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FIRST DESCENT, HUBSCHHORN NORTH FACE

January 13th, 2015. The winter should have already settled in on the Alps. Yet the pastures are green with an oppressive gentleness, it rains till 3000m (9,842ft) and the little snow that falls is blown away by strong wind. From my village of Glion, I travel in search of snow to the south of Switzerland. Just a few weeks ago, December 24th, after three attempts (one stopped by more than 80kph wind, the other by a huge windblown avalanche that blocked access to the north face), I succeeded finally at the first descent of the north face of the Hubschhorn (3170m). The Hubschhorn is the mountain that dominates above the col of Simplon, in the extreme east of Valais, near the Italian border. Observing my perseverance, the community of the Hospice at Simplon has developed a compassion for my mad thirst for the conquest of the useless.

The descent of the north face of the Hubschhorn is no longer than 600m (1,968ft), with two steep narrows. But exposure to all the winds renders the operation delicate, if we don’t want an avalanche falling down on our heads. I listen to each sound from each fall of snow, my concentration is intense and I’m always looking for the proximity of rocks and lines of escape, if the worst is to happen. The end of the line is splendid, perched on a turn with a small jump to finish the matter. With my return to the Hospice some 500m (1,640ft) below I will be Jesus Superstar, and yes this evening it’s Christmas.

But the ski season of 2013-2014 shook my heart.

I started the season in the Himalaya, with the project of a ski descent of Pumori, 7100m (23,293ft), in Nepal. The expedition became an adventure, a project which started as a team and turned into a solo integral. Of this voyage I retained memories of strong encounters, breathtaking landscapes, and an ideal finally fulfilled of a solo at high altitude.

With my return to the old continent I found myself caught by the success of the European Outdoor Film Tour. In April, a crew came to film me during the first descent of the north face of the Gspaltenhorn (3400m in the Swiss canton of Bern). Sound of the Void was screened all over Europe thereafter. I’m intimidated by the cameras and the show of EOFT, but it’s good to know that my friends recognize my passion. As the months pass, little by little snow whitens the landscape, until the month of December sounds the beginning of all projects, of great excitement and of all the madness.

My friend and descent partner, Gilles Bornet, also returned from Nepal. Gilles is the archetype of the montagnard with a great heart. Since his most tender childhood he explored the Swiss mountains on ski, by paraglider and by climbing with his papa. For two winters we’ve been sharing adventures, always with a smile and the desire to discover new places. We’d achieved the most mad projects, and nothing seemed impossible to us. At the end of 2013 we repeated two very aesthetic lines in Arolla on the North Face of the Serre de Vuibe (3100m / Valais).

In Nepal, Manaslu allowed him to ascend her flanks till 7400m (24,278ft) but no more. Then Ama Dablam also refused him her summit. Yet he retained great memories of the trip. Our respective misses in the Himalaya had sharpened our appetites, the season to come should be beautiful and well-filled.

But then the hammer blow. Sunday, December 30th. In the evening I learned of the death of Gilles… taken away by an avalanche a few metres from a couloir that we had skied together the day before. Well conscious of the risks of playing in the mountains, I had not thought of the tragedies…

So I abandoned my plans and left with my companion, Natalie, on the discovery of South India. Far from the snow which took away my friend, in tears and sadness, I decided to flee the winter which is otherwise my season. To visit South India in three weeks forces a change in your mind. The passage from Bombay to the granite monuments of Hampi by the sacred shores of Varkala or the heights of Kodaikanal were filled with colours, smells and sounds that did me well. This joyous chaos and the smile of Natalie’s smile brought me back to life.

FIRST DESCENT, TROU A CHAMOREL 

On my return I decided to attempt an old project in a place that I knew well, the Vallon de Nant. I’d discovered it four years previously. Since then I’d opened with friends and alone, beautiful lines in the cirque. Several kilometres long and more than a thousand metres high, it formed a natural frontier between the cantons of Vaud and Valais. On March 2 I left alone to ski a direct line on the Trou a Chamorel. The climb up was rendered a little punishable by the absence of visibility, and the transformation to the silence of the snowy mantle is short. I deliberately chose not to climb the couloir, to go faster, and lacking optimism I carry my kevlar cord of 80m and pitons (one never knows). Arriving at the start of my line, the fog rose thanks to an encouraging wind, and I discovered the project’s content. “Wow, that’s really steep!” It was an itinerary dominated by rock that had, for a key passage, a 55 degree slab just about covered in snow that I’d prepared myself to ski. not bad for a first trip after 3 weeks of tourism in India.

The beginning is sustained, the wind straight on to the snow on the slab, the ambience is grandiose. I avoid letting my mind shut down by remembering the strange solitude of the moment.

Two rocky passages need my cord, under the freshness of the spindrift falling down this gullet. The following part of the descent is less exposed and technical, I take the time to appreciate the snow conditions and the ochre-coloured rock which borders the couloir. This line in my opinion is the most technical and steep that I’ve opened in the area.

“PUTAIN, I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS SHIT!”

A few days after this beautiful realisation in steep skiing, I launched myself body and lost soul into my first ski alpinism race with Wim Pasquier. Wim is one of the most appealing personalities I’ve ever met. He’s in incredible shape at 63, with eyes sparkling on each trip to the mountains. He was one of the forerunners of extreme skiing in the Himalaya, with his descent of the Gasherbrum II in 1984 (when I was all of 2 years old). After my return from India, Wim asked me to participate in a ski alpinism race in teams of two. I accepted more in the name of friendship than because of a real desire to ski in a tight suit and extra narrow, unskiable “matchstick” skis. So Friday evening, March 8th, I was at the start of a vertical race from Diableret 3, with Wim all ready and suited up in the kind of clothes for the type of ordeal. The first race started at night with a dry and steep climb and piste; I was happy enough because I managed much better than I’d imagined. But the next day was terrible. Saturday 6 am I was at the start of a long 30km course. Right from the start my Camelbak froze, and I was rapidly dehydrated. A long agony followed. Evidently Wim was in his element and I, meter after meter, dreamt of a sea of Coca Cola. With the light and thin clothing and gear appropriate for everything except ski, I put myself to appreciate the frozen descent where I could catch a certain speed, and to not slap my ultra-thin 67mm wide skis on ice. I finally arrived at the exclamation: “Putain, I’ve had enough of this shit!” At the end of these three days we finished 24th, much better than I’d expected for a newbie like myself.

FIRST DESCENT, SANTIS NORTH FACE

Saturday 8th April I left on the grand adventure in the far east of Switzerland, in the direction of Santis, in the canton of St. Gallen, 200 kms from my home yet a part of my heart since 5 months. For two years I’d been interested in this mythic mountain in the east of Switzerland. In December I went with my girlfriend to explore the North Face from much closer, by going up in the telepherique. In the meantime Julia Bauer and Andreas Trunz help me research the best snow conditions possible and the history of ski descents of the face. The verdict: the line I’d thought of skiing is virgin of all descents. Not having a lot of time in my hands I remount the slope by cable car, taking advantage of this to well visualize the descent and understand the quality of the snow. Arriving on the top, the employees of the cable car seemed a little surprised. As I was made to understand, skiing the north face wasn’t really the “protocol” (*Ed’s note: Obviously, considering no-one else had ever done it before). After some negotiations I was authorised to use the summer tunnel to reach the north face. After the grand summit curve covered with movie-like snow, the serious business began with the telepherique that passed me just above my head, disgorging happy tourists. The high part is just well-enough snowed but forces me to make two little jumps on traverse, then after the traverse at mid-height I swung to the lower part where the snow was much harder because it took the sun. Arriving after two rappels it took me a little bit of time to succeed at finding a placement near enough correct to place a piton not too wobbly, the whole thing sprinkled with spindrift. The lower part was magnificent, the view wasn’t like anything else in the Alps, clear onto Lake Constance. A succession of ramps with more or less underlying grass took me to the bottom of the face, then without transition I found myself at Schwagalp, that paradise of tourists and motorists, who asked themselves what had taken me by the head to launch myself into so unreasonable a project. It was like this, all in skier’s guise, with a gentle odour of smelly feet that I found my Natalie on the streets of St. Gallen, and how I met her parents for the first time. In such moments I pray for the outdoor clothing industry to find a solution for sweaty feet in ski boots.

ADVENTURE WITH A CAPITAL ‘A’ IS GOOD FOR THE SOUL

Snow conditions are degrading so much it pushes me more and more to running than skiing. I move to the heights of Montreux, a corner of paradise with a grand view. It’s not yet end May that I put on my skis again to accompany an atypical couple of friends for their first time on the north face of the Col du Plan. Then after a few thunderstorms of the beginning of June, I began to dream of the possibilities of skiing engaged lines at altitude. Thanks to Jesus and his acts of bravery I managed to get three days of holiday, what a celebration! Saturday I decided with light feet to take part in a 38km trail run with 2400m of ascent and the same on descent. After a big fall, a few cramps but great feelings, I finished at a good 6th place in 4h20min, with 20 minutes of the first place winner. The next day, in the direction of Chamonix and its hordes of tourists coming from the world over to ascend the l’Aiguille du Midi and to push us a bit towards ours. It’s therefore at 11h that I can start to descend from the platform with Adelin, my companion from Plum, my ski binding sponsor. We have a choice, either peacefully descend the Frendo Spur or attempt a hypothetical repeat of the descent of Boivin on the Tournier Spur. At the moment of choice I persuade Adelin in the adventure of the unknown – Tournier Spur, arguing that adventure with a capital ‘A’ is good for the soul! (Thinking later about it, it was a bad idea).

The beginning of the descent is magnificent, thin, the snow already heavy, then the start of the difficulties arrives with the rocky sections. We put on crampons to pass a series of rocky spurs, at which point we’re in the midst of an epic adventure. We start a series of rappels to go around the seracs of the north face of the Col du Plan, exposed to the the many snow slides, which repeat at ever shorter intervals on the entirety of the north face of the Aiguilles of Chamonix. We try as hard as possible to not be in the eye of the serac and the large summit cornices, except when one can’t avoid it. Arriving at a key rappel I descend little by little, making myself as light as possible because my anchor above isn’t at all solid. Reaching the end of the rope I scrutinise the rock rapidly in search of a crack to save us, but just then a white mass knocks me down. By chance I’ve made a knot at the end of my rope which saves me from the big fall… and then I sense my static rope stretch… The avalanche passes, I don’t give myself time to pass out, finding myself still alive, I move as quickly as possible and cobble together a few pins. I’m frozen. Adelin rejoins me and surprises me of the solidity of the previous anchor. We’re happy to be still in this world. The last rappel is an exercise in style, we rappel between slides as fast as possible, and run to safety, put on our skis and leave this no man’s land.

Like all adventures that deserve to be called so, we miss the last cable car down to Chamonix. We’ll have to descend 1300m till Chamonix by foot for me and in ski boots for Adelin. Nothing like feeling in communion with nature and the seasons, than walking a path of celebration with ski boots on.

Translated from French by Apoorva Prasad/The Outdoor Journal.

Feature Image: In October 2011, Sebastien de Sainte Marie went to ski down the south face of Shishapangma, 8027m, one of the world’s 14 mountains above 8000m, in China. Here, Seb skis down the English Route, from the highest point ever reached for a ski descent on this mountain. Photo © Photopress/Mammut/Florian Wagner

This story was part of the Features section of The Outdoor Journal Spring 2015 edition of the print magazine.