Dufourspitze

*Starting the approach under the watchful eyes of some ibex*

While I didn’t set specific goals for the 24/25 winter season, I had one clear objective in mind: ticking off my first 4000m peak on skis. Strong winds had thwarted an attempt on the Aletschhorn at the end of March. Three weeks later, dubious snow conditions led me to forgo skiing the Finsteraarhorn and opt instead for the 3,590-meter peak of Wyssnollen. But when in doubt, sometimes one simply has to set one's sights a bit higher. Therefore, at the beginning of May, I was headed to the Monterosahütte with a large group of friends to tackle Switzerland's highest summit: the Dufourspitze.

We approached the hut on Friday. Since some of us needed to work in the morning, we divided the group into two. I was part of the early gang, which included Alyssa and her flatmate Antoine. Alyssa’s birthday was on Saturday, so the whole trip was set to be a celebratory weekend in the mountains. After a long train ride, we found ourselves in the familiar hustle of Zermatt, but boarding the Gornergratbahn quickly took us away from the crowds. As we got higher, we noticed the fresh snowfall forming a pristine white blanket across the landscape. In fact, it was still snowing when we stepped outside the train at Rotenboden, but we realised the warm temperatures would render the snow unsuitable for skiing at this elevation. Nonetheless, the snowfall reaching below 3000 metres surely boded well for skiing at higher altitudes. Our timing might just be exactly right.

Only a week ago, it hadn’t seemed likely that we would be able to go ahead with our plans at all. Heavy snowfall and poor weather appeared to be on the way, but over the next couple of days, the weekend forecast continued to improve, while the bad weather seemed limited to a few mid-week days. So when we made our way into the Wallis, it was the first day of better weather, with much of the recent snowfall still untouched on the pristine slopes surrounding the mountains. The weather remained somewhat uncertain, and we navigated much of the approach through a thick whiteout. We were all alone on the approach, apart from a herd of at least forty ibex watching our every move. The fog at least spared us from seeing just how much farther we still had to go on the seemingly interminable traverse leading down from Rotenboden towards the Gornergletscher.

*In the evening, we could see the silhouette of the Matterhorn between the layers of fog from our dinner table at the hut*

We started ascending the glacier, and despite the thick fog that obscured the sun, it was still scorching hot. According to the SAC website, this approach is indicated to take two and a half hours. However, by the time we arrived at the Saaser Licka – a long ridge we had to traverse – we had already spent nearly three hours on it. The southern slope features a descent secured with some cables and iron bars. Once we reached the bottom, we finally spotted the Monterosahütte in the distance, seemingly appearing and disappearing within the shifting fog. We descended the final metres down to the hut on skis, arriving shortly before 5 p.m. – the entire journey took us roughly four and a half hours.

The hut was already bustling, and I took a moment to walk around and marvel at its architecture. From the outside, the hut resembles a futuristic spacecraft that seems to have descended from space to find its final resting place among the towering mountains of the Swiss Alps. Inside, however, the many visible wooden beams and carpentry elements created a homely atmosphere. At the same time, the layout of the entire space, from the dining room to the dormitories, reflects the octagonal shape of the building's asymmetrical footprint. What struck me most, however, was how spacious everything felt. I’d never experienced so much room and open space inside a mountain hut. Lying down in my bed, my feet were, for once, not dangling in mid-air. We still had some time until dinner and were checking in on the second group, consisting of Georgia, Hannes, Milo, and Luis. It appeared they were running a bit late for dinner, but in the end, they arrived just before 7 p.m. and were able to join us just as we were being served dessert.

*Starting in the glow of our headlamps with the silhouette of the Matterhorn being our constant companion in the distance*

*Hannes skinning on the frozen snow while the Matterhorn is being hit with the first glow of dawn in the background*

We then spent the rest of the evening discussing our plan for the following day. It was not entirely straightforward to sort this out. We were a total of seven people, and considering the different options for descent routes from the summit (either returning via the long west ridge or rappelling to the Silbersattel) and varying levels of confidence in individual fitness- and acclimatisation-levels, we decided to form two groups to ascend the glacier up to the ski depot, taking a total of three ropes for three parties to traverse along the ridge. Once everything was settled, we retreated to our rooms, where I spent a poor night’s sleep, even though the approach hadn’t been particularly demanding. But it wasn’t a very long night, and it was soon time for our 3:30 a.m. breakfast. At our table, Georgia had put up some balloons for Alyssa, and we exchanged quick birthday wishes, but everybody was too tired or too nervous to be much in a festive mood. We’d hoped to set off by 4 a.m., but it was already 4:20 when we finally began skinning. The snow was firmly frozen, and navigation was easy with plenty of tracks to follow.

As dawn crept closer, we could make out the silhouettes of the surrounding mountains, with the Matterhorn proudly dominating the scenery every time we turned around. The higher we climbed, the colder it became, and unusually, after moving for a while, we paused to don additional layers, rather than shedding them. The first rays of sunshine were a welcome relief, but eventually, we had to re-enter the mountain’s shadow as we neared the slopes below the ski depot. We were already above 4,000 metres, but everyone still seemed to cope with the altitude quite well, and even Alyssa, who had expressed some reservations about her fitness levels, was still going strong. So, we all decided to continue along the ridge leading towards the summit. Milo and Alyssa were the only ones not carrying skis on their backpacks, thereby committing themselves to a return to the ski depot. The rest of us were hoping for a round trip via a descent towards the Silbersattel.

*Georgia layering up, as even in the first rays of sunshine, temperatures started to become quite chilly the higher we got*

The beginning of the ridge was straightforward, but soon a steep drop on either side made for some exciting exposure. Carrying the skis on our backs made us more top-heavy than we would have preferred, and being sure-footed on the narrow ridge was crucial. However, the track was well-trodden, and although I overtook a few people, the ridge wasn’t too crowded yet, as our early start meant many of the other parties were behind us. The snow was interspersed with occasional rocky outcrops, and for a while, we had been looking upon a steep snow slope leading towards what we presumed were the final sections of the ridge. People were taking their time ascending this very steep and exhausting-looking stretch of climbing. At this point, Alyssa and Milo decided to turn back, realising that retracing their steps along the same path would be treacherous on tired legs. The rest of us continued on, with Hannes and Luis in front while Georgia and I waited for Antoine, who had been accompanying Alyssa and Milo until then.

Despite the altitude and the decidedly challenging walk along the exposed ridge, I still felt strong and fresh, eager to see how I would fare on the steep snow slope. I overtook two other climbers and began ascending the steep incline, which featured perfectly cut steps in the snow. I found a good rhythm and was able to steadily march towards the top without stopping, leaving the crowds behind me. Upon reaching the crest of the slope, Luis was surprised to see me already at the top of this demanding section of climbing. He and Hannes had just begun to take out the rope, as we could now see the trickiest portions of the ridge lay actually ahead of us. We realised how lengthy this ridge truly was. I waited for Georgia and Antoine, and then we also roped up and I began leading the way, flaking the rope around the rock for protection. The climbing was never particularly challenging, but one had to remain alert the entire time as the exposure never relented. Just below the summit, there were even a couple of metres of near-vertical mixed terrain. A bit of old tat and a sling, kindly left in place by Hannes, meant that protection was relatively straightforward, and we easily navigated this final section of climbing until we suddenly found ourselves among the crowds gathered at the summit. If it wasn’t for the large iron summit cross, one could easily miss it since the summit itself feels rather unpronounced. The ridge continues further east towards the Grenzgipfel at almost the same elevation. For the highest peak in Switzerland, the summit itself appears decidedly unremarkable.

*Hannes entering the most technical bits of the ridge just before the summit*

*Hannes and Luis on the crowded summit of the Dufourspitze*

However, this didn’t detract from our excitement at actually standing atop the Dufourspitze. For none of us, the summit had been a sure thing, so it felt all the more rewarding to be here together. We didn’t linger long, though, as the summit was quickly becoming crowded with more parties arriving. We could already make out where the rappels to the Silbersattel started, a mere 50 metres further along the ridge. There was, however, a tiny gendarme blocking our way. At first, Georgia attempted to find a way around its left-hand side, but the skis strapped to her backpack were pushing her off as she tried to climb around a small overhang. After several unsuccessful attempts, I found a route to climb over the gendarme, which turned out to be less tricky than it had initially appeared. I made my way to the first rappel anchor, where I had to wait for Hannes and Luis to bring the second of our two 30-metre ropes. With five people crammed onto each rappel anchor, rappelling was a slow and uncomfortable affair. We eventually decided to have the first four people simul-rappel, which sped the whole affair up somewhat. Nonetheless, it felt like it took forever, and in the shadow of the couloir where we rappelled, we all started to feel increasingly chilly, just as the headaches caused by altitude and dehydration began to become a real nuisance.

*The rappel anchors quickly became very crowded…*

Upon reaching the Silbersattel, no one felt inclined to continue along the ridge towards the Nordend, which would have made for a comparatively short return trip to bag another 4,000-metre peak. However, at that moment, we all just wanted to descend to lower elevations. It was then that we realised how fortunate we had been regarding conditions. The slopes of the Rosagletscher leading down from the col between Nordend and Dufourspitze were covered in 40 centimetres of fresh powder. There were only a few ski tracks already in place – just enough to safely navigate around the large, gaping crevasses that threatened to swallow anyone veering off track, but leaving plenty of space for us to put in fresh turns. The only problem was that charging down the fresh snow demanded quite a lot from our tired legs. But how often do you get the chance to ski fresh powder in May? So, we mustered all the energy we had left to savour this remarkable gift.

Back at the hut, we found Alyssa and Milo napping in our dorm. They seemed indifferent to not having reached the summit, instead raving about their share of the fantastic skiing. After we informed them how much longer we had to go along the ridge, they were all the happier for having decided to save themselves the interminable walk back to the ski depot from the summit. We were all going to stay another night at the hut, which proved to be a wise decision. It was half past three, and returning to Rotenboden at this hour would surely mean missing the last train into Zermatt. So we simply enjoyed a relaxed afternoon at the hut, savouring our summit success.

During dinner, the hut appeared to be bursting at the seams. It was Saturday, and surely every last spot was booked. However, dinner went just as smoothly as it had the day before, the hut team being well-equipped and accustomed to this level of activity. Afterwards, we discussed our plans for the following day. It seemed that the only feasible option was to return to Rotenboden, as all other descent options into Zermatt lacked sufficient snow cover. We decided, however, to make a detour and head up the broad, gentle slopes of the Gornergeltscher towards the Grosses Fillarhorn. That way, we would be able to maximise our skiing mileage.

The next morning, we had our breakfast at the very reasonable hour of 5 a.m., and when we left the hut, the sun had already bathed the horizon in a vibrant pink. The morning began with a small blunder as Milo lost one of his skis on a short icy downhill traverse, but the frozen snow allowed him to walk down easily and retrieve his ski, which thankfully hadn’t shot too far down the glacier. After everyone was equipped with a complete pair of skis once again, we quickly reached the Saaser Licka. On its opposite side, we opted for a short 30-metre rappel to overtake some people taking their time downclimbing the steep section after the saddle. We then began the uphill climb across the open expanse of the Gornergeltscher, which was flanked on its northern side by a huge cliff face adorned with a massive hanging glacier at its summit. A truly imposing sight, and while we were skinning, I wondered whether any daredevil had ever been bold and foolish enough to climb this steep and imposing wall with its looming overhead hazards.

In the distance, we could see some black spots moving, probably heading towards the Cima di Jazzi, but once we turned towards the Fillahorn, we seemed to be by ourselves. It wasn’t until we neared the final summit slope that we realised we weren’t the only ones to choose this particular peak that day. Just as we traversed a large flat section of the glacier, we spotted three skiers descending the steep slope leading from the summit of the Grosses Fillarhorn. By the looks of it, they were either somewhat mediocre skiers, or the snow must be pretty terrible in that aspect. Ultimately, we discovered the latter was true as we began our ski descent after a brief moment on the summit, this time including the entire group. The slope was covered in wind crust, but at least on that morning, our legs were fresh enough to ski this challenging terrain to the best of our ability.

*Georgia approaching the summit of the Grosses Fillarhorn*

The remainder of the descent was an absolute pleasure. We cruised down the gentle slopes of the Gornergletscher, which appeared like a perfectly groomed piste. All the while, the Matterhorn remained our constant companion, dominating the view directly across the valley. There was simply no way to capture photos of one another without it prominently featured in the background as we made our turns down the mountain. We periodically checked the map to avoid some crevasses, but in the end, we reached the edge of the glacier in no time. Now, we only had to shoulder our skis and hike the interminable traverse back to Rotenboden. My pack felt heavy, and I was beginning to seriously regret not having brought approach shoes. I turned around now and then to look back at where we had come from. The surrounding mountain tops glistened in the bright midday sun under a beautiful blue sky speckled with cumulus clouds. The Dufourspitze stood inconspicuously inside the Monte Rosa massif. Whether it be the elegant pyramid formations of peaks like Nordend, Castor, and Pollux, or the towering ridges of Lyskamm and Breithorn, every other summit appeared more aesthetic or imposing than Switzerland’s highest mountain. Its unassuming peak seemed so far away that it was difficult to believe we had stood on top of it no more than 24 hours ago.

Walking into the train station at Rotenboden felt like crossing a peculiar threshold. It was as if I were leaving behind the world of towering mountains and adventure, returning instead to the ordinary and mundane aspects of city life. Crowds of tourists shuffled about in the snow, wearing inadequate footwear, and eyed us curiously as we dropped our heavy backpacks and simply sat on the ground to drink the liquids we had, as usual, neglected to keep up with throughout the day. As I sat on the concrete, letting my gaze roam across the mountains, I felt a sense of contentment. I had completed my first 4000-metre peak on skis, and I had done so in excellent company!

Skiing the Tödi