The evening sun is spoiling all over the city. Spring has sprung.

After four hours of driving the sun must've found a sleeping place in the sky. Our bivouac spot is deep into the vast forest. We're surrounded by darkness. Black treetops hide the starry sky.

Our fire lights up our faces.

As tradition prescribes, we already go meet the rocks. 10.000 balloons Alessio and me maneuver crashpads through the forest. To Cassepot Roches Grises.

A series of turns passed. Quite some 'breadcrumbs' lay on our path behind when crazy boulders arise from the ground, glistening with frost, telling the trees where to grow. We deploy the mats next to a cathedral of stone, standing up in a Tower of Pisa angle. "Gravity, my old friend. I’ve come to talk with you again." We top out a couple of three-star problems and fall out a few more.

Hendrik

The next morning I wake with the first light spreading through every fiber of my tent. The birds are ready and I am too (after a tea). We drive to Barbizon where the sunlight crawls over the houses. The van rolls us through the narrow streets of the small village of artists. On the open spots the daffodils have taken the place of the crocuses. The parking for Apremont turns up.

From afar we see the forest suddenly towering up where the first large boulders appear. Up we go through a labyrinth of big chunks of sandstone, until we reach a high open spot. Today's base camp is inaugurated. Fractions of milliseconds later, Tom, Ramses, Hendrik and Dave are in deep with a steep slab problem. Turn by turn, fall by fall, we move milimeters higher up the riddlish wall.

From boulder to boulder, style after style is discovered. Our path has drifted from basecamp. We head down the butte (hill made up of little sandstone monsters the glaciers left us) more into the forest below to bump into aggressive overhang-ish problems, finding the others in the midst of battle. You don't want to miss this.

Sebastian the spider in Egoïste.

Ramses

The night starts to fall and we feel the city of Fontainebleau calling us. The joint of our trusted Italian master cook is reserved starting from 8pm. By chance, across the Rue Grande in the orange street lights, we cross Leuven-based Daniele, Xiao Lin and Bram.

After dinner the lights of Fontainebleau fade again in our rear view mirror. Tent canvases meet poles again, and soon branches crackle in the fire, on the tunes of owls who are calling out through the night. The old spirits of the forest. Now it's time for the big fire. We’re joined by Maxime and his friends Oli and Max.

The next morning, Rochers Canon welcomes us for a separate style of freakish sandstone. While making our funky ways up we bump into an overhanging boulder towering out of a 1m50 deep pont, but we keep this one for a summer plonge. The vertical enterprises are continued. Much of which seems ridiculously out of reach, gets within reach and we manage a few more boulders. “How the hell do I get off of this?”.

Darkness falls. A few of us realise our wrists are scratched (which boulder did that again?). Sebastian shows his bloodyly abrased hand. Time to drive back to prepare for the new week.

Thanks to president Tom, board members Wim, Sabine and Dave, and to dreamteam Isa, Martha, Darya, Asefeh, Hendrik, Alessio, Ramses, Brecht, Fré, Jan, Sebastian, Danouck, Leen, Oscar, Ruan, Amira, Annelies, Nikolaos, Ansie, Tony and the people we met, for logistics, music, gear, food, coffee, beer, wine, water, tips, tricks, helping me not falling straight down to my head..