CHAPTER XMONTE ROSA
Upona bright summer’s morning in 1911, we[6]lay on the warm rocks of the Monte Moro, gazing spell-bound at the avalanche-swept slopes of the greatest precipice in the Alps—the east face of Monte Rosa. Max saw chances of a grand climb and thought some of the bergschrunds looked bad; then, turning his attention to more personal matters, proceeded to indulge in a rigid foot inspection. Obexer could not contain his enthusiasm and greeted each avalanche, as it swept down the Marinelli Couloir, with merry song and derisive yells. Case “guessed you’d have to hustle some in the Rockies to go one better” and, curling up comfortably on a warm slab, went to sleep.
Perhaps from nowhere else are the impressive beauties and the almost overwhelming grandeur of the Monte Rosa of Macugnaga to be seen to better advantage than from the Monte Moro. From the Jägerhorn up the Nordend, over the Grenz Gipfel, beyond the Zumstein Spitze and the Punta Margherita down to the Colle della Loccie, the eye travelled on that still, clear morning along a bewildering succession of clear-cut snow-crests, aglow and glistening in the morning light, interrupted here and there by gaunt rock cliffs all dusted with freshly-fallen snow. Rolling mists obscured the Macugnaga Glacier and gently bathed the foot of the precipitous slopes and avalanche-seared cliffs that toweredup, tier upon tier, to the support of the summit ridges—a support seemingly robbed of stability by the clouds that concealed its foundations; an immense wall perched up above illimitable space and threatened with imminent dissolution. The trembling, bluish haze of distance, deepening in hue as the sun’s rays gained in strength, softened the sharp outlines of the ridges, the harsh contrast between rock and snow; and, with the thinning of the mists above the Macugnaga Glacier, cliff and cloud gradually merged into each other. A grand and glorious sight had now been transformed into a vision, almost ethereal in its sublime beauty, and into my half-waking dreams there came a fleeting glimpse of the climber’s paradise.
The moments passed, bringing in their train a multitude of thoughts and happenings of which the mind, with such happy facility, selects and stores up none but the pleasant, to serve later as a panacea for all the evils that beset those of the true faith during their servitude in the plains. Max had donned his boots, and together we discussed the problem confronting us. Case stirred uneasily on his rocky couch, awoke, and joined in the solemn conclave. Then came Obexer, who, with the optimism of all his nineteen years, pointed out a route leading up to the rocks of the Grenz Gipfel, to follow which would have led to certain and sudden death. Detail was lost in the hazy distance, and we could arrive at no solution of how to avoid the badly-broken belt of séracs which crowns the rocks of the Imseng Rücken. Avalanches fell frequently; many, finding insufficient room in the Marinelli Couloir to contain them in their mad rush towards the glacier far below, plunged down over the broken rocks of the Imseng Rücken in rolling clouds of driven snow.
We lunched in Macugnaga. The porter, Alessandro Corsi,the sole survivor of the ill-fated Damiano Marinelli’s party which was overwhelmed by an avalanche on the Imseng Rücken in 1881, joined us at our table with that delightfully unassuming camaraderie which is still an endearing feature of the natives of the unspoilt valleys of Alpine Italy. The news of our project spread rapidly, and all too soon we were forced to beat a hasty retreat up the path to the Belvedère Hôtel, in order to escape the lively torrent of questions and comments which were rained down upon us from all quarters. But it was only another case of out of the frying-pan into the fire. Long before we found shelter in the Belvedère, a thunderstorm had drenched us to the skin. Towards sunset, the clouds lifted from the summit ridges, to reveal a generous sprinkling of new snow on the upper slopes of Monte Rosa.
After sunrise on the following morning (August 7, 1911), we left our comfortable quarters and strolled up the Macugnaga Glacier past the Pedriolo Alp. Here a halt was called to enable Max and myself to submit to a critical examination the séracs above the Imseng Rücken. If only possible, we wished to avoid having to find a way through the lower belt of these grotesquely piled-up pinnacles whose stability was so obviously doubtful. Apart from this, I was well aware of the difficulties with which this intricate labyrinth abounded, and of the loss of time that the overcoming of these difficulties would entail—a most serious matter on such an expedition as this. From the Imseng Rücken to the Silber Sattel, the Marinelli Couloir glistened with ice, and the idea of cutting up its full length was soon renounced. Quite apart from the volume of step-cutting in promise, the couloir serves as a huge drainage funnel for the avalanches falling down the walls of the vast amphitheatre extending from the Nordend to the Punta Margherita, and to remain in it for hours on end wouldbe to incur too grave risks. Finally, we decided to try to evade the worst of the séracs by cutting up the Marinelli Couloir to a point about six hundred and fifty feet above the head of the Imseng Rücken; then, turning to the left towards the Punta Margherita, we would grapple with the broken medley of séracs, ice cliffs and bergschrunds through which a way must be forced ere the final bergschrund below the rocks of the Grenz Gipfel were gained. Actually the expedition was carried out in conformity with these plans, down to almost the last detail; but in the light of later experience I believe that following the Marinelli Couloir throughout would have brought us to our goal more quickly and in far greater safety.
R. H. K. Peto.
The east face of Monte Rosa.
The summits on the skyline ridge are, from left to right, the Punta Margherita, Zumstein Spitze, Grenz Gipfel and the Nordend. The Marinelli Couloir descends from the depression between the Grenz Gipfel and the Nordend.
Facing page 142.
While the others wandered off at intervals towards the rocks of the Jäger Rücken upon which the Marinelli hut is built, I remained behind for some moments to make a few rough sketches and notes which might serve later to guide our party through some of the more intricate portions of the climb. Upon rejoining my companions, I found that they had missed the ill-defined track which leads to the hut; but as time was our own, and no one evinced a desire to waste energy looking for anything so elusive as a mountain track, we muddled along contentedly, always keeping to the northern slopes of the Jäger Rücken. The steepening rocks were interspersed with abominable screes and slippery grass, and in due course the inevitable happened, and further progress appeared to be barred. Closer inspection, however, revealed a long and narrow chimney of forbidding aspect and furnished with a tremulous chock-stone. It led upwards in the desired direction towards the ridge of the Jäger Rücken to our left. A first attempt to scale the chimney failed, and I beat a retreat to the foot of the stubborn obstacle to rid myself of the encumbrance of the knapsack and tie myself on to the ropewhich Max had meanwhile uncoiled. The second attack met with more success, and, after a wobbly fight with the unsteady chock-stone and having run out to the full length of a hundred-foot rope, I found good standing ground. Those below resolutely refused to be cajoled into climbing up to me with their lawful burdens upon their own shoulders, and, in spite of my protests, I was reduced to hauling the knapsacks up on the rope. The others speedily followed, and in a few strides we were on the ridge. A moment or two later the track revealed itself, though somewhat late in the day. The easy going methods of the guideless climber, who seldom bothers to find the correct way to a hut, and the last little tussle with the chimney had cost much time; we had been over five hours on the way, when four hours’ easy going should have seen us settled in the hut. Now, however, everything was plain sailing, and the level of the hut was rapidly approached. Just as we were about to leave the ridge to traverse towards the hut, a large stone—gentle reminder, perhaps, of what the morrow held in store—hurtled down through space with a fiendish “whirr-whirr” and crashed into the rocks a few yards below. This sort of thing was somewhat disconcerting, for do not the most learned authorities assure the climber that falling stones are not met with on ridges? Perhaps this was merely the proverbial exception to the rule; but, not wishing to become embroiled in a contest with another such exception, we left the ridge and, under the comparative shelter of some steep rocks, traversed rapidly towards the hut. At midday we had successfully solved the problem of unlocking the door with an ice-axe, that most efficient of master-keys.
The Marinelli hut is built against an overhanging rock wall at an altitude of over 10,000 feet on the Jäger Rücken, abroad and somewhat ill-defined rocky ridge which, forming the lower boundary of the bottom half of the Marinelli Couloir, separates the latter from the Nordend Glacier. The floor space of the hut measures some thirteen by nineteen feet, of which half is occupied by two bare, wooden shelves which do duty as sleeping quarters; the other half accommodates a table, a couple of rough benches and a stove which, for lack of firewood, appeared to us to be the only superfluous luxury in an interior of otherwise Spartan simplicity. Eight musty and evil-smelling blankets which we hung up outside to air and dry, a visitors’ book and a few dirty pots and pans completed the inventory. The visitors’ book soon fell into the eager hands of Obexer, and whilst Case and Max busied themselves with preparations for lunch and struggled with a refractory spirit stove, he proceeded to pump me dry of all the information at my disposal which would help him to compile the array of facts entering into the calculation of what he gruesomely termed “the mortality percentage of the east face.”
Having done justice to Max’s combined lunch and tea, I wandered over to the Marinelli Couloir. Case, whose usually somewhat dormant interest in external matters had been roused to a greater pitch than usual by the frequent thunder of collapsing séracs and the continuous rumbling hiss of snow sliding down the couloir, elected to accompany me. Traversing almost horizontally along a series of broken ledges, we gained the edge of the couloir in less than ten minutes. About a hundred and fifty feet above, a low but overhanging buttress jutting well out into the couloir obscured part of the view. A few minutes’ stiff scrambling, however, placed us above the obstruction, and we were able to indulge in an almost complete survey of the whole of the route by which we hoped to gain the rocks of the Grenz Gipfel.
The warmth of the rays of an Italian sun was loosening the precarious grip of the heavy masses of fresh snow that had fallen during the thunderstorms of the two preceding evenings. A steady, unbroken stream of wet snow hissed rapidly down the deep-cut channels with which the bed of the Marinelli Couloir is scored. At frequent intervals, larger masses, often mixed with ice and stones, would break loose, swell over and out of the channels and, as if impatient of the bonds thrust upon them by the narrow confines of the couloir, would overflow the Imseng Rücken and with the reverberating noise of thunder dash down to the glacier below. Far aloft, gleaming proudly in the brilliant light, a great ice pinnacle nodded sedately forward, turned slightly round as if to recover balance, then, dragged down by the irresistible pull of gravity, crashed and broke into a thousand fragments which bounded down the great gully in grotesque leaps and jumps. A small cave, close at hand and opening out towards the valley, afforded refuge from the onslaughts of the blocks of ice and masses of snow that careered past within a few feet of us. The whole wall was literally alive with movement; during our sojourn of fully two hours, five consecutive minutes never passed without the rattle of falling stones or the mad, headlong rush of an avalanche.
While I was trying to reconcile the rough sketches made from the Macugnaga Glacier in the early morning with the foreshortened appearance the mountain now presented, Max hove in sight, and together we talked over plans. Finally, it was decided to begin the attack upon the couloir from the rocks upon which we stood, and then, by cutting across in a slightly ascending direction, to gain the rocks of the Imseng Rücken at their nearest point, distant by nearly two hundred yards. Once on the rocks of the Imseng Rücken, the originalplan of ascent, formulateden routeto the hut, was to be adhered to as far as possible. Two other points were impressed upon us; first, the need for all possible speed and the avoidance of any unnecessary delay after having once embarked upon the ascent; and, second, the necessity of postponing the carrying out of the expedition for one, possibly two, days in order to give the sun an opportunity of clearing away as much as possible of the loose, fresh snow which still remained upon the slopes above.
Meanwhile, the sun had disappeared behind the Punta Margherita. The chill air of deepening shadows conjured up, by contrast, a glowing picture of our quarters for the night. Near the hut, hidden under a stone, a welcome find revealed itself—a few handfuls of wood. A merry fire was soon crackling and blazing away in the crazy little stove. The bright flames, the dancing shadows, and the curling wisps of smoke, supplied the heretofore wanting elements of cheerful warmth that made the hut a real home.
It was too late for breakfast and too early for lunch when the first sleepy head, with an inquiring eye as to the weather prospects, was poked out at the door. But August 8 was no exception to the golden rule of 1911; the sky was cloudless. The day was usefully spent in marking the best route to the Marinelli Couloir by numerous cairns, and by prodigious efforts at demolishing our generous stock of provisions. Towards evening, knapsacks were packed, ropes were laid ready, and the fit of climbing irons was tested. Not until then did I discover that Obexer’s irons were only six-toothed, and that the front teeth lay quite two inches behind the toes of his boots. That meant making deeper steps, and consequent loss of time.
On August 9, at 1 a.m., under the light of a brilliant moon,we left the hut. We were roped in two parties. Case and myself led off; Max and Obexer brought up the rear. All wore climbing irons. We followed the now familiar route on to the rock promontory jutting into the couloir. A glance above. All was quiet in the cold night air. A hasty step in hard-frozen snow, and the attack was launched. Here the slope of the couloir is about 46°, but the climbing irons gave firm grip and, ascending slightly, we crossed at the double. Now and again ice showed through in the beds of narrow, deep-cut troughs, and the axe was brought into play. Two of these troughs gave trouble. Both were over twelve feet deep and sixteen feet wide, with under-cut sides. The difficulty in crossing lay, not in getting on to the floor of the trough—a jump did that—but in cutting out over the ice of the overhang on the far side. Beyond these obstacles, steep snow slopes led to the rocks of the Imseng Rücken where Max and Obexer soon joined us, little over half an hour after leaving the hut. The rocks, though fairly steep, are, relatively speaking, not difficult; and, climbing occasionally to the left, but more often to the right of the ill-defined ridge, we all indulged in a passion for speed, racing upwards as fast as heart and lungs would permit. The ridge becomes narrower higher up, and the rocks gradually merge into a sharp snow-crest which at first is almost level, but rapidly steepens and broadens out to lose itself in the slopes which form the southern bank of the Marinelli Couloir.
The Frisallücke.
The snow slope is intersected by a bergschrund, which in turn is cut by a trough formed by stones falling from the cliffs of the Bifertenstock on the left.
Facing page 148.
According to our pre-arranged plan, a brief halt was called and both ropes joined together. Meanwhile, the moon had disappeared behind the Zumstein Spitze, and two lanterns were lighted. We were now at a height of about 11,500 feet. My watch showed 2.35 a.m.; thus our rate of progress so far was satisfactory. From this point, however, the problem assumed a far more serious aspect. The general angle of the ground was very abrupt, and ice was everywhere laid bare by the scouring action of untold avalanches. A brief but heavy bout of cutting landed us on a small island of rocks, a last outcrop of the Imseng Rücken. Though inclined to be slabby, they were surprisingly easy and in a few minutes brought us to a steep, bare ice slope. To the left, a short traverse offered an easy way into the zone of séracs, the route of our predecessors; but, determined to adhere to original plans, we faced the slopes leading upwards. The axe rang to the tinkle of falling ice fragments. Case kept close behind and, with a lantern tied on to the end of his axe, lit up the ice in front of me. Max hewed staunchly away at deepening the steps, occasionally cutting additional ones to suit Obexer’s short legs; for, to save all possible time, the steps were cut as far apart as was consistent with safety. From far above in the wild crags of the Nordend came the rattle of falling stones. Down thundered the avalanche, swelling to a veritable torrent, and poured through the Marinelli Couloir. Some few boulders, as if possessed of a more adventurous spirit than the rest, leapt wildly across the couloir in great ungainly bounds, throwing up thick clouds of snow as they hurried over the upper part of the Imseng Rücken, which we had just ascended. No word was spoken; the labour of step-cutting went on steadily. The slope increased in steepness, until it was only just possible to cut without resorting to handholds. At last, after gaining some three hundred feet by the hardest of work, the slope suddenly eased off, and we found ourselves on an almost level platform at the foot of a huge sérac. Five minutes’ rest for sorely-tried lungs, and then onwards once more!
The first signs of dawn appeared and gradually dispelledthe gloom with which the moon had plunged everything when it had disappeared behind the ridges high above; but it was still too dark to dispense with the lanterns. Traversing almost horizontally in the direction of the Punta Margherita, a series of easy snow ledges, interrupted here and there by the scoured-out, icy, avalanche-swept channels that exacted their due toll of step-cutting, led us well into the midst of the crevasses, bergschrunds and séracs with which this part of the east wall is so profusely armoured. Avoiding several likely looking opportunities of once more progressing upwards—for our previous reconnaissance had convinced us that the only way through the labyrinth lay close under the steep slopes of the Punta Margherita—we forced a way across, and sometimes even through, crevasse after crevasse, and above or below sérac after sérac. At last, after having thus traversed across almost the whole of the east face, a steep and rickety snowbridge over a bergschrund of quite unusual dimensions at last gave access to less steep ground where the climbing irons could find safe purchase without the cutting of steps.
Meanwhile, it had become light; yet, in spite of all possible efforts at speed, we had gained a level of only about 12,000 feet. The outlook was not too good, for there was still much fresh snow on the slopes above, and, with the sun’s advent, we should be at the mercy of avalanches until the rocks of the Grenz Gipfel were gained.
Photo A. I. I. Finch.
The Grenz Gipfel.
The Val Sesia from Monte Rosa.
Facing page 150.
Case and Max packed away their lanterns, and, redoubling our efforts, we set out at a furious pace across the ledge leading to the next icefall, the weakest point in which was a slope of, as near as we could judge, 70° in steepness and about one hundred and fifty feet high. At the first glance it appeared perpendicular, but it was just possible to stand in shallow steps and cut without having more than occasional recourse to handholds. Half-way up this exceptionally steep slope, an irregularity in the ice provided me with a safe footing, so that my companions were able to follow me up in the very skimpy steps with which I had been satisfied in the first instance. The remainder of the ascent of the ice wall was no less severe. Towards the top it became even steeper. Footholds and carefully cut handholds were necessary to enable us to reach the gentler slopes of the terrace above. The last icefall was clearly impassable except on its extreme right, close to where it adjoins the Marinelli Couloir. We had already realised this from our inspection from the Macugnaga Glacier two days ago.
Striking off in the direction of the Marinelli Couloir, we covered ground rapidly, though without gaining much height. On arriving at the very edge of the couloir, we discovered a steep slope of good snow, by means of which the formidable icefall was easily turned. Cutting up this slope, we arrived on the last terrace below the final bergschrund. The only likely bridge over this schrund lay, as we knew, almost under the Grenz Sattel. No time was lost in making for this point, and we raced up over the comparatively gentle slopes with a speed that must have astonished several parties who were warily descending the Zumstein Spitze towards the Grenz Sattel. These parties were none too careful in their climbing, and, before reaching the bergschrund, we were reduced to dodging stones which whizzed past us at an alarming rate. A most efficient snow bridge helped us across the schrund, and we proceeded to cut steps diagonally upwards towards the lowest rocks of the Grenz Gipfel, which lay about three hundred feet above. The snow soon gave out, and we were reduced once more to cutting in bare ice. We were still in considerabledanger from falling stones which the sun was loosening in increasing numbers from the Grenz Gipfel. Numerous parties, spread out over the ridge leading from the Grenz Sattel to the Grenz Gipfel, also added their little contributions in this respect, in their eagerness to watch our advance. At 6.50 a.m. we grasped the warm rocks of the east ridge of the Grenz Gipfel, and, climbing on to a ledge, we felt, for the first time since leaving the Marinelli hut, that we were at last in safety. The ascent of the final ice slope had cost forty minutes. Our pace and the amount of step-cutting had been so stiff, that I was never so glad to take a rest. However, a few minutes worked wonders, and, after taking off our climbing irons and re-arranging ourselves into two parties, Max and Obexer being in one, and Case and myself taking the lead, we got busy with the last stage in the expedition—the steep rocks in front of us. We kept to the ridge itself, only occasionally traversing a few yards to the left. The rock is good, but the climbing is difficult and strenuous. The whole ridge seems to consist of overhanging steps, each about ten feet high and calling for plenty of arm work. By this time, however, we were anxious to see if we could not establish a record ascent from the point of view of time. Max and Obexer affected to take things more easily, and, shortly before we had attained the level of the Grenz Sattel, we parted.
Case shared my eagerness for speed, with the result that in less than two hours’ climbing we stood on the summit of the Grenz Gipfel (15,158ft.). Ten minutes later, at 9.15 a.m., we were prospecting for a suitable place for a sun bath on the summit of the Dufour Spitze (15,217ft.). We had taken just over eight hours from hut to summit. At a quarter to ten Max and Obexer arrived, and the day was won.
FOOTNOTES:[6]J. C. Case, F. Obexer, M. B. I. Finch and G. I. Finch.
FOOTNOTES:
[6]J. C. Case, F. Obexer, M. B. I. Finch and G. I. Finch.
[6]J. C. Case, F. Obexer, M. B. I. Finch and G. I. Finch.