PowderPeople | Alexandre Marchesseau - Part II

Peeing as a mini expedition

Claus Lochbihler: Let's talk a bit about the conditions and your equipment. What was the coldest part of the expedition and how did you cope with the cold?

Alexandre Marchesseau: The coldest part was at Kahiltna Pass and and at the Denali. On the day of our crevasse fall, it was at least -20 °C and there was a strong wind blowing. But the worst were the four stormy days in the tent. With wind chill, it felt like -40 °C. Going outside once a day just to pee was like a mini-expedition. You put on all your layers, all your gloves and your ski goggles. Then someone opened the tent for you, you jumped out really quickly, did your business, went back into the tent and the others helped you get warm again.

Did your ski boots ever get dry?

You try, but at a certain point they just stay damp. You're happy if they're at least warm and don't freeze. The best method is to always keep the liners and socks warm on your body - so never take the liners off. I had two pairs of merino socks with me. One thicker and one thinner. One pair on my feet, the other to dry under my armpits - the warmest part of my body. For the night, swap the wet socks for the reasonably dry ones.

Very important: a small towel to wipe away moisture. The liners stay warm in the sleeping bag. If the socks on your feet get too wet, change them again. This worked surprisingly well. If you remove the insole from the ski touring boots, you have more space in the boot, which also keeps your feet warmer. We cut out parts of a rescue blanket and put them under our feet - this warms better than normal insoles in ski boots.

Did you use standard liners or different ones?

Liners from Zipfit. They are warmer and more durable than the manufacturers' standard liners.

You are a passionate monoskier. Most recently even on the Mount Logan expedition, with monoskis that can be split for the ascent. Only not this time. Why?

It was the first time in 15 years that I didn't take my monoskis with me on an expedition. Normally I always ski mono. But on Mount Logan I realized that they are extremely tiring on such a long traverse. And on very steep slopes, you take much more risk on a monoski with a heavy backpack than with normal skis. So I didn't do it this time.

Which skis did you use?

I have a friend who builds skis in the Chamonix valley. His name is Jonno Jacobs. He's originally from South Africa and came to Chamonix, I don't know, 15 or 20 years ago - as a young ski bum. The first time I met him was in a couloir on the north face of the Aiguille du Midi. We were both maybe 18 at the time, it was May. He skied in very directly and totally snowed us in. I was pretty pissed off because it was very exposed. We were young and a bit - let's say - 'territorial' in our thinking. I really snapped at him: 'What are you doing here anyway? You don't even know how to ski here'.

But he was a really good skier. We met up again later in a bar. He came up to me and apologized. Ten years later, he started building skis. So I went to him before Alaska and said: I need something very specific for this expedition. Something very narrow, no more than 77 or 80 mm in width. And as light as possible - but still easy to ski. He built me exactly these skis: with a good shape and beautiful design. They are made of bamboo and therefore extremely light.

Why were you on the road so early?

The Denali season normally starts at the end of May or beginning of June. We were already there in April. We had to undertake the expedition so early because we had to cross a large river at the beginning of the expedition and it had to be frozen over. That was the decisive reason for our timing.

Did you have any equipment with you that failed?

Not really. Thanks to our previous Alaskan experience, we knew what worked. Most of it worked perfectly. The main problem was the camera batteries. We used two Sony A7S cameras - great in low light, but miserable in the cold. I had 14 batteries with me. I always carried five of them under my underwear to keep them warm. Nevertheless, it can happen that you insert a fully charged battery, press record and the battery dies within a few seconds. Unfortunately, the metal housing looks like a refrigerator. I'm still looking for cameras that work better in extreme cold.

How did charging with solar energy work?

We had a very good system. Even in cloudy weather you can still get some charge. We used a medium-sized intermediate battery, which we constantly charged and used as a buffer. We had so many devices with us: two Sony cameras, two GoPros, two Insta360s, two drones, sat phones and an analog camera. Redundancy is key. The only real failure was a large rental camera that got water while rafting. Fortunately, it was insured.

"Alone you die, as a group you survive"

Earlier you said that you were particularly interested in the psychology of people on expeditions. How would you describe what this long expedition did to you psychologically and mentally?

Quite a lot. At altitude, for example, once you have acclimatized, your perception changes - almost like meditation. Experiencing this together with good friends while skiing is one of the most powerful experiences I know. In difficult situations where you have to be absolutely focused and fully committed, you can also experience a kind of flow - we call this the "mystical mode". And what only happens on such a long and extreme expedition is mainly to do with instincts: You rediscover instincts that modern life suppresses. You connect in an almost animalistic and archaic way with all the senses that you only use to a limited extent in modern everyday life - smell, hearing, perception.

Can you give an example?

When we left the snow and ice behind and had to find our way through moraines and this terribly dense bush, we followed narrow animal trails - and the one of us who led the way never made a wrong choice. After 40 days in the wilderness, I'm convinced that we were unconsciously using deeper instincts - maybe we were even following pheromone trails. Like animals. That may sound strange, but that's how it felt to me. On such a long expedition, you also learn to function as a group in order to survive. Take water, for example: at home you turn on the tap, but in Alaska you have to melt snow for every drop of liquid. So you think twice about how to do it most effectively, how to divide it up. You cooperate because you know: you die alone, you survive as a group.

So instinct plus drones?

Exactly. Ancient, reawakened instinct plus modern technology. That's our style. Laughter.

And if you use the usual terminology, what would your style be called?

"Alpine Pioneer Style": a mixture of alpine style - light, fast, without fixed ropes or camps - and the style of polar expeditions, like Amundsen or Shackleton, where you covered huge distances with heavy packs and completely on your own.

"You suddenly feel at home everywhere"

Kilian Jornet once said that he not only crosses landscapes on really long projects, but also inner landscapes - psychological-emotional landscapes that are built up from feelings and very intense emotions. Do you experience this in a similar way?

Yes, definitely. I would describe it as a kind of flow, but you only achieve it after a good acclimatization - an acclimatization that is both physiological and mental. When you reach this level of adaptation, you really return to nature.

How does that feel?

You suddenly feel comfortable and at home everywhere - no matter how tough the conditions are. When you feel comfortable everywhere, you are happy to be exactly where you are. You feel part of the universe. Add to that the tiredness and the joy you share with friends - for me, that's one of the highest forms of happiness you can experience.

Are such feelings or mental states comparable to a drug experience?

Yes, they are. And it can also be difficult to deal with when you are back in civilization. This can be seen in the personal stories of some top Himalayan mountaineers who have had very intense experiences at altitude. Later, when they are no longer able to climb at such extreme and high altitudes - due to injury or life circumstances, whatever - some of them look for other "drugs": Alcohol, substances, compulsive behavior. Endorphins, adrenaline - you can become addicted to them.

There is a documentary entitled "On ne marche qu'une fois sur la lune" - "You only go to the moon once". It portrays the Swiss extreme mountaineer Ueli Steck, including in the context of his controversial solo ascent of the south face of Annapurna.

The movie title is very apt. Such and other projects have something unique and almost final about them. Like a moon landing. You can't simply repeat them.

And therein lies a certain difficulty. After such an experience - physically, mentally, emotionally - it is not easy to find your way back to everyday life. You have invested everything, focused everything on it. And afterwards, you often lack a goal that has a similar meaning or intensity.

Some mountaineers describe this moment as a kind of emptiness. In some cases, it can also lead to a depressive phase because nothing can match the intensity of the experience.

How do you personally deal with this change between expedition and everyday civilization?

Long, slow and difficult expeditions balance me out. They connect me with the basic experiences of being human - cooperation, attention, presence. This helps me to deal with the contradictions that assail you at home: Climate change, disappearing glaciers, the economic pressure in a place like Chamonix, ever-growing tourism infrastructure while nature is in decline. Returning to this very simple state - people surviving together - is very valuable to me.

When your head is still in Alaska

Aurélien Lardy, however, took six months to get back to normal life.

I know that from the previous expedition. This time, however, I didn't feel that way at all. Maybe because I'd been through it before. And because I knew that you have to give yourself time to get back home. But after the Mount Logan expedition, I was definitely like Aurélien. After returning, you think that everything is actually okay and that you've long since returned home mentally. But then you realize in small, everyday situations that it's not like that. For example, you go to a party with lots of people, everyone is having fun - and you suddenly realize that you're not really there because you're somehow still halfway in Alaska.

Why is that?

Expeditions like this strip you of the social layers that we have all developed in order to survive in everyday life. When you come back, it's hard to put this armor of conventions back on. It simply takes time.

Death, risk and the culture of alpinism

Loss is an irresolvable contradiction and conflict in alpinism. How do you deal with the death of friends in the mountains?

Since I was 18, I have lost a friend in the mountains almost every season - through an avalanche, a crevasse or something else. It's always hard, even though many alpinists often say: "We don't cry." But underneath this social façade of feigned toughness, it's incredibly hard for everyone. Death is always present in Chamonix. You have to realize that the sport we do involves unavoidable risks. And that sooner or later you lose friends.

It's problematic that many react to this by trying to become tougher - like Granit. But from generation to generation you sense that this way of dealing with death is not really a good form of processing. It's more like pushing the loss aside and just moving on. But you can't just say: "Children from Chamonix die while speedriding or wingsuit flying. It's always been like that." And with social media, the willingness to take risks has gained an additional dynamic. Young people see posts from their heroes or role models every day. They grow up with it and want to do the same. I am convinced that social media is encouraging many people to dare more and more.

Expedition and film - ONE and the same project

After the expedition was before the movie. Is it difficult or easy for you to find the motivation to work on the film after such a long expedition?

Not at all. For me, the expedition and the film are not two separate things. It is one project. The way you do the expedition and the way you tell the story afterwards are equally important to me. It's not just about showing that we accomplished something difficult. It's about the movie giving answers: What does it mean? Does it mean anything at all? What does it say about people? About friendship? About boundaries? That's why we made the longer film version and why there's also a book. We want to make the story known beyond the world of sport.

It must have taken an incredibly long time just to view the film material.

We had 80 hours of video and film. Yohan Guignard, the director, our editor and I watched it all together. For me, the first viewing is already part of writing the film. We cut, sorted and placed sequences on a timeline. And we started to develop what I would call the backbone of the film - its narrative structure.

How long did it all take?

Three whole weeks, Monday to Friday, from 9am to 7pm. It was like a second expedition - only this time we sat in one room the whole time. Laughs. It was great for me because I was able to relive the expedition. When you're on such a long expedition, you can't think about everything at the same time. That would overwhelm your brain. You actually experience it day by day. Every day is a little story. You don't really experience the whole story, the complete expedition that the movie and the book tell about. It wasn't until I had spent three weeks reliving everything through the film footage that I realized what we had actually achieved. After these three weeks of viewing, we were exhausted. It was like a mental endurance test.

What do you see as the main difference between your film and other outdoor adventure films?

Usually expedition films only show achievements, hero shots or dramatic moments. But they often don't show the real story - for me, that's the psychological and emotional story of the protagonists. This story unfolds slowly. As slowly as our expedition. That's why the movie took time. That's why it lasts an hour and two minutes without being shortened - I believe this is the only way to create an emotional connection between us protagonists and the viewer.

That's why you described the film as a mixture of expedition documentary and immersive cinema. How did this concept come about?

When I met Yohan, the director, two months before we left for Alaska, I found out that he had only made one mountain documentary before. His background is more in social documentaries and auteur films: strong characters, raw footage and a certain kind of editing that allows the viewer to really put themselves in the shoes of the main character. That's what I call immersive documentary. We wanted to create something similar for an expedition film. Because what we experience out there is extremely intense. On the other hand, in many adventure films I unfortunately very rarely feel emotionally drawn into the action.

Do you have any references for what you wanted to achieve in the movie?

The last time I really felt what we had in mind was in Werner Herzog's films from the 1980s. Especially with "Gasherbrum - The Dark Glow of the Mountains". He accompanies Reinhold Messner and Hans Kammerlander on their double expedition to Gasherbrum II and Gasherbrum I. I found Herzog's way of conveying what some people call "madness" very impressive. When the producers suggested the project to Yohan, he had the same reference to Herzog in mind. So that was our common starting point. Basically, the idea of our film is simple: four people, 50 days in the wilderness, in a hostile environment, with skis and sleds, moving over 500 kilometers from point A to point B. You just film them. You simply film them. Or rather, we filmed ourselves, because the director wasn't on the expedition. But we knew what material he expected from us: a raw, self-documented logbook style. In parts it almost resembles a reality show - but with a more poetic and human dimension.

Speaking of madness: I watched the movie with my 11-year-old son. He only understood the pictures, not the French. At the end, when you cheerfully put on colorful Hawaiian and hippie dresses to celebrate your arrival in Anchorage, he said: "Now they've finally gone crazy." But that was meant as a compliment.

Yes, we were a little crazy, especially that day - but crazy in a happy, good and joyful way. This last section of the trip on the river, past moose, eagles and forests, relatively effortless compared to the exertions before, was for me the last step in our psychological transformation. On the river, the dangers of the mountains are finally behind us. The commitment and the risks become less. We relax. And yet - this time on the water - we are still somehow part of nature. And we feel completely at ease, also because we know that we have made it and are about to arrive at the destination of our expedition.... The funny thing is that the movie wasn't made for children at all. We never thought of that. But many children seem to understand it very well.

Why is that?

I think it's because children read the images, the emotions and the atmosphere. They don't need any technical explanations in terms of risk management or logistics. Maybe that's why they understand the human story behind it all the better.

Glitter, rituals and a boat for the future

On the summit days, you applied glitter to your faces - a bit like Indians on the warpath. How did you come up with that?

It has to do with an encounter before the Mount Logan expedition. Before we set off, we had a big party with the locals. A woman had brought glitter for karaoke. At the end, she gave us the package and said: "For your mission - this will bring good weather." We laughed and said: okay. When we then had almost nothing but bad weather, we thought at some point: maybe the glitter will help after all. Laughter. The weather was still bad, but we reached the summit. After that it was clear: the glitter does have some kind of positive effect. Even if only as a ritual. We bought some biodegradable glitter in Alaska. Whenever we needed good weather or luck on the summit, we put it on. In the end, it was a small, visually beautiful side story for the movie.

What are your plans for the future?

We are currently restoring a boat so that we can travel to the Arctic or Antarctic on our own. The idea is to reach these places by sea instead of flying - so that the journey itself becomes part of the expedition.