Tag Archives: Via ferrata

Germany

Climbing the Zugspitze

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Memories of our first alpine tour still fresh in our minds, my partner and I left Slovenia just as cooler air was moving in. We arrived in Innsbruck glad that we had jeans and raincoats, and spent a couple hours browsing the plethora of sporting goods stores and walking through the beautiful old town. With mountains visible from everywhere, painted buildings, and a vibe of loving adventure, Innsbruck is the type of place I could easily imagine living . . . or at least visiting again.

We spent the night a little ways outside of town to facilitate our drive the following morning. Past Garmisch-Partenkirchen, not far from the German border, we were surprised to hear a radio show host speaking English and realized we were not far from a US military base.

We parked and looked up at our destination: Zugspitze, Germany’s tallest mountain. From where we were standing, it was only slightly visible, hidden behind mountains that seemed much more imposing, much more daunting. Knowing that they weren’t, knowing what awaited us on the route ahead, filled me with a sense of wonder. We were actually here. And we were ready. Our backpacks included easily-accessible energy bars, our essentials for a night in the hut (toiletries, sleeping bag liner, towel, change of clothes, extra layers that turned out to be unnecessary), and the necessary gear: climbing harness, carabiners, slings, helmet, via ferrata set (Klettersteig in German, details to follow), rope, ice axe, crampons, trekking poles. Showtime.

But first we had an easy day to warm up. We followed the trail markers along the river to the Höllentalklamm, the gorge that we’d pass through on our way to Höllentalangerhütte, the alpine hut where we’d spend the night.

The gorge itself was dark and cool, the spraying water a much-needed relief from the heat. We walked carefully along narrow, slippery bridges and stones through the canyon, carved deep into the earth. The ancients were right to honour water as one of the four elements.

Subsequently, the path grew steeper, rockier. The mountains grew larger as we approached, and the trees began to recede. We had ascended 700 meters and could see the end of the tree line past the point where we would end our walk for the day. The air around us glimmered and my senses tingled.

We reached Höllentalangerhütte in high spirits with the sort of jitteriness that comes at the end of a long wait. It brought to mind the last day of school, or one’s birthday, or a favourite holiday. One more sleep.

After a shower and a snack, we meandered across fields of stone away from the hut and took a good look at what we could see of our path for the next day.

The way markers designated six hours. In the end, the climb took us exactly six hours.

We began promptly at 6am, joining most of those who had shared our 35-bed dorm room for breakfast at 5:30. The mountains glowed that morning in welcome. To be in such a place, and to be able to take on the task we were taking on, is an incredible privilege. We couldn’t stop smiling.

The Zugspitze is steep, just over five kilometers with an elevation gain of 1,390 meters. This was easily the most demanding mental and physical experience I’ve had in the mountains. The physical challenge, the ceaseless gaining in elevation along difficult terrain, tired the body and that tired the mind. A tired mind is then an unfocused mind, and that can be dangerous. The mental challenge then, is remaining alert and aware, moving simultaneously with confidence and caution.

In addition to the steepness of the terrain, the Zugspitze is also a technical climb with multiple sections of via ferrata, or Klettersteig. This is a sort of aided climbing using fixed cables that allows access to sides of mountains that would be too risky to attempt otherwise. That being said, you don’t want to fall because a via ferrata set is basically one-time use. The set is comprised of two large carabiners attached to lanyards, which are attached to a longer lanyard snugly packed inside a little bag that will only extend if you fall (and then you can’t stuff the lanyard back into its bag in alignment with safety ratings, so that’s that). The entire set is attached to your climbing harness. A helmet is required and I find durable, fingerless gloves designed for the thick cables to be essential. We also use an additional safety sling because again, you don’t want to fall. There were two sections of Klettersteig on the Zugspitze, both relatively easy grades but hard enough once we got into altitude. The first one made for a nice warm-up for what was to come.

The sections of the route that were not part of the Klettersteig were rock scrambles, generally easy climbing that requires all four limbs. Mountaineering is serious work, but there was so much play alongside the intensity.

As we climbed higher however, I was breathing too quickly. My pulse was racing and head spinning from the altitude. We continued moving as my partner demonstrated breathing slowly and deeply to bring everything down. And then I carefully counted breaths, letting my body acclimate. In just a few moments, my head cleared and my pulse returned to normal. It is easier to keep going, slowly, under such circumstances than stopping for a rest; the body needs to adjust, not to stop, and the breath controls the body. To reset mentally, it was enough to look around. The strength that comes from being wrapped in nature, the edges of the mountain growing more jagged as we crossed them, left me with feet planted firmly on the ground and a strengthened resolve.

What I found unique about this climb is that it never let up and, therefore, neither did we. It was continuously hard, continuously driving me to the edge of what I thought I could do. I kept moving long after I would have liked to have stopped and long after it hurt. I knew I had blisters forming on the backs of my heels, but I also had carabiners in both hands to clip onto cables, rocks to scramble over, and a sheer drop visible to my left that kept my feet moving with precision. The nearly instantaneous benefits of energy bars have never been more apparent.

We had made very good time when we reached the glacier, a very special aspect of climbing the Zugspitze. Excited to get into snow, we unpacked our crampons and rope, which we had prepared in advance with figure-eight knots for us to clip into and butterfly knots as stopper knots for the unlikely event that one of us fell into a crevasse. As we had practiced, we wrapped the ends of the rope around our bodies, securing them with one more knot. My partner readied his ice axe and I adjusted one trekking pole. Our free hands would be used to guide the rope as we walked.

Photo by TM

Due to the potential consequences of falling, a glacier crossing should not be done alone, but rather in pairs or groups, everyone attached to a rope. It is the leader’s job to make the way, to form the tracks. It is the leader’s job, when necessary, to use the ice axe to arrest a fall. The follower’s job is to manoeuvre the rope and to keep the right amount of slack between the leader and follower. Knowing the terrain where we were, an ice axe for the follower was unnecessary, but there are bigger, more dangerous glaciers where this would not have been the case. A trekking pole with a snow plate was sufficient for stability and support. Crossing the glacier as a team with my partner, our safety quite literally tied together, sent jitters up my spine as we got ready. And then, with the first steps, the romantic moment vanished into one of sheer focus.

A combination of steepness and rope management made the glacier tiring work. We followed tracks that had been made throughout the season, lamenting that the snow was rather mushy, a sign that it was much warmer for this time of year than it should have been. As grateful as we were to have the way tamped down, the steepness remained a challenge. Our toes did most of the work, the spikes cutting sharply into the snow and holding fast.

Arriving at the end of the glacier and getting ready to clip back into the Klettersteig, we shed our jackets immediately. It is absolutely no joke that glaciers are the way to see climate change in action. We looked down at the edge of the glacier and stepped quickly and carefully, not wanting to linger. And then we looked up at the way ahead, following the cables with our eyes until we could no longer see them, the summit hidden but closer than it had been.

Photo by TM

The second Klettersteig took us the remaining two and a half hours of the climb. When we looked down, we could see the zig-zag tracks that we had followed across the glacier, essential in steep terrain. Although it hadn’t felt that way, the glacier looked vast. Focused on whatever needed my attention in any given moment, we had climbed a lot farther than I had realized.

It was easy to lose track of time not just because of how hard we were working, but also because of how much fun the climb was. And it really was, which struck me over and over. I knew that I was pushing all of my body’s limits and that I was absolutely in the range of what I could do even if I hadn’t done it before. I knew I had a range of aches and pains and bruises, but I had ceased to feel them. I knew I was tired and thirsty and hungry, that I hadn’t eaten enough at our second snack break, that everything should have been uncomfortable, but somehow it wasn’t. There was laughter ready to bubble up at any moment, a smile every time my partner and I called to each other, an electricity throughout my body that propelled me along. For six hours, there was nothing but us and the Zugspitze.

Photo by TM

More than once, we thought we were just around the corner from the summit. More than once, we thought we were right there only to lose sight of it again. The clouds began to roll in behind us and my partner, whose photos are below, paused above me to watch. Suddenly, the world we had come from disappeared and there was only the world of the rock under our hands and the mountain who allowed us to hold on. My heart hammered in my chest in both exertion and a profound swelling of gratitude and respect for what we were doing.

About 40 minutes later, the Klettersteig cables disappeared. We climbed the last few meters unassisted, the exhaustion of the previous hours vanishing in the waves of excitement that began to build, and we were there.

At 2,962 meters, we had summited Germany’s tallest mountain in exactly six hours, mind and body fully engaged the whole time, laughing throughout in exuberance as reality hit us. The Zugspitze is not only Germany’s tallest mountain but also one of its hardest mountaineering tours, and we had done it. Together.

We ate and drank, gratefully took the train back to where we’d parked the car, ate and drank again, and then drove the five hours home, stopping for yet more food. Words failing us and hearts full of the day, we talked mostly about other things or not at all. Periodically, one of us would utter something like “Wow” prompting a response akin to “Yeah” from the other one. Slowly, we were able to talk about the experience, our different thoughts and feelings along the way, the areas where we’d each encountered challenges, or how much fun a certain section had been. Gradually, as we told others about the Hochtour and shared our photos, it became real that we’d stood at Germany’s highest point and that we’d made the way there together.

There were, however, serious conversations before planning this trip about whether we wanted to attempt it, whether my fledgling mountaineering skills were up to the task. There were moments before committing where we were uncertain about whether this was the right thing to do together. Mountaineering is a risky sport and the consequences are unthinkable, which is precisely the reason they must be thought about. And discussed. Openly and honestly, which can be stressful.

Once we decided to do it, the preparation took weeks. My partner took responsibility for learning the route and briefing me on it while I practiced different techniques of walking in new boots and read up on crossing glaciers and how to respond in a sudden thunderstorm. We watched videos and practiced knots together, made packing lists, prepared backpacks, went for a local hike completely kitted out, made adjustments. We talked about weather and feeling comfortable and knowing what it meant to decide to turn back. We did not take this climb lightly and I do not want to make light of what it took to get there.

As a result, there was no point on the Zugspitze where we were in any doubt about what we were doing, but also no point at which we took the mountain and our being there for granted. Nature allows you to be where you are, or it doesn’t. Nature welcomes your presence, or it doesn’t. Nature speaks and we have to listen, to respect. We are guests in nature.

And it was an honour to be there.

On My Mind

13 Pitches

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One of the reasons I moved to Germany was to play outside. I did as much of this as I could in Singapore, but the tropics don’t lend themselves to the same sorts of opportunities as this part of Europe. As it was, I scouted out the local climbing hall before moving into my apartment and purchased a bike before I had a bed. The universe smiled and I was very fortunate to meet people with whom to cycle, climb, and go skiing.

It was with these people that I visited Arco, Italy for a week of playing outside on the rocks.

Arco is located in Trento, north of Lago di Garda (Lake Garda), and this provides a beautiful environment in which colourful buildings and a wide range of trees (including palm trees!) are situated within the mountains. We took a walk around town on our first day, both for the purpose of getting the lay of the land and for the first of many breaks for gelato.

Spring was in a different place in Arco than what we had left behind in Germany, as well, and this created a general feeling of excitement among our group.

We headed out the following day for sport climbing routes at Regina del Lago. The rock was glossy limestone and very different to the porphyry I’ve previously climbed in the Thüringer Wald. The routes were fun with some challenges, I took my first outdoor lead fall, and the views were stunning. A stop at Lago di Ledro was in order later that evening, as well.

But we had not driven over 800 kilometers to Arco for sport climbing. Rather, we were looking for long multi-pitches, routes we cannot get close to home. Multi-pitch climbing was new to me when I first climbed outside in Germany. At that time, I had never seen anyone set up an anchor from the middle of a route and belay from the top, much less tried to do so myself. And months later, here we were in Arco and this is exactly what we were here to do.

My partner and I climbed our first big multi-pitch, a route called Trento, behind another pair of friends and were ecstatic when we reached the top. Two hundred meters and five pitches, by far the biggest route I’ve ever climbed. Some scary moves with big reaches, some polished rock, and phenomenal energy. It was comforting to meet our friends along the way, helpful to know we could call up to them if we got into trouble during the couple of hours the climb lasted. Safety guidance on multi-pitch climbing suggests that because the climb requires significant stamina, both physically and mentally, multi-pitch routes should be a grade below the climber’s maximum ability. This climb was well within our range but the polished rock made it harder and we were tired, in all the good ways, on the hike down.

The following day, some of us were ready for a break that turned out to be far less of a break than I’d thought. We drove to the nearby town of Mori for a via ferrata (or Klettersteig) on Monte Albano, which can best be described as a climbing route protected with cables and ladders. Rather than climbing attached to rope, you climb with carabiners leashed to your harness and clip yourself into the cables and ladders along the way.

The hike to the starting point was a nice warm up and gave us a taste of the views we could expect along the way.

Right from the start, I was taken off guard. Throughout the route, I was surprised at how scared I was, grateful for being there, and had already decided to do it again. The biggest difference between Klettersteig and climbing, to me, is that of partnership. There’s someone on the other end of a climbing rope who cares about you, and I cannot say the same for cables attached to cliffs.

The hike down was a reward, a journey through yet a different landscape.

Again looking for gelato, we stopped in Rovereto as the sun began to sink lower, creating shadows that could tell stories. I’m inclined to believe in magic, so I suspect that they have.

Before arriving in Arco, we had eyes on Claudia, a multi-pitch of thirteen pitches and 455 meters. Much of this route would be a slab climb, meaning a reliance on balance, friction, and making use of tiny footholds when they appeared. Without question, it would be the biggest outdoor adventure I’d ever encountered.

Climbing is about much more than physical strength. It’s about agility and dexterity, about safety, and, perhaps most importantly, about trust. We have systems, we check the systems, and we back up the systems. My life is in my partner’s hands and their life is in mine. Literally. And we know this every time. I have belay scars for a reason. One of the things that makes multi-pitch climbing so spectacular is that the experience is just you and your partner and the rock, and you are in this together for as long as it takes.

Four of us in the group were interested in Claudia and we assembled our gear and decided on pairs the night before. With such a long climb, the length a new experience for all of us, we needed an early start. As we had learned in our shorter multi-pitch routes, we needed to be familiar with the map to determine know how much gear was required at different points, as well as the line we were meant to follow to stay on the correct route. It actually is possible to make mistakes when there are routes bolted alongside each other, and getting into territory that is too difficult or doesn’t lead to an appropriate anchor can be dangerous.

We woke early, left the apartment early, and encountered no one else on our walk to the route’s starting point. We checked everything once more, gave a final round of hugs, and then we started to climb.

For something so enormous, there was remarkably little fanfare. We just did what we knew how to do and worked out the kinks along the way.

The weather remained consistent throughout the day and we were grateful for that because it meant one less thing to manage. Once all of our layers went on, they stayed on. At every snack break, we were surprised at how long we’d been climbing. We kept enough distance between our two pairs that my partner and I couldn’t see our friends below us and periodically strained to hear their commands to one another, just to make sure. We got into a rhythm of checking the map at regular intervals and our anchor setup became more efficient with each pitch. We paused occasionally for photos, celebrated milestones and scary pitches, ate snacks, laughed a lot and listened to the wind around us and the river below.

Six hours and 48 minutes after we started the adventure that was just us and the rock, it was over. We stood 455 meters, thirteen pitches, above where we began and realized how far we’d come. We watched the clouds move, the sky change, and took stock of the state of our feet and hands. The climb had been long and the fact that it was, for the most part, neither difficult nor scary was very important. Claudia required us to be tuned in the whole time, to be aware of ourselves, each other, the rock, the changing sky. We sat in silence for a while as we waited for the moment we’d see our friends, at which point adrenaline took over and carried us through the hike down.

After our day on Claudia, I went to bed with some vague thoughts about climbing again the next day. My body had other ideas, however, and a few of us decided to spend an afternoon in the port town of Riva del Garda instead. The antique bookstore came as a pleasant surprise, and of course I couldn’t resist a look inside.

The weather forecast for the last day of our trip had not looked promising, but we were lucky enough to climb for a few hours before it started to drizzle. Upon heading back into town, we made our second visit up the hill to Castello di Arco, this time heeding the sign that very clearly stated the time of last entry. What is left of the castle sits high on a hill, providing a walk and views of the world that had welcomed us to climb.

It was drizzling the next morning, which is always a sign that it’s time to go. I felt like a different person as we loaded the car and drove away, a feeling that remained with me through the next morning when I woke in my own bed. I went to Arco wanting to climb and left Arco having climbed Claudia’s thirteen pitches, after having spent a day with just my partner and the rock. I left Arco confident in my ability to climb, manage rope, set up a variety of anchors, and deal with unexpected situations. This experience made me a better climber for myself, and also for my partner, which is perhaps even more important.

It was almost a surprise to walk around back home and realize that only a week had passed. A week on the calendar but lightyears in what I had managed, physically, mentally, emotionally. And in that week, the trees were greener, the flowers larger, and I found myself changed.