high fliers
Almost more startling than the jagged granite needles are the deft black birds which coast smoothly around them. They move like shadows, soundless and sure, dark wings and tails fanning out elegantly beneath us as we stare down from our perch. Mont Blanc rears above us, its rounded snowy cap strangely benign compared to the sheer faces and sharp fractures of the cliffs and spires which immediately surround us, and to which we are so improbably attached.
And how are we attached? How did this cluster of rooms and walkways ever get built onto this shard of red granite? As if stringing up a cable car was not challenge enough! We wander around the sunny terrasse in a daze of marvel and altitude-induced light-headedness. We ascended quickly – 2807 metres (9209 feet) in fifteen minutes – and after gazing up at these peaks for days, I’m finding it difficult to grasp that I’m really here, on the Aiguille du Midi, among the highest mountains in Europe.
I lean over the railing and watch the birds again. ‘Chocards’ my friend calls them, which I think must be choughs. I’ve never seen them before. They fly mostly in pairs, gliding buoyantly, their swift animal grace a surprising presence among these endless serrations of bare rock and snow. If I’d expected to see any birds this high, I would have assumed they’d be grand like eagles or dainty and snow-coloured like buntings, yet these most closely resemble jackdaws, birds I associate with towns and cities. Like jackdaws, they seem untroubled by our human encroachments, swooping over pinnacle and balcony alike. Unlike the procession of bulkily-clad skiers clattering their way to the slopes below, they are the true alpinists, utterly at ease in the austere drama of these mountains.
As I wish I was. I could stay here for eternity, with these radiating mountains and this dazzling sun which, at 3842 metres, I’m closer to than I’ve ever been. However, my legs feel heavy and my head is dizzy with height and brightness. I turn reluctantly to leave the terrasse. As I open the door, two of the birds fly close overhead and I see their pale neat beaks, their red legs and feet tucked tightly in. I step inside and walk slowly down towards the cable car but my mind, flight-filled, is light as a feather.
Téléphérique Aiguille du Midi, Chamonix, Haute-Savoie, France
6th April 2025