Not far from Chamonix, in a tiny town called Les Gaillands — you could walk there in an hour or so, although we drove — there is a pleasant park with a well-bolted climbing crag, a pond for fly fishing, and a few nature trails. We spent Saturday afternoon there.
I carried the baby around and entertained the four-year-old between his turns. I was more interested in watching and listening to the French climbing instructor charged with about a dozen children from ages seven to twelve. Mark noted, “It’s a good thing she’s using a Grigri to belay those kids, since it leaves one hand free for her lit cigarette.” She also used the cigarette hand to gesture as she called up to the approximatelt eight-year-old girl which way to look for the bolts. The eight-year-old clambered all the way up, setting quickdraws as she went, then ran the rope through at the top and came back down, cleaning the quickdraws. Mark said to me, “Hey Erin, can you ask the instructor to ask the girl if she can bring down the carabiner I left up there?” He had abandoned one when he soloed up to look for a new attachment point, decided he didn’t want to go any farther, and rappelled down.
Before I could say anything the instructor said “Ze red one?”
“Yes, thanks,” said Mark, and the instructor called up to the girl to bring down the carabiner “pour le m’sieur à côté.” Which she did. When the little girl got back down, the instructor left her and a second little girl came. The first little girl belayed, with no supervision whatsoever, and up went the second little girl. Occasionally the instructor came back, watched a moment, and went away again.
I’m thinking they have a different attitude about safety here.
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