At that time I had no experience of mountains other than those of Britain, and I knew that if I was to achieve my ambition of being a mountain explorer I should go to the Alps, learn about glaciers and hazards of crevasses and ice-falls, subject myself to the rarefied air of the heights and learn to read avalanche dangers associated with permanent snow, affected by frost and sun. So in early July of 1948, off I flew to Geneva with two other climbers in the direction of Arolla. I didn't stay with them, because they had a lot of time on their hands. I had only a fortnight, but they introduced me to the chief mountain guide of Evolena, Pierre Maurys.

I wanted his advice, since with currency restrictions then in force, I had a mere £35 of an allowance. He smiled and nodded his head comfortingly when I told him that I wasn't trying to engage him, but wondered if he could direct me where best to go to find peaks suitable for me to climb on my own. The date was 11th July and none of the highest summits had been climbed that season because of unsettled weather and heavy snowfall.

I told him something about my background, and learned that he had been to the Lake District as guest of John Sugden, a member of the Fell and Rock Club, the object of his visit to gain some conversational practice in speaking English. The hotel in Les Hauderes where we talked was managed by his wife, and the pair were joint owners. As he ordered morning coffee, he excused himself to make a telephone call. When he came back he said, 'I have been talking to Madam Bierans in Chamonix. She is a Dutch lady who has engaged me for the whole season, but is playing golf until the weather gets better. I can go with you to the Dent Blanche if you wish, and climb with you as a friend. But first I must go to church, then at 2 o'clock we shall set off to the Caban Rossier. You stay here for family lunch. My wife will attend to the food we need for the climb.'

I could hardly believe my good fortune as we waved goodbye to his wife and two wee girls for the stony path zig-zagging ever upwards, past alpine meadows bright with flowers for grey moraines giving way to glacier ice where we were in shrouding mist and sinking into deeper and deeper snow. The plod seemed never-ending but at 8pm we were at the caban, and soon bedded down 7,000 feet above our starting point.

At 4am I heard the ring of Pierre's alarm watch. A meagre breakfast, and by 5.30 we were tying on the rope and embarking on the shadowed ridge, while all around us summits of peaks glowed in the red light of sunrise. Below us the glaciers had the soft sheen of satin. Technical climbing began almost immediately on iced rocks and frozen snow. Gaining height we were in a world of mountains, for level cloud filled all the deep valleys.

We could see now that the ridge ahead was in fierce condition, hung with snow cornices, the rock face hidden in new snow. It was a place from which a French party had retired the previous day because of avalanche danger. Pierre, who knew the face well, chose a rightward traverse, to the edge of the Grand Gendarme, whose pinnacle it was his intention to climb as being the safest way. Anchored to a good rock spike, I could take in the view behind me, the Matterhorn, Obergabelhorn, Zinal Rothorn, Weisshorn, Mishabel, the Oberland peaks and the Mont Blanc range.

I had read that of all the mountains in the world, none surpasses the high European Alps in form or variety, and that no other mountains can provide better training to the aspiring alpinist, or offer sterner tests in difficulty for the experienced. As yet I had no yardstick to judge the truth of this, for this was my very first encounter with glaciated peaks rising so high above deep valleys. Looking back, I realise how very lucky I was to be climbing with such a man as Pierre Maurys and to have the whole mountain to ourselves.

Most parties avoid the Grand Gendarme. Watching Pierre on its airy crest, his position would have satisfied the most earnest seeker of the sensational. Exposed above a great void, he had to remove a glove with his teeth at one point and, hanging on by one hand, tuck his ice-axe through the strap of his rucksack to leave his hands free to surmount the vertical crest of ice-veneered holds. He was smiling when I joined him and, pointing out the way ahead, said he was sure we would make the top.

Snow cornices and ice-plastered rocks, some rock climbing on clean stuff, more snow cornices, and at last, ahead of us, a fragile leaf of snow projecting into space - the summit. What a place for a photograph! But I needed my hands to protect Pierre in case of a slip, for the solid ridge was not easy to locate beneath the mass of snow.