RETURN TO VALLEY X IZZYISMS Words MICHAEL ISRAELSON The buzz of La Grave is alive as night falls on the historic French ski village. Photo: Mattias Fredriksson THE FABRIC OF OUR LIVES is woven with the tales of defining adventures. The subjective nature of recollections may diverge from the facts, but story always trumps truth. Was the water really that cold on New Year’s Day? Was she really that into you? Was the snow really that deep? Yes. To all of them. Because the gravity of a cornerstone memory should be given some room for exaggeration. What if we were forced to reconcile the most poignant memories? What if one was asked to produce photographic evidence of the backflip off Le Rouge’s cabin into neck-deep powder? Of Chevalier’s car buried in feet of snow? From time to time, we are forced to return to the scene of our most heroic moments. It is at these intersections that we test our core beliefs. Our crew first traveled to La Grave 16 years ago. We were younger. Better looking. Flat-bellied. Armed with youth, the tales of a Shangri-La in the French Alps, and no particular agenda, we barreled our way into the arms of Valley X. You can guess what happened next. Neck deep snow. Legendary nights at Pelle’s Pub. Hairball adventures on the Col Du Lautaret in a borrowed Volvo. Girls that weren’t that into us. Above all, being guided around La Meije by rogue American Joe Vallone. Our lives since Valley X have been populated with epic ski adventures whose memories grow sweeter with the pass-ing of time. So, when Chevalier proposed that we return to La Grave, our crew’s reception was lukewarm. Some memories are not to be trifled with. What if it wasn’t neck deep? What if Gé-népi sucks? What if La Grave has turned into Chamonix? Or worse: I-70? There was a catch, said Chevalier. The fabled Téléphéri-que, that mythical transport from the valley floor over 7,000 vertical feet to the top station perched in the shadow of La Meije, was losing its lease. Denis Creissels, the Téléphérique’s architect, saved it from ruin by purchasing a 30-year lease in the late ’80s. That lease was set to expire, and no one could conceive of who would run this lift into the dark heart of La Grave’s crazy off-piste terrain. We made the only rational decision. We contacted Joe Vallone, booked our room at Pelle’s Skier’s Lodge, and bar-reled our way back into the beating heart of ski sauvage. On our first trip to La Grave, Joe found us. Americans are easy to detect in town. This time around, it was Joe who wasn’t hard to find. In the ensuing 10-plus years, Joe had become a veteran in a town where few veterans existed. And it was snowing on La Meije. While a decade of experience has a way of filtering memories, we found that nothing from La Grave had been filtered. It was really that big. That steep. And now, rappel-ling into the La Voute couloir 16 years later, new hero shots would remain similarly etched in our memories. The other advantage of the passage of time was the ap-preciation. Gratitude to still be skiing these lines. Gratitude to have a crew of ski friends. Gratitude for the cuisine, the coffee, the wine. Rehashing La Grave was worth it. And then some. The Téléphérique has been saved, leased by neighboring Alpe d’Huez for another 30 years. Locals grumble about the “pending ruin” of the hill. But for a mountain that Stumpy famously left unnamed in P-Tex, Lies, and Duct Tape , La Grave has fended off everything but memories. Memories and tales of neck deep snow, 50-degree couloirs, girls that still weren’t that into us, and aprés Génépi revelry in Le Pub. Trust me. It all happened just like Chevalier said. 032 The Ski Journal
The Ski Journal Volume 18, Issue 1: Page 32
