West ridges galore! Alps 2025
WEST RIDGE OF SALBIT
I could feel ourselves slow as we approached the next turn. We were halfway up the Furka pass, one of the tallest in Europe and yet again Tim's van's engine was overheating. Tim was pretty certain we'd be fine, but that inspired only a little confidence as we entered second gear, the engines revved as much as possible, and the van maxed out around 10 mph.
At least that time we didn't have any traffic behind us. On the way to Chamonix we'd overtaken a lorry on an uphill just to power out a few seconds later. Despite our apologetic hazards the lorry driver wasn't best pleased!
After two pleasant days in France we were in Switzerland and, if the van made it as far, we'd soon be climbing on Salbit. It's a relatively small but nonetheless impressive peak close to the skiing town of Andermatt. Having popped a pulley on my ring finger the day before, I had eliminated our chances of getting up any technically tricky routes so we aimed to climb some longer classics. With 30+ pitches and around a 1000m of vertical climbing gain on solid granite, the west ridge of Salbit seemed like a good choice!
Even in drab weather the valley from where we had started was beautiful. At its trough there was a stream flanked on both sides by grazing meadows. Either side forests rose so steeply that the higher peaks above were hidden from view. Upon arriving at the car park we met two friendly Germans who informed us that the simplistic bivi hut we'd wanted to stay in was booked out. Instead we opted to spend a night at the alpine hut an hours walk away from the start of our route.
We were glad for our choices, the hut proved to be very pleasant. The food was excellent, and the other guests and climbers were friendly. We played Uno with two Swiss girls until around 8 at which point I headed to bed, wary of the 3 a.m. alarm the next morning.
I struggled to eat, but I forced down some breakfast and began the walk in in the dark. I'd sprained my ankle badly running around the mountain the previous day and every few steps I'd feel a searing pain when I misplaced my foot.
The west ridge of Salbet is composed of 6 pillars. After each one there is at least one abseil. We could see up the first pillar from the base of the route, and thankfully there were only two sets of headtorches, so the route would likely not be too busy. I set off climbing and we moved together for the majority of this tower. Climbing so quickly was quite satisfying, and by the time we reached the second tower, we were ahead of the other teams and could relax a little. Tim and I alternated leading towers, and with the exception of one rope drag nightmare, we made it to the summit fairly smoothly in around 7 and a half hours.
Less smooth was the walk down. My ankle couldn't take being weighted particularly well and I felt like a total liability asymmetrically hobbling along behind Tim. As we passed the hut, the hut lady even commented on how awkward my walking looked. Several painful hours later we had made it back to the valley, with enough time for a swim in the freezing stream, promptly followed by a well earned pizza in Andermatt!
WEST PILLAR OF THE SCHEIDEGG WETTERHORN
Only 24 hours later we were in a Grindelwald car park organizing our kit on the floor. Tim was really focused on reducing weight. It's an obvious strategy in many ways, but it was rather eye opening to me just how far he took it. We packed approach shoes for the glacial descent, and he figured out how to attach super lightweight crampons to these. Everything was stripped down to its bare minimum, extra straps removed from bags, rack trimmed to the point it couldn't have weighed much more than 3 kilos .
The west pillar is the prow of rock on the horizon in the top right photo
We woke the next morning and took the first Swiss bus as high up the valley as possible. The fare was at least 20 Francs each. I think I'd have been incredibly nervous climbing with anyone but Tim, however his relaxed attitude and general easy nature reduced the rate at which my brain raced through all the possible ways to die. BAWWW BEEHH BEEEP! The bus horn piercingly hooted in a discordant melody around each of the hairpin turns.
We arrived.
My ankle was still quite badly sprained and every handful of steps it sent stabs of pain up my right leg. The morning sun beat down on us as we plodded on up. The occasional rockfall cackled above, keeping us on our toes.
After an hour of wading through overgrown grass and trotting up small paths we made it to the base of the starting slab.
Here we'd need to climb up a hundred metres, before an exposed traverse of the giant north face to reach our west pillar. I was a tad apprehensive about the slabs ahead, so we roped up. After the introductory scramble, we began crossing a slabby ledge covered in loose scree, moss and snow. My sore ankle slowed us down, and the route finding was awkward. After some deliberation, we abseiled down a loose gully and then started simul climbing toward the pillar on steep, semi-muddy grass, interspersed with more shattered scree. Tim led and would place the occasional cam, but the rock quality was so poor that any slip may well have been fatal.
The first real pitches were misleadingly solid and also fantastically positioned above a giant waterfall. More simul climbing followed, only pausing briefly to watch a giant serac collapse and tumble down the huge limestone face to our right. I took over leading and quickly found myself thrutching my way up an awkward chimney corner. At one point, the block my foot was on gave way and landed on my other big toe. I gave myself 5 seconds to suck up the pain and then shuffled upwards for a few more metres. Gear wasn't copious nor was it convincing - mostly large cams- and with hardly any on our rack I was often runout for 10 metres on quite loose and steep ground. The climbing also felt awkward with a large pack; I tried to stay in balance, teetering all four points of contact on semi-detached flakes and hollow chockstones.
I was going where the description had suggested, but so far there were no pegs. The climbing was unnerving and the line 20 metres to my right looked much more obvious and solid. The buses tooted away in the background, the noise they made was offputting.
Realising that I might be off route I built the best belay available to me and explained my dilemma to Tim. He kindly took the lead and within 5 metres he had passed some pegs, confirming we were indeed on the right line, the climbing was just terrible.
At a small ledge we ate our lunch and drank a little. From here follows the hardest "easy" climbing I've ever experienced. Moving together with 1 or 2 dubious pieces of gear between us we traversed across what felt like endlessly long loose slate rooftops. Often unable to use the awkwardly directional handholds, I was balanced on 45 degree angled tiles that frequently gave way under pressure. One section that was slightly tricky had me questioning what consequences a foothold or handhold breaking could have. Tim was at least 30 metres to my right, and with only one piece near him, falling would have meant taking the mother of all pendulums and grating the 8 mil rope along a rail of sharp loose limestone edges (likely death).
After more moving uphill on death choss Tim made a stance and I headed up what was supposedly a "magnificent well protected 6a pitch". It was neither of those things. I placed 2 or 3 runners in the first 20 metres, the rock was hollow and flaky up until the final tricky moves. More loose ridge climbing followed.
By the late afternoon we reached the Pagazzi corner. Tim cruised up several awkward leads, especially the 30 metres of gearless offwidth in the middle! The climbing was immensely exposed, and between the clouds that clung to the wall we'd occasionally catch glimpses of Grindelwald over a mile vertically below us.
Thankfully after around 11 hours of climbing we had made it to the bivouac. We'd been a lot faster on the Salbet, but the residual fatigue and packs filled with sleeping kit had taken their toll.
The sunset sunrays and mind blowing cauliflower clouds which we observed as we ate made the whole adventure worthwhile. I finished brushing my teeth, decided I wasn't fussed about getting out of the Xenith sleeping bag, and so proceeded to spit on a little rock and throw it off the edge a thousand metres below me. (with absolute certainty there were no others on the route or nearby!)
I woke up in the night, cozy and warm cuddled up in my sleeping bag to look at the Milky Way and thousands of stars. The night sky was stunning.
The sunrise wasn't bad either...
Tim was route finding below me and every once in a while the rope would pull tight. Not a pleasant sensation when exposed and downclimbing. By chance he found a belay, and two loose rappels brought us to the glacier. We attached crampons and started traversing as quickly as we could. We knew the sun was hitting the loose face on our left, and that it would be a matter of time before rockfall and wet avalanches started tumbling down in our direction.
In one hurried moment my foot fell through the snow, and in an attempt to correct my movement I pulled it out as fast as possible. I felt a sharp jab of pain on the side of my right leg and looked down to see both my trousers ripped and and blood splashing out of an unpleasantly deep cut. Thankfully the bleeding calmed, but it made crossing the glacier and its crevasses much more awkward than it should have been. Another 3 single bolt abseils and we made it to safety.
I felt a considerable sense of relief as we sat sunbathing at the alpine hut sipping cold lemonade. No more crevasses, stress or worries for the foreseeable future. Only a few hours later we were at a friend of Tim's for a chilled BBQ, content and calm, a noticeable contrast to the previous days.
Thanks Tim for a great week in the Alps, looking forward to returning (to the granite!).
Thanks also to Mountain Equipment for the support.
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