Nicole quit her job so we could go climbing in 2014. We had a lot of time and didn’t have much planned for the beginning of the year, apart from some of my professional engagements. Our first destination was Argentina, where we swapped the Swiss winter for the Patagonian summer. After this trip we did a whistle-stop visit to Switzerland and went to the Piolet d’Or award ceremony in Chamonix before we took off again for Spain, where we spent the spring in Siurana. Here we spent our time climbing and getting to know the region while jogging or cycling. When the heat got unbearable in Spain, we continued to France. Céüse was a climbing mecca offering routes for both Nicole and me. In the summer we returned to South America for another four weeks. This time we went to Peru, where we climbed several 6000-meter peaks, including Artesonraju in the Cordillera Blanca.
The distance from home, the withdrawal from public life, and the excursions with Nicole helped me get over the events of the previous year. Even though I had not really digested everything, I no longer suffered from panic attacks and could better see the difference between the events. I had learned that getting over such things is a long process.
The highlight of our trip was planned for the fall. Nicole wanted to find out whether she could climb an 8000-meter peak. The highest point she had reached so far was the 6856-meter Ama Dablam in Nepal, which she had climbed in 2011. She generally coped well with altitude, and she always described our 2009 trip to Gasherbrum II as one of the best trips of her life. The fact that she did not reach the summit due to heavy snowfall did not bother her. She has the technical ability to master such ascents via the normal routes under the right conditions and without carrying too much weight.
She had always wanted to go to Tibet, and so we decided to attempt Shishapangma, which is probably the only 8000-meter peak where skis offer an advantage. Since Nicole is a passionate skier, this was right up her alley. In order to save time and money, we joined a commercial expedition organized by Swiss expedition operator Kari Kobler. We would benefit from Kobler’s infrastructure up to and at base camp but would be autonomous higher up on the mountain. On my previous expeditions I had always traveled to Tibet via the road from Nepal so I had never had the chance to visit Lhasa. During our time in the Tibetan capital, Nicole and I took the opportunity to take in the cultural sights, or what was left of them after the Chinese invasion and cultural revolution. We were impressed by the palaces and monasteries in Lhasa, Shigatse, and Shegar. I was absolutely fascinated because I had never really spent much time delving into Tibetan culture.
After a few days, though, I had seen enough palaces and could not wait to move again. The road network, which compared to Nepal was very well developed, and the Tibetans’ entrepreneurial spirit surprised me and made me realize that the Chinese influence was not always negative. On the sixth day of our road trip, we reached Chinese base camp, which at 5000 meters is accessible by car. From there we walked upstream to the real base camp; at 5600 meters it is pretty high but still on the moraine and not on the snow.
Nicole and I set out for base camp a day before the rest of the team. We wanted to get settled in our temporary home. We had not anticipated that the yaks would take a lot longer than us and that we would get there way ahead of our gear. However, with Norbu at base camp, it was not half as bad as it might have been since he offered us tea and shelter until our stuff arrived. Norbu Sherpa had started his career as kitchen boy and then advanced to climbing Sherpa and sirdar. He had just set up his own company and was now organizing the “Double 8 expedition”—an expedition in which the members would climb both Shishapangma and Cho Oyu in one season. We spent all afternoon drinking tea and discussing plans with the expedition members after they arrived. Benedikt Böhm and Sebastian Haag from Munich, famous for their speed climbs using skis, their compatriot Martin Meier, and the Italian Andrea Zambaldi were planning to climb both Shishapangma and Cho Oyu within one week and get from base camp to base camp by bike. I was impressed by their very ambitious goal.
Our gear arrived just in time for Nicole and me to pitch our tent and go to sleep. We spent the following day sorting our things before the last of the crew arrived in the evening. Expedition life had begun. During our first acclimatization rotation, Nicole and I climbed up to Camp 1 with me carrying quite a heavy load. I wanted to make our Camp 1 as comfortable as possible in order to feel good during our acclimatization and not lose motivation and energy. The conditions turned out to be pretty good, with not too much snow, at least down there.
After we had spent our first night at Camp 1, I carried a load to Camp 2 the following day while Nicole was resting and acclimatizing. We had already agreed before the expedition that I would do the lion’s share of the work, such as carrying loads and pitching tents. If Nicole had been required to carry a sixty-pound backpack she would not have stood a chance. This was not a problem since this expedition was not about my ambition (I had indulged that when I soloed the South Face in 2011) but about Nicole and me reaching the summit together.
At 6900 meters I pitched our Camp 2 and then put on my skis and set off. Skiing down was fun and efficient, even though it was not completely effortless at this altitude. I am not an exceptionally gifted skier, but I am sure it was not only poor technique that made it challenging. After about fifteen minutes I was back at Camp 1, where Nicole was waiting for me with a cup of tea.
The following day we climbed to Camp 2 together. My heavy bag was weighing on my shoulders again, and when Beni and Basti came toward us I glanced enviously at their tiny backpacks. They had also climbed to Camp 2 from Camp 1 that morning. They used a different acclimatization technique: not sleeping higher than Camp 1 but going on day trips to higher altitudes. I am sure that their strategy worked well, but it required top fitness. Climbing with Nicole, it was better to ascend more slowly and sleep at Camp 2. As usual, the first night this high, at 6900 meters, was uncomfortable. Our bodies had not yet acclimatized to the thin air. Once you fall asleep up here, your heart rate drops and you do not get sufficient oxygen. Usually, though, the body gets used to this phenomenon after the first night. The following morning we spoiled ourselves with a good cup of French press coffee before we decided to go back to base camp and not stay at Camp 2 as initially planned. The weather was deteriorating, and our bodies had already benefited from being up high for this short period of time.
During our next acclimatization rotation, we stayed one night at Camp 1 and one night at Camp 2. Since we felt well acclimatized and strong, we decided to carry on to Camp 3 at 7300 meters and then, if we continued to feel well, attempt the summit the next day. Since the Double 8 team intended to go for the summit a day ahead of us, we knew we could benefit from their tracks. While Nicole and I were plodding up the endlessly long valley leading up to Camp 3, I was imagining Beni, Basti, Martin, and Andrea reaching the summit soon. However, just as we were reaching the end of the valley, Basti and Beni skied toward us near Camp 3. “Too much snow,” they said disappointedly. The avalanche danger was too high, and breaking trail had been exhausting.
After we exchanged a few words, they continued skiing down. Nicole and I took stock of the situation and came to the conclusion that if the four speed climbers could not make it, we would have little or no chance of reaching the summit. As I had all the gear for Camp 3 in my backpack, I wanted to continue on and leave it up there, but I did not want to leave Nicole to ski down to base camp on her own. At that moment Martin and Andrea came down on their skis and agreed Nicole could go with them. I carried on to Camp 3, dumped our gear, and then turned back and followed them.
In the evening the whole team was reunited at base camp. Nicole and I were now well acclimatized, with a good base for the next weather window. We had been there for twelve days and had twenty more days at our disposal. There was plenty of time to reach the summit, which was reassuring. Before we could achieve anything, though, the conditions had to improve high up on the mountain. Getting to Camp 3 in the loose, deep snow was pretty exhausting for me in these conditions, which meant that Nicole would have no chance of reaching the summit. We had to wait for the snow to settle or get blown off. With all the waiting, we had a lot of time for each other. Apart from eating, drinking, sleeping, reading, and watching an occasional DVD, there was not much to do.
Unfortunately the conditions on the mountain did not improve for days. There was still too much snow, and, despite the fair weather, the constant cold wind prevented the snow from settling. There was no point in attempting the summit with Nicole since it would have been far too strenuous for her. The Double 8 team was beginning to run out of time since they had the second project ahead of them so they decided to give it another go. If it did not work out this time, they would just continue to Cho Oyu. Beni asked me whether I’d like to join them since this would give me my desperately needed exercise and them an extra pair of legs for breaking trail. I liked the idea of shortening the waiting period, but I wanted to discuss it with Nicole since this was our trip. I was pretty sure she would not like the idea, so I was surprised when she encouraged me to join them. She said that there was not much to do at base camp anyway, and if I went with them then I would know in advance what it was like up there. As soon as the snow conditions improved, the two of us would give it another go at Nicole’s pace.
Given the amount of snow, the Double 8 team changed their strategy slightly. Their original plan was for the whole team to go directly from base camp to the summit. Basti had now decided to go from Camp 1, while Andrea and Martin would leave from Camp 2. Only Beni stuck to the original plan of going directly from base camp. I decided to climb with Beni since I preferred to go directly from base camp myself. I would turn around at 7000 meters if I had to. Even though I had not been at my physical best that year, I liked the idea of ascending 2400 vertical meters and climbing one horizontal kilometer in a single day. It would be good training, in any case. I was very excited since I had never attempted an 8000-meter peak on skis. I hoped that I would be able to keep up. Beni and his friends were top athletes and extremely skillful at ski mountaineering.
Beni and I headed out of base camp in the late afternoon of September 23, intending to meet the others, who were already higher up, the following morning. We would then join forces and go for the summit together. As we had a long mission ahead of us, we took it easy and moved at a speed that allowed us to hold a conversation. We wanted to cross the glacier in daylight since finding the route through the maze of ice towers and crevasses would have been difficult in the dark.
I had suggested to Beni that we should wear running shoes all the way to the ski deposit at 5800 meters. Crossing the glacier was not difficult and in my view absolutely doable without crampons. Even though we would be using superlight ski boots, I preferred running shoes to ski boots and crampons since the soft sole of the running shoes stuck pretty well to the ice. Without too much effort we crossed the glacier significantly faster than we had when wearing ski boots.
We reached the ski deposit at dusk. Here the wind had swept the snow off the glacier. Once we started moving up the glacier on skis, we needed to adopt a completely new rhythm. Scurrying through the night, we could already see the light at Camp 1 at 6300 meters from afar. Once we got there we crawled into Basti’s tent and had some of the tea he had prepared for us. It felt good to take a break, have a hot drink, and eat a chocolate bar. As planned, the three of us left Camp 1 at 8:00 p.m., while Martin and Andrea left Camp 2 for the summit at exactly the same time.
We were making good progress. It was only 600 meters of ascent to Camp 2, where I took a short break to put on my boot heaters, which I had left there. I had been a little ahead of Basti and Beni, but they passed my tent while I was having a quick drink and a bite to eat. I then stepped back into the night and followed them. From here the route led through a long flat valley, and I could see the faint light of Andrea’s and Martin’s headlamps at the end of it. Catching up with Basti and Beni took a lot of effort, but the three of us were reunited again just before the terrain got steeper approaching Camp 3. Martin and Andrea had broken a good trail and had stayed on the ridge and not in the couloir, which still had a lot of snow. Because it was safer, we took off our skis and continued on foot. Just below Camp 3, at about 1:00 a.m., we caught up with Andrea and Martin.
We reached Camp 3 at 7300 meters at about 2:00 a.m. We were well on track and had only another 700 meters of climbing to reach the summit. We all felt very optimistic and motivated and were happy that we had already come this far. We ought to be able to make it, we thought, given that we were taking turns breaking trail. The descent would be pretty quick since we would be able to ski down the lower part. We stopped for a while and discussed the situation. We all agreed that we had to be extremely careful not to trigger any avalanches. We knew that it was important to stay on the ridge and not step onto the slope. Because of the avalanche danger we would not be able to ski down from the summit as planned but would have to walk back down on the ridge. At camp we deposited our skis and I put on the down suit that I had left there. I probably would not get cold as long as I was breaking trail, but I knew that once I was at the back and walking slowly, at the pace of the person breaking trail, I would probably get cold and would appreciate the warmer gear. I also realized that I was starting to get tired, which was not surprising since Beni and I had essentially been on the go for ten hours.
Even though we were aware of the looming dangers, we all agreed to continue. In some places we could hardly make any progress digging through the hip-deep snow, while in other parts it was quite easy and we moved fairly quickly. The man in front would dig until he was panting and gasping for breath, and then another would take a turn. Fortunately there were five of us, and we could motivate each other to continue.
Just before 7:00 a.m. we had reached a point about 100 meters below the central summit, which was our goal. I looked up, thinking that it looked like we could do it. We had just taken turns breaking trail when I stopped for a second, took an energy bar from my pocket, and had a sip to drink. Beni and I had departed from base camp fourteen hours and forty minutes earlier.
Andrea was below me, and Beni, Basti, and Martin were about 10 meters above me, with Beni a little bit closer to the ridge than Martin and Basti. All of a sudden I heard a soft whoomph, and the ground beneath and next to me started to move. A slab avalanche! The snow started to move below me, but I was able to keep my balance. Everything happened very quickly. I saw two people slide down past me, saw Beni above me, and looked down, calling for Andrea. But there was no reply. Only Beni and I were there, where seconds earlier there had been five of us. And now Basti, Martin, and Andrea were all gone!
Beni came down to join me. We tried to come to terms with what had just happened. About 100 meters of the width of the slope had moved, and the tear-off line was about half a meter high. A gigantic volume of snow had thundered down over the seracs for 500 or 600 meters. Now what should we do? What were the chances of surviving in such a mass of heavy snow?
I took the radio from Beni and called down to base camp. Beni was trembling. Basti, who was his best friend and had been his climbing and skiing partner for many years, was now probably dead. I was unable to reach base camp. We would have to try again a little bit farther down. From where we were we could just see the place where the avalanche had broken off, but we were unable to make out whether there was anybody on the surface.
We retraced our steps down the ridge. As soon as I was able to get a radio connection, I informed Norbu about the avalanche and told him that we did not know what had happened to the other three. We would search for them farther down, but he should get ready for a rescue operation and mobilize help. I also asked him to tell Nicole as well as Suzanne Hüsser, who was guiding Kari Kobler’s team.
Despite its being far below us, we were able to get a fair view of the gigantic avalanche debris just above Camp 3. We stopped and scanned the slope below us with our eyes. Suddenly we could make out two colored dots, one of which was moving. Slowly, yes, but it was moving: there was someone on top of the debris and not buried by it. Someone was alive! We shouted but heard no reply, and continued to descend. Crossing directly from where we were was simply impossible. The slope was steep and loaded with snow, with the same exposure as higher up. If we stepped onto the slope here we would trigger another avalanche. We had to be patient. Maybe we would have a better chance lower down.
After I informed base camp about the situation, we continued to descend. Beni and I decided to fetch the skis from Camp 3 and try to get to the avalanche debris lower down. Beni hurried ahead while I packed up a few things from the camp and followed him. Beni then started traversing just below the gigantic flank. The snow did not feel right, nor did our gut feeling. We retreated and discussed the situation again. Maybe it would be better higher up after all? We ascended a bit and tried to traverse again. We kept a good distance between us for safety reasons, but we sank into bottomless snow and had no other choice than to turn back again.
What to do? Both Beni and I were scared. It was far too dangerous to step onto the slope lower down. We climbed up to the rib, from which we could see the debris quite well. The slope leading up to it looked loaded with drift, the same as before. Should we try anyway despite the avalanche danger? We were torn between going and staying put. There were only two possibilities: the slope either moved or it held. We would survive or die. It was a desperate situation.
The little dot that had moved before had been motionless for about half an hour. I looked up. It was about 600 meters up to the ridge where the avalanche had broken off. It had been a long fall.
I radioed down to Suzanne at base camp. I tried to describe the situation as precisely as possible for her to give me some advice as a mountain guide. Without hesitating she said: “Don’t go!” I was desperate, and so was Beni. Suddenly he said: “I am going over. I’m going.” “Beni, calm down,” I replied. “There is no point in us stepping onto the slope and triggering another avalanche. There will only be two more dead bodies.”
A lot of time had passed, and we probably could no longer do anything for anyone caught under the snow. Suffocation was likely by now, even if the fall itself had not been fatal. But what about the colored dot that had been moving before? Who was it? I now assumed that the person lying there was probably dead by now. But I did not know. I felt like crying. This was the worst situation I had ever been in.
I radioed down to Suzanne again. She urged me to be sensible and said we should not do anything stupid. We were still torn. We waited, trying to find a solution. But there was none.
Just before noon we decided to go down to Camp 3. Five hours had passed since the avalanche had come down. There was nothing we could do now. If one of them had really survived and was able to move on his own, he would either be lucky and not trigger an avalanche—or die. A brutal thought. I found it hard to make this decision. Once again Beni and I tried to run through what had happened. We could not turn back time, and the risk of triggering another avalanche was too great for us to traverse on the slope. We had discussed the avalanche danger during the ascent, which was the reason why we had decided to stay on the ridge. With the sun getting more intense and the snow softening, the risk was even higher now. There were too many arguments against a rescue attempt. But this would mean abandoning our friends to their fate.
Beni tried one last time to step onto the slope but immediately turned back. He was up to his hips in the soft snow. It was impossible! We descended to Camp 3. I radioed down to base camp to discuss the situation with Norbu. He told me that there were enough people to help at Camp 2 and Camp 1 and that we should come down. Just to be on the safe side, I left my down suit and stove in our tent. I thought that if one of the others actually survived the avalanche, he would have some food and something warm to get by for a while.
Beni and I started to head down toward base camp, neither of us able to speak. Beni was distraught. He had just lost his best friend and knew that Basti’s parents would be devastated. Only a few years before their older son had died in the mountains. For the last time, I turned around and had another look at the slope. I had never had to make such a difficult decision in my life.
Between Camp 1 and Camp 2 a few Sherpas came toward us and gave us some tea. At Camp 1 we met the team of the Spanish veteran climber Carlos Soria. Among the others was a medical doctor; it was good to know that in case one of them had survived and managed to get out, there was a doctor on the mountain. Our guys had a radio with them and could call for help. Something inside me did not want to give up the hope that someone had survived the avalanche.
On the further descent Beni and I went completely to pieces. We were extremely tired and struggling to make progress. We kept stopping to discuss the situation. Why did people have to die again? Damned mountaineering! Why were we still here and the others gone? It was simply luck. We should have turned back earlier. Of course we should have, but it is always easier to say in hindsight. We had misjudged the situation.
After we had traversed the pinnacles some Sherpas came toward us and gave us some drink and food. Finally I saw Nicole approaching. Seeing her was a huge relief.
Just before we reached base camp, the radio came to life again and there was a frenzy of talking. Thomas, a member of the Swiss expedition with whom we were sharing base camp, had gone up a little higher in the afternoon and had seen something move in the avalanche debris. One of them was still alive and was moving toward Camp 3! Norbu and two other Sherpas immediately set out to help. It was evening by now, and Beni and I had been on our feet for twenty-four hours. We were too tired to go back up—and it would have taken us ages. But at least there was hope!
The three Sherpas climbed to Camp 2 in the night and carried on the following morning. Just below Camp 3 Norbu continued on his own, as he deemed the steep section too risky to put three people into danger. Once he got there he found the survivor inside the tent. It was Martin. He had regained consciousness sometime in the afternoon and been able to drag himself to Camp 3. Traversing the avalanche-prone slope was the only way for him to survive. Fortunately he had not triggered another avalanche and managed to reach the tent after night had fallen. He had at least been able to cover himself with my down suit, but he had been too exhausted to get the stove going.
It was a miracle that he had survived the fall. He had partially torn a knee meniscus, sprained a few muscles in his legs, and stretched a few ligaments, but these were relatively mild injuries. He did not get frostbite, but he had suffered a concussion and had double vision. He responded to Norbu, but he was unable to walk on his own. Joining forces, Norbu and some members of the Spanish expedition managed to get him down to Camp 2 on his skis. There, the Spanish doctor gave him such a dose of amphetamine that he was able to descend to base camp on his own the next day. Martin was incredibly tough, and the first thing he wanted when he got to base camp was a cigarette. Despite our grief for Basti and Andrea, Beni and I were happy that at least one of the three had survived.
This was the end of our expedition, and on our trip home my thoughts tortured me. Something had happened again, and people had lost their lives. Why was it that I went mountaineering? Nicole too struggled with this. Why didn’t we do something less dangerous? Why not go on a beach holiday? Should we give up mountaineering? But like me she was feeling conflicted. In climbing we had each experienced our most beautiful and intense moments, experiences a beach holiday could never give us. It is hard for me to imagine a life without mountaineering.
In my early climbing days I had faced the fact that friends died in the mountains. At the time, however, it had not really sunk in, and I was convinced that it would never affect me. However, the more and harder I climbed, the more often I was faced with precarious situations. Over the past few years it seemed that such instances happened with increased frequency. I had taken great risks on Annapurna. I had come back alive, but I did not know how close I had been to the limit. On Shishapangma I had simply been lucky. If I had not stopped to take a break just before the avalanche came down, I would have been closer to Martin and Basti and would have probably been swept away with them. The fact that I was a bit lower down and slightly to the right had saved my life. My gut feeling had warned me that something wasn’t right, but still I had continued.
After our Shishapangma expedition I was fed up with mountaineering for a while. I doubted my ability to make the right decisions. I knew that I should have turned back up there, but there was no point now in wondering about culpability. Five of us had been up there, and we all knew what was going on—we had discussed the avalanche danger beforehand. Each of us was responsible for his own actions, and each of us had to bear the consequences. Any one of us could have turned back. But we had all carried on and gone too far. Now two were dead.
Only a few weeks earlier Nicole and I had been extremely lucky on the Artesonraju in Peru. After we climbed the South Face we descended via the east ridge, which led us down a slope of 40 to 50 degrees, covered in hard snow. It had been windy all day, and I was nervous about the snow that had been blown onto the slope. I was very careful not to end up in a hidden drift. Just above the bergschrund I lowered Nicole over two 30-meter pitches and then climbed down myself. Everything went smoothly, and I felt relieved after we had crossed the bergschrund. From here the slope petered out, and we only had to cross the glacier to get to our camp.
I started traversing the slope at an angle. Nicole was on a tight rope and walking about 30 meters behind me. Suddenly there was a bang. A slab avalanche. A crack of about 10 meters had opened up right above me. It was not that much snow, but it was enough to throw me off balance, and Nicole could not hold me. I started sliding and dragged her down with me even though she had been above the crack and had not been touched by the avalanche. The snow pulled me toward a crevasse, and I could see the snow disappear into it. “This is it,” I thought. “It’s the end.” I thought about Nicole and hoped that she would survive.
Headfirst, I plunged into the crevasse. It was not very deep, and when I hit the ground the snow pressed me toward the right. Suddenly I stopped, but more snow kept on falling, burying me. There was nothing I could do. It was dark, my body was twisted, and I was barely able to breathe. I had no idea how deeply I was buried, but I could not move and felt like I was encased in concrete. My mouth was full of snow, and when I inhaled it went down my windpipe. Luckily I managed to spit out the snow—there was a tiny space just in front of my mouth. I could see light coming through a hole. I gasped a little air, but that was it. I was convinced that I would die there under the snow. I had failed myself and Nicole!
At this moment a foot stomped through the opening. Nicole was directly above me. I wanted to say something but I could not utter a word. She had been able to stay above the avalanche, and when she saw my ice axe sticking out of the snow, she started digging there immediately. She first removed the snow from my face and then dug me out completely.
That had been a close call, and I had made a wrong decision. I had not realized that the slope had actually been a big dip covered in snow. I had been negligent, which had nearly cost both of us our lives. I was very angry at myself and beat myself up over it. Making bad decisions for myself was one thing, but putting other people in danger was another. When I was in the mountains with Nicole, who has a lot less experience than me, I was in charge and needed to act responsibly.
At times you make such mistakes, no matter how good an alpinist you are. The more time you spend in the mountains, the longer you move on dangerous ground, the likelier it is that you’ll make a mistake. Of course, some mountaineers take more risks than others, but risk increases with frequency. I am convinced of this. And keeping this in mind I adapted my training and started to keep fit by running rather than climbing challenging alpine routes. But even running presents risk, especially if it is running up the Mönch from Grindelwald, which I still do every once in a while, especially when I’m bored of more horizontal running. Even though it is the normal route, it is still exposed. For that matter, I am not immune when I run down the easy hill just outside my house. Sometimes my foot gets caught up in something and I trip, but on such terrain a fall does not have fatal consequences. A fall at the wrong moment, in the wrong place, and it’s all over. Everyone has to be aware of that and decide how much risk to take on.
Why had we gone that far and accepted the high avalanche danger on Shishapangma? I don’t believe that the Himalaya are inherently more dangerous than the Alps, even though they bear the added risk of altitude illness. The jeopardy lies within ourselves. One reason we take more risks in the Himalaya is because climbing there requires organization long in advance and costs more money and time. That’s why we sometimes set out even in dangerous conditions just to “have a quick look.” I have done this many times in the past. It often works out even though neither the weather nor the conditions are ideal, but it pushes you closer to the critical border. For me as a Swiss climber there is no need to set out in bad conditions in the Alps. If I don’t go now, I go soon, when the conditions are better. If not this year, then next year. For us Europeans getting there is less of an ordeal, and that’s why making the decision to turn around there is easier.
I think that’s where big expeditions sometimes go wrong. You should be brave enough to say no and not go when the conditions are not right. I had been very careful not to succumb to outside pressure, such as from sponsors, and risk making bad decisions, but I realize now that a lot of pressure came from within myself. In order to counteract this danger, I had to learn not to let the urge to “go and have a look” control my actions. Had I decided against going with Beni, Basti, Andrea, and Martin to have a look, I would not have put myself into this situation. Had we been in the Alps, I probably would have said: “No thanks. I’d rather go rock climbing.”
My year of climbing with Nicole was coming to an end. Since I was doing a lot of presentations in November and December and traveling to the United States for a ten-day tour, we extended our holiday and spent January and the first half of February 2015 in Chamonix. Nicole had given me freeride skis for Christmas with the intention of getting me more excited about her passion for gliding down deep powder snow. In addition to skiing, we climbed a few cool ice routes, such as the North Couloir Direct on the Dru and the Late to Say I’m Sorry route on the Aiguille Verte. I also started training with ultralight touring skis. I liked the idea of getting down quickly after having climbed high. As always, I felt motivated by Chamonix. It’s a mecca for motivated mountaineers, and I felt inspired by their energy.
I still felt I needed to find direction again. Driven by the sense that I had reached my peak, I needed a new perspective. What was there left to do? Slowly the fire inside me started to grow again. In my fantasy I was hedging and started to train more seriously again, especially for ultra runs. During one of my sponsor events in Chamonix, I met Catalan trail runner Kilian Jornet and was fascinated by his performance and attitude. Running 50 kilometers per day was not a big deal for him. And what he described as an easy run was beyond what most runners do. His physical condition was phenomenal, and I was far from it. His performance, however, motivated me to train harder. When he climbed the Lion Ridge on the Matterhorn, he covered 1277 meters per hour! I would have to train hard to come anywhere near that. During my speed climb on the Eiger North Face, I covered 600 meters per hour. On the Grandes Jorasses, a technically difficult climb that was unknown to me, I managed 500 meters per hour.
We were back home for Nicole’s birthday on February 19. As a special birthday treat, I agreed to go ski mountaineering with her. I really don’t like skiing all that much and only do it to make Nicole happy. I cannot get excited about it. With the standard equipment, it does not really have a training effect, and the only benefit I see is getting to the start of the climb. With the ultralight equipment, however, I was at least able to run up quickly, which was fun. On Nicole’s birthday tour my mediocre skiing skills were unfortunately not up to coping with the difficult crusted snow conditions. At one point I dug in one of the edges wrong, fell, and fractured a bone just above my right ankle. This brought me back to reality. My outstanding physical fitness was no longer important, and for the time being I had to stop dreaming about future projects. I had to stop dreaming of running the 111-kilometer ultramarathon in Portugal and the 50-mile race at Lake Sonoma, not to mention all my climbing plans for the Alps for March.
At first I was devastated, but then I pulled myself together. My coach, Simon Trachsel, adapted my training program. Instead of training outside I went to the gym and used a spinning bike instead of running. I wanted to fully use my potential for endurance. I was aware that at the age of thirty-eight I did not have the same body as a twenty-year-old. What I did have, though, were years of experience, and I knew what I wanted. My focus was clear. I wanted to continue climbing 8000-meter peaks, but I wanted to scale them via technically demanding routes. I was dreaming about routes such as the West Face of Makalu, where high altitude was a big part of the challenge. Here I could see some potential to improve my performance. On the lower part of the South Face of Annapurna, I had covered a ridiculous 200 meters per hour, and this had been reduced to 150 meters per hour on the upper part. During my preparation climb on the Peuterey Intégral, I had done 500 meters per hour. Trying to figure out how to get faster, I had a closer look at Kilian’s performance. On the Innominata Ridge of Mont Blanc, he had covered barely more than 375 meters per hour on the technical sections. This gave me hope. He was certainly a better endurance athlete, but I was definitely the better technical climber. I worked out that his endurance combined with my technical skills, which quickly got me over difficult sections using my hands and feet, would probably result in covering up to 800 meters per hour.
I wanted to pursue this goal, but I had to withdraw from public life in order to achieve it in my own time and without any outside pressure. A first step in that direction was to allow myself to realize a long-cherished project in the summer of 2015: to climb all eighty-two 4000-meter peaks in the Alps. This was nothing new and had been done many times before. It was also nothing crazy, since most summits could be reached via a normal route. But I wanted to do it. I would cover a lot of vertical and horizontal kilometers. Not too long ago I would have worried about people accusing me of getting old and only pursuing such goals to attract media attention. Now I couldn’t care less what others were thinking.
I was planning to return to the Himalaya in the autumn of 2015 to keep my high-altitude fitness. In 2003 Russian climber Valery Babanov had opened a new route on the South Face of Nuptse, but he had used fixed lines. All attempts to repeat his feat in alpine style had failed so far. I was convinced that with today’s advanced technical skills and gear this route could be done without fixed ropes from base camp straight to the summit. It was an appealing challenge.
However, before I could realize all these ideas, I would have to bear down and continue to go to the gym for a few more weeks. Such was life. The foot would heal, and I would definitely be more motivated afterward. Sometimes you need setbacks to make you aware of what you have achieved and what you still want to achieve.