Two French Mountaineers on an Expedition to Test Pyrenex Mountain Range
The mountains are an integral part of Pyrenex's DNA. Committed to providing the most performant technical clothing to tackle snow-capped peaks, we collaborate season after season with some of the best French mountaineers, who have become genuine technical advisors over the years.
Among them, two French athletes, Yann Borgnet and Lara Amoros, ventured to Georgia and then Chile to conquer the highest peaks, aiming to test Pyrenex's mountain range products in real conditions, particularly our lightweight down jackets and mountaineering down jackets.
Throughout the development of this mountain collection, our athletes contributed to improving each product. Through their tests and feedback, they confirmed the technicality and reliability of our mountain down jackets. During these two expeditions, they wore very warm and durable jackets such as the Chinook XP, Hudson XP, Meije XP, and lighter mountain jackets like the Bruce and Masha. Lara and Yann were also equipped with warm sleeping bags filled with French duck down and feathers, such as the Nepal 1700 and Ladakh 1600.
Lara Amoros's Story
"At the end of July, in the middle of summer, we set off to face the southern winter! Heading to the southern hemisphere, the Andes, Chile... In our bags: very thick Pyrenex mountain down jackets, crampons, and ice axes to tackle very low temperatures and enjoy the frozen water flowing from the high peaks.
From Santiago, we quickly headed to Cajon de Maipo, where various peaks rise above 6000 meters. We had our sights set on one of them, the southernmost 6000-meter peak in the world: the Marmolejo volcano, 6108m.
With skis on our feet and warm down jackets on our backs, it took us two days of hiking to reach the foot of the mountain. We were prepared for a week of self-sufficiency in food, with gear to bivouac at -30 degrees and to climb. The backpacks were very heavy, and we dragged a pulka with all the equipment that didn't fit in our backpacks. Gradually, the West face revealed itself: red, black, white, gray, and even orange rock, dotted with a few lines of blue ice. It was magnificent!
We set up what would be our home for the next few days, a base camp on an island of earth and grass in the middle of a sea of snow. At the very end of the day, when the face briefly caught the sun, two big surprises awaited us. Two large icefalls emerged from the shadows. But the biggest surprise was undoubtedly their color, gray and almost black at times... That's why we hadn't been able to see them when they weren't lit by the sun. It's likely fossil ice, where volcanic ash mixed with the ice during its formation.
The sporting objective of the trip was then clear! Located between 4000 and 5000 meters in altitude, these icefalls are several hundred meters high, steep, and sometimes even overhanging, they have the color of Oreo ice, and to top it off, they apparently had never been climbed before.
In the shade, at these altitudes and in the middle of winter, the temperature drops very low. Not to mention that the activity isn't very dynamic and you can stay inactive for long minutes while belaying. Well bundled up in our warm Pyrenex down jackets, we spent two beautiful but very cold days climbing these incredible vertical and overhanging walls.
We named one of the icefalls "couleur café," a song that warms the boys just thinking about it! For the second, it was a nod to our favorite Pyrenean, Louis Audoubert, who was Pyrenex's first technical advisor in the 1970s. He tested the first Pyrenex mountaineering down jackets on numerous ascents, such as Everest, Manaslu, Yosemite, the Oisans in the Alps, Kilimanjaro, the Mont-Blanc massif, Hoggar, and the Atlas."
Yann Borgnet Fondly Recalls His Expedition in Georgia
"I had already visited Georgia in 2014. The country was slowly opening up to tourism. In the summer of 2019, we had spotted a peak from afar that we planned to climb.
When the Pyrenex team suggested we test their new range of mountaineering down jackets in freezing temperatures, we initially considered a long traverse in the Alps. But the desire to travel to another culture and into ranges where I don't already spend half the year led me to propose Georgia and its immense Caucasus mountain range. They were immediately enthusiastic about the project. Instantly, I thought of that unfinished ascent. I delved back into maps and satellite images to find it. The Totakvirmi.
I remember its name precisely. An elegant pyramid. No guidebook. No information on any previous ascents. I didn't want to organize a classic expedition, solely focused on the ascent of a single peak. No, I wanted to traverse the mountain, draw a route. That morning, heavily loaded and well-equipped with our Pyrenex mountaineering down jackets, we crossed the bridge over the Tsaneri River, the last human construction on our six-day journey. The forest gave way to timid pastures, which we quickly left for a mineral world. We set up our first bivouac near the terminal tongue of the glacier. We left the first valley on the right, took the second, and almost immediately turned into a third. We reached its highest point and decided to pitch our tent at a small pass. To the west, a beautiful snowy ridge, corniced and jagged, connected to the famous Totakvirmi. It seemed doable, and its route looked very aesthetic to me!
Dawn pulled us out of the tent. The ridge was already illuminated by the first light. We were late; jet lag had tricked us... Without delay, we reached the start of the route. There was still some doubt; the descent didn't seem obvious. Since yesterday, I've been imagining possibilities by drawing lines, but no option satisfied me. The question of the descent weighed more as we progressed. We reached the summit at dusk. The unknown drew me in, and we made our first rappel. The descent was long and full of unknowns. It was past midnight when we collapsed into our warm Pyrenex sleeping bags. Luckily, we had them; they provided great comfort after such a hard day!
It had been three days since we left the valley, and we still had three days of food left. Re-examining the maps and satellite images, the tour of Bashaltau, a beautiful pyramid in front of us, seemed like a good option. We left our bivouac at dawn. We had to reach the pass before tackling its eastern slopes. The route on the map seemed logical; on the ground, however, a bit less. In these mountains, the glaciers hadn't been properly mapped, and the changes in slope and the difficulty in estimating distances forced us to re-examine the entire route at every step.
We've been away from the valley for three days now, and we still have three days of food left. Upon re-examining the maps and satellite images, the tour of Bashaltau, a beautiful pyramid standing before us, seems like a great option. So, we set off again, crossing a vast glacial plateau. The uncertainty of our wandering on the high Caucasian glaciers soon led us to a small island of rocks and earth, lost amidst the glaciers. We did nothing today, covering a ridiculous distance, but it doesn't matter. Tonight, we sleep in Russia. It's an anecdotal act since the border is only a few steps away. Our tent is pitched on a promontory that opens up to a dreamy panorama. We have spotted an inspiring ascent route for the next day: the East face of Mestiatau. It wasn't planned, but it caught our eye! It's a snow couloir, extended by a beautiful ridge. We're no longer here for the difficulty of the route, but just for the aesthetics of the horizontal line and the view that will offer us from this "just barely 4000m" peak.
Still in the shade, the couloir was quickly climbed. We finally reached the summit, with an urgent desire for time to stand still, for this silence to last longer. We descended the first few hundred meters on a vast glacier. The snow was still hard, and the path was clear. No need to concentrate, the mind could wander, soaking in this unique atmosphere: the constant silence, the soft evening lights, these immense mountains, the glaciers. These glaciers, fat and plump at the top, dying below their equilibrium line. We will keep this final image: the terminal glacier tongue, collapsing regularly, giving way to chaos. A chaos that we had to traverse.
