An

Interview

with

Mountaineer

Olivia

Jane

Wood

As an accomplished climber, who grew up in Zermatt—just a stone’s throw from the Matterhorn—this is far from being ‘just another mountain’ to Olivia, and reaching the top will be the realisation of a life-long dream. In partnership with Mammut and Switzerland Tourism, Olivia will be documenting every step of her journey on her Instagram account ↗—but to set the scene a little bit, we called her up to find out a bit about her childhood in Switzerland, her love of the outdoors and the endless hunt for adrenaline...

Growing up, you spent a lot of time in Zermatt didn’t you? Was climbing the Matterhorn something you’d always wanted to do?

My family had a photography shop in the centre of Zermatt, so I spent most of my childhood out there. I’d fly out there on my own, even when I was seven years old. I’d literally wake up to the Matterhorn every morning. It was a big part of my family’s life. Me and my grandad would do these local walks, up to this viewpoint to the Matterhorn, and I remember standing with my grandparent’s one day saying, “I’m going to climb up there one day.” The Matterhorn is super special to me. It’s the one I’ve always wanted to do. To me, it’s the most iconic mountain, and it was always the one that I wanted to climb.

Even back then, were you obsessed with the outdoors?

Yeah, I guess I was. I’d literally throw myself into anything, and maybe that was because I was surrounded by these big mountains growing up. As a kid, I’d just play in the mountains, or go down to the river, and I’d never feel scared.

Your family had St Bernards too didn’t they? They’re a classic part of mountain life in Switzerland.

We had five St Bernards. They did play a part in mountain rescue, with the local guides, but they were mainly used for my parents’ photography business. They would be taken up to a viewpoint, and then the tourists would get photographed with the St Bernards, as they were such an iconic part of the landscape. They’re the main thing everyone knows about Zermatt.

And they were traditionally for mountain rescue, weren’t they?

Yeah, they were search and rescue dogs, used to find casualties in the snow. I went deep into the history of them, and from what I read, there’s a pass that runs from Switzerland to Italy, called the Great St Bernard Pass, which was really dangerous—not only because it was high up in the mountains, but because of attacks from invaders. In the end a mountain hut was built on the pass, and dogs, which were later known as St Bernards, were kept there which would try and rescue injured people in the area. And it all kind of stemmed from that. It’s pretty fascinating if you read into it.

When did you go from just knocking around the outdoors as a kid, to thinking, “Right, this is what I want to do.”

I climbed a lot when I was a kid with my grandfather. He’d take me up to the Lake District all the time. I never did any 4,000 metre peaks as a kid in Zermatt, I did plenty of hiking and rock climbing. But then in university, I joined the mountaineering and climbing club, and that’s where it all really started.

We did winter skills courses in the Cairngorms… we went rock climbing… we did indoor climbing. That’s when I started to take things more seriously, and started to push my boundaries. I’d always been into walking and scrambling, but in terms of really big stuff, university was the game changer—doing the big routes up in Scotland. Some of the guys in the club were pros, they were insane climbers—so I was doing stuff that was completely out of my comfort zone, but it quickly built my confidence.

From there, I started trying to tag along with friends who were a lot better than me. In terms of climbing I was a novice back then. I’d watch them and how they’d climb, trying to learn the rope skills. And it just progressed from there, going out to Chamonix, doing some big Alpine routes. And doing all that just built up my confidence. My first big Alpine route was about five years ago, and I completely fell in love with it, because it was so dangerous.

How does something like that differ from a day in the Lakes?

The risk is just… I don’t know… maybe ten times more than something like taking a walk up Scafell? I don’t know if words can describe it. It makes me speechless every time I get out there. Those routes out in Chamonix or the Dolomites… they’re big. It’s out of this world.

It’s a different scale. Getting to the top of the Matterhorn isn’t just a casual walk, and the last 4,000 feet is one long climb. How do you train for something like that? What are the sort of things you’ve got to think about?

I’ve got to make myself fit enough to give myself the best chance to summit. It’s a lot easier to train with a goal. I’ll be prioritising mountain fitness and efficient movement skills. I’ll try to mimic the same sort of rock movement—practicing on grade 2 or 3 scrambles, and Vdiff climbs, but carrying a rucksack and wearing mountaineering boots, whereas normally on something like that, you’d wear climbing shoes. I want to get used to moving on these climbs with a pack on my back—because it can be quite awkward.

So you’re almost simulating the situation?

Yeah, exactly. And then I’ll do strength training and loads of cardio-vascular training, to help with the altitude—plenty of big, long days on the hills.

How does the altitude affect things?

It affects each individual differently. When I was in Nepal, there was a guy who was with us who started showing signs of pulmonary edema, which is where fluid starts to build up in the lungs, at around 4,800 metres. That’s one of the biggest problems, and it can actually kill you if it’s not treated correctly. And then there’s headaches and being out of breath—so that makes everything a lot harder. So the fitter I am, the better. But in terms of the Matterhorn, you’re not that high—I think my altitude sickness hit me around 5,200 metres, and I just got headaches and felt a little bit woozy.

There’s a lot you’ve got to think about then. I suppose there are a lot of variables with climbing—it’s not like you’re running a hundred metres on a track, or swimming in a swimming pool.

It’s funny you say that. When you’re climbing a mountain, you don’t have opponents like with other sports. I think with traditional sports, you’re constantly training to beat somebody else—being faster, or stronger than them. But climbing just isn’t like that. You’re putting in all the same effort, but it’s usually to join up with someone to do something you wouldn’t normally be capable of. It’s not normal. I think that’s what attracts me so much to it.

Is it a case of getting into that ‘flow state’ type thing—just doing things naturally?

Yeah, you don’t want to think about it. I know the risks are there, but I don’t think about them.

Do you have a favourite place in the UK you like to climb?

In winter it’d be in Scotland. I’ve not done loads of winter stuff up there, but that’s the place to build confidence in winter mountaineering stuff. But then there’s the Lakes. I love the Langdales for climbing—there’s some beautiful crags there to climb on a nice sunny evening. I love Wales too, but I’ve not been able to enjoy it as much. There’s some beautiful climbs there.

And what about in Europe?

I always go back to Zermatt, because it’s like a second home to me. It’s so safe—no cars are allowed there, there are just little electric taxis. And then on Sunday, you’re not allowed to do any gardening or any washing—and if you do, you get fined. It’s amazing. And the peach ice tea is to die for. And then there’s Italy as well. The Gran Paradiso is a beautiful national park. It’s still alpine, but there’s no technical climbing in it.

Where’s the buzz of all this for you? Is it when you get back from a big adventure? Or is it when you’re out there?

There is that feeling at the end—I usually get a bit shell shocked, and I need a bit of time to get my head around what I’ve just done—but for me, it’s doing it. It’s the adrenaline. That’s what I crave in my life.