put up another short pitch of thin nailing and left a belay around 30 metres above our camp. That evening was far more amenable and Georges ledge managed to support his weight allowing the whole team to get a much needed full nights sleep.
The next day dawned cold again and after waiting for some of the snow to strip from the ropes and the air to warm up a little Mason French freed to the top of a beautiful corner which George gave a try on top rope. Having to return to the ledge for lunch was a theme of the trip to regain some warmth and circulation. During the afternoon the snow stayed light and George was psyched to attempt to red point the upper corner pitch. I jugged up to film what was to be a very exciting lead. The corner is steep in the first half and has a prefect one inch crack running the full length. Despite frustrating snow, a wet rest hold and running out of gear at just over half way he seemed far more relaxed than I was and fired the pitch first try. The video attests to just how impressive this was.
After this with excitement high, though temperatures dropping, Mason led off on the first of our new pitches to take us out left onto the steepest part of the face and to a feature that we’d scoped from the ground – The Half Peso. It appeared to be a perfect hand crack running through a hugely undercut ear like feature. After last year we’d learnt never to take what we’d seen from the ground at face value and so we were keen to get up close and find out the truth. The pitch ended up being relatively easy climbing, but with snow now driving upwards, temperatures dropping and some impressively poised chop flakes Mason made a great lead and we beat a hasty retreat to the ledge in the fading storm light. That night was our first experience of the incredible updraft the scour the face. For George this was an exciting waiting game to see how strong the repair on his failing ledge was.
By the morning the wind had abated a little but the snowfall had regained a gusto and fell heavily as the three of us sat and watched from our more stable ledge. Sometime in the morning as we were playing cards the wind picked up and all three of us noticed a flash of red scream past the window heading for the summit. We quickly realized that this was Georges foam sleeping pad leaving from his slightly uncontrollable fly.
Despite it staying cold during the afternoon the snow abated a little and we all headed out to get a rope up the Peso Crack and find out whether our hopes for this pitch were to be confirmed. From the belay at the base of the crack it was obvious that the crack in the second half of the pitch was one of the most incredible splitters any of us had ever seen on granite and calling out to our young crack master. The first section of the pitch however required some thin nailing off the belay and the boulder problem around this was looking thin. Mason fired the pitch with a combination of aid and free and having managed to rake out some small stones a few crucial looking finger locks appeared in the lower section and the moves looked possible. The cold however never let up and it was time again to be attempting to keep our toes warm in the ledge through another frigid night.
Now that our perception of good and bad weather had adjusted our fifth day on the wall seemed to be what we’d been waiting for. The snow had stopped by breakfast time, the sun was trying to peek through and much calmer winds seemed to be prevailing. While Mason did some top-rope practice on the stemming pitch above camp I went up to the top of our lines to re-rig for an easier haul the next day. Then on my way down, while hanging on another rope, camera poised, Mason made some seriously impressive lead attempts on the corner. With what looked to me like unfathomable moves and microscopic holds the leads were an intense watch further enhanced by a crucial knifeblade pulling in the first fall and Mason being saved from crashing into the portaledges by a number one bird-beak!
Six tries later the tiny footholds were suffering even from the lightest of snowfall. He later said that he saw a single flake sneak behind his toe a couple of times as his foot was placed on the micro edges and this was more than enough to prevent further adhesion. He’d managed each move at some stage but never managed to link the whole pitch. The feeling was that the pitch is probably around 5.13-.
After a late lunch the weather seemed to finally calm to what we had been wishing for the last four days and so, with Mason taking a rest after a tough morning George and I headed out to the top of our ropes for the evening in the hope of finding a good site for us to move our camp to the following day. When we arrived at the top of the peso there wasn’t a breath of wind and the peaks in the valley were beginning to be bathed in an incredibly red alpenglow. George led and I followed a varied pitch of 5.11 flakes and corners with an impressive coating of ice on every little ledge which took our fixed ropes to a perfect bivy site at around 1200 feet up the face. We abseiled the 150 metres back to camp in the twilight with Masons torch glow illuminating the ledges far below.
With ropes strung up high above us the plan to move camp higher up the face had us awake early and the weather obliged for the hauling day with subzero temperatures and only a medium weight snow fall. Packing up went smoothly and George and I were poised at the top of the first rope soon enough ready to repeat our efforts of the first day. It turns out however that 5 days food and water weighs a considerable amount and the work required was far more suitable than last time. The bags came up in no time and I waited in the snowfall while Mason and George headed to the top of the ropes a full hundred metres away from me where they managed to haul the bags much faster than I could jumar.
Once the bags were in Mason got to work placing 2 bolts for our portaledge anchors in quick time, one drilled stood on a tiny hook. As we began the set up however the volume of snow increased dramatically adding to the joys of the day. I set up the Black Diamond ledge and got it tied down tight and then Mason sorted out the dinner while George and I attempted to get a more solid form from his dilapidated ledge. By stuffing the inside of the joint with a spare fly pole and hammering the poles together it seemed to be holding in a far more respectable shape. We managed to tie it down properly and get the fly much better cinched down so things were looking good for our time on the central section of the wall.
The morning after the move dawned bitterly cold though having slept well we ventured out fully togged to push our ropes a little higher. By some strike of good fortune Georges furnace was running extra hot and despite the conditions he led off up a teetering row of stacked flakes with a great deal of care a found a suitable belay from which he beat a speedy retreat to the ledge for a well earned lunch. If another thing were needed to try us further the knife got knocked onto Masons Therm-a-Rest causing a slow puncture from a hole we couldn’t find, he slept a little cooler that night but managed to find the split the day after.
After our lunch Georges fingers were still warm and having glimpsed the pitch above he was excited for a more solid outing than the mornings pursuit. Mason wrapped up tight to go on belay duty while I went into the gear bag to attempt to remove some of the ice from the gear stored there and organise the rats nest of ropes that the haul and wind had produced the previous night. The pitch went quickly and was a solid and stunning 5.11 layback. Masons toes got a little nipped and writing this over a week later his two big toes are still a little numb at the end. Overall an impressive day of work on the wall given the incredibly low temperatures all day. Another night of melting the ice out of our water bottles and trying to keep our toes warm passed with well received calmer winds.
A calm and sunny dawn caught us a little by surprise the next morning but we were up and out early in a solid drive to make the most of it. The feeling of being much higher on the wall had energy levels at a high. First on the list was the Peso Crack so Mason headed down there to work out the crux moves while I freed up some more rope from the belay and headed down to catch it all on camera. By the time I was in position he’d already figured out the unlikely crux sequence and was ready for his first lead attempt. Initially protected by small pins and micro cams the crux bump then dead-point to a finger lock is about eight metres from the belay. Having got slightly pumped getting the small cams in place Mason got to the crux holds and spent a moment trying to recover some power before latching the tiny left side-pull and pulling up high onto the face. The final stab for the finger lock was right at the limit of his reach and with a mighty echoing scream his fingers slotted in perfectly at full stretch. A couple of swift stout pulls had him on the mid height foot ledge and we all breathed a brief sigh of either satisfaction or relief (depending on which side of the camera you were).
His rest allowed me to jug back up to capture the incredible splitter crack that constituted the upper half of the pitch. In his element and rested from the foot ledge Mason made this fingers to hands crack look far easier than the angle or situation appeared.
After this we headed back up our ropes to the ledges for a quick lunch and then kept on jugging up to the high point in hope of getting more rope fixed well above. I led what appeared on first sight to be a tin nailing corner but the clean gear kept appearing and thanks to the wonder of the smallest Wild Country Zeros it went at a steep and beautiful C2. Swinging round the corner near the end of the pitch I started up a wide chimney to what looked like a small foot ledge on the right edge. What I soon discovered was that it was made up of a teetering set of four big blocks and as I looked down I realised it was right above our ledges. There only seemed to be one viable option, I was going to have to get this ledge stable so there was nothing dangerous was dislodges later on.
Shouting down to Mason to ‘put a helmet on’ and keep an eye out I carefully picked up the first smaller block to check the trajectory. Thankfully it cleared the ledges easily and sailed the nearly 1500 feet to the snow far from the face. Progressively however the blocks got a little larger, the second flew fine but required a real toss, the third cleared the ledges well but was the first to impact the slabs at the base of the route with a retort that sounded like a shotgun. The penultimate piece was a 3 foot long dagger about the size of four baguettes. Worryingly difficult to support I found myself with it in my lap and committed to launching it. It took all my strength to throw it out but it rotated as it left and flew in an unpredictable arc spinning past the portaledges and smashing into the face even higher than the last. The final block was by far the biggest, about the size of a 14” television and as I picked it onto my lap I could feel the extra force on my adjustable daisy as it strained to hold us both. Barely able to keep it stable and with that touch of adrenalin that allows unprecedented feats I launched it in as hard a throw as I could from the wall and to my utter relief it cleared the ledges and Mason by a safe though nervy fifteen feet.
Danger over George got on belay to see if there were any holds on the pitch. Having been nervous and taxed on lead in aiders I was blown away by how he made such quick upward progress, and moving out left to an arete at half height revealed a set of tiny crimps that led all the way to the open crack at the top of the corner. After a few top ropes he was sure the sequence would go and so we added one bolt to protect the moves on the top of the arete. Mason came up to the top of the ropes from camp to attempt the next pitch which started with a capped chimney and led into a long and steep off-width crack above. However through a miscommunication he ended up coming prepared for a thin face pitch and tight shoes in the cold along with not taking enough big gear meant that we left the rope at half height on that pitch and whiled our way back to camp for a well earned tea of the old favorite, rice and sausage.
That night the snow fell like it had regained its purpose and by morning, for the first time in a fortnight the snow had turned to sleet and the temperature crept above freezing. Lying in on our first forced rest day time passed at a medium pace. All my books were finished long ago so it was a combination of the 12v wind-up charger for the iPod, noting own things I was missing in my diary and staring at the water drops on the fabric of the fly. By dinner the conditions were no better and thus a day had passed without the sleeping bag going below my hips!
When darkness fell the weather took yet another turn. The temperature fell back well below freezing and the snow kept falling while the wind started with a gusto. By 11pm it was impossible to sleep and all one could do was lie still, accept the buffeting and try to think happy thoughts. The next few hours passed painfully slowly. By 1am the force of the wind was truly awesome. Mason and I in our ledge, which was tied down as tight as possible on all four corners to an anchor below, were being picked up six inches and held a foot from the wall for twenty-seconds at a time. I spent most of this part of the night clutching my daisy chain mulling over the sensations that were to come if the ledge dumped us out, most of which seemed to involve my seeing my own stomach as it leapt out of my mouth.
2am is truly the middle of the night. A slight lull came over the wind allowing us to faster a brief thought that we may even be getting s little sleep later. Out of nowhere then came the biggest gust of the night. Mason and I exclaimed as it felt like we were being torn from the wall by the power of the updraft. When it passed thirty-seconds later we heard George ask if he could ‘have a little help?’ The last blast of the wind had finally overcome the repair on his portaledge and he was now trapped by a hammock like ledge while his fly billowed above him and the snow poured everywhere.
The next ten minutes was a careful operation to move first the contents and then George himself into our ledge. The fly, full of wind behind him, making the whole scene seem like a nightmarish version of ‘James and the Giant Peach.’ Eventually all of us and miraculously all the gear made it into the Black Diamond ledge and once the excitement wore off we settled down to our second night of three man ledge life in just over a week. For a sense of scale the Black Diamond Ledge is exactly the same size as the mattress of a single bed, not quite salubrious.
The morning eventually brightened but with no meteorological improvement and discussions immediately focused on the next step. Although George was optimistic that his ledge could be repaired the weather would have to be good to achieve it. Having not slept and with the possibility of spending another deeply uncomfortable night as a three in the ledge we agreed that the sensible decision was to retreat before we compounded any more hindrances to a safe decent.
However with all our ropes and gear one hundred metres above us and the snow still driving it was not going to be a fun day. Mason was first out of the ledge and went to the top pitch to clean the gear that had been left on the lead at our high point and I followed to bring the gear bag back to the ledges. George and I carefully packed the haul bags while Mason stripped the high ropes and then we wrestled the portaledges in the wind to get them packed and secure under the bags.
I led off to fix lines down the abseils and Mason followed with the bags. On backed up two point anchors he and I descended the airy ropes over the side of the Peso and down to our first bivy. George did some impressive work pulling through some stubborn ropes and I was resupplied with enough to get down to the base.
The final hundred metre abseil held none of the mixed emotions I assumed were coming and on touching the snow I have never felt relief or jubilation quite so strong. Sitting on the fresh new snow, icy spindrift blowing in all directions I began to realise quite how far I had pushed my limits over the previous ten days, and quite how much I wanted to be on the ground right then.
The return to the cave that afternoon was a severe final test. Drained from the lack of sleep the night before and with constant icy spin drift roaring up the snow slope at the base walking was almost impossible and the visibility was none existent. A choice between frozen goggles or snow filled eyes was difficult to make but as the crevasses were covered with deep fresh snow vigilance was vital. Lower on the slope the wind had scoured the old snow to bullet hard ice and we had no option but to slide in an ice axe arrest for the whole lower half.
As we reached the snow fields leading back to the meadow and our cave exhaustion finally got to me and as I tottered along the snow and talus I began to feel more tired than I had ever before. Keeping my thoughts on the task at hand and leaving the whole aspect of emotion for a better rested time I made it back to the cave just behind the other two and slumped down on the boulders. Despite being so tired I was definitely glad we made the decision to come down and was jolly thankful to be able to put my sleeping pad on a solid surface that night.
The next few days passed in a series of heavy load carries as we began heading out of the park for good. It took us three full days to move all our gear to the trailhead, and though it seemed like so much effort at the time, we made it back to town in a remarkably healthy, if slightly drained state.
Five days on, as I write this I’m still a little weary. In truth I am extremely grateful to have this time in town to normalize before returning to the real world of work and life. It has been a true roller-coaster during my whole time in the park. From the perspective of the climbing I am extremely proud of everything we achieved on the wall, the amount of effort that we put into the preparation and most of all, of the decisions we made in the mountains. As to the emotions I’m left with, and what comes next, I’ve got some figuring out to do and we’ll see what that brings.
Lastly I have a few thank yous, firstly to my two partners, both of which are massively talented individuals. To the BMC for their assistance in funding as well as the American Alpine Club and Namaste UK. To Lyon Equipment, Buff, Beyond Hope, First Ascent and Marmot UK for their help with equipment and most importantly to my wonderful fiancee and our lovely cat for being so supportive and understanding always.
