Drawing of a hut in the mountains
The Panossière hut—Tropical winter heat—Schoolboys and the Matterhorn—Shall it be rock or snow?—The Combin de Valsorey—My third ascent of the Grand Combin—The track home—Col des Avolions—Natural highways of a new character—Twenty-three thousand feet ascended on ski.
The Panossière hut—Tropical winter heat—Schoolboys and the Matterhorn—Shall it be rock or snow?—The Combin de Valsorey—My third ascent of the Grand Combin—The track home—Col des Avolions—Natural highways of a new character—Twenty-three thousand feet ascended on ski.
On the sixth day of my expedition we left Lourtier shortly before 10 o’clock a.m., knowing full well that we were in no hurry, that we meant to thoroughly enjoy our day’s work, and that the hospitable door of the Cabane de Panossière would be no more difficult to open after sunset than before.
As soon as we had passed the last houses of Lourtier, we put on our ski, and, practically, did not remove them from our feet till eight o’clock that evening, allowing for two hours’ rest in the heat of the day, from two to four. We branched off from the Fionnay direction to turn to the right at Granges Neuves, crossing the bridge to Mayens du Revers, and hence rising towards the path that leads in summer from Fionnay to theAlpe de Corbassière. We thus reached, by two o’clock, after passing the wooden cross at the point 1,967, and just beyond the chalets of the Alpe de Corbassière, the point 2,227 of the map. We spent there two hours, under a tropical sun. Then we plunged down a gully to the west, on our right, so as to advance on ground which the sun had not softened, and rose again along the side moraine to the point 2,644, whence there lay before us a most romantic moonlit landscape.
The hut was still in darkness when I reached it, the last of the party, in order to enjoy the sensation of seeing the windows dimly lit by the candlelight within, and the smoke curling up out of the chimney. The impression was one of charming “cosiness,” in the middle of a more than Arctic landscape, and there was that sublimity above and around which beggars the art of description. A snow and wind-tight Alpine hut, well stocked with fuel and blankets, well supplied with plain food and wholesome drink from the provision bag of its guests, is, in midwinter, one of the snuggest “ingle-nooks” a natural epicure may wish for, and, strange to say, what he may therein find most pleasurable is the shade and coolness of the shelter, so fairly could I compare our tramp of that day to a trip in the “scrub” under the equator. Forsooth, the prejudice which still prevails against roaming in winter at high altitudes is a remnant of that state of mind which kept early explorers of the High Alps tramping round and round the foot of such hills as the Matterhorn, which Macaulay’s healthy “schoolboy” would now thinknothing of rushing at, with his sisters trailing behind.
If it is possible, in sporting circles, to speak of theZeit Geistwithout pedantry, we should say that the spirit of the time, in matters mountaineering, has undergone a remarkable change since the advent of Macaulay’s proverbial schoolboy.
Or is the change not rather a return to a healthier frame of mind?
It is quite true that in few sports is the extreme penalty, death, so constantly near at hand as in mountaineering. But is it not quite apparent, too, that the early lovers of the Alps were full-grown, leisured, and cultured men, whose training, occupation, or temper, had not properly prepared them to see the risk in its true proportions? From them a whole generation took the cue. Then came another, for which the taking of risks exceeding themodicumattached to a passive existence was the touchstone of manliness. They sought in the Alps opportunities for strenuous displays, as well as haunts where the harassed soul could take holiday. They are the generation which made of Switzerland the playground of Europe. It is they who brought mountaineering to the present period, when first ascents have become a hackneyed amusement, and schoolboys marvel at the facility of undertakings which, when attempted for the first time in bygone days, rightly called forth the admiration of the civilised world. Is it in the modern spirit that, on the morning of my seventh day, with the grand unconcern of an ever-victorious squad, hitherto scratchless, bruiseless, and unwearied, we tookthe route, well known to all of us, which leads up the Glacier de Corbassière to the Col des Maisons Blanches? On reaching the plateau which precedes the col, we made up our minds as to the choice between the two routes to the top of Grand Combin.
The choice lay between rock and snow. Rock won the toss. From the Plateau des Maisons Blanches we turned full south, and left our ski at the foot of the steep snow and ice slope which leads to the Col de Meiten. The track over this col, dotted upon the map (Siegfried Atlas, Swiss military survey), crosses the Combin rocks upon a snow belt from north to south, where it ends upon the so-called Plateau du Couloir. The ascent to the col—we were roped—presented no difficulty. The crusted snow was easily kicked into foot-holds.
The rocks of the Combin de Valsorey, which we ascended from the col, now looking east, were absolutely free from snow or ice, the only discomfort being exposure to a hot sun in an excessively dry atmosphere—just the thing, I should say, for salamanders, which, unfortunately, we were not. In this respect our experience totally differed from that, already alluded to, of Mr. Tauern and his friends. Not only did they take to the peak further east, from the corridor,viâGrand Combin de Zessetta (this summit is immediately south of the figures 3,600 on the Siegfried), using climbing-irons on the steep ice, but they experienced a cold so intense that they were driven back.
For my part, being no longer a young man at all, I felt so overcome with the dry heat on Combin de Valsorey, that I remembered with complacency how fully acquainted I was with the top of Grand Combin, and how useless it would be to bore such an old friend with another visit at an unusual time of year. I went, nevertheless, and spent some minutes of that triumphant afternoon in amicable nods to Mont Viso, which somehow I had missed on my previous visits.
The reader will gather from the late hours noted in the following time-table what confidence a rock-climber may gain from the knowledge that his ski are waiting for him below, firmly planted in the snow, and that a secure track marked on the friendly element runs uninterruptedly from the spot where they stand to a trustworthy refuge hut. We cheerfully cut through the loops of our ascending track, by a perpendicular course, and, as the reader will see, returned to the hut in an incredibly short time, enjoying with untroubled mind the afterglow of a magnificent sunset gradually whitening into mellow moonlight.
Time-table: Left Panossière hut at 7.15 a.m.; reached first plateau by 8.20 a.m.; reached Maisons Blanches, 10 a.m.; reached foot of Col de Meiten, 10.55 a.m.; lunch, thirty-five minutes; reached top of Meiten pass, 12.20 p.m.; reached top of Combin de Valsorey, 2.30 p.m.; reached top of Grand Combin, 3.30 p.m. (14,164 feet); afternoon tea on top of Combin de Valsorey, thirty minutes; left Combin de Valsorey, 5 p.m., resumed our ski, 7.15 p.m.; back to hut, 7.45 p.m.
Remember that in runs like this, extending over 8 kilometres (5 miles), the runners must keep together from beginning to end.
The eighth day of this fascinating circular tour was an easy one. It is worth noting, as an instance of many of the same kind, which moderately trained ski-runners would find extremely remunerative. Our eight days’ work would form the third and last portion of a typical ski trip, such as the Val de Bagnes enables the intelligent amateur to compose in various ways, in this instance as follows: First day, from Lourtier (where night lodging can be had at the telegraph office), to Cabane de Panossière,viâFionnay; second day, Col des Maisons Blanches, and back to the hut; third day, back to LourtierviâCol des Avolions, leaving plenty of time to reach Martigny by sledge, and catch the evening trains to Lausanne, Geneva, Milan, or Berne.
The Col des Avolions is an insignificant incision in the range of rocky heights which run along the tongue of the Glacier de Corbassière on its west side, from north to south. From the hut you cross the glacier very much to the north, though slightly inclining to the west. In an hour’s time you will be on the col, the vertical displacement from the hut down to the foot of the pass being about 190 yards (the difference between 2,713 metres and 2,523 metres is the amount “dipped”), while the rise from the foot of the pass is 125 yards, approximately. These 125 yards were practically all the climbing we got that day. You will ascend with your ski slung over your shoulders, the most convenient way when the gullies are steep, short, and full of compactsnow.
No man in his senses will attempt High Alp ski-running without strong, heavily soled and nailed mountain boots to his feet. The big nails round the toe of the boot are most valuable for lodging one’s feet into steep snow slopes or couloirs, and a broad, flat, nail-fringed heel need never interfere with the running, unless the heads of the nails are uneven. Nails on the sides of the boots are less necessary.
From the Col des Avolions there is a delightful run down, full north-west, to the stream which the path crosses (see map) to lead up to the Chalets de Sery. Keep well to the right (east) of the point marked 2,419. We found the bed of the stream quite practicable on ski, as far as we required it to get round the point 2,419. Then we made for point 2,243, so as to keep on the level (about 2,190 metres), while leaving that point on our left, slightly above us. Then we proceeded down to the Alpe de la Lys, keeping above the tree-line, till we could ski down to Tougne on fairly open ground. Thence, to the bridge that crosses the Dranse to Lourtier, the ground is not complicated, or you may ski down to Champsec. We left the hut at 8 o’clock a.m., sat astride the Avolions saddle at nine, and entered Lourtier at twelve, having in nowise hurried ourselves.
It is a distinctive feature of mountaineering on ski that its votaries look for natural highways of a new character.
The winter snow opens up quite unexpected routes, and it will soon be the business of ski-ing clubs to issue maps revised from that point of view. A well-filled-up steep gully becomes an opportunity for building up a stairway that summer is unaware of. A gorge in which a dangerous stream brawls in summer on slippery rocks may now appear in the guise of an open and straight line of communication between upper and lower reaches separated by impassable shelves of rock. Glacier tails, at other times bristling with spikyséracsand riddled with gaping blue pits, turn into smooth bridges thrown over blanks in nature that were a torture to contemplate. Torrents are reduced to the size of tiny transparent rivulets closely hemmed in between narrow banks of solid snow and easily spanned by the long, pliable boards. A frozen-over and snow-wadded Alpine lake, toilsomely skirted in summer by winding up and down its rocky, broken shores, may be crossed from point to point by a smiling navigator. The word snowcraft acquires a new meaning. The runner eyes the country in its broad, general aspect, determines, map in hand, the bee-line leading to his destination, fixes upon the stretches of unbroken snow that will bring him round any unskiable places, and in the end gets home more after the style of birds borne through the air than after the fashion of the clod-hopping kind. Here is, to wind up with, a note of the total vertical displacement which we have shown may be attained, with ski, in the course of eight days. From Orsières to Cabane d’Orny, 1,802 metres; to Aiguille du Tour, 839; to Aiguille Chardonnet, 1,131; from Bourg St.Pierre to Grand St. Bernard hospice, 839; thence to Col de Fenêtre, 228; from Lourtier to Panossière hut, 1,613; thence to Grand Combin, 1,617; Col des Avolions, 125; metres, 8,194. Of course, the measurement on the ground would show a still more significant total, but I do not really believe that more than 600 yards need be added on that score. On the other side the following items may be deducted, as done on foot, climbing: Tour, 270; Chardonnet, 500; Combin, 1,000—metres, 1,770. This leaves, as actually ascended on ski, a minimum of 7,000 metres, a trifle under 23,000 feet.
Drawing of skiers climbing up a mountain ridge
The “high-level” route—Previous attempts—My itinerary—Marcel Kurz—The wise old men of Bourg St. Pierre—Maurice Crettex—Guides with bamboos and laupars!—The snow-clad cliffs of Sonadon—The Chanrion hut—Sealed-up crevasses—The nameless pass—Louis Theytaz—The Pigne d’Arolla—The Bertol hut—Why the Dent Blanche could be ascended—The ladies’ maids’ easy job—The dreadful summer slabs—We push past two “constables”—My cane—We bash in her ladyship’s white bonnet—The Ice-Maid presses gently my finger-tips—The cornice crashes down—A second night in the Bertol hut—The Col d’Hérens—An impending tragedy—A milk-pail versus ski—Dr. Koenig and Captain Meade—The real tragedy of Theytaz’s death—Ropes and crevasses—Mr. Moore’s account—My comments—The Mischabel range and Monte Rosa.
The “high-level” route—Previous attempts—My itinerary—Marcel Kurz—The wise old men of Bourg St. Pierre—Maurice Crettex—Guides with bamboos and laupars!—The snow-clad cliffs of Sonadon—The Chanrion hut—Sealed-up crevasses—The nameless pass—Louis Theytaz—The Pigne d’Arolla—The Bertol hut—Why the Dent Blanche could be ascended—The ladies’ maids’ easy job—The dreadful summer slabs—We push past two “constables”—My cane—We bash in her ladyship’s white bonnet—The Ice-Maid presses gently my finger-tips—The cornice crashes down—A second night in the Bertol hut—The Col d’Hérens—An impending tragedy—A milk-pail versus ski—Dr. Koenig and Captain Meade—The real tragedy of Theytaz’s death—Ropes and crevasses—Mr. Moore’s account—My comments—The Mischabel range and Monte Rosa.
From the St. Bernard hospice to Bourg St. Pierre the run down presents no particular interest. It is at Bourg St. Pierre the “high-level” road to Zermatt is entered upon.
For about fifty years it has been customary to give the name “high-level route” to the glacier passes which connect Chamonix and Zermatt—Col d’Argentière, Col des Planards, Col de Sonadon, Col de l’Evêque, Col de Collon, Col du Mt. Brûlé, and Col de Valpelline. All these passes, except the second (Col des Planards), are above 10,000 feet and linked to each other by means of glaciers. This is the high-level route properly so-called, and as followed in summer.
The first attempt to cross the Pennine Alps in winter on ski, from west to east, was made by a party of four from Chamonix, namely, Dr. Payot, Joseph Couttet, Alfred Simond, and the guide, Joseph Ravanel, nicknamed “le Rouge.” They started from Chamonix in the middle of January, 1903, and appear to have outlined for themselves the following route, which was intended to bring them in three days from the “Pavillon de Lognan,” above Argentière to Zermatt:—
First Day.—Col du Chardonnet, Fenêtre de Saleinaz, Orsières, Châble (in Vallée de Bagnes).Second Day.—Châble, Cabane de Chanrion.Third Day.—Chanrion, Glacier d’Otemma, Col de l’Evêque, Col du Mt. Brûlé, Col de Valpelline, Glacier de Zmutt, Zermatt.
First Day.—Col du Chardonnet, Fenêtre de Saleinaz, Orsières, Châble (in Vallée de Bagnes).
Second Day.—Châble, Cabane de Chanrion.
Third Day.—Chanrion, Glacier d’Otemma, Col de l’Evêque, Col du Mt. Brûlé, Col de Valpelline, Glacier de Zmutt, Zermatt.
Obviously, this plan could not be carried into practice as it was laid down on paper. Into the bargain, the runners were stopped on the Col de l’Evêque by bad weather, and, being short of provisions, they backed down the Vallée de Bagnes, the whole way to Martigny. Thence they went to Evolena, and crossing the Col d’Hérens, they reached Zermatt. From Evolena to Zermatt the day was a long one, and they came down the Glacier de Zmutt at night (seeRevue Alpine, 1903, pp. 269-284). This first attempt, over groundas yet unknown to the ski-runner, was broken up into three sections.
One month later (in February, 1903), two pioneers, who probably had no knowledge of this first feat, started in their turn upon the high-level route on ski.
They were Dr. R. Helbling and Dr. F. Reichert. Starting from the Vallée de Bagnes, they reached with much difficulty the Cabane de Panossière, on the right bank of the Glacier de Corbassière.
After attempting the Col des Maisons Blanches in order to reach the Cabane de Valsorey, they found themselves compelled to return to the Cabane de Panossière, and thence crossed the ridge at Mulets de la Liaz. The descent on the face looking towards Chanrion was extremely trying. They had to carry their ski. Anatole Pellaud, of Martigny, who accompanied them, actually lost his pair, and came home along the Vallée de Bagnes, while the others spent the night in the wretched huts of la Petite Chermontane. The following day was spent in lounging about the Cabane de Chanrion. Then they went on to Arolla by the Mont Rouge, Seilon, and Riedmatten passes. At Arolla they slept in a barn, and next day ascended to the Cabane de Bertol. The last day in this uncomfortable pilgrimage was taken up in crossing the Col d’Hérens, ascending the Tête de Valpelline, and descending to Zermatt (see Alpina 1903, p. 207, and following: Erste Durchquerung der Walliseralpen). This is, beyond doubt, one of the finest expeditions on ski that had yet been attempted in the Alps.
Map; click for larger versionTHE PENNINE RANGE FROM GRAND ST. BERNARD TO ZERMATT.(Reproduction made with authorisation of the Swiss Topographic Service, 26.8.12.)To face p. 208.
THE PENNINE RANGE FROM GRAND ST. BERNARD TO ZERMATT.
(Reproduction made with authorisation of the Swiss Topographic Service, 26.8.12.)
To face p. 208.
In January, 1908, the third attempt took place. Like the first, this caravan started from Chamonix. It consisted of M. Baujard (from Paris), with Joseph Ravanel, “le Rouge,” and E. D. Ravanel. Already on the first day this party got off the bee-line. They went down to Châble along the Col des Montets and the Col de Forclaz, then to Chanrion. On the third day they left Chanrion at midnight, and got to Zermatt at 6.30 in the evening, having crossed the Col de l’Evêque, Col du Mt. Brûlé, and the Col de Valpelline (seeRevue Alpine, 1908, p. 80).
As one sees, these three expeditions partly followed, or cut across, the high-level route. So far as the first three passes are concerned (those of Argentière, of Planards, and of Sonadon), they left them completely on one side. They were right in leaving the first. The best and only rational course is to traverse this part of the Mont Blanc range by the Col du Chardonnet, or the Col du Tour and Orny. Indeed, the Col d’Argentière, on the Swiss side, lands one in a wall of rock, where nobody should think of venturing on ski. The Col du Géant cannot either be used to any advantage.
The Col des Planards (2,736 m.), leading from the Val Ferret to Bourg St. Pierre, is quite ski-able, but does not present the same interest as a run on a glacier. Thus if you start from Chamonix, you must, at least once, descend into the valleys. This necessity makes of the “high level” from Chamonix an empty word for the Alpine runner.
If you start from Bourg St. Pierre and proceed to Zermatt from pass to pass, you will travel along an almost unbroken ice route, which may be comparedto that which leads across the Bernese Oberland from the Lötschenthal to the Grimsel. Chanrion, at the altitude of 2,400 m., is the only downward bend of some depth on this road, the only place where one is not surrounded by ice.
“Mr. F. F. Roget, of Geneva,” says a newspaper, “who in January, 1909, with Mr. Arnold Lunn, explored the high-level route from Kandersteg to Meiringen, planned out as follows his exploration of the Pennine high level in January, 1911:—
“First Day.—From Bourg St. Pierre to the Cabane de Valsorey on the Sex du Meiten (3,100 m.).“Second Day.—Col du Sonadon (3,389 m.), Glacier du Mt. Durand, Cabane de Chanrion (2,460 m.).“Third Day.—Col de l’Evêque (3,393 m.), Col de Collon (3,130 m.), Col and Cabane de Bertol (3,421 m.).“Fourth Day.—Ascent of Dent Blanche and a second night in the Cabane de Bertol.“Fifth Day.—Col d’Hérens (3,380 m.), Glacier de Zmutt, Zermatt.
“First Day.—From Bourg St. Pierre to the Cabane de Valsorey on the Sex du Meiten (3,100 m.).
“Second Day.—Col du Sonadon (3,389 m.), Glacier du Mt. Durand, Cabane de Chanrion (2,460 m.).
“Third Day.—Col de l’Evêque (3,393 m.), Col de Collon (3,130 m.), Col and Cabane de Bertol (3,421 m.).
“Fourth Day.—Ascent of Dent Blanche and a second night in the Cabane de Bertol.
“Fifth Day.—Col d’Hérens (3,380 m.), Glacier de Zmutt, Zermatt.
“Mr. Roget was lucky in being able to carry out this programme from point to point, with the exception of a delay of one day in the Valsorey hut, where the atmospheric conditions compelled him to spend two nights. This disturbance in the weather was in itself an additional piece of luck, as a fall of snow, driven by a violent north wind, laid a fresh carpet of dry stuff over the old, making the run, the whole way to Zermatt, a perpetual delight.
“Mr. Roget had asked Mr. Marcel Kurz, of Neuchâtel, to be his companion, and had engaged four guides, all of whom did duty as porters, namely:Maurice Crettex, Jules Crettex, Louis Theytaz (of Zinal), Léonce Murisier (of Praz de Fort). The two Crettex are natives of Orsières, and form probably the strongest pair of ski-ing guides that the Canton du Valais can now produce.”
Marcel Kurz had been my companion on the Aiguille du Chardonnet and on the Grand Combin. He is the youth of eighteen alluded to in a preceding chapter. He began his career as an Alpinist in 1898 and, since, he spent every summer in improving himself, Praz de Fort being the usual summer quarters of his family. In 1906 he became acquainted with the Grisons ranges and particularly with the Bernina peaks. The following summer finds him in the Mont Blanc range, in 1908 he was in the Pennines. His first Alpine expedition on ski was when I took him up the Chardonnet.
From that time he fell into my way of preferring winter tours to summer climbing, and intends, in the end, to publish the skiers’ way up and down every mountain in Switzerland to the top of which he may be able to get on ski. For two years he presided over that extremely distinguished society of young climbers, the Akademischer Alpen Club, at Zürich. Next spring, on leaving the Polytechnic University of Switzerland, he will enter the Federal Topographic Bureau in Berne as surveying engineer.
As a soldier, he was first a private—like every able-bodied young Swiss—in the corps of machine gunners attached to our mountain infantry. He served his term as non-commissioned officer and is now doing his officers’ training course at Lausanne. I would not in this way offend Kurz’s modesty and tax my reader’s patience by giving here so many particulars about a life career which after all is only at its inception, and is not so very different from that of many young fellows of the same age, did I think it out of place that a sample should appear here of the manner in which mountaineering sport, professional studies or occupations, and military obligations are crowded together in the Switzer’s youth.
The journey from Bourg St. Pierre to Zermatt was performed from Monday, January 9, 1911, to Saturday night, the 14th. It might have been done in half the time, but such was not the purpose of the expedition.
At Bourg St. Pierre we met with one of those quite trifling but somewhat unpleasant incidents with which mountaineers may be harried in those remote Swiss villages where winter sportsmen are quite a novel apparition. We fell upon a nest of those obsolete and retired guides who fill the emptiness of their lives with nothing and find in the idle habits they have acquired an excuse for passing adverse comments upon the new mountaineering. We could not but go about collecting victuals from the village shops, and did our packing in the public rooms of the hostelry known under the name of Déjeuner de Napoléon. This started the tongues of those who would talk. Buonaparte, indeed, seems to have bequeathed to those big-mouthed villagers, whom he astonished by breakfasting like any other mortal, a distinct capacity for bluff.
Three old guides sat, hours before midday, with a glass of kirsch huddled between their thumbs, eyeing our goings and comings and scanning all our doings. Then they consulted each other and began bragging of the wonderful exploits they had performed in their day. Having thus employed half an hour in impressing us, they proceeded to call our attention—simply by making much of it within our hearing—to the enormous risk we were about to incur by entrusting ourselves to such inexperienced men as those young madcaps whom we had brought along with us, and who had no share in the vast knowledge and weight of authority that had by degrees been amassed in Bourg St. Pierre.
When they thought they had successfully filled us with suspicion towards our men, they asked Maurice Crettex, in my presence, whether he had fully recovered from an accident he had met in the summer when running a cart-load of hay into a barn. The hay was toppling over and he had been badly squeezed between the wall and the cart while holding up the unsteady mass with his pitchfork. Little did they know that I was fully aware of that and had purposely wished to be Crettex’ first employer since the accident.
All their sly dodges having failed, their vindictive jealousy and self-conceit, when we had left, ran into another channel, and of this a few words will be heard at the end of our chapter. The jolly old villain of Kippel was sterling gold as compared with that ugly crew.
First Day.—Fine warm weather, foehn wind. From Bourg St. Pierre to the Chalets d’Amont(2,192 m.), the ski-runner’s track falls in with the summer route; but instead of climbing the chimney over which stands a cross, the ski-runner keeps on to the south, and enters on the left the gorge through which escapes the water of the Valsorey glacier. This glacier is thus reached, then the Grand Plan, whence one discovers the hut standing on the Sex du Meiten. Starting from Bourg St. Pierre at 11 o’clock, it was quite easy to reach the hut by sunset.
I noticed that the guides were provided with sealskins, light bamboos, and laupars. There can be no question about the utility of sealskins on long Alpine expeditions; but a light, short bamboo is certainly not the right weapon for a guide, and laupars, with a few nails driven in, certainly are most unsuited for glacier work. In other respects the men were perfectly equipped. There were three ice-axes in the party, two ropes, and everybody was provided with climbing-irons.
Second Day.—A violent wind during the night, then snow till midday, when the north wind gained the upper hand, clearing the sky after 2 o’clock. Beautiful sunset, clear night, 18 degrees Centigrade under zero.
Third Day.—Weather beautiful; quite half a foot of fresh dry snow on the old wind-driven snow.
THE SONADON CLIFFS.To face p. 214.
THE SONADON CLIFFS.
To face p. 214.
There is on the way from Bourg St. Pierre to Chanrion over the Col du Sonadon a difficulty which may have turned the earlier runners away, and no doubt induced them to go round that range from the north rather than go across. This obstacle is the wall of rock which runs as an unbroken, fortified line from the shoulder of the Combin on the north to the Aiguilles Vertes in the south, and divides the Glacier de Sonadon into two basins—the upper and the lower. The old editions of the Siegfried Atlas show a dotted line which passes close to the Aiguille du Déjeuner (3,009 m.), but it has been recognised that this route is exposed to falling stones. Caravans now prefer to ascend to the Plateau du Couloir under the shoulder of the Combin, and to descend upon the Glacier de Sonadon, and thus reach the pass of that name.
We were quite successful in traversing the snow-covered rocks, along which ran in former days the usual route. In case any runners should feel called upon to prefer the new route, owing to the state of the rocks and of the snow, here are some indications as to how to strike upon the right course. From the Valsorey hut one should climb straight up, on ski or on foot, till one is on a level with the Plateau du Couloir. If the snow is good it will generally be found to be hard; if it is powdery, avalanches are likely. From the Plateau du Couloir one may slide down to the glacier and put one’s ski on again, getting gradually on a level with the Col du Sonadon. I do not say that this track is better than the old one which we took. The conditions of snow and rock should each time be considered in the choice, because open snow slopes on hard ice-worn rock are the happy hunting ground of the avalanche fiend.
At 10 o’clock, having crossed the small Glacier du Meiten, my party was standing on the edge of thehigh wall which overlooks the lower basin of the Glacier de Sonadon. For ski-runners the situation was somewhat ludicrous, and was not one in which to remain for any length of time. The party removed their ski, put on their climbing-irons, and the Crettex brothers, carefully roped, went forward as scouts. The snow was in capital condition (newly fallen powdery snow, very light and dry on the bare rocks, and in the couloirs old snow of great consistency). Progress was possible along a kind of ledge, which dropped slantingly along slopes whose angle of declivity was about 45 degrees. One’s foot rested occasionally in the compact snow, and sometimes on the rock itself. This ledge presented an extremely narrow surface, and if one did not know that it is in use in summer one might question in winter whether it existed at all. It is very irregular, zigzagging across the couloirs and hanging on to the spurs which separate them, but extremely interesting.
When once the Col de l’Aiguille du Déjeuner had been reached, the snow showed a continuous surface on to the Glacier du Sonadon. The ski were once more put on, and the party “tacked” its way, first down, and then up, on slopes on which the sun brought trifling avalanches into motion. At about 3 o’clock in the afternoon the caravan was seated in the full glow of the sun on the Col du Sonadon (3,389 m.). An hour later began a rapid descent on the Glacier du Mont Durand—one of the many of that name—with one’s face turned towards the sunset on the mountains above Chanrion (Ruinette, Glacier de Breney, &c.). One should avoid runningtoo low down on the glacier. The thing to do is to cross over to the north-eastarêteon Mont Avril, and to descend full speed, pushing on to the Glacier de Fenêtre, describing thus a vast semicircle on to the tip of the tongue of the Glacier d’Otemma. Hence by moonlight to Chanrion on the opposite slope. The hut was reached at 6 o’clock. There was but little snow in front of the door, and no snow at all inside. By that time the moon shone through a damper atmosphere; the glass was somewhat lower, though comparatively high (it remained so throughout the expedition), but the cold had considerably abated since the morning. This meant the gathering up of mists during the night.
There is a serious drawback to the Chanrion hut. Its situation marks it out as a most convenient resort for Italian smugglers in the dull autumn and winter months when the tourist traffic has ceased. Those smugglers cross over from Italy in large numbers, bringing in farm and dairy produce, and then return to their homes laden with heavy packages of tobacco, sugar, and every kind of grocery that is heavily taxed in their own country. They are not above lifting such things as spoons, forks, tin plates, and sundry useful kitchen utensils, nay, even the blankets with which the club huts are furnished. Such movables are therefore almost entirely removed from Chanrion at the close of the summer season when the caretaker comes down. The six of us had to be content with the barest necessaries out of the always very scanty club furniture: six spoons, six forks, six plates, six knives, six blankets: quite enough, you see, whether smugglersor no smugglers.
Fourth Day (January 12th).—As foreseen, the weather was dull. Departure at 8.30. Considerable masses of snow had filled up, or at least completely closed, the huge crevasses, which in summer are open at the junction of the Glacier d’Otemma with the Glacier of Crête Sèche. Not the slightest fissure could be detected.
There are at the outlet of the Crête Sèche glacier some interesting engineering works to regulate the outflow and obviate floods which have repeatedly visited the Dranse valley, owing to the collection of water in glacier pockets and their bursting when the weight is too great for the ice walls to bear. Of these not a sign could be seen.
As a long and wide avenue, the glacier stretched itself out before the runners, and out of sight. Grey mists, rising from Italy, hung loosely over the southern rim of the glacier. But when near the upper end, at an altitude of 3,000 m. or thereabouts, the mist melted away and the sun reappeared. Three passes had to be crossed on that day in order to reach the Bertol hut by night. At that time of year those passes were nothing more than slightly marked elevations in the snow-fields. The first opens between Petit Mt. Collon and Becca d’Oren. This pass, as yet nameless, and which it will be convenient to call here Pass 3,300 m., affords a much more direct route than the Col de Chermontane, or any other. Messrs. Helbling and Reichert had swerved away from the continuous snow-highway to the north. Messrs. Baujard and Ravanel had taken refuge from thecrevasses upon the rock passes south of the Bouquetins range. In our case the choice was determined by the requirements of ski technique. From Pass 3,300, gentle downward and upward slopes led us on to the Col de l’Evêque (3,393 m.), which was reached at 2.30 in the afternoon.
In the direction of Italy the sky had remained dull. To the north the mountains shone (including the Bernese Oberland) in a blue sky, in which floated a few clouds. The glass on that day, as before, gave very fair readings. There was but little wind, and the cold was not sharp.
On that day I conversed much with Louis Theytaz. It was with me a set purpose that he should accompany us on this expedition, since I had read in the Alpine Ski Club Annual, and otherwise heard, of his High Alp runs with Mr. W. A. M. Moore and some of that gentleman’s friends. I wrote to Theytaz from Les Basses above Ste. Croix. He joined me at Martigny. He was what one would call “a nice, jolly chap.”
But was he in for bad luck? He had hardly placed his things in the net of our railway carriage, going to Orsières, when his climbing irons fell from the top of his rucksack upon his head, badly bruising his forehead with the prongs. I had engaged him to carry my own pack, as I had made up my mind that I was now old enough to have a personal attendant all to myself. My luggage was particularly valuable to the whole party, as it contained all the spirits I allowed them, namely, in two large flasks, the contents of four bottles of whisky, the proper allowance for six men during six days in January weather at a minimum altitude of 10,000 feet. Theytaz surprised me when, on arrival at the Valsorey hut, he violently threw my pack upside down upon the bed planks. The stopper of one of the flasks flew out, and then I had the pleasure of seeing the floor streaming with whisky. We got through to Zermatt very well on the contents of the other flask. But the head of an expedition so serious as this, when he has forbidden wine and limited spirits to the supply which is known to be in his possession only, does not like to see half of it spilt on the first stage of the journey by an act of sheer carelessness.
Anyhow, I viewed Louis Theytaz in the light of what I had read and heard in his favour. Knowing that he was again to accompany, within a fortnight of leaving me, Mr. Moore and friends to the Pigne d’Arolla, that mountain gained much interest in our sight, as, with the searching eyes of ski-runners, we examined its slopes dipping into the higher reaches of the Glacier d’Otemma. We photographed it a little later in the day in its eastern aspect. Seen from the south and west it presented the most attractive appearance. From the east, it would have been out of the question. What it might be from the north we could suspect from its ominous hang that way.
Recollecting that Messrs. Helbling and Reichert had struck the Glacier de Seilon from the west, I advised Theytaz either to lead his party down south to the Col de Chermontane, or to take them back the way they had come, and reach Arolla in the samemanner as the eminent gentlemen whose route was on record. But I did not at the time attach any particular value to my opinion, having learnt from experience how much better things generally turn out in practice than they appear likely to do when considered by an over-prudent man in a pessimistic mood. Louis Theytaz was swallowed up by a crevasse on the Glacier de Seilon.
From the Col de l’Evêque to the Col de Collon the snow was hard for half a mile or so; but as soon as the northern slope of the latter was reached the snow resumed its excellent quality. Thus the three passes were crossed. Wide curves brought the party down the gentle slopes of the Glacier d’Arolla to the level marked 2,670 in the map. From that point we made towards the right bank of the glacier, and landed on the very steep slopes which rise between it and the Plan de Bertol. Some of the party removed their ski rather than run along the top of this ridge. When we were well above the Plan de Bertol we were careful not to dip into it, but turned in to the right, and this move brought us to the foot of the Glacier de Bertol, in which the six runners opened a fairly deep track while tacking with geometrical regularity in the direction of the Bertol hut. They gained about 25 metres in each tack. The moon lit up their march. In the higher reaches of the glacier the slope stiffened, but the snow remained excellent.
Let it be noted here that from one end to the other of the trip we were entirely spared hard and wind-beaten snows, except at the Col de Collon, as above specified, this being the result of the day’s delay in the Valsorey hut, during which it snowed so nicely. Moreover, the high-level route presents on its whole length a belt of comparatively low summits on the south side—low because the route is situated so high. This almost continuous parapet considerably interferes with the view upon Italy, but it is a protection from sun and wind, and no doubt assists in keeping the snow in good condition.
At seven o’clock in the evening the foot of the Rocher de Bertol was reached. The ski were hidden in a niche for the night. We climbed on foot, like dismounted dragoons, up the wall, the rocks of which form a kind of ladder. The rope which is permanently fixed there was available, though partly buried in snow. This hut, perched as an eagle’s nest above the glacier, looks as if the Neuchâtel section of the Swiss Alpine Club (to whom it belongs) had wished to underline with a stroke of humour the Swiss Alpine Club regulations, which say that, in the first instance, huts are intended for the accommodation of the sick and wounded. The door was blocked up with snow, but the windows gave quite comfortable access to the kitchen.
“On that evening,” says the newspaper already quoted, “the party became more confirmed than ever in Mr. Roget’s resolve to attempt the ascent of the Dent Blanche. The condition of the mountains and the weather seemed to justify his anticipations. In forming that bold plan Mr. Roget had taken his stand upon the successful experiences he had had before in his winter ascents of the Aiguille du Tour, the Aiguille du Chardonnet, the Grand Combin, theFinsteraarhorn, the Diablerets, the Wildhorn, the Wildstrubel, &c. It could not but be, he thought, that the Dent Blanche, like all the foregoing peaks, would present itself in January in such a good condition that its ascent by the southarêtewould be quite possible. It was Mr. Roget’s belief that thearêtewould show in its fissures but a thin layer of dry and powdery snow. He was convinced that the cornices would show a full development, with their faces to the east and south-east, but without any hem of snow on the west side of thearête, where the ascent is practically made. The slabs, he thought, would be entirely covered with ice, but this ice, in its turn, could not but be covered with an adhesive layer of old snow, with fresh snow on the top of it, and this, having fallen in comparatively mild weather, must have cemented itself on to the old snow, so as to form with it a reliable surface, at whatever angle a footing might have to be gained. After a spell of fine weather, the Dent Blanche could not be more difficult in winter than in summer. In fact, he thought the rocks had been shone upon by the sun till they were dry and free of snow, the couloirs had been swept clean by the wind or clothed in a firm crust. That the cornices might come down with a crash was evident, but this would be into the abysses on the east slope, which was immaterial. On the western slope the snow would be firmly enough attached to the ice to leave but little opportunity for the ice-axe to come into play.”
Those forecasts, brought to the proof, were borne out by reality. The snow, which had fallen threedays before (a light, powdery snow, coming down in whirls), had gained no footing, nor could it, upon such anarêteas that of the Dent Blanche. The little of it which the sun had not had time to melt we swept away with our gloved hands. It was an easy job, as that of ladies’ maids brushing away the dust on their mistress’s sleeves, and we certainly did not complain of having some little tidying-up to do.
Fifth Day.—At six in the morning some early mists were trailing slowly on the ice and snow-fields between the Dent de Bertol and the Dent Blanche. The light of the setting moon broke occasionally through the clouds. The weather might be uncertain—and it might not, for the glass was at fair. The mists turned out to be, as on the preceding days, such as herald a beautiful autumn sunrise. A start was made in the direction of the Col d’Hérens. Slowly the day dawned, and found the party on the Glacier de Ferpècle. By that time we could make out which was the real direction of the wind in the middle of those mists which seemed to drift about aimlessly. It actually blew from the north-east, then from the north, with a steady but moderate strength, which abated entirely only at sunset. Theimpedimentawere, for the most part, left on the northern side of Col d’Hérens, keeping but a few victuals, the three ice-axes, the climbing-irons, and two ropes. We turned the heads of our ski against the north wind, skirting the foot of the big southernarête, so as to reach a small terrace situated above the spot marked Roc Noir on the map. On this terrace theski were firmly planted in the snow. Dismounting, we fastened on our climbing-irons. Three ski sticks were kept along with the three ice-axes.
Among the first rocks the party halted in order to take some food. It was 9.15. By means of the ropes two caravans were formed, and these soon started, exchanging a cheerfulau revoirin case some incident should separate them.
The brothers Crettex and Marcel Kurz were on the first rope; on another myself, Louis Theytaz, and Léonce Murisier, this last carrying the bag of eatables.
The fairness of the weather, the capital condition of snow and rock, and the fitness of the party would have made it quite possible to reach the top of the Dent Blanche at one o’clock in the afternoon. But there was no good reason for any hurry. A quick march might bring on some fatigue, or at least some totally unnecessary tension of mind and physical effort. This would entail some slight additional risk to no purpose whatever. The climbers had the whole day before them, and need not make any allowance for difficulties when returning to the Bertol hut, for they would follow their own tracks (which they knew to be safe) back across the glacier, whatever time of night it might be. Consequently this ascent of the Dent Blanche was deliberately carried out, and almost without any effort. It was accomplished in such leisure as not to need any quickening of the pulse.
Maurice Crettex and Louis Theytaz were fully acquainted with every peculiarity of the Dent Blanche, and treated her with as much familiarity as though they had been babes sitting on the lap of their own grandmother. The Crettex section of the caravan got on to thearêteat a trot, and began to ride it (the expression is false, but picturesque) at the point 3,729. Lunch was relished at point 3,912. Thence the two sections kept about 50 yards apart. Up to the first Grand Gendarme thearêteis undulated rather than broken up, and quite comfortable to follow. There are fine glimpses on the Obergabelhorn to the right and on the Matterhorn; the cornices of thearêteformed round those pictures magnificent frames with an ice fringe.
I had long been curious to ascertain what might be in winter the condition of the famous “plaques” or “dalles” (slabs), which have acquired such an evil reputation in summer. No such thing was to be seen. They were pasted over with excellent snow, in which Maurice Crettex dug a few steps when the ice came near to the surface. He seemed to do it as a matter of form: assuredly it would have been an irregular practice to do otherwise. It is true that without our excellent climbing-irons we might have been much less at ease. In point of fact, it was enough to dig out the snow with one’s boot-tips and to stand firmly in the holes on one’s climbing-irons in order to skip over those formidable slabs.
Thearêteoffered the best means of progress immediately after passing the Grand Gendarme. This appellation is bestowed upon the turrets, which, constable-like, bar one’s progress along a ridge. On the rock of thearêtethere was the merest sprinkling of fresh snow, so dry and light that it could easily be brushed aside, and nowhere prevented one’s gloved hands from securely grasping the rock. The scramble was quite interesting, and the hours passed by so agreeably while proceeding up this magnificent staircase, that nobody felt in a hurry to shorten the pleasure of the climb. There was occasionally a bit of a competition between Louis Theytaz, leader of the second rope, and Maurice Crettex, leader of the first, as to who should lead the van, but Crettex would not yield his place, and stormed on.
Here I left my stick planted in a mound of snow on thearête. We might, or might not, pick it up on the way back, and I took my chance. This stick was worthy of being planted and left there. It was a beautiful bit of cane, smooth and white as ivory, which I had picked up from a heap of drifted wreckage on the Cornish coast, in the preceding summer, while bathing. What scenes it might have witnessed upon the deep I did not like to picture. Yet, but for its suggestive power, I should not have brought it the whole way from Watergate bay.
It has always been my fancy to unite in one sweep of vision the ocean and the mountains, the deepest with the highest. My Dent Blanche might be one of a school of whales stranded on high when the waters withdrew, and my harpoon was well placed, sticking in one of the vertebræ of her petrified spine.
At the time of writing, I understand that it is there still, respected of the eagles and of the gales. The summer thaw has left untouched the fleecy patch of snow. The lightning has drawn in itsforks before the unaccustomed wand. Now and then a guide writes me that he has seen it, that so-and-so could not believe his eyes when he led up the first party of the summer season and found an ivory staff shining on the ridge. In wonderment, he reported the matter to some colleague of mine who had heard in our club-room my first account of this ascent.
For my part, I am content to look upon this incident as confirming my views. A frail stick, planted in the middle of a patch of snow on the most exposed and weather-beatenarêtein the Alps, appears here as the needle showing how nicely balanced are the scales of Nature.
In due course the rock came to an end, and thearêteshowed itself under the appearance of a white-hooded crest. It was the final pyramid. On that day, Friday January 13, 1911, the small, conic snow-cap which surmounted the brow of the peak was brought down by a blow from an ice-axe, at 3.30 p.m. A short time was spent on the summit. The view was now and then obscured by a cloud sailing rapidly down from the north and skirting the watch-tower on which stood the onlookers.
On the way down, each section, in its turn, with feet deeply embedded in the snow, reached again the bare rocks of thearête, having resumed the footprints made on the way up. But when leaving the snow that covered the terminal pyramid, the party did not continue on thearêtethe way it had come up, but wheeled to the right—that is, westward—and began ploughing in a downward course the slopes of the Dent Blanche facing Bertol, which had the appearance of being all snow. In spite of the extreme steepness of the slope, the party, with heels and climbing-irons well wedged into the snow, advanced with great security and speed, though the irons did occasionally impinge upon the ice. The slope getting sharper and the layer of snow thinner, it became necessary to substitute a lateral or horizontal course for the vertically downward course. A few steps had to be cut before a footing could again be gained on thearête. But, by that time, the caravan had proceeded beyond both Gendarmes, and, though it was night, we could hop along quite nicely.
During this bit of traverse, being without a stick I rested my left hand upon the snow each time I moved forward, digging in my bent fingers to relieve the foothold from some of my weight. The Ice Maid then kissed my finger-tips very gently. The bite was so timid that the kind attention escaped my notice at the moment. But late that night, before the stove, in the hut, I struck a match upon the hot iron plates with my right hand, to light my cigar, while holding up some garment to the fire with my left. The heat made the mischief apparent. It caused almost no pain, only giving an earnest of what the Ice Maid could do if pressed too hard.
Through the mists of this January dusk the moon threw a gentle light, which made it easy to discern the footprints made in the morning on the snow. The few steps which had been cut here and there on the ice were quite visible, and the rope made it a simple matter to descend the rocky parts. So, from that moment, the descent consisted simply in repeating in the opposite direction the moves of the morning.
The cornices on the left hand were made more beautiful than ever by the play of the moonbeams through the icicles. Now and then some fragment of the cornice came down with a crash, and a cloud of dust arose from the abyss and sent minute crystals across the faces of the men. It was 8.30 when the party stood again beside their ski. An hour later we picked up our heavier luggage. Sitting on our rucksacks, we took an evening meal. Then, ropes and all being packed, the six strolled back across the Glacier de Ferpècle at pleasure, and, as fancy bade, each chose his own way. The night sped on, and half its course was almost run when we reached for the second time the hospitable nest on the Bertol rock. We might have been shades moving in a dream rather than men. Our task being successfully accomplished, we might claim a right to vanish away, like dissolving views thrown for a moment upon a screen.
Sixth Day.—The morning was long and lazy. At eleven o’clock, after a good rest and full of good cheer, we entered upon our last day’s work. The sun shone brilliantly, and, thanks to his kindness, and thanks also to the smooth and sparkling snow, this last day, more than any of the foregoing, if possible, gave rise to one of those rambles on ski which are the delight of the Alpine explorer. On approaching the Col d’Hérens, the track of the preceding day was departed from where it had bent away towards the Dent Blanche, and the party turned their backs upon their conquest. Therocks, which on the Col d’Hérens divide the Glacier de Ferpècle, on the north, from the Stock glacier to the south of the Wandfluh, could just be seen emerging from the snow. The ski were removed for about ten minutes while descending those rocks.