Slovenia: Beautiful, Friendly and Slightly More Complicated Than Expected

The castle lake Bled

Charles Sherwood  and I recently spent a week exploring Slovenia. Despite climbing together since the 1990s, neither of us had visited before, so a certain amount of reconnaissance was required.

Slovenia quickly proved itself to be one of those countries that leaves a very favourable impression. The scenery is exceptional, the mountains are surprisingly quiet once you step away from the busiest areas, and everyone we encountered seemed to speak excellent English, even construction worker who tells you can't park there because it will roll over the cliff.

Our first objective was the North Arête of Mala Mojstrovka. A worthwhile outing in its own right, but also a useful introduction to Slovenian mountain geography, route finding and suspect rock .One lesson arrived particularly early. We had been warned that the main car park for accessing Triglav from the north side fills up quickly. We discovered that "quickly" means around 4.30am.

North Arête of Mala Mojstrovka.

We later moved from the comforts of Lake Bled to the Aljažev Dom, a mountain refuge sitting directly beneath Triglav's immense North Face. The refuge itself was excellent and the terrace offers a dunting view of the utterly massive north face .

North Face of Triglav

 During our stay we watched two helicopter rescues take place on the face, including one involving a local Slovenian Guide. Watching rescue helicopters shuttle in and out of your intended route is a reassuring form of preparation.

Our objective was the Slovenian Route, regarded as one of the easier ways through the 800-metre North Face. The climbing itself is relatively straightforward. Finding your way through it is another matter entirely.

After an early dinner and a surprisingly comfortable night in the refuge annex [complete with air conditioning] the alarm went off at the ever-attractive hour of 3.45am. We skipped breakfast, packed our bags and headed off by headtorch.

I would like to say that the approach was straightforward.  It was not straightforward. Difficultlt vauge paths and many false trails.  Finding the key climbers path was a major challange . From there, things became more interesting. The guidebook referred to a "gable", a term that neither of us felt particularly well qualified to identify on a mountain face. A local Guide kindly pointed us in approximately the right direction before disappearing onto another route.

Thereafter, route finding became an exercise in following your nose.

The guidebook description seemed capable of describing almost any feature on the mountain, while the topo appeared to bear only a passing resemblance to reality. We climbed largely by judgement, instinct and the occasional reassuring sight of an old piton. Whether those pitons marked the correct route or merely the passage of previous confused parties remained unclear.

The climbing itself was rarely excellent. Chimneys, slabs, arêtes, scree slopes and occasional sections of surprisingly loose rock combined to produce an engaging day. The only consistent feature was uncertainty about exactly where we were.

Eventually we emerged into a large amphitheatre of steep rock with no obvious exit. We explored one possibility, then another. Neither looked especially convincing. We climbed a steep chimney protected by old pitons, scrambled onto a notch overlooking more intimidating terrain, and spent some time considering our options.

None of them appeared particularly attractive.

The North Face had suddenly become rather more serious than we had anticipated. Retreat looked difficult, continued progress looked uncertain, and for a brief period we found ourselves discussing contingency plans rather than climbing plans.

Then, with remarkable timing, two young Slovenian climbers appeared below us.

More importantly, they had climbed the route before.

With their help we gradually worked our way across the amphitheatre to a thin ramp which appeared to lead nowhere. That in turn led to a traverse that was almost invisible until you were standing on it. Eventually, and rather suddenly, the difficulties ended and we emerged onto the upper slopes of Triglav.

At 2pm we reached the rim of the North Face and were able to relax for the first time all day. After thanking the Slovenian climbers, we continued upwards towards the summit.

One of the striking things about Triglav is the contrast between the North Face and the normal route. After spending most of the day completely alone in a serious Alpine environment, we found ourselves joining a queue of cheerful walkers making their way up the final via ferrata to Slovenia's highest point.

By late afternoon we reached the summit at 2,864 metres. From there we descended along the ridge to the Vodnikov Dom where dinner and a bed were waiting. After more than fifteen hours on the move, both were greatly appreciated.

Vodnikov Dom: No better sight after 15hours.

The following morning we descended via a steep path [which  morphed into a via ferrata] back towards the valley and eventually returned to the Aljažev Dom.

I remarked to Charles that it seemed sensible to leave Slovenia before we did our seleves any real damage.The next day we drove hard for nearly ten hours arriving back in Chamonix.  We spent our final three days climbing on familair rock in the Aiguille Rouge.  The standout route being Les Fontes de Jouvance on the Aiguille Pourrie.

Les Fontes de Jouvance on the Aiguille Pourrie.

Observations :

A few observations for anyone considering a visit:

Slovenia is exceptionally welcoming and very easy to travel in.

Triglav National Park is deservedly popular, so parking and accommodation require advance planning.

Early starts are not optional if you want to avoid the crowds and the heat.  

The Slovenian Route is an excellent outing, but route-finding skills are every bit as important as climbing ability.

Local knowledge remains one of the most valuable pieces of climbing equipment ever invented.

All in all, Slovenia exceeded expectations. Excellent mountains, excellent huts and excellent people.

We left with some good climbs completed, a healthy respect for Slovenian route descriptions and the feeling that we had probably pushed our luck far enough for one trip.

A Few New Corners of the Alps

Peter and I have been climbing together for a very long time. Since the 1990s, in fact. It was therefore only fitting that he should spend six days climbing in Chamonix with me, a trip that happened to coincide with his 71st birthday.

Finding routes that Peter hasn't already climbed is becoming increasingly difficult, but there are still a few out there. One of this week's discoveries was the Dent du Fenestral, above the Emosson Dam.

The day begins with a beautiful but decidedly uphill two-hour walk to the Col du Fenestral. In warm weather an early start is highly recommended, as much of the approach faces the sun and there are few opportunities for shade. From the col, a superb ridge rises towards the summit, becoming steadily more impressive the higher you climb. The climbing is never particularly difficult, but there is enough exposure to keep things interesting yet most of the climb can be done moving together.

The summit itself is marked by a substantial cross and enjoys spectacular views across the surrounding peaks. The descent involves two 20-metre abseils and some straightforward scrambling back to the col before retracing the approach. A 40-metre rope is sufficient and, on hot days, carrying more water than you think you'll need is time well spent.

Mt Blanc in the background

It was a hot day. It would have been considerably hotter had we not set off early, though by halfway down the descent I still felt sufficiently cooked to warrant a brief immersion in a conveniently located stream. My legs certainly seemed to appreciate the gesture.

The other standout route of the week was the Grande Chenalette, high above the Grand Saint Bernard Pass. Like the Dent du Fenestral, it occupies a spectacular position and offers excellent climbing on an outstanding ridge. The route is longer than it first appears from below and rewards parties who keep moving steadily. 

Peter on the Grande Chenalette with the Gd Combin in the back ground

St Bernard Dogs at the St Bernard Monastery.

With settled weather and the July holiday crowds seemingly elsewhere, we had both routes entirely to ourselves. For anyone looking for alternatives to the better-known classics around Chamonix, both are well worth seeking out. Neither is especially hard, but both reward sound route-finding, efficient movement and a willingness to walk a little further than most.

In fact, the only day we shared a climb with anyone else was on Mani Puliti above La Flégère. The neighbouring party consisted of a French Mountain Guide who, after some conversation at a belay, discovered that he and Peter were exactly the same age. Once this important piece of information had been established, both parties carried on climbing.

Peter on the penultimate oitch of Mani Paluti

Even after all these years, it turns out there are still a few routes Peter hasn't climbed. We managed to find two of them.

Learning Before It Matters. This years Jonathan Conville Memorial Trust courses.

 For many British Mountain Guides, the Jonathan Conville Memorial Trust courses are a regular fixture of the summer season. The Trust was established in 1979 in memory of Jonathan Conville, who was killed on the descent from the Matterhorn after climbing its North Face in 1977. Its purpose is simple: to give young people the knowledge and skills to enjoy the mountains more safely.

The format has remained largely unchanged because it works. Participants spend three days in the mountains with a BMG Guide covering the fundamentals of alpine travel: movement skills, equipment, route choice, objective hazards and decision-making. Three days is not enough to make anyone an expert, but it is long enough to build awareness of the risks and to develop the judgement needed to manage them.

This year's courses took place during another  particularly hot spell in the Alps.  Discussions about timing, heat and objective hazards were never far away. The mountains provided plenty of real-world examples without us needing to manufacture any teaching scenarios.

The first day was based around Le Brévent. It is a useful venue for introducing many of the practical skills that underpin safe alpine travel while allowing participants to gain confidence moving on exposed terrain.

The second day took us onto the South Ridge of Les Glières. Despite being the middle of summer, we saw nobody all day. The ridge offered excellent terrain for teaching movement skills and discussing an important lesson of alpine climbing: efficiency and good judgement often contribute more to safety than any piece of equipment.

The final day was spent on the Aiguilles Marbrées, a classic alpine outing and an ideal place to bring together many of the lessons from the previous two days. Route finding, rope work, decision-making and movement on mixed terrain all featured, along with some excellent views across the Mont Blanc massif.

I ran the programme twice this summer with two different groups. In both cases the participants were highly motivated and keen to learn. Many were preparing for future alpine objectives, while others simply wanted to gain a better understanding of how to operate in the mountains safely and independently.

The enduring value of the Jonathan Conville courses is that they expose people to good habits early. Most mountain accidents are not caused by a single catastrophic mistake but by a series of small decisions that gradually erode margins of safety. Understanding avalanche conditions, rockfall, weather, timing, route choice and human factors does not remove risk, but it can significantly reduce it.

The mountains will always involve uncertainty. That is part of their attraction. The aim of the Jonathan Conville courses is not to eliminate risk but to help people recognise it, manage it and make informed decisions. Nearly fifty years after the Trust was established, that remains a worthwhile objective. Every summer a new group of young climbers and mountaineers leaves with a little more knowledge, a little more experience and, hopefully, a better chance of making good decisions when it matters. In the long run, that undoubtedly keeps some people alive.

Early Season Alps: Good Conditions, Variable Logistics

 

Applesrudelhorn formerly known as the Matterhorn

May was unseasonably hot. Properly hot. Too hot, really. June then arrived and quietly corrected things.

Stephen Kellock joined me again from Montreal. Early June has its advantages: fewer people, less noise, and a general sense that you have the mountains to yourself. The downside is that quite a lot of the infrastructure hasn’t got the memo. Huts shut. Lifts idle. Progress slightly theoretical.

We met beforehand for a beer to agree a plan, knowing that the plan never survives contact with reality.

Our first day was Dent du Fenestral, a fine and properly remote climb above Finhaut, not far from the Emosson dam. The approach is long enough to discourage the half-interested, which improves matters considerably.

Stephen on crux section of Dent du Fenestral

Summit Cross

Should have brought axe and crampons plus boots

The next day we climbed in the Saleina valley, beyond Orsières, before moving on to Zermatt. 

We stayed at the Base Camp Hotel in Zermatt, which is excellent and worth a mention. Zermatt remains an extraordinary place, though now best described as a long-term construction project with a mountain attached. There appear to be cranes everywhere. 

Matterhorn and one of the many cranes.

The following morning we took the Gornergrat railway, getting off at Rotenboden to climb the Riffelhorn. I hadn’t done it for over twenty years and found it noticeably harder than I remembered. This is either a geological shift or a personal one.

Rifflehorn 

Rifflehorn.

The weather turned as we descended, and we made it back to town just ahead of a proper soaking. Rain in Zermatt, as ever, meant snow higher up.

The next day we climbed the Breithorn. A clear day with fresh snow—just enough to make things civilised without creating extra work.

A contented Stephen on the summit of the Breithorn

After that we drove round to Saas-Fee and stayed at the Hotel Les Amis. The main issue was that the resort was more or less closed, including the lift we needed for the Allalinhorn. Plan A was quietly retired.

We adopted Plan B, which required less commitment. Being slightly tired by this point, we limited ourselves to the first descent of the season on the three-wheeled trikes from the top of the Hannig cable car. Worth noting that summer lift access is included with a hotel stay, which feels generous until you realise how many lifts are still shut.

Back in Chamonix we drove the MG Midget to the Col des Aravis and climbed the via ferrata just below the col. A sensible day.

On the final day we opted for something shorter and, in my view, the best via ferrata in the Mont Blanc region: the excellent route at Le Buet. We finished with lunch at the Hotel du Buet. Omelette and chips. No obvious way to improve on that, so we didn’t try.

Aiguille Verte seen from Le Buet meadows .

Home for well over 250 nights . The Original Gouter Refuge is no more.

The old Goûter Refuge is due to be dismantled this May. It feels like the wrong ending for a place that carried so much of the history of Mont Blanc. It could have been treated more like a monument—something closer in spirit to Camp 4 in Yosemite, which has heritage status. Instead, it will disappear in a fairly practical way, like most things in the mountains eventually do.

I have a long and slightly conflicted relationship with Mont Blanc. Over 35 years it has been both a workplace and something more personal. I started my guiding career there. In the early days I would climb it twice a week. It was efficient. You met clients, you built trust, and if things went well you could suggest they come back the following year for something more interesting. Many of them did. Some kept coming back for decades.

At one point I worked out that I had spent more than 250 nights in the Goûter Refuge. That seems excessive when written down, but it felt normal at the time.

The climbs themselves blur together now, but certain ones remain fixed. I climbed Mont Blanc with Don Planner, the first blind man to reach its summit. It was not straightforward, but it worked.

 My final ascent was with my daughter Sophie. 

It was the right way to finish. I had a few tears in my eyes as I left the summit. I have climbed Mont Blanc with all three of my daughters, and with my wife. Those are some of the best moments I have.

The old refuge was central to all of this. It was not comfortable, but it mostly worked. The guardian, Guy Bochataty was a wonderful man and a constant presence. His father had done the same job before him. Guy himself was effectively born into it. His mother went into labour at the refuge and didn’t make it to hospital. He was born on the mountain train on the way down. It set the tone.

Vincent, his second-in-command, spent 18 seasons up there. He served dinner by bringing every tray to every table on his own, every evening, without fail. It was faultless, and the system never changed. He always had a smile and genuinely loved his role. Reservations were made by writing to Guy in the off-season. He would reply by post in careful, immaculate French handwriting. There was time for that then.

Not everything was orderly. After the fall of the Berlin Wall, large numbers of climbers arrived from Eastern Europe. Many had poor equipment and no bookings. They came anyway. The result was predictable: too many people, not enough space. People slept on the floor. Some took beds that were not theirs. It was not ideal, but it was dealt with in the usual way—by getting through the night.

Because I was there so often, I was sometimes given a bed by the wall. This counted as luxury.

The toilet situation was basic. A shed at the end of an icy walkway. A long drop. No distractions. One night, a Guide friend of mine was heading there at about 2:00 a.m. He was stopped by someone asking to borrow his headlamp. The reason was simple: they had dropped theirs down the shaft. Retrieval was apparently under consideration.

Later, an annex was built to add more beds, and during the construction of the new refuge it was used to house the workers. One evening they had too much to drink and a fight broke out. The police were called. They arrived by helicopter. They are more used to altitude sickness and mountain rescues than breaking up drunken fights at 3,800 metres, but they dealt with it.

A slightly improved toilet was installed downstairs. I happened to meet the builders and was asked to test it. I agreed. It seemed like the right thing to do. Being the first person to use a new toilet at the Goûter Refuge is not something you aim for, but it is something you remember.

There were moments of clarity. One older guide would arrive and order two beers, always with the same explanation:

“Une pour la soif, une pour le plaisir.”

One for the thirst, one for the pleasure.

It is a useful distinction.

The refuge will go, and something more efficient has already replaced it. That is how these things work. But the old place held a particular kind of order within its absolute chaos. People who passed through it remember it in very specific ways—not because it was good, but because it was exactly what it was.

Foot Note:  In fact I now learn that the refuge will be rebuilt in the thermal park in St Gervais as a museum!

Good Snow . Very Good Skiers.

 Jake and his son Kit joined me for three days of ski mountaineering.  The weather and conditions were fabulous.  This was Kit's first introduction to touring although he and his father were very good skiers.

Despite their ability, neither of them had skied in Chamonix before, which from my point of view was good because it gave me a "blank canvas" to show case some of the great day tours on offer.

On the first day we headed to Le Tour where we went through the fundamentals of avalanche safety protocol and then headed  over to the point Carraye, which offers spectacular views up the Rhone valley.  Returning to the resort we had a mixture of good skiing but also some challanging skiing.

On our second day we headed first to La Flegere from where we skied over to Brevent and from the summit of Le Brevent we headed to the col du Brevent and dropped off the back side.  Here we hit some first rate skiing.

At the 2000 meter mark we stopped and put our skins on before climbing back up to lac Cornu.  Here we stopped for some lunch.  Afterwhich we continued to climb to the Col de la Gliere.  We then skied down the combe de la Gliere and joined the piste.  What was even more fantastic was despite it being Easter we saw no one all day.

solitude.

Our final day we again headed for La Flegere this time for the famous Col Crochue/Col Berard ski tour. It is a marvellous journey, BUT it is always busy or at least the first climb is.  Generally after the first col eveyone fans out.  This is what happened to us and once again we found our selves on our own.

Jake making his way up to the col Crochue.

Jake & Kit with Col Crochue in the background.

The challange we faced was  that it was getting very hot.  This meant that the snow was deteriorating and there was an increased risk of wet-slide avalanches, so we had to keep moving and get through all the difficulties efficiently. The tour conviently finshes at the Hotel du Buet which has a bar.  An ideal place to wait for the train which whisked us back to La Flegere.

Skiing Contrasts between the US & Europe.

 It continues to be sunny cold and great snow, with the added adavantage of their being no one around.

Grands Montets looking perfect.

Skiing with Shanon and Antonia’s extended families was a study in contrasts—different abilities, different goals, but a shared enthusiasm for skiing somewhere else other than the US... Between them, there were a lot of children, which meant balancing progression, safety, and enjoyment across a wide range of skill levels.

I spent  my time with Colin, [Shanon’s son] and Antonia ,the ones keen to explore Chamonix's off-piste terrain with me. Together we covered the fundamentals of avalanche awareness: terrain selection, snowpack basics, route planning, and decision-making. The focus was on avoiding risk rather than reacting to it—understanding where not to go is more important than knowing how to get out of trouble.

We also discussed the cultural differences between skiing in France and the United States. In France, off-piste skiing is more integrated into the overall ski culture, but it comes with a clear expectation: if you leave the marked runs, you are responsible for your own safety. Mountain guiding is a regulated profession, with standardized training and certification, which creates a consistent baseline of expertise.

In contrast, mountain guiding in the U.S. is not uniformly regulated. While there are excellent guides, the lack of consistent oversight means the level of training and experience can vary more widely. It puts more responsibility on clients to vet who they ski with and to understand the risks involved.

For the rest of the group—those who preferred to stay on piste and focus on improving their skiing—I arranged sessions with my friend , ESF instructor Hugo Goisnard. This proved to be the right call. Hugo managed to raise the group’s technical level quickly while keeping the sessions engaging and safe. Confidence improved across the board, and just as importantly, everyone had fun doing it.

In the end, the trip worked because it matched the right approach to the right people: structured progression on piste for most, and focused safety education in off-piste terrain for those ready to take that step.