CHAPTER XIIITHE MATTERHORN
Perhapsno other mountain in the Alps, or for that matter in the whole world, can make such an appeal to the eye as the Matterhorn. This appeal is not merely one of beauty and boldness of form, but also one of position. The Matterhorn has no neighbours in close proximity to invite comparison; it stands utterly alone—a great, dark, rocky pyramid with sides of tremendous steepness, and towering up towards the heavens from out a girdle of glistening séracs and snowfields. It was one of the last of the great summits of the Alps to succumb to the onslaughts of man, and the terrible tragedy whereby four of the seven men who were the first conquerors lost their lives on the descent is still fresh in the public memory.
The summit of the Matterhorn consists of a narrow, almost level, rock ridge, about two hundred and fifty feet in length. The northern end of this ridge is called the Swiss summit, and the southern the Italian summit. In the former converge the Swiss and Furggen ridges and in the latter the Italian and Zmutt ridges. The first successful ascent of the Matterhorn was made by the Swiss ridge. Here the climbing is nowhere really difficult until one is above the level section lying immediately below the summit and known as the Shoulder. Beyond the Shoulder, the rock is steep and difficult, and would demand great care and climbing skill were it not for the fact that this part of the ridge is festooned with stout ropes, thanks to which the most inexperiencedand untalented of climbers can be dragged in safety to the top. The second ascent of the Matterhorn was carried out over the Italian ridge. The climbing here is more difficult than any met with on the Swiss ridge; and though, even here, the rock is nowadays decorated with a profusion of thick ropes which enable many to climb it who would otherwise not even dream of attempting to, there are still unroped sections of such difficulty that the Italian ridge is unquestionably a harder climbing problem than the Swiss. Of the other two ridges of the mountain, the Furggen ridge, though it has been climbed, is in sections so exposed to falling stones that it cannot be regarded as a justifiable undertaking. But the Zmutt ridge is a sound climb and has the distinction of being the only really practicable route to the summit which is devoid of the artificial aids of fixed ropes and chains. Both the Swiss and Italian ridges of the Matterhorn were climbed in 1865, but it was not until many years afterwards that the summit was gained over the Zmutt ridge.
In September, 1879, two of the strongest climbing parties that have ever been known in the Alps at last succeeded in opening up what is to-day the finest line of approach to the top of the Matterhorn. The first party consisted of the lateMr.A. F. Mummery, with the guides Alexander Burgener, Johann Petrus and A. Gentinetta; the second, ofMr.W. Penhall with Ferdinand Imseng and Louis Zurbruggen. Mummery’s party followed the ridge almost throughout, but Penhall climbed for the most part on the Tiefenmatten face, that immense series of cliffs enclosed between the Zmutt and Italian ridges, reaching the ridge only at a very elevated point.
After crossing Monte Rosa from Macugnaga, Case, Obexer, Max and I arrived at the Monte Rosa Hotel in Zermatt, wherewe were welcomed by two old members of the Academic Alpine Club of Zürich, Ernest Martini and Val Fynn. The latter suggested that we should join forces and make a combined attack upon the Zmutt ridge of the Matterhorn, descending via the Italian ridge to Breuil. Coming as it did from Fynn, probably the most experienced and best guideless climber the Alps have ever seen, the suggestion was received with enthusiasm; and, on the evening of August 12, 1911, the six of us berthed down together in the Schönbühl hut which lies far up in the Zmutt Valley, at a distance of about three and a half hours from Zermatt.
At one o’clock next morning, under the guidance of Fynn who had reconnoitred the preliminary part of the route on the previous day, we descended over the loose blocks of the moraine below the hut on to the glacier, and made our way across towards the great shut-in basin of the Tiefenmatten Glacier which lies at the foot of the Zmutt ridge. Keeping far over to the right so as to avoid the crevasses of the icefall, we gained the basin, whence we were able to work round in a wide curve towards the cliffs below the lower, snowy section of the Zmutt ridge. Soon we were climbing up the rocks and, passing by two little walls of stones, possibly the remains of Mummery’s bivouac, we reached the snow slopes above. The snow was good and well-frozen, and we were able to kick steps up on to the ridge which we struck just above the lower end of the prominent snowy section. The ridge was not steep, and the snow was in excellent condition. Kicking steps, we made good headway. The snow ridge finally merged into a crest of broken rocks up which we scrambled, to arrive at a deep gap beyond which towered several grimgendarmesor rocky teeth. It was six o’clock, and, though our progress had been anything but hurried, we were nothing loth tomaking breakfast an excuse for a halt. The early morning sun, weak though its rays were, helped to take the edge off the knife-like northerly breeze. Nevertheless, we were glad enough when Fynn, reminding us that the real part of the day’s work was now before us, gave the order to prepare to move off.
The Matterhorn from the Stockje.
The Tiefenmatten face is enclosed by the Zmutt ridge, seen on the left, and the Italian on the right. In the foreground is the Tiefenmatten Glacier.
The Matterhorn at sunset.
Facing page 184.
We roped in two parties; Fynn, Max and Obexer on one rope, Martini, Case and myself on the other. Our commander-in-chief, bent on putting the younger recruits through their paces, detailed Max and myself as leaders. We on our part were only too eager to obey, and, as soon as all was in readiness, we climbed down into the gap. Despite appearances, no difficulty was encountered; the three prominent teeth in the gap were easily circumvented. By the time that we had passed the third, the sun disappeared behind the mountain, and for the first time the cold really made itself felt. A few days previously, a violent thunderstorm had deposited a sprinkling of snow, and the steep rocks now before us were still white and partly glazed with a thin veneer of ice. Under these circumstances we considered it advisable to forsake the backbone of the ridge and traverse out for some considerable distance into the huge and precipitous gully falling away to the Matterhorn Glacier. The work now demanded great care, for, owing to the absence of jutting out bits of rock over which the rope might have been belayed, a slip would have entailed grave consequences. We all felt we could trust each other, however, and without anxiety we pursued our course, cautiously plying the axe to clean out the snow and ice from every hand- and foothold, until we at last reached some good broken rocks which, though steep, led us without much difficulty back to the ridge. We were now far above the teeth. For a short time the ridge was adheredto, but once again it became steep, and a treacherous layer of ice on the rock, masked by a covering of snow, drove us once more out into the gully on the left. The rock here was very steep, but more broken up. To even matters up somewhat, however, snow filled up the interstices. It was extremely cold for midsummer, but, owing to the steepness of the gully and the tricky nature of the work, gloves could not be used, as they interfered too much with one’s grip on handholds. For the second time that day we were climbing under conditions where a slip on the part of one man would have involved all his comrades on the rope in destruction, and we could not afford to make mistakes. Fynn’s cheery voice exhorting us to “take our time and put hands and feet down as if the Matterhorn belonged to us” supplied extra encouragement, if indeed such were necessary, to do our best to show a master in mountain-craft that the younger generation were eager to emulate.
Up and up the gully we climbed, and, as we rose, it became steeper and steeper, until the man below saw nothing but the nailed boot soles of the man above. Snow choked all cracks and crannies and concealed handholds, but fortunately the rocks were free from ice. Carefully scraping and kicking, we cleared the snow away, and at last, just as my bare fingers had become so cold as to be devoid of feeling, I scraped out a channel in the little snow cornice crowning the exit of the gully and stepped back on to the crest of the Zmutt ridge. Here at last was good standing ground. The ridge was fairly broad. Behind us stood a prominent rocky tower; in front the ridge led up towards the summit. On the left, flanking the great gully by which we had ascended, was that tremendous overhang on a branch on the ridge, which has been so aptly called the “Nose of Zmutt.” The sunshine on the ridge waswelcome indeed after the chill hours spent in the shade. During the intervals in a course of energetic exercises designed to restore circulation and warmth to feet and hands, we ate a second breakfast. Again, however, the north wind cut short our stay, and at eight o’clock we prepared for the final section of the climb. Given normal conditions, two hours might have sufficed to see us on the summit. As things were, however, five hours were needed, in spite of the fact that from here onwards we climbed as fast as we could go with safety and without resting. We attempted to follow the ridge, but in a short time great steep steps, which occasionally were overhanging and from which gigantic icicles depended, forced us off the crest, this time out to the right towards the Italian ridge. Hitherto, though we had undoubtedly surmounted two pitches requiring care and delicate handling, and the work as a whole had been far from easy, the task which now confronted us was an even more serious one. I gathered the impression that under favourable conditions the ground over which we were now to pass would have been perfectly straightforward and by no means difficult. As it chanced, however, fresh snow lay about everywhere, and, more pernicious still, the rocks were glazed with ice. Shortly after leaving the ridge, we had to cut steps across a wide ice slope on to a little rib of broken rocks, the crest of which was ice-free. Viewing the rest of the ground from this point, I judged it advisable to continue the traverse before attempting to climb upwards. Fynn, however, who had taken over the lead of the second party, elected to proceed directly up, although by so doing he had to climb over more difficult ground. The reason for this choice was quite simple. There was a great deal of loose rock about, and, owing to the difficult nature of the ground, it was quite within the boundsof possibility that one or other of us might start stones falling. It was in order to minimise danger from this source that Fynn set himself the more laborious and intricate task of continuing straight upwards.
“... that tremendous overhang called the ‘Nose of Zmutt.’”
Facing page 186.
After traversing for another hundred feet or so, I appeared to be almost vertically under the summit. Considering that my opportunity had come, I struck up over ice-glazed rocks and through ice-filled gullies; preferably the latter, as the ice, as a rule, was sufficiently deep to permit the cutting of good steps. Our party soon drew level with Fynn’s, but could not overtake them, though we were working over less difficult ground. Steadily and safely, Fynn led his party across ice-covered rocks which would have taxed the skill of the very best. For over three hours we fought our way inch by inch, until at last, almost simultaneously, both parties reached the famous ledge known as Carrel’s Corridor. This ledge runs from the Italian ridge across the face of the Matterhorn to the Zmutt ridge. Here our difficulties were at an end. It is true that the rock wall above the ledge was vertical, even overhanging, and that below were the slippery slabs up which we had just come; but the corridor itself was in places almost level and broad enough to afford perfectly secure footing—a relief after what we had undergone. The ledge was heavily laden with powdery, incohesive snow, through which we ploughed, knee-deep, over towards the Zmutt ridge. Fynn had gained the corridor at a point nearer the ridge than we had, and presently I saw him disappear round a bold corner of rock. Obexer and Max in turn followed, and from their lusty yells of joy we knew that they were back again on the ridge, and all was now plain sailing to the top. On rounding the corner, I looked out beyond those grim slopes, the scene of the tragedy of 1865, and espied two partiesmaking their way down to the Shoulder on the Swiss ridge. Then I looked up. All was clear. The ridge, though in parts still steep, consisted of rock which offered a profusion of holds for hand and foot, and, dashing ahead at a great pace, we caught up Fynn’s party just as they arrived on the Italian summit (14,705ft.).
It was one o’clock. With us arrived another, and to us unpleasant, visitor. Harbinger of ill weather, a dense bank of cloud shut out the sun and obscured the view. But bad weather or no bad weather, we now claimed the right to a square meal and a rest. The cooking apparatus was brought forth, and knapsacks searched for food. Fynn unearthed a veritable gold mine in the shape of a plum pudding, while Martini produced that peculiar speciality of Italy called salami, a sausage whose inside is reputed to be either cat, dog or donkey, or a discreet mixture of all three. But appetites were too big to be over-fastidious, and what with plum pudding, salami and other good and solid odds and ends, to be washed down by generous supplies of hot tea, a feast was laid which received full justice.
At two o’clock Fynn shepherded us together again, and the descent was begun. Martini was the only one amongst us who had ever been on the Italian ridge before, but, as he confessed to a bad memory, I was deputed to find the way down, while to him and Fynn fell the onerous post of bringing up the rear of their respective parties. In the dense fog surrounding us, I was, for a moment or two, at a loss as to where to seek for the start. Acting on Fynn’s advice to “go to the edge of the drop,” I stepped out carefully towards the brink of the huge precipice that falls away towards Italy. Almost at once I saw before me the bleached strands of a stout rope fixed to a strong iron pin driven into the rocks. The details of theItalian ridge having been dealt with in the preceding chapter, it will, therefore, be unnecessary to repeat them here. Suffice it to say that we descended the frost-riven rocks and precipices of this magnificent ridge with all possible speed, goaded by the constant threat of a storm that fortunately never broke.
It was not until we were far below the Pic Tyndall, and had descended the great rope which enables one to avoid the battlemented crest above the great tower, that we met with adventure. To regain the ridge below the tower, a steep ice slope known as the “Linceul” has to be crossed. On approaching this slope, we sighted a party of four German climbers, who later informed us that they had already spent two hours endeavouring to cross. Incapable of cutting steps, they were helpless. One, however, possessed of more resolution than his comrades, was preparing to set about making a last desperate effort to cross and, to assist him in his endeavour, had called upon one of the others to hold him on the rope. The latter untied the rope from around his waist and held it in his hands as his companion did his utmost to cut steps. To us, who came upon the scene at this very minute, the base object of the second man in untying himself was only too obvious. He feared that, in the event of the first man slipping, he might not be able to check the fall, and, tied to the rope, he too might be dragged down over the precipice. By unroping and merely grasping the rope in his hands, he would, in the event of a slip proving too much of a strain on his strength, be able to save himself at the expense of his comrade, by simply letting the rope go. The mountains are indeed true and stern testers of friendship, loyalty and courage. On seeing us, the Germans brightened up. They were profuse in their explanations of their difficulties and requests for assistance. Both wereunnecessary, especially the former, for we recognised at once the peculiar type of mountain climber with whom we had to deal. They belonged to a self-styled group of “guideless” climbers who are singularly deficient in mountaineering knowledge and ability and many other qualities besides, which it will not be necessary to enumerate. Their kind are to be met with everywhere in the Alps. Usually they confine their activities to the easiest of climbs and snow trudges, where they can follow unthinkingly in the deep-trodden tracks of previous parties. Sometimes they venture on expeditions the difficulties of which are beyond their powers; and, on such occasions, they take care to follow on the heels of some efficient climbing party, be it guided or unguided. This is actually what these four men had done. Early that morning they had started out to follow a guided party up the Swiss and down the Italian ridges of the Matterhorn. As far as the summit, they had contrived to keep close behind. The difficulties of the descent, however, overtaxed their powers, with the result that the guided party soon far outstripped them, and they were left to their own resources. Hence the sad predicament in which we found them. It is this special breed of “guideless” climber, who is guideless only in that he does not himself engage and pay for the services of a guide, that has in the past done so much to bring discredit upon guideless climbing proper. The man who professes to be a guideless climber should avoid frequented routes and has no right to embark upon an undertaking to which he is not fully equal, no matter what the circumstances may be.
Fynn sent on my party to cut the necessary steps across the Linceul, while he, with the assistance of Max and Obexer, carefully nursed the four incompetents over to the safe ground beyond. Soon afterwards we passed the ruins of the oldItalian hut and, descending some steep slabs by means of a long fixed rope, arrived at the Italian Club Hut at 6.30 p.m. It was filled with climbers intending to make the ascent on the next day, and, as the four rescued men were clearly incapable of proceeding farther that evening, we had to make up our minds to continue the descent, in order that they might find room for the night. We carried on past the Col du Lion, down the Grand Staircase—those easy, broken rocks south of the Tête du Lion—and gained the meadows above Breuil just after nightfall. We boasted only one lantern amongst us. Fynn carried it and unravelled the vagaries of a twisting track leading down towards the far off, beckoning hôtel lights. At ten o’clock, twenty-one hours after leaving the Schönbühl hut, tired but happy, we made our way through a throng of inquisitive holiday makers to the dining-room of the Jomein, and were soon bringing such hearty appetites to bear upon the good food provided that the brows of even our worthy host rose high with astonishment.