Echo Thomas Olde [ENGLISH]

THE VALLEY OF UNREST

"The manuscript of Nick Grevers"

Now each visitor shall confess The sad valley's restlessness, Nothing there is motionless, Nothing save the airs that bread About the magic solitude.
– Edgar Allan Poe"

1.

I am responsible for the death of Augustin Laber. Not in an absolute sense, because in a sense dying – that last breath, the stopping of the heart – is the only thing in life that you do completely alone. And not even immediately: there was nothing I could have done to prevent it when the time came. He just vanished out of life, into the darkness, at dizzying speed. But it was I who discovered that mountain – Le Maudit – and it was I who got the idea for that fatal expedition. So I am responsible. The more time I've had to think about it, the more certain I am. The time for me to settle Augustin's fate comes when we've finally left the rocky ridge behind us and reached the northern shoulder of the Zinalrothorn. I'm kinda shaky after what happened higher up the ridge. Besides, we are nowhere near down yet. We are still at four thousand meters and the descent into the valley leads over a razor-sharp, precipitous snow ridge above the gaping amphitheater of the north face, much lower follows a long, forked glacier tongue, crosses endless blocks of blocks and finally takes you down the path through the Val d'Anniviers. Augustin is silent as he eats his power bar and his face is thoughtful. "Don't mind, man," I say in my most laconic tone. "We've had a great trip when we get down." But he, like me, needs to hear that the euphoria about our successful ascent has faded from my voice. The temptation of danger, normally an exciting dance with a mysterious, masked mistress, has suddenly bounced back in our faces because of its stupid mistake. It probably flashes through his mind now: mistakes in this place can be deadly. Or actually: Fehler können here oben tödlich sein, because Augustin is of course German. The Zinalrothorn is a pointed mountain, a mighty mountain that towers like the ruins of a castle wall from the surrounding glacial basins and proudly adorns the ridge between the valley of Zermatt and the valley of Zinal. There is no easy route to the top.

We have also opted for a lonely alternative from the imposing north side, in search of the essence of the mountain. It lies in the inviolability of the mysterious landscape, which creates the illusion that you are in a place where no human has ever set foot before. As a climber, when you hear its call, you become enchanted, intoxicated, and you know that it can only be understood if you give in to it – if you go up. So far the ascent has gone well, but slowly: that morning we discovered that the entire north ridge is frosted with a treacherous layer of ice. The short depression of the past few days in this otherwise warm summer season has even provided a layer of fresh snow. As we look up at the ridge with eager anticipation during the run up, we see ice crystal banners in the first twinkling sunlight, swirling between indentations and rock towers, making the mountain seem to surge with life and is crowned with a halo of frozen silver mist. They have imaginative names, those rock towers. I know them all from the climbing literature.

"Le Rasoir, Le Bosse, Le Sphinx. Razors, humpbacks and ancient Egyptian lions to be conquered via dark, smooth plates and along deep chasms. The whole climb we are forced to wear our crampons and instead of the two and a half hours it takes from the shoulder to the top, it takes us almost four hours. But the weather conditions are perfect – radiant and crystal clear – so today it can't hurt. We are the only climbers for miles around. A guide with a client who left the hut just after us this morning turned back lower on the mountain because of the rough conditions. The silence is immense, broken only by the scratching of my crampons against icy rock quarries, the jingling of carabiners and my breathing in the thin air. We know where we are, we are only accountable to ourselves and we do what brings us fulfillment. The feeling of belonging when we are on top is overwhelming."

"You have often asked me why I climb mountains. You've also often asked me (I won't say begged, but it's not far off) to stop. The worst fight of our relationship was about this subject, and it was the only time I was really afraid of losing you. I was never able to make it clear to you. I wonder if you can ever make such a thing completely clear to someone who doesn't climb themselves. There is a seemingly unbridgeable chasm between the idea that I'm risking my life for something as silly as climbing a cold mound of rock and ice... and the notion of moving through a floating landscape, moving under supreme concentration. in which I have complete control over the essential balance that keeps me alive and therefore allows me to live. Overcoming that gorge is arguably the toughest climb in the life of the alpinist in a relationship. From any person in a relationship, if you look at it closely.