Weber-Schäli Route

Jungfrau North Face
We were hungry, endlessly motivated - and probably also a little naive. At least I was.
When Ralf Weber, my former mentor, used to call me and make a suggestion, I was always up for it. On December 6, 2000, Ralf had discovered a narrow icefall high up on the north face of the Jungfrau from his home in Spiez.

Ralf was one of the most active and talented ice climbers in the Bernese Oberland at the time and the season could never start early enough for Ralf.
So we set off on this adventure from the Jungfraujoch and traversed below the north face of the Jungfrau. Exposed terrain - a place where it's better not to fall, right from the start. Our approach led us over the Giesen Glacier in a direct fall line to the thin ice track high up in the summit area. When I look at the photo in the SAC guidebook today, it seems as if we entered in the area of today's lines 207.4 or 207.3, regardless.

I remember that we started in a steep ice field. After a few pitches, the terrain changed to steeper, combined terrain - exposed and serious. Straight up it got steeper and steeper, probably vertical, and one pitch seemed particularly difficult and time-consuming. The logical way out led us to the right, rather pushing off, out to the north face rib. From there, after about two pitches, we went slightly to the left again, where we met our recognizable ice line again, which continued for about two pitches.
I remember the upper part of the tour better - I did it again later with Lucien Caviezel via the north face rib. Back then, we were able to paraglide directly back down into the valley.

During our ascent in December 2000, the weather became increasingly stormy. It was already getting dark. In the last, flatter pitch - just before the ice plateau of the Jungfrau - the wind was so strong that it suddenly lifted me from my inclined climbing position, even though I was standing with both ice axes in the ice. For a moment I was afraid of losing my balance and falling backwards. After this shock, I quickly set an ice screw and climbed the last few meters to the flat glacier plateau of the Wengener Jungfrau with extreme caution.

There was no time to enjoy the summit - the Föhn storm was now raging in full force and it had long since been night. Ralf decided that we should dig a snow hole to find shelter from the storm - in the hope that the weather would calm down.
Exhausted, dehydrated and tired, without stoves or bivouac materials, we sat in this hole. The snow was too thin, so we soon came across ice. The hole offered scant protection from the wind. I can't remember how long we sat there. At some point we were so cold that we simply had to move again. Fortunately, the wind had died down a bit. Instead, it started to snow heavily - thick flakes like at Christmas.

Ralf decided that we should descend over the Silbergrätli via Chly Silberhorn. There we could orient ourselves more easily along the ridge and the north face than on the extensive Jungfraufirn. We were afraid of not being able to find the Jungfraujoch in the whiteout and without a compass on the large glacier.

So we spent the whole night descending and ascending through challenging, exposed terrain. Below the Mathildespitze, making tracks in the fresh new snow became grueling work - and increasingly dangerous due to avalanches. We were at the end of our tether - as were the batteries in our headlamps, which had lasted the whole night.

We finally reached the plateau of the Jungfraujoch. But in the thick fog and driving snow, we couldn't find the entrance to the safe interior. We were exhausted, disoriented, searching desperately - until we suddenly stood below the steep north face of the Sphinx and realized from the rocks where we were, wrong, now we were too far east!  Ralf and I tried again and again to determine our position with the old 1:25,000 map and a few seconds of headlamp light before the lamp finally failed.
We were completely exhausted, wandering around - close to the rescue entrance, but blind in the snowstorm. Suddenly we spotted a wooden door in the snow that was covered in snow - part of the construction site on the yoke. What a relief! Finally, for the first time, we fell into each other's arms.
Fuck - what a mess.

I will never forget this action! It was one of the most instructive - and naive - first ascents of my life in the high mountains.
With crampons on our feet, we trudged through the ice palace to the café bar. We left our completely snowed-in climbing equipment there and fell onto the sofas, dead tired. A few hours later, we were rudely awoken - by the angry ice master, who insulted us in the deepest Bernese Oberland dialect. I can only remember his big belly, his big beard - and the fact that I didn't care about his anger at all.
Sure, we had scratched the ice palace with crampons and we apologized. But we were just glad to be back in civilization. Even this thunderstorm suddenly seemed almost comical - given what we had been through in the last 20 hours.