A Day On The Matterhorn
by R. Gowing
The end of the holiday was drawing near. After glorious days on the Rothorm, the Obergabelhorn and the Weisshorn and an inglorious though well-timed retreat from the Dom, Roger Allen and I considered the possibilities for our final climb. The obvious choice seemed to be the Matterhorn, and the desirable route the Zmutt. But there had been heavy snowfall five days before and the reputation of the Tiefenmatten Slabs for danger under bad conditions was not encouraging. The alternative traverse of the Swiss and Italian ridges would make a good trip but difficult to fit into our remaining two days. The final choice appeared to be to “do” the Matterhorn for its own sake by the Hornli, a pretty dreadful route by all accounts, but a route so full of historic associations, leading to the summit of such a superb peak, could hardly result in a wasted day.
These discussions were interrupted by Hamish Nicol who, rising from a large and well-earned breakfast (he had arrived at Biner’s at midnight after a day cutting steps up the Klein Triftjegrat) expressed a desire to join us. We were delighted at the prospect of climbing with a man of such a distinguished record. Nicol was one of those who, with Bourdillon and others, in the early fifties, re-established the British among the leading climbers in the Alps, abandoning the old prejudices against piton climbing as exemplified by his first British ascent, with Bourdillon, of the East Face of the Grand Capucin.
We bought our food and set off to walk up to the Hornli; the track was well graded and little frequented, most people preferring the easy way by cable car. The walk was pleasant, with lots of flowers and extensive views, that of the Gorner Glacier being most impressive as it snakes down its deep gorge from the heights of Monte Rosa, Lyskamm and Breithorn.
The Schwarzsee area, above the terminus of the cable car, was densely populated. I had to wait a while before the ripples caused by paddlers subsided, so that I could capture the Obergabelhorn reflected in the waters of the lake. Past the Schwarzsee the track climbs steeply over a shoulder and there we stopped for lunch, in a little valley carpeted with gentians. It would have been pleasant to linger in such an idyllic spot but the sight of other parties overtaking us put our minds back on the job, which was to reach the hut in time to secure bunk space. The path climbed over the moraines of the Furgg Gletscher to the foot of the Hornli itself, a small peak which marks the end of the ridge, or Herlischneide, projecting from the north east foot of the Matterhorn. We followed the path beside the rock wall of the Herlischneide, past masses of attractive Mont Cenis bellflower, then up on to the edge, which gave us a pleasant ridge walk to the foot of the last steep ascent to the hut. We were glad when, at 4 o’clock, after toiling up the few hundred feet of zigzag track, we at last reached the Hornli Hut.
It seemed that we were among the first to arrive, so we promptly secured bunks near the window. This turned out to be a mistake, since the suspension of the mattress was such that Roger was on a steep slope and I on an arete, so that I rolled alternately on a long-suffering Roger and a less tolerant Frenchman. The acting warden was most efficient, before we had been there half an hour he had extracted our hut fees and was preparing our meal. He was filling in the job pending the arrival of a successor to Matthaus Kronig, who had died of a heart attack the previous week. After feeding we were about to reconnoitre the two alternative routes for the morrow when the arrival of Hamish ended any thought of alternatives. We followed the path a few yards to the foot of the Matterhorn, where we could see the route from the lower glacier, up a rock step on to the upper Matterhorn glacier, which extends horizontally below the north face towards the Zmutt Ridge. We learnt next morning that physical contact with the route being reconnoitred is desirable, the step is bigger than it looks from a distance and a proved route with cut steps would have been a great help.
Owing to the peculiar topography of the bunks we were not sorry when, at 1.30 a.m., the alarm went. While Roger struggled with the stove, I woke Hamish; soon we were eating breakfast, taking care not to disturb the sleepers on’ the floor and under the table. Luckily the table itself was free of bodies and we were able to enjoy a good meal before setting off at ten to three. We went down the path to the lower Matterhorn glacier, put on crampons and followed tracks across uncre-vassed glacier to the foot of the step, where easy rocks and a short ice slope give access to the upper Matterhorn glacier. Moving singly we climbed up the rocks which were loose and rather icy, then, below overhanging ice cliffs, Hamish cut steps up towards the upper glacier. Meanwhile daylight had arrived, so I took off my sack in order to put away my torch, forgetting the axe tucked into the straps. Luckily it only fell to the edge of the rocks, but Roger had to descend the steps and belay me down to the axe which, much to my relief, I successfully retrieved.
After this contretemps we continued up the ice slope to the upper shelf of the Matterhorn glacier. This provided an easy walk below the north face towards the great snow arete which, showing up well in the usual pictures of the Matterhorn, descends from the Zmutt Teeth. We crossed the bergschrund where it was blocked and started an ascending traverse, cram-ponning on good snow, in the direction of the snow arete. This proved to be a mistake in route finding, for the snow soon turned to hard ice. We now witnessed a demonstration of balanced, effective and seemingly tireless step-cutting, interrupted only by the second and third men moving up when the leader ran out of rope. From time to time we were enveloped in ice particles which swept the face in torrents and must have made step-cutting awkward, it was bad enough for us standing comfortably belayed to our ice pegs. We soon fell into a numbed routine as we intermittently followed the leader up the slope but we got there in the end; after 2½ hours’ solid step-cutting Hamish finally heaved himself on to the Zmutt Ridge, followed by two thankful Ramblers.
We sat down on the rocks for a rest and second breakfast. Away to the left we could see a pair, who had started after us, engaging the north face. On our right the western precipices plunged down to the Tiefenmatten glacier, writhing below the ice-clad slopes of the Dent d’Herens. We rearranged the rope for continuous rock climbing and moved up the snow crest to the Teeth. These were much bigger than they appear in the classic profile views, but gave little difficulty. Some we took direct and others we turned, moving mostly together; the final gap is quite deep, but it turned out to be easier than it looked.
From the gap the ridge rears up quite steeply, while the great Nose of Zmutt rises sheer to’ the left shutting off the north face. It was on this section that we found some of the most delightful climbing. While the difficulty was rarely such that we had to move singly, it was steep enough to need constant care in climbing, so that we savoured the full delight of continuous co-ordinated movement, the touch of good solid rock, as our airy staircase lengthened beneath us and the upper crags drew steadily nearer. The route lay mostly on the crest so that from the Italian ridge drawing towards us on our rigfit as we climbed we had an uninterrupted view of the mountains of the Western Alps, from the perfection of the Weisshorn to the distant majesty of Mont Blanc. Ahead we could hear Hamish panting away, this seemed to be merely the audible expression of his energy as he pressed on, while it was all we could do to keep up. Perhaps there was some deliberate physiological reason for the panting.
The ridge which had given us such splendid climbing finally petered out in a nick against the wall of the Zmutt Nose, which here overhangs slightly. We passed through the nick on to a terrace on the west side, where we sat in the sun to enjoy lunch before embarking on the dreaded Tiefenmatten Slabs. We were now almost overlooking the Dent d’Herens, whose great eastern ridge rose in a succession of towers to the snowy summit, while on our right the Dent Blanche seemed to lie back, reserving its more savage aspects. On the Italian ridge we could see parties descending; this reminded us to press on so we moved off, traversing across the face for a hundred yards and then up over rock that was easy but rather loose, lacking much in the way of positive holds, belays or even cracks into which pitons could be driven.
After we had climbed some way it became obvious that we had not traversed far enough. A few tricky moves reminiscent of Avon Gorge took us back to easy ground, which we followed up to a traverse line going back left. In places there were patches of water ice, but these were relatively insignificant and the face was in fact in most excellent condition. The traverse had the odd awkward step, but it was mostly straight-forward; we finally crossed a narrow ice gully to land on the crest, above the Zmutt Nose. It was obvious now that the serious part of the climb was over. With the summit within reach we climbed up the ridge, keeping mainly to the crest but sometimes wandering on to the north face, which is easy-angled in its upper part. Once again the delight of continuous movement on quite interesting rock, until a whoop from Hamish told us we were there, and at 2 p.m. we stepped on to the Italian summit of the Matterhorn. There was not a soul about; we had the summit to ourselves and photographed each other in triumphant postures.
Of the view I remember little. I did not have the frightening impression of being perched on top of a slender spire that I had somehow expected when looking at the Matterhorn from below. A certain amount of cloud robbed the celebrated view plunging into the Val Tournanche of some of its impressive-ness; one tended to look further down the valley towards the foothills and plains of Italy. For the rest, a jumble of clouds and familiar peaks. As we strolled to the Swiss summit we remarked how popular the North Face must be these days; looking down the even slope of snow-plastered rock we could see quite a dozen people on it. It was only when we started to descend that it dawned on us—above the Shoulder the Hornli route ascends the North Face.
We set off down, following well worn steps in the hard snow, and soon came to the top of the fixed ropes. There were some delays, as other parties were still descending. Slowly, one by one we moved down the ropes. The rock looked nowhere particularly difficult, but it did not look any easier than that on the Zmutt and I can well imagine what a boon the ropes would be under bad conditions. As we queued our way down we had time to look round at the neighbouring peaks which held such pleasant memories. It was very much in keeping that on this stretch we should see our Brocken spectres; we felt this really was Whymper’s Matterhorn.
We left the fixed ropes and veered on to the shoulder, a pleasant ridge of good rock running more or less horizontally a little way out from the main mass of the mountain. We then turned off to the zigzag path down the edge of the east face. The descent was a succession of scrambles down shallow gullies and rakes, and traverses back towards the ridge. Where the rock was sound it was worn quite smooth, while most of the rest was unpleasantly loose. After what already seemed a long descent we moved singly down some slabs, the Upper Moseley Platte, and arrived at the Solvay. The hut looked quite roomy and comfortable but we were glad not to have to use it.
We climbed down the lower Moseley Platte and continued the long descent. The ridge stretched away, not particularly steep but rather broken, to the Belvedere which seemed a long, long way away and not to get any nearer. To the right stretched the east face, barren and easy angled but punctuated by the occasional stone sent down by parties above, crashing, whizzing and disappearing into the depths below. We carried on, a repetition of the same theme, down a gully for a while, along a scree-covered ledge, perhaps round a buttress of tottering rocks, towards the ridge, then down again. At one point the route lay along the actual ridge for a few yards, this was pleasant, with a welcome change of view towards the Dent Blanche and Gabelhorn.
At last a gully, reminiscent of that at the foot of Bristly Ridge, brought us to a path that led round the foot of the ridge and on to the snow of the Matterhorn Glacier. A few paces across this and we were sitting unroping and at six o’clock we were celebrating with a beer outside the Belvedere. The last cable car from Schwarzsee had gone and as we started the long walk down to Zermatt it began to rain and a fierce thunderstorm developed, so we arrived soaked through. It was good to get into Biner’s hot shower and appropriately enough we dined at the Whymper Stube of the Monte Rosa Hotel, then crawled into our sleeping bags to snatch a few hours’ sleep before setting off on the long drive home.