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On August 3rd, 1974, while sitting outside Fouquet's café on
the Champs Elysées in Paris, sipping my Campari soda, watching
the tourists walk by, I contemplated my failure to climb the Weisshorn
that summer. True, I had climbed the Mont Blanc two weeks earlier (after
a failed attempt, due to weather, the previous year), but I had then
moved on to Zermatt to crown my climbing career with the mountain of
my dreams, the Weisshorn. Unfortunately, bad weather had forced me to
give up that idea. Instead, I had decided to return home, going via
Paris to do some sightseeing. But I could not quite make up my mind
to go home. I had listened to the weather forecast, and it seemed to
be improving in the Alps. - On the other hand I mentally listed 10 good
reasons why I should not return to Zermatt. Some of them were:
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The summit of the Weisshorn appears above the clouds in this
photo from 1969. The lower peak across the valley is the Mettelhorn.
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- Long, expensive and tiresome trip back to Switzerland.
- Weather forecasts in the Alps are not very reliable. The weather is
very variable in the mountains. I might be in for another bout of bad
weather.
- Even if the weather cleared up, there would be lots of new snow left
from the latest storm.
- My guide in Zermatt during the past four seasons, Werner Perren, had
declined to guide me on the Weisshorn. "Conditions are bad and
it is too far away." Had he also thought that I might be "out
of my league" there?
- I had been near the point of exhaustion on Mont Blanc. Weisshorn was
just 300 m lower and much tougher.
- According to one author, the Weisshorn required more than average
stout-heartedness ("mehr als mittelmässige Beherztheit")
due to the airy and exposed summit ridge. Would I qualify?
- There was always an element of danger. Was it not time to quit while
I was "ahead"?
Still, I had been enthralled with the Weisshorn ever since I got
my first glimpse of its peak, incredibly high over the surrounding
clouds, back in 1969. It was a feeling that no photograph could adequately
convey - you had to feel it in the muscles of your neck! I did not
really have a choice - I had to return! C'était plus fort
que moi!
The following day I drove back to Switzerland and Zermatt. Late in
the evening I arrived in Randa, the little village below the Weisshorn.
It was raining heavily. I stopped at what looked like a hotel and
asked if they had a room. I got one, but it seemed that it was not
a regular hotel but rather some kind of youth hostel. Later in the
evening when I entered the washroom, I found myself surrounded by
shrieking naked school girls.
The next morning, the weather had improved, although there were still
some lingering clouds. As I could not find a mountain guides' office
in Randa, and as the Weisshorn seemed to be outside the range of the
Zermatt guides, I had a bright idea, and found out what the phone
number was to the Weisshorn hut. I called the cabin host up there
and asked him to recommend a good professional guide. He recommended
a guide named Isidor Brantschen, and we agreed to meet in the hut
that evening. So after a short trip to Zermatt to rent climbing boots,
crampons and an ice axe, in the afternoon of August 5th, I took the
path going from Randa up to the mountain hut.
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A look back at the village of Randa from the
trail to the Weisshorn-Hütte.
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Randa is at 1400 m altitude, the Weisshorn cabin at 2900 m, and the
summit of the Weisshorn at 4505 m, so I would have to climb well over
3000 m within less than 24 hours. Happily, the trail goes on the west
side of the valley, which is largely in shadow during the afternoon,
but it was a steep stroll. I recall sending a mental message to my future
self: "Before lunch tomorrow you will be dancing down this trail
that seems so tough right now!"
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The Weisshorn hut in the afternoon. Rimpfischhorn is
in the background.
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I met Isidor Brantschen at the hut. He turned out to be a friendly,
athletic, relatively young guide with sideburns.
The evening passed quickly. It became cold when the sun set behind
the mountains, and we had to get up very early. - That night I did
not sleep very well. My ten good reasons to abstain from this climb
came back to me, and I had a premonition that bad things would happen.
The wake-up came at 2 a.m. We dressed, had breakfast and got underway
under a clear sky. We made good progress up the slopes to the base
of the mountain proper. We roped up, and the real climb started
before daybreak in semi-darkness.
The climb was not difficult, but the darkness forced you to be
extra careful. Around 4 o'clock we reached the "Frühstücksplatz"
("Breakfast spot"), where we had a snack while daybreak
occurred. This was where the long ridge leading up to the summit
started.
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My guide Isidor Brantschen
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Sunrise at the "Frühstücksplatz"
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Sunrise on Matterhorn, Zinalrothorn, Schallihorn
and Dent Blanche
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The view to the north. Brunegghorn (3833 m) in the foreground.
The Bernese alps in the background lie on the far side of the
Rhône valley.
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The long eastern ridge, on the right side in the photo below, starts
as a rocky stairway in the sky, but there are several "gendarmes"
(i.e. towers) blocking the path. They have to be bypassed - which forces
an exposed excursion out onto the northern or southern wall - or climbed,
an airy experience. About halfway up, the ridge turns into a snow crest
and gradually becomes steeper.
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Weisshorn at dawn as seen from the Mettelhorn. I took this
photo in 1977. My ascent in 1974 took place on a similarly beautiful
day.
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A gendarme on the ridge being sidestepped by two climbers.
- Yes, I know it is a lousy picture, but it
gives some idea of the terrain.
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Halfway there! This is where the snow trail starts. Only two
more hours to the summit!
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Looking back at two climbers, with Dom and Täschhorn
in the background.
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The climbing was more impressive than difficult, and I had no trouble
keeping up with Isidor. The view was breathtaking, but I managed to
breathe regularly all the same. - Once we got to the snow, you could
not call it a climb any longer. From now on it was just a long, strenuous
walk up a steep path in the snow. This was when I started to get short
of breath and really noticed the altitude.
There was plenty of snow, but it was frozen and firm, and there was
a clear path.While walking, you use your ice axe as a walking stick.
I got a little worried at one point when I could see daylight through
the hole made by my axe. Obviously, there was overhanging snow at just
an arm's length from my feet, if that! - I would hate to be the first
man to make a new path after a heavy snowfall has erased the previous
one.
The path became steeper, the air became thinner, and progress became
slower. Afterwards Isidor admitted that if he had not known that I had
just climbed Mont Blanc, he would have been concerned that I might not
make it. When we finally reached the summit, I felt sick and was close
to tears, more from relief and fatigue than from joy at success.
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On the summit of Weisshorn, August 6, 1974 with Matterhorn
as a backdrop. The Matterhorn is lower than the Weisshorn, but
because of Earth's curvature, it reaches above the horizon as
seen from the Weisshorn.
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There was another pair of climbers on the summit to share in our mutual
celebration. Handshakes all around. After a short rest, we started our
descent. I had no wish to start sliding down the steep, snowy path,
so I made sure to dig in my heels, and to stay fully upright - if you
lean backwards, you increase the risk of sliding. After the steepest
part, we encountered several climbers on the way up.
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Two climbers still on their way up. It was at this point during
the ascent that my ice axe poked a hole in the snow so you could
see daylight through it.
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Once we reached the end of the snow trail, my breathing improved,
and I started feeling better. It helped to meet several struggling
climbers still on their way up, I am ashamed to admit, knowing that
they still had a couple of hours of hard work to do in softening
snow. The weather was still perfect, and the view was magnificent.
The sensation of vast spaces and the play of light and shadows
are hard to describe, but this image helps me to bring it back:
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The end of the snow trail.
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Looking down on a gendarme on the Weisshorn
during descent.
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One of the gendarmes on the ridge is named the Lochmatter Turm in honour
of a famous guide who found his death there. That was the spot, where
I happened to drop a glove that I had carried under my sweater. Undeterred,
I asked and got permission from Isidor to climb a few meters into the
south wall under the gendarme to collect it, which I did.
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Have to wait to let the middle man in a threesome
pass.
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The last man in the trio overcomes an obstacle.
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Close to the end of Weisshorn's east ridge
during descent. From now on the descent becomes steeper but less
airy.
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When we finally got down to the glacier below the mountain, I was very
tired, but the descent to the hut was easy. We reached it around noon.
In total, the climb had taken 10 hours: 6 for the ascent, and 4 to get
back.
I thanked my nice guide for a wonderful experience, but did not linger
in the hut. I continued down the path to the valley, mentally making
a face to myself: "Did I hear you say dancing down to the
valley??" I continued to Zermatt, where I returned my climbing
gear and drank a large bottle of Rivella, a Swiss specialty. A man saw
how lustily I emptied the bottle, and said: "Ja, das ist das
schönste was es gibt!" (Yes, that's the best there is!")
- "Besonders nach einem heissen Tag am Weisshorn" ("Especially
after a hot day on the Weisshorn"), I proudly replied.
Late in the afternoon I started my return trip, going to my brother
who lives near Zürich. Once there, I must have been extremely poor
company, needing at least twelve solid hours of sleep.
This turned out to be my last 4000-m peak. In the following years,
I made several smaller excursions on my own, and in one case together
with a French colleague, but the Sturm und Drang period was finished.
"Mountaineering"
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