Pitons, fixed ropes, artificial oxygen: How much technology should be allowed to help in mountaineering? Paul Preuß debated this question more than 100 years ago – and placed his own skill above any artificial assistance. A look at Prussia's history on his 140th birthday.
It took 11 days for his body to be found – buried under a meter of fresh snow at the base of the Northern Mandlkogel in the Dachstein Mountains. He had set out alone on the previously unclimbed north face in perfect weather and had been missing ever since. Paul Preuß, the master of the abyss, was just 27 years old.
Initially, it didn't look like Paul Preuß, born in 1886 in Altaussee at the foot of the Totes Gebirge mountains, would ever become a top climber. At the age of six, he became so ill that he was confined to a wheelchair for months. After his recovery, his father took the still physically weak boy on his first hikes.
After his father's early death, Preuß found himself drawn to the mountains more and more frequently. Initially, he undertook easy hikes with his siblings and school friends, but soon he was venturing out on his own more and more often. Step by step, he ventured into steeper and more challenging terrain. The mountaineer and writer Kurt Maix later aptly described this early phase: Preuß initially "climbed and scrambled around, just like the locals do." From this playful exploration, an extraordinary skill developed within just a few years.
A young climber becomes the "Lord of the Abyss"
Preuß achieved his first significant climb, the north face of the Planspitze in the Gesäuse mountains, in July 1908. From 1910 onward, his expeditions became increasingly challenging. In just a few years, he completed around 1.200 ascents, including numerous first ascents. The 250-meter-long Preuß Crack on the Kleines Zinne (Little Cima), which he first climbed in September 1911 together with Paul Relly, became famous. Even more spectacular was his unroped solo ascent of the Totenkirchl west face in the Wilder Kaiser range just a few weeks earlier. Tita Piaz, one of the first ascensionists, was said to have been so impressed by the feat that he gave Preuß the nickname "Lord of the Abyss."
Preuß trained systematically, even in bad weather, and increasingly made mountaineering his profession. From 1910 onwards, he was a sought-after lecturer. His fees allowed him to devote himself largely to climbing, making him one of the first alpinists to earn his living from mountaineering.
The wall hook dispute
Also in the summer of 1911, Preuß published his essay "Artificial Aids on High-Altitude Tours" in the German Alpine Journal. In it, he questioned a practice that was just beginning to establish itself: the use of pitons for climbing. His position was clear: anyone who could not climb a passage under their own power should not attempt it with artificial aid. A piton should, at most, serve as a safety device. Preuß also wanted to forgo technical aids on the descent. "Overcoming difficulties under one's own power, both on the ascent and the descent – that is the tenet of an honest, sporting conviction," he wrote.
His theories sparked fierce reactions in the climbing community. In particular, his former admirer Tita Piaz, as well as the climber and guidebook author Franz Nieberl, known as the "Kaiser Pope," strongly disagreed. They accused Preuß of failing to adequately distinguish between the sensible use and misuse of pitons. A safety device, they argued, could not only make a route technically easier, but also save lives at a crucial moment.
From today's perspective, however, one important point must not be overlooked: the safety system back then was anything but reliable. A fall, even with rope and carabiners, often proved fatal. For Preuß, how realistically a climber knew their own limits was therefore always a question of safety.
He responded to the growing criticism with six principles. At its core, it was about one principle: the difficulty of a route should be overcome by the climber's skill, not by technical aids. "Skill is the measure of what is allowed"—this is how Preuß succinctly put it in one of his most famous sentences. Thus, the dispute was more than a disagreement about a piece of iron in the rock. It was about the very question of what constitutes a mountaineering achievement—because for Preuß, what mattered was not... dass not just a way to climb a mountain, but above all Who.
Death – and what came after
Two years later, it would become clear how consistently Preuß adhered to his principles, even at the decisive moment. What exactly happened on the Northern Mandlkogel in early October 1913 could never be reconstructed with certainty. He may have fallen while attempting to traverse below the yellow overhangs in the upper part of the face to easier terrain. However, it is also possible that a moment of carelessness during a rest proved fatal: ten years after his fall, his rucksack and open pocketknife were found at the base of the wall.
After his death, the obvious question seems to be: Had Preuß failed to live up to his own principles? Could a climbing partner have prevented his fall? Would a piton have held him? But the contemporary reaction was by no means characterized by this accusation – shock and admiration for the exceptional young climber were paramount.
Subsequently, Preuß's concept of "pure" mountaineering largely faded into obscurity – not least because Preuß was of Jewish origin and nationalist-antisemitic officials of the Alpine Clubs deliberately downplayed the memory of Jewish climbers. It wasn't until the 1960s that he re-entered the consciousness of the climbing community. Reinhold Messner played a crucial role in this, republishing Preuß's writings, making his ideas accessible to a modern audience, and honoring him as the intellectual father of modern free climbing.
More than 100 years after the wall hook controversy: The question remains relevant
What Preuß formulated in 1911 was more than just a rejection of pitons. His six principles describe a vision of mountaineering in which humans should be able to cope with the difficulties. This is precisely where its relevance lies today. Equipment has changed dramatically since 1911, but the fundamental question remains: How much assistance is permissible on the mountain? This question arises with regard to bolt spacing and the refurbishment of old classic routes, as well as with the ascent of eight-thousanders using fixed ropes and bottled oxygen.
Preuß's own career path provides an answer to this question. He began with easy tours, gained experience, and gradually moved into more challenging terrain. This learning curve is easily overlooked in modern mountaineering, where photos and videos on the internet give the impression that major goals can be achieved without extensive preparation. But his death also demonstrates that a residual risk always remains in the mountains, no matter how skilled one may be.
The fact that Preuß's ideas continue to resonate today is also demonstrated by the International Paul Preuss Society. With its Paul Preuss Prize, it honors climbers whose entire body of work represents outstanding alpine achievements "by fair means"—that is, mountaineering without excessive technical aids, as Preuß's six principles already demanded. Previous recipients include Reinhold Messner, Alexander Huber, and Barbara Zangerl.
Preuß's legacy, therefore, is not a demand to abandon hooks, ropes, or other aids. Rather, it lies in the question of whether we use them to overcome a difficulty we are not yet truly equipped to handle. Modern equipment can reduce risks. It does not, however, relieve us of the responsibility to accurately assess our own abilities.
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Credits: Cover image: Wikimedia Commons