Wyssnollen

*Charly fully geared up in the neon-lit hallways of the Jungfraujoch station*

As winter turns to spring, the high season for ski mountaineering begins. So far, the weather had thwarted many of my plans for this season, yet I remained hopeful. Charly and I had arranged a weekend trip for the end of April, for which I had secured two spots at the Finsteraarhornütte. However, some uncertainty regarding the weather and fresh snowfall that increased the avalanche risk led to extensive discussions on the phone in the days leading up to our trip. We spent considerable time debating whether it was sensible to go ahead with our plans. But the forecast for Saturday looked too promising to ignore, even if it meant dealing with questionable conditions on Friday. Should the conditions for the Finsteraarhorn turn out too risky after all, we also had a backup plan that would, at the very least, provide some good skiing: the Wyssnollen.

On Friday, we travelled to the Bernese Oberland to board the Jungfraubahn, leading us to the highest railway station in Europe. The journey begins with a gondola ride from Grindelwald, where we could already see the mountains around us shrouded in a thick layer of clouds. As we waited at the Eigergletscher station, the usual tourists in high heels and fur coats stood in stark contrast to the mountaineers equipped with skis and climbing gear. The corridors up at the Jungfraujoch were illuminated by vibrant neon lights that reflected off the damp rock, casting the environment in a strange mix of colours as we geared up. When we began to look for the exit from these tunnels carved deep into the mountain, we ran into a sizable group of Italian mountaineers who had just turned back, claiming the exit was shut due to avalanche risk. This gave us pause, although I quickly concluded that this was likely a precaution for the tourists who would be ill-advised to wander outside in the harsh wind and whiteout with their questionable footwear. We walked ahead to assess the situation ourselves and, sure enough, there was an aluminium gate firmly shut, bearing a large warning sign about avalanche dangers. Charly was understandably somewhat put off, and it appeared she was definitely second-guessing the sensibility of our whole plan. But, in the end, she was one of the first to climb over the gate, leading the charge toward the solid steel door that separates the outside world from the expanse of these cavernous halls.

*Charly jumping the closed gate at the Jungfraujoch*

The heavy door opened with an audible squeal. Stepping outside, one was immediately hit by a gust of wind. The Jungfraujoch was enveloped in a total whiteout, and it truly felt like entering an entirely different world – one that was unwelcoming and hostile to human existence. Looking around us, any hope we had held onto that the visibility might be manageable was immediately shattered. One by one, the other skiers who had come up on the train with us passed through the gate and into the snow. Two quickly headed off and didn’t even bother putting on the rope. It was evident that this was not an option for us. In fact, Charly seemed less than enthusiastic about skiing down the glacier in a whiteout at all. It would be only her third experience skiing on a glacier, but already her second time doing so in a complete whiteout - the odds certainly didn’t seem to favour her. Despite that, she showed a remarkable tenacity, and her initial apprehension quickly turned into fierce determination. Some people tend to cave in when faced with adversity, but Charly is clearly not one of them. In any case, we didn’t have a choice if we wanted to reach the Finsteraahornhütte that day. I, at least, felt somewhat more optimistic. The day prior, I had contacted the Konkordiahütte to inquire about the condition of the glacier, and the guardian assured me it was in good shape and presented no issues. Hence, I had confidence that the glacier would be safe to ski, but that confidence was also very much tied to the GPX track on my watch. The fresh snowfall quickly obscured any visible tracks, and without a trail to follow, navigating the glacier would have been nearly impossible in these conditions.

*Skiing in a total whiteout (photo credit: Charly)*

Charly started to ski ahead, with me following behind. Initially, I struggled to manage the rope while skiing, but eventually I got the hang of it. We crossed paths with two ski tourers ascending from the Konkordiahütte, but not even 50 meters later, Charly had lost their tracks again. We then decided it would be best for me to ski ahead while keeping a close eye on my watch. We carefully snowploughed our way down as I tried not to get dizzy in these conditions, where one sometimes loses all sense of which way is up or down. We skied in this manner for nearly 500 vertical metres until the air began to clear, allowing us to recognise the hazy shapes of mountains in the distance. A sense of relief washed over us, and soon after, even sunbeams started breaking through the clouds. The remainder of the way to the Konkordiaplatz was a pleasant ski over a thin layer of fresh snow. We then put on our skins to ascend the 600 metres to the Grünhornlücke, from which we would descend to the Finsteraarhornhütte. Looking back toward the Jungfraujoch, we still saw the dark wall of clouds we had just emerged from, reminding us how much better the weather down here truly was. The skin up was straightforward, and before long, we stood on the Grünhornlücke – a col connecting the valleys home to the two largest glaciers in the Alps. Here, we got our first glimpse of the Finsteraarhorn, standing prominently across the valley. We could even see the Finsteraarhornhütte nestled in the mountain's lower slopes. This meant we didn’t have far to go anymore, but more importantly, it meant we would enjoy some turns in good visibility. We savoured every metre of proper skiing, trying to forget the ordeal of our descent that morning.

*The bright, sun-flooded hallways of the Finsteraarhornhütte being (ab)used to dry boot liners (photo credit: Charly)*

The Finsteraarhornhütte is one of the marvels of the Swiss mountain hut network. Its design is modern and sleek yet remains understated, blending seamlessly into the cold surroundings. The hallways are spacious and bright, and each room features large floor-to-ceiling windows that gaze out at the mountains beyond the glacier. From my bunk, I could see directly at the summit of the Wyssnollen. However, it would still be a while before we decided that this would be our objective for the following day. We had arrived with little time to spare before dinner, where we began discussing our plans. Charly and I felt quite conflicted. On one hand, having come this far, the summit of the Finsteraarhorn exerted a certain pull on both of us. Yet, we remained uneasy about the conditions and were waiting to check the latest avalanche report to discern any trend toward lower avalanche risk. During dinner, we chatted with those around us, and many seemed eager to attempt the Finsteraarhorn the next day. When we finally checked the avalanche report on the hut warden’s laptop, we saw that the risk had dropped slightly from 3- to 2+. However, through our discussions, we also discovered that my suggested descent route via the Fiescher Glacier was not feasible anymore. Not researching the conditions more thoroughly beforehand was a blunder on my part. This meant that we would have to retrace our steps over the Grünhornlücke and take the long route across the Aletsch Glacier towards the Fiescheralp. Complicating matters further, the lift at the Fiescheralp only runs until 5 pm at this time of year. If we were to attempt the Finsteraarhorn and descend back to the valley the same day, we would face an excruciatingly long march with a tightly packed schedule. Most of those planning to climb the Finsteraarhorn had chosen to stay another night at the hut, which wasn't an option for us, as all spots were fully booked out for the weekend. Ultimately, it was these logistical reasons, more than worries about conditions, that led us to decide to act reasonably and simply enjoy a pleasant day skiing the Wyssnollen. In the end, I felt a sense of relief after making our decision and was somewhat thankful that these unexpected logistical issues had taken the decision out of our hands. With everything settled, we could just go to bed and look forward to the next day, which promised excellent weather.

*Descending the steps outside the hut to reach the ski depot*

Lying down, it seemed like I would never fall asleep, yet somehow, I must have got at least a few hours of the worst sleep I’ve ever had in a mountain hut when I woke to my alarm at 4:30. After a typically sparse breakfast, we prepared to head outside. At the ski depot, we noticed that most people were heading to the Finsteraarhorn, while only two of the guys who sat near us during dinner were going our way. The day was off to a less-than-ideal start when Charly’s iced-up binding released on her first turn of the short ski descent to the Fiescher Glacier. Fortunately, such setbacks would remain the exception that day. The scenery was truly spectacular as we crossed the broad expanse of the Fiescher Glacier toward the Wyssnollen. It was just after sunrise, and a warm orange glow had started to illuminate the mountain tops around us, with a perfectly clear sky above. The cold morning air was calm, creating a palpable sense of silence over the entire landscape. The two skiers ahead of us had now turned towards the Galmi Glacier to find a descent option to the valley, leaving us as the first to approach the Wyssnollen.

As we ascended the broad slopes of the glacier flowing down from the Wyssnollen, the first beams of sunlight began to peek over the rugged ridgeline that cut the horizon toward the east. We maintained a relaxed pace, knowing we didn’t need to rush that day. Across the valley, we spotted the first climbers making their way to the Frühstücksplatz en route to the Finsteraarhorn. But there was no wistfulness on our part; we were simply exuberant to be surrounded by this glacial scenery on such a beautiful day, and skiing through the whiteout the previous day felt like a distant memory. During a brief tea break, I noticed what seemed like litter in the snow. A closer look confirmed I was right, in a way, but it was purposeful trash: a deflated balloon was tied to a card requesting its return to a newlywed couple for good luck. I placed the card in my backpack, primarily with the aim of helping the environment rather than fulfilling the bridal pair’s wish. Despite both of our severe lack of meaningful sleep the night before, we felt relatively fresh in the morning. However, gradually that feeling diminished, and at around 3300 metres, our pace noticeably slowed. Charly began to struggle with the altitude, and while I probably had a greater margin in terms of fitness to compensate for it, there was no denying that I too was feeling the impact of the thin air. Who would have thought that taking the Jungfraubahn directly to 3600 metres might not be the optimal acclimatisation strategy?

*Starting up the slopes of the Wyssnollen in the first rays of sunshine*

*On the summit of the Wyssnollen with the Finsteraarhorn in the background*

However, we could already see the summit in the distance and steadily marched on until there was nowhere higher to go. On the summit plateau, we inhaled the crisp, cold air while soaking in the breathtaking views: snow-capped mountain tops extending as far as our eyes could see. In this region of the Alps, a sense of remoteness prevailed even at the highest elevations, a feeling typically reserved for secluded valleys, where an encircling wall of rock is necessary to keep the nearest traces of civilisation at bay. Across the Fiescher Glacier, we could see a line of mountaineers resembling tiny ants as they ascended the western slopes of the Finsteraarhorn, following tracks that, from our vantage, seemed perfectly drawn in zigzags across the mountain's face. Shortly after we arrived, four more people joined us on the summit, having followed our fresh tracks.

*Skiing down the broad slopes of the Wyssnollen with the Finsteraarhorn as a backdrop*

Charly and I, however, didn’t linger for long. We still had quite a distance to cover and a strict cutoff time to meet at the Fiescheralp lift station. For the time being, though, our attention was entirely on the prospect of great turns down the wide eastern slope of the Wyssnollen. There were many old tracks to follow, yet plenty of space to put in some new lines. The skiing was indeed superb for most of the way. Although there were some windblown patches, the sun had softened the snow just the right amount for fantastic turns. The sun was blazing when we reached the Fiescher Glacier, prompting us to quickly layer down before beginning the 300m skin up to the Grünhornlücke. This was our first taste of the unrelenting sun and heat radiating from the sky that day. Still, on the other side, we were rewarded with more enjoyable skiing on gentle slopes leading toward the Konkordiaplatz.

Here, we faced what we believed to be the day’s greatest unknown. The Aletsch Glacier appears improbably flat on the map as it flows down from the Konkordiaplatz, with elevation lines spread so far apart that an entire mountain could fit between them. It was this part of our journey that we thought to be the deciding factor on the length of our day. Considering the distance we still needed to cover, I was inclined to put on skins sooner rather than later to avoid prolonged stretches of pole pushing. However, Charly convinced me to ski a bit longer – this proved to be a wise decision! Although the glacier appears nearly level, it has just enough of an angle to facilitate efficient progress by applying some cross-country technique. Thus, we were pleasantly surprised by how manageable this section of our journey turned out to be, though I had trouble keeping up with Charly, whose skis were clearly in better shape, and I regretted not putting new wax on mine. Eventually, we had to leave the glacier’s flat expanse and navigate more complex terrain. I was pleased to hear that Charly felt very comfortable despite her usual trepidation about crevasses. Not being caught in a whiteout likely helped, and she confidently led us along the tracks that guided us through a crevasse field as we left the glacier behind. I was glad there was ultimately some positive feedback regarding glacier travel to take away from our trip, especially since yesterday’s ordeal certainly wasn’t the kind of experience to instil confidence in someone apprehensive about glaciers and their crevasses.

*Charly leading the way through the crevasses*

We now faced another brief uphill stretch to reach the entrance of an old tunnel leading us toward the Fiescheralp. First, we needed to traverse beneath some slopes where numerous wet avalanches had already released. Not wasting any time, we moved as quickly as we could through that area. As we began ascending once more, Charly was practically boiling in her hardshell pants, and without much hesitation, she decided it was time to strip down to just Merino baselayers. Meanwhile, at least two dozen paragliders were making the most of this beautiful day under the blue sky, which seemed to offer excellent flying conditions. Just before we reached the tunnel’s entrance, we met a German splitboarder we had encountered the previous day on the Jungfraubahn. We knew he had planned to climb the Finsteraarhorn, and for a brief moment, we were shocked to see him here, having caught up with us. However, we quickly learned that hard frozen snow on the Finsteraarhorn's slopes was unsuitable for splitboarding, so he and his patient skiing partner had abandoned their attempt.

As we stood at the tunnel entrance, the proverbial light at the end of it was already visible. The passage seemed completely straight, and the exit on the opposite side appeared anywhere from several metres to multiple kilometres away. The cold air wafting from the damp, dark entrance made the steam from our sweaty clothes rise. Charly sensibly decided to put on her hardshell again, and we then had to crawl through the narrow opening, careful not to snag the skis strapped to our backpacks. During our walk through the tunnel, we gradually lost track of time and distance, and upon finally emerging on the other side, I had no clue how long we had been moving. This had been the final obstacle in our minds, and we now expected nothing but a straightforward ski down to the Fiescheralp. However, it didn’t take long for us to realise how mistaken we were. Not even a hundred metres after stepping into our bindings, we encountered an uphill stretch long and steep enough to force us to put our skins back on. But even this wouldn’t be the last transition of the day, as a closer inspection of the map revealed that the trail toward the gondola closely follows a contour line for the final few hundred metres. So, we reattached our skins one last time and finally reached the lift station sometime before 4 pm. Our Garmin watches had recorded a distance that well exceeded 30 kilometres, and both of our Strava posts would proudly proclaim this as our longest ski tour. In that moment, it certainly felt that way.

But we had made the lift with time to spare and could now enjoy a relaxing descent into the valley. Although we were tired, we relished the memories of the day; despite needing to resort to our “Plan B,” neither of us felt the least bit disheartened. Our day had been long and adventurous, teetering just on the edge of what can be considered enjoyable, without veering too much into the realms of mountaineering marked by discomfort and Type-2-Fun – well, except for those last kilometres after exiting the tunnel, anyway. One thing, however, was abundantly clear: if we ever were to ski on the Aletsch Glacier again, it would be with skis freshly waxed!

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