Happy Days in the Bergell

Edward Hartmann

I HAVE always taken great pleasure in reading the articles in the Alpine Journals and have thought the authors must have found equal enjoyment in writing them and thus bringing back memories of their past climbs. But I never imagined that I would someday enjoy the same privilege and reminisce of happy days spent in the hills.

There is a great deal to say in favor of the Bergell,1 this little bit of granite tucked away in the S.E. corner of Switzerland. It is to the W. of the Bernina massif, between the Maira River to the N. and the Valtellina to the S. The rock is excellent, a beautiful gray granite, different in color from the Chamonix one, but it breaks up in the same manner and offers the same type of climbing. The approaches are short and through beautiful scenery, up to the Forno, Albigna or Sciora Huts and, on an off day between climbs, the upper Engadine is there with its lovely lakes and meadows as a rest to the weary. Nowhere in Switzerland, and probably nowhere in western Europe except at the Lautaret Pass in Savoy, are the flowers more plentiful in the early summer and up to the middle of July. The Engadine sky has an Italian quality; it is of a deeper blue than in the rest of Switzerland and one can usually expect longer spells of good weather than in the Oberland, the Pennines or the Mont Blanc district. And if rain does pin one to the valley, there are the picturesque Engadine villages to explore: Sils, Celerina, Pontresina, Madulein and the prize jewel Zuoz with its old Planta house, the finest sample of old Engadine architecture. On the other side, beyond the Maloja Pass, the Val Bregaglia takes on at once an Italian appearance: Casaccia, Vicosoprano, Bondo, are just quaint little villages, but on the northern slopes is Soglio with a fine old house, the home of the de Salis family, now turned into an inn, and a beautiful view of the Bergell across the valley.

The greatest attraction of the Bergell is that it is not popular and huts are not overcrowded. The Swiss go there, but very few foreigners and none of those who just climb to collect celebrated summits. Except for Piz Badile there is scarcely any which has made its way into Alpine literature and the mountains are there for mountain lovers only. The climbs are short, as the huts are between 6000 and 9000 ft. and the summits between 10,000 and 11,000 ft. This means a comfortable start at sunrise, a long stay at the top before noon and an early return to the hut allowing for a rest before the next day’s climb. It may not sound very sporty and it certainly isn’t very strenuous, but this makes it a perfect massif for the middle-aged climber and a pleasant training ground for the more ambitious before moving to higher ground.

Nowhere is the climbing of extreme difficulty. The N. ridge of the Badile, however, is of quite a good class; Klucker had to turn back and give it up, and it was only recently climbed by Alfred Zürcher and Walter Risch. The Ago di Sciora, the Punta Rasica and the Cima del Largo offer interesting pitches, but I have enjoyed myself even on the other and easier peaks. This is not a massif for ice craft, there are only a few small glaciers and very easy ones; and of course the low average altitude takes away that feeling of aloofness which is such an exhilarating experience on higher mountains of the 4000 m. group.

I spent happy weeks in the Bergell during three consecutive seasons, climbing some of its peaks from the Forno and Albigna Glaciers, but never explored the finer peaks S. and W. of the Bondasca Glacier. By mid-August 1937, after a few weeks in Zermatt, my wife and children thought they had a right to a quieter and pleasanter place and we moved to Sils Maria. As I left Zermatt a friend had advised me to look into the Bergell, so I made arrangements with G., a local guide, and one afternoon we walked up to the Forno Hut. Few mountain huts can be reached so pleasantly. One leaves the road at Maloja, and a short hour later one gets to Lake Cavloccio, a small but most lovely bit of dark green water with good trout fishing. After this the path works its way up very gradually, first among larches, then through the rhododendrons scattered amongst large boulders. I have met more marmots on that stretch, near Plancanin, than anywhere else in the mountains. About an hour after leaving Lake Cavloccio one climbs up a short frontal moraine and takes to the glacier, which is very easy going. The first bit only is a little steep but even that can be negotiated with ordinary hobnails. After this the glacier becomes almost level. The Forno Hut stands on its right bank about fifteen minutes up a steep path. It was enlarged shortly after the first World War and is now a typical average size Swiss Alpine hut: kitchen and diningroom on the ground floor and accommodations for about fifty upstairs. It is built of stone and lined with wood inside. It stands on a platform and from it there is a fine view of the Torones, Rasica, Cantone, Casnile and Bacone.

The keeper is not the least attraction of the Forno Hut. I don’t know his name, but he is called the “Munk” which is Swiss for Marmjot. Obesity and a tendency to uncleanliness are supposed to justify this comparison. In France our hut-keepers are old guides, but in Switzerland this is not always the case; the patronage system commands the choice in many instances. The Forno Hut was built and is managed by the Section Rorschach of the S.A.C., and as Rorschach is on Lake Constance there are no old guides to be found in this city but only a large railroad yard; so a railroad man was appointed to the Forno. Well, the system may be wrong but the choice was very fortunate. Never was there a pleasanter and more genial man than the “Munk,” for, whether or not he be from the valley, a Swiss takes to the mountains at once. The “Munk” was the mountaineers’ friend and when all the climbers were off, in the morning and early afternoon, he would sit in front of his hut with a telescope and keep his eyes on “his parties.” When one came back to the hut there was not only hot water for tea, but plenty of information on what had been happening on the several mountains of the “Forno-gebiet.” The “Munk” claimed very proudly to have gone up Monte Sissone. Local guides agreed that the feat had been achieved and also that it had been a feat to get him up there.

That first evening, after supper, as I sat on the platform in front of the hut I saw a dozen men in single file, heavily laden, plodding up the Forno Glacier. What a strange lot of climbers and wherefore? Not a bivouac certainly, when all the surrounding summits could be reached from the hut in five or six hours. They were smugglers. Almost every day they would be seen at sunset; they climbed up the Sissone, an easy walk up snowfields, and at dawn would go down into Italy, carrying tobacco, chocolate, coffee and a few other goods which Fascist taxes and import restrictions had made scarce in the land of Mussolini. The Italian side of the ridge was heavily patrolled by custom men and militia, but this simply implied the sacrifice of a certain percentage of the smuggled goods.

The next morning G. and I headed for the head of the Forno Glacier and the Cima di Castello. The climb was so short and easy that it was rather a comedown after Zermatt. But after sitting up there for an hour in the sun I changed my mind; this was well worth while. It was a glorious day and all those granite peaks and ridges were good to see. From the Castello I looked down on to the Punta Rasica just in front, with the Tor one group to the left, the Zocca, Ferro and Scioras to the right. Beyond the Scioras, the Cengalo and Badile were standing high. To the left of the Torone ridge were the Monte Sissone, Cima di Rosso, and Cima Vazzeda, and far beyond, to the left of the Vazzeda, were the big peaks of the Bernina Group: Morteratsch, Bernina, Scerscen and Roseg. From this angle however they did not show to their best advantage, but to the left of the Torones stood up one of the most graceful mountains I had seen: the Disgrazia. The Castello was well worth climbing for from its summit almost every peak of the Bergell Group could be seen.

I think it took us about two hours to follow the easy ridge leading N. to the Cima di Cantone. Half-way across we had to leave it and cut our way down to the left around a series of gendarmes. Otherwise it was just a pleasant walk, high above the Albigna and Forno Glaciers and with the shapely Bergell on both sides. From the Cantone there is an ice ridge leading down to a series of gendarmes that kept us busy for a couple of hours of good sport. But sport is not the only pleasure mountains can bring to us and a bright sunny day in the mountains is a joy in itself. I enjoyed that one thoroughly.

We slept at the Forno and the next morning headed W. across the glacier, to climb the Piz Bacone and the Cima del Largo from the Fuorcla del Bacone which lies between. A storm was in the making, the weather muggy and the approach seemed uninteresting after the preceding day. When we got to the col the weather looked so menacing that it became evident we had only time for one peak, if that. G. advised the Largo as more interesting and because the Bacone had the strange habit of always attracting lightning when there was storm. I believe G. was rather glad of the bad weather, as this was a good excuse for by-passing on the right most of the gendarmes of the ridge leading to the Largo, and if G. was good and keen on ice, as I later found out in the Bernina Group, he was a poor rock climber.

None who have seen the Largo will forget it: a small mountain so ruggedly built that it gives one the illusion of being a big one. It falls sheer on both sides, and with a flat stone on its top it very much reminds one of the Grépon. When one has followed the ridge to the foot of the Cima del Largo one looks up at a rather formidable-looking slab, but there are two cracks which will see you up; the left one is a little difficult but the one to the right is easier and that is the one G. led up (The storm, you know …). Then a flat platform, over a large stone, around the corner to the right, and a short climb which landed us back to the left just above the platform and the slab; another few minutes brought us to the summit. The climb is nowhere difficult, but interesting as it requires constant care and in many places one sees the valley between one’s legs. G. was right, and when we were back at the Fuorcla lightning was striking the Bacone, so the fun was over for that day and we raced down to the valley but not fast enough to avoid being soaked by the rain. The bad weather lasted until my vacation came to an end and I saw no more of the Bergell that year, but I had liked it and I came back.

For 1938 I had planned a few fine ridges in Zermatt. One always plans more ridges than one climbs, and I had planned the Rothorngrat, the Zmiuttgrat, and the Cresta Rey of Monte Rosa. I had decided to bring with me my old friend Etienne Payot, who used to guide me in Chamonix, and as a training ground I thought the Bergell would be just what we wanted.

On our first day we went up to the Forno Hut and the next morning traversed the Cima Vazzeda and the Cima di Rosso. Seen from a distance the Vazzeda is a good-looking mountain but the climb is disappointing. The way up is mostly to the left of the ridge over the N.E. face, the rock is broken and offers no where good sport. From there to the Cima di Rosso takes about an hour. The rock improves and the climb is more interesting, except for the last ridge up the Cima di Rosso which is over easy snow. We had a good view of the Castello-Cantone-Casnile-Bacone ridge facing us across the Forno Glacier and of the Torones to the S. To the E. the Bernina Group looked very lofty, and right in front of us was the Disgrazia with its fine ridges sweeping gracefully up to the summit. It was such a splendid mountain that we decided we would have to climb, it, and we did a few days later. From the top of the Cima di Rosso it is an easy run down to the Forno Glacier over snow fields and we were back to the hut for lunch.

We slept at the Forno again that night and the next day worked our way up to the Fuorcla del Bacone. This time the weather was fine and it made all the difference. With crispness in the air and the exhilarating prospect of a good climbing day the trail up to the Fuorcla was as enjoyable as it had been tedious the year before. How could it be that I had not noticed then all the brightly-colored rock flowers as the path crosses the lower slopes of the Casnile? And I can even now feel the pleasure every mountaineer well knows, when my hands felt the cold granite still untouched by the sun, on that first scramble as one takes off from the glacier.

The Bacone proved easy, and once we had gone up and down the N. ridge and were having some food on the Fuorcla we looked in the guidebook and were surprised to see that there were supposed to be three difficult pitches, for we could remember none. We had a long day before us still and perfect weather, so we made the best of the Largo and it had to yield every bit of sport it could show.

We followed the ridge faithfully, climbed every gendarme and when we got to the big slab we chose the more difficult left crack. It is a lovely sight from the summit to look sheer down to the Albigna and Maira Valleys, 5000 or 6000 ft. below with their fine meadows and woods.

A few days later we were there on our way to the Ago di Sciora. From Sils one drives over the Maloja Pass and down the Maira Valley. At once the landscape becomes Italian, the houses are different, the air is warmer and deciduous trees replace the evergreens. One strikes the path to the Albigna Hut in the woods just above Vicosoprano and it is one of the pleasantest ascents to a hut I can remember: woods, a torrent crossed on a rickety bridge, an easy path winding through woods again until it emerges in high grass and flowers. We had plenty of time, so we rested in the last shade as we came to the tree line and looked up with amazement at the Bacone. From here it was such a fine-looking peak that we came to like it and be proud of that mountain, and forget what we had thought of it as we ran up its N. ridge.

The Albigna Hut is tiny and old, with only one room, two tiers of bunks on one side and the table for meals just in front. I like those old primitive huts; there is something intimate about them, and they remind me of my youth when there were more of them. Now many have been rebuilt in stone, enlarged, and the crowds come to them.

The next day was another fine day in the mountains, and one to test Etienne as a path-finder for neither of us had ever gone up the Albigna Glacier. I believe we fumbled a bit to get onto that glacier. We had started early and by the light of the lantern we must have scrambled over more boulders and did more cursing than would have been necessary if we had seen the cairns and kept more to the left. There should always be something of an explorer in a mountaineer. I know few pleasanter hours than those when one slowly works up a new glacier with unknown peaks gradually coming into sight. We were in the shade a long time, but as we skirted the foot of the Pioda and had our first view of the Ago it was glorious in the golden rays of the early morning sun.

The glacier had receded more than usual from the rock at the foot of the Ago that year, and we had some trouble bridging the chasm and effecting a lodgement. We had a rest in the sun after this, on a ledge where we left our ice-axes and nailed shoes. All around us were innumerable white, red, pink and blue cushion-flowers. The Ago stood above us and to our right and as we started again we knew the general direction to follow. But from here on the climb is done in rubber or rope soles, and there were none of the usual nail scratches on the rocks to guide us. We should have struck straight up what looked to us like a fairly difficult chimney, but we thought the way was better over easier ledges to the right. Well, the ease did not last and we were led to a chimney much more tricky than the one we had avoided. It was fairly short but with very few holds, and water from melting snow trickled down making the rock slippery. Etienne got up as far as a large jammed stone which blocked the way, but was so unsteady that it could not be used for a hold and had to be carefully left alone. I came up just below Etienne and held his feet, which were starting to slip on the wet rock, but I was scarcely more secure myself as we both had rope soles, and nothing is worse once wet. Etienne is a beautiful rock climber with that essential quality, balance, and there is nothing more graceful to watch than a good climber with never a useless movement, never more weight on a hold than it can take. I was mighty glad to have him in the lead on that pitch.

After this the rest seemed easy: a series of ledges and short chimneys led us up to the col between the Ago and the Sciora di Dentro, and from there it is about an hour to the top of the Ago. There are small vertical cracks, two long slanting chimneys, a delicate traverse and, prettiest of all, the last ten feet where one just walks with careful balance on a sloping rock. There are no hand holds but the granite is rough and it is far easier than it looks if one has a good balance and does not consider the drop to the right. From the summit one looks straight down to the Bondasca Glacier and across it to the Gemelli, the Cengalo and the sheer E. face of the Badile, which has only recently been climbed. Across the Maira lay Soglio with its graceful church spire amidst the Lombardy poplars. There is a fine rappel from the summit, about 60 ft. long, and after this we retraced our steps. We were in good form by now and enjoyed the whole way back to the valley. There is something exhilarating and difficult to describe when the body obeys with ease. And when the day’s work is done and one sits down in the cooler evening air and stretches out one’s limbs, there is a feeling of well being, a joy that is not purely physical. The face is still warm from the day’s sun, the mind recalls the climb just over and one is at peace with oneself.

The Punta Rasica one of the best climbs in the Bergell, had been foremost on our program that year. Once already the rain had thwarted us but after the Ago the weather remained steady and we headed again for the Forno Hut. In the early morning hours we walked up the Forno Glacier towards its S.W. corner, reaching the foot of the broad ice couloir leading up to the col between the Rasica and the Torone Occidentale. The slope is fairly steep and usually requires step cutting, but the snow fallen during the previous week was still lying in good condition and we were able to kick most of our way up.

We met the sun at the col and made our first stop to change shoes. From there the ridge runs E.-W. to the summit, forming the border between Switzerland and Italy. The rock is sound and the climb interesting without being very difficult until one gets to the final tower. This is a rather formidable bit of granite some thirty to forty feet high. The edge which one faces is narrow, a little like the bow of a ship, but not quite as sharp as the name of the mountain suggests (Punta Rasica = razor point). There are no holds on either side and it is slightly inclined to the left, a feature which is not evident when one looks at it from below but which becomes apparent as one takes off, for one feels at once off balance and falling towards Italy if one has started with the wrong foot. During the lower third the ridge itself is notched here and there but the next ten or twelve ft. are smooth and one can only depend on friction between the knees held tight, or by locking the leg with a foot on one side and the knee on the other. There are no holds for the hands so one just seizes the ridge tightly between the thumb and the other fingers; the ridge is so narrow that this is fortunately quite possible. The last ten feet are less steep but still very strenuous for, as the ridge becomes broader, the technique used lower down becomes inadequate. The summit tower is descended by a short rappel on the Swiss side. The whole ascent is too short to compare with any of the big Alpine ridges, but as a minor climb it remains one of the most interesting ones I remember.

It was our last day in the Bergell and we were leaving for Zermatt on the morrow, so we lingered and made several long stops on the ridge as we returned to the col. On the Italian side the valleys were dark in the shade as immense clouds towered up in majesty, but all the Swiss side was bright and sunny and there were all our old friends around us, all the peaks we had climbed and enjoyed. We had lingered so long that the snow had become soft and treacherous on the ice slope and gave us some trouble.

The following year in 1939, André Derocque, my usual climbing companion, was able to come. He had had pneumonia in 1938 and had done no mountaineering for two years. The Bergell was just the thing for him as a training ground, I thought, and from there we could turn to the higher Bernina peaks when he felt in shape once more. Etienne Payot was the third in our party and we repeated for Derocque several of our previous climbs, the Ago, the Largo, the Bacone, the Rasica. There is always a subtle difference between two ascents of the same mountains which gives each one a distinct place in our memory. The mountain may be different, with snow in the cracks and glaze on the N. faces, or dry, warm, sound and easy. Some days the weather is uncertain, the clouds are ominous, the lighting bleak, and one hurries along on what seems an unfriendly ridge, while on other days it is just a delight to drink in every moment of a beautiful day and of a glorious climb. And what of ourselves, of our physical form, possibly also of our mental state ?

I wonder if in the summer of 1939, unconsciously, we did not all three enjoy the mountains differently than in any other year. We pretty well knew that we were not to see them the next and possibly not for several more. And one of us was not to see them ever again. At the end of August we had gone up the Biancograt and we sat all three in the sun on the top of the Piz Bernina. We were looking around but also making plans for the next year: would it be Zermatt and the Schalligrat of the Weisshorn, the Cresta Rey of Monte Rosa; or Grindelwald and the E. ridge of the Jungfrau; or should we return to the Engadine and climb the N. ridge of the Badile and the Roseg over the Sella ridge? We were planning in the peace of our 4000 m. summit, far above the rest of the world, but there was some unreal quality in our words, and we must each have felt in our inner selves that other tasks might be set for us. Many things did happen indeed. A year later Derocque had been killed, Etienne treacherously captured by the Germans as he came back from the fighting in Norway. Having climbed mountains together links men for better and for worse, and it was upon me that Etienne most naturally called to help him in his escape. Someday, who knows, the two of us may return to the Bergell. We shall sit in the sun on a summit, look at the familiar mountains around us, at the clouds rising over Italy and remember our friend who is no more.

1Bregaglia in Italian. East of the Maloja Pass, in the Engadine, German and Romansh are spoken, west of the Maloja in the Val Bregaglia, where flows the Maira River, the language is Italian. The three languages are used in place-names of the Bergell. Monte in Monte Sissone is Italian; Muot would be the Romansh form. Piz is Romansh in Piz Badile. The Romansh form Vadret is sometimes used for glacier, but most local guides say Gletscher in German. Cantone and Bacone, the Italian forms also used in German, are heard more often than the Romansh Cantun and Bacun.

The southern boundary of the Bergell massif forms the border of Switzerland and Italy. All the summits are either in Switzerland or on the border, none are inside Italy. The Monte della Disgrazia, mentioned further is in Italy, but is not in the Bergell. Topographically, the area forms the west wing of the Bernina massif.