Arthur Poindefert climbs 'Digital Crack' & plays cello on Mont Blanc's Grand Gendarme des Cosmiques

"Arthur, go play music in the mountains — that would be a beautiful project!" My parents had said this to me more than once. But until recently, I’d never dared to make it a reality. When I moved from Paris to Chamonix for high school, I first wanted to build a solid foundation in alpinism, to quietly earn my stripes before diving into more unconventional ideas.

And then, about a year ago, something shifted — it felt like the right time. I had found the perfect place: a legendary route perched along the Cosmiques Ridge, a classic of Chamonix climbing, and an ideal setting to merge my two passions — high-altitude climbing and the cello. That’s how a slightly crazy idea was born: Through the Strings. The goal? Send Digital Crack (8a, one of Europe’s highest sport climbs) on my first try... and follow it with a musical performance at the summit.

Two trusted friends joined me: Jean Rouaux, climbing partner and alpinist, and Noa Barrau, who would document the adventure on film. From the summit of the Aiguille du Midi we descended the Cosmiques Ridge with a long rappel to reach the base of the spire. The gear haul was epic — between alpine equipment, bivouac gear, and… a cello, every meter counted. It took us hours to get everything in place.

We then had to climb the backside of the granite monolith via a 6b, with the cello strapped to my back. A climb that was both absurd and magical. Once the instrument was perched on top, the project could begin.

First attempt on Digital Crack. The crux demanded every ounce of mental strength I had. The altitude kicked in, my legs were shaking, and the technicality of the route pushed me to my limits. The line, a very “Chamonix-style” climb, unfolds in three main sections: a relatively easy 6c pitch leads to a ledge, where things get serious. Then comes the intense crux — about ten brutal moves on micro-crimps with barely any footholds, a section where several sequences are possible. Then the final stretch, a spectacular and airy sequence, less physical but just as demanding, that tested both my technique and mental endurance. With encouragement from climbers crossing the glacier below, I clipped the chains. Victory!

Then came part two: the music. My hands, scraped and frozen from the rock, could barely move. The wind picked up. I was exhausted. But turning back was never an option. I played the piece as planned. Noa captured the moment, took a few extra shots for the film, and we thought the project was in the bag.

Night fell. We set up the tent, relieved and proud... until 3 a.m. Then a thunderstorm exploded above us. The thunder jolted us awake. No doubt — we had to move. Having once endured a descent through lightning on the north face of the Grandes Jorasses, I knew I never wanted to repeat that.

We grabbed the essentials — the cello, of course — and scrambled back up to the Aiguille du Midi in the snow, under the rumbles of the storm. Soaked but safe, we made it to the cable car station. The rest of the gear stayed behind.

It was only a few days later, once the weather cleared, that we returned to retrieve the tent, backpacks, drones, and all the equipment we’d been forced to abandon. Everything was still there. Untouched.

A unique adventure — athletic, artistic, and undeniably alpine. A fleeting moment suspended between granite, climbing ropes, and cello strings, that I won’t forget in a hurry.

I hope this is a fitting tribute to Maurice Baquet, who, roped up alongside Gaston Rébuffat, was already playing music up there — notably on the summit of Mont Blanc back in the 1950s and 60s!

- Arthur Poindefert