Hiking to Base Camp Matterhorn
My foot slipped on the loose rocks of the path beneath me, that little slow motion moment where you feel the slide and are not sure where it will stop. I saw a vision of myself there, in the middle of the mess up. Luckily, I didn’t fall, but in that slip, I lost some of my hold on the inner stability that we rely on as we go about here and there. I felt jittery then, like the few times I drank too much coffee and was shaky and unsettled. Me, the mother!
I stayed stuck in that unsettled place for a few moments, knowing it was by my own doing, questioning my decisions. I was with my two lovely teenage daughters, Giselle and Mimi, and the giant, beautiful mountain we were on was in charge, way more than we were. There was much to learn. I was scared of injury, maybe worse. It can be a challenging situation up there on that mountain. But more powerfully within me, within the well of each of us three, I could see, was mountain glory— hearts pounding, cheeks flushed, breath coming strong and felt, surrounded by the glorious, snow covered peaks, and thrilled with the adventure of getting ourselves to the base camp of the Matterhorn, called the Hornli Hut (Hornlihutte in German). It was the heady mix of personal challenge while connecting with massive natural splendor and it didn’t feel so foolish after all.
I stopped to take it all in as the girls forged onwards. I pushed my darling, worrier husband’s cautioning voice out of my head. He was home working (the hardest working person I’ve ever met) and would join us the following week when we’d fete him with a picnic in favorite new spot on a trail selected by Mimi. I felt confident in my constant mountain calculus of vigilant weather and time watching and sizing up everyone’s mental and physical state. I’d shifted gears emotionally from the scary slide on the scree, and I wanted to throw my hands up in a V for victory, way up on this mountain with my girls. Because we were here and climbing upwards, gutting it out, taking it on. It’s amazing what a change of heart we can have from just a moment to stop and reflect.
The sky at that particular moment was the color of a sky blue crayon and bits of snow shone sparkling white on the mountain. I sucked in a loud inhale of thin, crisp, delicious mountain air and said to myself, this is the calculus then: to have the thrill, the intense beauty of this place, the personal growth for each of us individually and together — but without actually getting (too) hurt (anyway). It was like life, but with the volume turned up. The setting was a place I cherished, the beautiful Swiss Alps on a perfect day with my beloved daughters. I felt fully alive and didn’t long for anything else or to be anywhere else. So I was all in.
The day had begun sweetly in the charming, car free village of Zermatt. We were drawn to the mountain (the Matterhorn), the mountains (the Alps), the quaint village (Zermatt), the endless perfect hiking trails (too many absolute favorites to mention), the most succulent steaks served on giant wooden butcher blocks with truffle fries, and creamy Laderach chocolates that melted from mouth to soul. We loved knowing the charming hosts of the mountain and in town restaurants and climbing huts, and adored a favorite hotel that felt like home and offered simply extraordinary hospitality. We’d had a delicious breakfast at our hotel, with multiple cups of hot tea, coffee, hot chocolate. We were ready for this day!
While in Zermatt, we often used the smooth running gondolas up the mountains to get quickly into the alpine zone. This was a special part of how many people hiked in the Alps — using the ski lifts to get to the more mountainous zones rather than hiking all the way through the lower, darker, wooded forests. Then one could spend the day hiking amongst the snowy peaks and glaciers. Up there it was quiet, snowy, often bright, and colored with white, grays, icy pale blues. In my heart, it was like the darling world inside of the sparkly white sugar Easter eggs we sometimes got as children — magical, shining, bright, a secret scene of intense beauty. It was where I felt that sense of the spirit soaring, the grandeur of the universe and the smallness of our place in it, as my mom used to say. Life always felt so special and amazing when she would say that.
To me, the mountains were a place to cultivate awe for my family, something I very much wanted each of us to experience and make a part of how we moved through our time on earth. Whether you intended to experience awe or didn’t even know what that was about, it pretty much just came to you there amongst the mountains, glittering there in the glaciers and huge white peaks. It was part of what made my life and our family life feel beautiful even with all the challenging bumps of life, and why we returned, hungering for those experiences that connect us to the universe and somehow on those sweaty, difficult hikes, make our souls whole.
Our plan that summer morning in 2018, was to take the gondola from the village up to the mountain station called Schwarzsee and then hike down a new route, the Larchenweg trail — one we hadn’t done before and where we might see marmots. How cute! I envisioned mountain meadows, wildflowers, and leaping marmots, which we actually did see much later that day. Larchenweg would be a nice opener hike towards the beginning of our trip, easy, delightful, just the thing to get our mountain legs going. We’d stop for Mimi to build some of her fantastic rock towers as she always does, and make a wonderful day of it in the mountains.
One of the great aspects of hiking here is that the trails are impeccably marked and maintained, true to Swiss precision fashion. Which isn’t to say they aren’t sometimes treacherous, but just that they are a well maintained treacherous, and of course, without the American sense of liability. That morning, when we got off at Schwarzsee — an area with a cafeteria type mountain restaurant that we’d never particularly wanted to try given the amazing riches of mountain gourmet restaurants and climbing huts — we took in the sweet little white washed chapel beside a small alpine lake, and as we stood there, something in all of us shifted. Ever so slightly, but I felt that little tingle of energy in our group as we stepped out into the alpine zone. I felt like we all stood a little bit taller, I felt possibility hovering. It was a sunny, glorious morning, nice and cool, and the Matterhorn shone brightly above us, a monumental force, impossible to ignore, and for me, impossible not to feel drawn to. We’d discussed back home in D.C. how we wanted to do the base camp climb to the Hornlihutte, how we’d been foiled before due to too much snow on the top part of the trail. There had also been Mimi’s youth in years past, and our own hesitation too, as it was reputedly one of the hardest hikes in the region. Although short.
On this morning, one of the girls blurted out, “there’s the sign for the Hornlihutte, let’s do it!” We were fresh off the journey to the Alps, just two days in (so a bit jet lagged, but never mind that in the mountain air) and all pumped up about being in Zermatt and furthermore the weather was perfect. The rest of our trio agreed, and it was the kid’s idea! We set off!
The first part of our trail, the Hornliweg, took us from Schwarzsee up to another ski lift area, not running in the summer, called Hirli. This part of the trail was steep and winding, tiring but not so long or scary. Although the Swiss trail marker time was listed as 40 minutes, it took us over an hour all uphill to get there. That was the usual though — we often joked about doubling the Swiss time to get to American hiking time. Truth be told, in recent years, we’d found ourselves happily closing in on those Swiss times. We enjoyed cataloging our hiking times getting a bit more Swiss brisk, and it sweetly marked the passage of the years we’d come to this beloved place. And marking the passage of time always made life feel real, and right, being lived rather than just gotten through. That was what I wanted for us, living in our lives.
At Hirli station, there was a large flock of shaggy haired mountain sheep with their horns twisty like the cruller donuts (they reminded me of my childhood and the crullers both of my parents liked to get at Dream Fluff donut shop in Berkeley), and their faces like solid black velvet. We stopped for some time to admire them, as both the girls loved to do when we saw the sheep throughout the mountains here. At that point, we could have turned around for an easy downhill walk and late afternoon hot tub. Instead though, we were all three excited for the climb and followed the yellow trail signs for the Hornlihutte, about 2.5 miles. Only two and a half miles. I did think and say out loud “how bad can any two and half miles really be?” Well, we were about to find out.
The next section of the trail began with serious warning signs and a metal staircase and walkways that clung blasted into a sheer rock face with a huge drop beneath it. There wasn’t any of the American style liability concern in the putting together of this section of the trail. I mean, yes, the Swiss engineering is marvelous and I didn’t worry about the world’s longest suspension bridge collapsing under me while spending ten swaying minutes crossing the Charles Kuonen Suspension Bridge on another hike, because, it was done by the Swiss with their precision engineering. They tended to get these things right time and time again. Here, though, I didn’t feel altogether great. Where the orangish brown rock curved in and out on the sheer face, the metal staircase and walkways weren’t precisely fitted to the rock. This meant that there were large gaping areas with a straight drop off that it seemed impossible to imagine surviving if one misstepped and fell through. Really though, only a leg might slip through, and Mimi’s did. She was pissed, frightened really, and suggested we turn around, saying to me in a panicked voice that she “thought she was going to fall through and die.” Because it was clear she wasn’t going to fall through, we bickered momentarily and then decided to forge onwards. Mimi went onwards still somewhat eager, though more cautious now. I felt the same way but also knew other children made this climb safely.
Some sections of the walkway were old and missing and so we had to actually leap over those. What about my love of all those perfectly maintained Swiss trails, what was this? I’d hold Mimi’s hand as she leapt, it wasn’t a big gap, but still. We looked, down, down at our feet. Beneath them was a monumental drop but we didn’t see that so clearly because the focus was all our landing spot. Our goal was enough push off to get to that safe landing pad on the other side of the gap. But because the “trail” behind us was a winding metal walkway, we couldn’t run up for our leap. It wasn’t so hard for Giselle, but younger, smaller Mimi had to be pretty focused and my grip on her arm was really tight. We three did it! Starting to wonder though, if maybe worrier husband was right about things like this.
After awhile this section transitioned to more of a trail, albeit steep, but terra firma nonetheless. We stopped for water and snacks. And just to breathe in that elixir of Swiss mountain air and some relief from our whiff of fear jumping the gaps in the metal walkways. We discovered that some beef jerky we were trying for the first time was really delicious. We sat on some big rocks with grass and teeny tiny flowers around them. There was still grass here, I really noticed the green, while enjoying the meaty, salty flavor of the beef jerky and basking in the rush of finishing the first rugged section of the trail. I felt our collective strength, our aliveness and loved that we were all tasting and seeing things so vividly. Isn’t this what it means to be alive?
We forged upwards and onwards. The trail became harder, at points it felt like a knife edge ridge (because it was) and I shouted ahead to the girls to “put your arms out for balance.” Giselle, more of a rule follower, did, but Mimi, a bit more of a do it my own way person, did not. No surprises there — and Mimi is very sure footed so I let it go and tried to concentrate, figuring everyone else was too and probably happy if Mommy would just be quiet already. The climb continued, treacherous at times, narrow, with dark gray chunks of rock underfoot, the steepest of drop offs often on both sides, and occasionally a thick wire cable attached to the rock that one could cling to, and at other times so steep that we were bent half way over just to deal with the incline. We laughed a bit and called that our “Neanderthal walk” and said to each other that “it really helps!” And it actually did.
We all had day packs on, and we always took a lot of water and then some extra, plus good snacks, rudimentary emergency supplies, and lots of extra clothing for warmth and rain protection because the mountain weather could and often did shift on a dime. I sometimes annoyed myself in the moment on a sunny morning at the hotel, packing up with all the extras, especially the many heavy bottles of water that I had us carry. But this also meant we could breathe easy and enjoy our hike more, knowing we were prepared. And we almost always drank all the water and had the various clothing layers on and off throughout the course of the day. We all knew this from our years of hiking, and no one complained. Giselle actually said she felt good with a full pack on her back. That’s my girl, I loved hearing her know this as a pleasure, and knowing she would learn to protect herself like this. Gone were the days of a little stuffed animal piggy hiking with us in Mimi’s backpack, maybe a sign that she was up for new challenges too.
Above us, looming, simply enormous, was the Matterhorn itself — the darkest charcoal gray rock, with sun glinting off the patches of snow and ice dotted all over it, and heavy clouds around the top, as usual. It was such a strong force that it actually attracted its own clouds around the summit. We were on this mountain, not approaching, but on it, and it loomed above us, almost straight up — as we clinged and climbed on this massive chunk of rock, my favorite mountain of all. Even though I was also a bit scared of it now that I was on it. But isn’t the flip side of that adoration, and many kinds of adoration, some element that isn’t all pure ease but instead that challenges us to grow in some way, I wondered to myself, sweating through my many layers of sporting wear.
Along the trail, as we wound our way up the mountain, we encountered characters who made me think thoughts like — the motley pack of humanity is up on this mountain too! The “microcosm” as my mom often discussed. First along the trail, coming down as we went up, was a group that invigorated us and pushed us onward from within — two Swiss mountain guides, superbly fit and friendly, with their organized climbing packs perfectly tamped down with straps, climbing axes and gear hung just so and well tucked away from injury. And with them, the big deal for us, a petite (like us three!), fit, radiant, almost elderly woman. She was positively glowing, she said they’d successfully summited the Matterhorn that morning and it was “wonderful!” The summit was at 14,692 feet up a sharp rock ridge requiring climbing gear, expertise and a guide. She said she’d do it again in a heartbeat and said we should train and do it one day too! For us three, this was really encouraging — it was just the thing we needed to keep us happily going. I loved that we met her, what a gift!
This encounter gave us a glimpse into putting our sights for the future higher than base camp at the Hornlihutte. I mean, this lady looked like a grandmother and she was talking about the summit and how wonderful it was to summit the Matterhorn! After chatting with that group for a bit about their summit, we all walked on our ways and of course, we three Mayorkas ladies immediately started talking about “if she can do it” and a whole new world of possibility blossomed within us. Giselle and I, anyway; I think Mimi was excited but also said something like “great, but no way am I climbing that,” gesturing to the summit thousands of feet above us. Mostly though, this encounter left us all positively buoyed — a new challenge was before us and might just be possible in a future summer, it was almost a raison d’etre for this sort of adventure.
Next along the trail we encountered two large, burly guys, both of whom looked exhausted and positively shaken. It wasn’t just their five o’ clock shadows and their bellies hanging over the waistbands of their packs; it was the fear in their darkened, flattened, exhausted eyes. No glitter there. Their guide was quiet when we asked them if they had “just summited.” The men were friendly but had clearly just come from what was a bad place for them. Their upset was palpable, I almost wanted to just get away from that bad energy. They kept telling us things like “with every step, you felt you might die, and you could have!” I asked if they would do it again, “now that you saw you can do it?” and both repsonded “Never!” I kept asking them questions I phrased in the most positive way, trying to give them some sense of reveling in their accomplishment, but nothing worked.
We chatted only a short while and left with me saying “Okay, see ya, great job, guys!” I hadn’t come close to reaching their shaken spirits and felt sad that they couldn’t celebrate their incredible accomplishment even if it was scary. But this was part of the mountain reality too. Well, okay, onwards.
We hiked up more of the narrow, twisting trail, snaking up the mountain not too uncomfortably, and next encountering a group one might call, in a friendly way, “a pack of fools.” You literally couldn’t make this crew up, they were like something straight out of a comic book. There were three of them, none were guides, though it is widely known up here that basically no one attempts the summit of this mountain without a guide. And like us, they were heading up, not down. It was their packs that first made me laugh out loud when I first saw them, but also to worry for them. They had enormous, overstuffed backpacking packs (not smaller, more streamlined climbing packs like the others we’d seen) and from these, many items dangled, yes, dangled cartoon style tied on — cooking pots, tied on water bottles, a big red plastic bowl for eating. Come on! Their packs were clearly heavy and cumbersome and also made very clear something else — they had no idea what they were doing.
We asked the dude crew if they were planning to summit and they told us “Yes, but we need to find somewhere to camp.” I almost laughed again, but was also a little irritated at their lousy mountaineering and the risks it meant to not just themselves, but others. We’d seen several signs on the narrow, windswept trails indicating “No Camping” and they were mostly where there would be the tiniest clearing that one might attempt to get a tent into. Didn’t these guys see those too and realize it was dangerous and not permitted? I wondered if they didn’t have the money for an overnight at the Hornlihutte. But they had a lot of expensive, if totally disorganized gear hanging off them all over the place, so probably not. One of them was in a Teva sandal sort of shoe despite the slippery scree underfoot and his massive backpack. I asked if they had summited other big mountains or whether they were hiring a guide. No, and no again were their answers. I thought about the Swiss mountain rescue crews and how they might risk their own lives to save a crew like this. These guys did have youth and enthusiasm on their side, but nonetheless were grossly unprepared. We chatted for awhile with them too, a bit horrified and also wanting to laugh. I worried in a motherly way about their getting hurt, and that one of my children would razz them for their total disorganization, but thankfully no one teased them.
After we hiked on past them, stumbling along in sandals and overloaded packs, we all did laugh and I called them “a pack of fools” out loud. One of my daughters said “it’s like three guys were drunk at a party and said hey let’s climb the Matterhorn and the others were like, okay, and then there they were on the trail.” This contact inspired us a bit, we felt pretty on top of our game and our much lesser goal of the Hornlihutte only part way up the mountain. We sped on, not wanting the embarrassment of hiking at their encumbered pace either. We didn’t even need to say that, we just all felt it — get away, be no part of their comical mess. Seeing them was funny, a bit worrisome on their behalf, and also inspiring in the “what not to be” way. All the life lessons on the mountain!
We started to feel a bit hungry and talked about our lunch the day before at our absolute favorite spot to eat in the mountains, beautiful, gracious Chez Vrony. I teased Giselle that the glass of rose there might have been part of the reason she twisted her ankle on the wooded walk down to Zermatt that afternoon. We had plenty of snacks with us but kept on towards a warm lunch at the Hornlihutte.
We climbed onwards on a trail that mostly went pretty straight up this huge hunk of stone mountain, but occasionally leveled out a bit for some respite. In one area where the trail was more level, it was incredibly narrow and wind swept but still offered relief from the climbing up, up, up. We pulled our parkas on and tightened them, layered up a bit with gloves and scarves. The wind was cold and ripped at our already rosy faces. Far below us we saw a tiny trail snaking through the steep pebble covered mountainside we were on, and we recognized it connecting at the North side of the Matterhorn, down below to an area we’d been to several times before, Stafel Alp. I’d previously noted this trail on the map and thought route down might appeal too. But now, seeing the trail so tiny and unsupported by anything, no boulders, no trees, no cables or metal staircases, just a steep, terribly windswept mountainside, I realized it wouldn’t feel safe. That route was out, so we’d be going back down the way we came. Life really is a series of course adjustments.
Continuing up into the clouds, at increasingly higher altitude, we climbed over boulders and up steep metal staircases. In some spots, there were metal ropes with hooks blasted in the mountainside holding them in, and we clung to those. Sometimes these ropes were out of reach for Mimi and she clung to what she could, or I would go behind her and give her a push up from behind to grab the cables where she could. We wound upwards on the rock. Mostly we were quiet, concentrating both on the getting ourselves upwards and the not falling part of this. Plus we were in the presence of, “on” the presence of, really, the magnificent mountain and its grandeur awed and hushed us too.
The final section of the trail to the base camp of the Matterhorn was a big section of mountain covered in boulders with a bit of a trail cut into them. Pulling one upwards like a magnet, was the sight of the corner of the Hornlihutte itself, its walls painted a pale yellow and sitting perched right onto the mountainside. This was it, we were on the final ascent to the Hornlihutte and adrenaline moved our legs for us, as we sped along with renewed enthusiasm. Fatigue from the huge elevation gain we’d just done simply fell behind us. As the hutte (actually a fairly large building with an old and a new section) came into view, we nearly ran to it with a feeling of victory, excitement, relief. This part of any journey is almost the sweetest, that last bit when you can feel the energy of the destination drawing you forward, connecting with the mysterious deeper forces that propel us on our life’s journeys. How wonderful to feel this sensation within and be carried along by our own two legs.
A wooden porch stood in front of the Hornlihutte and huge snow covered peaks were all around us. The Matternhorn summit itself nearly above our heads, almost a straight vertical upwards. We paused for a moment to take a picture, I wanted one of the girls but they said no, eager to explore the hut, our destination achieved. For now, I thought, until next summer or a few more? I could feel the thoughts swirling about the three of us. Giselle indulged the taking of a picture of me up on that wooden hutte porch, surrounded by soft, gigantic snowy peaks and wooden picnic tables around me. I felt elated, a glorious mother moment for me — I’d made it to this challenging place with my two daughters and we’d done it ourselves. We owned that challenge and that victory. I felt so proud of us three, and even more than that, so excited for the feeling I felt unfurling in my breast, that feeling of “what is possible,” — that sense that you get when you do hard things, that more doors ahead of you suddenly show their handles, waiting and ready for you to turn them. I was so incredibly happy. Possibility was everywhere around me, swirling in the now gray and freezing air of the high mountains.
Those glorious moments, honestly few and far between in life, although much more frequent for me in the mountains, also always seem to focus me on the big things, on what moves me, what matters most. True to this, it came to me then, spirits soaring and wrapped around these thoughts, that here— in the year that my beloved mother passed away and I held crushing loss in my heart and all of my being, yet here I was at the at the other end of that spectrum, holding huge joy, and it was all the more poignant because of this juxtaposition. I was living my life just as I wanted it right then. How often can we say that?
I knew that amongst these clouds and snowy peaks, here at the top of the world (not literally, but it sure felt like it), just as in the birdsong of the robins chirping in the woods beside my home so many thousands of miles away, that in some way my mother’s spirit soared. I knew that in whatever manner it was, she “saw” us, that she was within each of us, with us here. It was her love and constant encouragement that had helped to build in each of the three of us the strength that brought us on this challenging journey. She loved us all in her unconditional love way, and affirmed it daily for us — she filled us up with her mother love fuel, and it propelled us. And strangely, that tank refilled itself once used, as it always had. The magical mother fuel called love. I felt a sense, up by the outdoor tables, in the very cold air, at this destination we wanted so much, that things had come together in my life, that my self was full. Isn’t this what we all hope for? I know it is my truth, something that I strive for, and one of my deepest wishes for my family.
Okay, I’d had my moment and it was pretty cold up here; the girls had already gone inside to be warm and explore the world of mountain hutte life. As I entered, I saw on a small white board a simple but nice menu, mostly centered around rosti potatoes, which are like hash browns and are a Swiss mountain staple. There were rosti potatoes plain, rosti with a fried egg, rosti with cheese, rosti with bacon, or rosti with all of the fixings. Giselle and I took the rosti potatoes with all of the fixings, while Mimi went with the rosti with bacon. There was also, true to mountain hutte hospitality in this region, a homemade dessert specialty. Here, at 10,700 feet, was a beautiful, glistening homemade apricot tart, as well as a homemade herbal iced tea blend, so of course we took those in ordering too. The waitress in little restaurant area of the hutte was also running the hotel part of the hutte and her genuine friendliness was matched by her beauty — long, shiny dark hair, smooth skin, super warm smile and sparkling eyes. She told us after we had our lunch she would show us around the hutte if we wanted, which we super did want to do! When Mimi got up to explore a little while Giselle and I finished our lunches, the mountain hutte hostess offered her a high powered pair of Leica binoculars to watch for climbers coming down the Hornligrat (the summit route from Hornlihutte) and told her they checked regularly on the climbers. I loved that she trusted Mimi with these incredible binoculars and was opening up the world of hutte life to us. We felt so welcomed and cozy and trusted and curious. Such wonderful feelings to have and what a spot for them!
The hostess of the hutte showed us around, even the guides rooms, explaining that the Swiss guides took the best rooms for themselves and lived here all summer. She explained how groceries and supplies were delivered by helicopter (amazing grocery service at the mountain huttes!) and how the staff working there went down to the valley every few weeks, hiking both down and back up. We were mesmerized. We wanted desperately to stay the night and she showed us a clean bunk room with extra beds available, but alas, we hadn’t brought a medicine needed then. I made a mental note to always carry an extra pill with us if needed, just in case a great opportunity like this arose. Giselle and I murmured about coming back. Another life lesson for us: Always be ready to embrace whatever might come.
Eventually, we realized it was time to head back down the mountain to Zermatt. We’d noticed signs up at Hornlihutte and also along the trail, that indicated that the last gondola to Zermatt left in the early afternoon. We asked the charming lady working at the hutte if she thought we’d make it or have to hike all the way down, and she told us, “oh, that’s just for the tourists and older people, the last gondola is actually at 4:30.” That was a funny bit of insider information. So we indulged ourselves in a bit more time at the Hornlihutte but then started the hoof down the steep mountain. We had speed and confidence on our side this time, which isn’t to say it wasn’t scary, but we pushed onwards. It felt like we were making good time. But certain sections of the trail were terribly rocky and steep, almost harder going down, and we moved more slowly on those.
We stopped along the way a few times for Mimi to work on making rock towers, one of her favorite things in the mountains. The light was turning golden and glorious then, and we all enjoyed the breaks.
We talked about the Hornlihutte, how amazing it is, and Giselle speculated about working there one summer. The hikes up and down, the climbers from around the world. I joked to her about cute mountain climber guys. She wondered about studying German to help her work up there, and in the months to come, found a German intensive class was offered in the January plan at her college. Possibility was abundant within us!
Before I knew it, the clock had ticked closer to the last gondola time and now we really wanted to catch it. Most of the trail was simply not runnable, so we walked as briskly as we could while still feeling sure footed.
Then we ran. As we ran back down that last section of the trail, from Hirli towards Schwarszee, something delightful yet uncomfortable awakened. We were exhilarated from our incredible first time climb to and embracing experience at the Hornlihutte, we were very physically tired from the climb, and yet we pushed onwards through the fatigue in order to get, hopefully, onto that last gondola down to Zermatt village. We had that pushing through the wall of fatigue experience, realizing you are okay past the wall too. If we didn’t make that gondola, as I’d pointed out to the girls, “we will be hiking all the way down to Zermatt, possibly in the darkness.” Of course we had a small flashlight but note to all hikers a head lamp for each backpack is a good idea. Years before, my mom had given each of us one, but we hadn’t brought them. Too dorky, we thought. But practical — lessons, lessons up here! It was touch and go, I didn’t think we’d make it, if I was brutally honest rather than my usual semi unrealistic optimistic. I was okayish with running over the rocky, steep path, but my kids were less into it where it was really steep, so I ran a bit ahead thinking I’d get to the gondola first and “hold it.”
When we got to Schwarszee, we had missed the last gondola from there. Onwards now, realizing there was still the gondola lower down at Furi. So we got to do the Larchenweg trail after all. And we did see marmots leaping in the grass in the late afternoon sunshine. But now we were not stopping to linger and watch the marmots.
Part way down the hill, we all decided to run together, entering the area with a few old chalets and sparsely populated, so it was possible people would see our crew running, embarrassing, but funny too, and we didn’t care. The not caring part made us laugh. We’d just been up on the Matterhorn, for God’s sake, little sillinesses like this weren’t going to phase us. We saw then that the gondola that we wanted to take was no longer going, so that was a negative but we kept running, now maybe we were the pack of fools. But then, lo and behold, we saw the glossy red box gondola, straight out of a James Bond movie, gliding down its cable from the tippy top of the Klein Matterhorn, another peak. We thought that one closed earlier, but if it was moving, that meant someone was on it, someone was coming down and maybe we could join them, hitch a ride as it were. So we ran for that, urgent, out of breath, backpacks bopping up and down, and laughing. That laughter was the beautiful part — the discomfort, the embarrassment of our stupid situation and urgency to try to make this thing — and yet, we could also see ourselves, happy running fools, and laugh about this point in time, breathless, alive. We all understood this without discussing it, which somehow also made it funnier and just so wonderfully messy.
We arrived at the station at Schwarzsee and couldn’t quite figure out where to enter for the gondola we wanted. We’d been waving to the box gondola from Klein Matterhorn, hoping they’d see us and take pity, look for us at the station. And then, a group of mostly young, buff guys in construction working clothes emerged from the box gondola and headed over to the smaller gondolas down to the Zermatt valley. We ran up to them and could tell they were laughing a little. There was a kindly looking older man with them and he looked irritated at us. I also picked up immediately on the energy between the guys and my 17 year old daughter, lovely and flushed from running, and I could feel their appreciation although the “we are three women alone” part of my brain signaled on and asked, “is this safe?” On the cold concrete floors and shadowy darkness of the gondola station, we approached the group and I asked in English “we came late from Hornlihutte, is there any way we could get a ride down to the valley with you guys?” Nobody spoke English, or so it seemed. The older man said something to the group of younger guys, which I could tell translated roughly as “stupid tourists!” and they all laughed. Then Giselle said something in Spanish, she’s fluent and must have realized a few of the guys were speaking Spanish to each other, and then game on, there was conversation. They’d been late working up at the top of the glacier paradise area and so even though the gondolas were shut now, the operator (the older man, whom we later learned was Portuguese) had come up to get them and bring them down. They’d turn on the lower gondola to ride the last bit down to the valley, and yes, we could get on it with them. The older man sensed our discomfort about the cars, us three ladies and a group of about 15 youngish guys, and he communicated that they would take the ones in front and we would ride with him in the car behind them. Giselle said we didn’t have tickets though (the ticket sales booth was long closed), and there was more laughter and something like, “just get on.” Now we were definitely the unprepared, motley crew bumbling along. Oh how we all takes turns riding the different character spots in life.
We rode down to the valley with the older man from Portugal and managed somewhat of a conversation with Spanish and English and a few words of Portuguese. He was thrilled to learn my husband had worked for Obama, said he loved Obama. We chatted as best we could with him, and kept trying to express our appreciation for his help and he’d smile kindly at us from worn, tired eyes. When we tried to pay him at the end of the gondola ride down, he staunchly refused. He’d become our host, and so we thanked him, our host, profusely. I thought again about the ride down as we walked from the gondola station to our hotel — about the balance between worrying about this big group of men, and then about being so thankful for the friendly connection we ended up making, and the super helpful ride down those last steep miles as it was getting darker. I was really grateful for the small kindnesses such as these. They matter, they make us who we are, and show us who we can become in any kind of circumstances.
When we got back into the village, there was still some light out and we were so hungry from all the hiking and running, but it wasn’t European dinner time yet, still early for that. We’d always wondered about a sausage vendor on the main street, set up in front of a shop called Metzgerei Bayard— would they be delicious homemade sausages or lousy street vendor hot dog fare? We decided to try them and the taste was exquisite. Each bite was exploding with flavor, we kind of couldn’t believe our good fortune just tasting them. We were hungry, and we were exhilarated from our adventure — some part of all of us was more open to what was before us, to taste, to seeing, to appreciating. We looked closer at the shop too, it was a beautiful little meat shop filled with goodies, and we knew we’d found a new favorite in town today. We sat eating our delicious, warm sausages and talked about how tired we were, how amazing and also frightening and even funny the trip was today. Giselle said maybe she’d study German during her college January plan so that she could apply to work at the Hornlihutte next summer. I imagined her learning about the mountain climbing life up there on the mountain, amidst the clouds, hiking to the valley and back up every few weeks. Some door inside us had opened up on the mountain, and funnily enough, once that door opened, we all saw there were so many doors ahead that could be opened as well. I hadn’t really realized we’d get this gift too, it was just a hike, and yet it was kind of everything I’d wanted for my children…possibility awakened.
