A quiet early fall of 1971

Just fifty years ago, I had returned from Australia and was busy building my new home with the help of my brother Gaston and my Dad. I wasn’t quite sure I wanted a house and wanted to grow roots in my hometown, just next door to my folks. 

I had bigger plans, but they were so fuzzy I couldn’t even see them. The six previous months, my travels around the world had opened up my eyes and I couldn’t see myself growing older in Montriond, even though it was a wonderful place promised to a prosperous future. 

I was now hooked on seeing even more of the world and just couldn’t settle forever in that one place. On weekends we celebrated my return in the company of my friends, all instructors at Avoriaz and our lives were light, easy and without large responsibilities. 

I had a lot of stories to tell and was proud of each one of them. One night, we went out in JF Rosset’s parents car, a Simca 1500 station wagon, along with Anselme Baud, JC Page and François Chauplannaz, had quite a few drinks and Rosset crashed the car in a curve, but we all survived, laughing.

JF Rosset was the only one who didn’t has he had to face his father’s fury. This mishap was just a precautionary warning. In a few weeks darker clouds would come over my head and suddenly change my blissful experience for a much more challenging one…