The last evening on Nevado Juncal, the Marmillods contemplated the savage Northeast face of Alto de los Leones (5445 m.). Seen in profile, Alto is a striking obelisk rising twenty-five hundred meters above the surrounding valleys; seen face-on it resembles the keel of an overturned ship, a hanging glacier perched on its summit ridge. Unlike the other mountains in central Chile, it offered no easy route to the summit. Fritz Reichert, who in 1911 made the first ascent of Nevado Juncal, flatly declared that Alto would never be climbed. Frédy rose to the challenge, writing, "Alto does not escape the law of the Cordillera any more than the neighboring summits." (B1)

Alto de los Leones

As the thirties drew to a close, Alto de los Leones was the finest unclimbed peak in central Chile, the object of keen ambition among Chilean and European-immigrant climbers. The failure of several early attempts lent the mountain an aura of the impossible. In 1934 an Italian expedition visited the region, and Alto turned the head of the world-class alpinist Giusto Gervasutti, but bad weather intervened and he turned his attention to Cerro Littoria. Two other members of the expedition, Gabriele Boccalatte and Piero Zanetti, made a reconnaissance around the base of the peak and realized it would be a difficult proposition. Pressed for time, they abandoned the mountain and opted instead for the second ascent of Nevado Juncal, despite their strong desire to climb a virgin summit. They climbed a new route on the north side of Juncal, the same route followed four years later by the Marmillods in December 1938.

In March 1939, the Marmillods joined a large group of Chilean climbers for an attempt on Alto's southwest side. The approach was problematical, requiring a week to establish base camp beneath the peak. Seven climbers commenced the ascent, well equipped and provisioned for several days, but after a few hours four of them turned back on account of rockfall. Frédy, Dorly and Carlos Píderit carried on for another day and a half. They reached a high point 250 meters below the summit where technical difficulties and lack of food forced a retreat.

Carlos Píderit

Hoping to squeeze in another attempt before the onset of winter, Dorly and Frédy took advantage of the Easter holidays to attempt the Northeast face, which had appeared so intimidating during their ascent of Juncal. Joining them again was Carlos Píderit, the ablest native Chilean mountaineer of the period, and one of very few who embraced hard climbing and sought out new routes. When the Chilean National Mountain School was established in Santiago, Píderit was appointed its first instructor, and he played an important role in teaching Chileans the use of rope, crampons and ice axe.

The trip from Santiago to the base of Alto took one day, and the first camp was pitched in the same spot where base camp had been located for the ascent of Juncal. The next day the climbers advanced over scree and easy rock steps to Camp 2 (4000 meters), situated in a protected spot near a small glacier. "A short distance away, "Frédy wrote, "an uninterrupted cannonade of projectiles of all sizes rained down onto the glacier. We adjusted more quickly to this sound of nature than to the nightly din of car horns in Santiago, and we slept soundly until morning."

Frédy described the next two days of climbing.

"The morning of April 9 we attacked the wall directly above us, after roping up. To lighten our packs, we left the tent set up at Camp 2 and only carried with us our sleeping bags. Instead of the solid face that our Swiss imaginations had led us to expect, we were confronted right from the start with walls of thoroughly shattered rock cut by deep chimneys and interrupted by numerous ledges strewn with stones. From ledge to ledge we climbed patiently the whole day in a more or less direct line. Falling rocks were our main worry. Several walls offered delightful climbing on solid rock; our still heavy packs had to be hauled up with the rope. "

Carlos on the ascent above Camp 2. Summit in background. Photo: C. Píderit	Dorly on the Northeast Face of Alto de los Leones. The original caption reads, "roca mala" (bad rock). Photo: C.Píderit

"An easy passage, seemingly made for us, allowed a traverse left to new ground rising toward the ridge line. We passed over scree and then the defenses of the face drew progressively closer and we had to climb several walls. Meanwhile, night was falling, and it was only with great difficulty that we found a small ledge to pass the night. We were at 4800 meters, about 300 meters below a large cut in the ridge (the second notch from the summit of Alto). Of this bivouac, dubbed 'the eagle's nest,' we remember intense cold and an epic struggle against the persistent wind, which mistook the covers of our sleeping bags for the sails of a ship."

Ascent of Alto de los Leones

"April 10 we resumed the ascent and quickly arrived at the critical height, about 150 meters below the ridge, where we had to start a long traverse to the right (north) towards the first notch and the summit glacier. We entered a major system of gently ascending ledges that we had spotted at the foot of the face. The success of our undertaking now depended completely on their continuity. Would they go or wouldn't they? As we turned each corner, we exuberantly cheered the discovery of a new ledge permitting us to continue the traverse. A patch of the upper glacier pointed the way and was already drawing near. The hope that for three days had driven us on made our hearts beat even faster than the altitude. Beneath our feet the face dropped chaotically into the depths of the Juncal valley, 2000 meters below, where we could make out the tiny roof of our tent at base camp next to the edge of the glacier. Above our heads bulged the solid rock that defended the ridge. It was impossible to go up or down; we were at the mercy of these ledges, which were hidden behind a new angle of the face every fifty meters. I was reminded of an old film in which Harold Lloyd was sleepwalking along the edge of a skyscraper. Holding our breath, we passed beneath several gigantic icicles, which seemed ready to fall off the warm, dry rock at any moment. And suddenly we saw a beautiful sight: all that separated us from the upper glacier was a short scree slope. The next instant we reached the notch in the ridge, right at the foot of the summit. The glacier, which we reached in its middle part, descended from the summit in even undulations and disappeared several hundred meters lower into the abyss of the Southwest face. Some large crevasses crossed it from one side to the other, but none seemed to completely bar access to the summit, now rising over us no more than 300 or 400 meters. Almost certain of victory, we felt like dancing for joy on the smooth, flat glacier, whose luminous presence offered us a strange form of congratulations. What marvelous relaxation, after three days spent on a shattered face under the constant menace of falling rock. We laid out our bags at the edge of the glacier against the first rise in the arête, which should have protected us from the frigid drafts. It was only token protection … we later named this the 'frigidaire' bivouac. But we could feel how close we were to success, and this allowed us to smile through the starry night, even while our teeth were chattering."

On April 11, the three climbers left the bivouac early and navigated the glacier to the summit, arriving in mid-afternoon. "There we built a small cairn in which I left my ice axe, " wrote Frédy. "It is an Andean tradition to leave an ice axe behind on the high summits, and exchange it for the one left by the preceding party. For example, nobody will believe you have climbed Aconcagua if you come back without the ice axe of your predecessors! The glacial wind prevented me from feeling sentimental over the loss of my faithful ice axe, inherited long ago in the Alps from an unknown climber who took mine for his own on a pre-dawn morning. We made a close examination of our conquest, advancing our heads like curious jackdaws out over the abyss that encircled our roost. At the bottom of the Los Leones valley, the sinuous torrent glittered like a string of pearls; in the Juncal valley, 2500 meters below, crept the interesting white form of the Juncal glacier. The view was unlimited, grandiose, but the most impressive spectacle was made by the glacier that began right at our feet; isolated in celestial purity, it threw itself down in wild leaps and bounds toward the gaping abyss of the Southwest face, over which immense blocks of ice were perched."

Carlos and Dorly rest on the summit glaciar Photo: F. Marmillod	Dorly and Frédy on the summit of Alto de los Leones Photo: F. Marmillod

"Our cards and Swiss flag were placed in a metal box with the emblem of the Club Andino de Chile and deposited in the cairn. At four o'clock we left the summit and after dark we reached our frigidaire bivouac, where we spent one last miserable night. The following day, we slowly retraced the route of ascent. The evening of the 12th we reached the tent, and the 13th of April we returned to Santiago with the rich memory of a beautiful adventure. This exceptional experience constantly fanned the flame of our future ambitions." (B2)

Frédy summed up the overall nature of the ascent: "It was impossible to avoid rockfall, a danger on all sides of the mountain, and we suffered from the cold owing to the lateness of the season. With regard to technical difficulties, it must be said that they did not surpass a medium grade for this class of peak; nevertheless, they are greater than generally encountered in the Central Cordillera. The greatest difficulty was climbing from an altitude of 3000 meters to 5400 meters up exceptionally steep slopes with a load that necessarily was very heavy." (B3)

Alto de los Leones would prove to be the Marmillods' outstanding climb in the Andes. The peak was classic, the route dangerous and exacting, and the ascent a significant event in the history of the Cordillera. If Alto could be climbed, then so could other "impossible" peaks and faces, and the publicity given the ascent by the media did much to encourage andinismo, or Andean mountaineering among native Chileans. In short, the Marmillods established a grande course, an ascent outstanding in its era for length, seriousness, and sustained difficulty.

Attempted more often than climbed, Alto de los Leones maintains a formidable reputation to this day. Forty years after the first ascent, only ten additional ascents had been completed, always by the original route or variations of it. Not until 1979 was a new and very difficult line established on the Southwest pillar, the first genuine new route on this imposing summit.

Shortly after Alto, Sandoz transferred Frédy to Mexico. In March 1941 he and Dorly made the second ascent (first by a woman) of the Fraile de Actopan, a seventy-meter rock tower in the Pachuca mountains north of Mexico City. The tower, rated moderate fifth class, is characterized by knobby rock and chicken heads, and Frédy placed pitons as protection at the crux, an overhanging crack with friable holds near the summit. The ascent came four months after Dorly had given birth to Mariette, their first daughter.

During two years in Mexico, Frédy and Dorly climbed the snow-capped peaks of Popocatepetl, Ixtaccihuatl, Orizaba, and a number of lower summits. Like many travelers before and after, they surrendered baggage to thieves:

"Once on Popocatepetl we left our packs for a few hours in a rock crevice; we returned to find that someone had carefully removed all articles of any value: knives, flashlights, etc. When we made the ascent of the Fraile de Actopan, we foolishly parked the car some distance away from the main road in order to approach our objective by a mining path. A sad sight greeted us when we returned: bullet holes riddled the auto body, all of the windows were broken, a tire was slashed, and our belongings had disappeared. Moral: one must look ahead and neither count on the honesty of others or on the efficiency of the police, for the one is as doubtful as the other." (B4)

In late 1941, after nearly four years away from Switzerland, the Marmillods longed to return home. They knew the war might soon make the trip impossible, and Frédy applied for a U.S. visa so the family could book passage on a ship sailing from New York. With luck they would be home by Christmas. After tense weeks of waiting at the Mexican border, the request for a visa was denied. They were trapped in Latin America, and there for the next four years the Marmillods lived, worked, raised a family, and continued climbing.