Zermatt Peaks from the Rothorn
ON the evening of August 23, 1932, I was at the little Trift Hotel above Zermatt with my friend, A. E. Roovers of New York. It had been a perfect day, but at four o’clock in the afternoon clouds had blown over from Italy, and although the weather was somewhat doubtful, we had walked up to the Trift with the intention of carrying out our plan of traversing the Wellenkuppe and Obergabelhorn. Our guide, Felix Julen, joined us at 7 o’clock and by the time we had finished dinner, the Wellenkuppe was hidden in clouds, presenting a most depressing sight.
At midnight we were aroused by a violent thunderstorm which was followed by torrential rain. The only thing to be done was to sleep and forget all about mountain. To our surprise we were called at 5 o’clock in the morning by Felix, who said it was fine enough to try the Wellenkuppe at any rate. After a hurried breakfast we were ready to start, and the five other parties at the Trift, more or less asleep, turned out to watch three madmen start out on a trip to the clouds.
As we went quickly up the steep track which leads to the Trift glacier the Wellenkuppe once more disappeared for a time in the clouds. It seemed rather foolish to have started, but the weather had tempted a start and one might as well go on. Once on the Trift glacier we put on the rope, for there was some fresh snow which disguised the crevasses, Mounting towards the Triftjoch, we bore round to the left in a semi-circle, and climbed up towards the southern rocks of the Wellenkuppe. In one place there had been a recent avalanche and in crossing this the snow came up to the waistline. After this hard work the rocks were reached, when we stopped for a short rest. The clouds were swirling around in gusts, and every other moment one could catch a glimpse of the Trift far below. After a scramble up the rocks we reached the snow ridge leading to the flat top of the Wellenkuppe at 10 a.m., which was exactly four hours from the Trift.
After a brief consultation we decided to go on for a bit. Although one could not see more than 80 yards, the temperature was quite warm. The snow was deep, and as we made our way down to the slight col between the Wellenkuppe and the Obergabelhorn we sank up to our knees. The ridge is narrow with a cornice on the left side and a very steep slope going into the vertical on the right side, so that a great deal of care was required.
It was now snowing hard, but still there was no wind. The silence was profound, disturbed abruptly every now and again by the roar of some unseen avalanche. The clouds gave an eerie effect; now we could see a ridge on the Zinal Rothorn, then a snow slope on the Dent Blanche, but could never see a whole mountain at a time. The sensation of groping one’s way up this seemingly interminable ridge was peculiar, because with a strictly limited vision one felt as if one was standing still, with the ridge moving, but never gaining altitude. Time seemed to be standing still, especially as the snow had stopped my wrist-watch, for at every step one took the ice-axe sank right up to its head. And still the snow kept on falling softly.
Quite suddenly the Great Gendarme loomed into view, as a ship suddenly appears in a thick sea fog. The Gendarme was thickly covered with ice, but on the upper part a fixed rope was attached. The top of the Gendarme is narrow, and one has to drop down steeply on the other side to regain the ridge again. The Gendarme was a pleasant diversion, but we were soon once again toiling up the snow ridge, which was now getting steeper. A subtle icy breeze had appeared too, which made one chilly.
The snow began to give way to rocks and one had to scramble up some icy slabs which demanded care, while one’s hands became very cold and the rope had also become stiff and white with snow. The scrambling continued till quite suddenly we reached the peak of the Obergabelhorn, and as we crossed the Gabel the clouds rolled back on the Zinal side, and after one or two moments of hesitation, the sun broke through and began to warm us. Lunch was quite a pleasant affair with a perfect view of the Zinal valley, the Dent Blanche and a vivid view of the Z’Mutt ridge of the Matterhorn, although Zermatt and the other peaks were hidden in clouds.
At half-past one in the afternoon we started to descend the Arben ridge, which tumbled down steeply in a series of huge red, rocky steps. The rocks were dry, and with the sun beating down one was inclined to linger, and for this reason our progress was slow. Every now and again we used the double rope. Roovers was swearing in gentle American because he had leftt his quarter-plate camera at the Trift, and Felix was swearing gently because he wanted to get back to Zermatt for his dinner. We stopped a short time for tea, and then left the ridge and dropped down towards the Arben glacier. On the glacier, after a little bout of step cutting, we descended quickly. We stopped to unrope. Behind the Obergabelhorn reared into the sky, bronzed by the setting sun. We turned our backs and rushed down the moraine from the Arben glacier into the Z’Mutt valley, with the Matterhorn towering above us. We joined the path which goes to the Schönbühl hut and hurried on towards Zermatt in the shadowy dusk, the silence broken only by the rhythmic tread of our boots. At the little village of Z’Mutt we stopped for five minutes for a glass of cold milk with a liqueur glass of brandy poured in it to take the chill off. Zermatt was already alight as we came across the meadows below the Gorner gorge, and, as 8 o’clock was striking on the church bells, we said good-night to Felix, exactly fourteen hours after leaving the Trift.