Madrisa North Face – Tschübel Gully — timegnerphotography.com

*On the approach to the Madrisa north face*

While the winter season of 24/25 has been quite successful for me in terms of ice climbing, I was becoming increasingly eager to engage in some proper mixed climbing as well. Seeing multiple reports about the stellar conditions in Chamonix only fueled my desire to scratch my tools on some rock. Ultimately, it didn’t work out to head to Chamonix. Still, I managed to come up with quite the consolation prize: on the Madrisa north face exists a complex and interesting line that offers everything from steep ice climbing to delicate mixed moves and squeezing through narrow gullies. The route Tschübel Gully is graded around WI4+ and M6, though snow conditions can significantly impact the difficulty. It is the hardest mixed climb in this region of the Alps, right on the border of Switzerland and Austria.

Before I could embark on this adventure, there was a lengthy discussion with Harvey about our means of transportation for the approach. The Tschübel Gully offers an ease of access that can probably only be surpassed by the routes in Chamonix. From Gargellen, a gondola and lift bring you to the top of the ski resort, from which you can descend on skis almost to the base of the route. However, since Harvey doesn't own touring skis and could only bring his alpine skis, I suggested that borrowing snowshoes might be advisable in case there was any uphill. We sorted out the gear we would bring and discussed how many ice screws we’d probably need, so everything was set for the next day - or so I thought …

Getting to the Madrisa north face is at the edge of what is feasible for a day trip from Zurich. The journey takes roughly three hours, but the connection is reasonable, beginning with a pleasant two-hour ride from Zurich to Bludenz in Austria. Along the way, we could see much of the scenery in varying shades of green, a testament to the lack of recent snowfall due to a stable high-pressure weather system. While passing along the shores of the Walensee, the south side of the Churfirsten looked utterly dry, and even the mountain tops exhibited little snow cover. Harvey and I chatted on the train ride, getting to know each other better. The train was reasonably crowded, so I wasn’t too concerned about not seeing Harvey’s skis anywhere and just assumed he had put them in one of the dedicated luggage compartments. That changed, however, once we left the train in Bludenz, and Harvey was still firmly without skis – shit… Some part of our planning had evidently been lost in translation. Harvey had assumed that taking the snowshoes meant he didn’t need to bring his skis. However, without skis, the descent from the ski resort would be an ordeal that would put our already tight schedule under unsustainable pressure. The rest of the journey was spent researching last-minute solutions to our rather serious logistical problem. Eventually, Harvey put his faith in a ski rental in Gargellen, hoping that setting him up with a pair of touring skis wouldn’t take too long.

After disembarking the bus in Gargellen, we were pleased to find the rental shop conveniently located inside the gondola building. While Harvey went to rent skis, I hurried to get our tickets sorted. Less than 15 minutes later, Harvey joined me in line, carrying a pair of touring skis. We were delighted by how swiftly our issue was resolved, although Harvey carried a superfluous pair of snowshoes on his backpack for the rest of the day. On the gondola, our heavy backpacks – strapped with ropes, ice axes, and said pair of snowshoes – caught the attention of several passengers. When asked about our equipment, we pointed to the steep cliffside of the Madrisa north face, which was already clearly visible during the lift ride. It stands prominently above the Gargellen ski resort like a watchful guardian, its gullies and buttresses seemingly inhospitable when compared to the victory of civilisation within the boundaries of the ski resort. However, we could already make out the icefall, which marks the beginning of our route and offers a way through this forbidding rock face.

With both of us equipped with skis, the approach was a breeze. First, we followed the pistes before veering off to traverse just beneath the steep walls of the Madrisa. Near the start of our route, we faced only about 50 metres of bootpacking before reaching the first icefall. Two pairs of skis were already planted in the snow, but the climbers were nowhere to be seen and had already begun their ascent. Harvey and I geared up, opting not to use our ropes for the initial short ice step, which was supposed to be relatively easy. However, the situation got more interesting due to the considerable spindrift that frequently showered down from the snowy slope above. The ice was well picked out, at a gentle angle, and would have been a straightforward affair in better conditions. Battling the craziest amount of spindrift I had ever encountered, however, turned it into quite the challenge. At times, the spindrift fell so heavily that I was nearly swept off the wall, forcing me to spend what felt like minutes waiting with my head down for a brief window of opportunity to progress upwards. Often, I would lift my head only to have another dump of snow cascade down my neck the second I dared to look up. In the end, I lost all sense of time, but scaling these few metres of easy WI2 ice took us at least twenty minutes.

*Leading the steep section of the second ice fall (photo credit Harvey)*

Afterwards, a long, gentle snow slope led us to the base of the second icefall, the crux in terms of frozen water. While the ice didn’t appear overly thick, a continuous line was visible. We roped up, and I began leading. If there had been any less ice, the first few easy moves off the belay would have already qualified as mixed climbing. I attempted to place the first ice screw three times before finally avoiding the rock beneath (a few short 10cm screws would’ve been handy). After traversing a few precarious metres, I found myself beneath the meat of the route: it hadn’t looked too daunting from below, but it was now clear just how vertical the ice truly was. Fortunately, the ice quality improved here, allowing me to move confidently on my front points. Running low on ice screws, I chose to save my last two for possibly building a belay near the top and ran out the final steep moves. Unnecessarily so, as it turned out, and as soon as I reached easier ground, I quickly spotted a bolted belay and made my way over to bring up Harvey.

The next pitch marked the start of the mixed climbing section, and although the first rock pitch was short and relatively easy, it was certainly exciting. There was just one bolt to be found, and few options for placing protection. Fortunately, the pitch was never particularly strenuous, so I had plenty of time to figure out each move. I had been a bit nervous about this particular pitch. My interest in the Tschübel Gully was piqued by a report from early December featuring images of this pitch’s belay, precariously hanging at least 5 metres above the snow. In such conditions, navigating delicate M7 moves without protection before clipping the first draw at the belay was necessary. Fortunately, a good amount of snow had accumulated throughout winter, so we avoided having to attempt this manoeuvre ourselves. As I climbed, I occasionally heard distant music and an announcer's amplified voice echoing from the ski resort where a racing event was taking place that day. While we were deeply engaged in the difficulties of our climb, this background noise served as a constant reminder of our proximity to the safety of civilisation. The result was a strange feeling of dichotomy, especially as we neared the more challenging part of the climb.

*The spindrift remained persistent here as well*

This upcoming pitch leads through a narrow chimney and constitutes the crux of the entire route, rated at M6. I had read that the technical difficulty can vary greatly depending on snow conditions, and the mental challenge of leading is similarly influenced by the number of bolts and pitons obscured by the snow. It was now time for Harvey to take over the lead. We found this pitch in relatively dry conditions, mainly requiring dry-tooling. Harvey took his time deciphering this puzzle of rock, pulling, pushing, and stemming his way upward. It was a delightful pitch, and the abundance of bolts meant one could fully focus on the climbing experience. The following pitch was primarily a transition to the next bit of proper climbing. Favourable snow conditions allowed for easy progress, but this pitch also presented a distinctive feature: a small tunnel one needed to navigate through.

While reaching the summit of the Madrisa via this route is possible, one typically rappels down after the last bits of difficult climbing. At this point, we were uncertain about how many more pitches lay ahead. However, time also started to become an issue, as Harvey needed to return to the ski rental by 5 pm. I led another pitch, which included a short, tricky part along the crack in a slabby dihedral. Lower snow coverage here likely means a precarious start, reminiscent of the first mixed pitch. As I neared the next anchor, I caught my first glimpse of the other party that had been climbing ahead of us and whose sight had eluded us all day. They were rappelling and informed me they had completed three more pitches, with the first reportedly even tougher than the M6 crux pitch. Looking up, it didn’t seem overly intimidating. Many features in the rock appeared to lend themselves to easy hooks, but experience indicates that this impression can be deceptive. Given that the day was progressing, the decision to rappel became easy once Harvey joined me at the belay. We had tackled some fantastic pitches on one of the most diverse routes I'd climbed, and leaving a few pitches for a potential future return was nothing to shed tears over.

Our rappels went smoothly, and we quickly returned to the ski depot. The effortless access to the north face of Madrias continued to impress us, as we now simply had to descend the slopes into Gargellen. There were a few minor hiccups along the way (Harvey struggled in his ill-fitting rental boots), but we relished cruising down the empty pistes, devoid of skiers at this hour. Halfway down, we passed a piste bully getting the slopes ready for the next day. Perhaps he wasn’t too pleased that his work was instantly disrupted, but we appreciated the enjoyable ski descent on the freshly groomed trails. It was just after 5 pm when we reached Gargellen, but the ski rental staff was still there, allowing Harvey to return his skis just in time. We had a few minutes until our bus and used that time to organise our gear.

The connection to back Zurich was less than ideal; we spent almost an hour layover in Budlenz, but we took advantage of this time for a hearty dinner at a kebab shop. It had been a long day with few opportunities to refuel, so we hungrily devoured two large pizzas and a side of fries. The lengthy train ride back to Switzerland then provided ample opportunity to reflect on the day's events. We were both very pleased with how the day turned out, especially after the frantic start that nearly jeopardised our entire operation. It may seem strange how such exciting and adventurous climbing is available just outside the bustling ski resort, but the Tschübel Gully is an excellent route to climb, and I will undoubtedly return to tackle those final pitches as well!

Madrisa North Face – Tschübel Gully

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