"I don't care what you do on your own you're not coming up a mountain in those." was OJ the guide's verdict on my wearing of sandals as far as the snowline. "I'm sorry mate."
In fact if you could have fitted crampons to them I'd have continued as far as the Bertol Hut.
By the time we'd actually got round to the climbing of the Dent Blanche, the weeks main objective, OJ had pretty much relented on the sandal innovation but probably as some kind of punishment I ended up carrying the rope as well as my boots.
It was all on account of the motorcycle and knee incident of the previous week but with hindsight it seems pointless to walk all the way in and out in rigid soled boots.
To make a point I ran down the last few thousand feet of the thirteen and a half hour climb from the hut to the top and down.
"You'll miss the tea and cakes..." I say to OJ when he appears at the car half an hour later.
No comment is forthcoming.
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