Climbing the
Editor’s
note: The following is an account of an ascent up the
The early
morning of Sept. 24 is well above
freezing, an unexpected warm temperature for a dark, snow-filled setting at
11,333 feet (3,454 meters).
After successfully recovering from
the Moench (Monk) summit climb the day before, we
rise at o’dark hundred to consume cereal, buttered
rolls, orange juice and tea in the hut. We don our warm clothing, boots,
crampons, headlight, safety harness and day packs containing food, tea and
extra clothing to get started at
We are all roped together at our
waist harness for safety, a common practice for climbing of this nature. The
guide leads the way with Dagi close behind and Nicole
just behind her. I take up the rear as a final link in our human rope chain.
As light increases, the dense fog
becomes more apparent and remains the entire day. It forces us to become
disoriented for some time. The guide stops us to review his map and compass in
the thick cloud and then we continue on. At a very specific point after
wandering in various directions, we now know, after some earlier doubt, that we
are on the correct way to the top.
We soon encounter some challenging
vertical wet rock surfaces to climb. After a couple times of struggling to find
the correct hand and footholds, we manage this tough part of the ascent and
continue up. Then we traverse around a steep wall that drops off far to the
left. We proceed slowly as the path is ever so narrow, but the footing is good
in the crunchy snow with our bear trap teeth-like crampons.
The next hours are spent trekking
up, down and across snow surfaces of varying grades and conditions with
changing visibility. At times, the incline is as steep as walking up a ladder
leaned against a house but much more challenging because of soft, sinking snow,
heavy boots, awkward crampons, thin air and restrictive clothing.
Massive snow arch bridges, random
house-size craters and odd shaped rock walls attract the eye and dazzle the
mind. Familiar figures form in one’s imagination and are likened to everyday
life.
The magic of the mountains is packed
with mystery. With magic also comes a reminder of the ever present danger. We
pass a gold metal plaque bolted to a rock face identifying the location where a
man of 27 years lost his life in 1997. It is a warning to take nothing for
granted and to be aware and prepared as ever. During our trek, we cross
slightly hidden but noticeable crevasses that drop into a seemingly endless
abyss. With no forewarning, Nicole penetrates the snow with an entire leg. Her
other leg stops her downward descent arresting her on the surface. We can
assist her up with our safety rope but we know not to walk too close as that
would increase the weight in this fragile supported snow area.
She pulls herself up and out and we
move on. I repeat the exact vertical downward plunge into the false snow floor.
My entire right leg pierces a new bottomless hole. My foot hangs underneath in
open space akin to dangling off a high bridge. This body safety rope again
serves as a sacred lifesaving backup. As I struggle to release myself, I look
to the right and left. I can see the massive ice crack run somewhat straight in
a randomly broken line. As I peer down into the crevasse, I am astonished at
how the daylight illuminates the inner ice walls with a deep mystical blue. I
finally get free and pull myself up with my arms and left leg and continue
trekking on.
After almost three hours of trekking
in very limited visibility, finally a break. We penetrate the upper cloud
ceiling and the summit appears as clear as ever. The day is intensely bright.
We can see climbers as tiny specks trekking on a very steep snow ridge leading
to the top. Nothing can stop us now.
This is truly God’s country. The
surrounding mountains possess such unique shapes, curves, forms and majestic
heights. The sheer steep drops and the remnants of avalanches in previous days
and weeks put one in awe of the immense vastness.
After a challenging climb of five
hours, we finally reach the summit at
We are on the top. We did it. We
high-five, hug and celebrate with photos and videos. This tiny, somewhat
rectangular, square of ground is ours for a brief but unforgettable 10 minutes.
We snack on energy bars and drink tea for a short break and then it is time to
get down as the wind gusts and the blinding fog below still remain.
In the mountains, weather and
conditions can change fast for the worse, so you cannot risk being in an
exposed location for too long. Getting down is a challenging part of the
expedition and often technically more difficult as our return journey would
prove to be. More mistakes are typically made here as general awareness and
focus on safety are lessened because of the false sense of believing the hard
part is over. We descend in reverse order so the guide up high can arrest a
potential slip or fall with the body safety rope.
The downward view is more scenic but
the acrophobia factor of seeing the steepness of the trail during descent is
greater. Footprints in the snow lead the way back. Extreme drop-offs are often
to the right or to the left and at times in both directions.
Small careful
steps. Steady as
you go. A somewhat different and steeper return route down is chosen to avoid
the crevasses we encountered on the way up. Another big challenge is now the
snow is softer. The sticky snow fills the cavity between the crampon teeth
making the device a flat snow-filled shoe bottom.
As I proceed out front, I begin a
foot slide forcing myself to fall to the ground quickly arresting myself with
my ice ax by digging the sharp handle end into the snow. Nicole does the same.
This frustrating effort slows our descent but we cautiously progress.
The whole concept of being roped
together now proves to me to be extremely helpful at saving lives. In this
particular situation, it halts a dangerous potentially unstoppable slide into a
stationary object or off a cliff.
Dagi uses the guide’s recommended method
of banging each foot with each step using the ice ax to remove the jammed snow
from the crampon allowing it to grip again with each stride.
Nicole and I figure out that
descending backwards facing the mountain on all fours and using swift kicks
into the snow with our toes provides a solid grip allowing us to descend
without sliding. This works well until the grade becomes milder. Trekking down
face forward is again possible.
We descend back into the mixed fog
with sun rays peeking through at times. Without our savvy guide, we would have
easily been lost. The fog surrounds us like a blinding wall of darkness. At
times we can’t see more than 20 feet. This would easily disorient an average
climber, but our guide, Ernst, knows the mountain and keeps us on track.
After cutting our way over and down
this heavily snow-covered mountain through the mixed fog for the last
one-and-a-half hours, we finally arrive on a familiar snow path treaded by a
big snow groomer. It’s a sign of returning to an area touched by society — an indication we’ve almost made it back. We now have a
machine groomed snow path to lead us to the Jungfrau Joch train station,
After 20 minutes of trekking in a
short flash, the fog clears and the station appears. At just before
I feel fortunate to be back uninjured. The
journey was a truly rewarding experience and an inspiration. It was a test of
endurance, strength and going outside various comfort zones. One cannot move
mountains but one can be moved by mountains. This did that for me. (John
S. Wutzer is currently serving as the director of Public Works at
The