A Note From the Editor: To The Extreme

Two years ago today, I met Andreas Fransson at his birthday party at his home near Chamonix, France. I’ll never forget the colorful outfit he wore at that party—or the smile so broad it seemed to cause his eyes to squint. I’ll also never forget when he told me, three days later, how the crows that fly above Chamonix represent the souls of the valley’s deceased skiers. He now flies among them and today he’d be 32 years old. —Tyler Cohen, Editor in Chief

I’d just arrived from Boston to Chamonix, France to profile the Swedish extreme skier Andreas Fransson when I received an e-mail from his girlfriend, Alejandra Campos. She was excited about my visit, and invited me to their nearby apartment in Taconnaz for his tropical-themed 30th birthday party.

At the party, Andreas wore a Hawaiian shirt, a floppy, straw hat framing his blonde locks, purple Crocs and a smile so broad it seemed to cause his eyes to squint. Alejandra deliberately introduced me to everyone at the small gathering—blonde Swedes, skiers, guides and two guys in banana suits. Alejandra, Andreas and their cadre welcomed me like a close friend, even if I was only there for a few short days.

After two days following Andreas around his world-class backyard I returned to the apartment he shared with Alejandra. While he practiced yoga in their cramped kitchen, she and I chatted on their back patio, below the glaciered North Face of Mont Blanc. She laughed about her few experiences skiing and fondly remembered to me how they’d met two years earlier at a yoga class in Valparaíso, Chile, her hometown, and moved in together a day later.

I then stammered through the question everyone wonders of someone in a relationship where his or her partner regularly risks everything. “How do you wrap your head around what can happen to him in the mountains?” I asked. I meant to be more specific, but she understood.

“He does these extreme things to meet himself. He’s trying to push everything to the limit, and it’s very obvious in everything he does,” she said. “He’s not afraid, and that’s very inspiring.”

“Are you afraid?” I responded.

“At the beginning, I was very afraid,” she said. “But now I’m not afraid. I know what he does is very risky. But also, I realize that if you die doing what you love….” She hesitated and continued. “That thought helps me to really appreciate every moment…to really enjoy him everyday.”

In late September, Andreas was killed in an avalanche along with JP Auclair on Monte San Lorenzo on the Chilean-Argentine border. He was 31.

Understanding the death of someone who lived so vibrantly, who I observed as so alive has been hard. Most skiers idolized him for his extreme descents, but it wasn’t just his skiing that was extreme. That week in the Alps, I saw how he brought his all-in attitude to everything: yoga, his relationships, even the way he and Alejandra welcomed me at their apartment. I feel honored that I had the opportunity to tell his story while he was living. Because Andreas didn’t just die doing what he loved, he lived doing it, too.

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This story first appeared in the December 2014 issue. To read more like it, subscribe here.