It's the morning of 2017. The silence of the Valais Alps is broken by a discreet whisper: the wind caressing the freshly snow-covered ridges. In front of me, the Strahlhorn andAdlerhorn rise up between the valleys of Zermatt and Saas-Fee. The slopes, still scarred by the night's storm, glisten in the subdued light filtering through the clouds.

I observe the scene, fascinated. The relief, shaped by the 40 to 60 centimetres of snow that fell during the night, takes on the appearance of an ephemeral sculpture. The pure white glacier hides its crevasses beneath a layer of snow. The light emphasizes the curve of the ridges, the verticality of the flanks, and that impression of grandeur that only the high mountains can offer.

Then, a movement catches my attention. On the slope, a group of climbers, tiny in the face of immensity. The climbers advance slowly, carving a deep track in the fresh snow. Each step brings them closer to the summit. Their determination is palpable in the bitter cold.

That morning, I felt I was sharing an exceptional moment with the climbers. They, in direct contact with the mountain, and I, a privileged witness behind my lens. Together, we witnessed the same scene: that of a landscape shaped by the storm and sublimated by the return of light.

This black-and-white photograph is a tribute to those moments when nature and man meet, each in his own role. That morning, the Strahlhorn andAdlerhorn were much more than summits : they were the stage for a journey into the beyond.