Mountaineer, but above all a keen connoisseur of the mountains, their history and the culture that defines them, Hervé Barmasse has, in over 20 years of activity, climbed mythical peaks, including the one he calls home, where he was born: the Matterhorn. We met him at the preview of Milano montagna week at the Vibram Connection Lab, the Milan space and meeting place dedicated to technological innovation, the environment and sustainability, run by the leading company in the production of soles for outdoor sports footwear, of which Barmasse is an ambassador. Here he spoke to us not of great feats, but of respect — the kind needed today to tackle the mountains and, at the same time, preserve them. "Man," says Hervé, "must be the knight of the mountains."

Over the last 100 years, the glaciers of the Alps have halved. The Matterhorn, too, is suffering the consequences of rising temperatures and is slowly crumbling. You have always known this mountain — your first ascents took place on the Matterhorn itself — what can you tell us about the situation today?
It is undeniable that the mountains are changing, and they are changing far more in the places where there were glaciers that are now retreating and shrinking. On the Matterhorn you feel it very strongly because there is less snow — in fact there is none at all; this summer there was never any. It is a worrying thing for someone like me who has been climbing this mountain for years and who, beyond my own experience, has that of my father, my grandfather and even my great-grandfather. On the Matterhorn, the landscape has changed.

This means the mountain can also become more dangerous to manage: we are not used to temperatures like these, nor to the freezing level being so high. The news broke that the Matterhorn is crumbling because, in fact, the rocks are often held together by ice that you cannot see but lies beneath the rock surface (permafrost), and when this melts the rock slides and falls. The real problem, however, is that this cannot be predicted in advance, which has caused a degree of alarmism. The Matterhorn has always crumbled slowly, geologists say, because it is made of rock that is not particularly sound. One thing is certain: last summer the glaciers were a sorry sight, as if they were begging for mercy. The glacier is no longer beautiful as it once was; it is grey, dark, black. I know it is a strong analogy, but it looks like the back of a man who has been flogged. Those marks, those lash stripes, are the dark crevasses opening up that have never been seen before — they seem to cry out, a little like Munch's Scream.

Read also: I ghiacciai delle Alpi stanno scomparendo. E il Cervino che si sgretola ne è il simbolo

How do you remember the Matterhorn in 2000, at the start of your career?
In 2000 there was still a great deal of snow; you could ski until the end of June at 2,500 metres on snow that had fallen in winter. That is unthinkable now. I remember, when I was 14, on Monte Rosa and at Plateau Rosà there were layers of ice that have now completely disappeared — I am talking about 50/60 metres of ice.

Given the current situation, what does the mountain concretely need?
The mountain needs courageous people, people who go against the grain and defend it. Going against the grain means protecting it from man, no longer speculating on it — but that is very difficult, especially in the Alpine arc where most of the tourism is concentrated. For example, there are ski resorts that no longer have any reason to exist, where artificial snowmaking modifies water sources and catchment basins. That is no longer acceptable today, because there is less water. Even in Valle d'Aosta there have been critical moments due to water shortages, and it is a strange thing to think that this can happen in the mountains.
The mountain is not just skiing, tourism and leisure; it is also tied to agriculture, local produce and Alpine dairy farmers. The mountain is changing, and it is true that one can adapt, but perhaps rather than us adapting to these changes, we should be more sensitive and try to reduce the change that is under way. Many people wonder whether what is said about the state of the mountains is true or not, and the data are often conflicting, but in doubt, we all have to do something. Doing nothing is not a solution.

It is strange that at precisely a time when the mountains enjoy such great success and interest, attention and care for them and those who live there is not growing in equal measure. What do you think?
Man must be the knight of the mountains: what happens in the Himalayas but also in the Alps is unacceptable — you must respect and preserve them. If you are capable of climbing under your own steam, fine; if you need artificial aids that are then left behind on the mountain, then you are better off not climbing. Out of respect, precisely, for what you claim to love. The problem is that man thinks in the short term. He cannot be far-sighted, especially when it comes to the environment.

We often hear about mountains, and high mountains in particular, only in connection with tragic events (see the Nardi case) or with events that actually have little to do with this world (the Jovanotti concert at the summit, above all else). How would you like the mountains to be talked about?
I'm not against a certain way of experiencing the mountains that differs from mine — I think that if there's respect, they can coexist. But space should also be given to the other mountain: the one made up of quiet people who court it because they want to reach the summit and who, realising they can't make it, prefer to turn back; of conscientious souls who, if they see a damaged path, stop and repair it; of men and women who care about the mountains in a different way, who make less noise but shouldn't have less of a voice than others. These different realities can still coexist — the key is respect. As for Jovanotti, I think his initiative was exploited. Nobody complained, and even Messner changed his mind after quite rightly drawing attention to the question of respect.
And then: it's true that the mountains are, often, about tragedy — but then one asks oneself, "Are we all mad?! All out looking for death? No, looking for life."

On that very subject: what is your relationship with risk and fear? What are they to you? And how do you face them?
The mountains are full of dangers. As life in general is. But in the mountains these grow. We mountaineers take on our risks in order to face them. What I know is that you have to live them with fear, because fear gives you a sense of measure. Fear is an alarm bell. Panic is somewhat different — that is never good: in the mountains, panic almost always means certain death. I have never had moments of panic in the mountains; fear, yes. You also have to have the courage to admit that you're afraid, and mountaineers often don't have that courage.

You live your passion in person as a mountaineer, but you also love to tell it through books ("La montagna dentro") and films and documentaries (among others "Il Cervino, la montagna perfetta"). What books would you recommend to someone who, like you, loves the mountains?
The first is "I Chose to Climb" by Chris Bonington, which offers a very romantic vision of mountaineering from 40 years ago; from the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century there is "Premier de cordée" by Roger Frison-Roche, also an excellent book. And then all of Bonatti's books, and many by Messner. Among my favourites is without doubt "Conquistadors of the Useless" written by Lionel Terray, a book I call "the mountaineer's bible." This mountaineer described how in high mountains there are things that appear easy yet are very dangerous, and others that are highly technical but not dangerous at all. I would recommend it to young people who, in the discipline today, look very much to the technical side but are then afraid to live a real adventure.

As you yourself have said, you come from a family that has made the mountains their life, as well as their passion. Could Hervé Barmasse ever have done something else? Have you ever thought about it?
I was born a skier, but after a serious accident I moved to the mountains. Though I'm also very drawn to the world of sailing and motorcycling. For motorcycles I'm perhaps too old; for sailing, on the other hand, no — I still have some hope!

We're on the eve of Milano Montagna Week — what would you like those who take part to take away from this world?
I think we need to make people understand that the best mountaineer is not the one who accomplishes great feats, but anyone who respects the mountains. If I were the person in charge of an event like the one in Milan, I would only involve people who share this "credo." The mountains are not just mountaineering. Space must be given to mountain culture.

What are your next projects?
I'll be going to Nepal in October, with David Gottler: the plan is to link three peaks of 7,200 metres in this clean style. We would climb the first and, without descending to base camp, continue to climb two more. It's a preparation project for another one we'll undertake in spring instead, to open a new route on an eight-thousander. All in clean style, or alpine style, which means: setting off with 50 metres of rope, taking with us everything we can carry up and which we will consequently bring back down. It's called clean style, as opposed to Himalayan style — the style adopted on the normal routes of the eight-thousanders to set up which requires 3 or 4 weeks, used both by commercial expeditions and by some mountaineers who call themselves athletes or professionals, but when you reach the summit everything is then left on the mountain.

Read also: The queues and deaths on Everest are just a symptom of a larger problem

Last question: what has the mountain given you and taken from you?
I'm a little selfish, and I'm this way because I'm a mountaineer — and that is a shortcoming, certainly. But when you have to make choices, go away for long periods, you inevitably take space and time away from the people close to you. Sportspeople in general are all a little selfish. You have to be this way, but you know it's a negative thing. Yet the mountains are also what have given me a good 80 per cent of what I am — for those who love me, that's a great deal; for those who don't… I don't know.