In the Shadow of the Diable

Deep in Chamonix’s backcountry, an imposing series of granite pinnacles rises to the southeast of Mont Blanc du Tacul. Named the Aiguilles du Diable (the Devil’s Needles), they were once considered impossible to climb, let alone ride. In the spring of 2025, Jones Pro Team rider and mountain guide Pica Herry, joined by Laurent Bibollet, Victor de Le Rue and more ventured into the zone, splitboards strapped to their packs, testing – and redefining – the limits of Shralpinism.

Photos: Mathurin Vauthier

Place names often carry a mythical weight in the backcountry, but few conjure up a sense of foreboding more than the Aiguilles du Diable. “The name is special,” Pica says. “You don’t easily see the range. It’s not that easy to recognize. But when you first hear of it, it’s somewhere you remember.”

The peaks, towering above 13,000 ft (4000 m), were named for their seeming inaccessibility. In alpinism, this kind of status tends to draw more than it deters. In 1923, the first needle, Pointe Carmen, was successfully summited. By 1925 all five had been accomplished. Then, in 1928, a group of Americans led by legendary mountain guide Armand Charlet linked them all in a single expedition.

“You know,” Pica explains, “filming on the Aiguilles du Diable was more like a Plan B or Plan C for the season. We originally thought about a multi-day route in the Argentière Basin, but this was the safer plan.”

Safer, at least, in terms of logistics. Filming in the Diable Zone allowed for regular single-day access when conditions aligned, as well as utilizing the Refuge des Cosmiques for early starts. But terrain like this offers no margin for error, and the consequences of getting it wrong are absolute. Growing up in Chamonix means understanding that reality better than most.

Early in the film, Pica pays tribute to Marco Siffredi – a name that still carries weight today. “Every forty to fifty-year-old in Chamonix has known Marco and talks about him a lot,” Pica says. “He’s become a real legend.”

Siffredi came from a family of mountaineers. After first strapping into a snowboard in 1995, he went on to become a pioneer of big mountain freeriding. Beyond numerous first descents on a snowboard, it was the Chamoniard’s balls-to-the-wall style of riding steeps that earned him his legendary status.

Drawn to bigger objectives, Siffredi made history descending Everest's Norton Couloir in 2001, only to disappear on a second attempt down the Hornbein Couloir in 2002. His body has never been found.

"Unfortunately, I didn't meet Marco," Pica reflects. "I was fourteen or fifteen when he died. I'm sure if he were still alive, we'd have spent many days together on the board. He was full of energy and joy, but I think he took a lot of risks in the mountains. He got obsessed with Everest, and unfortunately, that's what killed him."

These moments of calm often come at the end of brutal, lung-busting ascents up at 4000 meters and before dropping into serious, no-fall-zone descents where a blend of calculated decision-making and intuition play equal parts.

Pica breaks down his approach: "I've never really liked riding on sight. On a snowboard, we're pretty weak on the ice. It's always a bit scary to ride lines and not be sure exactly what you're going to find.”

Of course, when the risk from above is real, that changes things. The only advantage to riding blind, he explains, is reducing the time on exposed faces. If there's an objective danger like a serac or risk of avalanche, he’s trying to limit the time on the face. "Most of the time I prefer to climb the line,” he explains. “I try as much as possible to understand the snow quality, the rideability, the accumulations, where a slab may be triggered."

By the time Pica’s committed to a descent, he's already built a mental map of the terrain. "I don't plan where to make a turn here or there; the vision is always different once the board is on your feet. But I'm trying to memorize the tricky parts. A rock here, or ice that may be present in a certain area. I'm trying to memorize those traps or trickier parts, and make sure I won't be full speed there."

Full speed or not, Pica is perhaps best known for his ability to change between regular and goofy stances, even when riding insanely steep or technical faces. Watch any of his film parts, and you’ll see him frequently switch up his leading foot.

Pica wasn’t just gifted with some innate ability though; this was a hard-earned skill, developed over the years. He grew up riding a regular stance on hard boots and directional alpine boards (a sign of the times more than a personal preference). But around fifteen years ago, while working as an instructor, something shifted. "I was spending a lot of time teaching and riding in both directions," he explains. "I rode a lot of switch with clients, and quickly understood the most fun thing was to switch between regular and goofy. I've only ridden twins for ten-plus years."

What began as a teaching adaptation became a legit advantage in big mountains. "You feel a lot safer on your toe edge because of your ice axes," Pica explains. "You're more confident and it's easier to hold an edge on your toes. Being able to traverse more confidently in switch was the first thing I noticed. Then I started to see how some lines were better suited for goofy riders and others for regular. I'm still more comfortable in my regular stance if it's a do-or-die turn," he jokes, “but it’s nice to do both.”