Climbing the Matterhorn, and wishing for a helicopter at the top

I had been to Zermatt several times, and the Matterhorn was always there, the lone pyramid over the village. Every visit I thought: it would be interesting to attempt it. One summer I stopped thinking and found a guide.

You do not climb the Matterhorn alone. The Hörnli ridge is roped, technical and exposed, so a mountain guide is the price of entry. Mine was an Austrian who guides out of Zermatt in summer and had stood on the top 88 times, credential enough for me. He suggested acclimatisation hikes first. I did not want to spend the extra days, so we made a deal: I show up, we climb, and he keeps a veto at any moment if I am not good enough.

We slept at the Hörnlihütte, 3,260 m. Twenty of us ate a quick breakfast in the dark, the guides negotiated who went first, and we walked out onto the mountain.

Four scary hours. Nearly 1,200 m of ascent, almost all of it vertical: ridges, then lifting yourself onto the next rock, with loose stone a few steps to either side. My heart had been racing for two days after watching other climbers' videos. Starting at night was the one mercy. I could not see enough to fight my fear of heights, so I did not look down or sideways for the first 800 m. Above 4,000 m the air went thin: fixed ropes, boulders, a few fingers on a rock while crossing a stone bridge. A few times I just lay on the rock and tried to breathe.

The summit is 4,478 m. I only properly looked around up there. Magnificent, and one thought kept bothering me: how much would a helicopter down cost?

I never found out. The descent was not as scary as I had feared. It was fun – rock to rock, belayed down 20 m walls, hands off the rope for photos – and we were back at the hut in two and a half hours. I had set myself one mountain a year. That year, this was the mountain.