Salzburger Weg is a classic-style alpine rock climb offering some 2800 climbing meters over the east face of Watzmann.

Watzmann Ostwand, also called Bartholomäwand, is one of the most famous rock faces of the Alps (1). The reputation is earned for sheer magnitude: with its 1800 m, it is the highest wall of the eastern Alps and the third highest rock wall of the Alps altogether (2), similar in length (but not in difficulty!) to the Eiger north face. All the routes are classic, and hardly or not protected with modern equipment. The easiest and most popular route up the face is Berchtesgadener Weg (III), generally done without the weight of ropes, at the same time avoiding the risk of rockfall that rope belay inevitably would induce.

Now, our friend Jesko is not the person who looks for the easiest way to do things. He was looking for a partner for Salzburger Weg. I and Markus knew that this was a 'once in a lifetime' opportunity for us - to try something this big, a giant leap to our modest climbing careers. We gladly accepted the challenge.

The climbing distance when taking the Salzburger Weg is some 2800 meters. Only 7-9 pitches constitute the supposedly belayed climbing, assuming that one finds the right way. What really makes the route a serious undertaking is the immense scale of things, impossibility of retreat, exposition, route finding in complex terrain, and of course all the alpine elements such as loose rock, unbelayed movement across grass and block terrain, and unexpected weather changes. The latter can be especially calamitous. Bad weather normally comes from the west, so that climbers on the east face cannot see ominous weather changes until the storm is already right above them. Many lives have been lost due to this fact. In total more than 100 climbers have lost their life on the wall, kept in memory at a little chapel at Kührointalm.

The three of us waited until a stable weather window appeared. In the beginning of August came a perfect opportunity: Three days of sunny weather with only a very small chance of rain on Tuesday. We picked Jesko up in Rosenheim near Munich and arrived at the parking of Schönau at 02.00 on Monday. We had only just arrived when the first problem appeared, and it was a big one.

Approach by foot from Schönau am Königssee

Königssee is a postcard perfect narrow mountain lake, roughly extending from north to south just along the foot of Watzmann itself. It is accessed at its northern point from the village Schönau, Germany. Any normal day, small ferries take tourists over the lake every half hour - some 5000 visitors on a fine summers day.

The first stop for these ferries is St Bartholomä; a few houses and a chapel directly by the shore. This is also the destination for climbers of the Watzmann east face. In the woods nearby lies the Ostwandlager, a little cabin with nothing more than basic beds and an outhouse with toilet and water. It offers a last haven before approaching the wall.

The Ostwandlager was our goal for this warm Monday afternoon, alike most climbers before and after us. But upon arriving at the immense parking lot in Schönau, we immediately learnt that the ferries were on a strike. All day, and only for today out of all possible days.

Now, most lakes offer a hiking path around it, but this one is a little more tricky. As I asked at the busy information desk about alternative routes to St Bartholomä, the poor nice woman at first told me there was no way at all. Although she repeated this, I wouldn't give up just yet. I had read about some mountain path and insisted to have it confirmed on a map, if only she could offer any. She eventually dug up a tiny tourist map and opened it on the desk. Indeed there is a way! One "simply" has to ascend for some 800 meters to the Kührointalm, from where one may then descend the same amount directly to St Bartholomä.

The next question was how to manage the night, since the Ostwandlager was also closed during the strike. Hopes were rekindled as we succeeded to track down the phone number for the Kühroint hut, right atop the Kührointalm, and it turned out that they could both house us for the night and offer us dinner. What a lucky turn! Not quite the relaxed day we had planned for, but we were contended with a second chance. Having lost an hour already, we set off around 03.00 along the easy track. The sun blazed relentlessly.

After two sweaty hours the hike neared its end, and the enormous scenery opened up around us. We met a father from Munich and his Norwegian son. Being Swedish, we recognized their language and enjoyed a nice chat before reaching the Kührountalm. We sincerely hope the child would have a great first alpine tour at the Watzmannkind; what a beautiful area to start one's alpine adventures!
No reading of others' journals can prepare for the staggering beauty of this area.
At the hut we were served delicious food and went to bed early as early as we possibly could.

Approach from Kührointhütte

Our initial plan had been to start from Ostwandlager at 04.00. But first we had an 800 meter descent to negotiate. The hut warden had told us that this descent would "in any case" not be quicker than 2 hours, so we adjusted our plan accordingly to wake up at 01.50. A silent breakfast in our beds followed. For some reason delayed, we were off in the night shortly after 02.30.

Needless to say, the darkness was compact and our headlights serving their purpose well. Soon the path steepened considerably downhill. Unaware of what lay ahead, we were surprised to find more and more ferrata equipment on the wall. Considering the steepness the route must have been pretty exposed, although we didn't really see it in the dark. Sometimes there is nothing to hold on to as one hops down on very narrow and somewhat murky looking wooden steps, or iron steps attached to slabby steep walls. Like Markus said along the way, this must be absolutely spectacular in daylight.

Today we know that it is actually a Via Ferrata called Rinnkendlsteig. "Only for really experienced, absolutely sure-footed people with a head for heights and good fitness". Good for us that we didn't quite see how exposed it was in the darkness! :) In spite of this unexpected turn of events, we made it down to the lake in 1½ hours, half an hour before anticipated but just in time to set our original plan to work.

We passed by the Ostwandlager on our way. And in doing so, noticed that light was shining inside the cabin. No way, what is this?! Yesterday we had called and confirmed it was closed, and yet here we were, after descending in the darkness, and someone had spent the night comfortably inside?
Two men emerged from the little hut. They had apparently gotten a key directly from a mountain guide. I swallowed my thoughts while we asked to refill some water. Luckily we could, and as soon as everyone was unthirsty we set out again.

Approach from Ostwandlager and the randkluft

The approach to Watzmann east face from Ostwandlager is not too long. Some 40 minutes along a wide path, then another 20 minutes over broken terrain; in total 300 meter ascent before one reaches the snow field below the east wall. This snow field is named Eiskapelle (ice chapel) after a large cave-like opening at its lowest point formed by melting water.

Eiskapelle is the lowest situated permanent snow field in the Alps, fed every winter by colossal avalanches from the steep slopes of Watzmann, but melting massively in the heat of summer. And as it melts, a gap forms between the upper edges of the snow field and the warmer rock wall. This gap is called a Randkluft. The randkluft at Eiskapelle is infamous, and has nowadays become the most difficult obstacle for climbers of some routes on the wall. Salzburger Weg, our chosen route, is one of them.

We arrived at the Eiskapelle at dawn. Crampons were attached to our approach shoes (never had to try that before, hope it will work…) and soon we traversed up along the sloping hard snow. The traverse itself was quick, just long enough to deem the headlamps unneeded and to catch the first glimpse of warm light far above on the upper summits. But just as we had feared, the many extremely warm days of this summer had made the randkluft monstrous. In places some 20 meters deep, and mostly 2-10 meters wide, it was not easy to find a place to climb or jump over the gap to the rock wall.

Lucky for us, Jesko is a passionate and skilled ice climber. Eventually he found a spot that to him did not seem quite as impassable. Equipped with only a single ice tool and crampons but no belay (we all stood rather awkwardly, so that belaying would mean a lethal risk for everyone), he was off. [In retrospect, a second ice tool could have been used to make a belay on the snow field, but as every climber here, we wanted to save weight.]

At this particular spot there were only a few meters of down climbing. But it looked steep, and a short section of it was vertical on blue ice. Jesko soon learnt that the best way was to get a single good grip for the tool, descend on it and then traverse slightly down to the right on a vague band. While still holding on to the tool, one would then turn to the left and traverse to a small niche. In the niche, lovely blue ice structures offered good hold for one hand, allowing to move the ice tool with the other. Then a big step or two down and one would reach solid ground.

After Jesko had braved down the ice, he sent up the ice tool for us to use, along with his crampons since his backpack had been left behind. Then, climbing in boots (as we all would do most of the day), he made his way through the somewhat rotten and uncomfortably crumbling steep wall. He put a single piece of protection in the only good crack, which enabled Markus to take him on belay, and then continued without any further protection until the 50 m ropes were out. By now Jesko was already out of hearing distance. It took us many precious minutes just to understand that he was safe.

Meanwhile, I had stuffed Jeskos grimy crampons in my backpack and attached his backpack to Markus'. I was ready to climb. Now, having only one tool would prove not to be the biggest of my problems. Impossibility of communication was.

You see, when belaying from above, one tends to hold the climbers' rope tightly. Especially if knowing that the climb is difficult, and when not being able to see the climber. Problem was, just like Jesko I had to both traverse and down climb. For that you need some extra rope. Standing awkwardly on the ice, in soft approach shoes bending slightly inside the crampons, and trying to make my way down to the right, I was forcefully being pulled to the left and struggling hard only to not get ripped off the ice.
Markus, who followed the slightly absurd scene from above tried to shout at Jesko to give slack, but there was simply no way of hearing one another. It must have taken at least ten minutes before I could finally climb down to the bottom and take my crampons off.

With the crampons back in the pack I continued on crumbly rock, pausing only to check that Markus had got enough slack for his climb. After he had made it past the ice we both hurried on as fast as we could. This whole business had cost us a lot of time. At joining Jesko on his one-cam stand we were about one hour behind schedule.

But now we were committed, and keen to start climbing.

Getting to Schöllhornkar

We continued on running belay over grade II-III terrain until more and more grass interrupted the rocky ground. We had now reached the first grassband at about 1000 m. Somehow I'd imagined the first and second grass bands to be a comfortable walk in the park, the reward for having negotiated the randkluft. But it turned out to be proper steep grass climbing. We had not bothered to put away the ropes for this passage, so if one slips, we all slip. Knowing this I silently hoped the others would grab each tuft of grass as carefully as I did. Our extensive experience on such terrain in Allgäu was definitely paying off.

By now it was already getting hot. While the forecast had promised no more than 20 degrees (for Watzmannhaus), we could feel it become one of those 30+ degree days when one would rather just stay in the shade. Unlucky for us, there is little shade on this route, forcing us to draw on our precious water supply as the internal depot swiftly sweated away.

The big question now was 'where to?'. It's probably the most recurring question of all on this unfathomable wall.  During preparations for the tour, we had made extensive use of this tour journal. And from those pictures and descriptions I had come to believe that I would find the continuation of the route from the grass bands. Furthermore, Jesko had a guidebook specialized on this wall and was rather certain he would find the way.

Yet it would turn out that we never even got to the second grass band. We had indeed followed a logical line, which at the start offered just the expected difficulty of II-III climbing. But eventually we ended up on a sort of tower from where we could guess the actual route to be some 100 meters to our right. Through a very old rusty piton near our cam belay stand, we knew that we weren't the first to take this line, and so Jesko, mentally strong as always, pushed on up over increasing difficulties.

He wasn't many meters up on the next lead, though, when suddenly a rock came loose. Keeping it firmly in his right hand, the left hand held on for all a life is worth as his body swung out. We were now on classic IV terrain, or modern V,* and though climbing in his boots Jesko somehow managed to stick to the vertical wall.

Understandably he was a bit shaken by this, admonishing himself for not using better technique on the rock that came off. It was also becoming clear that we had lost much time through taking the wrong way from the grass - on the proper route we should have been running up on II-III terrain. But even so, we ultimately made it to the next check point: Graskopf at the start of Schöllhornkar.

Graskopf is a steep rock turret topped with a little grass plateu. The proper route traverses diagonally up here from the right. We had climbed it directly. Arriving to the plateau, the grass seduced us to take a first brief pause of the day. It was already 11.00, some 8½ hours after starting from Kührointalm and we were only at 1300 m - the summit still 1400 meters higher up.

During the break we could follow a captivating rescue operation not far away, as an orange helicopter  approached the wall some distance to the left of us. We guessed it must have been the two men we had met at Ostwandlager at 04.00 this morning. Praying that nobody was seriously hurt, we watched silently as one person, and then another, was picked up by the helicopter after an hour of searching. Later we would learn that the team had taken the wrong way and gotten stuck in the terrain. Luckily they got out uninjured.

We were now at the bottom of Schöllhornkar. A long section of grass and ledged easy rock with a bit of scree, where we could finally gain some height more quickly. At the level of Schöllhorneis, a snow field just to our right, the wall steepens again into the so-called Salzburger Pfeiler. We followed a logical climbing line over slabs (III) and to our great relief, this would soon prove to be just the right way.

Salzburger Weg

Salzburger Weg does actually not denote the whole route along the face, but only this line of more technical climbing over Salzburger Pfeiler. It doesn't even start down by the foot of this wall near Schöllhorneis, but only after a long pitch of slab climbing. Even more intriguingly, the first "actual" pitch (classic IV+) is done without a belay stand. There is nothing suitable even for self-placed protection. Jesko did not seem to bother though - he was happily off without any belay at all. I and Markus, obviously a bit more safety-craving, were both rather relieved when he had at last put a single cam in, allowing us to take him on belay.

This more technical section goes on for some 160 meters. Over the first two pitches I had noticed that everything seemed harder than expected. IV+ felt suspiciously difficult - a grade that should normally be very comfortable for me. I wondered if it was the heavy rucksack, stuffed with Jeskos ice gear atop my own stuff. Or maybe it was simply that we had been underway for such a long time, sweating floods, perhaps not eating and drinking enough.

Anyway, we had arrived to the official climbing crux of the day: the so-called "Höhlenübergang". A classic V+, the first crux comes right at the start. While the belay stand is located just by a little cave or cavity, the climb goes along the left edge of it, slightly overhanging and pretty polished.
Jesko tested out a little, then committed to the lead, while me and Markus constantly shifted from foot to foot in vain attempts to escape the torture of tight climbing shoes in too warm temperatures (we didn't want to risk dropping a shoe by switching to regular shoes at this uncomfortable belay).

I wish I knew how Jesko managed the crux so well. We only heard a few enraged complaints from further up, at a second crux that we couldn't see from our belay stand. This part had actually been a bit too challenging even for Jesko. It was a diagonal and vaguely chimney-slab-like crack, and then a hard steeper section. He just couldn't commit, but solved the situation by leaving his backpack secured in a piece of protection to allow moving freely. Thus Jesko made it up, and I was to go next.

Now, on a modern route, give me a vertical or overhanging UIAA 6+ and I will just barely manage to lead it freely. Seconding will be hard but mentally no big deal. This was V+, but classic (i.e. harder). I couldn't get up. Not a chance. Trying this and that, I was fearing that the remaining power reserves would run out before getting anywhere, and I was almost becoming desperate. What do you do if you don't make it? Abseiling down to abort is practically impossible. Should we call for rescue just because I was too weak? As my thoughts ran wild, Markus suggested that I step on his shoulder.

"No way, that will never work", I replied in resignation, truly afraid that I would break his back by my weight and the backpack combined. But he insisted, and so I tried it, and it worked. Necessity, the mother of creativity.

Having left the hardest part behind I wondered how on earth Markus would be able to get up here. We are usually quite similar in strength, he only has a little more power on the overhangs and I a bit more on tiny edges. But would his raw power be enough? To aid him I extended an old sling that was attached to the wall with a 120 cm sling of my own, and offered it as a hold.

Markus made it up without any shoulders. He gratefully used the sling, and then my stretched out hand, but it didn't at all seem as powerful as when I had forced myself up. Hmm, so it must have been only me. Perhaps I really needed to drink more water.

I climbed on and found Jeskos backpack, which I duly attached to the rope loop that Jesko had just sent down. I and Markus then both managed the second hard part, again with ingenuity, and revelled in having negotiated the crux pitch of Salzburger Weg.

Next up was a V-. All of us were pretty tired of climbing by now, but there was still some 1000 vertical meters to the summit and we were really getting behind schedule. Markus got one of Jesko's boots to carry since our dauntless lead climber was feeling less than top fit at the moment.

The topo now indicated the next pitch as "exposed on the edge". When our topo says something is exposed, you can guess that it will be gruesomely, pant-wettingly exposed out there on the edge. Jesko handled it pretty well though, and his faithful followers would turn out to have less problems on this pitch.

With feet screaming out loud from pain we all looked forward to completing the last two IV+ pitches, "Steile Wand" (steep wall) and "Rauher Kamin" (sharp chimney). Especially the latter, though harsh on the fingers, actually turned out to offer really nice, non-exposed climbing where all of us had fun - a nice ending to the suffering of Salzburger Weg.

The first band

It was nearing 05.00 in the afternoon as we escaped the wall and started the "exposed traverse" to the left on running belay. The next goal was impressively obvious now. A massive band of slabs, up to 80 meters wide, cuts a diagonal line along the east face like a steep motorway littered with rocks.



Of course it's not the first time we climb slabs. Last time, in Uri, I even had to lead most of our slab pitches as Markus wasn't in the mood. But here, though not as steep, I just couldn't do it. My approach shoes slid down a little for every step that I took, and just like any slab there was nothing to hold on to for stopping the slide. Normally people go here unroped to save time, but I simply couldn't do it, not now, not today. "Nooo, I hate this! I hate this! Bloody darn f*****g slabs!"

They couldn't help but laugh. Markus and Jesko both had no problem walking, but seeing my suffering, Jesko took us both on short rope. I changed to climbing shoes and although incredibly painful, it was my relief to not slide down anymore. We made it to the steep interruption of the band at around 18.15, and Jesko prepared for another V- lead.

"F**k! F**k! Scheisse!!!"

For at least the second time today, Jesko went too far right when the route took left, and had to suffer the consequences by down climbing on a couple of rotten pitons and a very questionable cam placement. And also for the second time today, he had to leave the cam for us to take later. It was on me to retrieve it and take the uncomfortable but belayed traverse back to route. But once this had been negotiated, we finally only had a short bit along the band before it would gradually dissolve into the Gipfelschlucht. The thought of this gave us hope. We still had no idea that this long but easier couloir, that we had been looking forward to running through quickly, would become the greatest adventure of the day.

Gipfelschlucht

Gipfelschlucht is a long, wide gully that ascends in a diagonal line from lower left to upper right. It is an endless scramble over block terrain, short slabs and chimneys, and eventually looser terrain with scree and some grass. Difficulties range between I-II, but depending on the way it may include short sections of III. Through the gully one gains some 400 altitude meters on the face. And at its end one finds the Bivouac box - more on that to come...

Near the bottom of this gully we passed by a snow field. By now we definitely knew that we must spend the night on the wall, and desperately hoped that we would find water to reinforce our thinning supplies for the night. We were more than lucky! It almost appeared as if the entire snow field was melting away on this single warm day, providing plenty of life giving streams to suit our purpose. We drank ourselves unthirsty, drank a bit more, and then some, refilled supplies, and left the stream in a decidedly better mood.

But it was too early to call it a day. I said the Gipfelschlucht was easy. But it's still 'slip and you die' terrain demanding the utmost concentration, and now it was getting darker. Worse still, the previously white thin clouds were darkening around the summits. A chilly fog drew in and lowered visibility within minutes. And as darkness had finally fallen, the first small raindrops hit our shoulders. Within minutes it was raining amply and the rock was completely soaked with water. I remember having exclaimed my great surprise at this incredible swiftness of soaking, and then Jesko telling us: We will make it.

And suddenly, the dark sky brightened for a brief moment. "Was that lightning?" Markus asked. Seconds after the thunder came rolling in. We didn't stop. With the disco lights continuing above and around us, we climbed on through the darkness until the final salvation appeared some 100 meters away. It took the form of a small orange box.

The bivouac is a basic emergency shelter, roughly the size of a three person tent and equipped with eight down sleeping bags and three thin floor mats. For a climber caught in the storm at night, this shelter is what makes all the difference.

Sometime before 22.00 we stumbled in through the side door, wet and reeking, the boots and some equipment left outside in the hope that the rock overhang above would protect it from the rain. And so we finally closed the lid to the night. Tiny bits of food reserves were feasted upon before we were too tired to sit up, fast asleep in the cosy warmth. Most of us slept, anyway.

It's a bit ironic that I, who have learnt so many relaxation and meditation techniques over the years and have no problem falling into deep relaxation at home, should be the one to never sleep outdoors. Nothing seems to work on a night like this. Instead I listened to all kinds of noises. Not afraid, just fascinated by the great variety of sounds that were seeping in through the metal walls. Gusts of wind and water cascades, rocks falling, and many other unidentified sounds in the night. After a few hours of this I decided I had to go out and have a pee.

Have you ever had a nightly pee while standing unprotected on a narrow ledge of soaking wet rock, with a dark abyss only a short step away? Feeling the moist wind chill your bare skin as you try to stay focused, not slip, not lose balance or make any hasty move?

I must admit, making it back to the safety of an orange little box is all the more rewarding.

Last day - summit day

The next morning was staggering. The valleys far below were veiled in clouds, dark in the dawn but gradually lit by a pale, then golden light as the sun rose to the sky. The dark and imposing mountains slowly appeared in all their delicious detail, lit to a bright green at those spots where the sun hit steep easterly grass slopes.



Unfortunately though, everything was still soaked. Jesko promptly decided that we should take a long and lazy morning to let the rock dry in the sun, and turned around on his improvised pillow to continue the sleep. It was a sound idea: we had an array of chimneys between us and the summit, and chimneys don't dry easily. But Markus couldn't go to sleep with this magnificent scenery playing out around us, and I joined him after some time. Thus, on this extraordinary morning we were graced with the most memorable time in stillness, sitting at the ledge together and watching the day unfold.

It was nearly 10.00 when we finally set off. Our things had dried, water had been gulped, we were ready for another day.

Just as we were off to start, a small group appeared below. They must have gone the easier Berchtesgadener Weg and now approached quickly with light backpacks (no ice gear is needed for the route, which is perhaps part of the reason that some 90% of all the climbers of the wall take this way).

The climbing up through Ausstiegskamine (exit chimneys) turned out to be nice, and the occasional dripping did not hinder us as we finally made our way through. But we did get caught up by the lightweight group pretty soon and duly let them pass. While they went freely, we practically climbed it all with running belay, and needed just below two hours to exit the east face of Watzmann.



A short climb through the exit window, and we were up on the Watzmann ridge. From here we had only some 5 minutes to the south summit. The south summit! What a relief, but at the same time a slight antipathy - after all this solitude, the summit seemed crowded to its limit with some ten people already sitting and enjoying the view. They had been climbing the challenging but popular Watzmann traverse and were taking a well-deserved break on the last summit of three along the ridge. We would now join path with them on descent. But first, time for the last handful of nuts and some sips of water, along with a photo to remember our success.

Descent to Wimbachgries

Following the south summit ridge some distance further south, there is a well-marked, sometimes steep (I) path on the western flank towards the valley of Wimbachgries. Counting from the top, the next goal, Wimbachgrieshutte, is some 1400 vertical meters further down through varied landscapes, always steep, and all the while with incredible views to the mountains and valleys around.



Just minutes down from the summit, Jesko slipped. He did a spectacular saving fit for a Hollywood movie, with feet dangling and one hand holding on to the rock. There was no problem getting back to standing, but in the incident he twisted a knee rather badly. It would be a painful descent to follow.

The remaining descent went smoother. We had one last break on the way to gather the reserves, but then continued nonstop all the long way down to the hut. We arrived at Wimbackgrieshütte by 15.00, feet sore to the bone, but overjoyed to finally get some food.

"I'm so sorry, our chef has just gone on lunch break."
Of course we understand that the chef would need his break on a busy day like this. But the prospect of having only soup to cover for our last days of food rationing was not all too satisfying, not to mention that we still had 8 km of walking and a long car trip home.

There was no option but to settle for the soup, though. Markus was just quick enough to get a cake before they had run out of that too. At least we could drink a lot of "Russenmass"...

The last 8 km follows a gently angled path back to civilization at Wimbachbrücke. Our feet were by now in great pain, but we made it endurable through good conversation. A climber can always find joy in hearing the adventures of another, of climbed or upcoming tours, big and small. One may endlessly philosophize about motivations, or be staggered by the achievements of climbers in the early days. Like the absolutely outstanding Herman Buhl, who in 1953 climbed Salzburger Weg solo on a single winter night, guided by the silver of a full moon. The spirit of alpinism was rather different back then.

And so, after 1700 in the afternoon on the third day in, and about 3000 meters up and down later, we had arrived at Wimbachbrücke. Markus had deposited a bike here and would now become our hero, biking the last 8 km back to the car to then come and pick us up. It wouldn't be a very short trip home for any of us, with a missed bus and odd road redirections, but who really cares. We had made it, together.

Jesko, again, thank you so very much for taking us with you on this journey. Thanks for all the leading you've done, and for plain good company along the way.

Author: Sandra Ehlers
Photography: Markus Kvist
Lead climber: Jesko Danzeisen

*[To translate from classic to modern grading, add 1 to the old grade. This common rule of thumb applied very well also to Salzburger Weg, placing the crux pitch somewhere near 6+.]

Further references: Watzmann on SummitPost, Watzmann traverse info (German), topo for the traverse, and a very informative tour journal (German).