“Very soon, we have summer again”, the associate at the hotel in Grindelwald told us. We hadn’t been having bad weather. But, it was cloudy. I was still intent on climbing the Mittellegi Ridge on the Eiger with Michael after the Swiss hiking tour ended. The weather had been fickle enough to not warrant an attempt. Just about every day, and at varying times, clouds would gather and build around the north face of the Eiger and expand down the ridge. Every piece of advice I’d seen was “Don’t climb the Eiger in bad weather!” Now, it appeared that we’d have a nice long stretch of weather to try the Eiger.

For all that long introduction, that long stretch of summer never came. The night before Michael and I would meet up, we finally decided to head south to the Wallis Alps and, hopefully, make a climb of the Matterhorn. Originally, that was the mountain I was set on, just because of appearance and fame. The Eiger made a strong case, but in the end, weather decided. The bad thing was, on the morning that we would go to the Hornli hut, the weather appeared to be collapsing for the Matterhorn too.

(above) Behold, the Matterhorn! Our route is the prominent ridge in the foreground.

But, before that bad news set in, I said farewell to my folks and new hiking companions and borded the train for Tasche, a runty town outside of Zermatt that serves as the parking garage, to meet Michael the following day. Here, I checked into a tiny hotel room and spent the entire afternoon catching up on email, blogging, and so forth. I awoke the following morning to a wet ground and lots of mist. What the heck? Yes, well, the weather had collapsed. Michael had overslept and gave me a tiny scare for being about 20 minutes late. Michael late for a climb?!?! Never! But, he admitted to taking some sort of sleeping agent and had overslept. We decided the best use of our time was returning to the hotel and checking the weather before making a decision. It wasn’t an easy decision to make; weather reports were conflicting, forecasts featured numerous changes. Basically, we didn’t know what to do. At one point we thought of going to Chamonix since the weather there looked a little better. But, it wasn’t until we took a look at one of Zermatt’s web cams that we made the decision: The Matterhorn was visible! Sure, there were lots of clouds, but there was also blue sky. There was potential! So, we decided to stay in the Wallis and attempt the Matterhorn. If the weather collapsed, we’d fall back on something else in the area.

In Zermatt, we spent some time buying groceries (too much as usual), and renting gear for me. Since I had multiple purposes for my visit to Europe, I didn’t want to spend a lot of time traveling around with bulky gear like big boots, crampons, and ice axes. I decided to rent those. In the end, I think it was a good choice. By noon time, we were set. We bought lift tickets and headed up to Schwarzsee, the highest lift station en route to the Matterhorn. The remaining hike up is not far, though I can’t recall the elevation statistics – 2000 feet? 3000 feet? It can’t be that far, I don’t think it took us two hours to get to the hut. We took our time, even spending a few moments re-enacting a favorite scene from “K2″ for the camera. The Matterhorn’s east face was attracting clouds again. Would the weather hold? We had already resolved to spend a full day up at the hut if we had too waiting for the best weather, which appeared would be Monday.

(above) On the hike to the hut

(above) Shots during our scouting of the lower part of the route. Note the statue of Saint Bernard on the left side of the second picture. This is the beginning of the climb. Photos by Michael.

We arrived at the Hornli hut (and remember, the huts in the Alps are large comfortable places) well before 3pm, check-in time. We spent our extra rest time outside at one of the tables below the Matterhorn, which had increasingly become engulfed in clouds. We both enjoyed a large pot of expensive tea (this is the most expensive place in Switzerland that I visited. One stinking bottle of water was $8). Michael read a novel and I worked on some backlogged Chinese homework. Coincidentally, I heard one of the American guides discussing how he took Chinese in college, so I struck up a short, very short, conversation in Chinese. The conversation, now in English, turned towards the climb and he was able provide some useful knowledge about the route. He also remarked that in all of his trips to the Matterhorn, only one client was strong enough to complete the climb. A little sobering, but the next day, after we had climbed the mountain, a friendly Romanian scoffed that most of the guides prefer to turn around at the Solvay hut so they don’t miss the last cable car as the beers are cheaper in Zermatt.

We went to check in with our cantankerous hostess. When Michael mentioned that I was a member of the American Alpine Club, but I’d left my membership card at home, she quickly remarked, “Well, then that’s BS!” to which I replied, “It’s not BS, I just don’t…” “If you don’t have it, then it’s BS!!” “Madame, I don’t recall asking for the discount.” And the conversation ended somewhere around there. This discount wasn’t much, maybe 8 francs. But, after handing over somewhere around 90 Swiss Francs (basically 90 bucks) for a shared room, dinner, and breakfast, I was really wishing that we had brought a tent. For those of you aspiring to climb the Matterhorn and don’t want to shell out that kind of money and listen to such an unpleasant hag, just stay in a tent outside and set your alarms. Hmm, I guess it doesn’t surprise me that they didn’t credit Edward Whymper with the first ascent of the Matterhorn on their wall of commemoration. I did enjoy the meal, though it was nowhere worth the 33 francs they charged: A thin broth in a bowl, followed by a plate of curry chicken with rice. Dessert was, if I recall, a simple pudding.

The dining room was completely full of climbers, all aspiring to climb the Matterhorn tomorrow. Unfortunately, the clouds had opened up and the rain was coming down hard. Higher up, the route was filling up with more snow. However, there was still optimism that the weather would clear. We’d know somewhere around 3:15AM. Most folks turned in early. Michael and I took a sleeping pill and turned in. We were sleeping on the top “shelf” along with three French climbers. There was another five on the bottom shelf. The room became quickly quiet as we fell asleep. A little anxious, I listened to my iPod for a long time. I heard Michael start snoring and the French climbers push him awake: “Excuse me, you are snoring.” Michael offered them earplugs. They enthusiastically accepted. Somewhere around here, I drifted off to sleep.

I heard movement and a loud voice somewhere around 1am. “We can’t be getting up this early”, I thought, and fell back asleep. A few moments later, so it seemed, there was movement again. This time the entire room was alive. I woke up and asked, “Are we going?” Michael replied, “I think so.” So, I got up. Everyone was silently getting ready and heading downstairs. I could feel the collective nervousness! Downstairs, one of the hut attendants brought out bread, jam, and tea for each table. I watched everyone, all fifty climbers and guides, eat quickly and continue tying harnesses, knots, fixing packs, while chewing. Apparently, the Swiss guides have the right to leave first for the climb. We never tested this rule, but headed out well after most other parties. We both were worried about the cold and dressed quite heavily. A 4700 meter peak in the Alps is quite different from the lowland mountains. I was wearing almost everything I had.

We walked outside, turned right and gazed upwards at the Matterhorn. The sight was starkly beautiful: a perfectly clear sky and the Matterhorn’s east face illuminated by the moon. The stars dotted the blackness around the peak and we could see a moving set of stars, the climbers headlamps, wending up the lower slopes. There was no time to take a time lapse picture. We felt like horses out of the gate. We needed to get moving!

Michael and I had scouted the lower part of the route the day before and familiarized ourselves with the lower part. Of course, the darkness changed it dramatically, but at least we could recognize the very beginning, a steep and exposed cliff made much easier with fixed ropes. We heaved on the ropes and started up. Immediately in front of us was another party – French climbers again, though I couldn’t tell if it was the same party that was in the same room as us; I don’t think so. The lower part of the Matterhorn is convoluted and especially hard to follow in darkness. The only clue we had were the obvious sites that we’d memorized from the day before and the looseness of the ground below you. The proper route has been traveled so much that it’s fairly solid. It’s best to get behind a guided group and follow them, however, I suppose this is no guarantee. The group in front of us was quite bad to behind and we made a mistake into following them. They led us into the first couloir, which we’re supposed to cross at its top, but we were suddenly climbing in it. This was definitely not the route; who would opt to climb a rotten melted-out couloir when there was a perfectly fine ridge to be on? Large chunks of rock were tumbling down at every step the climbers above us took. I told Michael that we should retreat, to get out of that dangerous trap and find another way. The French climbers foolishly pressed on. I waited for a minute or two, trying to make sense of how to get us both back (Michael was a good bit higher). Fortunately, a much more saavy party were making a key turn behind us so we traversed back and followed them to the safe route. A good lesson for following the wrong party and not trusting your own judgement.

The lower part of the climb all fades together for me now, but we climbed for a long time in the darkness. I recall multiple choke points where crowds would form as we waited for those in front to overcome the difficulties. It seemed like Michael and I were always in the back waiting for others, and people were very reluctant to let anyone else by. Everyone is very intent on the summit and thinks that letting another party by will somehow reduce their chances. Finally, I looked back to the east and saw the morning’s glow. Very soon, we would have enough light to see without headlamps.

(above) Shots of Michael on the lower part of the Matterhorn, not long after sunrise.

The lower half of the climb is a slog. Most of it, as I recall, is third and fourth class, with an occasional steep step. Michael and I were roped in Swiss style, maybe at most 20 feet of rope between us. It’s a good technique for this mountain; we were able to move quickly and protection was fairly easy. The mountain has been tamed a bit by large iron bolts at various places along the climb. You need nothing more than plenty of slings to climb the Matterhorn. There was also plenty of opportunity to use natural protection, flakes and the like. We’d frequently just throw the rope around a large flake and continue climbing. This wouldn’t prevent a long fall, of course, but it would prevent us from tumbling down the east face. The east face was completely covered in snow in places and occasionally would sluff off the excess in small avalanches. The frequency of ice increased and we put on crampons. I recall that we were one of the last parties to put them on.

(above) Michael climbing above the gaping east face.

At the lower Mosely Slabs, just below the emergency Solvay Hut, a traffic jam had formed, and we were at the back. It was obvious that many of the guided climbers were not accustomed to climbing rock in crampons and the thrashed frantically searching for something to catch their crampons on to propel them upward. Some of the guides, in my opinion, were complete jerks to their clients, visibly showing frustration when the client, often speaking a different language (like Japanese), couldn’t grasp what the guide was trying to say to them. Frowns, head shakings, and loud “No!”s ensued. Finally, I led us up the lower slab, which felt surprisingly easy after watching the other parties go up. At the top, we arrived at the Solvay. To proceed past the Solvay Hut and on to the upper Mosely Slab, you have to walk along a short narrow sidewalk against the hut. Here, we were blocked by another guide who mysteriously picked this spot to adjust his client’s knot. This guide was the same that Michael had seen on our scouting trip of the lower part of the route the day before and his choice to block us here didn’t surprise me given his attitude yesterday. He was perched on a small cliff when Michael and I passed him. After a enthusiastic “Hi!” from both of us, he merely nodded his head, frown intact.

(above) The crowds gather. (left) The climber in yellow in front of me is a Japanese woman, nice folks that we sat next to during dinner the night before. (right) Crossing a rock band. Photos by Michael.

The client, an American, informed us that they were going down. Michael and I squeezed past and indicated that we were continuing on. The guide told us that we should go down, that we were too slow. It was 8am. “You should be on the summit by now.” Michael asked him how much longer it would take. “For you…three hours.” This wasn’t just the only guided party turning around. Everyone was turning around that had been in front of us. The collective choice of the group made me worried. “Should we go down?” Michael looked at me, a little worried too, “What do you think we should do?” I had to pause for a moment and recall what Michael and I had done together that reminded me of this climb: Dragontail’s Serpentine Arete and Stuart’s Glacier Couloir. Then I remembered the other climbs we’d succeeded on: Slesse, Johannesburg’s Northeast Buttress, The Pickets. We could do this, no problem! “Let’s continue on. If it becomes too dangerous, or the weather turns, or whatever, we can always turn around. We’ve still got 11 hours of daylight.” We got ready to begin up the upper slabs, which began with a blocky, but very steep wall. Making sure that we were within easy earshot, the bad-attitude guide informed his client and others around, “This party is taking on too many risks. They will come down in the dark.” Ignoring him, we climbed on.

(above) At the Solvay Hut. Photo by Michael (actually taken on the descent).

Here, the crowds thinned dramatically, the exposure increased hugely, and the views really opened up. We moved onto the ridge proper, now overlooking the very steep north face.

Though the sky was deep blue above us, clouds periodically moved in, completely obstructing our views and engulfed us in a miniature greenhouse effect. Though the climbing isn’t as difficult as the Mosely slabs, the climbing is consistently more challenging and much more exposed. The route is tamed somewhat by the presence of large steel bolts which the leader can use to thread the rope, clip, or belay from. Because of the exposure, I suggested that we lengthen our rope slightly so that we could, on average, have at least on steel bolt protecting us at one time. “Michael, somewhere around here, the foursome of Whymper’s party met their maker. Let’s make sure we don’t do the same thing.”(left) Artists depiction of the tragedy during the descent of the first climb of the Matterhorn.

We could see other parties above us and we consistently decreased the distance between us. At a very exposed ridge section on the upper shoulder, we found another party. One member looked tired and waited in the snow while the other bounded off solo for the summit.

(above l-r) 1) On the upper third of the climb now, fewer fellow climbers to keep us company. 2) The Greenhouse Effect. Photos by Michael.

(above) A a convenient bolt.

(above) At the top of the thin ridge views abound! The large peak on the right is the Weisshorn. Photo by Michael.

(above) Climbing the first snow field. Photo by Michael.

Above the thin ridge, we climbed a steep snowfield to the base of the steep rocky steps fixed with ropes. The ropes are very thick hemp ropes which you use simply to pull yourself up. There’s no jumaring or anything like that. Each section of ropes is about 20 feet long and nearly vertical. At this point, we were well above 14,000 feet. I was surprised that I didn’t feel the effects of the altitude, but Michael had begun to slow down quite a bit. But, we pressed on. At the ropes, we were forced to wait more as another large party of French climbers were haphazardly making their way down the ropes. We did our best to make upward progress, but that’s sometimes difficult when seemingly panicked climbers are stumbling down the ropes, cramponed boots in your face when you looked up. So, I waited on one of the small ledges and waited to belay Michael up. To these climbers, it was every man, or team, for himself. Though they had maybe seven or eight climbers in their party, they did not offer to let a party of two by. A female climber nearly knocked me over when she arrived at the little ledge. No word from her to me; it was only frantic yelling in French as she began down again. We took any opportunity we could find to move up. Just a few moments between climbers was all that was needed. We moved up to another ledge and, as I was working to ensure that our ropes didn’t tangle, I noticed the last French climber belaying, or rather lowering, his party. He nearly lost control of the rope and it slipped a bit through the steel anchor. It was amazing to me how unsafe these guys were. Finally, they were below us.

(above) The upper snowfield.

We entered the upper snow field. The clouds were now below us and the sun had baked the snow into a great consistent condition. We had regained a little speed it felt like, perhaps the summit, just beyond, had given us extra energy. A final party had just descended from the summit as we approached the final fifty feet. There’s another statue of Saint Bernard, protector of climbers, which I had mistaken for a person sitting on the summit. But, regardless, it was an encouraging sign that we were so close. Suddenly we were there. I didn’t let out a yell; I only continued along the thin ridge to the true summit. Eventually, Michael emerged as well and I gave him a congratulatory hug. Having pushed on despite so many others turning around made this summit very significant. Michael and I were the last on the summit this day, and we sat in the sun and marveled at the views from this surprisingly tiny summit. Mist moved in once and clouded our views, but opened even more clearly a few minutes later for even more clear pictures.

(above) A stunning shot by Michael of me on the top.

(above) Crampons and boot hanging over the north face.

(above l-r) A view of the Italian summit. A view in the opposite direction towards the Breithorn and the Dom. That’s Michael’s helmet, by the way.

We didn’t stay long, maybe 15 minutes. I began leading the way down, very cautiously down the steep snow. Though we’d descended snow steeper than this, that exposure over the north face really tugged at me. I was starting to get worried at the time it might take for us to get down. The snow field felt painfully long. Thankfully, once we finally reached the fixed ropes, we sped up and sustained a good pace. We passed the other climbers descending, a very nice group of Romanians. They warned us that a storm was approaching, due to reach the mountain around 8pm. We still had plenty of time. Overall, I was pleased with our descent speed. Though the descent was long, it didn’t feel like it took us too much time to reach the Solvay hut. Michael mentioned how tired he was more than once. I rarely hear him complain of fatigue, so this mountain, or perhaps a recent cold, had an effect on him. At the Solvay hut, we took a short break and ate. The Solvay hut wasn’t nearly as nice as the bivy hut on top of the Pala di San Martino…and it stank. We had toyed with the idea of sleeping here (even though you should only use it for emergencies), but the condition of it encouraged us to press on.

(above l-r) Descending into mist. A tired Michael rests his head against the rock.

We rappelled again down the lower Mosely slab. For the most part, you have to down climb the entire route, but there are a few places where rappelling speeds you up. At the base of the lower slab, we down climbed some more and Michael remarked, “OK, that was the hardest climbing yet.” At that point, I knew he was really tired. Eventually, we were down low enough where we could take off our crampons. It felt good to really feel the rock again on the soles of our shoes. We continued to make fast progress. It looked like we’d make it down faster than we ascended. Then, we came to the convoluted lower section of the route, with the Hornli hut within eyesight. We hadn’t scouted this high the day before and we had climbed this in darkness earlier in the morning. Naturally, we lost the trail multiple times and had to either reclimb or down climb more. The result was that we no longer were going to make it down faster than we climbed up. I think we must have wasted two hours trying to get down that chossy lower part of the climb. Finally though, we lowered ourselves down the last fixed rope. The technical climbing was all over and we sauntered down the remaining distance to the Hut. I was happy to still feel pretty energetic.

We were still quite late and slow, if you go by absolute times. We arrived near dinner time, 7pm, I believe. We opened the door of the hut and the entire dining room turned to look at us. Every eye was on us but no one asked a single question. OK, so let’s just gather our stuff, order a celebratory beer, go outside, pack up and hike down to a comfortable hotel to stay at! We talked to the partner of the Romanian climbers for quite a while. We took our time getting our stuff ready and the other climbers still hadn’t arrived. But their partner advised us there was no problem; they had just been in contact by radio. We packed up and made the hike down to the Schwarzsee hotel and got an expensive room. The food (a rosti! Basically, a fancy version of hash browns, egg, and sausage) and shower really hit the spot. We both zonked out.

The next morning, we took advantage of the buffet breakfast. It wasn’t so good actually, just a lot of repetition on the bread, meats, and cheeses. Oh yes, and I must have had fifteen glasses of orange juice. While the host wasn’t looking, I’d park myself at the pitcher and pour myself glass after glass. We then started making plans on what to do this day and the next. The next post will have that story…

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