Climbing the Mont Blanc is a pilgrimage during which we explore our internal abysses and on the peak we find such we were always looking for: our selves.
It’s quartz crystals and the rare red fluorites contain libraries where the earths epochs are codified, stories that predate us by thousands of years.
According to Gaston Rebuffat it’s glaciers were fairytales gardens. It’s austere ice and granite walls represent still today, for a great number of alpinists, both a challenge and a necessity: feeling alive in the silence of the immense spaces.
The Sacred Mountain recalls souls that like the introspection, apparently wanderers of the futile. Sir Leslie Stephen, Virginia Woolf’s father, in August of the 1873 reaches its peak to admire the sunset. On the slopes of the sacred mountain Walter Bonatti was looking for solitude as a condition to live with greater intensity.
After the legendary solo winter ascent in February 1965, of the North faceoff the Matterhorn, Walter once back in Zermatt said: “I dedicate this venture to the hundredth anniversary of the conquest of the Matterhorn, and to Europe United.” A message that forecasted the present times, a recall to community and fraternity.
In the olden days the Mont Blanc marked an insurmountable border, today it’s a bridge between people, not dividing but embracing; it’s the Sacred Mountain, symbol of unity of the European continent.