Author Archives: Nick Bullock

Skis cut a twin track, a track pointing toward Tour Ronde’s West Wall. Scalloped sastrugi, fill with powder driven on the wind. The winter sun dapples soft shadows across the glacier. Ice edges, sharp and blue and severe. Exfoliating ice crystals … Continue reading →

  Whispering white grasped by the wind was thrown down the granite V-groove, fortunately the grey overhang capping a dog-leg in the groove, protected me. Spindrift flowed – grains in an egg timer – the snow caught in the granite … Continue reading →

The hues were golden and to the worn fingertips, the orange rock was cool. White chalk dots traced winding trails. Weeping tufas glistened in the early morning sun. The dust beneath the overhanging cliff was crushed bone and the vista, … Continue reading →

8a was a grade I wanted to climb but it was a grade that alluded due to a multitude of reasons, the main ones being my inability to remain focused on a single climb, enjoying traditional climbing more than bolt … Continue reading →

“We all make our own lives, right? We have made the choices that have put us where we are today.” While watching a trailer for The European Film Tour, the above is the comment in the opening sequence. It’s a … Continue reading →

Since 2000 when I first travelled to a winter bound Canada with Bruce French, I have returned six times and with each visit my interest and knowledge of Alpine climbing in the Rockies has grown. For some reason, no not … Continue reading →

The Raven, large and shiny black, stood in the middle of the pile of vomit. All happy, he crawed before bending and scooping another beak full. I gagged and nearly threw up myself, which possibly was what the Raven wanted. Sleeping … Continue reading →

It was midnight and I lay at the side of the Icefields Parkway, that long strip of tarmac flowing through the Canadian Rockies. I was on my own, one hundred kilometres from Jasper, the nearest town, listening to the vast emptiness. … Continue reading →

The London underground train rattles through the night. This is the soundtrack of the mountains. An empty vacuum. Rocks and ice follow deeply carved tracks and echo. Red brick walls topped with gothic turrets scrawled with natures graffiti, hem us. … Continue reading →

Last night, I lay in my van which is parked outside Tim and Lou’s place in Servoz, France. The rain thumped the thin metal skin and thunder bounced from the mountains which surround the village. And as I lay, wrapped … Continue reading →