More about Hype Man – The Trek

I had the idea for this post while sitting at my comfy corporate desk, so yes, technically, I was getting paid to write it.

We are taught to create resumes that include education, degrees and promotions. But how much of that really says who you are? Very little, I think. This is a different kind of resume, an open-air one, and it tells my story much more honestly than any LinkedIn profile.

To help you follow the timeline: I was born in Chile, raised in Montreal, educated in Ottawa, and in my mid-twenties moved to Annecy, France to pursue an outdoor dream that had been quietly shaping me my entire life. For the past ten years, I have been incredibly fortunate to share that journey (and countless adventures) with my partner, Elise.

Where it all began (ages 3 and 4)

My first memories are not of toys or classrooms, but of stones.

On the beaches of Zapallar, Chile, I checked them one by one, looking for crabs of all sizes. They left little bruises on my fingers and my parents patiently taught me to hold them by the shell to avoid getting pinched. Even then, curiosity overtook fear. Nature was not something to admire from afar: it was something to touch and explore.

Exploration (5 to 7 years)

Back in Montreal, that curiosity only grew. I collected insects and fossils, dug holes in the backyard, and convinced my friends that we were about to reach the Earth’s crust.

He probably knew more about geology than the average kid. My dad loved to explain how the planet formed. Without realizing it, I was learning that the ground beneath my feet had a story and I wanted to understand it.

Learning stillness (from 7 to 10 years)

Fishing trips with my dad marked the first time I felt completely immersed in nature.

Sunsets over mirror-like lakes in remote Quebec. Picking my first blueberries. Fall asleep to the haunting call of loons. Catching, stunning and gutting my first fish. Lasting clouds of mosquitoes and my first horsefly bites.

It was uncomfortable and peaceful at the same time, and something about it stayed with me.

Shaping the future (ages 12 to 15)

I owe a large part of who I am to the summers of my teenage years spent in the countryside of Quebec and Ontario. Thank you mom and dad for that gift.

Ponacka was a month-long summer camp, away from home, where you lived outside, really lived. Thirty days in a tent. Naked bathing at 7am Sailing, windsurfing, bushcraft, canoeing – everything you can imagine.

The highlight was always the multi-day canoe trip: traversing wild lakes, hauling for miles, cooking over a fire, picking leeches off your feet, making beds out of pine boughs, choosing your own camp. For the first time, I surpassed physical and mental limits that I didn’t know existed in me. Every summer I created stories that my friends and I still share today. Those trips shaped the adventurer I still am.

The snow years (from 11 to 19 years)

Our ski team is trying hard to get some views on Youtube.

When I was a teenager, I switched from cross-country skis to freestyle skiing. Friends were everything and together we formed the JIB_JAB_SSS team. Every weekend was about getting better tricks, filming edits and posting them on YouTube, feeling great, free and independent.

Freestyle skiing also gave me my first real injuries. There wasn’t a weekend without pain, bruises or worse. Maybe that’s when I learned to love a certain kind of pain, the one that means you tried.

Drought (ages 19 to 22)

The University of Ottawa changed the pace. Life became intellectual instead of physical. Time outside was scarce.

Still, he skated on the world’s longest skating rink before class and occasionally took a canoe or ski trip. Even in the driest years, the attraction never completely disappeared.

The first taste of adventure (22 and 23 years old)

As my studies ended and money began to slowly flow in, Elise and I planned month-long trips to Asia and South America. We backpacked, climbed our first 5,000-meter peak, and realized something simple but important: this is our thing.

The seed was planted.

When everything changed (23 years old)

Nemo and I did the first Thru-Hike at the IAT in Gaspesie. We finally reached the ocean after 3 weeks of walking.

COVID brought a lot of people outdoors. For us, it burst a bubble that had been quietly growing for years.

During endless hours in front of the screen, I discovered hiking, and the attraction was instant. It seemed inevitable. With travel restricted, I convinced my boss to let me take a month off to hike the International Appalachian Trail (IAT) through the wild Gaspésie region of Quebec. Two weeks alone. Two weeks with Elise.

That line, once crossed, could not be uncrossed. Freedom. Discomfort. Achievement. I ended up with a question ringing in my head: Are there longer trails?

The dream of the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) was born.

A new beginning (25 years)

Two years later, we were at the border with Mexico. It didn’t seem real…not for weeks.

What surprised me most about the PCT was how simple it seemed. Not physically, but mentally. The first day was as exciting as day 100, day 150. I was never bored. I never wanted it to end.

To this day, the PCT remains the highlight of my life: the simplicity, the people, the human connection, sharing it all with the person I love most. I left the trail knowing that another hike would always be waiting for me. It also marked an important transition: from Montreal, Canada, to Annecy, France.

Chasing the mountain dream (26 to 29 years)

Nemo ski touring in the Alps

Life in Annecy attracted attention.

«Why leave Montreal to enjoy the outdoors? Shouldn’t it be the opposite?»

«Did you work in banking? I thought you were a mountain guide.»

On the PCT, Elise and I had written down goals for our twenties: run 100K, learn to climb multiple pitches, work in the outdoor industry. At Annecy, we tick all the boxes.

With a thousand-meter mountain in your backyard and a turquoise lake below, it’s hard to be disappointed. Our days revolve around movement: ski touring before work, Nordic skiing with headlamps, trail running, biking through the Alps, backpacking endless trails. We are surrounded by people who live and breathe the outdoors and are constantly teaching and inspiring us.

And yet… something was missing.

One or two week hikes in the Alps don’t fill the same space. The landscape is impressive, but the remoteness, the community of trails, the kindness of strangers, the enormous length, were absent. Each annual reunion with our PCT family made that void louder.

Why the CDT, why now

Now it’s real. We are committed. We are hiking the Continental Divide trail.

I feel at peace again. Ready to hear my own thoughts. Ready to suffer. Ready to disappear into a long line on a map and let the trail do what it has always done: reduce life to what matters.

This is not a break from my life.

It is a return to myself.