The most appealing aspect of climbing all eighty-two 4000-meter peaks in the Alps was that this project was right at my doorstep. During my time as a professional alpinist I had visited many mountain ranges in the world. By now I had been to the Himalaya so many times that I knew Kathmandu almost as well as my hometown, Interlaken. But I was super excited about climbing on my own stomping grounds and discovering a few places in the Alps I had never seen.
French climber Patrick Berhault was my inspiration for this. With his partner Philippe Magnin he set out in March 2004 to climb all 4000-meter peaks in the Alps in three months. Tragically, Patrick fell to his death on his way to his sixty-seventh summit, when a cornice collapsed on the traverse from the Täschhorn to the Dom. Three years later, in 2007, Slovenian climber Miha Valič became the first person to finish the grand traverse, reaching the eighty-two summits in 102 days. In 2008 Italians Franco Nicolini and Diego Giovannini reached the eighty-two summits in just sixty days.
When climbing peak after peak successively within a few weeks, one is subject to the whims of the weather. I knew that I would have to deal with bad weather during this mission and weather would be the deciding factor in how quickly I would be able to do it. As I wanted to avoid climbing in bad conditions, which would have exposed me to greater risks, I did not want this traverse to turn into a race. I had made my name with speed records and had benefited from the public’s reaction to this, but after recent events I wanted to keep speed out of my projects. Comparing mountaineering achievements is difficult anyway, since the climber’s performance depends on the conditions on the mountain.
I had found another challenge, though. I wanted to do the whole distance, including traveling between mountains, using only the power of my own body. Instead of a car, I would use a bike to reach the base of each peak, and I would not take cable cars to shorten the ascents. The only thing I would allow myself would be to paraglide down from a summit, wherever and whenever possible. I did not count that as mechanical support. I imagined the eighty-two summits project to be a journey through the Alps, more about the experience than about the performance. I will admit, though, that the physical challenge had a huge appeal to me. Would my body be able to endure such a long, stressful endeavor? The slightest injury or inflammation would mean the end. Something that would be tolerable on a one- or two-day outing could lead to fatality on a traverse of sixty to eighty days. One could take on such a challenge only if one’s body were strong enough to recover quickly.
The mental challenge also excited me. Would I be able to stay motivated over such a long time and for such a long distance? What would happen if things were not going smoothly? Would I throw in the towel? Failure was definitely a possibility, but facing it made the whole project even more appealing.
I asked young German mountain guide Michael Wohlleben if he would be interested in joining me. In the winter of 2014 I had climbed the north faces of the Drei Zinnen in the Dolomites in Italy with him, and we had been a good team. Formerly a member of the youth section of the German Alpine Club, Michi (as he calls himself) was in the process of establishing himself as a professional mountaineer. He liked the idea of the 4000-meter traverse and said yes immediately. Since Michi was a paraglider, we made a perfect team.
Such a big project required a lot of planning and organizing. First we had to decide the order in which we would climb the mountains. As we would be traveling by bicycle, our options were limited. We could not just quickly go from the Bernese Oberland to the Valais if weather conditions made that clearly preferable. We had to accept that there would probably be waiting periods. We agreed to start with Piz Bernina, the easternmost mountain in the Alps. But what would be the best way to get to the Bernese Oberland after that? Neither Michi nor I were big cyclists. We tried to calculate distances as well as elevation gains: How many kilometers a day was realistic?
The next step was finding support. We needed a support vehicle and a person to transport our gear. Daniel Mader, an old friend of mine, had been enthusiastic about the project from the very beginning, and it didn’t take long to convince him to be our support and logistics person. This made me very happy since Dani is not only extremely reliable, he is also always motivated and in good spirits. Renting a camper van for the duration of the project would have been too pricy, but my brother Bruno and his wife agreed to swap their big VW van for my car. Michi also arranged for a trailer that the van could tow.
Bikes were the only thing left to sort out. I called Thomas Binggeli of the Swiss bike manufacturer BMC; he got so excited about our plan that he offered us two high-tech bikes about five minutes into our conversation. Thomas did not need a comprehensive presentation. He liked the idea and was in. I have to admit that I am a gear freak, and I love developing well-thought-through products with my sponsors. But I had not expected to be using such high-performance bikes. The riding experience would be awesome.
Now that things were all set, we got in touch with the media about our project. Michi and I had not focused on a time frame, knowing that the duration of the project was impossible to calculate due to weather and not wanting to pressure ourselves. But when journalists asked the inevitable question, “How long will it take?” we said eighty-two summits in eighty-two days. Bagging a peak per day seemed realistic.
The conditions in the Alps were still too wintery. Before I started the eighty-two summits project, Nicole and I embarked on the last long trip of our sabbatical. She had found a new job and was due to start her position at the Swiss Post in July. Considering how many interesting jobs Nicole had had since I first met her, it seemed almost boring that I was still going climbing. But I did not want it any other way. I was leading exactly the life I had always dreamed about.
We flew to Utah, where we wanted to improve our skills in crack climbing on sandstone. I’ve always liked going to the States with its open and easygoing people. The landscape is extremely diverse and completely different from ours. In Europe we do not have such orange or yellow rock formations covered with climbable parallel cracks that come in all shapes and sizes. In the States climbing is still more traditional. Most routes are not bolted, and the climbers have to put in their own protection, using cams or nuts. I really like this kind of climbing since it requires experience and a good eye for choosing the right-sized piece of gear from your rack. What’s more, crack climbing demands a technique that is completely different from that of the wall climbing ubiquitous in Europe.
Life at Indian Creek, the climbing mecca in southeastern Utah, turned out to be pretty relaxing. We did not have a mobile phone signal or internet. It was an ideal place to find some peace and quiet and concentrate on the moment. We set up our camp in the middle of the desert. With the eighty-two summits project in mind, I went for a run or a bike ride every morning after breakfast. The mental and geographical distance from my normal life also made for better training. In the afternoons Nicole and I would go rock climbing, and in the evening we’d cook a meal together and go to sleep. I loved the simplicity of this life. The change was also good for my motivation. Had I only trained in Switzerland, I probably would have lost my enthusiasm at some point, even though my home was ideal for training. There are mountains, excellent running and biking routes, climbing crags, and a gym all in the vicinity of our house.
Utah was the perfect place to finish our sabbatical year. At the end of May 2015, we returned to Switzerland and were both full of energy. Nicole was very motivated about her new job, and I couldn’t wait to tackle the eighty-two summits. The conditions in the Alps were pretty good, and Michi and I did not wait long to start. Both van and trailer were jam-packed with our gear, and our journey through the Swiss, French, and Italian Alps could begin.
On June 11, 2015, Michi and I reached our first 4000-meter peak, climbing Piz Bernina via the Bianco Ridge. In order to make a quick descent, we decided to paraglide down near the Rifugio Marco e Rosa. Unfortunately the wind came from the wrong direction, and without Michi’s urging I wouldn’t even have tried. We unpacked our superlight paragliders and attempted to take off, but it was about half an hour before the wind cooperated. In the end the effort definitely paid off. The flight was magnificent. We drifted effortlessly down the valley, with the Morteratsch Glacier beneath us—it was so much easier than walking! Michi landed at the nose of the glacier, while I managed to get farther, almost reaching Hotel Morteratsch. After we had had coffee and cake there, we started pedaling across the Julier Pass to Bivio, where our van and trailer were waiting for us on the roadside. This was our first camp, and we were off to a great start! I was very happy that we had finally tackled the project. We had scaled our first peak and had only eighty-one to go.
My brother René joined the project in Bivio and biked with us to the Bernese Oberland. This made me very happy. We hadn’t done anything together like this for a long time. Eric Wilde, a passionate triathlete, joined the team the following morning. Eric was two meters tall and had broad shoulders, which made him the perfect man for drafting. We started out biking downhill, and I was once again amazed how fast our bikes were going. After the beautiful ride through the Rhine Valley, we stopped just before the Oberalp Pass to have lunch. We didn’t look at the prices and were extremely relieved when Dani showed up just in time to pay the bill. On the pass we got caught in the rain. We were very happy when we reached Andermatt.
The following day it was still pouring down rain. We delayed the start, looked at the weather forecast and radar, and tried to identify a dry period. Unsuccessful, we eventually cycled back to the Bernese Oberland via the Furka and Grimsel passes. René and I raced each other down; his speedometer showed 91 kilometers per hour. The bikes’ carbon frames were so sturdy that I hadn’t noticed how fast we were going; there was no shaking. We did need to be careful, since the thin tires limited the braking performance of the bikes, but the roads were empty due to the rain, which allowed for some speeding. When we arrived in Innertkirchen, neither Eric nor Michi were in sight.
From Innertkirchen we decided to go to my house in Ringgenberg. The weather forecast was so bad that we had to wait, but there was no better place to wait than home. We cooked some dinner, as our project rules did not allow us to take a car or train to quickly get to a restaurant in Innertkirchen. We would have had to get on the bikes again. Given the weather and the fact that we still had many kilometers of riding ahead of us, we were more than happy to stay in.
As soon as the weather forecast looked better, my photographer friend Dan Patitucci came and biked with us to Grindelwald, where we started our walk up toward the Schreckhorn Hut in the pouring rain. After having enjoyed coffee and cake at the Bäregg Hut, Michi and I continued to the Schreckhorn Hut, while Dan went down. Since the hut was still unstaffed that early in the year, we cooked some food in the winter room and made a fire to warm up and to dry our soaked clothes.
Far too early, at 2:00 a.m., we were rudely awakened by the alarm clock. The Schreckhorn was one of the more challenging 4000-meter peaks. The previous year, Nicole and I had done the Schreckhorn–Lauteraarhorn traverse in perfect conditions. This time it looked completely different. The rocks were covered in a thin layer of ice. We even took the thin rope out of our pack for protection. We reached the summit at dawn, and the conditions were better on the ridge. The rock was dry, making for pretty smooth climbing, but the route all the way to the top of the Lauteraarhorn dragged. We were not making such good progress.
The descent route via the Schraubengang was covered in soft snow. I had never been on that route before and only knew that it had to veer off to the right at some point. However, I didn’t see a single spot where we could have conveniently climbed down from the ridge, and suddenly we could not go any farther. We climbed back up for about ten minutes until we reached a rappelling sling, which I had thought was in the wrong place before. It turned out to be the right place from which to rappel. Once down, we had to negotiate a delicate flank covered in soft snow and some loose rock. I climbed down backward while Michi decided to rappel this section. Another ridge led us to the Gaagg Peak. From there we continued down to the hut, where we had deposited our paragliders.
The wind conditions seemed good enough to paraglide. We had packed our lightweight paragliders since we had initially planned to carry them to the top of the Gaagg, but after seeing the thick fog engulfing the summit on our way up, we had left them at the hut. I quickly sorted out my chute and launched myself easily. Michi needed more time to lay out his paraglider. He missed the airstream and had to wait a long time for the winds to be favorable again.
My flight started off quite calmly. I could have quickly gained some more height, but I was starving and wanted to get down as quickly as possible. I flew straight to the Bäregg Hut. I had already come down quite far, but I was sure I could make it down all the way to the end of the gorge. In the worst case, I would turn around and land below the Bäregg Hut. But as I came around the corner at the Bäregg Hut, my paraglider suddenly came to a halt when a strong wind came up the valley through the gorge. I was annoyed with myself. I shouldn’t have been so impatient and should have gained some more height before going down. Should I fly back and land at the Bäregg Hut? I decided to keep on going and fly as far down the valley as I could. Unfortunately I did not get as far as the gorge and was forced to land on an old hiking path. It took some skill to negotiate my way through the trees, and while I was able to land, the chute got caught in a tree, ripping a hole in it. It didn’t bother me too much since it could be repaired. The most important thing was that I was down and only had to walk for another ten minutes.
I still hadn’t seen Michi up in the air. Maybe he had missed the right moment to take off and had been forced to walk down. When I reached the parking lot Dani was waiting, and I found that there was mobile phone coverage. I called Michi, who told me that he’d had to perform an emergency landing just below the Bäregg. He had hit the ground hard and had injured his rear end. Dani hiked up to Michi while I jogged to Grindelwald, where we were going to stay the night in a chalet. I unpacked my gear, hung it up to dry, and took a long shower. Michi arrived three hours later with a huge bruise on his backside.
The following morning we started at four. We were planning to climb the Mönch via the Nollen Route and then continue to the Jungfrau. We were carrying only light packs, two ice axes each, and our crampons. We didn’t need a rope for the Nollen Route. I was excited since I finally had the chance to use new boots that had been designed for this project. The style was a hybrid between a running shoe and a mountaineering boot. The material was flexible enough for the foot to roll, while the midsole was hard enough to take crampons. As the way to Guggi Hut was good ground for running, mountaineering boots became necessary only from the Mönch Plateau. I had done the entire route in running shoes before, but the conditions had been perfect at the time, and that does not happen very often. On other occasions I used to take two kinds of shoes for this climb: running shoes to the plateau and light mountaineering boots for higher up. Now I had the perfect boot for both kinds of terrain.
On the flat, I started to jog. Michi was complaining about his pain. I tried to cheer him up, telling him that the pain would subside once the muscle had warmed up. I knew what I was talking about. I had a big bruise on my thigh from Ringgenberg, where I’d fallen off my bike after having to brake hard at high speed to avoid having a cameraman hit me with his car.
I slowed down a bit on the stretch up to the Kleine Scheidegg to give Michi a chance to catch up. I tried to encourage him to keep up by setting a reasonable pace. At the Eigergletscher station and on the way to the Guggi Hut, he fell behind again. At the plateau I waited for him for a while but quickly started to shiver since I had not brought enough warm clothes. I stopped again after the Nollen, where I took some photographs and video footage. Right after this, mist started to appear, and a cold wind picked up. Dani and Bruno Petroni, another friend, were already waiting for us on the top of the Mönch.
Together we descended via the normal route and continued to the Jungfraujoch (the col between the Jungfrau and Mönch), where we had a bite to eat. We didn’t stop for long, though. Michi and I still wanted to continue to the Jungfrau. While we were crossing the glacier toward the Jungfrau, it started to snow. Michi wanted to turn back, but I was far too motivated to agree to that. Neither the snowfall nor the fog were very serious, and we were following the normal route. In a worst-case scenario we could use the GPS tracker on my watch to find our way back to the Jungfraujoch. Beyond the Rottalsattel we were hit by a gusty wind. I didn’t mind at all—I like feeling the wind and the elements on my body—but Michi insisted on calling it a day since he thought it was too dangerous and foolhardy to carry on in such conditions. I understood that it was just too much for him. We were about 100 meters below the summit when we turned back and walked via the Jungfraujoch to the Mönchsjoch Hut. At least we had covered a lot of distance and climbed many meters, which made me feel rather satisfied.
As forecast, it snowed heavily the next day. We were stuck in the Mönchsjoch Hut. There was nothing we could do. I closely studied the weather radar, hoping to detect more moderate conditions. The forecast for June 20 looked somewhat more promising. There was supposed to be a dry spell between 1:00 a.m. and 6:00 a.m. I suggested to Michi that we make the most of this dry period and climb the Jungfrau during the night and rest during the day. When we left the hut, the sky was cloudy, and once we reached the Jungfraujoch we were engulfed in thick fog. Michi wanted to retreat again, but this time I insisted on continuing. Mist often lingers at the Jungfraujoch but clears higher up. When we reached the glacier, we could already see some stars. In the darkness I used my watch to get my bearings. Fortunately we had recorded the GPS data during our first attempt, which allowed us to follow the tracker, leading us to about 100 meters below the top of the Mönch.
The fresh snow that had fallen over the previous day, combined with the wind, meant we had to be extra careful under the Rottalsattel. To avoid the slipstream, where a lot of snow had gathered, we did not traverse as far right as usual but climbed directly up the Rottalsattel and continued to the summit ridge. This was where we had turned back before, but this time we continued to the top. I loved being up here in the middle of the night. The lights of Grindelwald were below us, the wind was howling, and my eyelashes were frosty. During our descent clouds were gathering, and it started to snow. It was fortunate that we had used that short weather window!
We were back at the Mönchsjoch Hut for our second breakfast and had nothing to do except sit around for the rest of the day. The weather forecast did not look promising. Westerly winds were forecast to dump heaps of fresh snow in the Bernese Oberland, and the whole week was looking dismal. If we waited here we would have to face fresh snow on the slopes. Being on skis would help, but we would still be exposed to the high avalanche danger. The forecast looked better for the Valais, but if we went down to the Valais now we would have to come back to the Bernese Oberland later. This would mean a huge detour on bike and foot, but this was certainly better than hanging around the hut doing nothing.
The following day we skied down the Jungfraujoch via the Aletsch Glacier to Fiesch. The fog was so thick we could barely see: a complete whiteout. We tied into a rope and I led the way. If a crevasse had opened up in front of me, I probably would have seen it only at the very last instant since I was unable to make out any contours in the landscape. I blindly followed my GPS, which we had programmed in the hut. Without any reference points I felt a bit queasy at times, not knowing even whether the slope was going up or down. Michi was tense again, and I tried to calm him down. If anyone fell into a crevasse it would be me, and it probably wouldn’t be a big deal. It usually takes only a few minutes to get out.
At Concordia Place we were below the clouds and had a clear view again. There was not an inch of new snow left on the glacier, and skiing across it was bumpy but a lot better than walking. At Märjelen Lake we got off the glacier and walked down to the valley via the Fiescheralp. It was still early and we could have easily gone to Saas-Grund the same day, but Michi’s family had come to visit and was waiting for him in Fiesch. It was a shame, as we ended up spending the nicest day of the week biking to Saas-Grund with them instead of climbing.
I sensed that Michi was not fit and that something was bothering him. In the evening after the bike ride, he came to the trailer and told me that he had decided go home since he was hurting too much to continue. I was surprised to hear that his injury was so serious, although I had noticed that Michi had been slower than usual. I tried to convince him to continue and begged him to sleep on it before making a final decision.
I slept badly that night. I was disappointed. What would happen to the project if Michi left? I didn’t want to give up. Ending a project like this was not my style, but how could I possibly manage on my own?
The next morning Michi told me rather bluntly that he would go home with his family. At first, I couldn’t believe it, but I had no choice but to accept it. I guess it was not only the injury that led to his decision but also the realization that our attitudes differed when it came to accepting risks. Michi had less experience on mixed ground than he did on rock.
I wanted to carry on, no matter what. I simply could not give up after just five summits, neither as a professional climber nor because of my personal ambitions. I was looking for a way to continue without Michi, maybe with several different partners.
Michi said goodbye at noon, and Dani and I ascended to the Weissmies Hut in the late afternoon. Walking felt good, and I could breathe deeply again. We just continued on as if nothing had happened. Deep down I was hoping that Michi would come back once his bruise had healed. We would see. I tried to adapt to the new situation and not worry too much.
The next morning Dani and I climbed the Lagginhorn together; on the summit, we bid each other farewell. While Dani returned to the hut, I continued climbing the ridge to the Weissmies. I truly enjoyed the beautiful climbing and getting back into my rhythm. Once on the summit I felt good and confident again. I was sure that there was a solution, even if Michi had dropped out. I knew enough good alpinists to hook up with. It was only a matter of them having time for me and me having to make some phone calls and do some organizing in the next few weeks. The descent was quick. From the hut I continued to the middle cable car station, where Dani was waiting for me. He’d rounded up two kick scooters, and we quickly zoomed down the valley on them.
My climbing friend Röbi Bösch had arrived in the meantime, and the three of us set out toward the Mischabel Hut. Röbi and Dani took the cable car. I ran and met them again at the top station. Dani found the ascent to the hut very difficult. He felt tired and couldn’t get any food down, which was rather unfortunate—I had to make a huge sacrifice by eating his portion as well as my own. I was ravenous and could have eaten a horse. It was important to eat and drink regularly to hasten recovery. Röbi and I had a very entertaining evening in the hut. As often before, we ended up in the kitchen and chatted until the early morning hours.
Dani did not recover during the night, and he stayed in the hut the next morning while Röbi and I climbed up toward the Windjoch Col. From here Röbi continued directly to the Nadelhorn, while I climbed the Nadelgrat ridge to scale the Dürrenhorn and then traversed across to the snowy ridge to scale the Hohberghorn and Stecknadelhorn. Three summits: now that’s what I call Swiss efficiency! Röbi was waiting for me on top of the Nadelhorn. I climbed up and down a bit before I continued up the rocky ridge toward the summit of the Lenzspitze so he could get photographs. It was covered in fresh snow, which made finding tracks impossible. A roped party of two came down from the Lenzspitze, so that I did not have to break trail the whole time. In the middle of the snow-covered ridge we met and thanked each other for breaking trail. I did not stay long on top of the Lenzspitze, my fifth summit of the day. After taking the obligatory selfie as well as a summit video, I continued my traverse of the Mischabel Range.
In the meantime, Röbi had descended to the hut and had hopped into a helicopter to take some aerial photographs. From the Lenzspitze I traversed across to the Dome. This section was pretty exhausting since I kept breaking through the crust. On the summit I could finally see the ridge leading to the Täschhorn, which would be the most challenging section of the day’s traverse. It looked demanding and somewhat menacing. It was steep and covered in heaps of snow, which was pretty wet at this time of day. My euphoria from having done six summits in a day was dampened. I started to descend, and it took ages. I was dealing with brittle rock covered by about 20 centimeters of soft snow. It did not feel right, but I still continued for a bit, hoping that it would get easier after I was past the lowest point of the ridge.
I hadn’t gotten there yet, however. I tried to find the best way by stopping after each downward move and carefully checking where to put my feet next. Several times I was forced to step into the flank. This was a nightmare since there was no grip in the snow, and I couldn’t tell whether the rock underneath was solid or loose. Finally I sat down to consider where to continue. Right below me the rock was vertical, and it did not seem to be climbable on either side of the ridge. I pulled out the route description. At this very moment the helicopter with Röbi in it came toward me. What unfortunate timing! Me sitting on the ridge and looking at the route description was not the best picture. But I didn’t get too stressed about it and finally found out that I had to keep left to get down. This was not fun at all. I gave it a go, but the wet snow and rocks immediately began to crumble beneath me, and I turned back. I tried again a little farther to the right but only moved down for 2 meters before I returned again. I looked around. The route definitely went down there, but it was certainly no terrain to down-climb without a rope. It was far too dangerous.
I climbed back up toward the Dome. Ascending was definitely easier and safer. I gave Röbi, who was still hovering above me, a sign, but he did not understand what I meant. He flew to the bivouac at the Mischabel on the other side of the Täschhorn. We were going to meet there and climb the Allalinhorn as well as the Alphubel and continue to the Britannia Hut. When I reached the top of the Dome for the second time, I called Röbi to tell him that I wouldn’t be able to make it. He was lucky, since the helicopter was still there and could take him back. From the top of the Dome I started the long way down to Randa. Sitting in Randa and waiting for Dani and Röbi, it suddenly dawned on me that Patrick Berhault had fallen to his death from exactly that ridge I’d just been on. That had been during his attempt to climb all eighty-two 4000-meter peaks. This realization sent a shiver down my spine, and I was glad to have abandoned the climb.
How should I continue? I had no other choice than to ride my bike back to Saas-Fee the following day, go to the Britannia Hut, and scale the mountains from the other side. Dario, the manager of the hut, looked after us splendidly, and the evening continued into the late hours of the night. This sort of socializing might have slightly compromised my climbing the following day, but social contacts were an essential part of the project. From the outset the primary goals of the project were to climb and have fun.
In the morning I skied up the Strahlhorn. It seemed to take an eternity to get up the slightly ascending glacier, and the summit just did not want to come closer. The ski descent made up for it, though: it took only about ten minutes. I then climbed up the Hohlaub ridge to reach the summit of the Allalinhorn. I could have also summited the Rimpfischhorn on the way, but I wanted to save it for Nicole. She was going to join me that afternoon, and we wanted to climb the Rimpfischhorn together the following day. As was often the case, Dani was waiting for me on the summit. His reliability was a great support, and we simply had a wonderful time together during the whole project.
We descended via the normal route, and I quickly bagged the summit of the Alphubel before I walked to the train station to collect Nicole. Back at the Britannia Hut Dario welcomed us with delicious refreshments, including white wine, cheese, and the local beetroot sausage. A wonderful eve of a ski touring day with Nicole! The following morning we skied up to the Rimpfischhorn. It was already the end of June, and I had never been on my skis so late in the year. The scrambling on the summit ridge was a welcome add-on, and shortly afterward we were sitting on the highest point, which was pretty crowded. We quickly took in the view and started to head down since we wanted to avoid snow that had gotten too soft. In such perfect spring conditions, even I enjoy skiing. On the ascent the snow had been frozen, but on the way back down it was soft and fun to ski. When we got back to the Britannia Hut, it was so hot that I changed into shorts. We each grabbed a deck chair and treated ourselves to a traditional Valais platter of dried meats, sausage, cheese, pickles, and rye bread.
Leaving this pleasant place nestled between the gigantic glaciers was not easy. However, my next goals were beckoning in Zermatt. As I was too lazy to put my trousers back on, I skied to the cable car station in my shorts. Nicole grabbed my skis and took the cable car down to the valley, while I ran down to Saas-Fee. We met again at the parking lot, where Dani had already settled in for the afternoon. Nicole went home, and I pedaled to Randa, where I met Dani at the campsite.
The following morning my legs were feeling heavy, and not even a second cup of coffee would wake them up. I needed some stretching exercises to make things better. Around noon I got on my bike and cycled to Zermatt. I met Andi Steindl in a pizzeria to discuss the plan for the following days. I had not met Andi before. He is a close friend of Simon Anthamatten, to whom I had initially reached out. Simon, busy guiding and completing his helicopter pilot training, had suggested contacting Andi, and I had been convinced that a friend of Simon’s would be a friend of mine. Andi works as a mountain guide and skiing instructor but is also a trained carpenter, just like me. And he was extremely fit! He had climbed the Matterhorn from Zermatt in an amazing two hours and fifty-seven minutes. I doubt that I would be able to do that! We talked about the Monte Rosa region, which, unlike me, Andi knew very well. He was convinced that we should be able to climb all the summits of the Monte Rosa range in a single day. I loved this plan!
From Rotenboden we ran to the new Monte Rosa Hut. Dani took the train up to Rotenboden and joined us later. When we approached the hut, a futuristic building with an aluminum shell in the shape of a crystal, I was mightily impressed. What I saw had nothing in common with a classic Swiss Alpine Club hut. The hut is equipped with state-of-the-art energy-efficiency technology. It has photovoltaic power plus a heat recovery system and a cogeneration unit. Its beautiful woodwork made my carpenter’s heart skip a beat.
It was another short night. We started at 1:00 a.m., with Andi setting a fast pace. I was looking forward to the day, but I was a bit worried that I wouldn’t be able to keep up. It was pitch black, with a new moon, and I could barely see anything, but with Andi doing the routefinding I could just follow him. A cold wind was blowing at the Silbersattel Col, so we each put on another layer before climbing the ridge to the summit of the Nordend. We then returned to the saddle, and soon afterward we reached the top of Dufortspitze, Switzerland’s highest mountain. It was still dark. We traversed across to the top of Grenzsattel. It was just starting to get light when we reached the top of Zumsteinspitze. A red sky bathed the surrounding peaks in a magical light. At sunrise we reached the Capanna Margherita Hut, which is the highest hut in the Alps and is on the way to Signalkuppe. We stopped here for breakfast. The hut was full of climbers who had just gotten out of their bunks and were looking at us, puzzled. Where have those two guys just come from so early in the morning? they must have wondered. After coffee and a piece of cake, we filled our water bottles and each bought a Coke for later.
Reenergized, we continued our tour and climbed the Parrotspitze, Ludwigshöhe, and Vincent Pyramid. At times I wasn’t even sure which summit we had reached, but I completely enjoyed the moment and the feeling of moving efficiently. We left our backpacks on top of the Vincent Pyramid and quickly went over to Punta Giordina, the only summit in the Monte Rosa range that lies entirely in Italy. We descended to the Lisjoch and traversed the Liskamm from east to west. Slowly we were getting into terrain that I knew a lot better. We summited the twin peaks Castor and Pollux. The snow was still hard and stable, and we were making good progress. Our goal was getting closer.
Half-running and half-sliding, we descended from Pollux. The only tour left was the traverse of the Breithorn, a route that is usually heavily trodden since it is near the Little Matterhorn cable car station and often used by mountain guides and their groups. But there were no tracks that day! The sun had softened the snow, and we broke through it and unexpectedly had to struggle. Our heart rates were up and our legs were tired when we finally reached the summit. From the Breithorn it was just a stone’s throw over to the Little Matterhorn station, where we had a few well-deserved cold beers. It had taken fourteen hours and eighteen minutes to climb twelve summits.
We stayed the night at the hut next to the cable car station to be close to the starting point for our next goal, the Matterhorn. Running down to Trockener Steg was a cruel start since our legs were aching from the efforts of the previous day. We reached the Hirli via Furggsee and carried on to the Hörnli Hut, where we took a short break to eat and drink. From there I was hot on Andi’s heels. After I found out that he had climbed the Matterhorn’s Hörnli Ridge something like seventy times, I happily let him lead.
It was warm enough for us to run in our T-shirts. Once at the Solvay Hut we changed from running shoes into mountaineering boots, and we reached the summit two hours and fifteen minutes after we had set out. Considering that Andi had done it from Zermatt in two hours and fifty-seven minutes, our time was not particularly fast. Still in our T-shirts, we sat on the rock, enjoying some food and drink. We saw only two other roped parties up here, making it pretty quiet in Matterhorn terms.
Back at the Hörnli Hut we spoiled ourselves with a big portion of rösti topped with fried eggs. I still had to run down to the valley, while Andi had the luxury of taking the cable car from Schwarzsee Lake. I had spent two unforgettable and perfect days with him. When you have to make so many decisions, it is important to understand each other without exchanging many words. It does not always work so harmoniously.
The time had come to go back to the Täschhorn. Dani accompanied me to the Täsch Hut, and I then summited the Alphubel for a second time and continued to the Mischabel bivouac. Being on my own, I considered this route the safest since it did not require a glacier crossing. The ridge from the Mischabel bivouac to the Täschhorn was not as long as the ridge coming down from the Dome, but it was likewise brittle and full of loose rock. In the evening I was relieved to have added this piece to the puzzle since it had been weighing on me. I still had to go back to the Bernese Oberland to finish the unclimbed summits there, but otherwise I was on track.
The following day I met Andi Wälchli in Randa to climb the Dent d’Hérens with him. I was looking forward to touring with him again. It had been a long time. We used to climb together a lot, but now he had a family, and his life was a bit more settled than mine. Andi really identified with the project and even cycled from Randa to Zermatt with me. On the long approach march to the Schönbühl Hut, we had a lot of time to talk. While the hut was jam-packed in the evening, leaving us with little space to move during dinner, we were more or less alone on our way to the Dent d’Hérens in the morning. This route is hardly ever climbed these days, and I knew why when we had to climb underneath a gigantic serac for quite some time. I hoped that this enormous ice tower was not up to anything stupid that day.
I really enjoyed the climbing. It started off with an ice wall, then flattened out somewhat before we had to negotiate a steep ice gully. We could see the lights of headlamps along the ridge above us. These must have been the climbers coming from the other side. The day was slowly dawning. It was fabulous to be here with Andi. It was just like in the old days; we were just a little older. Before Andi went back to the valley after our climb, we shared a plate of dried meats. I felt sad that our time had come to an end. I would have liked to climb some more with him, but I was on my own again. The next goal was the Dent de Blanche, which I also climbed from the Schönbühl Hut.
Right after that I jogged up to the Arben bivouac. I was sure that I would be on my own up there and was looking forward to the solitude. In the space in front of the bivouac, I did some stretching exercises and let the sun shine on my face. Sometime later I saw some people moving toward me. What a shame! I wouldn’t be on my own after all. Not long after this the guy in the lead greeted me: “Morning, Ueltsch!” I could not make out who it was at first, but it must be someone I knew—only a handful of people called me Ueltsch. As it turned out, it was Reto Schild with a client. What a coincidence! Reto and I had been on Denali in Alaska together, and we had later shared some climbs in Nepal. I was increasingly convinced that the eighty-two summits project had been one of the best ideas of my life. I had met so many friends I had not seen for a long time and who shared my passion for the mountains. Reto was now working as a full-time guide to feed his family. We spent the whole afternoon talking and discussed the question of risk. Reto told me that he had been very lucky the previous year when the rope on which he had been rappelling broke. This was unusual: with today’s technology, ropes pretty much only break when they are cut by a sharp edge during a fall. But still, it happened to him. We had to accept that there would never be zero risk in the mountains, no matter how careful we are.
The route via the Arben ridge to the Obergabelhorn was very pleasant, and it was almost a shame that it was not longer. Just before 8:00 a.m. I reached the Rothorn Hut, where I had arranged to meet Dan Patitucci. He was going to climb the Zinalrothorn with me. In the hut I was served real coffee and an apple. After days of instant coffee this felt like heaven! When Dan reached the hut I gave him some time to rest. He used to be a bike racer and was still training every day, so he was pretty fit. We took our time since I wanted to give Dan a chance to take photographs. There was no reason to hurry. The only thing I did not want to miss out on was the cake in the hut; I wanted to be there before it was all eaten up.
After the climb we would have had enough time to descend all the way to the valley, but as Dan’s wife, Janine, had come up to meet us, we spent a pleasant evening together. The hut had just opened for the season so we were spoiled with fresh vegetables that had been delivered by helicopter.
Now the moment had come to return to the Bernese Oberland and complete the missing summits. If I stayed here for the Weisshorn–Bishorn traverse, I would have to descend to Zinal, and that would take me even farther from the Bernese Alps.
After a few intense climbing days I had to bike the long stretch from Randa to Fiesch. I was supposed to meet Nicole there and climb the Fiescherhörner and the Finsteraarhorn with her. I had gotten used to biking, and I no longer minded the heat. On the contrary, I liked feeling the sweat running down my body. There was always enough water on the bike, so dehydration was never an issue.
Dani was already waiting for me at the parking lot of the Fiescheralp cable car. While Nicole and I climbed together, he could go home for a few days and have a rest. Before Nicole arrived I quickly went back to the village to buy some ice cream. I had been looking forward to that ice cream since riding the last kilometers into Fiesch. Nicole arrived at 3:00 p.m. She picked up the luggage and took the cable car while I walked up. At the beginning my legs felt heavy, which was not surprising since I had biked a long distance that morning. I was starting to feel the cumulative effect of the last few weeks. There had not been a day when I did not do any physical exercise. After about five minutes, however, the feeling of heaviness seemed to disappear. My view narrowed, and I just ran. The only thing I saw was the path disappearing. This was a great feeling, something triggered only when I exerted myself. On slower runs I could never focus like this since too many disturbing thoughts would enter my brain.
Nicole was already at the Fiescheralp when I got there. After a good dinner and comfortable night at the hotel, we ascended to the Finsteraarhorn Hut via the Aletsch Glacier and the Grünhornlücke. Up until that day I had only descended the biggest glaciers in the Alps, not ascended them. When we were young, Markus Iff and I once came down the Mönch via the Aletsch Glacier just to save money. We were both the proud owners of a Swiss rail card, which was valid for the stretch from Fiesch to Fiescheralp but not for the trip from the Jungfraujoch. That descent had been a lot longer than the ascent via the North Face of the Mönch.
While we were walking across the glacier, I could hardly wait for our lunch break since I had made myself a delicious sandwich, a welcome change from my usual energy bars. Finally, at Concordia Place, we unpacked our picnic and marveled at the impressive ice landscape around us. This is where the glacial streams of Grüneggfirn, Ewigschneefeld, Jungfraufirn, and Grossem Aletschfirn merge into the Aletsch Glacier. I could see why masses of people came here from the Jungfraujoch to look at this magnificent natural spectacle. We veered off to the right, climbed the Grünhornlücke via the Grüneggfirn, descended to the Fiescher Glacier, and traversed across to the Finsteraarhorn Hut.
Climbing with Nicole means a lot to me. I enjoy sharing these unique experiences with her. But I always have to control myself and make sure I am not going too fast. Generally I tend to expect other mountaineers to be at my level and then get surprised that they are not as fast as I am. With Nicole though, I have learned how to address this situation. She has improved significantly over the past few years and is now very sure-footed. We either move on a rope together, or I put her on a short rope. For the descents we have come up with our own system. Long descents leading over hard snow have become quite difficult for her since she had to have her foot surgically stiffened as a result of a climbing accident. The solution is for her to slide down on her bottom and then for me to stop her on the rope. It is the trousers that suffer most from this technique. Fortunately we do not have to do this very often.
We set off early the following day, not because the ascent of the Finsteraarhorn would take such a long time but because I planned to also tackle the Grosse Grünhorn afterward. The track was easy to walk on. An icy wind had picked up so we stopped for a while at the Hugisattel to add layers. We continued on the ridge without crampons since we could easily circumvent the few icy sections. Climbing on rock with crampons is always a pain. The foot bends at a greater angle, and climbing is generally more strenuous than it is without them. Once on the top of the Finsteraarhorn, we sat down in front of the cross with its inscription Soli deo honor (“Only for God’s honor”). We had reached the highest point of the Bernese Alps in brilliant weather and were completely on our own. We had passed a roped party, and they had not arrived yet. When we got back to the hut, I had enough time to climb the Grünhorn while Nicole was enjoying the afternoon sun on the terrace.
When we walked up the Fiescher Glacier toward the Fiescherhörner the following day, I was surprised by its sheer size. It was almost as massive as a Himalaya glacier. Nicole and I climbed to the Fiescher Col, from which we first scaled the Hintere Fiescherhorn and then the Grosse Fiescherhorn. We then crossed the Walcher ridge and reached the Mönchsjoch and the Jungfraujoch from there. After a good cup of coffee in the restaurant, Nicole and I went our separate ways. She took the train down to the valley while I continued my mission. Before starting I quickly called the Hollandia Hut to find out whether they had any spaces for the night. I told them that I was still at the Jungfraujoch and would get there in the late afternoon. The hut warden was skeptical and doubted that I would make it. I assured her that distances were relative and that she should not worry.
Well-fed and full of energy, I stepped onto the glacier from the Jungfraujoch station. I was happy to follow the tracks of the glacier trekking groups since walking alone across a glacier was not my favorite pastime. I had gotten used to inspecting the terrain very closely and avoided any dangerous-looking sections. At Concordia Place the glacier was rather dry, revealing the crevasses. However, a little farther on it was soft and wet, and I had to pick my route carefully to avoid the big crevasses there.
I arrived at the Hollandia Hut just over two hours after leaving the Jungfraujoch. When the hut warden saw me, she said: “Ah, it’s you! I was convinced that the guy who called would not make it here in time, so I didn’t prepare any dinner for you.” She did offer me a piece of homemade cake, though, which I devoured, along with a cup of coffee, before I fell into bed.
After I’d had a closer look at the Aletschhorn, I abandoned my plan of climbing it via the Haslerrippe. It had been very warm and dry, and the rib looked loose and brittle. I decided to go from the Lötschenlücke to the Sattelhorn the following morning and traverse the whole ridge to the Aletschhorn. It only took me an hour and fifty minutes to reach the summit from the hut, which made it a relatively short day out. I then descended and made my way across the Long Glacier to the Lötschental Valley. The glacier certainly lived up to its name. It dragged on forever, and it took me quite some time to reach the pastures at the Fafleralp. However, I still got there before Dani, who was going to bring my bike. I looked for a comfortable spot and had a rest. Nicole and I got married at the Fafleralp in 2008. This place was full of beautiful memories, and I didn’t mind at all that I had to linger for a while.
When Dani arrived I immediately hopped on the bike and headed to Randa, planning to reach the Weisshorn Hut that day. What a diverse day! First climbing, then biking, followed by running.
Unfortunately the weather was unsettled the next morning. Shortly after I left the hut, it started to snow. It was July 13, and even though it was a Monday—not Friday the thirteenth—I briefly wondered whether this would be the day to have a rest. Nah, I thought and abandoned the superstition instantly. The east ridge leading to the Weisshorn was easy to climb, and ascending its north ridge across to the Bishorn was straightforward. I could not really get lost there.
When I reached the summit of the Weisshorn, I was engulfed by thick fog and it was snowing. But by now I had gotten used to the bad visibility and did not for a minute entertain the idea of going back to the Weisshorn Hut. I started traversing the north ridge. The climbing was getting more demanding. The rocks were covered in a sheet of ice, requiring me to put on my crampons. I did not mind being challenged, but it bothered me that my left eye kept freezing shut. The wind blew from my left side, and the falling snow was pretty wet. Whenever my eye froze shut, I had to pull it open again, hoping that I would have some eyelashes left at the end.
The spiky ridge looked rather terrifying when it suddenly emerged from the mist. The rock was covered in ice and snow. The atmosphere felt eerie, especially since I was climbing this ridge completely on my own in the snow and fog. The ridge was pretty well protected, though. I found many bolts where I could secure myself and, if need be, I could use them to rappel from. I rappelled only two pitches at a section where the route dropped vertically into a notch. I had taken a 20-meter length of 5-millimeter rope as well as a 2.4-millimeter paragliding rope. At the belay point I tied the ropes together and threaded them through a carabiner. I used only the thicker rope for my rappels and the thin paragliding cord for pulling the rope down. This technique was a bit cumbersome, but it was efficient and fast. Every time I come up with a system like this, I feel like a child, and when it actually works I am proud of myself.
I knew I had reached the top of the Bishorn only because of the summit sign; visibility was about a meter. I could not see a thing, but I had no choice. I still had to descend to the Tracuit Hut. Climbing via the normal route, the Bishorn is considered one of the easiest 4000-meter peaks in the Alps, and I was convinced that I would find a good broken trail leading down to the hut. However, nobody had been up here in such bad weather, and I did not see a single track. I took my smartphone and marked my position. The app of Swiss Maps worked like a fully functioning GPS. It is amazing what smartphones can do.
Due to the low visibility I wanted to avoid walking across the glacier, and so I headed toward the rocky crest. I’d rather do some climbing than fall into a crevasse! But I was not sure whether this ridge would lead me to the glacier plateau. After a few minutes descending I took out my phone to double-check whether I was on the right ridge. But there was nothing to check: my phone had switched itself off. Shit! Why now? The battery had been fully charged. On all the other climbs I had put a battery pack into my pocket just in case, but this time I had been sure that the battery power would last, so I had not taken one. Stupid, but there you are. I stuffed the phone right next to my chest in the hope it would warm up and come back to life again, and then I continued. I was sure I was on the right ridge. Well, pretty sure. If I wasn’t on the right ridge, then I would just have to climb up again.
I could cope relatively well with such situations. I had been there many times before. In the worst case, I would have to bivouac somewhere. The weather forecast was better for the following day, so I would be able to find my descent route. Yes, it would be a cold night, but I had slept without a sleeping bag at 7000 meters. Admittedly it was very cold, but I knew that it was not life-threatening. My past experience gave me a certain peace of mind. Coming down the ridge was actually quite easy, and as the fog was slowly lifting I got a better idea of where I was. I stopped to check my phone, and it now had enough juice for me to find my position on the GPS. Yes! I was on the right ridge. The only obstacle that remained was the steep barrier that lay between where I stood and the glacier plateau, which I had spotted on the map.
I continued to descend until I got out of the fog. Finally I could see my surroundings and realized that I could get down to the glacier without problems. Lower down I saw a few mountaineers. It was all clear again. Phew! This had been exciting, but adventures like these are what define mountaineering for me. Weather and conditions vary, so the experience is always different. The traverse from the Weisshorn to the Bishorn had been pretty challenging that day, but it would have been a different story in fair weather. It always depends on the conditions and on the abilities, experience, and physical condition of the climber. Had I already been tired on the Weisshorn, the traverse wouldn’t have been that easy for me. Had I not had decades of practice, I would have reached my limits sooner. But as it happened, the tour turned out to be pleasant and exciting at the same time.
Dani was waiting for me at the Tracuit Hut. He had even carried up my paraglider. I was thrilled to see how well our small team was working. We were on the same wavelength. The wind was too strong to take off from the hut, but luckily we found a suitable place lower down. I felt a bit guilty since Dani had to slog down to the valley while I was comfortably flying down, so afterward I bought him a beer. I then jumped onto my bike and rolled down into the Rhone Valley. I was very happy that there were no uphill sections on this ride. We stayed at a campsite in Sion and continued to the Grand Combin the following day.
Now I was back to being a cyclist again. I started quite early in the day, hoping to have a tailwind in the morning. Slowly but surely I got the feeling that everything was running smoothly. My average speed was between 37 and 39 kilometers per hour. For a lone rider unable to take advantage of drafting, this speed was pretty impressive. Heading toward Martigny, I slowed down significantly on the uphill section to Bourg Saint-Pierre. I was glad when I finally got there and Dani and I could start our hike to the Valsorey Hut, where we arrived just in time for dinner. After the meal we helped with the dishes, got stuck chatting in the kitchen, and enjoyed drinking homemade Génépi liqueur.
I was pleased that Dani had decided to join me to climb the three summits of the Grand Combin the following day. We reached the summits of the Combin de Valsorey and Combin de Grafeneire pretty quickly. When we finally stood on top of the Combin de la Tsessette, I suddenly realized that I had just reached the last Swiss 4000-meter summit. Even if something unexpected happened now, I had summited all 4000-meter peaks in Switzerland. The French Alps were next in line. In order to celebrate this achievement, I suggested to Dani that we continue to Chamonix and have a burger and local beer in my favorite restaurant there. Dani loved the idea, and so did I—even though it meant cycling over a few passes on the way.
We set up at a campsite owned by a man from whom Nicole and I had rented a studio in Chamonix the previous winter. I really appreciate knowing the people around me. It makes me feel more comfortable and more at home. Dani and I were ahead of schedule, which meant I had to wait for two days for my next partner, German mountaineer David Göttler, to arrive. Two rest days would do no harm, but I couldn’t sit still—the weather was too nice. I took my paraglider and ran up to the starting ramp at the middle station of the Brévent. The thermal was not great, and I did not get very high, but I could still fly to my heart’s content. After a while my harness got uncomfortable, and I landed in the valley.
David and I had planned to climb Les Droites, Aiguille Verte, Grande Rocheuse, and Aiguille du Jardin. The weather did not look promising, though. We started early in the morning toward Montenvers and walked across the glacier to the Couvercle Hut. The normal route of the Les Droites turned out to be brittle and not really gratifying. The weather was deteriorating, and I hoped that we would be spared a thunderstorm. On the summit ridge David asked me to stand up on a rocky pillar since he wanted to take a photograph of me from below. My hair was standing on end, and the air was charged. The things you do for a good photo! We then descended pretty quickly and reached the hut without getting caught in the storm. I was thrilled that David and I had gotten along so well and that everything had gone smoothly despite the less than optimal conditions. Having passed the hardship test, we started planning a Himalaya expedition for the following spring.
On the second day we climbed the Moine Ridge on the Aiguille Verte, traversed via the Grande Rocheuse to the Aiguille du Jardin, and returned via the same route. At the Montenvers station David took the train while I continued on foot, as usual. This time, however, the train was significantly slower. When David arrived in Chamonix I had already showered and was enjoying a cold non-alcoholic beer in front of the tent. Running definitely has its benefits! The next day David went back to Spain to be with his girlfriend, and Ueli Bühler and Röbi Bösch arrived. Ueli had been my partner in one of my first Himalaya expeditions, on the West Face of Pumori. The four of us, including Dani, intended to climb Mont Blanc du Tacul via the Devil’s Ridge.
The starting point for this tour, the Refugio Torino, was actually easy to reach since the cable car line ends right in front of it. For me it was more complicated, though. From Chamonix it was probably best to climb the Frendo Pillar to the Aiguille de Midi and then cross the glacier to the hut. My friends took the cable car up the Aiguille de Midi, where they waited for me. Ueli and Dani took another cable car across the Glacier de Géant, while Röbi came to the Aiguille de Midi Hut with me. This way I did not have to cross the glacier on my own. I started off in running shoes and changed into my mountaineering boots later. A thunderstorm that had raged here the previous day had left the lower part of the Frendo Pillar pretty wet, and the granite, which was overgrown with lichen, was especially slippery. I slowed down.
It was dry higher up, and I enjoyed climbing on good rock. The crux was a section of Grade V climbing. I had climbed the Frendo Pillar a few times before, and it is definitely a rewarding ascent with a very convenient finish. From there you can get straight into the cable car and go down again. That was not my intention this time, however. At the exit point I had two choices: to either go right or left of the rock. The left side looked good. It was still covered in snow, while the right side was covered in shiny blue ice. At this very moment Röbi called and asked me whether I would come up from the right side. He said he was still up on the Aiguille de Midi and wanted to take a few pictures. I did him the favor but not without uttering a curse or two as I struggled on the ice.
In the Rifugio Torino we met Dutch climber Martijn Seuren. Martijn had contacted me earlier to ask me whether he could join me on the traverse of the Grandes-Jorasses. He told me he had climbed almost all 4000-meter peaks in the Alps and that the only one missing was this traverse. This would make him the first Dutch national to have climbed all 4000-meter peaks. I liked this challenge and after having thought about it, agreed to climb the Grandes Jorasses with him. I had not met him before, but if he had already climbed eighty-one of the 4000-meter peaks, he had to have good technical skills and experience. He had arrived at the hut a day earlier in order to acclimatize.
First Ueli, Röbi, Dani, and I climbed the Devil’s Ridge. Once on the glacier we waited for the day to break since we did not want to miss the starting point of the climb. With the first sunbeams of the day, Dani and I stepped onto the ridge: a perfect moment in extraordinary light. The red glow illuminating the granite was exactly as in classic photos of the Mont Blanc massive. When Ueli and Röbi joined us shortly afterward, the light was still magical, and Röbi used the moment to take some photos. He planned to take photos on this climb, which meant we had to be patient and allow him to take his time.
The Devil’s Ridge offers classic granite climbing, Grades IV and V. Including the main summit, the ridge has five 4000-meter peaks. This would definitely be a taxing day, with a lot of ups and downs: climb to one summit, rappel back down to the lowest point, and start up again to reach the next summit. This was basically what we were doing all day. It took a long time. We got stuck behind two relatively slow climbers, but unfortunately we were not quite fast enough to overtake them. The other problem was that they also inhibited Röbi’s photography, which meant that we sometimes had to wait to make sure that they were well away and out of the picture.
At the last tower I left my friends to their own devices. It was already late, and I wanted to reach the summit of Mont Maudit the same day. From the last tower of the Devil’s Ridge, I continued without a rope and would meet my climbing partners back at the hut. As soloing was a lot quicker, I reached Mont Blanc du Tacul in no time and quickly continued to Mont Maudit. From there I descended via the same route and met Dani, Röbi, and Ueli, who were on their way to the Aiguille de Midi to catch the cable car to the Rifugio Torino. I jogged back to the hut via the glacier.
I met Martijn at the refuge, and we discussed the plan for the following day. We left it open whether we would climb the Aiguille de Rochefort and the Grandes Jorasses in a single day or whether we would sleep at the Canzio bivouac. It was impossible for me to judge how fast Martijn would be. We took a stove and some provisions, just in case. Ulrich Karrer, a South Tyrolean who was working on the construction of the new cable car, also wanted to join us as far as the Aiguille de Rochefort. He would have to be back at the hut at 7:00 a.m. to start work. The plan was for Ulrich and Martijn to go directly to the Rochefort ridge while I did a short detour to the Dent du Géant before catching up with them.
In the morning the three of us left the hut together. Ulrich showed me the starting point to the Dent du Géant, and I set off at my usual pace. After all, I had one more mountain to climb than the others. The first pitch was slabby. After about 50 meters of climbing, I reached a big fixed rope that led all the way to the summit. It took me about twenty minutes to reach the top, from which I could see Ulrich and Martin’s headlamps moving up the Rochefort ridge. I started to descend. The last 50 meters I had to down-climb, which felt a bit uncomfortable since it was still dark, and the rock was slippery and had no good holds. Once on the bottom of the rocky section, I put on my crampons and ran to the Rochefort ridge.
Suddenly I saw one light move toward me. Was it that late already? Was Ulrich already going back to work?
I was right that it was Ulrich. He looked somber and said, “Not good at all!” At that moment I saw a light far down on the north side. I immediately put two and two together, and Ulrich confirmed my worst fears. Martijn had taken a fall. Ulrich had already informed the hut.
I looked down. Should I climb down to Martijn? The flank looked icy, and I only had one ice axe. The light did not move. I looked up to get an idea of how far he must have fallen. A long way. In fact, too far to have survived.
My phone rang. It was the PGHM (Peloton de Gendarmerie de Haute Montagne) rescue team of Chamonix. I knew many of the mountain rescuers, who were mostly passionate mountaineers and climbers. Someone had mentioned my name during a conversation, and they wanted to know whether I had any more information. I explained the situation to them. Martijn had tumbled down at least 300 meters. The rescuers were getting ready and would leave as soon as day broke. I was waiting at the accident site to instruct the helicopter pilot.
As always, it seemed an eternity before the helicopter came roaring through the darkness. Martijn had fallen into the bergschrund, which made the recovery complicated and time-consuming. In the meantime, Ulrich and I were put on the long line of the helicopter and taken down to the helipad in Chamonix. We needed to get Martijn’s personal details to get in touch with his relatives. I only knew his name and that he worked at the Bächli outdoor shop in Bern. In the meantime, Martijn’s body was recovered from the ice and brought down to Chamonix. I identified him.
A sad day. Why did Martijn have to die? What happened? I could only guess that even though he was wearing crampons, he must have slipped on an icy section during the descent. Of course, I wondered whether he had been rushing and whether he had felt pressured to move fast because he was climbing with me. I had told him several times to go at his own pace. Contacting me and asking to join me on this climb had been his own decision and responsibility. But I couldn’t help feeling somewhat guilty.
I decided to put the project on hold, and Dani and I went home. I felt the need to find Martijn’s family and talk to them. The rescue team was not allowed to give us the family’s contact details, but at nine o’clock that evening I had finally found their phone number, and I called them. Martijn’s father spoke a little German, and Nicole’s father, who is Dutch, helped me with the conversation. It was a difficult call, but at least it gave me the opportunity to explain to them what had happened.
It took me a few days to decide whether I should continue with my eighty-two summits project. Would this reflect a lack of respect toward the deceased? Martijn’s accident had shocked me and struck me deeply, even though I hadn’t really known him and had not been with him when it happened. The accident had also affected Nicole, who worried that it could be me one day. We talked a lot about it.
At the end of the week, though, I knew that I wanted to continue. Martijn was dead whether I stayed at home or finished the project. His death would also not stop me climbing outside the eighty-two summits project. For Martijn’s family the loss was tragic and inconceivable, but life went on. We mourn, but the world keeps on turning. Our time will come. Without exception, we all will meet our end.
Dani and I went back to Chamonix. This time I was allowed to take the cable car up to the Rifugio Torino. This had been where my project was interrupted, and this is where I wanted to continue. I walked down to the Val Veny on the Italian side to meet Jonathan Griffith and tackle the 4000-meter peaks south of Mont Blanc. We descended to the Eccles bivouac together. Martijn’s accident made it somehow difficult to simply continue where I had left off. I found it hard to be completely carefree again. Lost in thoughts, I put one foot in front of the other. It could be me one day. There was no guarantee that I wouldn’t make a mistake, slip, and fall. That this wouldn’t be the end. I was happy to have Jon at my side. It was important to have a close friend around at times like this.
To make matters worse, it was raining when we started. We waited for a while at the Monzino Hut to see how the weather would develop. Finally the rain eased off, and we were able to continue, but the dry spell did not last for long. At least the rain had turned into snow. We grumbled but continued. In Scotland it would be normal to set out in weather like this; in Chamonix it would be stupid. When we reached the Eccles bivouac, we were wet to the bone. It snowed so hard that we decided to spend the following day in the bivouac. The huge amount of fresh snow had increased the avalanche danger significantly. The following day we hung out at the bivouac in brilliant sunshine. On the one hand it was annoying, but on the other hand it gave the mountain a chance to clear the snow. All around us we heard the thundering of avalanches tumbling down into the valley. In the bivouac we sat completely alone right in the middle of the glacier. The south side of Mont Blanc is pretty remote. The approach routes are long and demanding and require full commitment. Abandoning a climb for whatever reason often requires a huge effort. This inconvenience makes the Italian side less popular than the French side, where access is a lot easier.
In the afternoon we broke trail up to the couloir, which we were going to climb to get to the Frêney Glacier the next morning. Jon had just returned from an expedition in Pakistan, and instead of resting he had immediately joined me to climb in the Mont Blanc region. I had sent him a message asking him whether he would like to join me on a few climbs, and he had promptly accepted while he was still at the airport. He was incredibly motivated. In Pakistan he had been on his seventh attempt to scale Link Sar, a 7000-meter peak. This time, he and Andy Houseman had managed to open a new route to the west summit, a great success. He had many interesting stories to tell, which made the waiting periods much more bearable.
In the morning we followed our tracks up to the Col Eccles, rappelled to the Frêney Glacier to reach the Col de Peuterey, and climbed the Aiguille Blanche de Peuterey. It was still dark when we climbed the four pitches leading up to the northeast summit, from which we descended and traversed across to the main summit just as the sun was coming up. Jon made the most of the beautiful morning light to take photos and video on the ridge before we returned to the Col de Peutery.
My next goal was the Pilier d’Angle. Its summit is not very prominent, just a pointy spike on the ridge, so I climbed the whole ridge, not wanting to risk missing the highest point. Jon waited on the saddle, taking pictures of me as I approached.
In the most pristine snow conditions, we climbed the Peuterey ridge, first to Mont Blanc de Courmayeur and then to the summit of Mont Blanc, where we met a couple of Italian mountain guides doing some filming for a TV series. We quickly continued since we still had a long day ahead of us. After our descent via the Dôme du Goûter, Jon went directly toward the Gonella Hut while I did another lap to the Aiguille de Bionnassay. We reunited at the bottom of the glacier, where we roped up and ascended to the Gonella Hut. Here we had our first proper rest and a huge plate of pasta. The film crew had also just arrived and offered us a helicopter lift down to the valley. I declined but told Jon to take the opportunity to get down quickly. He said he would rather slog across the endless moraine with me. What a friend!
The following day Jon went back to Chamonix, and I flew to the Netherlands from Geneva to attend Martijn’s funeral. It was a very emotional day. When I saw his family and friends pay their last respects to him, it became clear to me what it meant to lose someone close to you. And how final death was. In previous years I had lost a lot of friends or acquaintances in the mountains, and I had literally seen a few people die, but I was not prepared to give up mountaineering. It was my life, after all. Yet the funeral made me think about how far to go in the future and how to weigh my projects against their risks.
In the evening Dani picked me up in Geneva, and we went back to the campsite in Val Veny. The ascent of the Brouillard Pillar was next on the agenda, in two days’ time. Matteo Pellin, the mountain guide who was managing the campsite with his brother Luca, supported the project. He wanted to know when I expected to get to the Monzino Hut. I calculated my time and came up with 5:30 a.m. A while later he told me that he had just called the hut warden and that breakfast would be waiting for me.
I got up at 4:00 a.m., had something to drink, and ate a piece of bread before I headed out. I reached the Monzino Hut on time, and, as promised, breakfast was ready. The friendly hut warden went outside with me and showed me the bottom of the ridge. I crossed the glacier at the hut’s level and reached the place where I had to turn off to get onto the ridge. The shiny new bolts indicated that this new and better route had just been opened. I climbed along the ridge, which was covered with a lot of loose rock. Given that I was completely on my own up there, it would not have put anyone in danger if I had kicked off some rocks. The route was long and impressive. First I reached the Aiguille Rouge du Brouillard, and then I climbed the two 4000-meter peaks Punta Baretti and Mont Brouillard before descending into the Col Émile Rey. I had reached the starting point for the Brouillard Pillar, which did not look inviting. It was relatively warm, with water running down the rock, and every once in a while a rock came flying past. I would have to be quick!
I started climbing. The steepest section is usually vertical ice, but it looked so hollow and brittle that I did not feel like hanging off it. I was convinced it would collapse so I looked for another solution. It seemed that I might be able to climb farther right across the rock. I traversed over, clipped both ice axes onto my harness, and used my hands for climbing. The granite was not really compact here either—it was a bit brittle. Before I trusted my weight to each handhold, I scrutinized it, and I kicked my feet hard against the rock to see whether footholds were safe.
After about 250 meters the slope eased off. The rest of the way to the Picco Luigi Amedeo did not pose any difficulties, although the rock remained loose. From the summit I continued across to Mont Blanc and descended the normal route via Mont Maudit and Mont Blanc du Tacul to the Rifugio Torino. Once at the hut I felt tired, which was not surprising after having covered 21 kilometers of distance and 4260 meters of climbing. So I wasn’t too unhappy that the following day’s climb would be rather short. I planned to descend to the Canzio bivouac and give the Grandes Jorasses another go.
I had to get up early because a thunderstorm was forecast. Dani had come to the hut; he wanted to climb the Dent de Géant. We climbed to the start of the route together, and I put him on belay until he reached the start of the fixed rope. He continued on his own and descended to the Rifugio Torino after his climb. I traversed via the Aiguille de Rochefort and the Dôme de Rochefort to the Canzio bivouac. I had been feeling uneasy the whole day. I kept on thinking about Martijn and was worried about Dani. I didn’t usually worry about him, but I felt huge relief when I received his message that he had reached the hut.
I arrived at the bivouac before noon, which was a good thing since the sky was now overcast and fog had started to rise. Fortunately the thunderstorms never came, and there was no precipitation at all. This meant the rock would be dry the following day. I was reassured and felt more self-confident. I just had to get used to climbing on my own again. Dres Abegglen, a mountain guide I knew, and his client joined me at the bivouac, which made my stay up there more lively.
It was already light when I set out at 6:00 a.m., which was good for my morale. It took one or two pitches for my head to clear. After that everything went smoothly. I just climbed, and I climbed well! The sections on the Pointe Young were uniquely beautiful, exposed and steep. When I reached the top of the ridge, I heard the rattling of the chopper. Jon and I had arranged to meet up here to take photos and films, and the timing could not have been better. I kept on climbing, maintaining my rhythm. The razor-sharp ridge was really exposed, with steep vertical drops on each side. Some sections I traversed directly along the edge. I hung off the edge of the ridge with my hands while I pressed my feet against the steep rock face.
I had to move to the right, climb across a couloir, and get back onto the ridge to reach Pointe Margherita. The couloir was full of snow, but there were tracks, which spared me from putting on my crampons and saved some time. I was just using my two ice axes. Once on the top of Pointe Margherita, I felt the sun’s warming rays on my skin. I had arranged for Jon to come up here and shoot a few photos, so I sat down and had something to eat and drink. After about twenty minutes, the camera team arrived in the chopper. Only then did I continue my climb.
I had regained confidence. I was neither stressed nor tense. I simply climbed like I had before and trusted that I knew my trade. I didn’t worry about times or difficulties, but the descent was in the back of my mind. I wanted to reach the glacier while it was still frozen, which would reduce the danger of snow bridges collapsing and my falling into a crevasse. That was the only reason for me to make good time.
I climbed across Pointe Elena, Pointe Croz, and Pointe Whymper; from there, I could see two people descend from Pointe Walker, the main summit. They were pretty early! The tracks indicated that someone had bivouacked up here, and I guessed it must have been those two climbers. When I crossed over to Pointe Walker, the two came toward me. It was a tired-looking French couple. We had a brief chat, and they told me that they had been on the ridge for four days. They asked me how long I had taken to get to the Canzio bivouac. I looked at my watch and asked them whether they really wanted to know. They said yes. I had been on the go for two hours and twenty minutes.
Before they started their descent I gave them something to drink as well as two energy bars and showed them the route. I then tackled the last bit to get to Pointe Walker. I was relieved when I stepped on the last summit of the Mont Blanc massive. I had done the lion’s share of my grand traverse, with only the Gran Paradiso and the Barre des Écrins left. Both mountains were technically easy, which meant that the weather would not be such a decisive factor. I stayed on the summit for a few more minutes and enjoyed this beautiful moment. It was still early and the glacier was in the shade.
I ran down to the couloir. The French couple had not gone very far, and I caught up with them quickly. They offered to descend with me so that I would not have to cross the glacier unroped, but I declined. It was still frozen, and at my speed I would be on the other side in about an hour. I gave them the rest of my food and carried on. I was back down before noon.
I felt somewhat liberated. There was not much that could go wrong now. On the other hand, I almost felt sentimental knowing that my eighty-two summits project was coming to an end. I wanted to make a conscious effort to absolutely enjoy the last two summits. Back at the campsite I welcomed the friendly and familiar atmosphere. Matteo congratulated me with a beer. After a shower I rested and chatted with Dani in front of the tent. We would leave the next morning, and the thought made me feel a bit melancholic. I would have liked to stay.
In the evening Matteo and Luca had a surprise for me. They had organized a celebratory dinner with polenta, cheese, dried meats, and a delicious dessert. A few bottles of champagne were cracked open, and the campsite management team and some other guests celebrated with us. It was wonderful. Dani had put together a few photos, which he projected on a big screen. Reviewing the project this way inspired memories for me, and it was interesting to see how it all began.
In the course of the evening, I talked with two Spaniards, Óscar Pérez and Carles Rossell. Both are passionate trail runners and come here every year for training. Carles told me that he was organizing a race in the Pyrenees at the end of October, stretching over 70 kilometers and with 6700 meters of altitude, including some easy rock climbing. I would have loved to take part! The previous year Óscar had run up all 3000-meter peaks in the Pyrenees, which also sounded very appealing. As they both had brought bicycles, they wanted to join me on the ride to Valsavarenche the following day. I liked the idea since it would be a welcome change to bike in a team of three, my only worry being that I might not be able to keep up with them. When I lay in my sleeping bag late that night, I felt tired but too emotionally excited to fall asleep. Too many impressions and ideas were whirling around in my head. There were so many ideas and projects to do in life!
With all the good-byes, it took quite a while to get away the next morning. Carles and Óscar waited on their bikes for ages. Finally it was time to go. We biked at a speed that allowed us to chat, and the ride to Pont was still done in no time. The village was situated in an appealing valley, and the surrounding hills were much gentler than the rugged Mont Blanc massif, with its sharp needles and uneven glaciers. The terrain was a lot less steep and rough. Given the number of people milling around in the streets, it seemed to be a popular tourist destination. Dani and Res Aeschlimann arrived shortly after us. Res and I used to share a flat in Gsteigwiler, which seemed ages ago. This was a great chance to do something together again. The three of us, including Dani, would scale the Gran Paradiso together. We bid farewell to Óscar and Carles.
I set the pace on the way to the hut. When Dani is in front he usually sets off far too quickly but then runs out of steam later on. I moved more slowly than usual to give Res a chance to keep up. The hut was packed, and it would be interesting to see how all these people would fit on top of the Gran Paradiso, which is not very big.
By the time we got up at 4:00 a.m., the route was already crowded. We took our time having breakfast and then leisurely started our ascent. The chain of headlamps in front of us seemed endless, and I was not sure whether they were all on the right path. Unfortunately Dani felt sick and turned back after about forty-five minutes. Res did a great job, and we managed to reach the summit before the masses. Only one mountain guide and his client were up there with us. It was peaceful, there were no crowds, and there was plenty of space on the summit. From the Madonna statue Res and I climbed across to the main summit, which involved a short appel and a climb of about five minutes along the ridge. It was even more peaceful up here!
On the descent we met a lot of teams heading up. One and a half hours later we were back at the hut enjoying a cappuccino. Now only the Barre des Écrins beckoned.
I had one longish bike trip ahead of me. I had to get to Ailefroide, the starting point for the Barre des Écrins in the Dauphiné. It is the most southern and most western 4000-meter peak in the Alps. My friend Heinz Heer had offered to accompany me on this tour. Dani would pick him up in Aosta, and then we would meet somewhere on the way. From Pont I rolled down to the Aosta Valley, which was great fun. However, before I knew it, the road went uphill again. The Little Saint Bernhard Pass turned out to be longer than I had expected. I had anticipated that being called “little,” this pass would be shorter than the Big Saint Bernhard, which I had been on during an earlier trip. I was completely wrong. My afternoon stage became longer and longer, and the heat did not help. After 96 kilometers I stopped in a hotel in Bourg Saint-Maurice and called Heinz to ask him to meet me there.
The following morning we biked to Val d’Isère and the Col l’Iseran. We took it easy and cycled at a moderate speed so we could talk. Once we were at the bottom of the pass, I started to pedal hard, and then I waited for Heinz on top of the pass. When he got there he’d had enough and got into the van. I continued on my own. After about 120 kilometers I stopped in Saint-Michel de Maurienne, where I got caught in a thunderstorm. It poured and spoiled my fun. I had planned to cross the Col de Galibier and exceed the 200-kilometer mark, but this downpour changed my mind.
This was France’s cycling mecca, where you find the most difficult passes of the Tour de France. I now had the biking bug. The next morning Heinz started out an hour ahead of me. The roads were filled with cyclists, despite the rain. Incredible! I wanted to reach my limit and gave it everything. It went pretty well. Just below the pass I overtook Heinz, who was still looking pretty fresh. Dani was waiting for us on the pass. I ate and drank and then continued. Till then it had just been drizzling, but now it was pouring. I began to shiver and got cramps everywhere. This was impossible! I should have listened to Dani, who had told me to put on more clothes. Now I belatedly realized he was right. I had to stop. My hands were cramping, and I could barely use my brakes. I grabbed my phone with my stiff hands and called Dani to tell him that I urgently needed more clothes. He was still on the pass waiting for Heinz but said he’d be there immediately.
Shivering all over, I continued very slowly and stopped at the first restaurant. I was so cold that I had to go inside. I thought that the sudden presence of a drowned rat might irritate the restaurant owner, but I was completely wrong. A big group of cyclists sat at a table, each of them wearing a distinctive white bathrobe. I had not even finished an envious thought before I was handed just such a robe and asked what I wanted to drink. Shortly afterward Dani arrived with my dry clothes. After I had changed, I was good to continue all the way to Briançon. In the evening I felt satisfied having experienced such an intense day. I even felt sorry that the next day would be my last for biking. The stretch to Ailefroide turned out to be easy and pleasant, which was a nice way to finish.
On the other hand, I had to fight hard for the last summit. On August 11 I set off from Ailefroide at 4:18 a.m. It was pitch dark. Dani was waiting for me at the parking lot at the end of the road. I stopped for a drink, and he told me that the route continued behind the house there. After a quick handshake I carried on, running on a wide trail. As with every climb over the past two months, I felt excited. I was motivated to climb and immediately found my rhythm. After a while I encountered a big rock with a sign pointing to the Glacier Blanc and the Glacier Noir. I was headed to the Glacier Blanc and was convinced that the arrow was pointing left, and so I went left.
In the light of my headlamp I could see the route. It first went around a few bends, then across a moraine with no path but lots of cairns to mark the route. I started to have doubts about whether I was actually on the right track, but the sign had been pretty obvious. By the time I reached the end of the valley, though, I was sure that I had gone wrong. I took my phone out of my backpack and a glance at the digital map confirmed that I had ended up on the wrong side of the mountain. My loud yell echoed through the whole valley, and then, not wanting to lose any more time, I started running back in the direction from which I’d just come.
I had been on the go for three hours and forty minutes when I got back to the valley floor and started from scratch again. I had to laugh at myself and at my warm-up run. What the heck, it was only another 2200 meters of altitude from here to the summit. And now it was light and I could see the way, which was actually not that hard to find.
Despite the long detour my legs felt fine. I ran like I had been running every day for the past two months. I had hardly any gear: just a pair of light aluminum crampons, one ice axe, something to eat and drink, long pants, and a jacket. Most of the climbers I saw were already coming down the Dôme de Neige. The tracks on the glacier were pretty good and enabled me to ascend quickly. I reached the top of the Dôme de Neige in shorts, which made me smirk. Climbing a 4000-meter peak in shorts and running shoes was not how you did it by the book.
The traverse across to the Barre des Écrins looked wild from where I was standing. Some clouds had gathered on the summit by now, so I put on my long pants and ran back to the saddle. There were no tracks up the Barre des Écrins. I guess most people were happy with having reached the Dôme de Neige. I put on my crampons and climbed the snow-covered ridge on its sharp edge.
Finally I stood on top of my last summit. Alone. On the one hand, I was over the moon that I had completed this big project successfully. On the other, I was sad that it was over. The past two months had been filled with intense experiences and encounters. I’d had the chance to spend valuable days with good friends, and countless wonderful moments had reminded me of how beautiful and unique mountaineering is. That my original partner had left the project near the beginning turned out to be a blessing in disguise.
I was also lucky that the summer of 2015 did not have any prolonged bad weather. Summers like this do not happen very often. And I couldn’t have done it without Dani’s support. His heart was in the project as much as mine was. He was passionate and motivated, and he was invaluable.
Of course, I am pleased about my performance. In sixty-two days, I had climbed 117,489 meters of altitude and covered a distance of 1772 kilometers. This was not a record, as some media called it. The Italian climbers Diego Giovannini and Franco Nicolini had climbed the eighty-two 4000-meter peaks in sixty days. If I deduct the week I stopped after Martijn’s accident as well as the two waiting days in Chamonix, it would be less, but that is not what it was about. I had consciously taken my time for the climbs I did with Nicole. My eighty-two summits project was more about the journey than about numbers. And it inspired me to do more of what I love doing and not worry about what the public or the media say.