I was just one year old when I first laid eyes on the mountains — carried on my father’s back through the Swiss Alps, surrounded by the peaks of Val d’Hérens and Val d’Anniviers. Tucked into a backpack, I discovered the magic of the high alpine world without even walking on my own yet.

Family stories say that during one steep, exposed section of the trail, I nearly fell out of the pack. But even that didn’t stop the adventure. Looking back, I think that moment marked the beginning of a lifelong connection with the mountains — one that would shape the way I see the world.

As I grew older, I traded the backpack for hiking boots and started exploring on my own. I brought my siblings along to climb over boulders, breathe in the scent of wildflowers, marvel at glacier blues, feel the thunder of rushing streams, and catch the occasional glimpse of a chamois darting through the rocks. At age seven, I strapped on crampons for the first time and, guided by my father, reached the Bertol Hut. It became a yearly tradition — returning to those valleys where the mountains became our classroom.

We learned how to build dams in icy streams, hop from rock to rock, light a fire with a single match when snow surprised our hikes, read a map, and grow up grounded and confident in nature.

That spirit of adventure never left me. It’s led me to travel across continents, work in remote places, sail across oceans, and climb increasingly technical mountain routes. Through it all, the mountains — and the people I met along the way — continued to teach me.

More than anything, I’ve come to love the simplicity that nature offers. Out there, we return to what truly matters: breathing, eating, drinking, being present, feeling awe, and sharing meaningful moments.