WIESBADEN, Germany — In 2006 some friends and I decided to attempt to climb the Matterhorn, the seventh highest peak in the Alps.
We reserved a guide but decided a trial climb to test our Alpine skills was needed. We were led on a six-hour exhausting half traverse of the Breithorn that challenged us beyond our imaginations. We completed the journey but, lacking top fitness, it left us physically drained, mentally down and beaten by the mountain. It was determined that we were under-skilled in a variety of mountaineering and climbing aspects.
I purchased a large poster of Zermatt with the Matterhorn in the background which I framed and hung in my living room. It stood as a constant reminder of what awaited me.
The Matterhorn (German), Cervino (Italian) or Cervin (French) stands at 4,478 meters or 14,692 feet tall and boasts one of the greatest north faces of the Alps. It derives its name from the German words “Matte,” meaning meadow, and “Horn,” meaning peak. As one of the world’s most identifiable mountains, the Matterhorn stands as a visual centerpiece in the quintessential Swiss village of Zermatt.
The peak is an immense rock formation and an iconic emblem of the Alps, creating a formidable border between Italy and Switzerland.
After three seasons of outdoor climbing, self education in mountaineering, a busy summer of endurance training and increased indoor gym climbing, it was time to return to the Matterhorn. On the first full weekend in September 2009 my adventure began with a hike from Zermatt to the Hörnli Hut including an overnight at the Schoenbiel Hut with a friend.
After a five-hour hike on Sunday, we were able to get to the Hörnli Hut early enough to relax, have lunch and organize beds for the night. Eager to get the latest, I chatted with some Italian climbers on the Hörnli Hut deck after their return. They indicated they had not used the safety rope much on the way up but the descent was long and difficult.
Sunday’s weather was good, and conditions were decent considering it had not been climbed for four days before because of bad weather and an excessive amount of snow.
During dinner I spoke with other climbers making their first attempts. Past Alpine experiences and expectations were exchanged. The hut was crowded due to the backlog caused by the weather.
At 8 p.m. Sunday I met my guide, Mike, a fit 30-something from Slovakia. He evaluated my gear piece by piece and decided a number of things were not needed based on the reduced amount of ice and snow on the mountain.
That evening I went to sleep in a crowded hut with bodies stacked side by side in wall-to-wall bunks with the colossal rock ominously illuminated in the moonlight.
I awoke at 4 a.m. Monday for a quick breakfast, and we were away at 4:50 a.m. The weather forecast was excellent and most of the snow from previous days had melted on the lower two-thirds of the mountain, making climbing conditions ideal.
At the onset, temperatures were just above freezing at this altitude of 3,260 meters or 10,700 feet; so I layered accordingly.
My guide permanently secured a safety rope to my harness for the entire climb. As predicted we hit a climbers’ traffic jam at the first fixed rope point.
We climbed up the fixed ropes, starting the day with a daunting task in the early morning darkness as our headlamps lit the way. I was immediately thrust into the middle of a moving queue — scrambling, climbing and scaling varying vertical faces. The climbers’ formation line developed as there was an optimal route to take and everyone tried to ascend as fast and as safely as possible. What was safe going for some was slow for others and in turn provoked what I called “climber’s pressure.”
I was sucking wind big time, but I climbed on.
There was a strong focus by all to get to the summit as fast as possible for various reasons, one being to avoid a return in darkness and another to get ahead of slower, less experienced climbers and being exposed to increased rock fall from above.
My intent was to try to climb as efficiently as possible. Respiration, heart rate and perspiration were all elevated to red-line levels. I quickly felt overdressed and was heating up fast.
With the queue pressure, I had no time to undo my backpack and gloves and remove a layer. It would have cost time and created a climber’s rage behind me. So I just zipped down and sweated it out.
I was out of breath and barely able to complain so I just focused on the intended task — pure climbing. I found myself in a controlled state of fury. It was the culmination of everything at once — an intense expenditure of energy and a fear of going too fast for my climbing ability.
Relief came in short spurts but only when we came to a waiting point at the next safety rope securing point.
My mental exhaustion limit was being tested.
Darkness still posed an eerie unfamiliarity that made climbing more difficult. I heard stones and rocks fall but had no idea how big they were nor from which direction. My endurance, short burst anaerobic physical conditioning, fear of death and ability to handle unexpected circumstances were all being tested. I could not remember a time feeling so outside of my comfort zone as in those first two hours on the mountain.
The sun began to rise around 6:40 a.m., almost 2 hours into the ascent. I looked over at the Wallis summits I had climbed two weeks earlier and was struck by the brilliant orange glow illuminating the horizon while silhouetting countless 4,000-meter peaks. It was a welcome confirmation that the weather would be just as good as predicted. Daylight made the entire mountain visible and created a needed, positive turning point.
We took our first break about two and a half hours into the climb. I ate a power bar and gel and chased them with tea. The food produced an immediate energy response.
The welcomed break and new multiple routes dispersed the climbers’ queue making it possible to climb at my own pace.
We started to see snow and ice melting on rocks creating wet surfaces along the way. This made for slippery sections. I kept wondering when we would put on the crampons as this would be a sure method of having a solid footing on the treacherous surfaces. I waited as we ascended on these intermittent wet and icy parts, making each foot placement ever so carefully. Eventually, it was finally time to put on the bear trap teeth-like crampons.
Once properly installed on the bottom of my boots, I was able to sink them firmly into the snow and ice with each step. When planted properly, the crampons provided an unmatched grip to the earth at most angles of incline, easing trekking and climbing up the steepest of icy and snowy slopes. Large white snow patches began to appear quickly on less steep surfaces where the teeth would take hold.
Fist-size fixed ropes were installed to aid the ascent in these precarious segments of the mountain.
The summit was getting closer, but the significant effort to get there was being felt. All the prep of what to bring, what to leave behind and how to be prepared for all situations was paying off. After four hours and 20 minutes of nearly continuous climbing, we reached the Swiss summit at 9:10 a.m.
Taking that last step to the summit was amazing. Three years after being discouraged from even attempting the climb, I was now on the top of the Matterhorn.
With brilliant clear skies, the view was now a full unrestricted 360 degrees. Swiss, Italian and French peaks dotted the skyline.
I looked down and observed steep drop-offs all around me with the exception of the ridge. On the horizon, there was Mont Blanc, clear as day, a snowy peak I had climbed a year earlier.
I spotted Zermatt, quietly lying in the valley below. I had been there just Saturday morning and had made it to the summit purely by human power in the last two days.
I sat, drank tea and swallowed a power bar gazing at a small circling airplane. We looked at each other from a relatively short distance in a stare of wonder both knowing who took the more difficult way of getting to this altitude.
After 15 minutes on the summit, it was time to descend.
It was now time to tackle the longer and traditionally more difficult part of the climb mainly because descending on steep sections made for slower paces. Securing the safety line to fixed points on the mountain also added time to the descent.
One advantage was the opportunity to rappel at times on the significant vertical sections, speeding the otherwise slower journey.
We met groups of climbers still ascending. It is not uncommon for unguided climbers to get off the classic route taking much more time. My guide indicated that unguided climbers making the summit after four or five hours have taken up to 12 hours to return because of getting lost.
Falling rocks tend to be loosened by these same individuals who wander off the classic route. On the down climb some of those falling rocks stole my much needed confidence.
Descending was tougher because this was the accumulated portion of the energy expenditure. One is always fighting off fatigue and trying to be particularly careful with each step and hand hold; attempting to make it as secure as the first of the day.
On the way up I had noticed a metal plaque commemorating a fallen climber from years past, only five minutes from the hut at the base. I thought to myself how could someone so close to safety make a mistake there. But it happens. That is life and death on the Matterhorn.
Since before it was first climbed 144 years, ago, according to Air Zermatt Rescue, the cumulative death total has been 430 with an unfortunate 18 just in the year 1983 alone, making it one of most deadliest peaks in the Alps.
At times, we were right on the Hörnli Ridge with a 1,000-meter drop-off triggering a reality check. You must embrace and respect heights and view them in a positive way that does not paralyze you. At the same time, you realize a five-meter fall and 500-meter fall can have the same effect.
I continued to be impressed with guides who stand, walk and climb on the narrowest of surfaces with steep drop-offs all around possessing utter confidence.
As I returned to the Hörnli Hut on the last section, I spotted a welcome sight — a girl in a bikini sunning on the roof. It was a sign of returning and having made it.
I turned around and was amazed again at how tall the peak was. I was fatigued, hungry, thirsty and mentally dazed but awed at having achieved the seemingly unattainable.
We returned just after 2 p.m. as hikers were eating a late lunch on a crowded deck at the Hörnli Hut.
An unknown climber came up and questioned me.
“Did you climb the Matterhorn today?”
“Yes,” I responded.
“How was it?” he asked.
“Tough” I replied.
By the climb’s end I had consumed nine power bars/gels and 1.5 liters of water/tea in a nine-hour-and-15-minute climb. My thin black rubber-gripped gloves were worn away to a fine smooth surface. The whole effort was the most challenging single-day undertaking I had ever made.
After receiving a certificate and thanking my guide, I hiked and used a cable car to get back to Zermatt. Some hours later I stood on a well-known bridge in town and gazed back up at the mammoth pyramid I had just climbed.
In the end, it was a true “standing on top of the world” feeling. This was a massive personal reward ending a three-year quest.
According to the Zermatt Alpine Center, guided climbers of the Matterhorn have a 70 to 80 percent summit success rate indicating that those who choose to take it on are in shape and Alpine ready. Anyone especially fit, having a fair amount of climbing experience, able to put their biggest fears aside and possessing a strong desire to climb the Matterhorn should follow their dreams. The rewards are beyond sky high. (John Wutzer, a civilian with the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, Europe District, has contributed many stories and photos to the Herald Union about unique experiences near and far.)