Conquering the Jakobshorn (by Scroobious Mountain Tamer)*

Day One. We arrive at our destination in fine weather. The Jakobshorn looms proudly over Davos: Fear Me, she seems to warn. I Will Not Bow to You. I remember my last encounter with her; an arduous climb in the heat of summer. I succeeded that time. Will she remember? Will she respect me?

Having stowed our provisions, my Gurkha and I venture onto the foothills in an exploratory excursion. I am pleased to discover that my practice a year ago has not been entirely forgotten. I retire basking in the confidence that I am well placed to launch this fresh onslaught.


Day Two. We wake to a veritable blizzard. There will be no attack on the Witch of Davos today. Instead we go in search of equipment (I am lucky enough to find a local merchant willing to part with some old and some new goods at a most advantageous price) and devise a battle plan. At twilight, we stroll up the Schatzalp, opposite our target, and gaze upon her. She disdains to acknowledge our regard. Ha! You will regret your vanity, Witch!

Day Three. The day starts well; the first phase, down in the foothills, passes off very successfully. The Gurkha is impressed with my progress, unpractised as I am, and patiently teaches me new skill. My new equipment is performing well. Emboldened, we ascend to the higher slopes.


The problems start almost immediately. The new boots are suddenly crippling. The skis are too long. The slopes are too high, too long, too steep. I can feel how the Jakobshorn is bending her dark powers to destroy me - how, till now, she has merely been mocking us, allowing us foolishly to imagine her unprepared for battle - and I am not strong enough to withstand her. I weep.


At midnight, our final companion arrives. Pippa Snow Glider is sobered to hear of our inglorious misadventures of the day, but still hopeful. "Did you not kick back?" she asks, when I relate how the Witch kicked me that day. I am speechless. Has she not observed that the mountain is bigger than me?

But ultimately, I confess, I am cheered by her encouragement, and by the addition to our numbers.

Day Four. We spend the day in the foothills again, honing our skills. I have realised at last the dangers of hubris. Pip and I practise with our minds jointly focused on one task: we must build our strength. We must perfect our skill. We must defeat the Jakobshorn.


The Snow Glider's greater experience is most helpful. I take comfort in her courage and optimism - and in the continuing patience and encouragement of our most noble Gurkha. Intimately familiar as he is with the ways of the mountain, I know we can trust him. Even if we do not succeed this time in conquering the Jakobshorn, I am sure that she will not finally defeat us.


Day Five. We have progressed well, and decide the time has come to broach the upper slopes. No attack today - we will merely aim to better acquaint ourselves with the territory. Our respectful approach seems to calm the Jakobshorn, and she refrains from wreaking dark havoc on us this day. This is an excellent outcome. We retire at last greatly cheered, and prepare for the final day's challenges.

Day Six. Today is our last opportunity to defeat the Witch of Davos, but it is vital not to overreach ourselves. We spend the first part of the day in the same way as before: in careful practice and mastery of our skill. At last, when the day is almost done, the time has come.

The Snow Glider chooses not to stand beside me for the final onslaught; she recognises that this fight is mine alone. My faithful Gurkha, of course, is with me. We drink a ceremonial rumpunsch, and as the slopes empty in the early sunset light, we join battle.


Our strength is truly much greater now, and the initial phases go well. I take a few blows, but am not slowed. As the light slowly fades, I revel in my power and mastery over the mountain. Further we strike - and further. The battle is almost won, I am certain, when the Witch launches one last attack: the blackest of slopes is suddenly before me. And in perfectly witchy manner, it is reached just as the last gondola is preparing to descend from the halfway station of Ischalp. Pistenkontrolle, the Witch's familiar, stands beside me. Will you continue in this foolishness? he asks. Or will you accept defeat gracefully?

No! I will succeed or perish!

And so we descend - painfully, taking blow after blow from this treacherous slope, as the Witch throws her all at us. But this week has hardened my resolve to tempered steel, and I will not be turned from my purpose.

At last we make it through this final barrier - and victory is in sight. Yet I cannot rest. The Witch is bloodied and beaten; she knows she is defeated, but I have to finish it. The last stage of the battle is agonising; no more blows descend on me, but my body is screaming with the pain of those that came before, and most of all with exhaustion. I hear behind me the ominous hiss of Pistenkontrolle, his resentment of his mistress's humbling. It is unnerving, but he can do nothing to me now.


And so at last we reach the bottom. I gaze upon the once-proud visage of the Jakobshorn. Once I climbed all the way from the very bottom to the very top; today, I skied right from the peak to the valley. No more can she be called the Witch of Davos...

...from now on, the Jakobshorn is my bitch.

_____
* It's possible that none of this will make sense to anyone who wasn't actually with me last week. I hope that it will at least ring a bell or two with anyone who's ever been a beginner skier.