Weissmies, Saastal 🇨đź‡
I’m writing this just a few days after summiting Weissmies—my first 4000-meter peak in the Alps. It’s all still fresh: the fatigue, the adrenaline, the doubts, and the quiet satisfaction. So before it starts to blur, here’s the story of how it unfolded.
The idea for this climb had been building up for a while. I’d done some smaller missions in the Chamonix Valley last year with my guide, Pere—an ice climb on the Mer de Glace, a traverse of Aiguilles Marbrées. This year, I wanted to level up.
We planned a three-day trip in the Swiss Alps: a warm-up multi-pitch climb to acclimatise, followed by a summit push on Weissmies via the southwest ridge, then a descent over the glacier into the Hohsaas Valley. This wasn’t a spontaneous thing. I’d been training consistently: weekly intervals, StairMaster sessions with a weighted vest, long runs—peaking at around seven hours a week. Physically, I felt ready.
We set off from the Almageller Valley, which immediately struck me as something rare. Unlike the more developed parts of the Saas region—like Saas-Fee, crisscrossed with ski lifts and artificial slopes—the Almageller Valley felt untouched. No infrastructure. No noise. Just pure mountain. The weather was unpredictable: some sunshine, some clouds, even a little rain. But the temperatures were manageable, and we climbed the 1,200 meters up to Almagellerhütte without issue.
The hut was quiet. Only six of us in a 10-bed dorm. I slept terribly—cramped in my sleeping liner, half-awake most of the night. Around 4 a.m., I gave up, got out of bed, and went for an early breakfast. Pere and I weren’t in a rush. We preferred to let the other parties leave first and then enjoy a more relaxed pace, without the stress of passing or being passed.
By the time we left the hut, we were the last ones on the trail. But we gradually overtook about half the teams as we moved up toward the ridge. The previous day’s snowfall had coated the route with a fresh alpine layer, which made things more beautiful—and more serious. We also witnessed the majestic 4k peaks washed in a pinkish hue as the first sunrays of the day hit, slowly turning yellow as the sun was rising up.
Climbing as a party of three, we roped up and started chipping away at the ridge. The altitude began to show. My fingers and toes were freezing. It was colder than expected for mid-July. Gusts reached up to 60 km/h, and with windchill, it felt like -20°C.
We took just two quick breaks: one to gear up with helmets and harnesses, and one for crampons. There wasn’t much time for photos or views. This wasn’t one of those leisurely climbs. It was a get-up-and-get-down kind of day.
On top of Weissmies 4017M
We summited in high winds. The view was impressive, but honestly, we couldn’t even enjoy it. We had a long and steep descent ahead—1,200 meters over the glacier into Hohsaas.
This was where things shifted. I’ve walked on glaciers before, but always relatively flat ones. The Weissmies descent is steep and exposed. At one point, I had to redo my boot laces. I had foolishly taken off my gloves—something you should never do in high alpine windchill—and my fingers went numb almost instantly. I turned away from the wind, got it done, and moved on, but the whole experience rattled me.
Later on the glacier, things got scarier. There was one particular section where a misstep could have sent me straight into a crevasse. I saw footprints leading into fragile snow bridges, likely where someone’s leg had punched through. It made everything suddenly feel real.
I had a moment there—honestly, more than one—where I questioned it all. Was it worth it? If I didn’t have a kid, maybe I’d have seen this fear as part of the thrill. But now? The risk felt heavier. More complicated.
It wasn’t just fear—it was reflection. The kind that altitude, exposure, and silence pull out of you.
Eventually, we made it down the steep sections. I breathed a deep sigh of relief when we reached the base of the glacier. The hard part was over. We walked into Hohsaas Hütte and collapsed with cold Cokes in hand, watching the glacier we had just descended. From there, we could see the other great peaks of the region: Lenzspitze, Nadelhorn, Dom, and Dürrenhorn. Pere pointed to a section of fresh icefall debris—chunks of glacier that hadn’t been there just three days earlier. A stark reminder of the changing mountain environment. Climate change, live and loud.
So how was it?
Well, it was hard. It was cold. It was scary. But it was also something I’ll never forget.
Weissmies was my first 4000er, and I think it taught me more about myself than any other climb. I didn’t get that cliché summit moment with arms raised and a wide grin. But I did get something quieter: a deep respect for the mountains and the margins we dance along when we enter their world.
Would I do something like this again? Maybe. Not tomorrow. Right now, my mind’s focused on my first ultramarathon. But I’m pretty sure the mountains will call again. And when they do, I’ll be ready.
