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All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.

- JRR Tolkien

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Adventure Travel

Jun 14, 2017

Discover the True Meaning of ‘Made in Chamonix’

Chamonix, France, is one of the most prestigious places on earth for outdoor sports.

WRITTEN BY

Gaël Couturier

Located at the bottom of Mont Blanc, Europe’s highest peak, it offers a rare spirit to the visitor—a sense of adventure that you just can’t live without once you’ve had a taste of its grandeur.

This article was featured in the Destination section in our very first print issue of The Outdoor Journal, Summer 2013. Stay tuned for our exclusive story by Krissy Moehl, two-time champion of the Ultra Trail du Mont-Blanc, about this life-changing race.

You know you’re hooked on a place when all you can think about is your next trip out there. Chamonix, France is one of those places. It is the cradle of many adventures in alpinism, paragliding, BASE jumping and extreme skiing. “Many thrill seekers have been coming to live in the valley in the past 40 years and have helped that place radiate over the borders of France, Italy and Switzerland,” says Dominic Simoncini, our columnist and mental coach, who lives there now. “Chamonix is at the crossroads of extreme sports and extreme passion for the mountain.”

Aiguille du Midi. Photo courtesy of Chamonix-Mont-Blanc Municipalities

Skiing in Chamonix is great, but it’s not among the best in the world. The mountain is so wild and steep that the slopes haven’t yet been successfully connected. As a result, serious skiers end up chasing the best spots on one specific side of the mountain in the morning, going all the way down to where the road stops, taking a short bus ride and going up again to another side of the mountain for more cliffs and untouched powder. Other than the steepness of some mountainsides, it’s not the best for avid skiers. However, for beginners and even families who are on holiday, it’s perfect. The only hassle is that you can’t go anywhere with a chairlift.

“Chamonix remains the alpine capital of the world because of the Mont Blanc mountain and all its glorious history, but it is also very alive thanks to a lot of small startups acting in the outdoor segment,” says Sébastien de Sainte Marie, The Outdoor Journal Brand Ambassador and an avid steep skier with many stories in the mountains. “This has mostly been supported by the English tourist colony coming here every year and making possible the existence of a true ‘made in Chamonix.’”

In the summer, it’s another story. Chamonix is the place to be for trekking, trail running, paragliding, base jumping, climbing and hard alpinism. “Chamonix is a very special little town stuck in between mountains, offering perfect spots for all kinds of sports, but also for more family-oriented time with a lot of great infrastructure,” says Sébastien Nain, ultra runner from the Vibram Europe team.

Mer de Glace. Photo courtesy of Chamonix-Mont-Blanc Municipalities

There are some major sporting events in Chamonix that you shouldn’t miss as a spectator or a participant, from international climbing competitions to 24-hour mountain biking. And don’t forget the gruelling Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc (UTMB), one of the best 100-mile (170-km) ultra running races on earth.

“I have loved my time in Chamonix around the race every year,” says American ultra runner and Patagonia athlete Krissy Moehl, who is also a two-time winner of the UTMB race. “Each time, I have spent a minimum of nine days playing in and around the town. The daily adventures up in the hills are an incredible playground for any outdoor enthusiast. My favourite time was in 2010, when I took a four-day turn around the Mont Blanc massif. The access from Chamonix is what makes it any adventurer’s dream, any time of year.”

Thinking about going there? The best place in Chamonix (believe me, as I’ve stayed in each of the top boutique hotels and fancy chalets) is The Résidence Quartz Mont Blanc. Yan, the owner, inherited the building from his grandparents and decided to quit his job to turn it into luxury apartments with his wife, Mimi (aka “Mimi the witch” if you’re a close friend). It’s located just by the edge of this very small town, and you can easily walk to nearby shops and restaurants. The farmers’ market right below your window on Saturday morning will make you feel like a true Frenchman.

“On race days, our large group of runners from Patagonia is easily accommodated in the comfortable rooms, providing everyone ample space and a great common area to connect and share home-cooked meals—all with the flair of Chamonix and the Mont Blanc massif standing guard out the window,” says Moehl.

During my childhood and teenage years, I used to go skiing twice a year in Courchevel, in the Alps, in the greatest resort of all: Les 3 Vallées. But since I grew up and became a real outdoorsman, I just can’t live without my Chamonix fix.

Chamonix makes me happy; it’s as simple as that.

When I can afford it, I stay at Yan’s and just forget about the rest. And when I look at the Mont Blanc summit from my window, I feel pushed beyond my limits. If you’re a surfer, Chamonix is like Tavarua in Fiji, or Grajagan in Java, Indonesia. If you scuba dive, it compares to the Great Barrier Reef or Tahiti. For skydivers, it ranks up there with Eloy.

This isn’t hyperbole: if you love the mountains, Chamonix is the top of the world.

Feature image by Henry Iddon.

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Features

Feb 20, 2019

The Death Zone

World champion free-diver Pierre Frolla sinks without air to depths unreachable by most scuba divers. One day he nearly didn't make it back to the surface.

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WRITTEN BY

Pierre Frolla

This story originally featured in print, in the fall 2015 issue of The Outdoor Journal

Deep down under the sea, so far away from where you live, I have been through the last seconds of my life.

In 2005 or 2006 (oddly I don’t remember), I had the worst accident of my freediving career. After being world champion in variable weight apnea with a dive at 123 metres, where I used a weighted sled for descent and returned to the surface by pulling myself along a line and using my fins, I was training to go deeper.

“No matter what happens to you, you’re stuck underwater. There’s nowhere else to go.”

In my sport, risks are quite important. Imagine you’re running a 400-m race. You start way too fast, and after a few hundred meters you’re out of breath and you just can’t go anymore. What do you do? You just stop, walk a bit and slowly catch your breath again. When you’re free diving, no matter what happens to you, you’re stuck underwater. There’s nowhere else to go.

The basis of my sport is quite simple. Going beyond 100 meters is mythic. Only a few hardcore specialists, including the “no limit” guys can go beyond that. Athletes use a weighted sled to dive down and an inflatable bag to return to the surface. This means that the free diver reduces his energy loss to the max, and that’s exactly why he is able to go so deep. The world record is held by Austrian Herbert Nitsch: 249.5 metres on June 6, 2012, in Santorini, Greece. The problem is that at those depths, water pressure is unbelievable! At 100 m, for example, the pressure is about 11 kg per square centimeter of your skin. Consequently, the volume of air inside the human body is pressured and reduced too. Take an empty but sealed plastic bottle: If you get to this kind of depth, it’ll greatly deform. That plastic bottle is a metaphor for your body. This also means that if water manages to seep somewhere inside you through your mouth or nose, it will do so with such force that it’ll destroy everything in its path. Drowning is inevitable, and no Apneist can be saved in such case, even if experienced help quickly intervenes.

At great depths, nitrogen becomes narcotic and leads to what is called nitrogen narcosis. This kind of intoxication from staying in great depths for too long is the same as when you drink too much. In other words, you lose total control of your body and mind, and you become unaware of potential dangers. Acting like that underwater can kill you, as the slightest mistake will have incredible consequences. In my personal training, I mix apnea in variable weight and other constant weight dives, where I dive only with the force of my arms and legs.

Today, my team and I decide to put the weight to 118 m. I know I can go down 115 m, but we want to push a little, as it’s part of training. Once down, I’ll have no choice but to go back on my own. I also know there will be a small parachute and an oxygen tank hooked to the sled, but neither will be for me. The bottle empties very slowly and inflates the balloon. Both serve only to return equipment back to the surface. It’s easier for us to work like that rather than starting a counterweight system.

If I want to live, I have only four seconds to start my ascent. But I am stunned and unable to move. I think about my team: What will they do when they go down to find me, lifeless and filled with water?

I feel my legs sinking knee-deep in a soft, thick and viscous material.

I begin my descent. I pass my midterm diver. Very soon, it gets dark. I do not have glasses because they would serve me for nothing in this environment. So I stand, with my eyes closed. I’m relaxed and sinking slowly in the water like I’m used to. I feel the pressure now, but I also suddenly feel the sledge slowing. Then it stops, softly. Usually it stops dead. When I realize that something is wrong, I feel my legs sinking knee-deep in a soft, thick and viscous material. It is almost as if moving sands are closing in on me at 112 meters below the surface. It is actually a mixture of clay and silt, a mound a few meters higher than the sonar onboard the boat. It wasn’t identified even though it stood in the stack axis of the descent of my sledge. It’s nobody’s fault; sonar is not so precise.

In no time, I understand what’s happening to me. I’m stuck. I cannot get my feet outside the box, and I know there’s no exit door. I simply do not have enough oxygen to both work my way out of this with strength and go up as I have expected, swimming, with my hands and fins. If I want to live, I have only four seconds to start my ascent. But I am stopped, stunned and unable to move. I think about my team: What will they do when they go down to find me, lifeless and filled with water? I’m dying; that’s it. Today is the day. In 15 seconds, I will have consumed all the remaining air I was keeping for my ascent. I am also a few seconds away from being caught by nitrogen narcosis. I will go crazy right before dying.

“Did I become a vegetable?”

Suddenly, I have an idea. The parachute. Yes! I trigger the opening of the small air valve, which then rushes into the parachute. It’s working but it’s slow and long. So I wait, very still, with my eyes closed. I have no other choice. I try to relax. Everything at 112 m is multiplied by 10. One consumed oxygen molecule at the surface is equal to 10 or 12 molecules consumed at that kind of depth. One second is equivalent to 10 seconds. Time and life are both very cruel at the bottom of an ocean. I am now barely conscious. Finally, I remember feeling the chute tearing me away from my trap like a champagne cork. The ascent back to the surface, back to life, is way too long. When I reach the surface, I have strangely not entirely lost consciousness, but my body no longer responds to my brain. Did I become a vegetable? My team, frightened, retrieves and saves me. If I had not been so well-trained, I would not have survived this scary adventure. Instead of the planned 2 minutes and 40 seconds that I went down under water for, I stayed 3 minutes and 50 seconds. In the boat, I gradually recover and quickly regain all my abilities.

Pierre Frolla reascending to the surface, following the guideline with the sled and parachute attached to it.

A few years later, I’m on a movie set doing 60-m free diving over and over all day long, and an air bubble is created in my brain on one of these repetitive dives. But instead of being redirected into my lungs, it remains stuck in my head. When ascending, inevitably, this tiny compressed air bubble suddenly decompresses and its size gets multiplied by six. I immediately lose consciousness. Later, I wake up in a hyperbaric chamber. I stay there for eight and a half hours. But when I wake up in that box, I cannot feel my body. I’m unable to move. For hours, I do not know if I will stay quadriplegic or not. This awakening in the box is one of my worst-ever memories of free diving. I do not understand what is happening to me. It takes me 30 minutes to remember that I was free diving and to deduce that I certainly had a bad accident.

Apnea is an extreme sport. I’ll remember it always. Yesterday I dived to 113 meters. I’ll do it again tomorrow.

Photos by Franck Seguin

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