Breithorn Traverse
After my solo attempt at the Bianncograt a couple of weeks ago, I was feeling in need of more mountaineering and getting into higher elevations to scratch an itch that simple rock climbing could not satisfy. The weather had been rather unstable in the recent weeks, and it looked like I would be staying in Zurich a second weekend in a row, which left me in somewhat of a plaintive mood. But the weather was about to improve during the week, and luckily, I managed to find an impromptu partner for a quick mid-week alpine mission. Myla and I knew each other through a common friend, but so far we hadn’t officially met – save for a brief encounter at the Plan de l'Aiguille lift station a couple weeks ago – but we had been following each other on Strava for a while now and therefore knew we have a similar appetite when it comes to adventure; which is as good a baseline for getting out into the mountains together as one can hope for. Our objective of choice: the Breithorn traverse, an aesthetic and long route that goes over no fewer than five 4000-metre peaks along snowy ridges and rocky outcrops with some interesting bits of climbing thrown in the mix. Despite all of this, it is doable as a day tour, thanks to the lift support up to the Klein Matterhorn.
Leaving the Klein Matterhorn and heading onto the glacier
Myla and I met in Visp on Monday, where she picked me up in her cosily built-out van. Making conversation felt easy as we drove into the Mattertal, where we could park the van next to the flat of one of Myla’s colleagues. I quickly started to feel confident that we would make a good rope team. We used the evening to pore over topos for our route. The recent snowfall in Vailais meant we would likely encounter conditions trickier than usual. But the following day was set to bring beautiful weather, and in all likelihood, we wouldn’t be alone on the route. So despite the fresh snowfall, there was a good chance a track would already be in place. In any case, the prospect of increased challenges only added to our excitement. We went to bed with alarms set to the very reasonable time of 5.15 a.m. – I would be in for almost 7 hours of sleep, something quite unheard of before a big adventure in the mountains. So much for the necessity of alpine starts…
We quickly got ready after we woke to make the short drive into Täsch. The Breithorn is one of the first peaks one can lay eyes on when driving into the Mattertal, but on that morning, a thick layer of clouds shrouded its peak. We parked the van and boarded the first train to Zermatt, which was quite crowded and littered with numerous backpacks strapped with ropes. Walking through the streets of Zermatt at this hour felt strange yet tranquil. I revelled in the atmosphere of these familiar streets for once not bursting with tourists and horse carriages. That morning, they were simply quietly accommodating a flow of unusually not-so-sleep-deprived mountaineers who were all headed to catch the first Gondola up to the Klein Matterhorn. Soon we were in the clouds, and even sooner we exited them again, greeted by the bright rays of the morning sun. It was promising to be a beautifully pristine day. As we made the long ride up, I felt like I could sense the air getting thinner. Neither Myla nor I could showcase any recent acclimatisation, so today was sure to be a bit of a sufferfest. Taking the gondola from 1600 metres straight to 3883 metres and picking a route where we would spend the majority of the time moving above 4000 metres certainly doesn’t seem like the soundest strategy in terms of minimising the ill-effects of altitude. In fact, how my body would cope with the challenges of the thin air worried me more than the snowy conditions we would likely encounter. But I was also curious how well I would fare with this suboptimal level of acclimatisation.
Cold winds fought against the warming light of the sun as we walked across the glacier
In the hallways at the Klein Matterhorn station, we were greeted by a draft of cold air. Outside, in the shade, the temperatures were bitingly cold. Shortly after 7:30 a.m., we headed off and were glad to soon step into the welcoming warmth of sunlight bouncing off the glistening crystals of freshly fallen snow. Not long after we started moving, we could remove our down jackets. We followed the flat path towards the Breithorn and quickly left most other climbers behind as they veered off to the normal route up the Breithorn’s western summit. We continued along the flat expanse of the glacier for a while longer, heading towards the Schwarztor. From the south, the ridge of the Breithorn looks much more welcoming than the jagged pinnacles and steep seracs that embellish the north face looming above Zermatt. There was quite a bit of fresh snow, but the path was already well-tracked. Cold gusts raced across the glacier, carrying with them clouds of spindrift. Whenever there was no wind, the sun felt quite warm, but almost every time, as soon as I took off my gloves, the icy wind would immediately pick up again, sending shivers down my spine. Once we left the main path, which continues towards Castor and Pollux, we traversed along the glacier's perimeter, trying not to lose any height until we reached the Bergschrund below a steep slope leading onto the Breithorn ridge.
On the slope, we overtook a mountain guide and his client. As expected, there was a good track in place, and the climbing was straightforward, basically a snowy staircase. I looked at the fresh powder snow around us with a sense of yearning. This would have been the day for some high-altitude summer skiing. The snow looked fluffier than on almost any winter day I had witnessed. But alas, we were travelling on foot that day. We quickly reached the ridge, where we made a short detour east to climb Roccia Nera, our first 4000m peak of the day and the most easterly summit in the Breithorn group. Standing on top, it presented itself as nothing but a small, unassuming snow plateau that no one would bother with if it weren’t in the official UIAA list of the Alps’ 4000m peaks. We then quickly made our way over to our second summit, the Gendarme, which we reached only 20 minutes after standing on Roccia Nera – certainly my quickest succession in ticking off 4000m summits. Shortly after the summit, a quick rappel brought us to the start of a snowy arête leading towards the Breithorn East Summit. Together, the Gendarme and East Summit are also known as the Zwillinge. I stretched the length of our 50m ropes, downclimbing the last two metres to make the whole rappel in one go. At the end of the firn, the first proper moves of climbing (where I was quite glad for two bolts I found under the fresh snow) brought us to the East Summit – our third summit. It was not even 10:30; this route is certainly quite hard to beat in terms of efficiency for ticking off summits. By now, we had caught up with a party in front of us who were just starting their rappels after the East Summit. Myla followed them, and we managed to once again utilise the whole length of our rope as she skipped the first anchor. From there, we only had a couple of metres of downclimbing to reach the next snow ridge. On the last move, my crampons slid over the smooth rock, but I was only a metre above the ground, so I simply accepted my fate and let myself drop into the soft snow. We had overtaken the party ahead and quickly resumed moving.
Approaching the start of the Breithorn Traverse
Heading up the slope towards Roccia Nera through fresh poweder
View towards the Weisshorn from Roccia Nera
View towards the East Summit from the top of the Gendarme
Pulling the ropes after the rappel from the Gendarme
Myla on the ridge leading towards the East Summit with the Gendarme in the background
Rappelling from the East Summit – the tracks leading towards the Sellen can be seen in the snow slope in the bottom left corner
Starting the climb towards the Mittelgipfel just after the Sellen
Myla climbing the mixed pitch just before the crux
So far, everything had gone exceedingly smoothly. We were moving quickly, and I didn’t feel I needed to be concerned about catching the last lift anymore. However, we still had the route’s crux coming up. We reached the Sellen, a small, snowy col between the Eastern Summit and the Mittelgipfel, which marks the halfway point along the ridge and can also be reached by climbing the steep snow slope that flows south to the Grande Ghiacciaio di Verra. We took a small break to change layers, as the sun had by now become quite strong – it looked like it was indeed going to be the most beautiful day of the week. I wasn’t entirely sure whether it was simply the strong radiation from the clear sky above or the altitude starting to take its toll, but while I still felt quite fresh, I could sense the first signs of an oncoming headache. We continued through more mixed terrain, expecting to soon come upon the steep rock wall that marks the single most difficult climbing on the whole traverse. There are several ways to circumvent this challenging crux, and after we had followed the fresh footprints for a while, we were sure to have missed it. I retraced our steps and found some old, freshly buried tracks in the snow, which led me to a small snow platform, from which some slabby rock led towards a steep wall that looked just like the type of climbing we had been looking for. It appeared no one had opted for this route variation since the recent snowfall. As a mountain guide passed with his client in the tracks below, Myla shouted to him to confirm. “Yes, this is the crux, 4a, but it is very difficult”, was his assessment. He was obviously headed for one of the easier alternatives.
Me climbing the crux pitch (photo credit: Myla)
Myla set off, still in her crampons, though the rock looked more or less dry, and soon found a bolt that confirmed we were on the right route. The climbing seemed trickier than it had looked from below. But Myla patiently led this pitch, which brought her to a small notch below the crux pitch. I followed her, now regretting having brought my lightweight crampons. I didn’t feel very confident standing on my front points and was overgripping every good hold I could find. Once I reached Myla at the anchor and could inspect the next pitch, I decided to remove my crampons. The climbing felt quite engaging despite being rated “only” 4a, and while taking off my crampons was definitely the right decision, there was still some snow I had to clean off the rock. My fingers were starting to feel numb, making the small holds on the eastern aspect of this wall seem quite unappealing. Therefore, I chose to go left around a big arête to climb a series of bigger ledges on the wall’s southern flank. Sometimes those ledges were still partially covered in snow, and I had to dig to find the rock underneath. Standing on some of the snow-covered rock required trust in the rubber of my boots, but I made my way up, very carefully, searching for positive holds for my hands to latch onto. The only bolt I had come across had been at the very start of this pitch, but now I peeked around a corner to find one in the wall’s east face. Evidently, the small crimps are, in fact, how one usually overcomes these 20 metres of steep climbing.
I had now reached a sharp fin of rock and realised that the wall I had just climbed was really more of a tower, which I now had to traverse. I was questioning whether to scale the final metres to continue horizontally on the knife-edge, or to traverse below. The traverse looked like it featured a lot of smooth, slabby footholds with not much to hold onto, and, with it partially covered in snow, I opted for more upward climbing. There were some good holds, but I had to stretch myself quite a bit before I could reach for them and haul myself up. I then continued horizontally along the sharp rock crest. The rope drag was growing quite strong, and I began looking for an anchor. There was none to be found. Perhaps it was covered under all the snow? I quested onward, now looking to see whether I could build a belay myself. The horizontal section of the ridge was interrupted by an airy step. I had to downclimb some precarious metres on a narrow snow-covered horizontal pinnacle that seemed to have toppled over some millennia ago. Surely it wouldn’t decide to budge now, just as I was dancing across it? I then had to make a big step across the gap in the ridge. On the other side, I was similarly unable to find any anchor, and a thick layer of fresh snow meant I was digging for a long time, trying to find a way to place protection. I had now spent quite a long while climbing this pitch and was becoming a bit concerned about losing too much time. Eventually, after being unable to find any features in the rock that would allow me to build a suitable belay, I decided to retrace my steps to see if I had perhaps missed an opportunity elsewhere. In the end, I managed to find a little spire to sling just after the exposed step. It would never be good for belaying a leader, but when bringing up a second, hanging in the belay and applying constant downward pressure, the sling wasn’t going to move anywhere.
Big smiles after having just climbed the crux, the sling around a rock I used as a belay can be seen in the foreground (photo credit: Myla)
Easier terrain after the crux pitch
Climbing mixed terrain with the Zwillinge (East Summit and Gendarme) in the hazy background to the right
Five 4000-metre peaks = Five summit selfies
Myla following along the knife’s edge ridge just after the steep crux
Downclimbing some snow-covered slab after traversing the sharp ridge
Myla leading across some featured slabs
Blocky terrain before reaching the Mittelgipfel, our penultimate summit
Myla quickly reached the horizontal ridgeline, seemingly having not much trouble climbing in her crampons. As she walked along the snowy crest, she actually discovered the anchor that I had missed. It was indeed buried under the snow. At least my route-finding had not been totally misled; I had at some point seriously questioned whether the precarious traverse below would have been the correct choice after all. Myla secured herself to the anchor, and I then continued along the snow-covered crest. Here it was apparent just how much fresh snow had fallen, but I enjoyed the privilege of putting in the new track. I carefully examined each step, feeling the rock underneath the snow before I committed to it. Now I was unburdened by the rope drag and could fully enjoy traversing through the fresh layer of snow. Not long after, I regained the regular route and was now once more following in the plenty of tracks. I had probably been too focused while climbing the crux, but now, in the easier terrain, I started to realise my headache was becoming stronger. It was no surprise, of course. We had been moving above 4000 meters for close to 4 hours by now. But the most difficult bits of the route were behind us, and we simply had to endure our heavy heads for a little while longer.
The final bit of climbing around a shark-fin-like piece of rock just before the Mittelgipfel (photo credit: Myla)
Underneath a tall, featured slab, Myla took over the lead. The wall looked like it offered plenty of options, and the one Myla chose didn’t feel nearly as tricky as it had looked from below. Even easier mixed terrain brought us to the final gneiss blocks stacked atop each other before the Mittelgipfel. We had caught up to quite a few parties who were evidently going for the half-traverse, having started from the Sellen. Myla navigated between the compact terrain to overtake them, and after she had run out of gear, I took over to lead the final slightly exposed 3a step around a small tower sticking out from the ridge like a shark’s fin. Afterwards, a snow arête quickly brought us to our penultimate summit - the Breithorn Mittelgipfel. We continued west along the ridge to reach our final summit of the day, only 20 minutes later. Along the way, a solo climber walking in the opposite direction asked us how difficult the upcoming climbing would be. “I’m going to have a look”, was his response after we informed him the whole thing wasn’t entirely trivial. I seriously hoped one of the guides he’d run into would convince him to turn around. It didn’t seem he knew what he was getting himself into, and the day was already too advanced for even experienced climbers to set off on climbing the traverser at this time.
The firn ridge leading toward the Breithorn West Summit hidden in the fog
We stood on the western summit of the Breithorn at 2:20 p.m. It was a summit I had already been on. The previous year, I had topped out the Triftjigrat , which I had climbed with Bas, Myla’s and my mutual friend. The traverse today had taken us just over 7 hours and 40 minutes, and we still had plenty of time to spare before the last gondola. Or rather, I had plenty of time to spare; Myla had different plans. All day, she had carried her lightweight paraglider in her backpack and was now contemplating taking off from the Breithorn summit. However, as she checked the weather, some strong valley winds gave her pause, and in the end, she decided against taking off from the summit, instead making the return together with me to the Kleinmatterhorn, which we reached just after 3 p.m. Here, Myla was now planning to take off with her bigger glider that she had stashed at the lift station this morning, and would allow her to deal with the valley winds. I would have been keen to see her take off, but my desire to alleviate the pounding in my head was stronger. So I grabbed Myla's backpack to carry it down for her and made my way through the dark hallways. With every meter I descended, I started to feel a little better, and while my head was still heavy as I re-entered the streets of Zermatt, I now felt my headache improving rather than worsening with every minute. The town was busy with activity. The usual weird mix of tourists, mountaineers, day-hikers and horse carriages flooded the streets; a stark contrast to this morning when they were merely hosting the quiet flow of mountaineers headed for the lift station. I, for one, knew which state I preferred.
As I reached the big square in front of the train station, I received a message from Myla. She had just landed safely and would join me shortly. In the end, it had taken us equally long to get back to Zermatt, although it was without question who had the more enjoyable descent. It felt a bit strange to be back in town so early in the afternoon. And to know that we had walked these streets not even 10 hours ago felt even stranger; it seemed much longer ago that we had boarded that first gondola and ascended into the gloomy clouds above Zermatt this morning. On the train ride back, Myla relayed her experience flying down from the Klein Matterhorn, and throughout the drive back to Visp, I was probing her about the ins and outs of paragliding. While I still maintained my position that I already have enough hobbies to juggle and didn’t feel the immediate need to pick up another – especially one that is so time-consuming to do safely – I certainly had a fresh perspective and new things to ponder about the arguably most aesthetic way to travel in the mountains. But even without flying down myself, I was very pleased with having completed a beautiful tour, and it seemed that Myla and I were indeed on a similar wavelength when it comes to mountaineering. This surely won't be our last adventure together, and who knows, maybe someday she won’t be the only one carrying that enigmatic, large piece of fabric in her backpack.
Back on the slopes of the Klein Matterhorn