PowderPeople | Alexandre Marchesseau - Part I

You normalize risks that you would otherwise never take

On skis through the heart of the Alaska Range - self-sufficient, with 110-kilo sleds, over Denali (6,190 metres) and Mount Foraker (5,304 metres) and back to civilization by packraft at the end. Four alpinists from Chamonix - Alexandre Marchesseau, Aurélien Lardy, Hélias Millerioux and Christophe Tricou - traversed more than 500 kilometers of wilderness. Their expedition was also a cinematic experiment. Four people, 50 days in the wilderness, traveling from point A to point B.

The footage for the film "Les Jours Sauvages " (English title: "Wild Days") was shot from within the group, almost like a reality show in the wilderness, only more poetic, more human, more authentic. In an interview, mountain guide and filmmaker Alexandre Marchesseau talks about how the boundaries of risk acceptance shift on such long expeditions, why every word counts in a four-person tent and why a strange feeling of happiness can arise after weeks in the wilderness: feeling at home everywhere, even in the most adverse conditions.

How much up?

I can't give you a figure, but I remember walking for hours under huge séracs on the Kahuiltna glacier. We spent three hours moving very slowly under 50-metre-high ice towers with heavy luggage, silently praying that none of them would collapse on us. There was no other option than this route. You almost shiver at the beginning. But if you just keep going, you get mentally used to risks that you would otherwise never take. You normalize them. Only later, at home, do you realize: that was one of the riskiest days of my life.

The risk didn't just consist of concrete and latent dangers - it also had to be discussed and managed within the group. How well did that work?

We all come from the same alpine and ski culture and the same place - Chamonix. So we basically have a similar way of assessing dangers. If someone says: "Guys, this section is too risky", no one replies: "Nonsense." We trust each other. Discussions are usually easy.

However, you had a really tough confrontation on the way to Mount Foraker, the second highest peak in Alaska.

That's right. The situation was as follows: Two days after the Denali climb, when we were back at base camp, the forecast was that we might have three good days for Mount Foraker. So we started at 9pm and climbed the Sultana Ridge until 2am. It's a huge ridge - 15 kilometers long at an altitude of 3,500 meters. As soon as you get to the top, you're trapped in bad weather. You can't escape to the left or right.

The next day we saw clouds rising from the Pacific. So you're standing on this ridge, with the Kahiltna Glacier stretching out below you for 90 kilometers, then flat land and the Pacific Ocean at the end. You could already see the storm front moving across the glacier. The wind picked up. Lightning, flat light - really bad weather was on its way. The risk was that we would be stuck on this endless ridge in a storm that would last for days. So we stopped and did what we call the "talking pole" - a meeting where the GoPro stick does the rounds. Whoever holds it gets to talk, the others listen.

What were the positions?

Chris Tricou said that it would be too risky to continue in these conditions: 'Let's descend and make smaller descents'. Aurélien agreed - he was also afraid of the weather risks. Hélias was completely different: 'I've attempted Mount Foraker three times in my life. I came here for this summit - not to ski. If we descend now, I won't be able to join you for the rest of the trip. That was a real confrontation.

So Hélias' willingness to take risks was higher than that of the rest of the group. What was your position?

I filmed the conversation, but I also spoke. I said: 'Commitment increases with every step. That's what we're here for, but not to take incalculable risks. I'm afraid of going further. Normally we vote at the end and the majority wins. But Hélias wanted the summit so much that he would probably have gone ahead alone...

Four strong egos in the tent

A very tense situation - it was about risk-taking, but also about friendship and how to make decisions in a group....

That's ultimately what our movie is about. It's about four people who spend fifty days as a human micro-society in a tent, on one of the world's last frontiers between wilderness and civilization: four people with mountain and expedition experience, each with a strong ego and strong ideas. Sometimes conflicts arise. Especially under extreme conditions.

How long did this discussion last?

About 20 minutes. No longer - it was very cold and we had to decide quickly. Or seek shelter, which is what we did. I knew that there was flatter terrain not far from our location where we could set up camp. So Aurélien and I explored the next part of the ridge. I filmed Aurélien from above. He made his way on his skis through the steepest terrain above the north face, in whiteout and between huge séracs. We could hardly see anything.

When we finally reached the flatter terrain and found a crevasse to shelter from the weather, we pitched the tent there, made tea and called our meteorologist in France on the satellite phone. We also had forecasts from the national park rangers and the airline. So we had three sources and came to a conclusion: two more days should be fine, even with strong winds. So we decided to carry on, but to turn back if the storm did hit us earlier and harder. That was the deal.

Did the forecast hold?

More or less. After two days of climbing, we still had 1,900 meters to the summit. In the morning, after 100 meters of ascent, a strong wind suddenly came up from the south, which had not been predicted. But we still managed to reach the summit and return to the tent. By then, the entire ridge back to base camp was already covered in cloud. These Pacific storms bring extremely humid air with them. When it rises over Denali, it freezes and forms this famous cloud cap. Underneath it all visibility disappears and the wind is really brutal.

You had a huge crevasse collapse on the Kahuiltna glacier. What happened there?

First I fell into a crevasse - but not a particularly deep one. I stood there, shivering and said: "Okay, guys, please help me." The others came towards me with their sledges. Suddenly a snow bridge collapsed beneath them. They fell about seven meters, along with the sledges. They were incredibly lucky. The bridge collapsed completely underneath them and formed a kind of snow cushion. They fell onto it, luckily the sledges fell next to them. If a sledge had fallen on someone, it would probably have been fatal.... Right after the rescue, a storm came up - we were stuck in the tent for four days. After this shocking experience, we always walked on a rope when we were on a glacier. Sometimes we also took detours to avoid séracs or crevasses - even if it meant walking a few hours longer.

Looking back: Calculated over fifty days, on how many days did you take a risk that you wouldn't normally take outside of an expedition?

I would say that on three or four days we really went to and over the limit. The rest of the time we were normally cautious.

How would you characterize your team in retrospect?

We worked really well as a team - the confrontation in front of Mount Foraker was an exception. We complemented each other well. In a good team, you always have different skills, even if the group is fairly homogeneous. Christophe and Aurélien, for example, are better skiers than me and Hélias. They were often at the front and found the line in technically difficult terrain. They, in turn, trusted Hélias and me when it came to choosing routes and logistics because we'd both been to Alaska before. And then there is Hélias with his enormous experience in the Himalayas and on very high mountains - Nuptse, Nanga Parbat etc.. He is simply very, very strong mentally. Sometimes perhaps even too strong. Laughter.

Does age also play a role in a group like this?

Of course it does. You can recognize two generations in our team. Take Aurélien: he comes more from the freeride culture and grew up with social media. I, on the other hand, come from an older tradition, perhaps looking more to the past, to the pioneers. That's an interesting and inspiring constellation - which sometimes also means that you experience the mountains and their risks differently. And that you might also have a different way of dealing with the public.

Of the four of you, you seem to be the one who is most interested in books and films. Someone once described you as a "poet and alpinist" and an auteur alpinist. Is that how you see yourself?

No, I wouldn't describe myself as an auteur alpinist and I'm definitely not a poet. I just try to write and film the stories that we experience in the mountains. Especially the psychological side of it. Also, as I mentioned before, I like to look at what the pioneers did before us. And I also like to imagine the future of the mountains.

What sparked this interest in the pioneers?

When you grow up in Chamonix and ski, climb and fly, you are constantly confronted with the masters of these disciplines. The places where I ski, climb or fly every day are the same places where these pioneers trained. This heritage can weigh heavily, but it is also very inspiring. It also makes you think about how you can combine different tools and disciplines. Today we see the most exciting combinations - alpinism and paragliding, base jumping and all kinds of multi-sport approaches. Such combinations have always made me dream. That's why this Alaska expedition is also a result of this heritage.

How did the idea for such a long and crazy expedition come about in the first place?

Basically by looking at a map. In the summer of 2022, I was in Brittany working with Hélias on the book about our 2019 expedition in the Mount Logan massif. At some point I was looking at the Denali Massif in the Benchmark Atlas - maybe you know this great atlas. And I suddenly had the idea that we could enter the massif from the north by flying in from the last road access. That we could then switch to skis and sleds, cross Kahiltna Pass, reach Denali Base Camp, climb Denali and ski down. Then we would climb Mount Foraker, maybe climb another peak and finally return to civilization by inflatable packrafts to the west ....

How did the plan with the inflatable boats come about?

Since our 2019 expedition, we have repeatedly toyed with the idea of escaping the wilderness in a packraft, a small rafting boat, rather than by plane. When it became clear that we could use very, very light packrafts, which were developed for the French army and weigh less than three kilos, we decided to give it a go this time. One look at the map and these packrafts - that's how the basic idea for the trip came about.

How important was your previous trip to Alaska in 2019 with Hélias for the success of your expedition?

We knew pretty much exactly what to expect. Also in terms of equipment: Hélias and I were jokingly called the "old married couple" in Anchorage when we were completing our provisions and equipment, because we were discussing like a married couple in the store: "We'll take this - no, we won't take that, we'd better take this." Laughs. The other two just listened. And trusted our Alaskan experience.

Did this previous experience also play a role in planning the route?

When Hélias and I look at an Alaska map, we can really read the terrain - because we had already been there in 2019. We knew what a glacial moraine meant in Alaska and how to get around on a glacier with a 100-kilo sled. We knew where we could and couldn't travel on such sledges.

This moraine terrain in Alaska looks terrible.

And it is. A mix of sand, stones, some ice and snow and a jungle of bushes. At some point you just accept that you have to get through and over it. This time it wasn't as bad as on the Mount Logan expedition - it took us four days to cover 30 kilometers of moraine terrain. This time it only took us two days.

Did you use drones to navigate?

That was actually their main purpose. When you're pulling 100-kilo sledges, you simply can't afford to take the wrong routes. We let the drone fly 100 meters high, took photos, zoomed in on the cell phone and chose the best route. It's like cartography in real time. Very useful on glaciers, in the moraines, but also on rivers - to explore rapids, for example, before you get involved. Drones are actually prohibited in the Denali nature reserve. The rangers pointed this out to us. Later, when we met them off duty in a bar, we told them that we also had the drones with us for our safety and navigation. They just said: "We haven't heard anything about that." Laughter.

The expedition (beginning of April - end of May 2023)

was a north-south crossing of the Denali Massif followed by a river and coastal passage. In total, the team covered around 500 kilometers. The route can be divided into several sections:

1. approach and entry into the Alaska Range

• Bush Plane Drop north of the Denali massif, near the last road access (Stampede/Healy region).

• Start of the traverse with skis and pulka sleds.

2nd glacier traverse to the Kahiltna system

• Head south over several glaciers and moraine fields.

• Crossing over the Kahiltna Pass into the central Denali massif.

3rd Denali

• Ascent from Denali Base Camp (Kahiltna Glacier).

• Ascent of Denali (6190 m) and descent on skis.

4th Mount Foraker

• Change to Sultana Ridge.

• Ascent of Mount Foraker (5304 m).

5. western exit from the Alaska Range

• Descent and glacier crossing west out of the range.

• Transition from snow/glacier to moraine and bush terrain.

6th river stage with packrafts

• Entry into the river system towards Cook Inlet / Susitna region.

• Multi-day packraft passage through rivers and swamps.

7th coastal section

• Continue via rivers and inlets to the coast.

• End near Anchorage / Cook Inlet.