Humble Pie: Chamonix

Chamonix, FR. Photo: Sean Zimmerman-Wall

“Okay, we are going to get off this slope at the col just ahead and transition, glad you are alright” my partner Mike chimes back. 

Sliding downslope to the other unlucky individual, I reunite him with his ski pole, which ended up right next to my ski in the debris. We introduce ourselves, confirm we have all our gear, and realize the ride we had just taken was relatively short. Only about 80 meters upslope, the crown is visible through a break in the fog.

At this point, another six people are on the slope, having no clue what has just occurred. They blissfully march upward as we compose ourselves and decide what to do next. I can see my partners are approaching the Col des Rachasses we had been traversing towards when the slide initiated. I am still in uphill mode, and it makes sense to join them. I say goodbye to the other skier, a Brit named Niles, and wish him luck on his descent.

Col des Rachasses. Chamonix, FR. Photo: Sean Zimmerman-Wall

Alone on the skin track I catch up to the rest of the climbers just past the starting zone and crown of the avalanche. It is about 30cm deep and 30m wide. Not a big pocket, but certainly enough to remove me from my position and take me for a decent ride. Fortunately, we are in benign terrain with no consequence. 

I look ahead to see my partners jammed up in a queue of skiers trying to gain the col.  They are crossing a large wind drifted feature with significant exposure below.  One person turns around and says he would go no further due to being alone and knowing that the slope beyond the col had produced large avalanches the season before.

Col des Rachasses in Chamonix, FR. Photo: Sean Zimmerman-Wall

I radio up to Mike and state I am back at the starting zone and have reservations about going further.  Even still, I cross the slope they had just side-stepped and made it to the relative shelter of a small wooden hut perched on a rocky rib separating the two drainages of this section of the Grand Montets Ski Resort in Chamonix. That’s right, we are still technically inbounds! What a way to spend my 39th birthday, on the first day of my first trip to the French Alps.

Peeling off my pack and grabbing a bit of water, I give my partners a hug and lean against the cold hewn logs of the tiny hut. We discuss what just happened and deliberate how to proceed. The phantom skier turns out to be here too. We don’t exchange many words, as he appears to be with his girlfriend on a day off. Perhaps a local guide?

Turning to my partners, I voice that reversing course is my preferred option, not knowing the severity of the terrain that is below our position on the Glacier des Rognons.  The Foehn wind is ripping and transporting copious amounts of snow over the ridge - reloading all the slopes we have just crossed. Including the short but consequential cliff band we’d be forced to traverse above should we choose this route. Mike and I huddle outside the shack, peering into the fog below towards the glacier. He has spent the whole season up to this point exploring the valley and knows the terrain we are looking at. Although he can’t see it now, he assures me it is a more suitable option. And it is windward. We call Mike’s cousin Casey over, make one more round of discussion, and slide away into the cloudy abyss.

Col des Rachasses Hut, Chamonix, FR. Photo: Sean Zimmerman-Wall

The vertiginous fog enshrouds us like a damp blanket. Wind whips our faces and makes routine communication nearly impossible. Radios are useless and visibility is 10m. I narrow my focus to the three turns in front of me, keeping Mike and Casey in my periphery as they ski just below and above me. The texture underfoot is not quite sastrugi and not quite wind buff, meaning the slope isn’t cross loaded. Portions of the slope are certainly greater than 30 degrees, but it is large and planar with a survivable runout. I stuff the thought of all three of us caught in a wind slab into my back pocket and keep moving. We are probably spread out enough that only two of us would get caught.

Chamonix, FR. Photo: Sean Zimmerman-Wall

Reaching the lower margins of the glacier we can see blocks of serac in the distance, their ominous blue hue seemingly glowing in the refracted light.  We group up, spot the traverse returning to the ski area proper and make our way across a small gully complex to safety.  Back on corduroy, we slip and slide down to the Chalet Refuge de Lognan, a mountainside stone building where we hoped to get a snack and some reprieve from the elements. No luck, full house. Clicking back into our skis, we catch a clearing in the fog and make our way the 1000m back down to the parking lot. Slush moguls, mud, and waves of humanity are our biggest perils, but we are out of avalanche territory.  We exchange a cross glance at each other as we step onto the tufted grass at the bottom. A silent acknowledgment that we were lucky to be down in one piece. 

The drive to the nearest boulangerie is rather quiet. I watch clouds graze the ridge top pinnacles and a ray of sun illuminates the village laid out before us. We rock up to L’ Al’Pain and order as many carbohydrates as possible; the selection of pizzas, sandwiches, and pastries is almost unfathomable. As we consume calories, our brains come back online and the synapses start firing, we debrief properly.  Our takeaways being that we had missed several critical steps in our processes, leading to the avalanche and subsequent descent.

Carb Salvation. Chamonix, FR. Photo: Sean Zimmerman-Wall

Classic human decision-making errors stem from a reluctance to see the gaps in our armor. Yes we had the gear and local knowledge, but our plan was hollow. We came to a ski area knowing an exit to the backcountry was possible, we knew that wind slabs were the issue of the day, we knew visibility would be challenging.

Yet we carried on, sojourning into the high country, expecting our skillset to match the conditions. Even after we were dealt a blow, we carried on yet again, an escalation of commitment that felt so organic it was almost imperceptible. 

Sitting at the countertop, we share our own emotions around the event. The calmness I exhibited during the ride was almost scary.  Mike’s collected demeanor on the radio and steadfastness in pursuing a less-exposed option on the descent were telling of his deep-rooted understanding of consequence, even though he is not a mountain professional. Casey shared his feeling of being helpless in the moments watching the slide. However, the trust in his ability to react to the situation, make a set of decisions, and carry forth showed his comfort with calculated risk, something he explores often in the venture capital business. Together we resigned to be more thoughtful during the remaining week-long journey.

The famed alpinist Edward Whymper’s words echoed in my head: “Climb if you will, but remember that courage and strength are not without prudence, and that a momentary negligence may destroy the happiness of a lifetime. Do nothing in haste; look well to each step; and from the beginning think what may be the end.”