Day 583 Zermatt, Switzerland
Visiting the Matterhorn (non-climbing edition)
The Matterhorn amongst the clouds
The Matterhorn is a monster of a mountain, not just because of its size -- 14,692, but because of its snaggletooth shape. It has three steep faces that have destroyed hikers for 170 years since it was first summited in 1865. (Over 500 alpine climbers have died trying to reach the mountain's top.)
I didn't know this as I prowled Zermatt's darkening streets the night before and came across metal plaques inserted in the cobblestones. There were eight, each memorializing the hikers who somehow managed to haul themselves to the top of the mountain July 14, 1865. I took a picture of one, noting by its date that he had apparently died on that mountain.
The British mountaineer Edward Whymper (an unlikely name for an alpine climber) led the first successful summit of the mountain. He was a determined man by all accounts. Before succeeding, he had failed 7 times, but finally he made it by scrambling from Zermatt up the Hörnli ridge. Six people joined him, the famous French guide Michel Croz, a Swiss father and son team, Peter Taugwalder Sr. and Jr., and three British gentlemen determined to do what no one yet had -- Charles Hudson, Lord Francis Douglas, Douglas Robert Hadow. During the descent down the mountain, four men died. I checked ChatGPT for some details and it described their deaths this way: "The ascent was challenging, but they made good progress, reaching the summit at around 1:40 pm.”
Engraving by Gustave Doré depicting the fall.
However, their descent was not as successful. While making their way down, one of the ropes broke, causing four members of the party, including Croz and Douglas, to fall to their deaths. Whymper and the two Taugwalder guides survived the fall and made their way back to Zermatt." (True, I checked the facts.) I also found a dramatic engraving by Gustave Doré depicting the moment of the fall. Hadow is second from the bottom, with Croz below him. The snapped rope above Hudson and Douglas. The plaque is a picture of Croz, the Frenchman. He was 35 when he died.
The Matterhorn was our goal today, if the weather cooperated enough to allow us to see it. The mountain often veils itself in fog, mist or snow. But before heading upwards, we explored Zermatt itself - its spare cobbled streets and thickly-timbered houses that looked like they had been battered by the weather since Genesis. They sat cheek by jowl beside sparkling new hotels and spas. We had arrived during the off season, but the streets were still filled with tourists, mostly Americans and Asians, some from East India and Germany, if I was getting the accents right. They were all dodging rain drops and the wild drivers of those carts that carried people and small cargo between the station and back and forth among the shops, restaurants and hotels. We were sideswiped more than once and I was stunned to find that no one had been hit yet. But the day was still young.
I hiked up a little farther beyond the village's outskirts to catch a view of the valley blow, and caught sight of a few hardy skiers determined to get their last bit of shushing in. It had snowed hard above 5000 feet the day before and since the ski lifts were closed they were using their seal skins to walk their way up for a good ride down.
Riding the Gornergrat bahn
By noon we were back to the train station to board the Gornergrat bahn, the steep train that would heave us nearly 6000 more vertical feet to the train's final stop. (Cost $110 per person.)
At the little village of Findelbach (nearly 6000 feet high) we saw just how steep these mountains are. The train hit a 75° angle and in addition to the tracks upon which the machine rolls, engineers added a center row of steel teeth to ensure gravity won't send the train hurtling down rather than up.
At Raffelalp (7254 feet) the sky suddenly cleared and like a great unwrapped Christmas gift there sat the magnificent mountain. Tourists strained to snap pictures through the train's big windows as it groaned upward. I could almost feel it gnashing its teeth to make the final stop.
At Gornergrat we were treated to piles of fresh snow and a spectacular view of the craggy mountain. It stood immense and unmoving against an azure sky like the Jötnar (frost giants) that myth says preceded Odin and the gods of Asgard. We simply took it in as best any human mind can when attempting to absorb something so astonishing. I had been told by others that once you see the peak, you can't take your eye off of it, and it's true. Even as we walked up through the snow to a stone-clad restaurant and observatory, our gaze kept coming back to the thing.
It was good that we captured the pictures when we did, because as we ate, the entire mountain suddenly disappeared, shrouded in clouds that seemed to come from nowhere. Nevertheless, we stopped among the snow at both Gornergrat and later Raffelalp, enjoyed the ride back and passed the rest of the day and evening, lounging outside along the streets completing some notes and then grabbing another excellent dinner at the Pollux and hot chocolate beneath the down before preparing to head the next day to Germany.
