Dan Moore's remarkable story

The Eiger is one of the most striking peaks in the Alps – and its north face is pure legend. In this personal story, IVBV-certified mountain guide Dan Moore recounts his winter ascent. It's an experience that takes more than skills: it calls for courage, mental focus, and deep respect for nature.

My name is Dan Moore. I'm an IVBV mountain guide from the UK, now based in the Bernese Oberland. I've made this region my home – and I genuinely love sharing it with my guests every day!

Early morning. The phone vibrates. I read the text message with sleepy eyes. It’s from Mario. The message says: “The North Face is in good condition! What are you doing next week?”
In the next moment, I’m wide awake. I instantly know it’s not a question—we’re going to try!
Although I’ve never climbed this route before, I know it better than any other. It’s etched into my memory, engraved by years of reading books like The White Spider, Starlight and Storm, and The Mountains of My Life. The Eiger, the mountain of my dreams, stands right in front of me. I don’t feel ready. Can one ever be ready for something like this?
If I don’t try now, when will I?
I call Mario back: “Let’s give it a shot!”

We have three days to prepare. I'm so nervous I can barely eat. My stomach growls, my mind spins – but I go through my gear, clothing, and food calmly and methodically. Every item gets weighed and double-checked. I sharpen my ice tools the night before we leave.

At night in our accommodation, I lie awake thinking of all the places I could slip and die; that we might not make it in one push and would have to bivouac; that I might drop the backpack, a glove, or the stove; that I might lose the route or run out of energy two-thirds of the way up; that I'm not ready, not experienced enough.

But there's no turning back now. The hours fly by without sleep. At midnight, the alarm rings. I think: Can I do this? As we start walking, my mind keeps spinning:

"I'm not good enough, I'm being stupid. I'm going to die."

But then we start climbing, and the doubts slowly fade. The crunch of crampons and the swing of ice tools into firm snow calm the mind. The lights of Grindelwald slowly disappear behind us. "That's the Stollenloch," says Mario. "Already?!" I reply. "Where's the tricky crack? Found it!" We keep climbing. Rockfall at the second icefield! It's small, but we rush across to the Flat Iron and up to Death Bivouac – Karl and Max's highest point back in 1936. It starts to get light. Then come the ramp and the Waterfall Chimney. Conditions: bone dry. I imagine what the first climbers must have gone through. Back then, they climbed through an actual waterfall, got soaked to the skin, and bivouacked afterwards. Crazy or immortal?

Stollenloch – Experience the Eiger Noth Face There's a small, almost invisible window in the middle of the famous Eiger North Face: the Stollenloch. This historic access point was built during construction of the Jungfrau railway – and today, it's only reachable as part of a guided tour. We offer it exclusively as a unique team and group experience. Together with our certified mountain guides, you exit the Jungfrau train, walk a few steps through the tunnel – and suddenly, you're standing inside the Eiger's vertical North Face. It's not a viewpoint – it's a real alpine experience. One that challenges you, builds trust, and leaves a lasting impression.

Eiger Noth Face – Stollenloch

Video: Stollenloch – OUTDOOR Events

We slow down as we reach the brittle ledges. There's not much daylight left – it's mid-December, the shortest days of the year. But I feel calm. We've passed halfway. We're going to make it.

When you step onto the Traverse of the Gods, the name finally makes sense. With so much air beneath your feet, it really does feel like you're in heaven. The higher we move over the Spider and toward the summit, the stronger the sense of wonder becomes. As we move across the Spider and up towards the top, the feeling of wonder grows and grows.

The majestic, towering form of the mountain bends space and time around you. It envelops you. Cradles you. It’s as if you were climbing onto your mother’s lap as she embraces you. There is an emptiness—but not a frightening one. Rather, a vacuum that allows only instinct and compassion to pass through, cleansing you of all that is bad; of all ego-driven greed; of all fear, all doubts, and all uncertainty. Everything is washed away. And what remains is peace. When you have passed through such a place, you realize: There are no mountains to conquer. That is impossible. The mountains are still up there, distant, alone: the same radiant white pyramids they have been for millennia, reaching toward the sky, slowly shifting the clouds. And they will still be there long after we are gone. Up there, there is no battle to fight. Only movement. Only life, in the truest sense of the word.