Through the Eyes of Fay Manners: A New Path

Photographer: Sergio Muñoz. Location: Verbier.

Can you take us back to the beginning: when did climbing, skiing, and mountaineering first enter your life? How old were you at the time?

I didn’t discover climbing and skiing as sports until I was in my mid-twenties. I had been exposed to the outdoors when I was younger, though. At school, I did some hill walking and went camping with my friends on the weekends. I was also a member of the cadet forces. I took part in various outdoor activities, sometimes in the hills, but I wasn’t really exposed to climbing or skiing as such until I was in my twenties.

That was because I had gone to university, started a full-time job, and was moving to different locations around the UK before eventually moving to New York. I found it pretty difficult to keep finding new hockey teams every time I relocated. So I realized I needed to find an alternative sport that I could continue alongside all the travel and moving around, something I could even do by myself, while also finding a new community of people and making friends. I found the work travel quite lonely at times.

That’s when I decided to try some new sports. I went to Brooklyn Boulders in NYC, where I met some people. I also decided to head over to Vermont for the weekend to learn how to snowboard, so I could have that as an alternative sport as well. These are the sports I picked up while living in NYC in my mid-twenties, in a way, to find another sport that suited my situation.

At that stage, did you already feel this could become something more than a hobby, or did that realization come later?

When I decided to try snowboarding and climbing, I was a complete beginner, and it never even crossed my mind that I could make a career as a professional mountaineer. I was simply trying to find another sport that I could spend time doing.

Even now, it’s hard for me to believe, and fully accept, that it has become my job. I still find it difficult to tell people that I’m a professional mountaineer. It’s something I never realized could even be a career, and I never imagined I would have the opportunity to do a job like that.

How did you manage the transition from data scientist to professional mountain athlete? Did you quit your job outright, ease into it gradually, or juggle both worlds for a while? And how old were you when you made that leap?

The transition happened over the course of many years. To begin with, I was just snowboarding and climbing as hobbies. As I became more and more passionate about them and wanted to spend more of my time doing them, I realized I needed to change my life so I could dedicate more time to pursuing my passions outside of work.

At the time, I was living in NYC, where I had very little holiday and was working extremely long hours. I had been promoted into a role that demanded a lot from me, and I was constantly on calls with people around the world, speaking with colleagues in India, the UK, and elsewhere, which often resulted in very long working days. I realized I wanted more balance in my life because waking up at four in the morning for work was not sustainable. The only way I could pursue the things I loved was by sacrificing sleep, and I knew that wasn’t healthy.

At that point, I decided to quit my job and return to the UK to rethink how I wanted to structure my life. Living in the US simply didn’t give me the freedom I needed to pursue my passions in the way I wanted. When I moved back to the UK and started another job, I quickly realized that the only way to truly pursue my passion was to live somewhere surrounded by mountains. I wanted to be able to spend time in the mountains every day, not just on weekends or holidays.

That’s when I decided to move to Chamonix, and it was a really difficult decision. At the time, remote working was uncommon and almost unheard of. Most people believed you had to be physically present in the office to work effectively. I knew it would be difficult to find a job under those circumstances, so I decided to set up my own data consultancy company and look for contracts with companies that would allow me to work remotely.

It was a very tough decision to make. Many people doubted me and said it was impossible. They told me I didn’t have enough experience and would need another five or six years before I could realistically start my own consultancy. They also said it would be impossible to build relationships with clients remotely, that without being physically present, it would never work.

That period was really hard. I remember going through several months of doubt because of the opinions of people around me. But deep down, I knew this was what I wanted, and I felt I needed to take a step forward and at least try to make it happen. I told myself that if it didn’t work out, I could always go back. But I was determined to create a better life balance.

So I moved to Chamonix, set up my consultancy firm, and found a few clients who were happy for me to work remotely. I managed the work by traveling back to the UK when necessary to maintain relationships with clients before returning to Chamonix.

Then COVID happened, and remote work suddenly became normal for everyone. The tools and technology improved dramatically, which made my job much easier to do remotely. Over time, I started reducing my workload, first cutting down to four-day weeks so I could spend more time mountaineering, and then eventually to three-day weeks. This gave me extra time to switch from snowboarding to skiing, to learn this from scratch and also to improve my climbing. To really push myself in the mountains and spend as much time there as possible.

Moving from New York to Chamonix is a big change. What was that transition like, both personally and professionally?

In New York, I felt that I was constantly stimulated, emotionally, intellectually, and socially, and there was always something going on. It was always about working and planning for the future.

I think moving to Chamonix was very different because everything I started doing was fully in the present, in the moment: the smells, the things I was touching, the views. Just having to be so focused on everything I was doing and every movement I was making was a complete contrast between the two.

It always surprises people that I could love New York City and also love Chamonix, but I think it kind of shows the two sides of my personality. In New York, I really liked the intensity and the diversity, while in Chamonix, I really enjoy the kind of focus that the mountains bring me, where it’s really deep and you truly have to be in the moment. So I think I really enjoyed both the city and the mountains.

Did you already have a network in Chamonix, or did you start from scratch? How did you go about building a community, finding climbing partners and friends?

I didn’t have a network at all in Chamonix when I arrived; I was really starting from scratch. But because I’d spent the previous years traveling and moving locations to live, I’d become quite familiar with the feeling of arriving in a place and not knowing anybody. I’m also fairly happy in my own company and being alone, so it meant that I didn’t feel sadness when I first arrived. Even though it was difficult to make friends and build a community, I just accepted that it was going to be a slow process, and I had to work through it day by day and let it evolve naturally without pushing too hard to make new friends and find partners.

Luckily, I also had my best friend, Zeberdee the sausage dog. I bought him in New York as a little puppy, and he then traveled around with me. He was my stability and my constant companion. So when I moved to Chamonix, I moved there with Zeberdee, my sausage dog, and having him there with me meant a lot.

In the early days, how did you support yourself financially while pursuing this path?

I think this is true for anybody who is younger and trying to build a life for themselves: I really tried to live as simply as possible. When I first arrived in Chamonix, I didn’t necessarily have all the equipment I needed to pursue mountaineering. To begin with, I wasn’t doing highly technical climbing where I needed expensive things like ice screws and technical ice axes. I was doing the kind of mountaineering that required a smaller rack and less gear, which meant I could still progress my skills without spending too much money.

One of the biggest expenses for me each year was the Chamonix ski pass, but I chose to prioritise that because snowboarding and later skiing and being in the mountains every day was what mattered most to me. I was able to use savings from working full-time for several years before moving there, and that gave me a foundation to build this life. I was also very fortunate to work as a data consultant. It meant I was able to earn enough money to pay for an apartment and cover my living costs, which was a huge help, because many people who move to Chamonix don’t have that kind of job. The data science work I was doing allowed me to at least cover the basic costs I needed to live there.

Photographer: Daniel Coquoz. Location: Sembrancher, Switzerland.

At what point did it become sustainable, and what does “making a living” as a mountain athlete look like for you today? How do you generate income?

The point at which being an athlete became fully sustainable, when I no longer needed to do my data consultancy, was when The North Face offered me a place on their international team as a professional athlete, which came with a salary.

As a sponsored athlete, I now have a salary that allows me to live, train, and pursue the projects I need to as an athlete. That happened three years ago when I signed a contract with The North Face, and during that time I’ve also accumulated other sponsors, which allow me to continue pushing my limits, doing projects in the mountains, and traveling on expeditions so I can pursue the things I really want to do as a mountaineer.

Did you face any cultural or language barriers when settling in Chamonix? How did you navigate those?

I guess the great thing about going to a place like Chamonix is that it’s in the mountains. I feel like there’s a mountain culture rather than a cultural difference based on whether someone is Spanish, French, Italian, or English. Once you begin to understand the culture of people who live in the mountains, how they act, move, and think, you can build strong relationships with them no matter where they’re from.

For me, it wasn’t necessarily about adapting to the people but adapting to the shift from city life to mountain life and understanding how differently people live and think there. That was the biggest cultural change.

Then, of course, there was the language barrier of me speaking English and moving to a French-speaking country. Honestly, I’m still struggling with that because I’m terrible with languages. I used to avoid language classes at school because I never really understood why learning another language would be important for me. I assumed I would live in England all my life. Now I really regret that because I could have benefited from paying more attention at school. It’s still something I’m trying to improve.

What were some of the less obvious challenges of this lifestyle that people might not expect? And what was easier than expected?

I’ve always struggled a bit to find climbing partners, especially when I was starting out in Chamonix. I arrived in this mountain town as an outsider who hadn’t grown up there and wasn’t yet fully skilled, experienced, or familiar with the big, committing mountains of Chamonix. Over time, I managed to find people I could ski and climb with.

Really, it has taken 10 years to build up a strong friendship base and find partners to share experiences in the mountains with. I thought that by becoming a professional athlete it would become easier to find partners, but honestly, it hasn’t.

It’s still really difficult to find people you want to share moments with in the mountains, especially if you want those people not only to have a similar experience level and similar objectives, but also to have a genuine bond and friendship with you. It’s really important to me that I’m sharing moments with people I genuinely enjoy spending time with, rather than simply chasing objectives. I care more about the feeling of the moments you share together. So yes, I still find it hard to meet people and find partners, even though I’m now more flexible with both time and conditions. Sometimes the challenge isn’t finding the mountain in condition, but finding the partner who can come and climb or ski it with you.

Another challenge is that part of the job involves marketing yourself and talking about your achievements, and I find that difficult. I think I’m naturally fairly humble and just grateful for where I am and for the opportunities I’ve had, so talking about my achievements can feel awkward.

At the same time, I really want to communicate those achievements because I think representation for women in the mountains is important, and I want to inspire others. So there’s a contrast in my personality: I would love to inspire people, but I find it difficult to talk about myself. I still struggle to manage that balance.

You’ve recently completed your 20th unexplored route, that’s incredible. Can you tell us more about it and the story behind it?

When I was getting into mountaineering, I had built up a foundation of skills and reached a point where I felt much more confident. I wanted to step outside my comfort zone and do more exploration. I was also becoming a little frustrated with the mentality of using Instagram and online information to go and climb routes that had already been climbed, because I felt it took away from the sense of adventure in mountaineering. I loved the uncertainty of not knowing whether conditions would be right and simply going to have a look.

If you arrive and the route is in condition, it’s an amazing feeling because it means you read the forecasts correctly and understood the mountains well enough to judge whether they would be climbable. That sense of satisfaction felt much more meaningful to me than simply seeing that somebody else had climbed it last week and deciding to go and repeat it. I really loved that adventurous side of mountaineering.

Early on, instead of simply following what others were doing, I would look at the mountains and think, “That line looks beautiful, why don’t we try it?”. If it happened to be in a guidebook, that was fine, but the important thing for me was choosing lines based on what inspired me rather than simply following others or a guidebook.

Eventually, my friend and I completed the first female ascent of a route on the south side of the Grandes Jorasses that hadn’t been repeated in many years. We loved it because it felt like a true adventure. We had only vague information from previous ascents and no idea whether the route would even be in condition. I really enjoyed that uncertainty.

Photographer: Daniel Coquoz. Location: Sardinia.

After that, I started looking at mountains differently. I would see a line and think, “I want to ski that”, regardless of whether it had been skied before. It was about inspiration rather than repetition. Naturally, that mentality led me toward opening new routes and lines in both climbing and skiing because I was approaching the mountains differently and not relying on guidebooks to tell me what to do.

Over time, I realized this exploratory approach had become an important part of who I am and what attracts me to the mountains. When nobody has been there before, every decision is yours: where to go, what equipment to bring, how to approach the line, how to reach the summit, and how to descend safely. You have to trust your own judgment completely.

That feeling of trusting yourself and being fully present is something I’ve grown to love deeply, and it’s why I continue climbing unexplored routes. It’s what drives me, and it’s how I’ve ended up opening 20 unexplored routes in such a short amount of time.

What draws you to a new route? Do you follow a specific set of criteria?

When it comes to opening a new route, it really depends on what I want to achieve and how I want to push myself. For example, this year I wanted to open some new mixed climbing routes using crampons and ice axes. It’s something I hadn’t done much of before, and I knew it would be a huge challenge, especially if I needed to place bolts so other people could repeat the routes. I knew it would be difficult to climb with ice axes while carrying a drill and hanging from my tools to place bolts.

I understood that this would require a completely new set of skills, and that pushed me toward opening some multi-pitch mixed routes that others could repeat. Generally, each year I try to choose something that excites me, teaches me something new, and pushes me further, while also creating a beautiful and inspiring route either for myself or for others.

That’s why none of my routes are really the same. Some are bolted, while others rely purely on traditional gear with no trace left behind. Some are steep ski lines, while others are rock climbing routes or Himalayan objectives that are more or less technical.

It’s not really about having a fixed set of criteria. Each year I ask myself what would genuinely excite me and help me grow, and then I choose projects based on that. It also depends on the location. One year I might feel inspired to visit a particular country or explore a mountain range I’ve never seen before. Another year, I might decide I don’t want to travel much and instead want to spend more time in the Alps, getting to know the mountains there more deeply. So the location plays a big role too.

Photographer: Daniel Coquoz. Location: Ollomont, Italy.

Looking back, what would you tell someone considering a major career change like yours?

I think the idea of a clean, fearless leap is a little misleading. People need to understand that these kinds of changes are usually gradual and take time. That’s really important. With a major life change, you can build momentum slowly. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing from day one.

In my case, I wasn’t thinking, “I want to become a professional athlete” I was simply thinking, “I want to spend more time mountaineering”. Then I asked myself how I could gradually adjust my life to make that possible. It was about taking small steps consistently rather than making one dramatic leap.

I also think you need to develop a tolerance for uncertainty. When you’re making a big transition, things will constantly change. There will always be things outside your control, and there will be moments when you doubt yourself or question whether you’ve made the right decision. You can’t plan everything perfectly far in advance, so you need to become comfortable with uncertainty and take things step by step.

Finally, there’s this strange phase where you’ve changed and you’re no longer who you used to be, but you also don’t fully feel like the new version of yourself yet. I still feel that sometimes as an athlete. I came from a background in data science, and now I’m surrounded by people who grew up in the mountains and have been athletes since childhood. That can create a sense of impostor syndrome where you question whether you really belong there.

But I think it’s important to give yourself time to grow into your new identity. Even once the external changes have happened, it still takes time internally to feel comfortable with who you’ve become.

Is there a moment from your journey, maybe unexpected, funny, or even chaotic, that really captures what this transition has been like?

I think one of the most special things about my journey is that when I first moved to Chamonix, there were so many things I failed at and did wrong because I was simply out there trying. I didn’t yet have the skills or experience, but I had the drive to learn. What I remember most clearly is that I never felt upset by the failures. I just felt alive because I was trying.

That mindset has stayed with me ever since, and it’s what continues to push me toward unexplored routes and ambitious projects. I’d much rather fail at something extraordinary, something that genuinely pushes me, than succeed easily at something safe and predictable.

When I first arrived in Chamonix, I failed constantly. I struggled to reach summits, missed lifts, brought the wrong equipment, became dehydrated, and made countless mistakes. But I never remember wishing I hadn’t tried. I always thought, “At least I’m out here learning”.

I also had a huge awakening when I first moved there because I realized how little I actually knew. Before arriving, I thought mountaineering was simply snowboarding on pistes and doing some climbing. I had no idea how extreme, exposed, and committing the mountains could be.

I remember climbing a classic mountaineering route called the Col du Plan on the north face of the Aiguille du Midi. It was relatively straightforward mountaineering: walking up snow slopes with a bit of mixed climbing using crampons and ice axes. As I was climbing up, skiers were skiing down the route, and I remember thinking, “What are you doing? This is a climbing route”. At the same time, they were looking at me thinking, “What are you doing? This is a ski line”.

That was one of those moments when I suddenly realized there was an entire world of mountaineering I had never even known existed. People were skiing down climbing routes. There were all these disciplines and styles I had never been exposed to growing up. Looking back now, I’m actually really glad I learned that way, through direct experience in the mountains rather than through videos or social media. It made the whole process exciting, funny, and deeply memorable.