Wide is Love

JULIE: As an Australian I think we assume that in terms of natural beauty there’s not much we don’t have at home.  But for rockclimbing, Tony and I were starting to realise that even if we have beautiful crags, we have nothing like the quantity of rock.  The whole South of France is one immense expanse of climbable rock, often in a spectacular setting.  

In Verdon, you stay at the top of the plateau rising from the hot sun-kissed fields in Provence.  As Bertrand turned each delicate corner on the windy road up, I had to check Tony was watching the road. It was difficult not to gawk at the expanse of sheer white limestone mountains, offset by perfect blue sky, and highlighted way down low by the merest shadow of a forest and an almost invisible line of the river that had carved it all.  Everything, about Verdon gives off a sense of grandeur. 

Perhaps imagine a hot version of the Alpes and you might imagine something similar to the reality. 

In any event, Verdon certainly merits its fame as one of the best, if most intimidating, places to climb. The question was whether we were up for it.

The weather was baking, about 37 degrees, and so Tony and I eschewed the real hardman climber location (a campsite) and found a hotel with cool tiles and generous provincial cooking for 4 nights.  Returning at 9.30 one night the manager laid out for us our meal of the day:  a selection of fresh tomato, basil and mozzarella, a plate of thinly sliced local ham, a salad of fennel ribbons, parmesan cheese and fragrant olive oil and a plate of fried eggplant slices dotted with thyme.  And that was just the entree.  We eventually discovered on leaving why our host was so confused we turned down the wine.  The 20 euro dinner and breakfast pension included our aperitifs and wine as well.  Not that we could fit them. 

Anyway, Tony’s careful study of the climbing guides for long months in Melbourne had resulted in some big plans.  With an increasingly wild man beard, his eyes lit up at talk of long classic climbs in the Verdon, the Demand in particular.  The Demand is a 400 metres long climb in full 30 degree + sun until about 2pm.  So it is recommended you start the climb when it hits shade.  400 metres is double the length of the longest climbs we’ve done so far in a day, and for the same length climb in Tasmania we’d been planning to start before dawn.   “We’ll just be faster” says my eternal  optimist husband. “And the belays are bolted, which will save time building anchors”.   I was dubious but can't help being carried away by his enthusiasm.   

After a day or so acquainting ourselves with the rock in the area (nice limestone, not as polished as other popular areas, bit a bit spicy on the bolting), we abseiled into The Demand, taking about 3 hours to get down all 12 pitches.  By the time we arrived at the base of the climb we were covered in sweat, I was sticky from the tin of red bull that had opened itself in our backback on the way down, half out of water and a bit tired.  It was 3pm. Nevertheless we started up the climb.   A real old style affair with jamming cracks, some awkward moves involving slinging dead trees for protection and a fair spot of polish in parts.  Not really my style, but Tony was on fire and enjoying every minute.  He cruised up some slippery jam cracks and calmly placed gear in places I wouldn’t have eyed twice for it (inside a large thrutchy chimney above a dead tree just waiting to pierce a falling climber, for instance).   By the end of pitch 4 or so we had to call it a day; we just weren’t going to finish before dark.  I thought longingly of our comfy hotel room and dinner, but would have slept on the big ledge above us if we’d actually had enough water to continue the climb the next day, which we didn’t.  (I'd brought some 'emergency' cake just in case). By the final abseil it was clear we’d made the right call, we were both exhausted.   We walked along the river and through an incredible 700 metres or so of tunnel through the mountain to get out.  The tunnel was pitch black and full of puddles.  I couldn’t help but think about The Hobbit when walking through and wandered what might lurk within; a toad it turned out, and some cool air which felt amazing after the heat. 

From the tourist carpark I then had to convince a passing Frenchman to drive me and my hairy, shoeless companion about 20km up the hill.  Tony by this stage was so tired it would have been up to me to walk to the car and return to get him so  I’m VERY pleased we found someone.

The next afternoon we climbed a much shorter, but incredibly intimidating route called Wide is Love.   From the plateau we abseiled down to a hanging anchor, with about 800 metres of void below.  The climb looks intimidatingly steep, with smooth rock and neighboured by some of the hardest climbs in the country.   With a team of “look downers” watching from the lookout to our left we made it out at sunset, on some of the most enjoyable climbing on little horizontal edges.  It was a most satisfying end to our few days climbing in Verdon.

And now Tony will tell you the story of our next stops in the French and Italian Alpes. It is best you hear from him, to get the story of the stark beauty of the area and the quality of the special granite there, else you might be left with the impression we walked up steep mountains and suffered in the cold for over a week…