Climbing the Breithorn - 5th December 2002

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The urge to climb high mountains had always been something that afflicted other people, not me. So it was with considerable surprise that I found myself answering 'yes' when my good friend Ike Bainbridge, of Southfield Farm, asked me if I wanted to join him on a charity-climb of the 13,650-foot Breithorn (pronounced bright-horn) near Zermatt in the Swiss alps.

A quick check on the Internet, however, soon reassured me that the ascent was not too difficult and, in summer, could be accomplished by any reasonably fit individual. Assuming that I might fit into the category of reasonably fit, I was not too worried. Until, that is, we attempted to find a suitable date for the climb and found that only the first week in December suited both of us. Not exactly 'summer'. About this time I began to worry that I might have bitten off more than I could chew.

The whole thing had come about because Ike regularly stays with his sister, Kathy, who lives in Chamonix, in the shadow of Mont Blanc. Whilst staying with her last summer, she had taken him to Zermatt (famous for its unparalleled view of the Matterhorn) and after ascending the Klein Matterhorn cable-car, Ike was able to see a number of people climbing the Breithorn. He commented on this to Kathy and she explained that Ike should be perfectly able to perform the same feat. This was a challenge Ike could not resist.

Knowing that I thought Zermatt to be the most beautiful place in the world, Ike considered it only fair that I should be given the chance to accompany him on the climb! Hence the invitation.

Having agreed the dates and method of travel (£45 return tickets from EasyJet, Liverpool-Geneva), I immediately checked my outdoor gear and found it sadly lacking for an expedition such as we were to undertake. This was nothing that a trip to Millets in Carlisle couldn't sort out, since the vast majority of the specialist equipment would be provided by Kathy, who is an experienced mountain guide. She would be giving us our training and guiding us on the climb.

Arriving in a sunny Geneva, we were met by Kathy, and 1½-hours later we parked outside her beautiful chalet near Chamonix, which she shares with her partner Mark Charlton. Mark is an enthusiastic mountaineer, and the two of them operate their mountain-guiding business from their home.

A short while later, Ike and I were idling around a Christmas light-bejewelled Chamonix, whilst Mark and Kathy purchased the snow-shoes that were going to be needed for the climb.

The following morning dawned bright but snowy, having dumped four-inches or so overnight. This was to be our main training day and we were soon filling rucksacks under Kathy's watchful eye, carefully packing the essential items: ropes, harness, crampons, snowshoes, ice-axe, helmet, water, lunch, warm clothing, etc. A short car-journey later and we were on the railway to Montenvers, accompanied by a coach-party of gabbling Japanese ladies.

The Montenvers station overlooks the Mer de Glace, a massive glacier that descends from the tops of the mountains nearly to the valley floor. It has substantially shrunk in the last 100 years and the train station is now about 650-feet above the glacier. A gondola links the station with the ice-cavern, which is freshly created inside the glacier each year (the glacier is constantly on the move down the valley), but was closed at the time we were there. So there was nothing for it but to walk past the station to the path down, whose top was barricaded by signs warning of extreme danger to any unwary adventurer who might attempt the descent! 

Kathy explained we needed to put on our crampons and, to the great excitement of the Japanese ladies, we prepared ourselves for the steep descent. For Ike and I this was our first experience of using crampons, and very useful we found them to be.

Arriving on the edge of the glacier, we changed to snowshoes and roped together, Kathy leading and Ike acting as anchor-man! From there we played follow-my-leader, keeping the ropes reasonably taut, as we walked up the centre of the glacier, towards the ice-blue seracs (ice-cliffs which break off as the glacier changes its angle of descent) we could see above us. On the way, Kathy explained the procedure we should follow if any of us accidentally fell into a crevasse (which are often invisible under a thin covering of snow). Being roped together is the safest method of travel over glaciers that may have crevasses, and the ropes are intentionally slightly-elastic so that any fall into a crevasse will be arrested gently.

Some time later Kathy decided we had climbed high enough and we chose an area for lunch. Carefully we trampled down the snow in a wide area to ensure there were no crevasses, before we un-roped. After removing our snowshoes, Kathy immediately put on her crampons, but Ike and I were too busy getting out our sandwiches and the flask of hot tea. 

Our hunger being sated, Kathy explained why she had put on her crampons immediately after stopping: the reason being that her hands were warm and could easily cope with the fiddly straps. She had deliberately not told us about this and Ike and I learned a very useful lesson as we struggled to put on our crampons with stiff and numb fingers.

After putting on our helmets, Kathy chose a steep ice slope and showed us how to use our crampons properly to climb and descend the ice, culminating with asking us to 'bunny jump' down. This was probably the most frightening thing we had to do, placing all our faith in the grip of the crampons, and the slight slip which occurs as the crampons bite into the ice is a heart-stopping moment!

Then it was time for us to learn how to abseil down the ice slope and use our ice axes and crampons to climb back up. Ike and I were reeling under all the information we had to take in, but both of us were thoroughly enjoying the experience.

Returning to the bottom of the gondola from the Montenvers station, we began the climb back to the top, which took considerably more time than the descent! We reached the top in time to enjoy a cuppa in the café, and get our breath back, before we returned by train to Chamonix.

The next day we were to travel to Zermatt so we could spend a day skiing the glaciers in an attempt to acclimatise ourselves to the altitude. Kathy explained how essential it is to get acclimatised, because the high altitude would be our biggest enemy on the climb. So, having packed our rucksacks as yesterday, with the added weight of ski-boots, ski-poles and skis plus the extra clothing needed for a two-night stay in the fur-coat capital of the world, we climbed into the car and set off for Switzerland.

Crossing the border into Switzerland, we climbed up the Col de la Forclaz before the stunning vista of the Rhône valley opened up before us and we descended to Martigny. With the Christmas lights on the churches and chalet gables on the hillsides lighting our way we continued along the valley then turned right to begin the climb to Täsch, passing through St. Niklaus whose church-tower had appropriately been decorated to look like a giant-size Father Christmas.

Zermatt is a car-free resort, which means all vehicles must park in Täsch, from where a train carries visitors up into Zermatt. Loading a trolley with our heavy equipment we awaited the train, only to find it would be of the sort on which the trolleys are not allowed. Nothing fazes Kathy, however, and we were soon attaching our skis and ski-poles to our rucksacks in professional fashion.

Zermatt really is a most beautiful village, car-free (although there are numerous electric vehicles), fabulous wooden buildings, and some superb hotels. Unfortunately, we were not destined for one of those and a long hike through the village towards the cable-car station culminated with us checking into a hostel for a very reasonable £8.50 per person per night. The room consisted of 3 sets of two bunk beds, 6 wooden lockers and a blanket and pillow on each bunk. Well, what do you expect for only £8.50? The hostel left a bit to be desired on the comfort front, to be honest, especially the washing facilities, but the hostel Kathy would normally have used had not yet reopened for the season.

After an interesting night spent in the company of least one heavy snorer and a couple sharing one bunk, whispering sweet nothings into each others ears for hours on end, we awoke to a glorious sunny morning and an urgent desire to hit the slopes as soon as possible. The 'alpenglow' was spectacular, the east face of the Matterhorn glowing like a toaster element; there was not a cloud in sight.

Taking the Klein Matterhorn cable-car we ascended to the highest ski slopes, and emerged from the tunnel through the top of the mountain to our first close view of the Breithorn, the ascent of which we would be attempting the following day, along with a stunning vista of the tops of the Swiss and Italian mountains. There followed a wonderful day's skiing, down all the way to Cervinia in Italy and back up to the top before ending the day with a long ski most of the way back down to Zermatt. We spent as much time as possible as high as we could get so that our bodies would begin the process of acclimatisation.

This was the best day so far and it was capped with a delightful meal in one of Zermatt's numerous restaurants, in which we were joined by Mark (who had travelled to Zermatt one day later than us) and, more unexpectedly, by one of Kathy's co-mountain guides who was guiding a London-based Canadian, and had coincidentally intended to ascend the Breithorn the following day. We made arrangements to attempt the climb together and retired to bed. The Canadian and his guide were staying in the luxury of the most expensive hotel in Zermatt. No such luck for us, unfortunately!

The next day dawned early, and not quite so bright and clear. In fact it was windy, very, very cold, and occasionally snowing. Perfect conditions to climb the Breithorn! 

Taking the Klein Matterhorn cable-car again, we emerged from the tunnel at 9.00 am, to a scenario completely different from the previous day's. The temperature was -20°C, not mitigated at all by the invisible sun, and the biting winds contributed a chill factor of another -20°C. Flurries of snow settled in the cracks of our clothing. Nevertheless, Kathy and Mark proclaimed themselves perfectly happy with the climbing conditions, so, after purchasing various chocolate bars, off we set.

Initially we descended gently before finally branching off the ski slopes and bearing left towards the Breithorn. The snow was very deep, and getting deeper by the minute! It wasn't long before our fingers began to get cold and the monotony of the climb began. Slowly the angle of ascent steepened and the going became harder, with the leader bearing the brunt of the work as he or she struggled to compact the snow for the followers.

As the climb became even steeper, we slipped into the 'Himalayan Quick-Step', as Kathy called it, where the pace seems incredibly slow but the effects of the altitude prevent the body from being able to go faster. Mark explained that it was better to climb very slowly, never stopping, than to rush forward in bursts, stopping to catch your breath every few paces. A little later it became apparent why Mark's and Kathy's ski-poles had tape wrapped around them at intervals down the pole. The ascent is so steep that it is impractical to hold the pole at the top and the tape enables a firm grip further down the pole. Ike's and mine, however, had no tape on them and were very slippery to hold anywhere other than the top, and the extra force needed to maintain a grip only served to make the fingers even colder. Oh, how they ached!

As the going became very steep, and the snowshoes no longer were capable of gripping the snow, we stopped to allow a changeover to crampons, and to rope-up in pairs. Ike and I knew to put our crampons on immediately, and only when they were fastened tightly did we unwrap our chocolate bars. At this point the inadvisability of choosing a Snickers became evident: it was so hard it was impossible to bite into. Ike's and Kathy's choice of Twix was much more sensible. Kathy explained that I should keep the Snickers in an inside pocket on the ascent - it would thaw sufficiently to allow me to eat it! The cold really was intense, our fingers sticking to the metal of our crampons even though they had been stored within our rucksacks.

Leaving our snowshoes sticking up as a marker, we continued the ascent. The snowing became heavier as we got higher and the climb very soon became one monotononous slow step after another, not looking up, concentrating on a steady pace. Mark explained that the leader bore the brunt of the work in marking the trail, whilst those at the back could be expending as little as one quarter of the energy of the leader. It became essential, therefore, to change the leader every thirty paces or so, with the first two couples standing aside to allow the back couple through to take up the leading position.

This technique carried on for the rest of the ascent until, after 3½ hours climbing, we hit a steep ridge. Despite the fact that it was impossible to see further than a few hundred feet, the knowledge that there was a twelve-hundred foot drop on one side made the heart beat even faster! Mark explained, however, to a pale Ike and me that we were safer on the ridge than when climbing the steep slopes, because each guide gathered and held a loop of the rope connecting them with us, which would give them warning of any slip we might make, and allow them, in the event of one of us falling down one side of the ridge, to throw themselves off the other side to arrest our fall!

After a few more minutes following the ridge upwards, one foot each side, Mark suddenly stopped and planted his poles in the snow, handle-side down so they stuck in further and were less likely to fall over and be lost. He turned to look at me - we had made it to the top!

The freezing wind was still blowing and, despite it being photograph time, I decided not to unwrap at all. Summoning up the courage to take off my gloves in order to use the camera was a mammoth effort! The Canadian, looking exhausted and with his beard and moustache completely iced up, joined us with his guide on the top a minute or two later. Ike attempted to sit down on the ridge, but Kathy quickly prevented him, saying it was essential he kept his crampons firmly biting into the ice and snow at all times.

All in all I think we spent less than 5 minutes on the top, most of which was posing for the photographs, before we set off retracing our steps. The descent should have been easier but I hadn't reckoned on the effects of the altitude and the consequent dehydration. I soon developed a resounding headache that thundered in my skull with every pace I took, as I led the six of us down the slope. With my teeth gritted, I cursed that I hadn't followed instructions to drink as much as I could when we had stopped earlier.

Following our tracks we descended quickly and before too long came across the snowshoes, where we stopped for another break (changing into the snowshoes right away!) I was careful this time to drink my fill of the hot tea, and my Snickers had thawed enough for me to force it down.

There is somehow considerably less excitement descending a mountain that climbing it. When ascending, there is always the challenge and the achievement to come. When descending, aches and pains become more prevalent. It seemed to take for ages to complete the descent to the cable-car station. Maybe it was the headache, I don't know, but I kept thinking to myself over and over: 'never again!'

Arriving eventually at the cable-car station, however, the sun came out and a piping-hot chocolate soon made things look better. Perhaps I may have been too hasty with my 'never again'!

Arriving back in Zermatt, we repaired to a local restaurant for a bowl of soup and a chance to discuss the day's events. Ike's headache came on about this time, but a couple of headache-pills for each of us soon sorted things and the conversation became livelier.

But, there is no peace for the wicked. We had a train to catch, so it wasn't long before we were shouldering our rucksacks again and setting off through the charming Zermatt streets towards the station. Kathy enigmatically disappeared for a short while - we would find out later where she had been.

The return trip to Chamonix went uneventfully and we were soon gathered round the dining table in Kathy's and Mark's chalet, enjoying a delightful meal. Kathy excitedly produced two certificates, one each for Ike and I, explaining that the Alpine Centre in Zermatt issued them to the best climbers of each day! Since we were the only climbers that day (along with the Canadian) we were entitled to them! That was the reason for her intriguing short absence.

The rest of our stay with Kathy and Mark went very fast, as Ike and I explored the local area and enjoyed a day trip into Italy as well as a great day's skiing on the slopes of Les Grands Montets above Argentière, near Chamonix. The average age of the skiers, however, on what was the first day of opening for the season, must have been no more than 22, making Ike and I, both aged 45, feel like pensioners!

A good flight home followed, and Ike and I counted up our sponsorship money. Between us we had raised over £400 for local charities, and at the same time had enjoyed a fascinating and testing time. We both were proud that we had completed the climb, and grateful to Kathy and Mark for all their assistance and training. It was an adventure we will not forget. 

Anyone wishing to know more about the mountain-guiding activities of Kathy Murphy or Mark Charlton should check out www.chamonix.net. Their own personal pages can be accessed via http://www.chamonix.net/english/generic/32 or http://www.abc-of-mountaineering.com/europe/france/rhone-alpes/markcharlton.asp.

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