Misadventures in Switzerland
How not to climb the famed Matterhorn mountain
ZERMATT, Switzerland - One sheer drop-off to the right, another eight feet to the left. A switchback ridge so steep that three steps brings you to the next turn. Rope handholds to clutch when the mountain trail shrinks to less than a foot wide.
What am I, a goat? It was time to consider a panic attack. A summer day hike, my husband said. A glorious saunter up a flower-filled meadow to one of the world’s most famous Alpine huts. Look, families with little children are in the gondola line with us. Don’t forget your sunglasses, it’s so bright.
Which is how, three hours later, I was shivering in a surprise July snowstorm en route to Hoernlihuette, the Matterhorn base camp, wearing capris and sneakers with no tread.
At 14,690 feet, the Matterhorn is not even the highest mountain in Switzerland - but it surely is the most photogenic, rising up on four elegant faces to a craggy peak along the Swiss-Italian border. Walt Disney even borrowed its silhouette for Disneyland, debuting the Matterhorn Bobsleds ride in 1959.
At the real mountain’s base lies the car-free Swiss town of Zermatt. There is no offseason here; it’s nearly always packed with tourists riding trains and gondolas up the mountains, hiking on the alpine trails, walking along picturesque streets lined with traditional chalets, and eating at restaurants decorated with the ubiquitous, huge Swiss cowbells. Utterly charming or tourism
gone mad, depending on your point of view.
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About 4,000 people a year stay here during its brief summer season (July 1 to Sept. 30), with 3,000 of them seeking glory on top of the Matterhorn. But I was of the lesser beings, daytrippers who gasp for breath up to the stone refuge, throw themselves exhausted upon its sturdy wooden benches and need a beer - or maybe two - before they can face the trials of going back down.
We set off for Hoernlihuette on a crisp sunny morning, after a brief walk around Zermatt and a stop to pick up water and munchies. Then we were off to the Schwarzsee cable car, which whisked us 3,000 feet up to a restaurant and pond above the tree line, where families with children picnicked.
For hikers, it was time to get started, at 8,474 feet. After 45 minutes across a stony meadow, we reached Hirli, a lone building a few hundred feet up. My, how time flies on a mountain. You can see where you are going, yet it takes forever. To match my plodding pace, my husband photographed about 10,000 alpine flowers from every direction.
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It took about 10 steps for the landscape to turn from alpine meadow to crumbling lunar rock face. As the sleet turned into stinging hail, the trail disappeared altogether.
The snowstorm struck when we were totally exposed on the switchback ridge. By then I was hyperventilating about the sheer cliffs on either side. I decided it was better to stare at the wet stones beneath my feet.
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