Sunrise on the Matterhorn

By Zachary Piña
August 13, 2024

It’s said that the peak of Switzerland’s most famous mountain is comprised of African rock - the finale of a slow-motion collision that unfolded millions of years ago, between two distinct slices of the Earth’s crust: the African continental plate, and the European plate. The end result was the Matterhorn, or “the peak in the meadows,” towering high above the Swiss town of Zermatt. Aptly named using a portmanteau of the German words ‘Matte’ (meadow) and ‘Horn’ (peak), Matterhorn isn’t just Switzerland’s most recognizable slab of rock, but it might also be one of the world’s most recognizable geographical silhouettes. Standing 4,477 meters tall (14,692 feet), its four-sided, thumb-like appendage stands unopposed above the Matter Valley, straddling both Switzerland and Italy. Like an ancient cairn left behind by another civilization, each of its faces point off in one of the four cardinal directions, resembling a crude compass or a giant sundial of sorts piercing the sky as it juts out of the surrounding Alps.

Even for all its notoriety, Matterhorn is only the 12th-highest peak in Europe, first summited in July of 1865 by British mountaineer Edward Whymper — a triumphant, but sobering first ascent mission that ultimately claimed the lives of four of its seven climbers, and one that set the tone for all to follow — this mountain wasn’t one to be trifled with. And yet despite (or perhaps in spite of) the omnipresent danger surrounding the Matterhorn, it calls to alpinists and adventure-seekers the world over to still test their mettle and challenge its summit themselves, with most climbs starting at the legendary Hörnli Hut, a veritable speck at the foot of the northeastern ridge.

But it wouldn’t be until the turn of the next century when Matterhorn began to attract the masses, thanks to a hand-drawn card in 1903 by Swiss painter and poster artist Emil Cardinaux. It’s said that his depiction of this iconic mountain would be recognized as the first modern travel poster, creating a landmark for 20th century design. It’s Emil’s vision, most likely drawn from a position perched atop the Kirchbrücke footbridge over the Matter Vispa in Zermatt that endeared the Matterhorn to travel iconography forever.

I stood in that same spot at sunrise, staring up at the mountain as Emil once did, and made the same image that countless others have since — my photos joining an infinite number of depictions of the same thing: the alpenglow of a bitter cold morning, and the slowly warming eastern face, sky turning from magenta to blue, snow from pink to orange and finally to white. A grand show, repeated daily for eternity. And on this particular day, it was my turn to see it.

After a second cup of coffee and a small muesli breakfast at the hotel, I walked south through town to the mountain railway, to escape the valley and discover a completely different view of the Matterhorn — one from the Gorner Glacier as its icy visage twists its way across the Monte-Rosa massif. It’s a midweek morning, and the train is quiet. I share the car with a small group of backcountry skiers checking, and re-checking their gear. Their backpacks are laden with ice tools, colorful rope, climbing helmets, crampons, and tidy rolls of nylon skins. Most of this gear is precautionary – the shifting glacial landscape can be littered with dangerous crevasses, and falling in one could prove exceptionally hazardous for all but the most experienced, and best-equipped. Just before the Gornergrat summit, they click their boots into ‘walk’ mode and shuffle out in an awkward clatter. I slip through the closing doors with only an ultralight camera backpack, waterproof trekking shoes and glacier glasses.

There’s no one else around. The air is pierced by the chirp of an Alpine Chough soaring above, an inky-black crow-like corvid with a bright yellow beak, and a proclivity to surf updrafts around high alpine cliffs. The Chough is a clever, opportunistic feeder, highly evolved to survive the many perils of life above the treeline. According to alpine legend, each bird is said to carry the spirit of a mountaineer who never made it home. The Chough is hardly a rare sighting around the Matterhorn, but watching these curious, super-intelligent corvids hop from ledge to ledge and soar high above the glacier is still considered good luck and safe passage, regardless of whether you’re inside the boundaries or well beyond them.

Frozen by overnight temperatures, the snow’s icy crust held weight, but it would soon soften in the midday sun, making eventual progress across these trails difficult. In order to get a photo of the eastern face of the Matterhorn at eye level, I would need to get my feet wet. I cinch the sternum strap on my backpack and step into the trail.