I first discovered the ice cave of Zinal in winter 2021. Hidden in the heart of the Swiss Alps, in southern Switzerland, it felt like reaching a secret cathedral of ice and silence. The final stretch of the trail was unmarked and wild, weaving through raw alpine terrain. I had never hiked this far in snowshoes, at such altitude, in such an inhospitable landscape. But there it was: a shimmering vault sculpted in deep blue.
Since then, I’ve returned three times. Each visit revealed new shapes, new textures, new silences. The cave was changing, slowly collapsing from the inside.
In 2023, a frozen waterfall had appeared, still and delicate like a dream. By then, the ceiling had already lowered by half. I photographed my partner gently reaching toward the ice, a fleeting gesture of connection with something vanishing.
In 2025, the cave had nearly fallen. We crawled in through a narrow gap, discovering hidden chambers lit by a forgotten torch. Blue light flickered across fractured walls. I stood just beneath the ceiling, barely able to straighten my back.
Before leaving, I captured one last image: my partner near the entrance, surrounded by fallen layers of ancient ice.
This series is not about loss. It is about presence. About honouring the fragile beauty of what still exists, here and now. Photography allows me to hold on to those brief moments of wonder and share them with those who may never see them.
