Nadelgrat Traverse

*On the approach, the Ried glacier and Dirruhorn can be seen in the distance*

With August nearing its end, the mountaineering season was similarly drawing to a close. But there was still one big tour I had in mind: The Nadelgrat follows a rock and firn ridge over no less than four 4000-metre peaks, making it a long, but aesthetic line that connects the summits of Dürrihorn, Hobärghorn, Stecknadelhorn, and Nadelhorn. A tour like this requires stable weather, of course, but for once this summer the forecast actually improved rather than worsened over the course of the week. Admittedly, the weather for Sunday looked questionable, but Saturday promised to be a beautiful day in the high mountains. Luckily, Georgia and I had already made plans to start our weekend with an approach on Friday and would thereby be able to make the most of the sunshine the following day.

Our plan was to find a supposedly superb bivy spot at the Galenjoch which I had read about on some forums. And so we took the train to St. Niklaus where we hopped on a bus that drove us to Gasenried, a little village perched on the hillside above the Mattertal. We began our approach in the scorching afternoon heat and were soon dripping with sweat, even under the shade of the forest canopy. The hike was kind of a slog at first, and having a bit of a chinwag was the best way to distract ourselves from the strenuous climb. We eventually reached the pastures of Alpja. Here, there was a fountain running with water, but I was gambling on filling up our water supplies further up on the glacier to save weight on the approach. So I walked right past the tempting gurgle of this spring. We were now drawing closer to the towering ice wall of the Ried glacier. From its moraine, it rose improbably steep towards the sky, forming a seemingly sheer and forbidding fortress that was broken up by giant crevasses and looming seracs. Higher up, the glacier leveled into a plateau and from where we stood, it resembled a colossal waterfall that cascaded down from an amphitheatre of snow and ice, but was too vast and unwieldy to ever move forward. Instead, it seemed forever condemned to hang there, frozen in time and caught in a perpetual state of limbo that only the sporadic serac breaking off would be able to momentarily disrupt.

*The Ried glacier cascading down next to the Dirruhorn*

We had initially planned to make our way past the Bordierhut, but looking at the map, there was another very intriguing option. The old hut path would lead us along the western flank of the glacier, straight to where our route continues up towards the Galenjoch. The prospect of cake at the hut was tempting, but making a significant shortcut to reach our bivy with enough time for a relaxed dinner was even more appealing. We didn͘'t know in what conditions the path would be in, given it is not maintained any more, but after a brief discussion we decided to give it a shot. It turned out to be easy enough and only towards the end we made the mistake to try and stay high on a traverse. Here the path suddenly seemed to disappear altogether, and we found ourselves scrambling across the disintegrating slopes along the edge of the moraine. We eventually returned to the path lower down and reached an intersection, from which we would have to continue upwards to the Galenjoch. But given the fact we were almost completely out of water, it was clear we'd have to find a source for hydration first. Therefore, we ventured onto the glacier, following the sound of flowing water that was clearly heard in the distance. And sure enough, as soon as we got from the scree onto the ice, there was a little stream of meltwater right before our eyes. We filled our bottles and quaffed (crunchy) sips of icy cold water, as well as munching on some vegan Percy Pigs that Georgia had smuggled from the UK into Switzerland.

We now started the final uphill, following along a rock band where we had seen a family of ibex having a scamper earlier. The path was more easy going than I had anticipated, and we quickly gained more height. We eventually topped out on a ridge which we followed for a few hundred meters before we finally came across what looked to be a small but very cosy bivouac spot. It was nestled beside a big rock that even formed a little roof above a third of the floor. One could almost feel like they were cuddled into a little cave. In any case, it looked to be very well protected from the wind and would make for a very cosy bedroom. But first we started to make dinner preparations, which were briefly interrupted by the sun dipping below the clouds on the horizon and casting the surrounding mountains in the beautiful warm glow of sunset. The Weisshorn stood prominently on the other side of the valley and made for an excellent companion during our supper. We enjoyed the almost complete silence and talked until the fading twilight slowly started to reveal more and more stars on the clear night sky. We then bundled up into our sleeping bags and set the alarm for 4 a.m.

When we woke the next morning, we were still so comfy in our cosy bivy that it took another 15 minutes before we could finally bring ourselves to leave the warmth of our sleeping bags. Georgia started our day with opening the can of energy drink she had carried all the way up here (over the course of our trip, she continuously pulled one unexpected food item after another out of the seemingly endless depth of her backpack). This was a much quicker alternative to boiling coffee in the morning, and I was glad I didn’t have to already tap into my water reserves, given that I only had 500ml left for the entire day. It was still pitch black when we set off shortly before 5 a.m. and we followed along the ridge in the beam of our headlamps. After only 5 minutes, we discovered another, even bigger bivy site, but were in agreement that ours was definitely the more homely one.

*Georgia on the climb up the Chli Dürrihorn, with the Weisshorn as a watchful guardian in the background*

The climbing was fairly straight forward and route finding not particularly challenging either since we more or less just had to stay on the back of the ridge. The ridge first climbs up to the Chli Dürrihorn from where you continue to the Dürrihorn, the first 4000-metre peak of the day. Perhaps it was a good thing we couldn’t see all that still lay ahead of us; even just to the Chli Dürrihorn it’s a lengthy climb. So we just set one foot in front of the other as the dark of night slowly gave way to the first glow of a new day on the horizon. To the west we could start to make out the perfectly shaped pyramid of the Weisshorn and under its watchful eye we continued our climb through the dawn. Little by little, the ridge revealed just how much higher it stretched into the sky. But once the first rays of sunshine rose between the summits of the Gross Bigerhorn and Balfrin, casting a beam of orange light across the Ried glacier, we were too enamoured with the stunning scenery to think much about how far we still had to go.

We eventually reached the small saddle between the Chli Dürrihorn and its parent peak, where we had a small breakfast. We didn’t faff about for long, though, as the sun wasn’t giving off much warmth yet. The climb up the Dürrihorn was mostly straightforward, but under a slaby section of rock, we decided to finally take out the rope that had been strapped to my backpack until now. Georgia took the lead and shortly after 9 a.m. we topped out on our first 4000-metre peak of the day. Given that we had already been climbing for four hours and could now look at the seemingly interminable ridge that lay in front of us, we didn’t waste much time and quickly made our way down into the col before the Hobärghorn. The downclimb took us nearly 45 minutes, though the guidebook suggested it should only take 15. I struggled to see how 15 minutes was a reasonable estimate for this long scramble down 200 vertical metres, but by now there was no denying that today was going to be a long day.

Our next intermediate goal was the Hobärghorn, and here we would have today’s first encounter with water in its frozen form. Before we set foot on the snow, however, the decision was made that we might as well extend the short break putting on crampons to a sophisticated snow melting session. I had drank my last sips of water a while ago, and Georgia’s supplies were running alarmingly low as well. Given how much further we still had to go, I felt it was imperative to improve our hydration situation. In half an hour, I melted four “servings” of snow in the jet boil, which came out to around one litre of water for each of us. We’d still have to budget, but this would hopefully be enough to make it until the end without becoming entirely desiccated.

*Witnessing a stunning sunrise on the saddle between the Chli Dürrihorn and Dürrihorn*

*Climbing in the lower sections of the Hobärghorn*

Afterwards, the first bits of walking on the firn were straightforward enough, but without even fully realising it, we suddenly found ourselves in a fairly steep slope that was almost completely iced up. I placed a single ice screw along the way and was relieved to get back onto solid rock. The final climb up to Hohbärghorn went through rock of rather questionable quality, but Georgia enjoyed the challenge of navigating this tricky maze of rubble. When we finally topped out, we felt a brief moment of relief, knowing we'd passed the halfway mark. The summits of Stecknadelhorn and Nadelhorn still seemed miles away, but we knew they should be much quicker to reach. Coming down from the Hohbärghorn, however, there was one tricky obstacle which cost us some more time. Just before reaching the firn ridge leading towards our penultimate summit, there was a section of loose scree over black ice, which was especially difficult for Georgia with her dull crampons.

*Making our way towards the Stecknadelhorn*

But once we were on the snow, progress was indeed swift and the climbing up the Stecknadelhorn, which was supposed to be the trickiest part of the entire route, didn’t feel more challenging than anything we’d come across so far. There was a visible path to follow along, and only just before the summit did I have to venture up some steeper terrain for the final push. For once, it felt like we were moving quickly, and I enjoyed every move of moderate climbing until reaching the summit cross. It felt great to arrive here and see that the Nadelhorn seemed finally within reach. We enjoyed a brief moment to soak the fact that we were nearly there, and then quickly made our way down to reach the last peak of the day. The climb up the Nadelhorn went over a small gendarme which turned out to pose the most difficult moves on rock that day and concluded with an exposed down climb which gave Georgia a little bit of trouble. After a brief traverse, we then joined up with the normal route towards the Nadelhorn.

From here it was less than 100 vertical metres to the summit and though not particularly technical, this bit was the most grueling climb that day for me. By now, the altitude and severe dehydration (that litre of melted snow was long gone) were really taking their toll and I just kept trudging on with the summit cross in sight. Once we finally made it to the top, I hit my absolute low point of the day; my head was throbbing and giving me a headache like I had never experienced in the mountains. No surprise, really – my last tour was three weeks ago, so any acclimatisation was long gone. Georgia was struggling with the altitude too, but given her enduring resilience, she took over the lead on the descent, which I was more than happy about. Our new goal was to get off the mountain as quickly as possible, not just to escape the altitude, but also because thick clouds were rolling in from the east. They were perched right against the northeast ridge of the Nadelhorn where they congealed into an opaque, impenetrable wall of whiteness which split the scenery right along the ridge line. And though the skies still looked clear towards the west, we started getting a bit jittery about the chance of thunderstorms, making our hurry to descend all the more urgent.

On the way down, we were momentarily distracted by a stunning spectacle: the fog joined forces with the sun to create a optical phenomenon called Brocken spectre. My shadow appeared as a giant, distorted figure against the mist, framed by a halo of light. It was the first time I had come across this phenomenon and initially I was wondering if the altitude had started to play tricks on me. But I still had enough brainpower left to appreciate the beauty of this fleeting sight that vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Scrambling through the loose and muddy rock in the upper sections of the Nadelhorn’s northeast ridge felt like it went on forever. When we finally reached the firn, some icy patches slowed us down, but we managed to pick up the pace on the well-trodden path down to the Windjoch. From here we descended onto the Hohbalm glacier. By this point, we were moving like proper zombies and made our way down with a mix of walking, sliding or slipping through the soft snow.

It was by now clear we wouldn’t make it to the Mischabelhut in time for the Apéro hosted by the AACZ (Academic Alpine Club Zurich) at 5 p.m. Georgia’s and my original plan had been to use the Nadelgrat as the approach for the Stiftungsfest with which the AACZ celebrates its foundation each year. But though we’d miss out on the Apéro, we were looking forward to meeting some friends, a nice dinner, avoiding the slog down to Saas Fee today, and – most importantly – getting our hands on some water! Once we stepped off the glacier and had ditched our harnesses, the only thing standing between us and the hut was a 25-minute walk along the wide ridge leading down from the Schwarzhorn. After the day we’d had, it almost felt like a stroll.

We arrived at the hut a little after 6 p.m. – a whooping 13 hours after setting off from our bivy that morning – absolutely knackered and seriously dehydrated. But, weridly enough, we could also feel our brains already working at transforming today’s grind into those epic and indelible mountain memories that make you say “Let’s do it all over again!” The brain sometimes works in strange ways… The rest of the evening was spent catching up with other AACZ members and downing litres of tea until we slipped into our quarters. Our alarms were set for the latest breakfast time at 7 a.m., unlike most of the other members who were plotting their adventures for the next day.

Our plan was to have a proper lazy morning at the hut the following day, which is precisely what we did. Savouring the contentment of our successful mountain escapade, we enjoyed some leisurely moments playing cards and enjoying pieces of cake with cream. Not something you get to do very often as a hut usually only marks an intermediate pit stop on the way to one’s main objective. We took our time, soaking in the views and enjoying the sunshine, even if Georgia was busy massaging her sore legs and we both still had niggling headaches. But lounging on the terrace with such beautiful scenery around us, it was too brilliant not to appreciate the stunning location that we were in. Around noon, we finally set off on our descent, just after most of the other’s had returned from their tours. The approach to the Mischabelhut is one of the more steep and technical one’s, but compared to yesterday it felt like a breeze.

We did decide, however, to make use of the cable car at Hannigalp where we treated ourselves to some well-deserved Rösti before heading down into Saas Fee. It had been a long but spectacular tour that marked the perfect conclusion to what was likely the end of the summer mountaineering season. Walking through the streets we felt exhausted but elated, knowing our sore muscles were reminders of this terrific adventure in the mountains together.

Grand Combin W-E Traverse