I’d been watching the Matterhorn’s east face and northeast ridge (the Hörnli ridge) for the last few weeks from back home in Calgary, Canada, thanks to a webcam situated on a nearby peak (Gornergrat). When the face seemed clear enough for a reasonably uncomplicated ascent I decided to slip across the pond for a closer look. The weather window happened to coincide with the Olympic Games such that I would land in Paris on the same day as the opening ceremonies which, while making for a more unusual and arbuably more interesting few days there, also added expense to the trip.
In the balance, it was worth it. Any interest I had in the games was more in its effect on the French Capital’s pulse than in the games themselves. And the affect was profound. To borrow the one-word description from the cab driver who took me from the Roissy/Charles de Gaulle airport to my hotel closer to Paris Centre Ville, "stress". I think the French meaning is a little closer to "angst", but it's close enough to make it clear that for at least one cab driver, the Olympics were a mixed bag.
I should add: don’t take a cab from the airport (CDG) into downtown Paris. Take the RER. It's much faster, cheaper, safer. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, look into the the basics of the RER and the Paris metro before you come. Cars & cabs are worse than a waste of your time in Paris. A rental car works great for rural France & the townships. Not for Paris.
But this trip report isn't about Paris.
Back to The Matterhorn…
Hörnlihütte
The Hornli Hut is a more official start for this ascent. And generous: from my hike in from Schwarzsee (above), I'll have already gained more than a third of the elevation to the Matterhorn's summit! In this page's title shot, it's a small white dot that looks like a small chunk of snowpack low on the mountain's facing ridge (the Hörnli ridge and the hut's namesake).
My summit day started at the Schwarzsee Hotel (the building nearest the end of the trail, on top of the hill in the title shot) at about the same time everyone else was starting from the two huts further up. Pure coincidence! In fact, I was surprised to see two lines of headlamps already heading up the Matterhorn's ridge as I was leaving the Schwarzsee Hotel just after 4 am. The lower line was from Hörnlihütte, the upper disappearing into the clouds from Solvayhütte (the Solvay hut) much further up the ridge and closer to the summit.
The coincidence worked out well: I managed to avoid the morning exodus of guides and their clients from the hut and once I hit the rock routes further up, I moved well enough to gain ground (at least, until I drank water running off the Solvay hut's roof. Bad idea! More below), not that I was in any rush to summit.
Let's back up to the trail that got us here from Schwarzsee.
It's well marked, well trodden and well maintained: catwalks anchored to the side of the mountain with steel I-beams embedded into the rock; stairs and ramps with guard rails; fixed lines for any sections remotely close to fourth class terrain.
This much is clear: folks here don’t want you to have any trouble finding your way to Hörnlihütte from Schwarzsee. They want the experience to be enjoyable. Even easy. And they’ve put their best people and a pile of money behind it.
Daybreak pan...
snapped from that same trail (from Schwarzsee to Hörnlihütte), snapped near where it gains the headwall and ridge
I snapped it by hand and in low light, after daybreak but just before dawn from the trail between Schwarzsee and Hörnlihütte (these new camera sensors are amazing!). The trail gains the headwall to the right from where I'm standing for this shot, then moves along the top of the headwall and up the ridge to Hörnlihütte, the small white building perched on the ridge's first flat section after the headwall. This section, though technically and physically much less demanding, is strongly reminiscent of Mount Assiniboine's Gmoser Highway, the system of ledges along the headwall forming the lower section of Wedgewood Peak's north face on the approach to Mount Assiniboine back home.
Is it gonna be this easy all the way?
Nearing Hörnlihütte, I recall thinking “Is it like this all the way to the summit?”, reflecting on the steel walkways and stairs anchored into the rock and other features of the magnificently maintained trail up from Schwarzsee to the hut.
As if in answer, the sudden emergence of what looked a lot like a rescue helicopter in what looked a lot like a rescue operation brought an abrupt end to any illusions I had of an easy ascent. In fact, I would snap this post's earlier Hörnlihütte shot a few days later, chased out by thunderstorm activity after sniffing around rock routes lower on the mountain a few days after summiting. It’s a better shot than the one on the right, the actual summit day shot from July 29.
So what's wrong with this shot?
You might notice everyone looking at a point down and right of the summit. If you zoom in, you’ll see the helicpoter engaged in the operation. Just a few minutes earlier, a 58 year old Italian climber had slipped. Sadly, the outcome was poor. I met two rope teams heading out who were near the accident at the time. One member was visibly distraught, in thick Italian accent he told me he’d lost his friend.
I’m not used to that: there are fatalities in my area, but most the peaks I climb in Canada are more remote and don’t see anywhere near the same volume of traffic. If you want to climb this beast, unless you’re comfortable climbing AD / mid fifth-class terrain and you have solid route-finding experience, I’d strongly suggest hiring a local guide.
On the plus side, the Swiss guides are magnificent in this terrain and are familiar with its nuance, well-deserving of a reputation that goes back at least two centuries. On a less positive note, they have an attitude: this is their mountain. While most I met were polite and observed mountaineering etiquette, I got more than a few dirty looks (and worse, in one case) for climbing alone, unroped, off-route (I briefly snuck over for a peek at the north face — couldn’t resist!) and unguided.
These beautifully Swiss-crafted, wooden stairs from the hut to the helipad mark the last of the easy hiking trail. The hike down the far side of the helipad lands on a saddle with a rock wall (next shot down), the start of a much more substantial rise along the Hörnli ridge. The friendly Swiss-flag trail markers, the steel stairs and catwalks, the “great to see you” park benches and posted signs are all gone.
To drive the point home, the rock wall is covered with memorial plaques to fallen climbers going back decades. And let’s not forget the helicopter recovery operation of the Italian climber that was unfolding at the same time.
And... oh yeah. One more thing. That wall? That's our route.
Sobering.
Rock Wall
Let's sneak in for a closer look...
OK, maybe not so bad.
A gappier, more climbable crack sits just left and out of the frame of the shot with the plaques. With hardware. And Saint Bernard (the patron saint of alpinists sits on the ledge in the top right of the shot). The handles (should you need them) ease the ascent of the crack and the fixed line (should you need it) makes the traverse across overhanging sections of the face more manageable. And more generally, if you stay on-route on this ascent, you’ll find fixed-lines, judiciously-placed bolts and rappel stakes where the exposure or difficulty notches up (If you stay on route! No fixed hardware that I could see on my brief foray onto the north face)
That said, if I couldn’t have ascended the crack without using the handles or if the only option I could produce needed that fixed line (the overhang is more significant out of this shot's frame to your right and St. Bernard's left, though he may lend confidence to a more Catholic breed of climber), I wouldn’t have continued with the climb. Not without a local guide.
Why?
The Matterhorn is a BIG mountain that regularly kills people. And there’s no easy walk-off on the way out. If my only options need someone else’s hardware and fixed lines, I’m climbing myself into a corner. Instead of building options, I’m letting myself slip into a position where I’m relying on just one option, someone else’s. I’m stifling development in two of the more creative and rewarding elements of the sport: route-finding and a grounded awareness of my own limits.
It'll almost certainly be more problematic on my way back down, moreso if conditions change, or the light is failing or it's after dark. Or I'm tired or injured. On a mountain I don’t know. A mountain that people frequently underestimate. A mountain that regularly kills people. In another country.
Don't get me wrong! I'm not saying that you shouldn't use the hardware. It's been placed and is being maintained by the best in the business.
I'm saying it shouldn't be your only option.
Big difference!
Hörnlihütte, helipad...
...and the well-worn trail down to the rock wall seen from further up the ridge, snapped just after liftoff. In spite of the tragic circumstances, it's one of my favourite shots from this trip.
Steep scrambling!
Technical difficulty notches up somewhat from here.
I'd put the Hörnli ridge route at a hard 5.4, the lower mountain's crux as the steep section just below the Solvay hut visible at slightly right of center at the crest in this shot (left). The hut’s vertical face and the vertical gendarme to its right (your/climber's right) lend sense of how steep this terrain is. It's steep, but the rock is grippy and sound, moreso than what I'm used to scrambling in the Canadian Rockies. You still have to be careful before committing to more exposed moves. Sections of exposure are sustained through here.
No slips!
The Guides
Nearing the Solvay hut, I tucked myself behind a feature at the base of the steep section, out of sight and out of the way enough not to get in the way of traffic heading down from the hut but close enough for some decent captures. A local guide and his client (top right) caught me setting up and sent a couple of warm smiles my way. (below, a zoomed crop of the last shot)
Look at this guy! (below) The knots are PERFECT. He probably ties his knots in his sleep and just wakes up with them like that.
Most of the traffic I would see on the lower mountain and nearly everything up top were in guide/client pairs. One guide “short roping” one client.
There were bolted rings on the route, but not many and I didn’t see the guides using them. The rappel stakes (I'd never seen them before) are much faster: no need to untie or flake or even uncoil any more length than a situation wants. The stakes were solid enough they didn’t need to be redundant and guides would frequently just loop the rope over a rock and hold it in place by hand. It’s fast, fluid, and the rock was good enough for this practice to work well. Gauging how well any given tactic would work was on the guide. Any guide’s effectiveness with these techniques were part of an ongoing, nuanced conversation between the individual guide, client and the mountain.
Even with the fixed lines, they belayed clients anyway.
And no, not all guides were ceated equal.
For better guides, fast, clean and precise rope work and knots are second nature. Like breathing. Footwork is sure, precise. Silent. They don’t disturb the terrain when they move and don't send rockfall. It has to be that way, there’s just too much traffic for anything else to work.
They compete with each other and sometimes it heats up. On the other side of that competition is unparalleled, enviable excellence in any of the contexts that matter up here: terrain movement, route finding, client management, rope work. No one is up here with their nose buried in someone else’s GPS track.
Client slips are common. Guides regularly catch slips that would be serious otherwise. Basic rock movement chops are like walking for them. Even though it's mid-fifth class climbing terrain, they have enough command over their movement to hike and scramble the terrain more than they climb it, so each client can have most of their attention. Yet the climbing chops are there when they need them.
The bulk of their attention is on their client. All the time. Because client slips are frequent. Sudden. At any time. All the time.
The sequence of shots starting with the one to the right is a case in point.
It looks like the client's rope is accidentally looped around his ax.
Is it?
Let's have another look...
The client spots me perched on a ledge with my camera out (below, far left). I'm busted! Now he’s bold. His guide lassos the ax. (next two shots)
Everything about this client is new: his gear including his pack, pants, harness and boots are all off-the-shelf new. Even the client. (is he even 20?)
A closer look at those brand spankin' new boots. He's barely on the rock...
...and sure enough, in the next instant he slips. He lands on his back but the friction doesn't slow him down. Not at all. I freeze, terrified, thinking the client would pull his guide off balance and I'm in the front row seat for next two fatalities for the day.
Not a chance!
His guide leans back and effortlessly catches the fall. The client stops. That instant. Still on his back, his face blossoms bright red with embarassment (wish I'd kept shooting!). No rotation in the slip because of where the guide had his rope, looped around the ax on the back of his client's pack.
His guide couldn't have handled it better. What really hit me was the fact that his guide saw the slip coming long before it happened and he was so non-chalant in catching it.
The guide is just doing his job. It's what he does. His 9 to 5.
It's what they do. And they're good it. Some of them are absolutely exceptional: it's a privilege to see them in action.
(Above) snapped a little earlier, further down the mountain. She’s among the stronger clients I would see on this rock, though her guide still keeps her rope tight. He manages it well enough she’s likely barely aware it’s there. She moves well and her positioning says she skis? Another client / guide pair work their way through the same location in the three-shot sequence below, seen from a higher angle (and a few days later). I use the same MO: perched on a ledge behind a feature, out of the way and out of sight.
But it's no good. I'm busted again! So I send a "thumb's up" and a smile their way.
She sends it right back! (below, far right)
Not all guides I encountered minded my being there. I can’t blame those who did: I didn't see anyone else up there alone and unroped. Just me. On my way down I climbed off route out onto the north face for a three or four pitch section. I didn’t even have a harness on until one off-route rappel lower on the mountain on my way out (though I had a rap line and harness in my pack the whole time). To the local crowd including the guides (especially the guides!), I might have seemed arrogant. Even reckless.
For many clients, I suspect the Matterhorn is the experience of a lifetime. There’s a range of skill and even for those who move well enough not to need a guide’s help with the terrain, there’s some tricky and time-consuming route finding on this rock — particularly lower on the mountain. Good rock movement and route finding skill only go so far and until I know the mountain, a certain amount of time consuming trial and error is part of the game. Unless I have a decent guide.
After Hörnlihütte, cairns and other route markers aren’t consistent, nor reliable. For me, that’s part of the fun. At the same time, had I needed to use the fixed hardware or had I found myself frustrated with the route finding I wouldn’t have continued the climb without the help of a local guide. And for most folks who are out for the sights and to enjoy some challenging climbing — even those who have the requisite climbing and route-finding skill — a guide is absolutely the way to go.
I could have climbed with another climber or two. I was out from Canada alone, but better climbing relationships have often started with folks I’ve met out on the rock (or snow & ice). A few opportunities came up, but I was comfortable enough with the terrain and having too much fun sniffing out routes on my own to join anyone else. I only saw one other party summit without a guide. I saw several such parties turn around, many of them struggling, including a party who was involved with the fatality on their way down earlier in the day. Stronger unguided groups whose day started at the Hornli or Solvay huts would have had enough of a head start to have summited without my having met them.
Solvay Hut
"It stands defiantly on the dizzy ridge as the highest watchtower of Switzerland, of the Swiss Alpine Club, looking out over the ice-capped peaks far into the country. Ready to lift up the discouraged, to protect those caught in a storm and to rescue those who have had an accident."
--vice president Hartmann of the Swiss Alpine Club, December 1916
Ah. An emergency hut. I see. Great idea.
Hmm.
Pretty sure I saw a line of headlamps headed towards the summit from this location when I started out from Schwarzsee that morning. Could the “caught in a storm” have been more figurative, referring to enthusiasm for an early head start higher up on the mountain?
And I saw some folks in this same hut later in the day on my way down from the summit. I offered a warm smile through the hut window on my way by and received the same in return. A pleasant exchange. The atmosphere seemed upbeat. Even festive! But who am I to judge? The exchange was brief and through the hut window. Could well have been an emergency situation in there. Must an emergency be unpleasant?
Perhaps that was the emergency — the warm, summer sun and clear skies in the Swiss high alpine were too much for these poor people, they were "caught in a storm" of zeal and needed the hut to contain their excitement!
Some context:
(right) A snap down the Matterhorn’s NE/Hörnli ridge. Hörnlihüitte and the helipad (nearest, just right of the hut’s concrete deck), Hörnlibahn station, Scwhwarzsee and the Village of Zermatt are all visible. Here's a quick tour inside the hut.
The rest of Europe had descended into the insane blood bath of the first world war when this hut was built. The Swiss Alpine Club has a history of their hut posted from their archives, the article itself was written by member Karlrobert Schäfer back in 1944. It’s only posted in German, but Google does a good enough job of a translation to make it understandable in English. It’s a quick read, I found it fascinating (and it’s where I found Hartmann’s quote, above. Translation thanks to Google Translate). It's here.
(left) A more direct view down Hörnli ridge from the Solvay hut, with an Air Zermatt or Rega air-rescue helicopter and rescue worker hanging off a long line just above the snow pack on the ridge, center frame. I think this mountain keeps these folks pretty busy.
The hut was empty when I reached it at 11:20 am. I’d been having a great time crawling all over the lower mountain that morning and it was time for a break. I broke out my water bottle and a sandwhich the folks at the Schwarzsee Hotel had prepared for me (I can’t thank these people enough! Thanks so much to Janis, Eva, Lilly, Damian & the rest of the staff at the Schwarzsee Hotel for a fantastic stay!)
Then, for whatever reason, I emptied and refilled my water bottle with runoff near the hut and drank.
Mistake.
It smelled off. And it was. Within minutes of leaving the hut I started slowing, but at that point I couldn't be sure it wasn't the altitude. I regularly climb and ski between 3000 and 3500 or so meters back in Canada, no problem. But I'm at 4000 meters now — a first for me. I couldn't rule out altitude as the culprit. By the time I reached the first fixed lines on the steeper mixed sections (snow, ice and rock), I was moving at a crawl and felt terrible. I thought I’d have to turn around.
(you might want to skip this next part)
I knew it wasn’t the altitude when I started throwing up. It was the water – I’ve done this before. Just days from one year ago on the Japanese Route on Mount Alberta, back home in the Canadian Rockies. Only this time, I’d taken in much more water, much faster. I tried to climb off to the side, out of the way of traffic while it took its course but the section was narrow. And exposed.
Truly an international affair: I sent everything from the Schwarzsee sandwich to cuisine from Parisian bistros from the day before down the north face of the Matterhorn as climbers and guides from all over the world passed, climbing a route near the border between Switzerland and Italy.
Awkward!
I was feeling well enough to start moving again after about an hour. And within another hour I felt fine. But it was growing late. And eerily quiet: it had been busy before, now no one was around.
I stowed my camera in my pack and headed for the summit.
Fast forward to the summit ridge. The last few dozen meters or so before the next two shots (below) are a straightforward snow-and-ice ramp ascent — with the right gear! Crampons were a must, I didn’t need the second ice tool (though I did for my earlier brief foray onto the north face). One small mountain ax would have been sufficient, less weight, though the snow wasn’t as soft as it looks and an ax wouldn’t have grabbed nearly as well. The shots are a left-to-right pan starting with the cross. I snapped these with my phone, I was concerned about time.
Summit!
The climbing above the Solvay hut has a decidedly different flavour than below, though I would grade it about the same. I plan to return soon, hopefully this season. I’d like more captures from the upper mountain.
I returned a few days later, knowing the weather would likely shut down a summit bid. Which it did. Yet my return gave me the chance to iron out the trickier route finding choices on the lower mountain, nixing the necessary but time consuming trial-and-error from not knowing the route the next time I’m here.
And, at the same time, it was another excuse to spend time climbing and snapping shots on this truly magnificent mountain!