Knowing Toto: The first I lost in the mountains
@Thomas Ulrich
Thomas Ulrich
Stephan Siegrist with Ashleigh Maxwell
Alpinist Stephan Siegrist shares the story of his late mentor, the widely celebrated and colorful big-wall climber Xaver Bongard, and the moving encounter with this extraordinary character that inspired a life lived on the wild side.
I met Xaver Bongard in 1991 in Interlaken. I was 19 years old, just out of school, spending all my time climbing and thinking about starting the mountain guide course. My sister's husband was the brother of Xaver's girlfriend, Annabel. They all lived together in one apartment. When they moved in, I met Xaver for the first time.Â
Xaver had annexed the attic upstairs; a room which made my jaw drop as a young mountain enthusiast. Scattered all over the attic lay mountaineering equipment of all kinds. Axes, crampons, ropes, mountaineering boots and a lot of small equipment like cams, nuts and copper heads: a disorganized sports store that made my heart beat faster. I was in great awe of Xaver. But he took me in like an old friend. He was very warm and open. I immediately felt that the chemistry between us was right.
Xaver was nine years older than me, which seemed a lot at the time. He was already well known in the mountaineering scene. His adventures in Yosemite had also made him a big name in America – a series of first ascents on El Cap topping the list. He was undoubtedly one of climbing’s the most renowned – and colorful – big-wall rock and ice specialists of the day. So, when he offered to train and climb with me, it felt like a great honor. Why would Xaver want to go climbing with me – a young, comparatively inexperienced and completely unknown climber? But as I came to learn, that was just Xaver. I was young and motivated. I think he respected that. I wasn't just a partner for his interests.
I think he appreciated that I saw him for who he was. Despite the age difference between us, we got along really well and often found ourselves together on the rock and ice.Â
Over the following years, I learned a lot from Xaver. He became my mentor - not only technically, but also in his attitude toward life. He didn't care what other people thought about him. He lived his passion and pursued the simple life. He did what he loved. This was reflected in every part of who he was, including his wicked sense of humor. I looked up to the life he had created for himself and admired him for going his own way with such unbridled freedom.
"He didn't care what other people thought about him. He lived his passion and pursued the simple life. He did what he loved."
Toto – as he was known to those close to him – became an important friend for me at a time when I was beginning to work out what I wanted my own life to look like.Â
I grew up in a fairly traditional family where climbing was not part of my life. I came to the sport relatively late, but I was obsessed, and my ambition was to find ways to climb and be in the mountains as much as possible. Toto was proof to me that I didn't have to follow any rules to do that and create the life I wanted. He made his own rules and went his own way. He followed his heart. I remember one day on the spur of the moment he decided to make a fondue in his old apartment on a hanging gas stove. But, there was a problem: he didn’t have anywhere to hang a stove. Without further ado, Toto drilled a hole in the beautiful ceiling of the room, sourced the appropriate screw from his ramshackle workshop and fixed it to the roof. Problem solved.Â
That was just the way he was. Nothing could stand in his way. He was free of expectations and went after what he wanted without inhibitions.Â
In 1992 Xaver made the first ascent of the northeast pillar of the Great Trango Tower in the Karakoram with John Middendorf. When he came back from the expedition, he threw a big party and gave me a poster of the Trango Tower, which I still have today. On it he wrote: "Soon it will be your turn for great expeditions."Â Xaver was rightly proud of his ambition, but he was always humble. The fact that he took me under his wing was perhaps the best example for me of who he was. He inspired. Everyone who came in contact with him felt the same way. He was always planning and plotting, and always with fire in his eyes. He was a master improviser who pushed creative boundaries with the way he lived, his connections to the people around him and in his climbing ambitions. It was infectious.
On the mountain, you always knew you were in for a big day when you were with Toto. There were always hurdles to overcome, whether it was with his car or on a route. But it was never reckless. He was a smart climber who could always find a way out of a situation. There was always a way if you looked at it from a different angle. The way he climbed was the way he lived. He also had a very special style of ice climbing that was revolutionary for the time. He moved his legs a lot, instead of using the three-point style. That was something I really admired. Later, when I took the mountain guide course, I thought I would really impress with some of these moves. But unsurprisingly it was not appreciated. I will always remember the guide telling me: “That is not the way we do things”. I think Xaver would have loved that.Â
Xaver was a metalworker by trade and we often climbed with mountaineering gear that he had modified and improved, or even made himself. I still have some of his work, including a set of copper heads. His axes were always in perfect condition. His hands were a different matter – worn and beaten from climbing ice and cracks. He had seen a lot, and although he lived the wild life, he was ambitious and took his projects seriously. But he wasn’t dogged in a stubborn way. He was a true master.Â
In February 1993, while I was doing my military service, Toto called me. "Let's go on a big ice tour together tomorrow," he said. "I've got a project on the Breitwandfluh: a really big, brilliant ice line waiting for a first ascent." Unfortunately, I couldn't get away on such short notice. Toto found another colleague, Michi Gruber. Together they were able to open this unique and now legendary Crack Baby ice route near Kandersteg. This was a global milestone in ice climbing and I was thrilled to climb the route again with Michi on the anniversary of the first ascent earlier this year ↗.
It was after this climb that Toto’s focus shifted to BASE jumping. He had learned to jump in Yosemite a few years earlier with Will Oxx. To no one's surprise, he very quickly began to lead the charge in the Swiss BASE scene; pioneering new equipment and new jumps. I was living in Bern and working in a climbing gym when I got the call from my sister. Xaver had jumped from the "Staubbach" in Lauterbrunnen, as he had done many times before. He did everything right, as he had many times before. But his main chute didn't seem to open. After he pulled the emergency chute, the two tangled and that was it.Â
A world collapsed for me. It was a complete shock. He was the first friend I had lost to the mountains and it took a long time for me to accept what had happened. I went through all these processes trying to understand and make sense of it, trying to find reason.Â
It's easy to imagine how something like that happening to a close friend and mentor would make me rethink my own relationship with the mountains. But for me, it solidified my focus. I wanted to finish what he had started. I wanted to live the way he had. Though I am convinced that if Toto were still alive, he could have passed on many more life lessons.
"It solidified my focus. I wanted to finish what he had started."
It is now almost 30 years since we lost Xaver. I have lost other friends in the mountains, but he was the first. I was so young and he was my hero.Â
Toto still accompanies me in my thoughts and when our own son was born, we named him Xavier. We often still say: "Xaver would have done it like that". I wonder what he would have been like today; if he would have changed as he got older or as he inevitably got more sponsors, if he would have matured or remained as wild and free. Now that I'm older, I think about all the growing up I did after losing him, and all the growing up he didn't get to do.Â
There were certainly others who knew Toto much longer and better than I did. But I am honored to have crossed paths with him. He was not only a brilliant alpinist and mentor for my future as a climber, but also a friend from whom I learned a lot about life. Toto taught me, perhaps more importantly than anything else, the impact we can have on those around us, even if our paths sometimes lead us apart.
