What to do? Michael, right on cue despite his fatigue from the previous day, “OK, well, we could go over <here> and do a climb, or we could do some cragging <here> and…”. I shot him a “you gotta be kidding” look. Michael kinda giggled, but, you know what, I felt pretty good, I could do another climb. I just didn’t feel like doing something that caused to much mental strain. A couple of hours later, after we’d returned my rental gear, hopped the train, and picked up the car, “You know what, I think I would like to do another climb, so long as it’s just a fun day out, nothing to strenuous or stressful.” Michael suggested Furka Pass. He described a few climbs for me, all very moderate. Sounded good!

We made a long pleasant drive around the east side of the Bernese Alps, stunning views of meadows, villages, and high peaks the whole way, to Furka Pass, which is at the terminus of a long glacier. Here, there’s a spot called “Belvedere” with a stupid glacier tourist trap attraction and an aging Victorian era hotel. That place had too much of a “Shining” feel to it. We drove on, looking for places to sleep. I was intent on spending the night out, especially after the pricey hotel from the night before, but, more importantly, I just like sleeping outside now. For once, it was early enough to not fret too much about a place to sleep. We found numerous ones around the pass, all very exposed though. The forecast was a bit unsettled so we decided to turn around and return to the village of Oberwald, the last village in the valley before the road climbed steeply to the pass.

In Oberwald, we had a lunch/dinner (it was around 3pm and then just lounged in a small park). I continued reading “The White Spider”, Michael reading his Stephen King. I took a break and wandered a dirt road outside of the town and stumbled upon the perfect camping spot. A hidden spot, next to the river, under a train tressel. This would work perfectly. The river would lull us to sleep, the tressel would protect us from any rain. Plus, again, I liked the idea of being a bum and sleeping under a bridge.

(above) Comfortable accommodations. This spot is also out of sight of anyone walking on the road.

We each took individual hikes to relax and look around the town. Michael went for dinner and I stayed in the park reading and listening to music. After Michael returned, near dusk, we packed up a few things and walked to the bridge. Thankfully, only one more train passed by, but it didn’t seem too loud. We were able to sleep soundly until the next morning, around 6:15 AM, when the first morning train came thundering, violently shaking us awake. The skies were blue though. “Let’s go!”

At the top of the pass, however, the weather had changed its mind. Dark clouds and fog had moved in and rain was threatening. What upset me the most was that we wouldn’t have views of that stunning glacier. However, the beginning of the climb, on the Kleine Furkahorn, wasn’t far away. We decided to at least hike up to it.

(above l-r) We hiked by a mysterious fort. It looked almost brand new. Strange. Michael said, “The Swiss are serious about defending their mountains!” The second picture is the best shot I could get of the glacier in the early morning fog.

It was hard to find the start of the climb in the fog. We fumbled around a bit, but Michael found the title of the climb (I can’t remember…something like “Han’s route”) scrawled in thin red paint. No wonder I couldn’t find it (red-yellow color blind)! Rain still threatened, but we took on the attitude that the route was easy, bolted, and we could always retreat. Michael took the first pitch. While I was belaying, the rain began to pitter-patter.

“Hey, Michael. Can you feel the rain?”
“Yeah. Whaddya wanna do?”
<pause>
“Put me on belay. I’ll come up.”

(above) Michael’s photo looking down pitch 1. The next one is my photo looking down pitch 2. Hey, the weather is clearing!

The climbing was pleasantly easy, maybe 5.4 by our standards. I took off for the second pitch while the rain still threatened. At least the intensity hadn’t increased. Amazingly though, for pitch two, the rain stopped. For the rest of the day, the clouds cleared and we enjoyed an easy climb. Most of the route was probably 5.2, which made for lots of talking and joking. Quotes from the hilarious “Travers” character, from the movie “Cliffhanger” made multiple appearances.

(above) More climbing shots. The climbing in the lefthand shot is way easier than it looks. The one on the right reminds me of an easy version of Mount Stuart’s north ridge, just below the Great Gendarme.

(above) Easy climbing. Oh yeah, and the background of the picture on the right reminds me of Mount Torment and Forbidden Peak.

There were only three challenging pitches:

• The 5.7, which was the longest of all three, featuring fairly thin climbing up a long slabby dihedral. I led this pitch.
• The 5.8, a short right trending vertical hand crack. Maybe this deserves to be a 5.7. Michael led this.
• the 5.9, a short but steep flaring hand crack. Not much for feet on the right side. Generously protected. Michael led this.

And despite these pitches being mixed in, I’m still tempted to just call this climb a 5.2! That’s 95% of the route.

(above) I’m about to inelegantly heave myself onto the ledge to complete the 5.9 pitch.

After a while, the climb did feel never-ending. We must have done at least 15 pitches before finally scrambling to the top. Maybe it was more than that. We simuled some, got lost in grassy ledges on some, and even hopped on a different route for a bit. So, in the end, I’m not sure what we climbed, but it was a perfectly pleasant day. Below us was the impressive glacier, and beyond was a savage looking range, we weren’t exactly sure what we were looking at, but it looked Cascadian in appearances – dark rock, jagged ridges, all protected by glaciers. Later, we looked it up on Google Earth and realized it was the backside of the Bernese Alps, home of the Schrekhorn and the Eiger. Michael is now inspired to visit.

(above l-r) The Bernese Alps. On the top of the Kleine Furkahorn.

The hikeout was likewise easy. The drive back was a blast. We cranked Therion, stopped for some (free!) delicious spring water, and enjoyed the views. Back in Munich, Michael went to work and I hung out w/ Kris and the boyz. Kris was sick and I think I caught it as well. I was lethargic for two days, doing a little bit of work, and a lot of sleeping. We enjoyed Indian chow and Cliffhanger one night. Just a lot of fun, a great vacation. Back to China!

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“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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“Klettersteig” is the German word for “Via Ferrata”. I already have a post labeled “Via Ferrata” which was in Italy. Since this story is about a via ferrata in a German-speaking country, well, it just fits nicely. After finding a brochure of a via ferrata in the beautiful Lauterbrunnen valley, I floated the idea to Pat and Ruth Ann as an activity for our “day off”. I was surprised; Pat was into the idea while Ruth Ann elected to go to the gardens. Pat’s no fan of heights, but this would be a good experience to face those fears in a safe way and have a good story to tell to the folks back in Georgia.

(Above) 1) The way is shut. One must naught but open the door to experience the via ferrata. Acutally, beyond the door, there’s a good bit of hiking along a forested trail before you get to the fun stuff. 2) The terrain steepens above the Lauterbrunnen Valley. 3) A curious Chamois checks us out.

This via ferrata traverses the high cliffs above the Lauterbrunnen valley between Muerren and Gimmelwald. It’s a fantastic position with great views into the valley, certainly one of the most beautiful in the world. For the most part, it’s quite easy. The majority of it is over easy terrain, often just a path in the forest just above the cliff. However, the via ferrata features four sections that required calm nerves and steady feet, which I’ll list in reverse-difficulty order:

4) The Ladders – The ladder section on this via ferrata wasn’t as steep or long as the one in Italy, but it does require that you keep your cool. The first section of ladders begin low angle with a bit of grassy “buffer areas” before the big drop off. Later, the ladders steepen, become vertical, and go over a fifty-foot cliff.

(Above) 1) The ladders begin to steepen 2) Looking back on the steepest section

3) The Wire Bridge – There are actually two wire bridges, a small one over a small cleft, and a longer one over a bigger gorge. The larger one is easy, but can get a little wobbly in the middle. The most secure method is to step with your first foot, and slide the second.

(Above) The wire bridge, over a small waterfall, becomes shaky in the middle. 2) Steady…steady…

2) The Exposed Rungs – A section of the via ferrata traverses over hugely exposed cliffs with drops straight to the valley floor. It’s not very long, but the downward traverse feels a little awkward.

(Above) 1) Can’t beat the views of the valley because…2&3) …it’s straight down!

1) The “Nepal Bridge” – To me, this was the scariest part of the via ferrata. Pat believes my #1 and 2 positions should be switched. I thought this was the most challenging part because it’s quite wobbly and it’s very long, almost 300 feet. Because of the length, the shakiness is multiplied, either end is quite steep, and the support wires, which can be used to steady yourself in the middle, are out of reach for the first thirty feet or so.

(Above) 1) It’s a long way…nearly a football field length. 2) Pat nears the finish line relieved! 3) Passersby in the cable car waved to us. 4) Finally, a view of the bridge from a cable car high above.

(Above) Neat panorama of the bridge. Of course…looong way down.

I have to credit Pat for finishing the whole route. Others that we saw bailed out before the finale – the grand Nepal bridge. I took Ruth Ann’s camera along and snapped tons of pictures along the way.

En route back to Grindelwald, we made a side trip stop on the other side of the valley wall at the town of Wengen, a village I’d always wanted to visit ever since I saw a view from there on the cover of one of my world atlases. During this trip to Switzerland, I discovered that the “Valley of Waterfalls” was better known as the Lauterbrunnen valley, and once I got a birds eye look at the area, I knew this fantastic view spot, perhaps the best in all of Switzerland, in my opinion, is the village of Wengen. I snapped the very same picture on the cover of my atlas, turned it into a panorama too.

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Our group was based in two villages for this tour of Switzerland: Saas-Fee and Grindelwald. Grindelwald was easily my favorite. It’s a bigger town than Saas-Fee and it does permit cars, but I still say that these “carless” villages are misnomers since most hotels have their own vehicles that motors around. In my opinion, Grindelwald has the better views – bigger, more expansive, and views of famous sites I’d heard about for a long time. The Bernese Alps are right in front of you, proudly showcasing three major peaks from the city center: Wetterhorn (which is lower, but much more impressive than its Colorado counterpart), Schreckhorn (The Horn of Screams, The Peak of Fright, etc. etc. You have to climb higher along opposite the valley to see the true summit), and The Eiger (no introduction needed). The Monch and the Jungfrau are around the corner past the Eiger and visible from other villages.

(above) Hiking with the hulking northface of the Eiger in the distance, The Wetterhorn

(above) I saw these same flowers in Colorado on Vestal Peak (what are they?), A panorama of the Eiger and environs

We made hikes each day around the area and ultimately ended up touring every one of the high grassy ridges, making for big views. As always the north face of the Eiger dominates the landscape, and, save for the uncanny cloud attracting properties of the face, I was able to enjoy long periods of studying the route. From the Difficult Crack, to the three ice fields, the Death Bivouac, to the Ramp, the Traverse of the Gods, the White Spider, and the Exit Cracks and beyond, I was able to see them all and imagine what it must be like. And I wanted no part of it.

(Above) 1) The infamous “Spider” – the nasty looking prominent ice field in the lower center of the picture. 2) The Eiger as viewed from Kleine Scheidegg. From here, the north face looks particularly inhospitable.

The Mittellegi Ridge, on the other hand, looked stunning and achievable. On our last long hike day, Pat, with his binoculars, was able to spot two small dots approaching the summit from the Mittellegi Ridge. That ridge, by the way, is the long ridge on the left side of the mountain as viewed from Grindelwald or Kleine Scheidegg.

(Above) Various folks studying the Eiger. In the first pic, I’m trying to keep the binoculars steady enough to observe the climbers just arriving on the summit from the Mittellegi Ridge (on the left). This was probably the only day I saw that was good for climbing the mountain.

Highlights of Grindelwald:

1. Reading the White Spider on my hotel room deck with the Eiger’s Nordwand in view. Pretty funny that reading a book makes it to the highlight list, but there was something magical about reading tales of the face and then turning my head and seeing it.
2. The Lauterbrunnen Valley. This is probably the most beautiful valley I’ve seen. There are steep walls on either side with waterfalls cascading down to a perfectly flat and green valley floor.
3. Hiking under the North Face of the Eiger. Got to see the windows, could pick out the Spider, the various ice fields, the Ramp, the Exit Cracks, etc.
4. The Muerren Klettersteig. This is a via ferrat perched high above the Lauterbrunnen Valley, but I’ll save the details (and pictures) for the next post.

(Above) Various hikes in various places. 1) RuthAnn, medicine woman, wants to tame the sheep 2) Christian, our Swiss hiking companing, is always up for posing for a pic. With his witty and wacky humor, he was fun to have along.

(Above) Can you name this mountain now?

It was too bad; the weather forecast was never quite good enough to warrant an attempt on the Mittellegi Ridge. The Bernese Alps are renown for the worst weather in the Alps. The Eiger has aparticularly reputation. On every day but one, the north face was, at some point, engulfed in clouds. However, Michael and I picked another famous Swiss peak to climb. Story coming soon.

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The group of the fast hikers, the so-called “Gang of Four” joined up with our guide, Jim, to take a trip up to the Brittania Hut. We took all of the lifts we could well above tree line to begin the hike. We weaved among large boulders that had rolled down to the alpine tundra, passing cairns that were maybe eight feet high! The trail then began traversing alongside the lower parts of the mountains.

(above) Misty mountain trail hopping

Mist periodically rolled in, obstructing the views, and then dissapated as fast as it had come in. Parts of the trail were a little exposed, but nothing the group couldn’t handle; this was really quite easy hiking. Jim informed us that he’d seen Ibex on this trail maybe a third of the time. At one point, the thought suddenly struck me, “Why not take about 15 seconds and scan the area for Ibex. You’re always looking at the mountain scenery. Why not take a look at the wildlife?” So, I paused, and started scanning the area.

“Hmm, probably nothing interesting to look at in that talus field. It’s to difficult to maneuver in.”
Continue scanning to the left.
“Maybe there are some Ibex on this tundra slope. Looks like a good source of grass.”
Yes! There were some Ibex.

(above) Ibex (photos by Ruth Ann)

After spending a long time taking pictures of the Ibex, we continued on. The trail was still easy to follow, but had begun to ascend into a broad talus field. The fog had returned and we could see maybe only thirty feet or so. At the top of the talus field, the fog broke again revealing a large snowfield with the Britannia Hut perched high on top.

(above) 1) The Britannia Hut is revealed! See it? On the left side just outside the clouds. 2) Jeff and Jim hiking up the snowfield.

Being a four or five story hut, and appearing so far above us, it more resembled a miniature Hogwarts than a mountain hut. I pressed on ahead of the group, crossing a slushy part of the lower snowfield by tossing large rocks and forming a small stepping bridge. We then made large switchbacks until the final short and steep push to the hut. Inside, the group took a break for food and drink. I opted to just snack outside, hoping to catch a few glimpses of the scenery as the fog shifted and wrapped in numerous patterns. I found a high perch overlooking the hut and waited for some fifteen to twenty minutes. I got a little bit of rain…and only a few views. But, I did recognize one of the peaks in the distance as the peak that was sitting at the head of the sub valley where we had lunch a couple of days before in Zermatt. Obviously, the Matterhorn or Zermatt wasn’t far away at all. In fact, if there is a nice passage, a col or something, you might could get to Zermatt faster from the Britannia Hut than taking the civilized railroad. I could also see a very high hut, which had the look of an observatory, on one of the high cols in the same direction.

(above) Good views were brief.

(Above) Ruth Ann and Pat on the snowy part of the hike

(Above) This dummy has a wooden head, and a wooden heart, and wears a “Dupont Racing” cap.

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Stephanie, Jeff, my dad, and I made a day-trip into Zermatt. My motivation was simple: to see the famous Matterhorn. After this two-week Switzerland tour was to complete, Michael and I still planned on a major climb or two and the Matterhorn was one of the options. In case that option fell through, I at least wanted to gaze at the history-laden rock and ice tower. It was a good day to make the trip: crystal clear skies. I also learned that the guides were avoiding climbing the mountain, a great barometer as to the general climbing conditions of the mountain. It did have a lot of snow on it still. This sign did not portend well.

Even though Zermatt is just one valley over and very close, as the crow flies, to Saas-Fee, it takes at least two hours to make the journey on train. Zermatt is a very touristy town, and as a result, I didn’t care for it so much. The views were great though. It’s hard to imagine how this town could ever not be famous with such a striking landmark towering right above it. Actually, one of the neat things to do in the town is to visit the Matterhorn Museum. It’s easy to find…just get off the train and hit the main road leading through the town until you come to the square with the church. It’s right in the middle of the square. And, it’s free if you have a Swiss Rail Pass (the rail pass is valuable – mainly for preventing heart attacks when you see the price of rail rides, well everything for that matter, in Switzerland).

After the museum, we took a train up to Sunnegga, a point in the major valley on the east side of Zermatt. From here, we walked down a bit to a restaurant high on the slopes with in-your-face views of the Matterhorn. My dad and I shared a stupidly-priced rosti with a bratwurst (quite tasty). Around this point I realized that I was dreadfully allergic to some kind of flower that inhabits Zermatt. At one point, I must have sneezed twenty times in a row. And I was constantly blowing my nose. Actually, most of my time in Europe featured me sneezing, but it was pronounced in Zermatt.

(above) Catching the train in Stalden, View from our eatery

We later dropped back down into Zermatt following a popular trail alongside the river. There’s a great waterfall to see along the train tracks as you approach the town. By this time, it was the middle of the afternoon and there was not much else to do but to take a hot train back to Stalden where we caught the bus back to Saas-Fee just in time for our usual very tasty and filling dinner.

(above) Hiking down to Zermatt, Some cool mountain in the vicinity

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My folks, sister, her husband, and I all ended up in Switzerland mainly because my sister has a neighbor, Jim, who runs a Switzerland touring company. I remember meeting Jim around a year and a half ago because he was a Fred Beckey afficionado and was interested in hearing my stories of going on a climbing trip with Fred. We spent two weeks with Jim and a small group totalling 10 people hiking in the environs of Saas-Fee and Grindelwald. Saas-Fee is a “carless” town sitting high at the end of the Saas valley near the border of Italy surrounded by high 4000 meter peaks. A “carless” village, like it’s more famous neighbor, Zermatt, simply means that passenger cars are not allowed in the town. They park somewhere outside the town and either walk, train, or bus to the town. However, there are plenty of service vehicles roaming the streets of these towns, so, to me, it didn’t feel legitimately carless.

The first night in Saas-Fee saw the mountains engulfed in clouds. On the first day of hiking, where we took a lift from the town to above treeline and hiked the rim of the valley back down to the town, we were able to see that a good amount of snow had fallen at a relatively low elevation. The high peaks were still hidden from view.

(above) The snowline is just above us.

(above) The village of Saas-Fee below. These small, idyllic villages are common in Switzerland. In the past, they were mostly agricultural villages. Now, they get 95% of their revenue from tourism.

Ruth Ann and I took a side trip to a high glacial lake while the rest of the group took a break at a mountain hut. There was virtually no growth around the lake; it was mostly talus, scree, and glacial silt. Gray silt had built up in places and it functioned like a gray puddy or goo that held some of the rocks into place. When we got back at the hut, which was another of these comfortable European huts, Pat invited me to share his “Rosti”, basically an elaborate concoction of hash-browns, sausages, and fried eggs. Turned out the price of the thing was 18.50 francs, which translates to basically 18.50 bucks: The most expensive hash browns of all time! This is Switzerland – it’s a very expensive place. I think the overpriced record goes to a bottle of water at the Hornli Hut on the Matterhorn – $8.

When one of the hut waitresses came by to ask what I wanted, I said, “I’m just going to share with him”, and pointed to the rosti. That translated to “I want to have one of these” and a few minutes later the waitress came back with another rosti (and $18.50) in hand. She got a bit upset when I said I didn’t order it, but, for 18.50, that was just too bad. Actually, this was to become something of a pattern. It seemed like multiple times, waitresses would come out with extra food claiming that we ordered it!

(above) The high glacial lake. The small orange figure on the right side of the stream is me. Photo by Ruth Ann.

(above) Switzerland Wildflowers: 1) Alpenrose (in the Azalea family), 2) “Hens ‘n Chickens”, 3) Asters (just like back in the US)

A couple hours after the hike, when we were back in Saas Fee, the clouds finally broke revealing the impressive peaks above the town. They were higher than I was expecting. We were right underneath the highest peak in Switzerland, “The Dom”.

(above) Common hiking signs. Times are in hours and are fairly accurate, if a little fast for your average hiker. In the background is the Dom.

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