Beneath the Morteratsch Glacier unfolds a space of striking grandeur, not shaped by human hands, but by time, pressure, and melting ice. The arched ceiling of layered blue ice rises like the ribs of a Gothic cathedral, while a solitary column of frozen meltwater stands as a fragile pillar at the center.
A clear river flows through the cave. The rhythm of dripping ice is at times harshly interrupted by the thud and rumble of stones collapsing from the melting upper rim near the entrance, an ominous reminder of the landscape’s constant motion. Entering this space during daylight feels like playing Russian roulette.
At the same time, the sounds of working ice rise from the depths: creaking, shifting, and the deep sighing of a living mass in motion.
