Ascent of the Matterhorn

It was exciting for me to visit a mountain with such great history and heritage, to follow in the footsteps of Whymper of whom I have read so much was special. Something similar to my first trip to Wembley watching Newcastle in 1988, it was a nothing tournament (Mercantile Credit 100 years of the football league), but Newcastle were playing at the home of football, where so many great matches had taken place before and Jackie Milburn had won 3 cups in the 1950s. For a football mad teenager, I was in awe, speechless, gazing silently at the pitch and the ground from the terraces, feeling and absorbing the history. The Matterhorn represents the same mantle in the mountaineering world, although this time, I'm not spectating, I'm taking part.

I had hoped to climb from the Italian side up the Lion Ridge to avoid the crowds from Zermatt, but the ridge was in poor condition with heavy unstable snow, so the Hornli Ridge from Zermatt was our choice. My climbing partner was Josette, a Swiss guide, who was part of my team earlier in the year on Everest. We took the cable car out of Zermatt, catching-up on the previous months activities as we chatted and joked our way up to the hut at the foot of the mountain, spending a cosy night prior to our ascent, enjoying the sunset over the Valais Alps.

We took an "Alpine" start the following day, up at 4am and on our way at 4.15pm - the early start allows for maximum daylight hours should anything go wrong, aiming to reach the most difficult part of the climb as dawn breaks and returning to the hut around lunchtime.

Climbing in the dark is always a little eerie, but also magical with millions of glittering stars peppering the night sky, the twinkling lights in the valley far below and the silhouette of large mountains around you, it is special. Your world becomes a claustrophobic 3m circle that your miner-style torch illuminates, you climb as islands of light, attached to your partner through a rope that dances and disappears into the darkness.

Climbing at night is surprisingly warm, and often calm, but the cold of the rock bites into your fingers, I prefer to climb without gloves for better feel. The Hornli Ridge rises dramatically, the dark gigantic mass above intimidates but isn't as technically demanding as it appears, we followed the ridge almost directly, dodging various steeper sections to the left or right. The majority of the ridge is a difficult scramble rather than a rock climb, so we were able to keep moving together for most parts which helped to maintain our warmth as we approached the bitterness of the dawn breeze. Dawn was beautiful, all kinds of reds and oranges lit the horizon as the flaming ball appeared and blessed us with warmth.

The rock is fragile and crumbly, the mountain is beautiful from a distance, but is a pile of loose rock when viewed up close. We reached the snowy shoulder of the ridge just after dawn, we fitted our crampons (metal spikes on our boots to offer good grip on snow & ice). Then climbed one at a time up the icy sections, securing each other with the rope in case of a fall. This final section is testing and very exposed with significant drops on each side, there's even a section slightly overhanging, it certainly gets the adrenaline going.

The steepness eases off and the mountain narrows in, soon we reach the top with shrieks of joy and congratulations, we hug and back pat, then enjoy 30 minutes on the summit alone, surveying the high Alps all around us. My first thought was to imagine Whymper standing here in 1865, a hero, a conqueror, then I look down to survey the Italian Ridge where he spotted his nemesis Carrel on that day, and there it was, "amazing" was all I could mutter - we could see 2 climbers in red in exactly the same spot that Carrel had been. It was a poignant moment, a re-enactment of history.

Time is always precious on the summit, and all too soon we must descend. The descent was more tiring and time-consuming than the ascent, carefully picking our way back down the ridge, down-climbing in places and abseiling in others. Once off the ridge, we raced down but missed the last cable car, so were forced to descend the full 3,000m (10,000ft) into Zermatt. With trembling knees we celebrated our arrival into Zermatt with style - a kebab and Coke from the first place we passed!

Two weeks on, I'm still smiling with thoughts of my climb, and proud to have stood where a great Briton had stood before.

Richard.