The story of a ski touring crossing of the Alps

From the Mediterranean to Lake Geneva, in winter and on skis.

👉 This is a dream I've had for several years, long before my firstskyrunning crossing of the Alps . While this idea might seem like a challenge, a task to overcome, it's nothing of the sort. It's primarily driven by an unconditional love for the Alps, for immersing oneself in them, and for discovering spaces previously unknown to us. It's this kind of long-distance adventure that allows us to appreciate the present moment like never before, and whose mere memory fills us with a lifetime of fulfillment.

At the start of the crossing, on the beach in Menton. From left to right: Lucas, Pablo and myself.

For a project like this, it's best to surround yourself with trusted friends. Those rare friends with whom you're willing to spend 24/7 for several weeks, without ever doubting each other's moods. But that's not all. To cross the Alps in winter, this friend also needs to be a seasoned mountaineer, comfortable with discomfort (they go hand in hand, you might say), and possess a certain capacity for reflection so that every decision isn't influenced by frustration. Indeed, crossing the Western Alps is one thing; doing it in a storm for 14 of the 18 days of the crossing is quite another.

Oh, and I almost forgot: This friend also needs to be willing and available for such a project 🙏

Lucas and I were therefore the core of the team. Pablo and his enthusiasm accompanied us for the first four days before returning to work at the hospital in Marseille. Finally, Jean-Baptiste (our router who would be tracking our progress!), Laura, Jules (aka the Machine), and Manon would all be part of the adventure, if only for a day.

An adventure that feels like sharing! And that's perfect, because after quite a few trips and solo travels, my motivation is tenfold when I'm surrounded by good people.

Preparations: route and equipment

The bag before departure. 7.5kg including ski clothes - crampons/ice axe - bivouac equipment and safety pack. A real weight for a trail runner.

Unlike its summer counterpart, the GR5, there are no set routes for crossing the Alps in winter. Snow and weather conditions are too unpredictable to follow a predetermined route.

Our initial plan was to map out the first few days in advance and then improvise as we went along, adapting to the mountain's moods. But the scope of the project quickly became too vague. Do we have enough days? (We had a maximum of 21 days, including travel time.) How much elevation gain can we realistically handle each day? (And how should we prepare for that?) Will we be camping or staying exclusively in hotels?

🧭 Finally, after scouring the Camptocamp.org website, we decided to map out a complete route on digital maps. The planned route is actually a series of ski tours crossing each mountain range: Mercantour -> Ubaye -> Queyras -> Thabor -> Haute-Maurienne -> Vanoise -> Beaufortain -> Mont Blanc -> and finally the Chablais and Lake Geneva. Phew!

However, as we suspected, little to nothing of this planning will be carried out. From the third day onwards, the elements will unleash their fury, forcing us to adapt. And adapt we will have plenty of to do 🌨

Everything had started perfectly...

Okay, let's be honest: we took a bus from Menton to Tende, in the far south of the Alps. It would have been much nicer to hike the whole way, but we only had three days to spare in our planning. Walking from the coast would have cost us two days. A bit of a risky gamble considering the uncertainty of the coming days.

Our first day on skis took us across the aptly named Valley of Wonders to the Refuge de Nice. This refuge is supposed to be unguarded at this time of year, but Christophe, the warden, generously offered us his hospitality. Right away, we sensed that our project was generating enthusiasm, and the entire mountain community was ready to lend a hand.

The second day, the journey to Isola 2000, was still among those that had been planned. Then the sky clouded over and the adventure truly began.

Lucas and Pablo, on the morning of the second day. Nice Refuge

Fog and heavy snowfall... the perfect combo 👌

Navigating a mountain storm is possible, provided you're prepared and the route is suitable. While poor visibility (or rather, complete lack thereof) can be mitigated by good map reading and modern tools, the avalanche risk caused by heavy snowfall can only be avoided by taking detours. And often these detours mean spending an entire day bypassing a 50-meter section of hazardous terrain.

Every day around 4:00 PM, we search for a bit of cell service to check the latest avalanche bulletin and the next day's weather forecast. At those times, we rarely received good news, and our immediate goal was to find a safe route on the IGN maps to continue north. Not an easy task to accomplish on a smartphone screen!

And each time we succeeded, at the cost of some mental gymnastics and sometimes a bit of hitchhiking east or west to find a valley where the terrain is more forgiving for navigating an avalanche risk of 4 out of 5.

The Southern Alps. Probably the most beautiful (but we didn't see anything) 😢

The Southern Alps, far less frequented than the Northern Alps, didn't reveal any more landscapes than the Vallée des Merveilles. The Southern Alps represent the mountains in their wildest state. There are very few ski resorts or roads compared to the Northern Alps.

⚠️ Our idea, starting from the south, was to do the descents on the north-facing slopes. This is where the weak, difficult-to-detect (and therefore dangerous) sub-layers of the snowpack persist longer. Basically, if an avalanche is going to occur under our skis, it's best if it happens during the descent (with skis not locked and with distance between skiers).

The advantage of starting from the south was also to take advantage of the greater snow cover on the north side, allowing us to ski down at a lower altitude than on the south-facing slopes. Imagine if we had to go up on skis and down on our backs... the height of absurdity!

And with global warming, it is highly likely that this consideration will be increasingly taken into account when planning ski expeditions.

The southern Alps, despite having less precipitation in the form of snow than their northern neighbors, benefit from valley floors that are much higher compared to the north.

For example, if the snow line is at 1700m altitude and the valley floor is at 1600m, as is often the case, then there's only a 100m vertical drop before you can put on your skis. By comparison, the lowest points in the Northern Alps are around 1000m altitude.

And without believing it anymore, Lake Geneva drew closer ✊

The storm that hit the Alps during our passage was so severe that Italy hadn't seen so much snow in the last ten years. For us, this meant a constant stream of changes to our plans. We kept abandoning plan A, then plan B, and so on, until we'd ticked (or almost ticked) every letter of the alphabet. We had to stay focused on planning the next day's stage, without thinking about the days to come. Otherwise, we'd lose hope ❄️

And finally, the Vanoise massif was behind us. Mont Blanc appeared on a rare sunny day, and we were able to cross its glaciers accompanied by Jean-Baptiste and Laura, who joined us for the occasion, bringing some mountaineering equipment. Reuniting with friends remains the highlight of this adventure.

A rest day was planned in Chamonix, but as usual, the weather forced us to revise our plans. Heavy snowfall was forecast for 10:00 AM the following day. The route we had considered to reach the Fiz massif was yet another "snow-related adaptation," and this only "safe" option for miles around would quickly become impractical after midday.

We therefore postpone this day of rest with our friends and continue our journey north.

The unexpected, right up to the very end of the final descent

Despite the fog we'd become accustomed to, the Chablais region was an easy mountain range to cross. The terrain offered a multitude of options, the valleys became less steep-sided… And then, of course, the presence of friends like Jules and Manon motivated us.

Leaving Morzine, and then La Chapelle d'Abondance the next day, we were certain we would reach the lake and be able to place the small pebble we had collected on the beach at Menton there. This last day was filled with emotion; a dream was coming true. Ten years ago, during my first snowplow turns, I wouldn't have dared to even imagine that this kind of ski adventure was for me. Too elitist, too "another world," too much knowledge to acquire. Thinking back on it all makes me realize how far I've come, and a gentle atmosphere accompanies us as we climb the last pass before catching sight of Lake Geneva.

We took the time to have a video call with Pablo, who started this adventure with us and who would have loved to be there. And also with JB, who followed our progress day after day on the maps of the Alps.

And then, just a little further on after that call, the wind surprised us. A strong wind, almost knocking us over, blowing straight down our slope. And beneath our skis, ultra-hard, almost icy snow. A sign of wind erosion. And the result of that erosion was bound to lie between us and the lake. No need to say more than necessary; Lucas and I knew that this meant skiing through a completely treacherous snowpack. From safe spots to safe spots, we descended, each taking our turn, each of us watching the other's trajectory.

And the plaque was gone. Not huge. But enough to give you a fright. And more of a scare than anything else. The lighthearted atmosphere of the beginning of the day had completely disappeared.

After crossing the Alps in the storm, with an avalanche risk often at 4/5, we had to trigger a slab avalanche at a limited risk, at an altitude of 1700m.

We submitted to the mountain's rules during the 14 days of the storm, without ever giving up. But regardless of our knowledge of the mountain and our submission to its whims, it is, unsurprisingly, the mountain that decides.