The Matterhorn from the Stockje.
The Tiefenmatten face is enclosed by the Zmutt ridge, seen on the left, and the Italian on the right. In the foreground is the Tiefenmatten Glacier.
The Matterhorn at sunset.
Facing page 184.
We roped in two parties; Fynn, Max and Obexer on one rope, Martini, Case and myself on the other. Our commander-in-chief, bent on putting the younger recruits through their paces, detailed Max and myself as leaders. We on our part were only too eager to obey, and, as soon as all was in readiness, we climbed down into the gap. Despite appearances, no difficulty was encountered; the three prominent teeth in the gap were easily circumvented. By the time that we had passed the third, the sun disappeared behind the mountain, and for the first time the cold really made itself felt. A few days previously, a violent thunderstorm had deposited a sprinkling of snow, and the steep rocks now before us were still white and partly glazed with a thin veneer of ice. Under these circumstances we considered it advisable to forsake the backbone of the ridge and traverse out for some considerable distance into the huge and precipitous gully falling away to the Matterhorn Glacier. The work now demanded great care, for, owing to the absence of jutting out bits of rock over which the rope might have been belayed, a slip would have entailed grave consequences. We all felt we could trust each other, however, and without anxiety we pursued our course, cautiously plying the axe to clean out the snow and ice from every hand- and foothold, until we at last reached some good broken rocks which, though steep, led us without much difficulty back to the ridge. We were now far above the teeth. For a short time the ridge was adhered to, but once again it became steep, and a treacherous layer of ice on the rock, masked by a covering of snow, drove us once more out into the gully on the left. The rock here was very steep, but more broken up. To even matters up somewhat, however, snow filled up the interstices. It was extremely cold for midsummer, but, owing to the steepness of the gully and the tricky nature of the work, gloves could not be used, as they interfered too much with one’s grip on handholds. For the second time that day we were climbing under conditions where a slip on the part of one man would have involved all his comrades on the rope in destruction, and we could not afford to make mistakes. Fynn’s cheery voice exhorting us to “take our time and put hands and feet down as if the Matterhorn belonged to us” supplied extra encouragement, if indeed such were necessary, to do our best to show a master in mountain-craft that the younger generation were eager to emulate.
Up and up the gully we climbed, and, as we rose, it became steeper and steeper, until the man below saw nothing but the nailed boot soles of the man above. Snow choked all cracks and crannies and concealed handholds, but fortunately the rocks were free from ice. Carefully scraping and kicking, we cleared the snow away, and at last, just as my bare fingers had become so cold as to be devoid of feeling, I scraped out a channel in the little snow cornice crowning the exit of the gully and stepped back on to the crest of the Zmutt ridge. Here at last was good standing ground. The ridge was fairly broad. Behind us stood a prominent rocky tower; in front the ridge led up towards the summit. On the left, flanking the great gully by which we had ascended, was that tremendous overhang on a branch on the ridge, which has been so aptly called the “Nose of Zmutt.” The sunshine on the ridge was welcome indeed after the chill hours spent in the shade. During the intervals in a course of energetic exercises designed to restore circulation and warmth to feet and hands, we ate a second breakfast. Again, however, the north wind cut short our stay, and at eight o’clock we prepared for the final section of the climb. Given normal conditions, two hours might have sufficed to see us on the summit. As things were, however, five hours were needed, in spite of the fact that from here onwards we climbed as fast as we could go with safety and without resting. We attempted to follow the ridge, but in a short time great steep steps, which occasionally were overhanging and from which gigantic icicles depended, forced us off the crest, this time out to the right towards the Italian ridge. Hitherto, though we had undoubtedly surmounted two pitches requiring care and delicate handling, and the work as a whole had been far from easy, the task which now confronted us was an even more serious one. I gathered the impression that under favourable conditions the ground over which we were now to pass would have been perfectly straightforward and by no means difficult. As it chanced, however, fresh snow lay about everywhere, and, more pernicious still, the rocks were glazed with ice. Shortly after leaving the ridge, we had to cut steps across a wide ice slope on to a little rib of broken rocks, the crest of which was ice-free. Viewing the rest of the ground from this point, I judged it advisable to continue the traverse before attempting to climb upwards. Fynn, however, who had taken over the lead of the second party, elected to proceed directly up, although by so doing he had to climb over more difficult ground. The reason for this choice was quite simple. There was a great deal of loose rock about, and, owing to the difficult nature of the ground, it was quite within the bounds of possibility that one or other of us might start stones falling. It was in order to minimise danger from this source that Fynn set himself the more laborious and intricate task of continuing straight upwards.