Rando races in this country are similarly staged as one-day events. The Grand Traverse leaves Crested Butte at midnight, with the fast teams arriving in Aspen for breakfast. The Sneffels Half Loop departs at sunrise from Last Dollar trailhead and finishes at beer-thirty in Ridgway.

But when we, Team Smugglers’ Notch, did Le Raid Blanc in 1987, we raced for six days straight, with a couple of “specials,” or stages, each day, the times accumulating like they do on the Tour de France. To be sure, we were well fed and slept most nights in hotel beds. (A planned night in “igloos” on the side of Mont Blanc was cancelled in a blizzard when the French Army couldn’t get up there to build them. Our first night together was spent sorting gear with the other 37 teams on a gym floor in Cervinia.)

I thought the second special on Day 1, following our morning of crevasse weaving, might be my last. Not my last of the Raid, my last ever.

It was a full-on downhill, from the top of the Plateau Rosa to the town of Cervinia several miles below. Monte Cervino, as the Italians call the the Matterhorn, loomed over the route, which paralleled the Kilometro Lanciato, the infamous speed run on which most of the speed skiing records (120 mph-plus) were set from the 1930s into the 1970s.

I was running fourth in the duckling line with Vermonter Paul Abare sweeping behind. It was a relatively flat section of the course; I had my head down in the most wind-resistant tuck my aching quads would allow. When next I looked up there was a spectator crossing the track directly in front of me.

I feinted left; he dodged left. I hurled my body to the right to keep from splintering us both and slid off the course straight for a gaping crevasse.

It wasn’t like my life flashed before my eyes. But I did have time to think about a moment before the start when our insurance was double-checked and we were each fitted with those permanent, plastic hospital bracelets.

I also somehow had time to recall a phrase from the Raid’s promotional literature. It was written by Gilbert Sabine, father of the event’s founder, Thierry, who carried on despite his son’s death the year before. The translation read: “[The Raid will be] a new ski, a total ski, a liberating of the tops of the most massive Alps . . . a rally which crowns . . . the surpassing of yourself, qualities that Thierry had always wanted to put first.”

It was that “surpassing of yourself” bit that concerned me.

Once I flew over the lip, I could see it wasn’t a crevasse after all, but a 10-foot deep wind trough. My fear turned to anger, and I popped up screaming at the miscreant pedestrian: “Merde! Putois, vas te faire foutre!” It occurred to me that I had never been so fluent in French.

Never mind that we were in Italy.

Paul helped get my skis back on, and we soldiered to the finish line. For each stage, the team’s time was the time of its last finisher. Somehow, even with my crash, we ended that first day ranked in the middle of the pack, 16th to be precise.

Around dusk, we took the cable cars back to the top of the Plateau Rosa and traversed across to the Refugio Theodul, a four-story, chalet-style hut on the shoulder of Monte Cervino, where all 120 competitors were billeted for the night. The place was virtually unheated, but with everyone sardined in, six to a sleeping shelf, 24 to a room, we would not be cold.

We ate in shifts at long wooden tables in the common room. The hut mistress served perfectly cooked pasta and hard cheese, cheap red wine, and a brothy chicken soup. The mood was cozy and convivial between the teams, something that would not survive the next difficult days.

But we felt good. We’d persevered, with most of our dignity intact. Kip’s shoulder dislocation on the morning stage had reseated itself with remarkably little trouble. Our guide James was cautiously optimistic: “No problem!” he said.

A fellow on one of the French teams told me to put my pillow under my knees and use my jacket beneath my head. There was no room to roll over, and the shelf was too hard to lie on one’s side. It worked. I don’t think I moved all night, despite the snoring and the funk of exercised bodies. I slept the sleep of the dead.

To be continued . . . 

Recently I wrote about Italian mountaineer Hervé Barmasse and his father opening a new route on Monte Rosa in the Italian Alps in 2011.  This was only one of three new routes Hervé chose to create on three of the highest peaks in the Alps in three different ascent styles no less.  The other two routes were created on Monte Bianco (Mont Blanc) with two friends and Monte Cervino (the Matterhorn), which he did alone.

These three ambitious climbing adventures were captured on film and the result is the soon to be released movie Not So Far.

The Barmasse Trilogy is a tribute to high mountains and to the inexhaustible spirit of classical mountaineering, the same spirit that prompted Mummery to write: “The true mountaineer is the man who attempts new ascents, and equally, whether he succeeds or fails, delights in the fun and joy of the struggle”.

Video courtesy of Adventure Blog and the North Face.

Imagine you took the world’s 50 most famous mountains — Everest, K2, Denali, Fuji — and put their image on a flash card. Now imagine that you’ve flipped through the entire deck and quizzed yourself. Could you name most of these mountains based on their profile alone? The unique silhouette they cut into the sky? Odds are, only two of those mountains would be gimmes. Kilimanjaro and the Matterhorn. Even Kilimanjaro might be a maybe, but the Matterhorn? Their ain’t another mountain on earth that rivals its facade.

On the train ride into Zermatt last summer, I had my back to the town as we rolled up the tracks. What I saw in reverse was the sight of every passenger leaning out the train windows seeking their first glance of the Matterhorn. At one point, I turned around, looked up the hillside, and bam: there it was. The sight of it made my heart skip a beat. I’m not kidding.

Photographing the Matterhorn is easy. Creating a unique image that hasn’t been done before … now that’s hard. Here are some things I learned on how to photograph the Matterhorn during my all-too-brief stay in Zermatt last June.

1. Get the Postcard Shot Out of the Way

Frankly, Zermatt would be a lot lower on the Must-See in Switzerland list if it weren’t for the Matterhorn. It’s not close to any other big tourist draws, and the town itself — while beautiful and full of nice restaurants and interesting hotels — is nothing to scream about. In fact, without the Matterhorn, Zermatt would probably be a ghost town of decayed old wooden cabins. You’ve come this far for one reason: to see this mountain. And while it is not even the tallest peak in the Mattertal Valley — four other peaks are taller — it is the only one you’ll notice from the valley floor. Because the peak is so isolated and domineering, it has become the icon of Switzerland. It’s lonely profile graces everything from the Swiss website home page to postcards to chocolate wrappers to lewd boxer shorts.

There are two places to get the iconic postcard shot. Postcard Spot #1 is just outside Zermatt on the hiking trail to Zmutt. Just after the trail leaves the road, it climbs up through grassy meadows dotted with old cabins (above). I recommend hitting this spot around 9 to 10am when the sun has illuminated the meadows. The snow-covered Matterhorn is usually 2 stops brighter than the foreground, so bracket and be ready to due some exposure balancing in post-production to capture how it looks to the naked eye.

Postcard Spot #2 is three-fourths of the way up the Gornergrat Bahn along the trail to the Riffelsee (above). This is the most photographed alpine lake in the valley, and for good reason. From this angle, the Matterhorn is more like a shark’s tooth than the usual profile. Had we not been traveling with an over-tired toddler (an entire blog post in its own right), we probably would have basked in the view for hours. The peak is perhaps at its most impressive — from anywhere in the valley, really — from this vantage point in late afternoon. The backlight, the seemingly vertical East Face, the bright blue sky, and the shimmering water of the Riffelsee create a unique magic that you’ll be hard-pressed to discover anywhere else on earth.

2. Capture the Banner Clouds

While the Matterhorn is not the tallest peak in Europe (let alone its home valley), it sure likes to act like it is. Because of its isolation, its location on the Alpine watershed, and its extremely steep slopes, the mountain creates a unique weather phenomenon known as banner clouds. In essence (and I’m trying to sound smart here, but I’m just regurging Wikipedia), wind moving around the summit creates condensation on the lee side of the peak. These vortices crop up in the afternoon, and are an indication of how inhospitable it is up on the summit (anyone up for a climb?).

From a photography perspective, the banner clouds are like a snowflake: no two are alike, meaning you can capture something truly unique at any moment. Its best to keep an eye on the peak when they form. What might look like a soupy cloud-bank can quickly evolve into a majestic flag of mist. I’ve already published my favorite banner-cloud photograph in an earlier blog post.

My advise is to just keep your camera handy at all time: banner clouds form quickly, and dissolve just as fast.

3. Pursue Non-Traditional Angles

Because we’re talking about arguably the most photographed mountain in the world, you’ll quickly discover how hard it is to shoot an original image of the Matterhorn. Interesting banner clouds and miraculous light at dawn and dusk can help your cause, but for other times of the day, it can be frustrating shooting this peak.

Compounding the frustration — especially if you are unable to hike far on the trails due to fitness, time or the presence of toddlers — is the foreground from many popular vantage points. To be brutally honest, I was disappointed a lot while visiting the Zermatt area, particularly when we traveled up to the Klein Matterhorn lift and visited the Sunnegga Paradise areas. I’m sure they are gorgeous in winter when the snow covers up all the cables, pipelines, roads, wires and development, but in summer, I found the heavy hand of Swiss craftiness to be a detractor from the scenery.

To combat this, I tried to find alternate ways to frame the Matterhorn. Ways that were unique and showed a new perspective on the peak. I’m not sure I succeeded a great deal, but two images that I’m still proud of are above. One is the Matterhorn at day’s end with one wispy cloud. This was taken from the heart of Zermatt, and it reveals just enough of the summit to make it unmistakable. As a black and white, it takes on a new life.

The other angle was with my Canon 200mm f/2.8 as we rode down from Klein Matterhorn. It was midday, and getting cloudy, but a beam of light burst forth and landed right on the famous Hörnli Hut. Situated at 3,260 meters on the northeast ridge of the Matterhorn, this improbably large “hotel” for mountain climbers is the main staging area for making an ascent via the traditional route to the mountain’s summit. Even in the above image, with a sunbeam cast right on the building, the hut is completely dwarfed by the mass of the Matterhorn.

4. Make a Memorable Portrait

This one is a bit more personal for me. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, we had an exhausting time visiting Switzerland because, well, we chose to go with our 15-month-old daughter. We don’t regret this trip in any way, but we’d be lying if we said it was easy. And poor Varenna, she was put through a lot during our two-week trip. Long train rides, odd nap times, hotels that thought a mattress on the floor counted as a “baby bed …”

Zermatt and the Matterhorn was at the end of our trip, and we finally — finally — found our groove with nap times and comfortable accommodations (sidenote: the Hotel Post is worth every Euro). On our last day, we traveled up the funicular to Sunnegga Paradise, and Varenna found her favorite place in Switzerland. A playground. An awesome playground. And while I bemoaned the dirt roads, cables, pipes and obstructions in the foreground, Varenna was ecstatic. In a field of dandelions, I snapped one of my favorite pictures of her (above left). I put it on the cover of our annual photo book of her that we give to her grandparents. It’s like: (1) oh, what a beautiful smile, and then (2) and what a beautiful field of flowers, and then (3) wait … is that the Matterhorn back there?

Sunnegga Paradise may not be the most photogenic spot for Matterhorn images, but if you are traveling with kids, they’ll love the playground, and those smiles just might last long enough for a memorable portrait.

Here’s a map of the places mentioned above.

Mi estancia allí me hizo desconectar totalmente del mundanal ruido. La tranquilidad, el paisaje, el aire que se respira, sus gentes, hacen de Monte Cervino una visita obligatoria para todo viajero o turista.

La temperatura es algo que fue genial en mi viaje. El frío del ambiente mezclado con el cálido sol sobre nuestra piel, es una de las sensaciones que más disfruté.

Aquí os dejo un vídeo, que con sus imágenes y su música, transmite a la perfección las sensaciones que viví en mis visita a Monte Cervino Suiza

Devo sorseggiare la mia ispirazione prima di scrivere…

Cari amici (si fa per dire) …..

Siamo partiti il giorno 16 agosto (e non il 15 perchè, a parte il brutto tempo, c’erano troppi BAÜSCIA in giro) alle ore 9 circa del mattino, ci siamo incamminati con tutto il gruppo verso il rifugio Bobba ai piedi delle Grandes Murailles, nella valle del CERVINO (lo scoglio nobile nella nostra quasi amata Europa). Per i miei standard ho già scritto abbastanza e quindi vi lascio alle mie foto della spedizione… [(questo è il mio primo blig blog blag)] 

  

La Bea sorridente che aspettava solo di essere fotografata!!!!

                        

                      

  

     

 via di doping (siamo messi male….)

 pure bevendo!!!!!!!! non riesco a commentarla

sempre Lui…….!!!!!!!!!!!

chiudo con Alberto il grande freeclimber!!!