Bad weather and unfavourable conditions had too often caused the postponement of several winter climbs, among them a long-planned ascent of the Tödi on skis. At length, towards the end of the winter term of 1911, a week-end arrived, sunny and bright, heralding the approach of spring. On the fourth eager inquiry the Meteorological Office gave a not too dismal reply, with the result that the laboratories and drawing-boards of Zürich’s Polytechnic suddenly seemed very unattractive. The reply came at 11 a.m. on Saturday, March 11. After rapid preparations and a hurried lunch, a party of five, consisting of Obexer, Morgenthaler, Weber, Forster, and myself, boarded the 1.30 p.m. train for Linthal. George was unable to join us, being in the throes of his final examinations. At Zürich-Enge, the first stop of the train, we were reduced to four, since Forster left us to chase after a porter to whose care he had entrusted his skis and rucksack, and who, of course, failed to put in an appearance at the right moment. Just beyond the village of Linthal, the terminus of our journey by rail, we put on the skis, the heavy snowfalls of the previous week having lowered the snow-line far down into the valleys. At Tierfehd, an hour beyond the village, the road ends. At the foot of the steep path which leads thence over the Panten bridge we adjusted seal-skins. At 11 p.m. we arrived at the alp-huts of Hintersand (4,285 ft.), where a halt of half an hour was made for supper. The following steep rise up to the Tentiwang showed various traces of avalanches, but was certainly safe at that hour of the night. Two members of our party were comparatively inexperienced mountaineers; Obexer and I were, therefore, disturbed when Weber, one of the two novices, led up this part rather too energetically, for a killing pace on the first day often means a winded man on the morrow. At one spot before reaching the Tentiwang pastures, a short but steep slope of ice-covered rocks cost us much hard labour and time. We had to replace the skis by crampons, cut steps and finally pull up rucksacks and skis on the rope.
From the Tentiwang (5,250 ft.) the usual summer route towards the Bifertenalpeli was chosen, the snow being firmly frozen and quite safe. Had the snow been unsafe, we should have mounted straight up to, and over, the end of the glacier which is generally the better and safer way to the hut in winter. At 3 a.m. we stepped into the St. Fridolin’s club-hut (6,910 ft.). Nowhere during the whole ascent had a lantern been required, as the full moon lit up the snows with almost dazzling brilliancy.
Much snow had to be cleared out of the hut, especially off straw on the bunks, before it became habitable. The woodshed was choked with snow, and we had great difficulty in lighting a fire. Unfortunately, none of us had brought a spirit lamp or cooking apparatus, so it was 5 a.m., nearly dawn, when we turned in.
The Tödi.
“King of the Little Mountains.”
Facing page 108.
Somewhat after 9 a.m. we awoke. Preparations for our departure proceeded unusually slowly, owing to the trouble again experienced in lighting the stove. Although it was noon when we at length started off, we were fully determined to accomplish the climb that day. The weather was perfect, clear and calm, the temperature being well below freezing-point. In summer the ascent would take some six hours. We reckoned rather more now, because in winter one must as a rule follow a different route, discovered by Mr. D. W. Freshfield, which passes through the two great icefalls of the Biferten Glacier. Therefore, allowing eight, or at the outside ten hours, in which to gain the summit, we counted on re-entering the hut not later than 3 a.m. Even should this not be the case, the moon would give us ample light till 5 a.m., and at 6 a.m. dawn would follow after a solitary hour’s darkness. All things considered, we looked forward to the climb in the light of a pleasant adventure and thanked the fate which had led us into making a midnight ascent.