TOUR OF MONTE ROSA
As you may recall, last time I went to the mountains I
forgot my PIN number. Not to be outdone, this time I forgot to take the plug
adapter for my camera battery recharger, leaving it in Milan with my main
luggage. So on arrival in my pleasant room at the Indren Hut in
Alagna there was an ugly surprise when I could not plug in the
charger. Fortunately, the super-helpful manager lent me a cable of his own that
I could use until I returned to Milan a week later.
Alagna is a pleasant town that serves as an access point to
the high mountains. My intention was to walk the entire Tour of Monte Rosa
(TMR) in the seven days I had available before meeting Carla in Sacro Monte.
I didn't know whether seven days were enough, so I envisaged taking a
train trip if necessary. In any case I knew I had to have a strong pace.
The beginning of the walk was pleasant and gradual.
After a little over an hour I reached the Pastore Refuge at 1575m. Then the
path steepened as I joined the TMR circuit, but it also became wider, like a
causeway, as cannons had been hauled up here during World War I. I met
some Italians, including a lovely bitch called Viola, who though initially timid,
soon showed her exuberant nature and let me pat her.
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Visibility narrowed to 100 metres, and at Passo Turlo
(2738m) there was little to see except some other walkers having lunch, as did
I. Drizzle accompanied me down to the town of Macugnaga at about 5 pm. The next
morning I lost about an hour because my hotel didn't provide breakfast till
8.30. This was to be crucial, as I never got to see Monte Rosa in all her
glory. The climb to Passo Monte Moro (2868m), on the Swiss frontier, began
through thick woods. I admired the four main peaks of Monte Rosa as the clouds
closed in:
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At the pass, which is rocky and steep, there is a huge
gilded Madonna, turning her back on Switzerland, which was my destination. I
waited for an hour at the pass for the mists to clear, but the wind kept
dragging more mist, so that I barely glimpsed Monte Rosa, from this, the
best vantage point. On the other side, there was a clear vista into
Switzerland. I walked down to civilisation and stayed at Saas Fee, a pretty
town with no petrol-driven cars but with spectacular flowers, some
that I had not seen before. Everything here is neat, especially the old dark
wooden houses on stilts. Yet the real attraction are the hanging glaciers and
snow-capped mountains on both sides of town. Impressive.
Our not so fearless hero arrived at Saas Fee
(Switzerland) last night and in the morning wondered whether he was up to
climbing the Allalinhorn (4026m). Only one way to answer that question. I took
three cable cars for the princess-ly sum of 42 euros. The last ride is
called the "Metro" and I soon realised why. It is a tube cut into the
mountain. One sees nothing at all until one disembarks. Another oddity is that
the driver does not face the direction of motion. With just water and the
crampons in my backpack, I arrived light at Mittel Allalin (3460 m) at
9.15. I felt trepidation and excitement as the mountain towered above.
It looked decidedly dangerous from this side, with nasty crevasses
aplenty. What had I let myself in for?
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At this height and above it was all glacier, but with bare
rock at altitudes below the cable car terminus. The beginning was
easy - up a gentle slope down which some skiers were descending to the
lift building. There is a T-bar going higher up. I soon crossed this and
reached the top of the piste. Then I began the ascent proper, which meant
following tracks in the snow, as they wound to the right of the mountain. I did
not bother putting on my crampons, since the slope was not steep and my shoes
gripped the hard snow well. I caught up with a group of climbers
and put on my crampons since I could not pass them without stepping
off the track, which would be inadvisable in shoes only. The slope also became
steep enough to require crampons.
On this fine morning with little wind lots of people were
climbing the Allalinhorn, which did not surprise me, as I had chosen it partly
because it is one of the most popular high peaks in the Alps and hence safer
than most others. Most people were roped together in groups of two to five
people, but there were two other people walking alone like me. I passed a
number of people on my way up, as a solitary climber is usually faster than a
group. I felt completely in my element walking upwards in the snow in this
pristine environment. The crampons made me feel very safe, as they just
about eliminate the risk of slipping in the snow, even on steep slopes. I
did not feel at risk at any point of the walk, though the altitude
did slow me down a little. I had acclimatised over the previous two days,
though not at such high altitude.
It was warm and the ascent was not tough, though steep
in places. The views kept improving as the nearby Matterhorn swung into
view. At one point I had to cross a snow-bridge over a four metre (or
more) deep crevasse. I found I was enjoying the walk - bad news for
Carla and my insurance company. Near the end there were some rocks but no
scrambling was required. The summit ridge was narrow but not daunting and
almost flat. At the top there is an iron cross where a friendly Italian
couple snapped me looking arrogant with the Matterhorn below my left crampon.
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I tarried at the summit for half an hour, having it to
myself for part of that time. The 360 degree views were terrific, too much to
take in. Reluctantly, I made my way down to the cable car station. The descent
was easy and fast. Once down I sat on a rock and put my heel spur into the
snow for 20 minutes to alleviate the swelling. This morning had
been a huge highlight for me, a nearly perfect episode. All my years of
walking seemed to culminate in this climb. No longer am I an "accidental
alpinist" (Monte Rosa in 2002) but an intentional one, if only a beginner.
After climbing the Allalinhorn in the morning it took me a
while to get back to my hotel, repack, buy a roll, and receive walking
directions from my friendly hotelier. I also took the trouble of starting out
in the wrong direction. So I was not on the track out of Saas Fee for
Grachen until 2 pm. With a six and a half hour walk ahead of me, I
was anxious to make Grachen by nightfall at 9 pm. I was obliged to take a
detour because a section of the track had recently collapsed.
The walk began prettily in a forest, where I spotted a
squirrel carrying a pine cone. I was sorry I had to walk fast rather than
enjoying the woods at leisure. The sign-posting was good, luckily, as
there were many paths branching off. Back on the main TMR route, it rained
for about 20 minutes then stopped before settling down to drizzle for
the last hour of my walk.
The terrain became rugged, the path clinging to the
mountain. As everyone who has walked in the mountains knows, around the next
corner there is always another bend. The path stayed high (around 1900m)
with admirable tenacity - not being one of these annoying ones that goes
down 400 metres only to go up by the same amount. Sometimes I could not tell
where the path would find a way through the precipitous mountainside. At one
point I discovered I was walking in the wrong direction - I had managed to turn
back the way I had come. Diagnosing momentary dementia I continued on
as if nothing had happened. There was no sign of human presence except for the
path itself, which was well maintained. I met no-one in the last three hours or
so. The highlight of this section was seeing a family of ibex on the track.
They bounded down the steep mountainside with consummate ease.
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I kept telling myself to "step on it", since I was
worried about being caught by darkness (of course I had no torch). One signpost
implied that I would make it with only 10 minutes leeway. However, I need
not have worried, as I reached a hotel just above Grachen with an hour to
spare.
Yet time was not on my side, since much of the TMR
remained and I still wanted to have a shot at the Breithorn. The next day
I decided, after much dithering, to walk down to San Niklas and to catch a
train from there to Zermatt. It was a town I could not get out of
fast enough. Its only plus point is that it lies close to the
Matterhorn. Zermatt is so touristy it does not even have a fruit shop. I
grabbed a sausage for lunch, bought a map, and was off at 12.30, with an
1876 metre climb to the Italian frontier ahead of me.
I feared getting out of Zermatt, as finding the right path
out of a largish town is usually tricky. Indeed, I found that there were
tracks going everywhere and that the signposting was not up to Swiss standards.
I resorted to the desperate measure (for a man) of asking at every
opportunity for the way to the Gandeg Hut, which was on my way. I went a little
astray, but not seriously so. I felt stressed, as I knew I had a long hike
ahead of me. Soon I was treated to fine views of the Matterhorn, with the mists
covering and uncovering her midriff. I was short of water but made
my litre last all the way to the Gandeg Hut, where I bought a half litre
of delicious soda water for 5 euros (is this a record?). I drank this
immediately and was off again. There is no running water at the refuge and I
was too stingy to fork out another 5 euros. Soon afterwards, the snow began, so
I put on my crampons rather than carrying them.
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The ascent was now up a ski piste, which was
dispiriting. The odd skier came down, followed later by unromantic piste
maintenance tractors. The ascent is supposed to be up a glacier, but I have my
doubts, as I could see dirt poking through the snow. (Global warming?) Since I
had no water for the last 2 1/2 hours I began to eat snow. This did not produce
much liquid, but it assuaged my thirst. Then I was walking next to a
(non-functioning) T-bar, which was a good thing, as visibility became about 60
metres, a virtual white-out. Without the T-bar I would not have known where to
go, except upwards.
At about 7 pm I received a rude shock. No refuge. There were
buildings aplenty: lift buildings, a customs post, and an uninviting but open
bivouac shelter (for the benefit of winter walkers), but I hoped for
better. A sign informed me I was not at Passo Teodulo, which had
been my aim, but at the higher Testa Grigia (3480m). The thought of
sleeping at this height without food, water or bedding was not cheerful. I
needed to urinate and since no-one was around I did this into the snow. Sure
enough, a man immediately came out of one of the buildings. I asked him where
the refuge was and he mentioned the flags down the hill. Just 50
metres away was the Rifugio dei Guide di Cervino. Boy was I relieved! When I
booked myself in, the lady shouted to the kitchen to make an extra pasta, as I
was the last arrival. I added "Una grande!". In fact, I received a
second helping of pasta from the rotund and jovial cook. Now, being so near to
the high mountains, I got a mad idea, why not climb the heavenly twins, Castor
and Pollux, as well as the Breithorn, which had been my original intention?
Please stay tuned.
When I got up next morning, the refuge was nearly
empty. The real climbers had set out two hours earlier, but it was
considerate of them to leave me their tracks to follow. It was grey
and 3 degrees C when I began to walk up the ski slope at
7.30, keeping to the side, as skiers were descending apace. By the
time the sun showed I was above the cable car terminus on the Kleine
Matterhorn (which does not resemble the real thing except for being rocky). The
ground was flat here and I saw teams of climbers heading for the
Breithorn (4160m), dissipating my feeling of uncertainty and mild anxiety. Soon
I began passing them.
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At 9.30 I reached the summit. The views, as on the
Allalinhorn, were wonderful. After an hour I reluctantly descended
down the other end of the summit ridge, following some affable English
guys. I came to a fork where the left branch led to Castor; taking it
seemed the natural thing to do. About 4 km of tramping up and down on
the glacier brought me to the base of Castor, about 380 m below the
summit. I took a photo but it looks deceptively flat.
Unfortunately, my ego did not allow me to pause to
savour the scenery, nor to take much care with photos, since I would have been
overtaken by other climbers. I kept up a good pace and became tired as the
ascent steepened. Stopping a few times to catch my breath, I soon
reached what I call a "no fall zone". The slope steepened to
about 45 degrees, then unexpectedly, I was on the summit ridge (shown below),
which is about 50 metres long and 30 cm wide. I felt anxious walking this
gauntlet, as a fall down either side could be fatal. A
largish crevasse is visible on the right, though I didn't see it at the
time. Now my mind was highly focused - on taking the next step
without stumbling. I applied the rule, "Don't look up, don't look down.
Just find a safe place to put the next step." This is truly 'being in
the moment' and indeed it worked well for me. There is no time to be
frightened when you are purely focused on putting down your foot. It
reminds me that all forms of fear amount to living in the future rather than in
the present.
Near the top of Castor |
The summit ridge |
Looking back down |
At 12.40 I was on the summit of Castor (4226 m). I stood
just beyond the peak, where there is room to pause and look around.
This climb was the highpoint not only of 2005, but of all my mountain
excursions of this lifetime. I have been higher before, but never on such
a spectacular mountain. Doing two 4000 m peaks in one morning with more
than 1000 m of ascent in the snow was tough - quite enough for my
level of fitness.
As I was considering the prospect of descending the way
I had come up (not without anxiety), I met Cor and Ruud, whom Carla later
dubbed my "guardian angels". These two are highly experienced but
friendly Dutch climbers, to whom going up Castor was just a morning stroll.
They had bigger plans. Ruud told me that my planned descent to the
Ayas refuge is dangerous in the afternoon due to melting snow bridges on the
crevasses. Indeed, it was so sunny that I was soon too warm walking in
shirt and denim jeans. There was no wind (and the next day I woke up badly
sunburnt). Ruud kindly suggested that I follow them down to the Quintino
Sella Refuge, where I had planned to go the next day. One of the benefits of
walking alone is that you can make quick changes of plan, so I took their
advice.
The path on the yonder side of Castor was extremely
inviting, wending its way up and down crests just above the clouds.
At one point in the descent they told me to jump over a one
metre wide crevasse. Had I been walking alone I would not have suspected any
danger. Soon we descended into the clouds and visibility was about 30 m. At
2.30 we arrived at the Quintino Sella Refuge at 3585 m. I put my heel
spur into the snow for 25 minutes and watched the little birds foraging for
scraps. I nearly forgot to have lunch but managed to score a delicious ham roll
from the welcoming lady at the counter. I bought us all vini caldi
and asked Ruud a heap of questions about mountaineering. He told me that it
is dangerous to walk alone on glaciers due to the crevasses.
The path down |
No left turn here |
Down into the clouds |
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