A Tale of Two Telemarkers

by Ged Campion

I had always wanted to climb Piz Bernina and what would be an even greater achievement would be to ascend and descend the mountain on ski. Shauu Penny and I had, over the previous two winters, developed a more refined Telemark technique which had liberated us from the seemingly pedestrian feeling of fixed-heeled ski-ing. But the Bemina Alps, guarding the border between Switzerland and Italy, would be no push-over with its lofty peaks, many at the 4000 metre mark.

We soon discovered that little information was available on ski mountaineering in the Bemina, in fact all we had to go on was the West Col climbing guide first published in 1968! We had three main objectives in mind: Piz Palii (3905), Piz Roseg (3937) and, of course, Piz Bemina (4049).

On the May Bank Holiday, 1993, we flew to Zurich and caught the train to St.Moritz at the upper end of the Endgadine Valley. It was too late in the day to consider climbing up to a hut so we looked around for somewhere to stay and quickly discovered that St. Moritz is one of the most expensive Alpine resorts for accommodation. The hotels that were still open were exclusively for the rich. We made enquiries in a local spoils shop and the assistant confirmed our worst fears about finding anywhere to stay. Then, quite out of the blue, he offered to put us up for the night in his flat at Samaden. We gratefully accepted. Ruskin was correct when he said ‘the Swiss use no phrases of friendship but they do not fail you in your need’.

The following day our host, Kuck, drove us up the Val Beniina and dropped us off so we could carry on hitching to the Diavolezza Railway terminus. We took the cable railway to the ‘Hotel’ at 2973m which would be our starting point for Piz Palu. The indications were that Piz Palii would be a reliably straightforward climb and descent via the Pers glacier.

Despite promises of good weather, we woke the following morning to cloudy sky and flumes of snow. But our objective, Piz Palii, reared up majestically behind the cloudy veneer. Palii is the mountain above the swamp of Alp Palii. Its main ridge runs east/west and is marked by three summits. With buttresses its profile bears a strong resemblance to Blencathra in the Lake District. It is one of the most frequently climbed peaks in Bemina, mostly because of its romantic associations. We made good progress up the glacier to the point on the ridge at 3731m where we depoted (skiing jargon for ‘stashed’) our skis. The final slope guarded by a fairly convincing bergsckrund, proved steep but we climbed unroped.
 
The angle eased and we soon reached the East Peak. We earned on to the central summit, careful to avoid the cornices above the north face. It is a place to be treated with great respect and the scene of numerous accidents in the past. Sadly, the cloud rolled in when we reached the summit denying us a view across the valley. We lost no time in getting back to our skis and enjoyed descent to the basin, bemusing the passing Italian ski-mountaineers.

The following day we prepared for a short traverse across to the Boval Hut on the other side of the Morteratsch glacier. The full panorama of Piz Palu hung above us with the majestic corridor of the Bellavista, a high level pathway to Bemina, alluring and clearly visible. But this would not be our route today. Bemina itself stood aloof with it’s long downward sweep of the Biancograt, then the steep rock uprash of Prievlusa and finally the splendid summit of Morteratsch.

We crossed the Pers glacier to the lateral moraine and quickly arrived at the Boval hut. We were greeted by two very boisterous labradors promptly followed by the hut warden’s wife who, curiously enough, was a Yorkshire ‘lass’ from Otley. Then Hans, who we were later to discover had been the hut warden for many years.

There was one other party, Austrians who had arrived the previous day. We soon sensed a tense atmosphere. They had apparently been brought in from Saltzburg to search for two companions on the Morteratsch glacier for three days. The Swiss rescue helicopter had searched but was about to quit though the Austrian s were anxious to continue believing that there was a slim chance then companions were still alive. The helicopter made a final foray up the valley, dwarfed by the vastness of the glacier. It returned an hour later with no news.

It was with this tragedy in mind that we set off the following morning knowing that even the most experienced and seasoned alpinists are not immune to the ravages of the mountains. These good mountaineers had probably quite unwittingly skied too close to the edge of a crevasse whose cruel interior was now their icy tomb.

At first, the Morteratsch glacier appears to be a devastation of crevasses and seracs.To thread a way through its endless maze of icy obstacles one has to be equally cunning and careful. It does not give up its secrets easily. Hans described, with the aid of binoculars, the best route in the prevailing snow conditions. It was not possible to attempt the Labyrinth route on the right hand side of the glacier. Instead, we would ascend to the right of the Buch, the normal winter route. We bid our farewells and told the Austrian team that we would be vigilant during our ascent and report back if we saw anything.

We reached the first real steep slope and were quickly reminded that Nordic skis do not always respond well to icy conditions. Telemark technology has not yet come up with a harshschizen or any equivalent system. Resisting at all costs the temptation of depoting skis and doirning crampons, we forged on. We soon reached the first crevasse obstacle which quickly surrendered with an obliging snow bridge. From then on the route became increasingly complex, crevasses almost everywhere denying access to the belly of the upper glacier.

As the morning started to dawn, we rose above the Buch. We looked back and could see the Austrian team, who had by this time resumed then search, forlornly probing crevasses with their avalanche sounding rods. We continued cautiously, roped together ah the way. The crevasse zone steepened and, by accessing serac terraces, we found an intricate way through to the upper slopes. Here, the crevasses were even bigger than below but the dangers were more visible. We reached the point where the rescue helicopter had landed the previous day. We had learned that these were the biggest and deepest crevasses – their size was awesome.

As the sun became stronger we could see our objective, the Fuorela Crast Agiizza Sattel where we would find the Marco Rosa hut. We knew only the winter refuge would be open, but it would be an ideal place to stop for lunch and study the climb ahead of us.

The hut has a reputation for being difficult to find but, as we approached the col, we could see what appeared to be a little aluininiiim dolls house, shining like a beacon in the sun. We took off our skis and stepped inside. Its pine clad walls gave a cosy feeling and were festooned with memorabilia of early Alpine days. We were presided over by a solemn portrait of the Duke d’Abruzzi peeling down on us with utter disdain. Little did we know that this would be our home for the next few nights.

The Spallagrat (south-east ridge) reared up behind the hut. This was the usual route to the summit of Beniina, an easy and popular way up the mountain in summer. In winter and spring it is known to be more challenging. We skinned up to where the ridge steepened at 3850m depoted our skis and climbed icy chimneys which linked snow slopes – one requiring a traverse on a steep, icy slope on the east side of the ridge. We arrived at La Spalla and headed up to the fine snow arete which led us up to the summit. It had started to snow gently and we suddenly lost any prospect of a view from the summit. Nevertheless, we were pleased by our achievement and took a few photos before heading down.

Arriving back at our skis we took the easy angled snow slopes and floated effortlessly down to the hut. So encouraged were we by our improved technique and powder conditions that we canvassed the idea of staying overnight to get the best snow conditions early the next morning. Our decision was finally made when we obseived avalanching ice and snow from the rock buttresses of the Crast Agiizza across the col.

We had virtually no food, water or spare warm clothes but there were plenty of blankets in the hut so one nights stay would not prove to be too austere. We were confident the weather would stay settled the following day.

It was a chilly night in the hut and we were woken by an icy blast which echoed against the hut’s exterior. The Marco Rosa is the highest hut in the Bemina. It is perched precariously on rocks above the Vedretta di Scersceu. The summer refuge is only metres away but solidly locked in the winter months. As I woke I looked out of the window it was snowing heavily, was this a passing shower or something more permanent? I questioned Shaun who only confirmed my worst fears – it had been snowing for over four hours. I crawled from beneath my blankets and opened the hut door. There was a considerable accumulation of snow outside. All we could do was to wait until first light and hopefully make our escape. At 5.00am the conditions outside were approaching white-out, we could not even see the summer refuge.

We hadn’t any water to make a drink nor a stove to melt snow. Apart from a few solid bread crusts abandoned on a dusty shelf, we had no food. Our situation had become a little wonying!
 
We needed to tell our hosts at the Boval Hut of our predicament so they would not alert the rescue services. Tliere was an emergency telephone on the wall – providing a one way link to the Italian emergency services in Chiesa. We decided it would be prudent to try to get a message through.

By 10.00am it was snowing even more heavily – we peered miserably out of the windows, clad in our blankets, like forgotten orphans. The potential for fresh snow avalanche would be considerable on the glacier below us -and any escape the other way down the couloir towards Italy would be equally suicidal.

By midday we decided to try and use the phone to relay a message to the Boval hut. I confidently dialled the number. Not surprisingly, I was immediately confronted by an Italian operator speaking rapidly in his native tongue. I couldn’t understand a word. I forlornly attempted a mixed Italian/English approach only to utterly confuse my correspondent. The more we exchanged, the more confused we became. I tried to tell lrim my position – he kept asking me if I needed a doctor. I looked despairingly at Shaun who encouraged me to keep trying. In my most convincing and animated Italian I rolled the location off my tongue -‘The Marrrco Rrrrosa hut’ I proclaimed. Suddenly he gasped, ‘O, the Marco Rosa Hut!’ Almost suggesting ‘Why didn’t you say so in the first place’.

A rapport suddenly developed and, in no time, he told me to await a call from the warden at the Boval. Sure enough, ten minutes later, the little green phone rang. It was Hans – who duly pondered our predicament. It was clear from his concerns that he didn’t want a repeat of the Austrian tragedy.

He recounted how there had been an incredible accumulation of snow and the steep sections of the glacier would be dangerous. He said we should sit tight and he would get the latest report from the Meteo. He rang back minutes later, vaguely optimistic that the snow would abate the following morning and, somewhat surprisingly, said that he would negotiate a helicopter to pick us up next day! The cost seemed reasonable because it was not the rescue chopper but a supply craft piloted by one of Hans’ friends. All round, this seemed preferable to the ignominy of being properly rescued.

More immediately, however, was the dreary prospect of another night at the hut. We were hungry and desperately thirsty. That afternoon we vainly tried to melt snow in an old mess tin using candle ends – not surprisingly, it didn’t work. We ate some snow and rationed a few sweets. The siege mentally must have affected us a little as we found ourselves discussing starvation, low morale and being too emaciated to escape on ski!

At 6.00pm we ventured out of the hut to survey the conditions – it was still snowing heavily. We attempted to find a chink hi the heavily armoured summer refuge where we might find a stove but there was no means of gaining access without causing damage so we retreated to our aluminium box.

We awoke the following morning at 5.00am to the sound of the phone ringing. It was Hans. He said there were problems getting the helicopter up to the col because of poor visibility. The good news, however, was that it had temporarily stopped snowing possibly long enough to allow us to descend. Hans desperately tried to describe the best route down. As he spoke I tried to visualise the layout of the glacier. He kept emphasising that we must ski roped together and not descend via the Buch. Visibility was reasonable.

A little anxious about leaving the safety of the hut, we moved off, talcing turns tramping a route through the deep snow. We traversed up and down, ever mindful of the freshly corniced crevasses. We made mistakes but kept calm – always trailing the rope. At one point, rather suddenly, we arrived at the top of a huge serac tower with no apparent way on. Hans’s warning echoed in my rnind ‘Stay above the Buch\ Determined not to be tunneled into the ice-bound trap, we traversed higher and, more by good luck than judgement, found a corridor at an acceptable angle.

Rarely did we turn our skis, always tentatively edging down. After three hours we could see the flat bottom of the mighty Morteratsch below. A few more slopes and we’d made it. Our relief was evident. In spite of our tiredness we skied with pmpose as if in defiance of the mountains’ attempt to keep us hostage.

As we approached the Boval hut we could see Hans with binoculars trained on us. He had apparently watched us high on the glacier with bated breath as we had wandered perilously close to the jaws of the Buch. We drank soup and ate food cooked by his wife.

The next day we headed down the fertile ablation valley to Morteratsch itself. For the remainder of our time we retreated to the flesh pots of Poutresina and decided to leave Piz Roseg for another time.

It is curious how success, failure and fears can strengthen bonds between mountaineers. What appear to be ‘serious’ situations can, later, be laughed off or even dismissed. But they do at least equip one with rich and varied experiences. At the time, of course, you don’t quite know how tilings will turn out. It doesn’t take long, however, before the over-riding desire to have another go takes over and the beckoning of the mountains simply becomes too strong to resist.

With this in mind we headed up to the Coaz hut above the Roseg glacier to climb one of the mountains in the Sella group – possibly Piz Gluschaint. But time dictated and we eventually chose II Chaputschin at 3386m. It was simple, straightforward and not too committing. From its summit we skied down the enchanting Fex valley where verdant alpine meadows caipeted with crocusses, blue gentian and soldanella were eroding the spring snows.

The smell of lush vegetation and lightly burning fires heralded our arrival at the beautiful Romansch hamlet of Sils Maria in the upper Endgadine. Pastel coloured buildings and intricate wood carvings preside over an air of peace and serenity – a fitting end to our Alpine sojourn.