Jungfrau - The evil
On Wednesday, July 13 1887 six young men arrived at Lauterbrunnen. In the evening they sat around a big table in the Staubbach Hotel. They were eating a steaming hot soup and discussing their plan to climb the Jungfrau from the Rottal. Another party appeared and they changed the subject since the wanted to keep their plan a secret. The first day they reached the Rottal hut. The peaks around were hidden in dark clouds.
At five o’clock next morning they were again on the move. As they closed the door someone thought it would be a good idea to leave a note of the party’s plan. Together with their names they wrote “On the way to the Jungfrau.” In a good mood they even captured a little marmot and one of the young men decided that the animal also should make the ascent. The marmot was rolled in a handkerchief and carefully put in the knapsack.
Curiosity about the expedition arose in the valley. Through telescopes in the morning six climbers had been seen low on the south-east face. At midday dense clouds piled up heralding a storm. The enthusiasm of the climbers was still high. By two o’clock they had overcome most of the difficulties.
The six men of 1887 fell to their death down to the Jungfraufirn on the right side of the ridge.
Thunder roared in the valley, the wind howled as the six men made their way up the summit arête. One man stopped saying that he has had enough. Leaving him sheltered by some blocks the others continued. The summit was in fact no more than twenty meters away. But in the storm a meter transformed itself into a kilometer.
They stayed on the summit for only a minute, long enough to congratulate themselves on their victory. The tracks on the arête were already covered and like blind men they found their way back to the waiting comrade. “These storms never last very long”, someone said and they decided to stay where they were for the night. Clearing away the snow and piling up stones they created a small platform giving some shelter. They were just a few meters from the edge of the enormous precipice that ends on the Jungfraufirn. Six men and a marmot watched the wind blow and snow fall all night.
Their bodies frozen stiff they arose at six o’clock. “The marmot is dead”, someone said without getting an answer. “We shall be at the Rottalsattel in thirty minutes”, was heard from another voice. Eight o’clock they started down in two ropes, three men in each.
Camouflaged by snow the caravan advanced with cautious steps. The man in the lead stopped, before him, beside him, to the left and right there was nothing to see, nothing but total whiteness. One more step and it was too late. The snow collapsed and three men were dragged into the gulf. The other three ignorant of the tragedy beneath them walked the same way into the abyss.
At five o’clock next morning they were again on the move. As they closed the door someone thought it would be a good idea to leave a note of the party’s plan. Together with their names they wrote “On the way to the Jungfrau.” In a good mood they even captured a little marmot and one of the young men decided that the animal also should make the ascent. The marmot was rolled in a handkerchief and carefully put in the knapsack.
Curiosity about the expedition arose in the valley. Through telescopes in the morning six climbers had been seen low on the south-east face. At midday dense clouds piled up heralding a storm. The enthusiasm of the climbers was still high. By two o’clock they had overcome most of the difficulties.
The six men of 1887 fell to their death down to the Jungfraufirn on the right side of the ridge.
Thunder roared in the valley, the wind howled as the six men made their way up the summit arête. One man stopped saying that he has had enough. Leaving him sheltered by some blocks the others continued. The summit was in fact no more than twenty meters away. But in the storm a meter transformed itself into a kilometer.
They stayed on the summit for only a minute, long enough to congratulate themselves on their victory. The tracks on the arête were already covered and like blind men they found their way back to the waiting comrade. “These storms never last very long”, someone said and they decided to stay where they were for the night. Clearing away the snow and piling up stones they created a small platform giving some shelter. They were just a few meters from the edge of the enormous precipice that ends on the Jungfraufirn. Six men and a marmot watched the wind blow and snow fall all night.
Their bodies frozen stiff they arose at six o’clock. “The marmot is dead”, someone said without getting an answer. “We shall be at the Rottalsattel in thirty minutes”, was heard from another voice. Eight o’clock they started down in two ropes, three men in each.
Camouflaged by snow the caravan advanced with cautious steps. The man in the lead stopped, before him, beside him, to the left and right there was nothing to see, nothing but total whiteness. One more step and it was too late. The snow collapsed and three men were dragged into the gulf. The other three ignorant of the tragedy beneath them walked the same way into the abyss.