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Climbing as a party of three, we roped up and started chipping away at the ridge. The altitude began to show. My fingers and toes were freezing. It was colder than expected for mid-July. Gusts reached up to 60 km/h, and with windchill, it felt like -20°C.
And just like that, I was leading my first alpine pitch in the high Alps. That moment—being completely absorbed in the movement, the exposure, the focus of setting gear and pulling over rock—is something I’ll carry with me for a long time. You don’t think about anything else. Just the next hold, the next breath, the next step.