I don’t really know much about Ben and Quentin. Even though a few days spent in the mountains can sometimes reveal certain character traits. At La Petite Verte with Quentin, in Mont-Blanc, we took a few quick photos in a beautiful winter setting. We talked about skiing, Pralognan-la-Vanoise, his hometown, and how much we enjoyed being outside under the big snowflakes falling from the sky. And that we would surely go skiing afterwards.
Quentin Lombard at la Petite Verte. ©UL
As for Ben, we had spent two wonderful days climbing and taking photos in the former Lepiney route, at the Trident du Tacul (Mont-Blanc). The following year, he would reach the summit of Nuptse with Fred Dégoulet and Hélias Millerioux. The “Gang des Moustaches” was born.
Since then, we had heard little about Ben. I respected his discretion in these times of ostentation. I admired his versatility. Few climbers (if any?) knew how to bring together all the qualities needed to climb a huge Himalayan wall such as the south face of Nuptse, before ticking off a 9a in the Gorges du Loup (South of France) a few months later, after deciding to devote himself fully to it. Perhaps I also admired the man who knew how to balance family life and mountain life. Ben and Quentin were both fathers of two children.
Ben Guigonnet on the terrace of the Torino refuge. ©UL
Since then, the Lepiney route has collapsed, and many of us have collapsed too with the deaths of Ben and Quentin. We must admit that we are also a little angry to see yet another road accident take the lives of two mountaineers who were so committed in the mountains. But there is no justice in these stories, and even less possibility of turning back the clock.
The mountain road gave way beneath them. And the void of the Verdon has probably never been so palpable. And painful.
My thoughts go out to Ben and Quentin’s companions and partners in climbing and in life.