The Ski Journal • Volume 17, Issue 3 • GOLDEN TOUCH

Bruno Compagnet skiing deep powder in Chamonix, France. Photo: Mattias Fredriksson

THE ELDEST SON of a commercial airline pilot, my ski friend Chevalier had the smarts to backdoor his way into a jet-set lifestyle from a young age. He was in Berlin when the Wall came down. As a college student in non-ski-country-USA, he would fly to Salt Lake City and spend weekends in Little Cottonwood Canyon. Chevalier revolved in and out of international scenarios with the ease of skiing’s James Bond. After college, he wandered his way through a variety of ski towns, cementing his reputation as having the golden touch. He spent a singular season in the Roaring Fork Valley—a season that happened to be the snowiest in Aspen’s history.

Chevalier has only one nemesis, a blackhole in his jet-set mojo every bit the equivalent of kryptonite: Milan-Malpensa International Airport. Two Christmases ago while on a vacation with his lady friend’s family to the Dolomites, the chink in the armor was first exposed. Luggage stored in plain sight, he was denied a prudent pick-up. “It’s right there!” He protested. “That’s my bag. With my skis. That’s my name Sharpied on the outside, see?”

Our boy was met with the blank stare of his new archenemy, his super-human traveler powers denied by a man with a clipboard and laminated badge. Eventually, Chevalier’s future father-in-law secured the skis in the most Italian way possible—by having an old-fashioned shouting match replete with chest thumping and theatric stomping.

In the 14 months since, Chevalier has learned Italian and become entrenched in Milanese culture. He has a discerning nose for espresso and Margherita pizzas. So, when our trip to ski the Haute Route was rerouted from Switzerland through Milan-Malpensa, Chevalier was ready.

Yvon Chouinard once said, “it’s not an adventure until something goes wrong.” From the onset, stuff went wrong. The rest of our crew, Zip-Loc and Le Rouge, were told at our boarding gate that they were, in fact, not ticketed to Milan at all. Somewhere across the ocean, an Italian bagging agent laughed to himself.

At the zero hour, due to Chevalier’s keen navigation of the inner workings of American airports, the pair were granted not only entrée to the Milan flight, but were seated in International Business Class. We landed in Milan to find that all their gear, all randonnée and touring and mountain snobbery combined into a few very precious bags of cargo, was gone. Some gate agents said Zurich, others said Paris. Check back at noon, they said. If not, then definitely 4:30. And if not then, super definitely at 8:00.

The gear didn’t arrive. Maybe it’s in Kathmandu. Who knows? Perhaps this will inspire legions of Kathmandu baggage carriers to take up backcountry skiing.

So now, due to an executive order laid down by Chevalier, king of international travel, we are sitting on a Swiss train rocketing through the Rhône Valley toward a rendezvous with a French cabbie who is prepared to shuttle us the rest of the way into Chamonix. Without half of our gear. Outside, we have passed the final section of “A Farewell to Arms,” ascending the Lago Maggiore into the heart of winter sport. Forget Hemingway’s tragic ending. We are manifesting a ski vacation, goddammit.

It is the right move, says Chevalier. We have a hotel in Cham, and tomorrow we will ski off the Aiguille du Midi. The next day, Grands Montets.

Despite it all, I sit confidently aboard the cleanliness of the Swiss rail system, staring out at the grandeur of the Hautes-Alps. Outside, the landscape is growing exponentially more ruling with every passing train tunnel. I rest easy because this I know: Chamonix is not Milan. It is an entirely different country, a different planet even. From our base camp in Cham, the vibe will change. Gear can be rented. Mountains instill more calm than an Italian metropolis—even big, gnarly mountains.

The more distance that we can put between Chevalier and Milan, the more his mojo will shine. I sit back as the Swiss rail car delivers us back to the graces of Chevalier’s golden touch.

The Ski Journal - Volume 17, Issue 3

GOLDEN TOUCH

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