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| Source: http://www.kiechle.com/trips/index.htm?toe/toe.htm |
Ancient folklore told of a mythical ogre that lived somewhere south of Bern. Although it was never seen by any eyes, locals never doubted it's existence. This ogre would lie dormant amidst the northern face of a mountain at the very edge of the Alpine range, protecting it from any trespassers.
Over the years technology and civilization moved into the neighborhood. They built ski lodges fit for kings, and they dug train tunnels through the foot of the ogre's abode. Like mushrooms, villages began sprouting around the northern vicinity. These collection of villages were named after the Grendel, a troll that was said to have roamed free in the dark ages, raging all life at it's wake. The same troll some believed retreated to protecting the northern face of this very mountain at the very edge of the Alpine range.
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| Source: http://www.isiahfactor.com/ |
While other mountains and slopes in it's range basks in the full glory of the sun and snow, this northern face remains hidden. It is always black and gloomy. It receives the worst of the season's weather and holds it like a precious ring it cannot ever live without. Like a towering vertical wall it stands proud and sinister, keeping all life miles away.
We humans.
We humans and our arrogance. Our greed. Our desires and our culture. Humans could not resist the unexplored, the untouched, the unseen. And so it began, the race to conquer, to win, to be a part of written history. Ski lodges were transformed into theatrons riddled with gigantic binoculars, and the black northern face of this very mountain the stage.
"If you are an actor, this will be your opportunity at Hamlet."
For a very brief moment in the coldest winters the veil of thick clouds would draw away, revealing the naked black rocks that make up what at one moment was the final unattained history of the Alps. Warriors would flock to the place, attempting to slay this mythical ogre that lays hidden among the crags. They would come armed to their teeth not with ammunition of swords and guns and lead shells, but with ropes and axes and pitons and crampons and rucksacks. For a brief moment in the coldest winters the world will stop to watch with full attention this drama that would unfold.
Winters would come and winters would go. Many worked their way up the first bivouac and turned back. Some days the mountain seemed almost too forgiving by allowing hints of sun draping it's chest, only to fall ill by mid day and drowning itself with heavy clouds and snow storms. Lifeless bodies would lie frozen at it's foot the very next day, proving to the world that Grendel is not a creature of pagans.
But some would make it past the first bivouac. Two would make it pass the Rote Fluh on the south-eastern side of this face and continued to push their way up the section of rocks that required one piton every meter of the way. Success came with a cost. Clouds loomed and weather brewed the very day they setup bivouac, like curtains closing on the casts from their audience. Both of them were never seen alive again. Then many years later a much younger pair would take on the stage not knowing they would be the cast of the most epic drama ever written by the Grendel. A 22-year old German kid performed a move so overwhelming to the mountaineering world Hollywood blockbusters are still using it as the climax of their movies. Just hours away from the summit, the beginning of the final act opened with an orchestra of howling winds and the whistle of falling rocks and snow. Priority was if a climber was injured, rescue takes precedence. So they abandoned their mission for immortality and started downwards. One by one the mountain ate them, through exhaustion and storm and avalanche. The final one died stuck on a knot of a rope, just inches away from his rescuers.
It was through the historical traverse that many climbers were able to complete the mountain successfully. Today the thought of attempting this mountain is no longer reserved for the world's elites. But just when humans are about to dismiss the mythical Grendel as a creature of one's own fear of the unknown, it occasionally sharpens it's claws and claims a life or two.
