Lofoten, just above the Arctic circle in Norway, is a rock climbers paradise. Four of us (Dave K., Anni H., Sile and myself) spent most of July there this year (2019) climbing in the sunshine. While the area has everything from bouldering to big wall routes, for me at least, it is at its best with multipitch trad. Long routes with short approaches means you can climb all day and get back to the campsite for some grub and a couple of beers. As for the climbing, cracks abound interspersed with technical slabs. There are some bolt belays and the odd bolt placed en route on very runout sections, but its well done and definitely preserves the adventurous feel of the cragging. Rockfax produce a selected guide to the area which has plenty of routes and information for the first-time visitor.

Getting there and where to stay.

There are various options for getting there, which generally involve two flights. Sile and I flew to Oslo and then an internal flight on up to Bodø, from there the holiday really begins with a ferry trip up through the fjords to Svolvær. Dave and Anni flew to Helsinki (that’s in Finland) and drove across, picking us up at Svolvær. We all camped at Kalle for the majority of the trip which is a public campsite nestled between the sea and a forest. Kalle has a wealth of climbing within walking distance and less than 20 minutes drive from the likewise plentiful climbing of the Henningsvær area. The camping at Kalle is free, but you have to pay to use the toilet block. The toilets, it has to be said, are fantastic, a joy to behold. Surely, there is no greater pleasure than perching ones skinny little climbers’ arse on the pristine porcelain provided or sluicing one’s crag battered body in the hot showers that are also available. One must take care though, as certain reprobates choose to bypass the small fee and lie in wait for some unsuspecting punter to leave their porcelain perch and catch the door before it closes, thus avoiding the small fee requested for such a luxurious lavatory. Others, worse still, go in the forest!

The Kalle/ Henningsvær Area.

From Kalle it is possible to walk to several crags, the closest is Kallebukta which is directly above the campsite. “Puffrisset” is the obvious crack, that will usually have at least one party on it, it’s a low in the grade (n6) and worthwhile for an easy day. It is worth noting the grades are less than consistent, everything we climbed seemed to be given n6, which could be anything from middle of the grade HVS to the bottom end of E3. The length or seriousness of the route had no bearing on which end of the scale it would be. This supposedly dates back to Norwegians originally using the UIAA grading system but firmly believing that 6 would be the hardest anyone would ever climb. So, as grades in the rest of Europe climbed up into higher numbers, the Norwegian system diverged and just graded anything hard as n6. Eventually the Norwegians moved on and their system now goes all the way to n9, though they could do with retroactively re-grading the n6’s. It all adds to the spice though.

A short walk from Kalle is the single pitch area aptly named Paradiset (paradise). The climbing is spread out along the coast and while the guide covers the area, only a selection of routes have been recorded. So, you can seek out a nails test piece or just spend a few hours strolling through picking out lines that take your fancy. Also, as long as it’s not actually raining, you will find dry rock here.

Above Paradiset the imposing South and East sides of Vagakallen can be seen. Vagakellen forms part of a series of peaks and crags that ring the valley to its east including Myggapillaren, Storpillaren (hard chaws only) and the Overladen area.

Driving out of Kalle and around towards Henningsvær there are plenty more crags, the jewel of which is Presten (the priest). Presten’s west side is a 600m slab of fantastic granite that starts just above the road and finishes at the summit, with quality climbing from start to end. There are a multitude of other crags/areas all easily accessible from the same road, my personal favourite of which is Djupfjord.

The Climbing.

Dave and Anni arrived the day before us and started climbing in the Henningsvær area at Gandalf, a roadside crag with mostly 2-3 pitch routes on pristine, steep but juggy, granite. Sile and I were there the day after and also knocked off a couple of the classics, while Dave and Anni headed to another crag (Festaveggen) down the road.

The following day we all headed for Presten to climb “Vestpillaren Direct”. This gives an amazing 12 pitches (high in the grade n6) that comprise the ‘must do’ route of the area. Sile and I had climbed it on a previous trip but the quality was so good that we were keen to go again. The first time we had the route to ourselves and climbed it on the back end of the trip while we were fit and moving well. My memory is we cruised it (I’ve been told my memory is very unreliable, though I’m not sure by who!). This time, queues and hot weather along with a good deal of rust from not having climbed such a long route in a very long time meant we were slow, very slow. I admit I was cursing Dave and Anni as I could see them on the upper pitches while we were baking in the sun far below. Though, I definitely wasn’t cursing them when we eventually got back down off the route and there they were waiting patiently in the car, beers at the ready. After a rest day, Dave and Anni headed for some single pitch gems at Paradiset while Sile and I decided we needed to brush up on our multi-pitch techniques and went up to another long route called “Rom and Cola” on Alkohlveggen. This time the climb went smoothly enough but the descent down a wet gully with multiple stuck ropes meant we were out though most of the night again. That meant another rest day for Sile and me while Dave and Anni disappeared off around to the Henningsvær area to climb “Silmarillion”. They returned with very sketchy sounding tales of loose rock, hollow flakes and a couple of falls followed by the obligatory, “it’s great, you should try it” (not bloody likely!!). The next day we travelled to Svolvær to stock up on food and climb “the goat”, a famous rock formation above the town. A French group beat us to the start but proved to be good company on the way up and we all enjoyed an easy but quality route.

Stetind Area

We spent another few more days cragging around Kalle and Henningsvær before packing up and heading eastward towards Stetind (Norway’s national mountain apparently). The camping beneath Stetind was in a layby with a toilet block that was not to be sniffed at, I mean that literally, it smelt like a dead fox had crawled up out of its grave and threw up in your nose. Maybe we had been spoilt at Kalle, the toilets there were immaculate, a joy to the senses, worthy of any toll. At Stetind though, the smell was so foul, I had to bail on a days climbing to recover from the noxious odour. Dave and Anni, less sensitive to such things (or possible just more accustomed to them) went for a mighty tick on Stetind’s west side combining “Vestveggen” (The West Face) and “Vesteggen” (The West Ridge) for a very long day out. So long in fact, that the next morning, as Sile and I made our way up towards the mountain, we ran into them on their way down. Sile and I sought out the more amendable “Sydpilaren” (South Pillar) and had a great day climbing albeit with a torturously long descent. Then, unable to bear Stetinds putrid latrine any longer we packed up and headed back to Kalle and its beautifully maintained outhouse.

Presten Again (and Again).

Back on the magic islands we decided to try “Himmelen kan vente” (Heaven can wait) a superb looking route on Presten. We had tried it before the trip to Stetind but got stuck behind a slow party on a very cool and windy day and decided to bail after the fourth pitch. Though, at least, we did get to climb the excellent off-width second pitch, so it was still a good climbing day. The second attempt didn’t go much better and we were rained off after the off-width pitch. Dave and Anni made it back for a third go and sent it but we had already headed home at that stage.

With time running out Sile and I went for one more long route on the recommendation of our French friends from the Goat. “The midnight butterfly”, on Myggapilleran, proved a great way to round off the trip giving a very bold start with some excellent well protected cracks/corners above.

Overall it was a great trip, the weather played ball, the climbing was fantastic, and we were in good company. Can’t wait to do it again someplace.

Routes Climbed:

Dave and Sile

1. Gamel Rev (Gandalf) n6
2. Guns n’ Roses (Gandalf) n6
3. Vestpilaren Direct (Presten) n6
4. Rum and Cola (Overladen) n5+
5. Forsida (Svolvær) n5+
6. Bare Blaveis (Djupfjord) n6+
7. Puffrisset (Kallebukta) n6
8. Pizzatyven (Piannokrakken) n6
9. Himmelen kan vente (Presten) n6+ – dnf (bailed after pitch 4).
10. Sydpilaren (Stetind) n6-
11. Ventre risset direct (Paradiset) n6+
12. Himmelen kan vente (Presten) n6+ – dnf (bailed after pitch 2).
13. The midnight butterfly (Vagakallen) n6+
14. Svenske Diedret (Paradiset) n6+

Dave K. and Anni H.

1. Gandalf (Gandalf) n5
2. Tromso Ekspressen (Gandalf) n6
3. Lundeklubben (Festvagveggen) n6
4. Skiloperen (Festvagveggen) n6-
5. Gaukerisset (Festvagveggen) n6-
6. Vestpilaren Direct (Presten) n6
7. Ayers Rock (Paradiset) n6+
8. Silmarillion (Gandalf) n7
9. Forsida (Svolvær) n5+
10. Pan (geitvika) n7-
11. Bare Blaveis (Djupfjord) n6+
12. Vestveggen (Stetind) n6+
13. Vesteggen (Stetind) n6
14. Svenske Diedret (Paradiset) n6+
15. Vagarisset (Paradiset) n6+
16. King of Rock n’ Roll (Rorvika) n7-
17. Quenn of Rock n’ Roll (Rorvika) n5+
18. The Rock n’ Roll Ridge (Rorvika) n3
19. Englevinger (Svolvær) n6+
20. Himmelen kan vente (Presten) n6+
21. Varkat (Jomfrau Pillaren) n7

by Roger McMorrow

Matterhorn: Lion-Hornli Traverse (Lion: AD+ III+ 650m, Hornli: AD III 1,220m)

There are few ridges in the world that are as strikingly obvious and instantly recognisable from afar as the Hornli ridge of the Matterhorn is from Zermatt. It is picture postcard perfect and is probably one of the most recognisable mountains in the world. It’s a mountain that I have, for a very long time, wanted to climb but descending it for the first time is an entirely different matter. It is steep, loose, sketchy and the route is deliberately not marked or cairned (thanks Swiss guides). An inadvertent slip on descent is unlikely to be a mistake you will be able to make again. 

We summited at about 12:30 making good time from the Carrell hut on the Italian side. However, it was on the descent from the summit snowfields where we encountered our first real difficulties. The snow fields are between 45-50 degrees, normally one would be able to easily romp down them but the snow had suffered from unseasonably warm weather that year (something that we will all probably have to get more used to!). The snow was crunchy, icy and in poor condition. We were grateful for the steel stanchions placed about 20m apart that aid the ascent and descent. We Larks footed them with Dyneema slinged extenders and used them as runners moving together down towards the ridge proper. There are some chains and fixed shipping-style rope at steep sections. You could abseil some portions if you wanted to, but that would prove incredibly slow – we rapidly passed some parties that were abseiling and, at some sections we found ourselves stuck behind a slow party. Despite this, our progress was not as rapid as we would have liked. For the entire way down, we had a foreshortened view down of the ridge where at the bottom, almost within touching distance, lay the Hornli Hut, with its tantalisingly close promise of (albeit expensive) warm beds, food and water – we just had to get there! The rocky ridge is partially bolted here and there. There’s a lot of scrambling and places where the decision to abseil or move together is equivocal. Moving together is obviously faster so we kept the abseiling to an absolute minimum. 

Located at 4003m, just 475m below the summit, is the emergency Solvay hut. You can’t see it until you almost land on top of it. It’s much more extensive than I expected for an unmanned hut with its bunk beds, mattresses, blankets and drop style toilet, but it represents the last refuge on the ridge until you reach the bottom. We reached the Solvay hut at 17:00 this included about an hour lost behind abseiling parties that we were unable to pass. It had taken us 4.5 hours to descend just 475m a rate of almost 1 hour per 100m. The Hornli was almost twice that distance away, another 740m below. It’s hard enough to find your way down the ridge in daylight – it would be impossible and foolhardy to do it by head torch. We had a decision to make; stay at the Solvay in relative comfort, or risk benightment and a miserable night without bivvy gear, huddled at some nondescript point on the ridge. Sunset was at 21:30 – just 4.5 hours away. Could we cover the next 740m to the Hornli in that time?

As with all trips to the Alps, Parminder Chaggar – my Cardiologist climbing mate – and I had a plan. And as for almost all of our Alpine trips what we had planned to do and what we actually did ended up being completely different. June 2019 was unseasonably warm with temperatures of +15 degrees being recorded on the summit of Mont Blanc in the days before we arrived. There were social media posts of 150 paragliders on the Mont Blanc summit, some wearing shorts and T-shirts. Our initial plans to do the Kuffner Arête and the Frendo Spur – both demanding routes with significant snow and ice sections – would have ultimately been foolish. Global warming appears to be shifting the entire Alpine season earlier and earlier. So we began to look for alternative rocky routes that would allow us to satisfy our Alpine lust. It was that great man Gerry Galligan that had originally planted the seed in my head of the Lion-Hornli traverse of the Matterhorn in my head. It follows the beautiful ridgeline from the Italian side up over the mountain and down into Switzerland. Less travelled and less guided than the Hornli, it’s a little more technical and looks a lot more fun. Gerry and I had planned to do it the September before, but winter came early that year and, as is common with Alpine plans, the plan changed. It wasn’t until a year later that I got my chance.

On arrival in Italy, Parminder and I made our way to the Torino hut at 3,375m above the village of Courmayeur on the Italian side of the Mont Blanc Tunnel. It’s a good place to acclimatise, costs about €50 a night, and there are lots of rocky route options in the area accessible from the hut. Looking at the weather there appeared to be a very consistent 48-hour period of clear and settled weather towards the end of the week. Parminder acclimatises well but at a slower rate than I do, so to consider a technical climb of up to 4,500m he likes to have at least 10 days to adjust, and a 4000er already under his belt. On this occasion it was not to be. We had limited time and a weather window too good to refuse. The highest we would get to was the top of the Aiguilles Marbrées 3,535m. It was through a combination of systematic peer pressure and begging that Parminder agreed to give it a go. So, after four nights at the Torino and a couple of rocky route shake down days we headed back down and over to Cervinia. 

Cervinia is a beautiful Italian ski village only 1.5 hours drive from Courmayeur. Accommodation is cheap in the summer as it has plenty of hotels to cater for the skiers in the winter. There is also a small camp site outside the main town and we know of at least one pair of students that chose to sneakily camp on the golf course, dropping the tent every day before tee off! We chose to stay in one of the hotels. 

From Cervinia you head towards the Rifugio Orionde Duca degli Abruzzi, 2,802m, which would be a good alternative base to start the climb from. You can get to this refuge in 3 ways: 1) by walking up the 800m; 2) by getting the cable car – €10 to Plan Maison, 2,548m – and taking the traversing path over; or 3) (if you are feeling flush) the hut has a 4×4 taxi to take you directly there for €100 per taxi (up to 5 people). From the Rifugio the path steepens rapidly, ice axes and crampons will be needed as you head up to the Col de Leone, 3580m, but you don’t need to get the rope out just yet. The route up to the col is airy and certainly gives a moment or two to pause for thought.

Shortly after the col, two fixed rope sections give a sharp reminder of the benefits of acclimatisation! We used the rope for this section, moving together clipping fixed bolts. Shortly after that you approach the Rifugio Carrel 3,829m. May I respectfully suggest that you keep to the right as much as possible as the drop toilet is on the left!

The Carrel hut is quite comfortable, sleeps about 40 in 3 pairs of large bunks with mats and blankets running much of the length of the building and it was a full and cosy house that evening. There is a small communal eating area and a private room for guides. It costs €20 per person per night – there is an honesty box but if an Italian guide is there they will collect the money instead. There are cups, bowls, eating utensils and a gas stove for melting snow, however, given the toilet facilities, we and many others carried our own water (4.5 litres each) up with us. It’s quite a social place and we had the good fortune to meet two nice students that were fond of golf courses from the University of Edinburgh and two legends of mountaineering, Mick Fowler and Paul Ramsden, all of whom were doing the traverse. If you get to the hut early you can take advantage by recceing the first few pitches for the morning. Unlike at the Hornli where independent mountaineers are functionally locked in until the guides depart there is no hierarchy to the climbers. There were two guided parties. One guide announced he and his party were leaving at 4am. People were welcome to go earlier or later but he respectfully requested that if he came up behind you to let him and his clients past. A reasonable request.

We planned (there’s that word again) to leave at sunrise 05:00, but due to a setting error on the alarm clock we only managed to get away at 06:15. We were the second last party to leave and cursed ourselves for the late start. The first pitch out of the hut is an imposing overhang with a fixed chain. It looks much worse than it actually is and we quickly passed it. The late start meant the route was clear and we rapidly moved over the next sections. Pitching some but mostly moving together the navigation was straightforward and we quickly caught up with the Brits we had met the night before. We decided to stick together for the rest of traverse, sharing the one abseil, rather than having to set up our own separately three times. The Italian ridge is lovely and the sun began hitting the rock at 09:30 in the morning. The rock is good and seems to lend its self to small cams (BD No’s 0.75-2). The small cams were quicker and easier to place and remove than our small half set of nuts, we also took 5 extenders made from 60 cm Dyneema slings. In retrospect one or two more small cams and 2 more sling extenders would have allowed longer leads and less stopping to swap gear. 

At about 10:30 we donned crampons just below Pic Tyndall, 4,241m, a prominent point on the ridge where it plateaus off towards the final summit buttress. It is named after the 19^th century Irish physicist John Tyndall who, in addition to his pioneering work on glaciers, was a keen alpinist and among the first to summit the Matterhorn. It was here that we passed a party of 5 Catalonians who had started at 2 in the morning! 

A short abseil brings you to the final buttress of the mountain and, at this point, it does get quite steep. Hat tip to the first ascenders! A convenient ladder, fixed rope and chains helps the modest mountaineer move as quickly through this section as the altitude allows. Not long after that a pleasant ridge broadens out and the Italian summit with its inevitable cross rises into view. 

We were very lucky with the weather, blue skies, low wind and pleasant temperatures. The 0 degree Isotherm was at about 4,000m so the summit was only slightly into the minus range. A quick jaunt across an airy ridge to the Swiss side and you can get a good view of the Hornli hut which looks so close you could almost reach out and touch it, that’s where we had booked dinner and beds for the evening. Sure we’ll be there in 4-5 hours for beer and dinner. It is always quicker on the way down, right?

Sometimes in the hills you get that rising sense of foreboding when you are a long way from where you should be and you are facing into the growing possibility of an unintended bivouac, or as the French say; a mistake. 

I don’t know if he coined it first but it was mountain guide, and fellow Northern Irish Lisburn mountaineer, Tim Neill, who introduced me to the ‘three types of fun’ concept. It’s kind of an expansion of the mountaineering mantra: “You don’t have to be having fun when you’re having fun and you only get experience right after you needed it”. Type 1 fun: this is fun at the time and always will be fun. Type 2 fun: This wasn’t fun at the time but, after the fact, you realise that it really was quite fun. Type 3 fun: This wasn’t fun at the time and, after the fact, you realise that it still wasn’t fun, and no amount of time between the event and now will ever make it fun and you never ever want to do that again.

What had been solid Type 1 fun on the way up slowly edged into Type 2 at points, and we were now facing into what appeared to be borderline Type 3.  

We had a choice to stay at the Solvay in relative comfort or go faster than we had been moving along the ridge. After a bit of agonising we took the plunge, and decided to go for it, setting off as a party of six with Mick Fowler, Paul Ramsden and the two Edinburgh students. 

We shared a couple of abseils to get off and below the Solvay Hut, keeping to the right hand side of the ridge scrambling and down climbing. The rope for the most part would get in the way so we mostly soloed. But the scrambling is airy, and a slip or fall would not be forgiven. No matter how careful you are, a stone knocked from a person above you would be all that’s needed to set you off balance. 

The route finding is not easy and the route descriptions; vague. Parts of the route, which should have clearly been cairned, or otherwise marked, were completely absent, frequently allowing us to go astray. Once off-route, the rock suddenly becomes very loose and at times we entered solid Type 3 fun territory. At one point we were abseiling out of a gully, that was obviously off-route, onto a face that was even more off-route. The tat indicated that we weren’t the only ones to have passed this way. 

The ridge is relentless. It never gives up, never eases off and it demands continual attention and constant route-finding. All the while the Hornli hut grew larger and larger, so very close, but still just out of reach as the sun sank slowly in the sky, her lovely alpenglow highlighting the beautiful sounding mountains but a also a portend that the night would soon come. Our time was running out and the sun set over the horizon. We were almost there, knowing full well that progress in the dark with a head torch would be close to impossible. We would have to hope the twilight would be enough to carry us through the last stretch before the darkness descended. We saw the final section of fixed ropes come into view, indicating the last section of the ridge, and a few minutes later we were on flat ground. The light failed, but now that we were on the flat, head torches were sufficient to guide us to the Hornli. We arrived. Exhausted and war weary. This was a mountain truly deserving of its reputation and not to be underestimated.  

Return to Italian side

From the Hornli we walked down to the Schwarzsee cable car (c45 minutes) and took it to Klein Matterhorn. A short walk (c1 hour) gets you back to the cable car on the Italian side at the Rifugio Testa Grigia. (This cable car only takes cash for some reason) This car will bring you back to Cervinia and a well-earned Dinner & Beer.

Rope

A 40m rope is sufficient for the traverse. A longer rope may be more problematic as you can abseil further off route. If descending the Italian side a 50 m single would be better as the abseils are longer.

Rack

BD Cams 3 small sizes (would have preferred another 1 or 2)

Half set of nuts

5 Dyneema Sling Extenders (would have preferred another 2)

3 screwgates, 1 sling, 1 prussic, 1 descender, 1 axe & pair of crampons each.

Map

Map: 3306T: Zermatt Saas-Fee (waterproof map)

by Michael Lunt

An extraordinary account of the Alpine adventures of two friends over three seasons sixty years ago… and their chance encounter with four young French climbers on the eve one of the most dramatic tragedies in Alpine climbing history.

1

Whether George Narramore put the suggestion to me or I to him that we should go together to the Alps in the summer of 1958 I cannot recall. When walking together in Wicklow or Connemara we usually found ourselves in agreement about what we would like to do so it was not surprising that we should be thinking along similar lines with regard to the Alps. The previous summer Noel Brown had sent me a postcard from Zermatt with a picture of the Weisshorn: the beauty of the mountain was a revelation to me and I immediately conceived a desire to climb it.

George had already visited Zermatt and was equally keen on the Weisshorn. Not only did we mostly agree about plans and objectives, sharing an aesthetic rather than an athletic approach to mountaineering, but in terms of ability we complimented each other quite well. 

George was the more cautious and more experienced, particularly on snow and glaciers, I was more confident on rock and in exposed situations. At the time we were also both enthusiastic photographers. However I must acknowledge that in those days George did all the planning, studying guide books and sorting out travel arrangements. His bible was Walker’s Walking in the Alps, his copy of which is now in my possession, apart some very happy memories, my only souvenir of three Alpine holidays with George.

After a short panic in London, when I checked myself into Charing Cross Hospital with a suspected appendicitis which turned out to be indigestion, I met up with George at Victoria Station and set out by train, at the age of twenty, on my first trip to the Continent. At Zurich next morning, the synchronisation of George’s meticulous planning and Swiss punctuality became manifest: without delay a train took us on to Chur in time for an alfresco lunch in the station restaurant – I ate spinach for the first time in my life, I have loved it ever since – thence by various connecting postbuses over the Splugen pass, down into Italy, back into Switzerland and finally by post-jeep up to the tiny picture-book village of Soglio. 

My passion for real coffee was also born next morning over breakfast in a wonderful old hotel – a previous guest had been the poet Rilke. The village was truly unspoilt and intact with not a single modern building, the view from the village, my first view of the high Alps, was spectacular.

Looking across Val Bregaglia you can see into the heart of the wild and lovely Val Bondasca, a deep forested side valley defined at its head by the granite spired ridge of the Sciora peaks and to the south by two towering north faces – Piz Cengalo and Piz Badile. The Cengalo – slightly higher but easier to climb than the Badile – was the main objective of our first week, we would be approaching it from the opposite, Italian, side. 

***

After an orgy of photography we walked down to the main road at Promontogno where the bus for St. Moritz took us up to the Maloja Pass. The sky was overcast as we set off on foot through a forest of fir. Passing by a serene little lake, we emerged from the wood onto my first glacier, the Forno, this we ascended up its western edge before crossing to the Forno hut.

Our start next morning for Monte Sissone and the frontier ridge was not as early as it should have been, resulting in a lengthy trudge through soft snow. On my first day in the Alps I was introduced to the frustration, familiar to experienced Alpinists, of climbing through crusted snow which will at first support your foot but no sooner do you transfer your weight than it will give way, causing you to sink suddenly into knee-deep snow. We took it in turns to lead, sharing the burden of creating a track – going second was slightly less effort. The weather was still dull but we were rewarded at the top of the 11,000 ft. Monte Sissone when the clouds cleared momentarily to reveal the beautiful surging ridges and sublime summit of nearby Monte della Disgrazia. It was on the Disgrazia that Eddie Gaffney lost his life whilst climbing there alone some years ago. 

Descending south-westward into the lonely Val di Mello we were forced to bivouac half-way down in a shallow cave. The discomfort of this night, coming after the long snow plod, made me resolve never again to make a late start in the Alps – a resolve I managed to keep. 

Lower down the wild and beautiful Val di Mello next morning we passed some rudimentary habitations in caves and under large boulders, nearby there were some peasants hay-making. It seemed apparent to us that these people were living in conditions more primitive than we thought possible in modern Europe. In hindsight, I guess, what we saw was an example of transhumance and that in all likelihood the hay-makers had much more salubrious winter quarters.

San Martino is situated at the junction of the Val di Mello and the Val dei Bagni, here we turned north, walking under a hot sun up to the Badile hut. The next morning was fine and we climbed to the top of the Cengalo without incident. Snow slopes led to a col between the Badile and the Cengalo, then we climbed eastward up an easy but exposed ridge, firstly on rock then on firm snow with some cornices near the summit. My insistence that we make an early start had got us to the top by 8.30 am. A leisurely descent in sunshine, followed by a plate of spaghetti in the Badile Hut, completed a satisfactory day. It had been our intention to return to Soglio next day by crossing the Bondo Pass and descending the Bondasca Glacier, however we were discouraged – rather too easily – by the presence of some early morning cloud, George, who was full of weather lore, was usually very sound on such matters, as well as being quite knowledgeable on snow conditions. So instead we walked back down to San Martino and took bus, train and bus back to Val Bregaglia, walking up through the chestnut woods to Soglio. Such was my introduction to the alps. 

2. 

Next day we made the long train trip to Zermatt where we checked into the Banhof Hotel. Learning of our intention to climb the Weisshorn, Paula Biner suggested that as the weather was looking settled we should not delay. And so we set off next morning for Randa and the long walk up to the Weisshorn hut. That night we were the only occupants of the hut and the following day the only people on the mountain, in fact of the nine summits we climbed over three years we shared the mountain with others on only two occasions.

I made sure we that started well before dawn, ascending to the Schali glacier by torchlight. First light found us above the glacier on a rock rib that slanted up towards the East Ridge. To gain the ridge we had to climb a shallow east-facing couloir which was now taking on a rosy glow from the rising sun. As pink changed to gold the frozen surface melted in the sudden warmth, releasing a barrage of small stones. Keeping as much to the side of the couloir as possible, yet staying on the snow so that we could kick steps, we moved fearfully upwards as the stones whizzed past us at the speed of bullets. 

Thankfully we soon reached the comparative safety of the East Ridge unharmed. At the eastern end of the ridge, Frühstücksplatz (breakfast point) is well over thirteen thousand feet high. he Zermatt giants were now arrayed before us, still golden in the early morning light. In the distance, beyond the Zinal Rothorn, Mont Blanc shimmered above a purple haze, a pale moon on its shoulder. After a short stop we continued up the ridge moving one at a time, more because of the considerable exposure than any technical difficulty. The first half of the ridge was narrow and rocky with a lot of snow and some ice on the rocks. There were several tricky steps and gendarmes which we negotiated carefully without removing our crampons, traversing the most difficult on the right (north) side. After about an hour and a half the ridge steepened and narrowed further to become a knife-edged snow arête leading directly to a small bergschrund and the summit cone.

It must have been midday by the time we got to the top. At just short of fifteen thousand feet the Weisshorn is the fifth highest summit in the alps. Of the great mountains around us – Dom and Täschorn, Monte Rosa, Liskamm, Castor and Pollux, Breithorn, Matterhorn, Ober Gabelhorn, Zinal Rothorn, and Dent Blanche, only Dom, Monte Rosa and Lyskamm and far to the west Mont Blanc were higher than we were. The weather was perfect, no cloud in sight and not a breath of wind. 

In order to find out the temperature George attached his thermometer to a piece of string and whirled it round his head, I forget what the result was, we must have spent an hour sitting on the summit enjoying the sunshine and the 360º panorama. At our feet the north ridge was a very narrow cone of snow – quite uninviting. Beyond it we could survey the full extent of the Aletsch Glacier and identify all the Oberland giants; to the east, beyond Mischabel, snowy peaks went on forever. It should have been perfect bliss but for an anxious mind that could think of nothing but the forthcoming descent through the couloir fusillade. When at last, on the descent, we reached the breakfast point, the sun had long since left that side of the mountain and the couloir was quite benign. We returned to the empty hut sixteen hours after leaving it, removed our boots, dined on pasta and cheese, and slept the sleep of heroes. 

3

We returned to the Alps the following summer, 1959, this time with the intention of doing the high level walk from Chamonix to Zermatt. We started the walk from a pass above Martigny, making for the Cabane de Triente. From the hut the view over the glacier was dominated by the magnificent Aiguille de Chardonnet which we had planned to climb, however next morning the weather was bad so we continued eastward down to Champex. (Two years later Eamonn Gallagher and Frank Butler climbed the Chardonnet by the classic Forbes arête.)

On the descent to Champex another difference in temperament and taste between myself and George emerged. By late morning the rain had stopped but veils of tattered clouds remained, intermittently hiding and revealing a succession of pale ridges, above rocky with spires and gendarmes, below forested in dark fir. George enthused and delighted in this prospect but all my eyes could see was bad weather and no possibility of climbing. Thinking back, I am reminded of Wordsworth’s lines:

“When first

I came among these hills; when like a roe

I bounded o’er the mountains by the sides

Of the deep rivers, and the lonely streams,

Wherever nature led; more like a man

Flying from something that he dreads, than one Who sought the thing he loved.”

In recent years I too have grown to love such scenes, just as I have grown to love Schubert’s songs and popular science literature, things that were amongst George’s enthusiasms thirty years before I discovered them for myself. Although he did nearly turn me off Schubert for life. It was his habit when walking to hum endlessly the tune from the well known song Die Forelle (the Trout). I didn’t care much for the tune then and even today it’s not my favourite bit of Schubert.

From Champex we walked up the long Val de Bagnes beneath the Grand Combin to the Chanrion Hut. Once again we were the only occupants. The weather had now improved and was to stay fine for the rest of the trip. 

From Chanrion we ascended the Glacier d’Ortemma to the Vignettes cabin. This hut is wonderfully situated on top of a crag above the glacier, the Dent Blanche now prominent in the east. For once we were not alone but had some affable Cambridge University students for company. One of them easily beat me at chess by means of a queen sacrifice. This defeat made a lasting impression on me, sixty years on and I have yet to succeed in conjuring up a winning queen sacrifice.

Next morning we climbed a fine looking mountain called l’Eveque, this time reaching the summit well before eight thanks to my now ingrained obsession with pre-dawn starts. The walk down to Arolla through the forest under Mont Collon was a delight. At Les Haudères we turned south to Ferpecle and ascended to the Roussier hut in order to climb the Dent Blanche by the ordinary route. For once there were several other climbers in the hut but next day there was only one other couple on the mountain.

The ascent was easy enough though the summit itself was a very loose pile of shaley rock. Descending the summit ridge you face directly towards the Dent d’Herens. From other viewpoints this peak tends to be outshone by its higher and more famous neighbours, particularly the Matterhorn, but from the Dent Blanche it looks very impressive with its immense north-facing hanging glaciers. We had reached the top before the other party but they passed us on the descent by abseiling down the Grand Gendarme. George and I always felt safer climbing down. Earlier the views had been magnificent but as the day progressed cloud increased, visibility diminished, and finding the correct spur off the mountain became problematic. However our route-finding was up to the challenge and we reached the hut safely where we spent the night.

>       From the Roussier we crossed over the Col d‘Herens and descended to the Z’mutt glacier and the Schonbuhl Hut. Lying directly opposite the north face of the Matterhorn, the Schonbuhl is one of the grandest and most comfortable of mountain huts. We were woken during the night by an electric storm on the Matterhorn. After enjoying the night’s firework display we decided to traverse the Ober Gabelhorn next on our way to Zermatt.

>       The Arbengrat was a joy to climb; a clean firm ridge of gneiss all the way to the top of the Gabelhorn. On the way up we passed a party of three who were traversing the mountain in the opposite direction. Our descent was by the snowy east ridge ( I didn’t enjoy the fixed rope) and over the Wellenkuppe to the Rothorn hut. I slipped on the snowy shoulder of the Wellenkuppe but George held me on the rope before I could shoot into space – I think we were moving together at the time. Entering the Rothorn hut we spied two familiar faces, Sylvia Yates and Mary Gahan, recently down from a successful ascent of the Rimpfischhorn. So ended our second Alpine holiday. The third and last was to be very different.

4 

As part of our preparation, some six weeks before our departure, we were rock-climbing at Glendalough. I was in the best climbing form of my life and George reckoned he could lead Nightmare. He would be proved wrong.  We had no problem on Fanfare, I danced up it, but George fell off the overhang above Nightmare ledge, though he ended up a long way down he wasn’t seriously hurt but my right hand was badly burned by the rope and sadly I never recovered the form of that day. 

We met up in the Torino Refuge, I had travelled from Turin where I had been visiting Italia 61 – an exhibition celebrating the centenary of Italian unity. George came over on the telepherique from Chamonix. Our first venture was a traverse of the Rochefort ridge, conditions and weather were reasonable, the exposure and views magnificent, however we could only go part of the way before having to return to the Torino. Next day we descended to the glacier and climbed to the hut on the Col de la Fourche. Once again the hut was empty when we arrived, it was so small that it was possible to lie on a bunk and at the same time put one’s head out of the door. The view from the door was on a scale that I had never previously experienced, the whole of the Brenva face lay before us. From the Aiguille Noire de Peuterey on our left to Mont Maudit on the right Mont Blanc presented an intimidating prospect. Our plan was quite ambitious – a complete traverse of Mont Blanc, up the Old Brenva, over the summit and down the Bionnassay ridge to the Durier cabin. 

Later in the afternoon a party of four French arrived. Fortunately, in that cramped setting, we found them very friendly and jovial. The physique and morale of these fit young men was overwhelming, to me they appeared a different and superior species to George and myself. 

Their huge rucksacks were filled with climbing gear and innumerable tubes of sweetened condensed milk which seemed to be the only element in their diet. We understood that they were going to do some route on the pillars of Freney, wherever they might be. George took a photograph of the group on the narrow terrace outside the hut. This photograph subsequently appeared on the cover of Paris Match.

We heard them depart at 2 next morning. By four it was our turn but when George put his nose outside the door he observed “Its too warm” so we got back into our bags. His judgement was vindicated when the French arrived back three hours later. We were not prepared or equipped to sit it out on the Col de la Fourche so we said goodbye to our new friends and descended by telepherique to Chamonix. Plan B was now to go round to Les Contamines and climb Mont Blanc from the west over the Dôme de Miage and the Aiguille de Bionnassay. 

By noon two days later we were on the Miage ridge heading for the Durier cabin. The weather had been perfect, the sky clear blue from horizon to horizon. As we continued along the ridge Mont Blanc lay straight ahead, one minute it stood clear white against the deep blue, the next minute the summit was draped in a beautiful veil of cloud.  George identified the cloud formation as lenticular and though it looked lovely he assured me that it was a very bad omen. He was right, by the time we reached the Durier cabin it was snowing. The storm lasted several days, we sat it out in the Durier, which was little bigger than the hut at the Col de la Fourche. Or rather I lay it out, dozing in my sleeping bag most of the time, only emerging to eat or go to the lavatory. This latter was a big deal since it was necessary to dress up as if we were on the North Col just to go the few steps outside. Meanwhile George conducted scientific experiments into the thermal potential of candles and empty shoe polish tins, successfully keeping us alive by boiling spaghetti in melted snow over the candles. One blessing was that by the second day the boom of avalanches was drowning out the interminable humming of La Florelle. On the third day, now out of food and candles, and avalanches decreasing in frequency, we decided to go down. After several hours of cautious descent we arrived at habitation. Thankfully a small auberge on a green alp was able to give us a very welcome hot meal and a glass of red wine.

Leaving George, who was returning to Chamonix, at Les Contamines, I set off south on the circuit of Monte Blanc to walk to Courmayeur. On the descent from the Col de la Croix du Bonhomme my route-finding for once went astray. Not, fortunately, high up where it might have been serious, but at a junction of valleys at which point I should have tuned east. Instead I continued straight on downhill past a ramshackle building, not recognising it to be the hotel I was looking out for. Three miles later I realised my mistake and plodded wearily back up. Unnecessary miles always seem to require more effort than voluntary ones.

The story of the tragedy of the Central Pillar of Fresney is well known. After we left the hut on the Col de la Fourche, the four French climbers were joined there by three Italians – two guides, Walter Bonatti and Andrea Oggioni, and their client, Roberto Gallieni. The two teams joined forces to attempt the Central Pillar of Fresney, a major unclimbed buttress on the Italian face of Mont Blanc. The French – Pierre Mazead, Pierre Kohlmann, Robert Guillame and Antoine Vielle – were rated among the best French climbers of their day. 

On Tuesday 11th July, just at the time George and I were traversing the Dôme de Miage, they had already reached a point only eighty metres from the top of the Pillar. They too saw the ominous cloud but being so near the top felt it safest to continue. The storm broke and climbing became impossible. Whilst we lay for three days in the comfort and security of the Durier cabin they were confined to tiny ledges less than two hundred metres from the top of the highest mountain in the Alps. 

>       During the first night they were twice struck by a discharge of lightning, Kohlmann very badly. Bonatti in his book The Great Days tells the full story of their terrible and tragic descent. Not believing that a summer storm could last so long they remained on the ledges attached by pitons to the mountain until Friday morning. It was by then impossible to continue upwards so at 6 am they started their descent; it was not until 3 am on Sunday morning that Bonatti and Gallieni staggered into the Gamba Hut. Oggioni had died from exhaustion only a short distance away, Vielle and Guillaume had also died earlier on the descent. Kohlmann, perhaps due to being struck by lightning, lost his reason and he too died within a short distance of the Gamba just as the rescue party reached him. Of the French, Mazeaud alone survived. He recovered in hospital, later he made one of the earliest winter ascents of the Matterhorn’s north face.

Unaware of the tragedy unfolding above me, my last day was spent pleasantly walking down Val Veni to Courmayeur. So ended my Alpine career. Though some of what we did was quite serious there were very few fraught moments, George and I got on very well together and he was unfailingly good company. I have come to appreciate him more as I have got older and wiser. He was a one-off and I was privileged to be both his friend and his climbing companion.