A Decision is Made

Sunday 10th (afternoon) and Monday 11th September, 2023 - Austria

Still reeling from the dramatic disappearance of a whole glacier, we sat contemplating our options.

Part of our reason for choosing the now snow-bereft Fneilspitze was the opportunity to combine it with a visit to the site where Ötzi the iceman was found. But, since Ötzi waited patiently for more than 5,000 years to be discovered, we figured he could wait a year or so longer for us to visit the spot he was found.

Our main reason for being there was to climb a snowy mountain. We had the kit, we had the enthusiasm, the weather was on our side and I had my new boots. So the Similaun would be our new objective. Besides, if not now, then when? In a few years time the Similaun too will be just a very large pile of rocks with not a glacier in sight.

Our new objective, The Similaun from the Similaunheute

It’s not a particularly difficult mountain and can be done in 2 1/2 hours from the hut, so a super early start was not required.

The glacier is called the Niederjochferner and as recently as 2006 used to completely fill the valley beyond the pile of stones.

The Similaun hut is high at just over 3,000 metres, so it should be pretty cold in September, but it was a warm night. Above freezing. It was hot in the dormitory too, which meant a poor nights sleep. Mrs P particularly hates dormitories. She has been very happy since I stopped snoring (a side effect of my long Covid), but this dormitory had it in stereo. Not much sleep was had.

It was still above freezing when we set off and I wondered what state the glacier would be in.

It was good to be donning our glacier kit after such a long gap (3 years) and I allowed muscle memory to remind me how to tie the various knots that secure me and Mrs P to each other in the event of a fall into a hidden crevasse.

As the sun begins to rise (and blind me) I try not to fall down any holes.

Now Mrs P and I have travelled across many, many glaciers over the years. We are well aware how dangerous they can be. That said, we are also able to judge how dangerous a glacier is and this was not a dangerous one. For a start, it was “dry.” Meaning there was no fresh snow on the ice, so it was much easier to see the holes, or ‘crevasses’ to give them their proper name.

The kind of crevasse you really don’t want to fall into

The above crevasse could be up to 100 metres deep and more, so we treat them with respect. The following photo shows how easy it could be to fall in.

A dodgy “snow bridge”

The circle in the above photo shows a snow bridge. It spans about 1.5 metres across the crevasse, but is only about 20cm thick. It would not hold your weight. In this instance it is blatantly obvious. So, I just found a better place to cross the yawning chasm. Often however, you can’t see how bad a snow bridge is due to new snow, or the fact that it may cover the hole for some distance, so you can’t get an idea of how thick it is and if it will hold your weight.

Me, about to jump over a small crevasse

Experience enables us to judge what is and isn’t safe. On a dry glacier, snow bridges are often obvious. The trick is in deciding how safe they are. Do you jump across (in crampons), ice axe at the ready and partner braced on the rope in case it all goes pear shaped? Do you simply cross your fingers, think light and walk across the snow bridge? Or, do you head off in often completely the wrong direction in the hope of finding a safer place to cross? You would be surprised how often the first two options are used. Detours are time consuming.

The whiter bits are where snow has filled a crevasse beneath. These are easy to see, small and simple to bypass. If the glacier had fresh snow on it, they would be invisible and the crevasses they hide could be big enough swallow a house.

Over the years we have traversed a lot of glaciers. Some really dangerous ones like the ominously named “Sump” in a valley very near to the Similaun. That one took us two attempts. On that occasion we turned back after about three hours as we just couldn’t find a safe route. The following day it took us six hours to negotiate the six kilometre crossing. It was a tense crossing.

In the event one of us were to fall into a crevasse the other must arrest the fall (tricky for Mrs P who is only 2/3rds my weight) with their body weight and ice axe. Assuming they too have not been pulled into the hole, they must then somehow get an ice screw or some other such device into the snow/ice. Then, by means of devious knots, karabiners and other such iron mongery, extract themselves from the tensioned rope and set up a pulley system to aid the extraction of the poor fool slowly freezing to death in a big hole surrounded by ice.

Crevasses vary in size from the small ones in which you may fall up to your waist to the beasts that could swalllow a row of houses. People do die in crevasses every year, but it is rare and we take as many precautions as we can. That and experience has kept us safe so far.

Weirdly though , we love glacier travel and this one ended all too soon.

Mrs P at the top of the glacier

Me at the start of the ridge climb. Welcome to a world of crumbling rock

At the end of the glacier there was a short ridge to climb to reach the summit. We had been told it was simple, so ditched our crampons, ice axes and the rope and set off up the rather icy blocks.

Soon, we were faced with a small section of glacier which then led back onto the ridge.

The glacier however had badly chewed up the rock over a period of several hundred years and so none of the holds could be trusted. The rock seemed to just dissolve when you touched it. Crampons and a rope would have helped, but we had left them way down at the start of the ridge.

Mrs P declared the final 20 metres unsafe and sat down on a rock to contemplate the stunning view while I carried on up alone.

Looking back down from the ridge at climbers crossing the glacier.

Climbing the ridge above the glacier

Once past the 15 metres of horribly loose rock the rest of the ridge was good and I finally stood on the peak.

A climber on the horrible rock section ahead of me.

Now all we had to do was get back down. Not just to the hut, but back to where Gandalf was waiting for us in the valley at Vent. Just 18 kilometres (11 miles) and 1,800 metres below us. Here’s some photos of us pretending it was easy.

I must confess to getting blisters from my new boots. Perhaps not surprising on such a long day, but disappointing as I very rarely get blisters.

Finally, after more than 10 hours, we arrived back at Gandalf. All parked up waiting for us. If he had a tail to wag I’m sure he would have wagged it

I asked Mrs P to pose for a photo. “Look tired.” I said. Her response is not recorded here, but she let it be know that she did not need to act in order to “look” tired.

Mrs P, back in Gandalf’s warm embrace

That was nearly a week ago. We finally got to climb our snowy mountain. It was a long time coming.

Now, we are heading home. Already in France, but we did not rest on our laurels and I will share some more of our adventures soon. So do stay tuned and thanks for reading.