Remembering Patrick Berhault, on the 20th anniversary of his death

Watching Patrick Berhault climb only underlined the gift of uniqueness endowed on him by God. The elegance of his moves and the ease with which he climbed even the most difficult sections made it look like he was dancing on rock.

I think that nothing in life happens by chance: when you meet someone, you immediately realise if there is something special, that gives you the idea of​being with someone familiar, friendly. Most of the time though, this never happens and everything remains formal, banal.

In the 1970s, I was asked by the Italian climbing magazine Rivista della Montagna to interview a certain French climber, called Patrick Berhault. Word was that he was a great climber and that he was doing some fantastic stuff with another Patrick... Patrick Edlinger. At the time Berhault was living with his mother in Nice. I called him and made an appointment.

A skinny boy, wearing slippers, shorts and a tank top, welcomed me with a captivating smile. Long hear, gentle features. For a while we talked about the usual stuff, training, grades, his most beautiful and difficult climbs, but gradually the conversation drifted to more personal aspects of life, to his irrepressible passion for the mountains, for climbing in general.

In his calm and smiling manner he told me about various episodes from his young life that had really tested him. His decision to avoid military service, which he couldn't stand and the consequences. Relationships with the family, his closeness with his the mother. He also told me about a scary fall down a gully (I don't remember his name) for 600 metres.

The consequences were terrible: broken pelvis, broken leg, detached lung, wounds everywhere, broken teeth. His partner, frozen in fear, couldn't move. But Patrick, thanks to his amazing strength and determination, crawled for hours back down to the mountain hut. He saved himself and also his partner, who was rescued in a state of hypothermia, almost buried in the snow and ice.

I remember that, almost smiling, Patrick said to me: "You know, ice gullies are best climbed early in the morning, not at 11." That day he had and his partner had climbed extremely quickly, but the sun reached the summit cornice first. After the tragic event his partner stopped mountain climbing while Patrick, just a few months later, was back in training again.

by Alessandro Grillo