The north faces in Chamonix are different than anywhere in the world. Even when there is really good snow in the rest of the valley, like we had during the spring of '99, on the north faces there might only be ten or twenty centimeters, sometimes only five. Five centimeters of snow over ice, and sometimes the snow is soft and sometimes it's compact. You just have to have a little snow, as long as it's not ice it's okay.

When the conditions began to look as though the route might be possible, I made a few attempts. I went up once and there was no snow, just ice, and I had to wait. Another time I went and I got halfway up when a storm came and it started snowing. But before rapping off, I was able to climb high enough to know that the snow was good enough for a descent so I left my sleeping bag and my ice tools at the foot of Les Drus in preparation for another try.

Five days later, in the middle of June, I went and slept at the foot of Les Drus. At 3:00AM I got up, started to climb and by 10:30 I was at the top of the Aiguille Verte. I climbed with a friend who then descended down the Whymper Couloir off the back of the Verte towards the Mer du Glace. We climbed the classic route, the Charlet-Platanov [ed. note: The Charlet-Platanov is a 900-meter route that has a French rating of V, 2, 4c Mixed]. So after arriving at the top at 10:30, I waited because I wanted to descend at 1:00 or 2:00 in the afternoon when the sun would hit the face and soften the snow a bit. But clouds began to build and around noon I decided to go ahead and drop in.

The route started off flat — it was like 45°, really flat, until I reached a very exposed, 50° to 55° traverse underneath a ridge that lead to a little 50° to 55° gully. The gully carried out onto a 50° to 55° ramp, which ended at a 60-meter rappel past a vertical rock band. Just past the rock band is where I came to the steepest part of the route: 500 meters of 55° to 60° with a section of 65°. After that I came to another rock band where I had a little jump before making the final turns back to the rimaye. The total descent took me two and a half hours."

Nope. Chamonix is far from your ordinary ski resort. Certainly it has its share of ski bums and scammers, bon vivants and ne'er-do-wells, rebels and renegades. But the town is also home to an elite crew of riders who benefit from the valley's rich tradition of alpinism. Locals like Marco, Jérôme and Dede as well as foreigners like Todd Mason, Jarkko Henttonen, and Ode Siivonen combine technical winter climbing skills with extraordinary snowboarding ability to enable them to take on otherwise impossible routes. Some of these riders may go down in legend, others will surely die trying, and the rest will probably discover that there are more important things in life than a potentially lethal combination of raw courage, exceptional skill and unbridled desire.

One particularly late night, Fragnol and I were talking about the unusual nature of this place. Perhaps it comes from the hedonistic philosophy that seeps into your soul when you live with the possibility that one night you might conceivably find yourself sitting by the fire eating corn flakes when your house just happens to get buried by a freak slide. We spoke of the fullness that comes with living life on the edge up until the point where the line is crossed and what was once fullness turns to void. With great difficulty he told me the story of how, through the lens of his camera, he had watched as his close friend, the near mythical Bruno Gouvy, lost an edge on the Aiguille Verte and fell to his death. After a long silent pause, he looked at me and with tears in both of our eyes, he said, "Life in Chamonix can be very beautiful. It can also be very, very difficult."

— Trey Cook, MountainZone.com Correspondent