North Face

Late March 2025.

An email arrives, choc a bloc full of details. From a member of my high school graduating class. He outlines plans for a 50th year reunion. Golf, brewery and winery tours, sumptuous dinners, on the itinerary. Drinks and toasts. No doubt some speeches also on the agenda. Plenty of reminiscing, of rehashing old stories, guaranteed.

The proposed event sends me down memory lane. Five decades ago. Exploits, too many to count, of a wonderful group of real characters immediately spring to mind. So too a bagful of teenage hijinks. Multiple sporting occasions upon which to further reflect. Choir, band, musicals, and so much more.

Even, on occasion, academics. Order and discipline required. Classes held in a draughty building. Desks in impossibly neat rows, chalk scraping across blackboards. Furious scribbling in notebooks as we fight to master the basics of English, History, French and Mathematics. Very few bells and whistles, limited audio-visual options to help lessons come to life. Fancy new toys, such as email, computers, pocket calculators, Walkmans, video games, either non-existent or barely in their infancy.

Nonetheless, our minds can still roam and imagine. To this end, on regular occasions, an algebra teacher, sensing our restlessness under the weight of long division, fractions, and equations, pops open his briefcase. Withdrawing a battered, leather-bound novel, he begins to read.

Just a few pages motivate and inspire, introduce important lessons, unlock new worlds. Each character a gateway to different emotions, traditions, and perspectives. Each story, and its telling, a journey to a far away land.

In one case to the Swiss Alps, to an attempted ascent of the challenging and dangerous Eiger. To its infamous Nord wand, or north face. To a harrowing tale of ambition, error, raw courage, and ultimate tragedy.

July 18, 1936. Early morning.

A young German climber, Toni Kurz, leaves his tent in the meadow outside Grindelwald, a small town at the foot of the emblematic mountain. Alongside friend Andreas, and joined by two Austrians, Edi and Willy, he plans to be the first ever to conquer the steep and formidable north face.

Dreams of fame and glory prove irresistible. Media interest gathers momentum, while tourists basking below in the summer sun follow the quartet through binoculars and telescopes.

The steep mountain face, 1800 meters of rock and ice, is deemed unclimbable. Literally a suicide wall. Kurz and his mates labelled lunatics, mad, and mentally deranged. Yet, fueled by a taste for adventure and with the natural indestructability of youth, they press on.

The first day begins smoothly enough, but the group soon runs into serious difficulty. A north face immersed in shadow, worn down over time by avalanches and rockfalls. Bitingly cold, treacherous, and virtually impenetrable. Moreover, snowstorms, piercing winds, and sudden, severe temperature drops remain common.

To complicate matters, Kurz and his friends are badly equipped. Woolen hats, socks, gloves, and boots turn damp, then freeze solid in the frigid temperatures. Homemade crampons and poor-quality ropes further hamper progress. Above them, as they navigate a series of crevices and rocky ledges, looms a sheer icefield. Below lies a frightening drop into the abyss.

The situation quickly worsens. A stray rock hits Willy in the head, knocking him woozy. Then, having climbed above and fixed a belay for the others to cross a particularly slippery rock formation, Andreas retrieves the rope. In so doing, he unwittingly seals the group’s fate. For no way now exists to return via the difficult traverse without a rope already securely in place.

Two agonizing nights follow. Exhaustion and uncertainty set in. Willy continues to lapse in and out of consciousness. Clearly, he can no longer keep up.

Still, Toni and Andreas, both fearless and foolhardy, set off for the summit at dawn. Yet, the icefields prove impassable. With more unpredictable weather on the way, the two climbers turn back. Another night at “Death Bivouac” precedes a fourth freezing morning and the need to renegotiate the hazardous traverse.

The reality of a perilous situation hits hard. A new layer of ice covers the rock face. Finding foot holds or laying a rope prove virtually impossible.

In Grindelwald, some 1000 meters below, observers watch in morbid fascination. Shifting clouds ensure the climbers disappear from view, reappear, then vanish again. Darkness descends, visibility fades, rocks and stones tumble down. Chilled to the bone, four young men, one in terrible condition, fight for their lives.

Their only hope is now a forced descent via an overhanging cliff to a series of small ledges. With it, a slim chance to reach the safety of a door cut into the face of the mountain, next to one of the Eiger’s internal railway stations.

Suddenly, a voice of salvation. A station master yells out into the void. Spirits soar, as rescue, just a long length of rope away, seems nearby. Yet, in a disastrous show of hubris, Tony calls back that all is well, that the group would be down soon. There is no mention of frozen boots and clothing, of a seriously injured companion, of the group’s rapidly failing strength.

Then, disaster and terror in equal measure. Terrifying sounds as huge chunks of ice, rocks, and snow cascade down. Andreas is swept off the face, falling over 700 meters to his death. The remaining three also pulled from the mountain, though the pitons and rope just manage to hold them. Yet, Willy, smashed hard against the face, is killed instantly. Up above, Edi, also pinned against the wall and with the full weight of Willy and Toni on his torso as the rope tightens, suffocates in minutes.

Toni Kurz, barely alive, cries out. Now begs for help. He dangles helplessly between the two bodies of his friends.

However, the station master, and by now a rescue team, can do nothing. Toni, hanging only 45 meters above them, is asked to hold out until morning. His heartbreaking pleas go for nought, a vicious storm the only one listening.

Someway, somehow, Toni survives the night. Fights to stay awake. A lost mitten leaves his left hand and arm a frozen lump. Hypothermia ensures his body slowly shuts down organ by organ.

What then transpires defies belief. The rescuers return but cannot climb up to assist Toni. Instead, he must lower himself down. Yet first he must free himself from his friends. In mental and physical turmoil, he inches towards Willy’s lifeless body. Cuts him free. Then, gathering some sections of rope, climbs up to do the same to Edi.

Incredibly, displaying unimaginable strength and will, of a deep desire to stay alive, he manages to unpick the ropes. Using his one good hand and his teeth, he ties the threads together and lowers the thin line down towards the station master. The rescue party can now see his feet, just 15 meters from the doorway.

Tragically, the end is nigh. Frost bitten hands, finally out of strength. Unable to pass one final knot through a carabiner, or clip, he struggles to further free himself. The rescue party beseeches him to hang on. Yet, he cannot. He utters “ich kann nicht mehr,” then passes out. His lonely body hangs from the rock face. Dead, literally a few meters from safety. Family and friends left to mourn.

A half century has passed, but the fascinating, haunting story of Toni Kurz and the north face of the Eiger stays alive in my mind. I still feel connected in some manner, as I seek to understand such a wide range of human experiences.

As such, I’ve no real need for the latest technological advances, for the internet, AI, smart phones, flat screens, or social media. Instead, for me, it will always be reading, stories, and storytelling which retain special powers.

On the one hand, they offer examples of, and life lessons on, courage, heroism, morality, and the pursuit of dreams. On the other, compelling narratives about the perils of obsession, haste, pride, poor planning, overconfidence, even arrogance.

“The world is a book” opined St. Augustine, a 5th century philosopher. He is right.

Editors note:

Since 1935, 64 climbers have died attempting to scale the Eiger’s north face, earning it the German nickname Mordwand, or "murder wall.”