‘Chalanda Mars, Chaland Avrigl,Lasché las vaschas our d’nuigl,Cha l’erva creschaE la naiv svanescha,’
‘Chalanda Mars, Chaland Avrigl,Lasché las vaschas our d’nuigl,Cha l’erva creschaE la naiv svanescha,’
‘Chalanda Mars, Chaland Avrigl,Lasché las vaschas our d’nuigl,Cha l’erva creschaE la naiv svanescha,’
‘Chalanda Mars, Chaland Avrigl,
Lasché las vaschas our d’nuigl,
Cha l’erva crescha
E la naiv svanescha,’
which means,
Beginning of March, beginning of April,Bring forth the cows from their stables,For the grass is growing,And the snow is going.
Beginning of March, beginning of April,Bring forth the cows from their stables,For the grass is growing,And the snow is going.
Beginning of March, beginning of April,Bring forth the cows from their stables,For the grass is growing,And the snow is going.
Beginning of March, beginning of April,
Bring forth the cows from their stables,
For the grass is growing,
And the snow is going.
“During their procession through the village, the youngsters collect chestnuts, or any other dainty offered by the listeners to their music, and on the Sunday following these treasures are placed on a gorgeous sort of ‘buffet,’ and all the village children, even the babies, are invited to help themselves. After supper, a dance helps to further enliven matters, and to make the little folk look forward impatiently to next year’s ‘Chalanda Mars.’”
The herd, consisting perhaps of animals belonging to twenty or more different persons, on its departure for the mountains, is headed by the largest and finest of the cows. She is decorated with the best and deepest-toned bell, and at every march she never fails to place herself in front ofall her companions, and when, through old age or sickness, she loses her superiority, and her bell is transferred to the neck of another animal, she sometimes abandons herself to such lowness of spirits as seriously to impair her health.
Tschudi relates that on one occasion, when the herds were preparing for the descent from the upper alp of Bilters, he noticed a furious combat between two cows, and on his inquiring the reason, the herdsmen told him that one of the cows had borne the great bell during the ascent, but that it had been transferred from her neck to that of a still finer animal during their sojourn on the alp. The first cow, having heard the tones of her old bell, had come from a great distance, and on her arrival had immediately shown fight, in revenge for the loss of her former privilege.
After the leader of the troop follow those of next importance, and it is said that every time the purchase of a new animal adds to the herd, the last arrival engages each of the cows in turn in battle, and the result of the fights determines her position amongst her companions. The bells carried by the cows are sometimes so large as to measure a foot in diameter, and cost in some instances as much as eighty or a hundred francs.
The cows are accompanied to their summer quarters either by a girl, who is known as aSennerin, or by a cowherd, orSenner. It is often imagined that these peasants enjoy a life of romantic idleness, lying on the emerald-green turf, surrounded by snow-clad glittering peaks, and making the cliffs re-echo to their jodels or the “Ranz des Vaches.”
I may here add, that, according to Dr. Forbes, the name of the “Ranz des Vaches” is derived from the “rang” or range in which the cows stand to be milked, the “Ranz des Vaches” being usually sung by the peasants on their departure for the alps. However, in a work by H. Szadrowsky entitled “Music and the Musical Instruments of the Dwellers in the Alps” (1868), the derivation ofRanzis said to be fromranner, to shout (Swiss-Romansch), and the “Ranz des Vaches” fromReihenorReigen, a song. In truth, the existence of the peasants who inhabit these alps is by no means a lazy one. Up before break of day—I have often seen them astir by 3A.M.—they must let their cows out of the shelter in which they have passed the night. If any of the animals are ill, they must be attended to. Twice daily they must be milked, and cheese-making is an important and arduous portion of the day’s routine.
In the Engadine, and, in general, all over the Grisons, the alp huts are built of wood or solid stone, and are comfortable and commodious, and good shelter is provided for the cattle. In many parts of Valais, on the contrary, the rough stone huts of the cowherds, so low that an upright position cannot, in some cases, be maintained, are but miserable, hastily-built hovels, the walls consisting of stones piled one on another, regardless of intervening gaps, and a roof of rocky slabs covering the wretched structure. The cows are entirely unprovided with shelter on many such alps, and often when passing through mountain pastures at night, I have been startled by suddenly stumbling over a warm mass slumbering in the long dewy grass.
The highest pastures are usually to be found at about 7500 feet, but at the Riffel above Zermatt, cows are to be seen grazing above 8000 feet, and on the south slopes of the Italian side of the Alps they go still higher. In several parts of Switzerland, the cows, in order to gain their summer quarters, must cross the ice of the glaciers, and at Montanvert, above Chamonix, they may be seen in June and October traversing the Mer de Glace.
Two distinct kinds of cattle are found in Switzerland. The one is to be seen in the districts betweenthe Lake of Constance and the east boundary of Valais, while the west is occupied by a different sort. The former is easily distinguishable, being of a uniform brown, sometimes dark in shade, sometimes light, while the other is white with black or yellow patches, sometimes being entirely red or black, with only a white mark on the forehead. The first of these two varieties, it has been noticed, is heavier or lighter, according as it inhabits the lowlands or the higher valleys.
The heaviest and finest of these animals are to be found in the Canton of Schweiz, and attain a weight of twenty to twenty-five quintaux. Of the latter sort, the best specimens inhabit Bulle, Romont, and Eastern Switzerland in general. These animals are the heaviest of all.
For further information on “Alp Life,” I refer my readers to Tschudi’s “Monde des Alpes.”
Amongst the animals met with in the Alps, there is none so interesting to the traveller as the chamois. The reason for this is not far to seek, for the animal is sufficiently rare to excite both the curiosity and the imagination, while its pursuit is known to be so difficult and often dangerous, that it has frequently been described as “mountaineering without a rope.” Thus a glamour of romance is thrown over the whole subject.
Chamois-shooting in Switzerland is only allowed during one month of the year, September. It is seldom indulged in, in this country, by foreigners, as there is a great deal of difficulty in obtaining a license. Indeed, it can only be had after the stranger has taken out aNiederlassung(which gives many of the rights of naturalisation without loss of those of the free-born Briton), and this is both a troublesome and a tedious process, besides entailing a residence of some time in Switzerland.
There are several other plans, however, by which the ardent sportsman works his will. One of these is simply to go and shoot, and, disregarding all monetary considerations, pay a heavy fine for each chamois secured. At what period, however, the Swiss authorities would pronounce the offender against their laws incorrigible, and introduce him to the interior of one of their prisons, I do not know.
A third course, and the one usually followed, is for the foreigner to accompany a native who is armed with a license and a gun for his own use. I will not affirm that in the excitement of the chase the latter does not sometimes change hands.
Hampered by a rifle, and minus the help of the trusty rope and ice-axe, chamois-hunting calls for exceptional activity and endurance. Most Englishmen who go in for the sport make their headquarters in the Italian Alps, where the Government regulations are less stringent than in this country.
The Engadine contains large herds of chamois, and one can see thirty or forty almost every day in summer feeding on the slopes of Piz Tschierva, opposite the Roseg restaurant. This is no doubt because that part of the Engadine has been strictly preserved for some years.
For the benefit of such of my readers as havenever seen a chamois, I extract the following description of one from Mr. Baillie Grohman’s brightly written little work, “Tyrol and the Tyrolese.”
“Somewhat larger than a roedeer, a chamois weighs, when full grown, from forty to seventy pounds. Its colour, in summer of a dusky yellowish brown, changes in autumn to a much darker hue, while in winter it is all but black. The hair on the forehead and that which overhangs the hoofs, remains tawny brown throughout the year, while the hair growing along the backbone is in winter dark brown and of prodigious length; it furnishes the much-prized ‘Gamsbart,’ literally ‘beard of the chamois,’ with tufts of which the hunters love to adorn their hats. The build of the animal exhibits in its construction a wonderful blending of strength and agility. The power of its muscles is rivalled by the extraordinary facility of balancing the body, of instantly finding, as it were, the centre of gravity.”
Most districts of the Alps have their famous chamois-hunters; but, according to Tschudi, the most celebrated of all was Jean-Marie Colani of Pontresina. It is said that he kept about 200 chamois, half-tamed, on the hills near his home. Each year he shot sixty males or so, calculating on about the same number of young ones beingborn every season. He would not tolerate any strangers in the district, and the Tyrolese especially suffered much at his hands. It was popularly related at Pontresina that he had a room in his châlet decorated with foreign hunting implements, which he had taken from those whom he had killed, the number of his victims being estimated at thirty. Of course this was a gross exaggeration, and A. Cadonau, an old chamois-shooter of Bergün, asserted that Colani only killed one Tyrolese hunter whom he found on Swiss ground near Piz Ot; but he tells that one day he met Colani unexpectedly, and the latter took deliberate aim at him, only lowering his weapon when he recognised his friend.
It is said that on one occasion Colani killed three chamois grouped together with one shot, and many anecdotes are told of him, most of which are by no means to his credit. From the time he was twenty years of age till his death, Colani killed 2600 chamois. This figure has never been reached by any one else. Colani’s death in 1837 was caused by over-exertion, he having undertaken for a bet to mow a piece of land in the same time that it would take a couple of the best Tyrolese mowers to accomplish a like amount.
The Grisons have had other famous chasseurs,amongst whom may be mentioned J. Rüdi of Pontresina and Jacob Spinas of Tinzen. The latter began to hunt at twelve years old, and, in a career of twenty-two years, shot 600 chamois, besides securing every season forty to fifty hares, about sixty marmots, some hundred or more partridges, a dozen foxes or so, and in a single day catching trout to a weight of fifteen to twenty pounds.
The largest herd of chamois Spinas ever saw numbered from sixty-five to sixty-eight head. Spinas contested that he was only surpassed as a hunter by one other man in the canton, namely, B. Cathomen of Brigels.
Other noted chamois-hunters, inhabiting Val Bregaglia and the neighbouring valleys, are Giacomo Scarlazzi of Promontogno, who has shot as many as five chamois in a day and seventeen in a week, and Pietro Soldini of Stampa. The latter, up to 1887, had killed 1200 to 1300 chamois, of which he shot forty-nine in one autumn. J. Saratz of Pontresina was also a famous chasseur, and the three brothers Sutter of Bergün must not be forgotten. Amongst them they shot 1700 head, in addition to which Mathew Sutter has killed a bear, a læmmergeier, and often in a day eight to tenptarmigan. He has only seen three lynx, but has never shot one.
October 1852 was a fatal time for chamois-hunters, three of whom, including the famous guide Hans Lauener, were killed during that month. The saying that more chamois-hunters are killed while engaged in their favourite sport than die a natural death has, unfortunately, a good deal of truth in it. Sometimes the chasseur, overcome by fatigue, falls asleep in some cold and exposed spot, never to wake again. Sometimes he is mortally wounded by falling stones, or struck by lightning in a thunderstorm. Often he is killed by avalanches, and if, when on difficult ground far from home, he is overtaken by a thick fog, his position becomes most perilous. He may wander for hours without nearing the valley; he may slip down a precipice concealed by the mist; he may give in to utter exhaustion. The diminution of the chamois within the last fifteen or twenty years also makes his task much harder, and he may spend days without being able to approach, or perhaps even without seeing one.
A pretty anecdote of a chamois is told by Dr. John Forbes in his work “A Physician’s Holiday.” He says that in the year 1843 the proprietor ofa large flock of goats on the Great Scheideck had rendered a chamois so tame, by training it almost from its birth, as to get it to mingle in the herd with its more civilised cousins, and to come and go with them to and from the mountains with perfect docility and seeming content. Like most of its companions, it was decorated with a bell suspended round its neck. After following for three successive seasons this domestic course, it all at once forgot the lessons it had learnt, and lost its character as a member of civilised society for ever. One fine day, when higher up the mountains than was customary for the flock, it suddenly heard the bleat of its brethren on the cliffs above, and pricking up its ears, off it started, and speedily vanished amid the rocks, whence the magical sounds had come. Never from that hour was the tame chamois seen on the slopes of the Scheideck, but its bell was often heard by the hunters ringing among the wild solitudes of the Wetterhorn.
It is only when the chamois has lost, through disease, that amount of intelligence with which it is gifted by nature that it will abandon its mountain home and seek the haunts of man. Johann Scheuchzer of Zurich tells us that in the year 1699, only four years before the date of hisjourney, a chamois suddenly descended into the valley of Engelberg in Unterwalden, and not only mixed with the horses and cows, but could not even be driven from them by stones. It was at length shot, and on its body being examined after death by one of the fathers of the neighbouring monastery, a sac containing watery serum and sandy particles was found pressing on the brain. Some ten years ago a chamois appeared in the streets of Bonneville (Haute-Savoie), and walked calmly in at the open door of a restaurant, where it was captured. The Chamonix hunters say that there is a certain herb which, on being eaten by chamois, maddens them, and that they consequently wander down into the valley.
On September 1, 1887, a chamois was seen by an Englishman who was driving on the high-road at Frauenkirch, near Davos-Platz. The coachman also saw it, and the distance from the road to the right bank of the Landwasser, where it was first perceived, was so short that an excellent view of the animal was obtainable. It swam vigorously across the river, and disappeared in the forest beyond. Perhaps as September 1st is the date on which chamois-hunting commences, it had been driven down the valley by terror.
Chamois take freely to the water, and several instances are on record of their having been enabled by swimming to elude their pursuers.
Many hunters look upon one particular animal in the district they inhabit as a pet, and refrain from shooting it themselves, or allowing it to be shot. These favoured beasts are sometimes so tame that they linger round the alps where the chasseurs live, and allow them to approach to within a distance of a few feet.
In common with many other animals, chamois dearly love salt, and in certain districts where the rocks are flavoured with a saline taste, the animals come in flocks to lick them. The hunters sometimes put down salt for the benefit of the chamois, refraining, however, from shooting them when they come to eat it, as they might thus frighten them away from that part of the country.
There are several ways of hunting chamois. Sometimes they are driven, either as in the great preserves of the Duke of Coburg near the Achensee, that of the Archduke Victor near Kufstein, and others in Tyrol and Germany (it is needless to add that there are no private preserves in Switzerland), or in a more sportsmanlike manner, when three or four hunters drive the chamois down from theirpastures at dawn, and, later on, remounting the slopes, drive them up again, often imitating the barking of a dog, towards their retreat. Here several chasseurs are lying hidden, and as soon as the animals arrive within range, they shoot. It is, of course, often difficult to drive the chamois in the right direction, but the knowledge of their haunts displayed by the hunters is frequently most astonishing in its exactitude.
The most usual way of hunting chamois is to stalk them, and I think there can be no question as to the infinite superiority of the sport thus obtained. I would here add, in the words of a sportsman, that “the wholesale slaughter of an animal that Nature herself has placed in the most sublime recesses of her creation, and endowed with such noble qualities and wonderful organisation, is a proceeding which a true sportsman ought not to countenance.”
It is supposed that there are as many as 2000 head of chamois in the Grisons alone. The oldest chamois ever shot was believed to have reached the age of forty years. It was killed in the Engadine in 1857, but its age is probably much exaggerated. As for the heaviest chamois, one weighing 125 Swiss pounds was shot on the Tschingel (BerneseOberland). I can find no record of a chamois of greater weight than this.
It has been estimated, from measurements made on Monte Rose, that a chamois can jump crevasses sixteen to eighteen Swiss feet in width, while it can jump down twenty-four feet or so.
Every year the number of chamois shot in the Grisons exceeds 500, and in December a corresponding number of skins are offered for sale at St. Andrew’s market at Chur.
It has often been a matter for speculation as to whether the chamois will ever become extinct in this country. I cannot think it likely that it will. It is carefully preserved in the closed districts, and as the wild valleys of the Alps are more and more opened up, poaching will become more difficult and the animals consequently freer from molestation. The more, too, that habitations increase in the higher valleys, the wilder will the chamois probably become, and the more difficult, therefore, to shoot; so that I do not think that we need fear the dying out of the race.
TheAlpine Journalfor November 1868 concludes with these words, “If anybody thinks that Alpine science has been already too thoroughly drilled into the public mind, we would refer him to a recent ridiculous letter which the editor of theTimesdid not think it beneath him to publish, and in which the writer said that a ‘puff of smoke,’ as it appeared on the mountain, ‘raised the cry that the Glacier des Pélérins had burst, carrying with it part of the moraine which kept it within bounds!’”
If any one had told the climbing world in those days that in 1891 the ordinary traveller would be nearly as ignorant of the behaviour of glaciers as was theTimescorrespondent referred to above, I fancy the prophet would have been received with derision. Such, however, I know to be the case; and only last year, while walking up Piz Languard with a party of friends, I was asked if the medialmoraine of the Morteratsch glacier was a carriage road or only a bridle-path! This is my excuse for entering at some length into a subject which has been already written about in so able a manner and in much detail by Professors Tyndall, Forbes, Heim, Forel, and others.
Now, let me tell you something about those great icy masses which, under the name of glaciers, thrust their cold forms far below the region of perpetual snow, and in some cases, as, for instance, that of the Glacier des Bossons at Chamonix, even push down their frozen waves amongst the meadows and forests in the very trough of the valley.
I am constantly asked by those who are only acquainted with the lower end of the glaciers how it is that they are continually and rapidly melting at their lower extremity, and yet their general features are but slightly altered from year to year. The obvious answer is, that they are constantly replenished from above, and that glacier ice has formerly been snow, which, for a considerable period, has been subjected to enormous pressure. The common illustration of a snow-ball, squeezed in the hand till it becomes hard and icy, explains this transition of snow to ice in a manner easily understood by all, and if we remember that thewarm hand, in addition to the pressure, also tends to produce the above result, we have a parallel to the heat of the sun acting on the cold, dry snow of the upper regions. Now, every one knows that when it rains in the valleys it snows on the mountains, and that even during the heat of summer it very seldom rains above a height of 11,000 to 12,000 feet. In consequence of this, the accumulation of snow on the higher peaks is very great, and the pressure which is exerted by its weight is enormous.
As a natural result, a portion of the ice-caps or snow-beds gravitates downwards, and where the upper snows are of great extent and the shape of the channel suitable, a large glacier is found, as is the case near Pontresina, where the huge Morteratsch glacier pursues its lengthy course, fed by the snows of the Bernina and Bellavista. The first to speak clearly and positively on the since well-proven theory that a glacier moves like a river was Monseigneur Rendu, a native of Savoy. “Between the Mer de Glace and a river there is a resemblance so complete, that it is impossible to find in the latter a circumstance which does not exist in the former,” he writes, and Professor Tyndall sets forth in an admirable manner the reason why a glacier movesmore quickly in the centre than at the sides. I cannot do better than quote his own words.
“A cork, when cast upon a stream near its centre, will move more quickly than when thrown near the side, for the progress of the stream is retarded by its banks. As you and your guide stood together on the solid waves of that Amazon of ice, you were borne resistlessly along. You saw the boulders perched upon their frozen pedestals; these were the spoils of distant hills, quarried from summits far away, and floated to lower levels like timber blocks upon the Rhone. As you advanced towards the centre you were carried down the valley with an ever-augmenting velocity. You felt it not—he felt it not—still you were borne down with a velocity which, if continued, would amount to 1000 feet a year.”
Many glaciers descend in curves, pursuing a sinuous course towards the valley, and the convex side of the curve must, of course, hurry up very considerably in order to keep pace with the rest. Now, as the ice thus moves faster on the one side than on the other, the result is that the convex side is rent and torn asunder, and splits up into those cracks and chasms known as crevasses. Consequently, a glacier which flows downwards in a straight direction and at a gentle incline presents a comparatively unbroken surface, while a glacier which descends in leaps and bounds over a steep bed and dashes round sharp corners will exhibit all the features of an impassable ice-fall.
Striking examples of the former class of glaciers are the Aletsch glacier, the upper portion of the Gorner glacier, the Miage glacier, the Roseg glacier, the Pasterzen glacier, &c., and of the latter the Bies glacier, the Brenva glacier, the Géant glacier, the Pers glacier, and many others. The exact point at which the snow of the heights passes into glacier ice has never been definitely determined, but each winter’s snowfall is distinctly traceable by a band of differently-hued snow wherever above the snow-line a glacier is much split up.
High glacier-clad mountains are covered with what is known asnévé—névébeing the finely crystallised snow of the upper regions, which remains unmelted all the summer. The glacier ice which is formed by pressure of thisnévéis quite different to the ice which results from freezing water, and is found to consist of round crystals, varying in size from that of a hen’s egg to that of the head of a pin. Any observant person will have noticed the ice usually supplied at Swisstables-d’hôtes, and thecurious way in which it behaves as compared with ordinary ice; for while the latter melts uniformly from the outside, the former is honeycombed with air and water, and after a time its peculiar structure, composed of numerous particles, is noticeable. These crystals or particles are known asglacier granulesorglacier corn.
The whiteness of a glacier, as compared with the blackness of a frozen lake, is a feature which I have known to puzzle many. It is simply owing to the presence of this glacier corn, which allows a great quantity of air to permeate the whole mass of the ice. The beautiful blue veined or ribboned structure, first observed by Forbes on the Unter-Aar glacier, is due to the absence of air-bubbles, and represents bruises in the ice where, by melting, strain, and pressure, certain parts have had the air driven out.
We will now notice several of the peculiarities which are conspicuous on the surface of one of these great rivers of ice. As we walk up from, say, the Morteratsch restaurant towards the glacier of that name, we must cross part of the stony and earthy mass known as the terminal moraine. Now the subject of moraines is a very large one, so much so, that we shall probably devote nearly the whole of a future chapter to it. For the present, we willmerely walk over it, and get on to the very dirty ice of which the snout or lower end of the Morteratsch glacier is composed. As one of the party hews out the steps by which you mount, you have time to observe the ice crystals or glacier corn which we have already spoken of.
Before you have gone far on the level surface of the glacier, you will see several boulders which are resting on ice pedestals supported at some height. These are calledglacier tables, and result from the presence of a block of stone which protects the ice beneath it from the heat of the sun, thus preventing it from melting. In consequence, while the glacier all round has been dissolving and sinking, the ice under these boulders has but slightly melted, and gradually a pillar of sometimes as much as four feet or more in height is formed under each erratic block. The sun is, of course, able to reach these ice pedestals more freely on the south than on the north side, and thus we observe that the boulder is not balanced evenly on the top, but always inclines downwards towards the south side; it thus has been known to render valuable aid to the mountaineer who has lost his way in a fog or in the dark without a compass on a glacier, as he can, by observing the position of a glacier table, easily inform himself of the direction in which he is walking. Small stones have a different effect, as they sink into the ice, leaving little holes. You will also probably notice a line of sand-covered mounds, about four or five feet high, and culminating in a sharp point or ridge. Scrape off a little of the sand and earth, and you will find that the mound is composed of ice, which looks quite black where you have uncovered it. The reason for the existence of these dirt cones is obvious; the sand has protected the ice, which has thus remained unmelted, and being heaped up thickly in the centre and thinning off towards the sides, has thus taken its sharply-pointed shape.
Continuing our walk up the glacier, we hear, gradually becoming louder and louder as we approach, the roar of falling water, and soon we reach a point where a bright, dancing stream leaps down a shaft in the ice and is lost to sight. Be careful how you approach this deep hole (or, as it is called,moulin), for one false step on your part would take you down far beyond all human aid. Various persons have endeavoured to gauge the thickness of a glacier at a given point by taking soundings down a moulin, and Agassiz found no bottom at 260 metres in one on the Unteraar glacier; he estimated the thickness of the ice to be 1509 feet near the Abschwung.On Piz Roseg, where the hanging glaciers end in abrupt ice-cliffs, a thickness of 250 feet has been observed. You are now at the foot of the lower ice-fall of the Morteratsch glacier. We will not go farther to-day, and we have already learnt how it is that the tottering ice masses and grim crevasses are formed. We know that the glacier on which we are standing is slowly moving downwards (by its weight, and by sliding in its bed, especially facilitated by its granular structure) at, roughly, the same rate as thehour-hand of an ordinary watch. It has been estimated—I believe by Mr. Tuckett—that a grain of snow would take 450 years to travel from the summit of the Jungfrau to the termination of the Aletsch glacier. A most painful illustration of the rate of motion of glaciers was furnished by the descent in the ice of the Glacier des Bossons of the bodies of Dr. Hamel’s three guides, who lost their lives on Mont Blanc in 1820, being carried down theAncien Passagein an avalanche, and swept into thebergschrundat its base. On August 15, 1861, Ambrose Simond, a Chamonix guide, who was accompanying a party of tourists to the lower extremity of the Bossons glacier, noticed in one of the crevasses torn pieces of clothes and some human bones. He brushed off the sand with which they werecovered, and brought them to Chamonix. Five men at once started on hearing what he had found, and they discovered other remains at a distance of some twelve or fifteen metres lower down. From that day, the glacier continued to give back the remains of what it had swallowed up forty-one years before, and what was found was beyond doubt the bodies and belongings of Dr. Hamel’s guides. All that they had carried with them, the scientific instruments, knapsacks, gloves, &c., were gradually set free from their icy fetters. A gauze veil came out untorn and not much faded; and the knapsack of Pierre Carrier contained a leg of mutton perfectly recognisable. More remarkable than anything else was the condition of a cork, which was not only still stained by the wine, but also possessed a perceptible odour of the contents of the bottle in which it had been fixed. (“Le Mont Blanc,” by Charles Durier.)
But it is time to descend, and in the next chapter I will make a few observations onmorainesand the power of a glacier in planing down or removing whatever object it meets with; this power, as a matter of fact, being very much more limited than is popularly supposed.
Now, in order clearly to understand the formation of moraines, I must first say a little more about the movement of glaciers and thedébriswhich they bring down.
I have sometimes heard unthinking persons remark that the snowfall of each winter must tend to increase the height of snow-peaks. This observation shows that such people entirely overlook the four great factors in the maintenance of a uniform height on mountain summits, namely, melting, evaporation (which, in the dry air of the heights, is a very powerful factor in causing the disappearance of snow), glaciers, and avalanches. It is to the two latter of these that we must look for the construction of moraines, in which work they are very largely aided by two other factors, frost and rain. The glacier, starting in its infant purity from some white, unsullied peak, loses, before many years have past, its spotless character. The wintry frosts, gatheringinto iron bonds the streams which trickle down the mountain-sides, expand the water in freezing, and shatter the rocks with a force that the most solid cliffs cannot resist. Broken and weathered fragments are washed down from the slopes on every fall of rain, and dropping on to the once unspotted bosom of the glacier, swell the burden which is gradually laid upon it with advancing years. Spring after spring, furious avalanches rush down, laden with earth and stones, which they fling recklessly upon the now begrimed edges of the icy stream. The winds and storms, too, contribute their share of dust and sand, and as the glacier still flows on, shrunken in size and laden with heaps of earth and rocks, at length it lays itself to rest, a mass of dirty ice and stones, in the valley towards which it has been ceaselessly progressing.
The glacier of the Alps which comes farthest down into the lower regions is the Grindelwald glacier, which descended to 1080 metres above sea-level in 1870, while that which presents the largest surface is the Aar glacier, and the longest is the Aletsch. Heim gives an estimate, in his valuable work on glaciers, of the number of glaciers existing in Europe, dividing them into those of the first and second order.
The list is as follows:—
Glaciers have regular periods during which they advance or retreat. Many persons who visited the Mer de Glace some twenty or more years ago remember that it then came down nearly to the level of the valley of Chamonix, while the Rhone glacier reached almost to where the lower hotel now stands. In old days, too, the two arms of the Fee glacier united below the Gletscher alp, so that the cows had to pass across the ice in order to reach their summer pastures. A period of advance is always preceded for some years by a noticeable swelling of the upper portions of glaciers; this, of course, is quite what one would expect. A succession of cold, rainy summers and exceptionally snowy winters eventually causes an increase in the glaciers, and the reverse has naturally the contrary effect.
You have learnt that a moraine is a mixture of earth and stones which is borne down by a glacier,and you know how all thisdébrishas accumulated on the ice, chiefly by means of the shattering power of frost on the rocks. Now let us notice the position which moraines assume on a glacier like, say, the Morteratsch. As I have said, persons unaccustomed to the mountain world, and thus unable to estimate the relative sizes of objects seen at a distance, have been known to inquire, when ascending Piz Languard, if the dark streak down the centre of the Morteratsch glacier is a path. They are astonished to learn that it is about fifty feet or more broad, and perhaps twenty feet high in the centre. It is, in fact, neither more nor less than a moraine, and belongs to that class known as medial moraines. Each glacier has a moraine on either side of it, and when two glaciers unite, their lateral moraines join and form a medial moraine. The moraine at the end of a glacier (terminal moraine) is almost entirely formed of the earth and stones which fall off the end of a glacier, and not, as used to be supposed, by any pushing or scooping of the base of the glacier.
In fact, the erosive power of a glacier is infinitesimal as compared with that of water. Dr. Heim cites various examples to show that a glacier leaves undisturbed much of what it finds in its way, and he says that the Forno glacier, which some years agogreatly retreated and left blocks of itself covered withdébrisbehind, rapidly advanced once more in 1884 over the old accumulations at its base, but did not disturb them in any way. Many of our readers will have noticed the many glacier-worn rocks in the Engadine valley; they are especially abundant near Maloja.
Now it will be seen, on near examination, that these rocks have been gently polished by the ice constantly slipping over them, and that they have not those deep smooth hollows which are formed by rushing, eddying water.
The great glaciers which, in the glacier period, flowed down from Mont Blanc to the Jura have left ample proof of their origin in the huge blocks of granite which were transported by the ice, and now lie stranded on the hill-sides at a distance of sixty miles and more from the rocks out of which they were quarried. The size of some of these erratic blocks is very remarkable. The biggest boulder in the Alps is in Val Masino (one of the Italian valleys near the Bernina district). Its dimensions, according to the late Mr. Ball, are—length, 250 feet; breadth, 120 feet; height, 140 feet; in fact, as Mr. Douglas Freshfield remarks, “as tall as an average church tower, and large enough to fill up many a Londonsquare.” Many of my readers will remember the great serpentine boulder in front of the little inn at Maltmark, which was no doubt brought down by the glacier which must have originally filled the basin of the lake. The ancient moraines near Aosta are also remarkable evidences of the glacial epoch.
One word here as to the shape of a moraine. It rises, as you know, to a ridge in the centre, and slopes down like the roof of a house at the sides. This is because the heaping together of the earth and stones in the middle has protected the ice from melting as rapidly there as towards the sides; in fact, the same cause brings about the shape of moraines as applies in that of sand cones.
I will close this chapter by a brief explanation of an appearance which many of my readers who have visited Montanvert may have noticed, especially on cloudy, dull days and after sunset. I refer todirt bands, which are especially noticeable on the Mer de Glace. I observed them under peculiarly favourable circumstances from the summit of the Grandes Jorasses, when a cloudy sky showed them up most distinctly. They are often seen from the Montanvert hotel, however, and take the form of dark bands across the glacier, the convex side of the curve of each being in the direction of the motion of the ice.These dirt bands are very simple in their origin, which is as follows:—At the foot of an ice-fall the tottering blocks reunite and freeze together, presenting a tolerably smooth surface with gentle undulations. The glacier streams sweep dust and smalldébrisinto the depressions, which gradually form themselves across the glacier. This dust finally freezes into the ice, and lower down presents the appearance of the famed dirt bands.
Sometimes a photograph will give dirt bands with great distinctness; they are very clearly seen in a view of the Mer de Glace from the Aiguilles Rouge, taken by the late Mr. W. F. Donkin.
Those who during the summer of 1888 visited Switzerland had very unusual opportunities for studying both the appearance and the effect of avalanches. It is, indeed, rare to see a huge mass of winter snow lying in the Rosegthal in mid-summer, and the remains of numerous other avalanches were that year still unmelted in many high-lying Alpine valleys. I wonder if the crowds who, out of curiosity, visited the snowydébris, knew anything of the various causes which formed the avalanche and launched it down the hill-side, or if they could tell to what class of avalanche it belonged, and at what time of year it is likely to have fallen.
Avalanches vary immensely in their characteristics, and can be classed under three headings according to their peculiarities. The different kinds of avalanches are as follows:—Staublawinen, or dust avalanches;Grundlawinen, or compact avalanches;Eislawinen, or ice avalanches. Dust avalanches are the most tobe feared of any, for while the others fall according to certain well-known rules and at particular times of the year, the dust avalanches are erratic in their movements, uncertain in the periods at which they come down, and most terrible in their results. Dust avalanches consist of cold, dry, powdery snow, which falling on a slope of ice or hard snow, or even on a steep slope of grass, slides off on the slightest provocation.
Often, if a bit of overhanging snow falls on the upper part of the hill-side, or if an animal disturbs the newly fallen mass, or perhaps if a gust of wind suddenly detaches it from the surface on which it rests, the whole accumulation begins to move down, gently and quietly at first, and then with ever-increasing power and a deafening roar, uprooting trees, carrying away châlets and whatever happens to be in its course, and leaping like a huge stream of spray-covered water from precipice to precipice, till it makes one final bound across the valley, the impetus of its course frequently carrying it up for some distance on the opposite slope. The wind which accompanies such an avalanche is far more powerful than a raging hurricane, and it often levels trees and buildings, forces in windows and doors, and carries heavy objects to an incredible distance.One of the most remarkable performances I know of in connection with dust avalanches took place in the Engadine, when the wind preceding a huge mass of snow, rushing down the hill-side, blew five telegraph posts flat down, although the snow itself did not come within 500 feet of them.
“Constant readers” of theSt. Moritz Postwill remember that in an account of the avalanches of the winter of 1887-88 which appeared in the first number of the summer issue, it was stated that, on the occasion of the fall of two great avalanches into Saas-Grund, most of the windows and doors in the village were forced in from the pressure of air. While dealing with the subject of dust avalanches and the effects of the powerful wind which accompanies them, I may mention that Tschudi relates in his “Monde des Alpes” that such avalanches will sweep châlets and trees from the ground, and carry them, whirling like straws in a storm, through the air, dropping them at a distance of 400 feet. Châlets, filled with hay, and quite uninjured, have been found, it is said, some two hundred yards and more from the termination of thedébrisof an avalanche, the wind preceding which had blown them right across the valley.
In the year 1689 an enormous avalanche, whichin the annals of the Grisons is spoken of as the most fearful one on record in the canton, came down from the heights above the village of Saas, in the Prättigau, and demolished 150 houses. Amongst thedébris, which had been swept by the avalanche to a considerable distance, a rescue party discovered a baby lying safe and sound in his cradle, while six eggs were found uninjured in a basket close at hand.
Another sort of avalanche which can be roughly classed under the above heading is formed by the sudden descent of an overhanging mass of snow. The slightest movement in the air will often suffice to break the cornice, and it straightway comes rolling down the slope. Such avalanches are not usually much to be feared, though a notable exception to this fact was furnished on the Bernhardino Pass, when the mass of falling snow, overtaking the post in its passage, carried thirteen persons and a number of sledges over the precipice into the gorge beneath.
Dust avalanches are very frequently met with in summer after fresh snow by climbers amongst the higher peaks of the Alps-. It was an avalanche of this kind which caused the Matterhorn accident of 1887, and the account which Herr A. Lorria has given of the event is so realistic, and conveys soexactly to the mind what the nature of such an avalanche is, that I extract the following from theSt. Moritz Postof January 28, 1888, for the benefit of my readers:—
“Gently from above an avalanche of snow came sliding down upon us; it carried Lammer away in spite of his efforts, and it projected me with my head against a rock. Lammer was blinded by the powdery snow, and thought that his last hour was come. The thunder of the roaring avalanche was fearful; we were dashed over rocks laid bare in the avalanche track, and leaped over two immensebergschrunds. At every change in the slope we flew into the air, and then were plunged again into the snow, and often dashed against one another. For a long time it seemed to Lammer as if all were over, countless thoughts were thronging through his brain, until at last the avalanche had expended its force, and we were left lying on the Tiefenmatten glacier. The height of our fall was estimated by the engineer Imfeldt at from 550 to 800 feet.”
In winter, when a fall of snow takes place on steep mountain-sides, scores of such avalanches may be seen dropping like shining threads down the cliffs. The face of the Eiger seen from Grindelwald in early spring is often fringed with tiny cascades ofsnow, while the rocks of the Wetterhorn[4]send down avalanches almost incessantly on the first sunny March morning after a snowfall.
The huge avalanches which, after a severe winter, summer visitors to Switzerland see lying in high Alpine valleys, covered with dust and stones, and with great trunks and branches of trees frozen into them, belong to the class of avalanches known asGrundlawinen, or compact avalanches. They usually fall from year to year in the same track, and come down, according to the warmth or severity of the season, during February and March. One year I saw a very large one fall in the Züge, near Davos-Platz, as late as the 3rd May.
In order for a really large compact avalanche to form, something more than the steep slope which is the birthplace of dust avalanches is necessary. The most dangerous formation of a hill-side, as regards compact avalanches, is the following. First, there must be, high up on the mountain, a collecting basin or valley, sloping somewhat downwards, in which a large amount of snow can accumulate. Secondly, leading from this basin must be a treelessslope, not too steep, on which snow will lie unless urged down by a considerable disturbance from above. In some seasons, when but little snow falls, no avalanche will take place under the conditions described. In others, when storm after storm has piled tons of snow in the upland valley, the warm, dryföhnwind will cause the mass to become detached from the earth on which it rests, and suddenly the entire winter’s store will come dashing down towards the valley, forming an avalanche such as visitors to the Engadine in the summer of 1888 saw in the Rosegthal and Beversthal.
These compact avalanches are composed, by the time they reach the end of their course, of stones, earth, roots and branches of trees, all frozen together by the heavy, wet snow in which they are encased. A story is told of a man who was overtaken on the Splügen by such an avalanche, and though he escaped from death, part of his coat was so firmly frozen into the icy mass, that he could not get it away. It is very remarkable that a person buried at a great depth in an avalanche of this kind can distinctly hear every word that those who are trying to find him may utter, though it is impossible for them to hear his cries.
The snow of an avalanche has the same power asthe ice of a glacier in the preservation of whatever animal matter may be embedded in it. On one occasion the bodies of a chamois and her young one were found in an avalanche in Tyrol in a fit condition for food, on its melting two years after it came down, its huge size having prevented its disappearance the first summer.
These hugeGrundlawinencome down, as I have already said, in the same track season after season; it is therefore reasonable to suppose that the inhabitants of districts peculiarly exposed to such avalanches would try and control their snowy invaders by every means in their power; and, in truth, this is just what is done to a certain extent, though a neglect of the most obvious precautions prevailed in the country till quite within recent years. Even now one is often astonished at the amount of unnecessary damage which the Swiss will calmly allow an avalanche year after year to do, till they suddenly awake to the fact that a wall or two across thecouloir(or avalanche track) may make the whole difference between their being able or not to cultivate a certain sunny meadow in the valley, which has hitherto been plentifully strewn with stones and otherdébrisregularly every spring.
It is a well-known fact that by far the best preservative against avalanches is a thickly wooded slope, and the Swiss authorities, fully recognising this, have of late years caused a very large amount of replanting to be carried out, and are most stringent in their rules regulating the cutting of trees. By great trouble and care being taken concerning the forests, Switzerland could be freed to a large extent from the destruction wrought by avalanches.
In many places travellers will notice avalanche-breakers, in the form of triangular stone walls, which have been erected to protect whole villages, or individual houses or churches. There is an avalanche-breaker of this sort at Frauenkirch, near Davos-Platz, where the north wall of the church is constructed so that, should an avalanche sweep down upon it, the surface exposed to its full fury being pointed in shape, tends to divide and turn aside the snow directly the point comes in contact with the avalanche. Similar breakers may be seen attached to several houses in the same and other neighbourhoods. Fences or stone walls across steep slopes, or stakes driven into the ground at intervals, are also a very efficient hindrance to the descent of avalanches. Visitors at St. Moritz have doubtless noticed the contrivances of this sort on the slope descending from the Alp Laret to the Cresta Fussweg; they are well seen by any one standing on the high-road near the Bär Inn (famed for the quaint caricature fresco portraits on its exterior of the late Lord Beaconsfield and Mr. Gladstone).
It is marvellous to notice how weak an obstacle will hold back the largest avalanche before the snow is set in motion, and yet once the great mass is launched down on its destructive career, it sweeps all before it.
The balled structure of a compact avalanche, which those who visit it within a few weeks of its fall will have remarked, is caused by the damp snow having rolled over and over till the circular form of its particles resulted. I remember an enormous avalanche of this kind which fell near Bouveret (Vaud) at the end of March 1886. It came from the Gramont, and rushing some 4000 feet down the mountain, dashed across the railway and the road, and ended its course in the lake. It fortunately came down at night—which seems odd, till one remembers that the slope from which it descended faced north—so no accident resulted, and the following afternoon all Montreux flocked across the lake, to wonder at the high walls of the cutting which had been made to allow the trains to pass, and to pelt each other with the snowy balls which hadrolled hither and thither amongst the violets and primroses of spring.
Grundlawinenoften attain a mass of 100,000 cubic metres (Heim, “Gletscherkunde”). The great “Raschitsch” avalanche near Zernez (Lower Engadine), which fell on April 23, 1876, across the high-road into the river, was 168 metres wide, 12 metres thick, and 300 metres long, 600,000 cubic metres in bulk, and the tunnel cut through to allow the traffic to be carried on was 75 metres long. This avalanche was much exceeded in dimensions by the one which fell in February 1888 near Glarus-Davos, of which the snow-tunnel was upwards of three hundred feet in length, and over twelve feet high. This avalanche is noted throughout Switzerland, and is known as the “Schwabentobellawine.” It only falls in very snowy seasons, but when it does come down, it is of enormous size.
In the year 1888 it carried away a road-mender, whose body was only discovered some three months later; it was found on the right bank of the Landwasser, having evidently been blown across the river by the wind preceding the avalanche.
Avalanches have sometimes caused disastrous floods by falling into the beds of rivers and damming up the water. On January 29, 1827, Süssuffered from a similar occurrence, the Inn being completely blocked up for several hours during the night, and the water flooding the village in consequence. It would be wearying to give more than these few examples of the effects ofGrundlawinen, we will therefore pass on to the subject of ice-avalanches. These must be a tolerably familiar sight to most persons who have travelled in Switzerland, judging by the crowds who, day after day throughout the summer, sit outside the little inns of the Wengern Alp or Kleine Scheideck, dividing their attention between their luncheons and the thundering falls of ice from the glaciers of the Jungfrau.
Ice-avalanches are quite different to both the other kinds, inasmuch as they always fall from glaciers.
As my readers doubtless know, a glacier moves downwards day by day, sometimes an inch or two, sometimes as much as two feet. Well, many glaciers, after quitting the snow-beds by which they are fed, suddenly find themselves at the top of a precipice. Under these circumstances, as they are unable to stand still, there is but one thing for them to do, viz., go over; and as ice, though plastic, is by no means so to the extent that treacle—to which glacier ice has so often been likened—is, it is obvious that a slice will break off the advancingtongue of the glacier, and come thundering down the rocks, to form material for another glacier below, or, if the quantity is insufficient, to melt gradually away. Now, this form of an ice-avalanche is known in endless varieties to the mountain-climber, but perhaps the most frequent thing of the kind which he meets with is the fall ofséracs(or icy pinnacles) during his passage through an ice-fall.
Those who have visited the upper part of the Morteratsch glacier will recollect ice-falls such as I have referred to; the one, that of the Pers glacier, the other, the so-called Labyrinth, coming down from Piz Bernina; and fine ice-avalanches are often seen falling from the ice-cap of Piz Morteratsch. Theséracspassed through in making the passage of the Col du Géant from Chamonix or Courmayeur are also apt to tumble about at inconvenient times, and many other glaciers are conspicuous for these particular features.
Perhaps the best position in Switzerland from which to view ice-avalanches is the Wengern Alp, from whence the glaciers which cling to the Jungfrau can daily be seen dropping tons of ice down the scarred slopes, a white cloud hanging for several minutes over the spot where a great piece of ice has been ground to powder by its fall.
Even the proverbially safe Mont Blanc contrives occasionally to allow one or two of the ice-pillars which fringe the Dôme du Gôuter to overbalance and dash right across the Petit Plateau below, over the very track by which parties make the ascent. It is odd that this bombardment has never hitherto caused an accident on Mont Blanc, though when one bears in mind the hundreds of stones which are annually kicked down the Matterhorn regardless of the number of people on whose heads they may descend, and that there, too, no fatal accident has resulted from that cause, one feels sure that a special providence watches over the inexperienced class ofintrépideswho throng Mont Blanc and rush in scores up the Cervin.[5]
Ice-avalanches have occasionally done immense damage when large falls have taken place into inhabited valleys, as, for instance, when part of the Bies glacier came down, and the wind preceding it overthrew Randa. This circumstance is so well known, being so often referred to in guide-books, that I will not enter into details here. Full particulars can be found in Dr. Forbes’s work, “A Physician’s Holiday.”
[4]In October 1891, I was fortunate enough to secure a photograph of an avalanche in the act of falling from the Wetterhorn. This may now be seen at Messrs. Spooner’s, 379 Strand.
[5]Since writing the above, an accident resulting in the death of a traveller and a guide took place on the Petit Plateau.
The general reader may perhaps find the following description somewhat dry; the climber may share his opinion. Having fairly warned both, and promising to make my account as short as possible, I will now embark upon it.
Piz Bernina is the highest mountain in the Grisons, a canton in which climbing is rather neglected. It is a pity that more members of the A.C. do not go there, especially now that several good guides are available; but I am digressing already, sorevenons au Piz Bernina. This peak is frequently ascended by the ordinary route, but until last summer seldom by any of the other lines of attack. The time has now come, however, when the route by the “Scharte” is the most popular.
The first ascent of Piz Bernina by the “Scharte” was made in 1879 by Dr. Güssfeldt, who considered it so difficult that he left a bottle in the gap, with a notice inside it to the effect that he defied anyone to bring it down. But on August 6, 1883, Dr. Schultz, with Alexander Burgener and C. Perren, repeated the expedition, and brought Dr. Güssfeldt’s bottle back with them. Commenting on this, theAlpine Journalsays: “We regret to say that this most dangerous expedition was effected a fourth time in August 1884 (by Herren Zsigmondy and Purtscheller without guides, who slept two nights on the way), and that there is some talk of building a hut to facilitate the climb, though we trust the scheme will never be carried out.” From this reputation the route by the “Scharte” has gradually fallen—or risen, as I prefer to call it—to what it is at present. In 1889 Mr. W. E. Davidson wrote, “The Scharte is easy, thearêtea fine climb;” and now we find that the excursion has been undertaken twelve times alone under Martin Schocher’s guidance. The route having now lost its terrors, an account of an ascent may interest that section of our country-folk who propose following in our footsteps. I had often thought of making the expedition, but had taken no definite steps towards accomplishing it, till one day I heard that a party had just returned from descending Piz Bernina by this route. “Now,” thought I, “here is my opportunity. The steps are made, the mountain is knownto be in good order, why not start at once?” But the elements were against me. No sooner did we reach the Misaun Alp than a terrific thunderstorm burst upon us, and farther advance was impossible. Nor could we renew our attempt, for heavy snow fell, and climbing was at an end for that season. But the following year I returned to the attack, and though the weather nearly checkmated me again, we contrived to carry our plans through with success.
On this occasion we took up our quarters for the night under a boulder about an hour and a half farther than the Roseg restaurant. We set out in perfect weather, but towards evening clouds drifted up, and as the sky gradually became more and more obscured, our spirits sank lower and lower, till at midnight, when the guides relit the fire, an ominous drip-drip-drip on the boards which we had propped up against the boulder as a shelter from the wind, caused a feeling akin to despair to steal over us. Weibel indulged in a few forcible expressions towards the elements, while Schocher and I made tea and gloomily discussed the situation. Of course, the Bernina by the Scharte in bad weather was out of the question for prudent people like ourselves; still we did not wish to return whence we came. We had almost resolved, “if the worst came to theworst,” to stretch our limbs by crossing Piz Morteratsch to the Boval hut, when a brilliant idea came to me. “Schocher,” I said, “let us go up Piz Prievlusa!” Now, I must here state that the route for this peak (which up to now has been but once ascended) is the same for a considerable distance as that for the Prievlusa Saddle, and to the Prievlusa Saddle we had to go for the Bernina-Scharte. Schocher jumped at my suggestion, and no sooner was our plan decided on than the rain saw fit to stop. The sky, however, was still darkened by clouds, though every now and then a star shone out from a ragged hole in the mists.
We collected our baggage, put the rugs and saucepan in a heap for the porter to fetch down later in the day, and at 1.15A.M.were off. I must say that my hopes of getting up the Bernina were at a low ebb, the only feeling I associate with the occasion being one of drowsy stubbornness—in fact, a sensation of walking as in a dream, I knew not whither.
As we neared the mountain, and dawn came on apace, cloud-banners were seen drifting wildly from the sharp and jagged crest. Weibel pointed to them, exclaiming that we could never pass along the ridge in such a wind; but Schocher, after examining the flying clouds with care, pronounced them of no importance, as they were blowing down, and not across the ridge. I was much struck with the skill he showed in coming to this conclusion, which, later on, turned out to be perfectly accurate.
By daybreak we had a large expanse of blue over our heads, and though fleecy clouds clung to most of the neighbouring summits, the Bernina remained persistently clear, save for an occasional shred of mist streaming from the upper rocks. At 5.30 we gained the pass between Piz Prievlusa and Pizzo Bianco, known as the Fuorcla Prievlusa. Making our way to the Morteratsch side, we sat in the welcome rays of the sun on a rocky ledge at the top of a grand wall, up the face of which the pass is reached from the Boval side. Here we breakfasted, and then continued our way towards Piz Bernina. The first bit of the ridge, until the rocks were gained, was the most unpleasant piece of work we encountered during the whole climb. The snow here was in bad order, the step from it on to the rocks was awkwardly steep and long, and I, for one, was glad to get my foot on to a more solid surface, and to profit by the good handhold available. The rockarêteaffords pleasant climbing, but from the point where it ceases to the summitof Pizzo Bianco is a long grind over snow. Every step had to be cut, and Schocher hacked almost without ceasing till we reached the Pizzo Bianco, from where the really interesting portion of the ascent commences. An hour or so earlier we had seen another party rapidly mounting the snow slopes below the Fuorcla. It consisted of Messrs. Scriven and West, accompanied by Peter Dangl of Sulden and a local guide, by name Joos Grass. The latter, oddly enough, I had met on a previous ascent of the Bernina by the ordinary route; both on that occasion and the climb I am now writing of he impressed me favourably. This party had spent the night at the inn in the Rosegthal, which they had not left till 3A.M.
After nearly an hour’s halt on Pizzo Bianco, we once more got under weigh, and, as we were starting, the others joined us, and paused in their turn for a meal on the point we were quitting. I had thus the pleasure of traversing a narrow rock ridge with four critical pairs of eyes watching my awkward movements from a first-rate point of view. Fain would I have clung on with my hands; my pride obliged me to walk uprightly whenever such a mode of progression was at all possible. I had a sneaking conviction that therewas hardly a single place where, not only was it possible, but even tolerably easy, and that the sense of obligation was good discipline in forcing me to strive after better “form” than usual.
The descent into the “Scharte” (or cleft in thearête) proved simple enough, with the knowledge that until I reached the bottom Schocher was bestriding the ridge above, and was “ganz fest.” He followed with ease and rapidity, and turning the party the other way on, began to cut steps round the great rocky tower which here bars the ridge. Thecouloirwas ice throughout, and we spent a lot of time before we were clear of it at the foot of the final peak of the Bernina. Climbing up this without difficulty, though delayed somewhat by the fresh snow overlying the rocks, we reached the top at 10.30, the other party following immediately in our wake.
The weather, which had behaved better than we had dared to hope, now gave up the paths of virtue, and a thick mist, with lightly falling snow, hid everything at more than a few yards’ distance from our view. However, we had reached our goal, and the clouds could now do their worst without endangering our return. So after half an hour’s halt, we started off in a cheerful frame of mind for Boval.How we scrambled down thearête, glissaded over the snow-fields, and raced through the Labyrinth, need not be told. We got to Boval early in the afternoon in steady and soaking rain, and astonished the people at the restaurant by dropping down upon them out of the clouds from Piz Bernina. So ended our day’s excursion.