We are more connected than ever, but are we truly present when we go into the mountains?

Hervé Barmasse reflects on how technology, climate change, and evolving habits are reshaping the way we experience them.

In summer mountaineering, where instant access to information often comes at the cost of intuition and awareness, new, often less visible risks are emerging, requiring a deeper level of consciousness.

When I first started going into the mountains as a mountain guide, there were no GPS devices, no permanently connected smartphones, and no information available at the click of a button. You relied on experience, observation, and instinct.

The only path to follow was the one your senses suggested, and once you left the refuge, you knew you could only count on yourself. It was a quieter, more essential mountain. Definitely a different one.

And I’m not referring only to technology. Technology is useful, and it has profoundly changed how we move and plan, giving us more accurate forecasts, better equipment, and immediate communication in case of need. That is a great advantage. What I mean by “different” is mostly about approach and mindset.

Today we can document and share every moment of our experience in the mountains, which is a valuable opportunity. Yet I sometimes wonder whether the urge to capture and tell the moment takes something away from the simple pleasure of fully living it. Perhaps the real challenge is finding a balance, without losing the ability to stay immersed in the experience, enjoying every moment without filters.

The mountains, nature itself, need to be listened to. Only then can we truly connect with them.

In the past, you would study a route for weeks, gather information from those who had climbed it before, ask for advice, and wait for the right moment.

Today, through a screen, we can access everything in advance: GPS tracks, updated conditions, photos of the route, detailed descriptions meter by meter, the number of bolts, how anchors are set up, and more.

Is this progress? In some ways, yes. But every gain comes with a trade-off. Alongside convenience, we may be losing part of the uncertainty, the respect, and the ability to listen that once made the mountains such a powerful school of experience.

Staying connected with ourselves and with nature is also key to reducing risks linked to climate change. This is no longer something we can deny. In recent years, the mountains have undergone rapid transformation, and today, especially in summer, they demand greater attention.

Summer mountaineering has always been considered more accessible than winter climbing, with less snow and ice, milder temperatures, and easier access to huts. But accessible does not mean less dangerous, as we once believed.

Sudden storms, rockfalls caused by thawing, overcrowded routes, and increasingly narrow margins for error- especially with the freezing level often rising above 4,000 meters - are amplifying risks and requiring greater caution.

Giving up is not failure - it is awareness. It means listening to what the mountain is telling us

Sometimes, I feel that it’s not only the mountains that have changed, but also the way we experience them. And in this shift, something of the mountaineering I once knew is slowly disappearing.

The Matterhorn I see today is not the same one my grandfather knew. Glaciers are retreating, permafrost is degrading, and faces once considered stable—even in summer—are becoming increasingly inaccessible. Every season brings collapses that would have been exceptional just a few decades ago.

Some historic routes are no longer climbed, not because they are technically harder, but because they have become objectively too dangerous. The rules that guided generations no longer fully apply. Today we often need to rethink classic itineraries, adjust timing, and sometimes give up routes that were long considered safe.

The mountain is asking for a shift in attitude: more humility, more awareness, and when necessary, the ability to turn back or choose a different objective. Giving up is not failure—it is awareness. It means listening to what the mountain is telling us.

If there is something I would never give up, though, it’s what I carry in my backpack. I usually start from everything I might need, then gradually remove what is not essential. But what is essential? That depends on the mountain, the weather, my physical condition, and how well I know the route.

There are things I would never leave behind: a light but reliable harness, an ultralight down jacket that fits in your hand but can save your life, a waterproof shell because summer storms can be sudden and violent, and a helmet.

And then, a few small indulgences: chocolate, a thermos of tea with a drop of red wine to enjoy in the evening under the moon and stars, and a piece of cheese.

During the day, energy bars and supplements are perfect.
But in the evening, taking care of yourself matters.

Mountains and small comforts: maybe that’s the real mood of summer.