Europe is a complete whirlwind. I finally arrive in Germany after three days and as many countries since my last shower, with two days of climbing in between. A short weekend visit to Obernburg – complete with delicious food and my first attempt at recreating my favorite Death & Co cocktail (since Jason Littrell was kind enough to send me the recipe after I bugged him on Facebook and Twitter) – is the quiet prelude to two surprisingly action-packed weeks.
my backpacker alter ego
After dinner on Sunday Mom drops me off at the station so I can catch the night-train to Munich, where I have my visa interview at the US consulate first thing in the morning. I get my H1B visa approved, briefly stop by Globetrotter to buy a new climbing harness and play on their rock wall, then hop on the next train to Immenstadt. Or at least I think I’m on the train to Immenstadt until about two hours later when I suddenly realize that I’ve been traveling due east and steadily away from my dad’s place instead of towards him. I get off at a tiny station somewhere in the middle of nowhere. There isn’t even have a public telephone (I canceled my cell phone when I left the States), but thankfully the station ward is nice enough to let me use his landline. A couple of ever more frantic phone tag iterations and two hours later I’m back in the western Alps.
at least it's a pretty train ride
Dad and I do some more mountain gear shopping, then call it an early night. The alarm is set for 2:45am so we can hit the road by 3:30am. By 9am we’re in Grindelwald, Switzerland, ready to catch the cable car past/through the Eiger North Face up to Jungfraujoch, “the top of Europe” at 3,454 meters above sea level. We trek across the glacier towards the hut we’ll be staying at for the night, have a quick lunch, then make an afternoon attempt at the Moench summit. Due to bad weather moving in and zero acclimatization on our part, though, we turn around after only twenty minutes.
ordinary day with Dad
Dad en route
back at the hut, killing time 'til dinner
hut
In the morning the weather has cleared, but dad is still feeling the altitude so I set off on my own. With no intention to go all the way to the summit because of avalanche danger I set myself a turnaround time two hours hence, then start scrambling up the Suedsporn. An hour and a half later, though, I am still about a hundred feet below the ridge trail. I’ve been scrambling up lose but steep rock, losing the trail repeatedly. When I finally come up on a 20ft step that looks to me like 5.5/5.6 climbing, with no protection, I decide to call it a day half an hour early and turn around. The climbing looks doable, but I don’t trust myself to not fumble – and a slip in this section could easily send me back down the 400 vertical feet that separate me from the glacier. So much for the easy hike with occasional second class scrambling that the route descriptions promised. Or maybe I’ve once again lost the trail. Either way, despite a bruised ego I’m on my way back down: live to climb another day.
sunrise from the hut
Jungfrau Panorama
the step that turned me around
steep enough for a klutz like myself
Dad is already waiting for me at the trail junction on the glacier. We hike back to the train station, zip down through the Eiger north face and are on our way to France. Next stop: Mont Blanc!
Dad waiting for me down below, past two small crevasses
the summit - I'll be back soon
We spend the night in Argentiere, Chamonix’s sleepy cousin, where Dad treats me to a delicious dinner – escargot, St. Emilion, chocolate fondue, cognac… life is good.
French hospitality
dessert!
The next morning we catch one of the first rides up la Flegere across the valley from Mont Blanc, for a beautiful two hour hike across to the next peak. After lunch we head back down to the valley and finally up Aiguille du Midi all while watching (in my case, with considerably envy) countless rope teams in various walls and on the glacier.
Hoehenweg
who can spot the most climbers...
not me, for now anyway
also not me, this time
two of many, many rope teams
By now it is Thursday afternoon and time for us to commence the journey back: tomorrow my sister and her boyfriend will be stopping over on their drive down to Italy and pick me up for Mom’s surprise 60th birthday party in Tyrol on Saturday evening. The surprise is a full success; good times are had. Before we know it it’s Sunday afternoon and once again time to get in the car, this time to head back up to dad’s place.
Mom's surprise birthday
this doesn't suck
definitely doesn't suck
As it turns out an old friend and his girlfriend are vacationing about twenty minutes away from my dad’s. We rendezvous on Monday for a leisurely day hike up a 2,200m peak that turns out to be a bit more involved (or rather, exposed) than some of us bargained for, but it’s an intensely fun day nonetheless.
"fatal danger", ha
And then, to top things off, Dad and I hop in the car and are off again – this time towards Austria, for a visit to the Dachstein massif. This time we go our separate ways during the day: while Dad heads up to the glacier to look around I link up with a mountain guide (not having a climbing partner is starting to get old) to tackle one of Austria’s classic routes, the Steinerweg. After a day of questionable weather Peter and I leave at 4:15am, spend two partially excruciating hours scrambling up to the base of the wall in the dark, then start our 2,700ft climb right at the first light of day. In the end I am more than grateful that I am climbing with a guide: route finding would have been a big issue had I climbed with someone not as familiar with the wall, despite the big red arrows that are painted on the rock in places where in the past too many climbers have had to be plucked from the wall by helicopter after getting trapped off route. Following Peter, who sets a sharp pace (and solos the entire climb except for the crux, shortening a 23 pitch route to about 16 and placing no more than two cams in the process, solely for my benefit), I manage to get up the wall in about three hours and fifty minutes. Just in time for a victory beer before the clouds roll in, and about 20 minutes ahead of the other rope team that set out at the trailhead at the same time as we did. When Peter reveals that this particular rope team consists of another guide and a local cross-country ski world cup champion I start to feel a bit better about the amount of huffing and puffing that it has taken me to get up those 2,700ft at Peter’s pace.
Steinerweg
nothing tastes sweeter than a beer carried up 850 vertical meters of climbing
After our beers and a quick lunch back down on the Dachstein glacier we’re in the gondola back down to the valley, and then Dad and I start the long drive back. It’s Thursday now, and I am to report to Turkey for work (really: to climb) in five days but not before a stopover in Munich to say hi to grandma plus a quick excursion to Norway to check out the fjords and Hardangervidda, and for some much needed solitude and quiet after my highly enjoyable but also exhausting alpine odyssey.
the beautiful, bleak emptiness of Hardangervidda
back to Bergen, off to Turkey!
