Alpine Style!

The dark, shadowy North Face of Piz Badile.

The forecast for Zermatt did not look promising for some time. I really did not want to stay around there forever, waiting for a remote chance that the weather and conditions would be good for a go at the Matterhorn North Face. We decided to pack the bags, get on the Swiss Glacier Express Train and head over to the posh resort town of St. Moritz. From there, we would have many possibilities; like one of the three pillars on the North Face of Piz Palü, Piz Bernina, and of course, the North Face of Piz Badile (one of THE six)! The eight hour train ride across the Sßwiss countryside was quite pleasant, and relaxing. I wish one could travel in the US like this. It beats the hell out of driving. We arrived in St. Moritz in the early evening, checked into the cheapest hotel we could find, got some food and made plans.
The weather here in Eastern Switzerland was better and it looked like it would hold long enough for us to try something difficult. Piz Badile it would be. We would try the original, and easiest, line on the face, the Cassin route. Done over three days in July of 1937, it was a major feat for its time requiring difficult free climbing and plenty of nailing to aid the steeper sections. The route sweeps up the smooth Northeast face of the mountain for nearly a thousand meters! It is hard to see any weakness in the smooth, porcelain like face of the large granite slab. The Cassin route definitely picked out the few natural weaknesses of the wall and linked them together for 22 pitches of wandering over and up the wall. Free climbing, the major difficulties were meant to be about 5.10 a or so of which, there were half a dozen pitches. The rest was pretty sustained at 5.8 on slabs, and chimneys. The route tops out on the North Ridge and from here, there are still three or so broken pitches to reach the summit and complete the ascent. The fun doesn’t stop here as now one must decide how to descend.
The easiest way is to go down the standard route on the South side to Italy. It takes only a few hours. However, if you go down this way, you must bring walking shoes and will then have to make a full day’s walk from the hut on the Italian side back to the Sasc Füra hut, from where the outing began. Otherwise, you can rap down the North ridge some twenty (and as we were to find out) heinous rappels and retrieve any gear cached near the base of the route and then on back down the valley you approached through.
From St. Moritz, we took a bus ride over the incredibly winding Malloja pass in one of the wildest Mercedes busses I have ever ridden in. The only way for the bus to make the super tight hairpins on the pass was for it to have steering in the rear wheels, which it did have; only in Switzerland. Once on the far side of the pass, you enter the idyllic Val Bregaglia and Italian speaking culture. The surrounding peaks of granite are not unlike the Sierra Nevada or even the Bugaboos, but with several charming Swiss/Italian villages lining the valley floor. We disembarked at the village of Promontongo amidst lush gardens, fountains, patio dining and beautiful old county buildings in the warm air of a summer afternoon. We were able to hire a taxi to take us up to the trail head where the temperatures would be a bit cooler for hiking. Driving up the small road to the Hamlet of Laret, we were greeted with great view of Badile. It rose some 8,000 feet above the valley below. It was quite an awesome sight. We disembarked from the taxi, traded our flip flops for hiking boots, shouldered our packs and started hiking UP HILL. The approach to the Sasc Füra hut was certainly a steep one. A few days earlier while discussing upcoming plans, Cindy mentioned that a day of just getting to the hut was basically a rest day. That was not the case today even though we had saved an hour and a half by taking the taxi up the valley as far as we could. Actually, it was not that bad, but we did hike up 2,000 feet very abruptly on a narrow little path carved out of a ridge and cliffside in the most improbable of places. Upon reaching the hut, drenched with sweat in the hot afternoon, we were treated to even better views of Piz Badile and enjoyed some cool refreshments.
There were many other climbing parties there at the hut. Most were much younger than the typical European hut, middle aged mountain climbers that grace the standard routes of the more famous, but easier Alpine peaks. No doubt, the nature of this mountain offering more difficult climbing and the fact that most routes are all or predominantly rock climbs contributed to its sex appeal and, hence its popularity with the Pepsi generation. A quick query of the other people revealed most were intent on the same route, the Cassin, which was our plan as well.
Usually, with the typical, older Alpine hut crowd, getting to the route somewhere near the front of the pack is not a problem. But with the amount of youth vying for for a place in the cue, did we stand a chance? What more, breakfast was scheduled for 4:00 am according to the hut keeper, but intrepid concert goers lusting for front row seats, everyone wanted to get a bit of a jump on the crowd and start earlier and earlier. We heard talk of leaving at 3:30 and 3:00, surely just decoys to put people off and telling of an much earlier departure. After dinner, we sacked out around 8:30, trying to get as much rest as we could. I figured a 3:30 departure should work for us.
As expected, the room was full and stuffy. Not to mention noisy with snoring and smelling of the approach hike induced sweat of 20 twenty-five year olds. Needless to say, we did not get much of a restful sleep. The first alarm went off around 12:30. I think it was a ring tone version of a Pink song on someone’s cellphone; very considerate of the others in the room. Oh yeah, they also forgot to rack up the night before so they had to do that in the room, as well. Then the next one did not go off until around 2:00. More ruckus ensued. Then, at 2:30 most of the others woke up. We got to hear some more neat little ring tone alarms. I recognized a few of the tunes, but most were just that kind of bland yet distinctive techno that one stereotypically associates with all things “European style.” So, at 3:30 we were the last ones in our room to get up. And breakfast would not be “served” until 4:00. I guess we would have to go without our bread and jam for the day. 3:45 saw us out the door and onto the approach trail.
Fortunately, I had been up the trail the previous afternoon and was familiar with it so as not to do too much stumbling around in the dark trying to find the way. Sometimes, I find that getting a real early start, in the dark ensures you to do just that: stumble around and get lost trying to find the route. Leaving nearer to sunrise usually minimizes this amount of wasted time to just that amount until it is light enough to see. Sure enough, we soon caught a group of others with two headlamps between the four of them trying to navigate through a field of large talus. I guess they did not see the huge cairns that were put up to mark the way up the slabs and out of the talus. That was fine with us, though as it was one more party we would not be behind. Just about then, a couple of strapping young men came cruising past us. We were still a net of two ahead. As day light approached, we could see the rest of the approach clearly: low angled slabs with a small snow field to negotiated and about six other parties. One more party of two passed us and then we were at the crest of the North ridge where we would leave boots and extra gear since we planned on descending this route right back to this point. There was a short down climb to a sloping ledge system that traversed out below the face to the start of the Cassin route. There was a good snow patch still on the ledge that we would have to cross somehow with our rock shoes on. I guess this could not be THAT bad since the other SEVEN parties in front of us had already done so. It looked like as many parties were starting the North ridge route from here, as well.
About this time the sun peaked out and bathed the upper wall in the morning glow. My desire to stay ahead in the pack had definitely hastened our pace and Cindy was not happy about being breathless and dripping in sweat before we had even gotten to the base of the route. I would not call her mood cranky, but something in that direction. Nevertheless, we deposited our extra gear and made our way over to the start.
Crossing the snow was, how should I say it, rather exciting. There were very good steps in the firm snow made by someone who had the good sense to wear boots. Our rock climbing shoes fit into the boot prints quite well. An uncontrolled slip would send us down the 40 feet of snow and then over the ledge and down several hundred feet of steep slab to the rocky basin below: not cool. I lately learned that it was here that young Andy Deklirk had slipped with a client and took a fall that took both of their lives. It was funny how easy the walking was, yet how simple it would be to fall and not be able to stop. I gave Cindy my nut tool so she could get some purchase in the snow. I picked up a sharp and as long of a stone as I could find on the ledge, before we got onto the snow. We only had to cross about 50 meters of snow and it went quickly. For about 3/4’s of it, you could grasp onto the upper lip of the snow which was much more secure, if hand numbing. After crossing the snow, we groveled through a muddy chimney between one final snow field and the wall to get to the base of the route. It was 7:00, three hours and fifteen minutes after leaving the hut and we were racked up, tied in and ready to start the climbing on the North Face of Piz Badile. The action begins!
All the other parties were now up at least two pitches which would allow us to climb unhindered for a while until we caught up to them. The first pitch (and, consequently, all to follow) was a real gem: a nice, steep and thin crack around a short bulge on bullet proof granite. The route mostly climbs slabs and crack systems to link several major dihedral and chimney systems in the middle of the wall. Most anchors were fixed and of varied vintage pitons. There were plenty of pitons fixed here and there many of which also looked to be more of “artifact” than protection: “Wow! Did Cassin hammer this in?” At least, they were a good marker of the route. Route finding, however, soon was no longer a problem as we caught up to the back of the pack after several pitches. It was still early in the day and the weather looked fine so why stress over it. I just kind of accepted my fate of being last in line on the way up this classic route. That was until I looked up and saw the large volley of volleyball sized rocks coming down directly above me. I did not ever hear any warning shouts, but that did not matter any more as I took as good of cover as I could crouch close to the not very protective overhang of the slab above. They bounced, broke and whizzed by just off to my left, the nearest hit maybe 30 feet away. Cindy was on one of the not very well protected traverses of the route at the time but was able to hug in and hold on tight. We continued and no more rock fall came down. A few pitches later we arrived on a chossy slab where there used to be a snow field. Crossing it, I could see how easily rock fall could be generated and why no one bothered to shout any warning as they likely had no idea that any had fallen.
So, after the choss, we had made it about half way up the wall. By my count we had done only eight or so pitches so we had managed to combine a few. The wall steepened here and the more difficult climbing of the route had begun. Despite climbing underneath the second from the party in front (in the meantime another party(French) had started behind us, had caught up to us, and was pushing from behind), the climbing was nice. It was 5.10a at the most and on solid granite, the cruxes usually involving jamming, stemming and laybacking up corners: right up my alley.
Most of my research on the Six Classics had indicated that Piz Badile was a good candidate for the easiest one. I could see why. There were plenty of parties giving it a go. We would be able to do the entire thing in just rock shoes and it was neither too big or too steep. Due to the overall slabby nature of the wall, the high summer sun was able to shine down on us all day lightening the spirits and ensuring warm belays. It is amazing how much of a difference the sun can make on a big wall. It definitely takes the sting out of being on a North Face.
Our quick pace started to grind to a crawl as we approached the chimneys which make up the final difficulties of the route. I guess climbing chimneys is one of those “older” types of techniques that the younger generation just has not gotten to practice much of on their way to 5:13 glory in the gyms. These four short pitches of chimney climbing, at most 5.9, took a few hours to get through. To be fair, it was a bit like a wrestling match thrutching ones way up the flared grooves with a pack on. Several sections were running with water. Speaking of which, as thirsty as I was I did not want to slurp from any of the numerous puddles for fear of drinking someone’s pee (or worse). Out of the chimneys and just two or three easy pitches to the top. We had been on the wall about seven hours now (and on the go for over ten!) and our energy was starting to fade as was that of the others still climbing. The last few pitches are vague and just tackle the path of least resistance through the crumbly rock to the crest. The fixed pro pretty much ends and route finding becomes real. The two parties immediately ahead of us got lost and confused. We took our cue and cruised on up to the ridge crest. Hooray! We’re here! Well, sort of.
I think another one of the signs of inexperience we saw here was a fundamental misunderstanding of the one of the key tenets of true alpinism: No summit, no route. From the ridge crest, you could easily start rappelling down the North ridge and go down. To summit, you had to climb up several more pitches of broken ridge climbing around easy, but awkward rocky gendarmes and typical ridge crest features. This is not difficult, just dangerous and time consuming. Now, I am not a fool and by all means at this late hour (it was around 3:00) I would be perfectly happy to descend if Cindy was not up for it, or too tired to continue on to the true summit. It would have been a great adventure and a great ATTEMPT at the route. I think most all of the parties in front of us took the easy option: head down and accept (though, not necessarily in their minds) failure. A few parties that were coming up the easier North ridge route were heading for the summit. Interestingly enough, these seemed to be the other older (i.e. over thirty) climbers out there. Also, these were the parties intent on going down the much easier normal route to Italy which required traversing over the true summit. We took a break, ate and drank the last of our water and ragged, tired and hell bent for leather went up.
About one hour later we were alone on top of Piz Badile. I think Cindy had passed her usual point of “I should probably go down now” a while ago. The weather was still golden so we had time to go slowly. We talked briefly about going down to Italy and then just dealing with getting back however that would be. From the top we could clearly see the long trek around the massif that that option would entail. Thinking about what our feet would feel like after doing that in our rock shoes put an end to that fantasy. We slowly retraced our way back down the ridge to the start of the rappels, 22 we were told. it was 5:00. Small clouds had formed and obscured our view of the terrain below. The wind picked up a bit and made for a difficult time throwing the ropes down the stepped terrain.

To say that rappelling down that ridge crest was a pain in the ass would be the understatement of the month. I have never had more rats nests and rope tangle cluster fucks in a decent EVER. To make matters worse, the rope got stuck on flakes after pulling them on at least four occasions requiring me to lead up and free it. One time this happened twice on a single rappel. Darkness was closing in on us and we put on headlamps to prepare ourselves for the inevitable. After rappel fifteen, around 9:30, the clouds parted, it was still just light enough to see and the ground was just fourth class for the final few hundred feet back to the saddle where our gear (and, more importantly, comfortable shoes!) lay. We made it back to the gear at 10:00 just as it got completely dark. Eighteen hours after leaving the hut and we were at least off the mountain. What a relief! Two hours of stumbling around in the dark on the approach hike (deja vu?) and we were back at the, now quiet hut enjoying a water, gummy bears and a change of socks.
It was our first of the Six Classics together and would likely prove to be a benchmark to compare future adventures to: an unforgettablevc and fabulous climb!