CHAPTER XVIITWO CHAMONIX AIGUILLES
North-north-eastof, and near to Mont Blanc, is a compact group of bold buttresses and ridges supporting a multitude of dark rock pinnacles whose slender spires seem close against the sky. These are the Chamonix Aiguilles. The conquest of the more important of these bold granite towers was largely due to the inspiring energy and determination of the lateMr.A. F. Mummery, one of the greatest of bygone mountaineers. For devotees of rock-climbing pure and simple, the Aiguilles of Chamonix are a veritable paradise, for they form one of the few mountain groups in the Alps where the rock is so firm and reliable that one can climb for hours on end without encountering a single loose stone or questionable handhold.
Rock-climbing, particularly on good, sound rock, has never held any great charm for me. I have always regarded it as but one of the simplest, most easily learnt and less important branches of a wider art, and, as it is met with on almost any big snow-and-ice expedition, I have never felt disposed to go out of my way in search of it for its own sake. It was not until the close of the summer season of 1910 that my friend, Ph. Visser, induced me to launch out on an expedition where rock-climbing was avowedly the main attraction.
The Dent du Requin, one of the more popular of the Chamonix Aiguilles, is a bold, rocky tower rising to a heightof over 11,200 feet from one end of the long ridge which falls away from the Aiguille du Plan towards the east. Early on the morning of August 29, we left the Montanvert in two parties, the first consisting ofMr.Lugard and his guide, Joseph Knubel, a rock-climber of great distinction hailing from St. Nicholas in the Zermatt Valley, and the second of Visser and myself. Following the customary route towards the Col du Géant as far as the great icefall of the Géant Glacier, we made our way up unpleasantly steep screes to the d’Envers du Plan Glacier, over whose much crevassed surface we eventually gained the southern slopes of the ridge connecting the Plan with the Requin, at a point where broken rocks gave easy access to the crest. Six and a half hours after leaving the Montanvert, we arrived at the point on the ridge known as the Shoulder, and the Requin appeared in full view. I must confess to a feeling of disappointment; it was obvious that there could not be more than an hour’s difficult climbing. The six and a half hours’ ascent from the Montanvert had been tiring and utterly devoid of interest in the mountaineering sense, except for the comparatively short passage over the d’Envers du Plan Glacier, and I failed to see how one hour’s rock-climbing could merit such a tedious approach. Knubel, who had already made several ascents of the peak, now went ahead with Lugard and, climbing without difficulty, arrived at a gap in the ridge just below the lower end of the immense and partly overhanging chimney that cleaves the Requin almost from head to foot. At the foot of the chimney, a steep slab falls away towards a ledge which Knubel and Lugard gained by the use of the doubled rope. Visser and I followed, retrieving the rope after reaching the ledge. Then, mounting a series of short, very steep chimneys, we arrived on a broad platform. Henceforward, working spiral-wise, we climbedto the summit. The climbing was difficult throughout, but it was always perfectly safe. The holds were everywhere extraordinarily reliable, and it was probably this selfsame reliability and the fact that a party preceded us all the time that made the Requin, as a climbing proposition, seem hopelessly dull and monotonous. Only now and again when one’s eye travelled down the tremendous precipices to the gloomy, shut-in basin of the d’Envers du Blaitière Glacier, did one become conscious of one’s airy position and feel the vivid sense of exhilaration that every real mountain climb provides almost throughout.
Chamonix Aiguilles and Mont Blanc.
Descending the Grépon.
A stiff chimney.
Facing page 250.
If the ascent, however, had been weary, stale and unprofitable, the descent was to provide me with at least one compensating thrill. With the aid of the doubled rope, the great chimney before mentioned can be descended, and the dreariness of going home by the same road, as it were, avoided. Knubel and Lugard led off down the chimney, the upper half of which is barren of outstanding difficulty. We fixed a doubled rope, but there was no need to use it. In the middle of the chimney, however, there is a sloping platform which was plastered with ice; and below the platform the chimney falls away in a great overhang. We discovered a rustypitondriven into a narrow fissure in one side of the crack, but it was very loose. So Knubel hammered away some of the ice from the platform and laid bare a projecting stone over which he passed the spare rope. Together we let Lugard down to the bottom of the chimney. Then came Visser’s turn, and Knubel went next, preferring to rely entirely on the doubled rope. Having nothing else to do for the moment, I relaxed, and was absorbing the view when, by the merest chance, I happened to glance down at my feet. To my horror, I saw the rope on which Knubel was now hanging in free air slowly but surely rolling itself off the belay. Just in time to prevent its slipping off altogether, I trod heavily on it with my foot. Knubel, all unconscious of how near he had been to destruction, swung gaily downwards to the others. Then came my turn. After what I had witnessed, I felt disinclined to trust myself to the treacherous belay. After some little delay, during which I was much chaffed by the others, who were unaware of the cause of my hesitation, I succeeded in jamming the rusty oldpitonfirmly enough into its fissure to satisfy even my now somewhat critical ideas of safety; and, passing the doubled rope through the ring, I shinned down. The climb was over. There remained nothing but the dreary return to the Montanvert; there had been one thrill, and that an undesirable one and unshared by my companions. The impression that survived was one of monotony, and I longed for all the wonderful variety and wide appeal which makes the real mountain adventure such a thing of joy.
A gigantic saw set up on edge and crowned by an array of irregular teeth—such, as seen broadside on from either the Mer de Glace or the Nantillons Glacier, is the great serrated ridge formed by the Charmoz and the Grépon. The deep col, or depression, which divides the ridge approximately in half, bears the composite name of the Col Charmoz-Grépon. Both of these peaks were climbed for the first time by a party consisting of Mummery, Alexander Burgener, that Viking of guides, and B. Venetz, a young fellow who must have been a very active climber; and all three declared the ascent of the Grépon to be “the most difficult climb in the world.” Theadvance which has taken place since Mummery’s time in modern rock-climbing has robbed the Grépon of its right to this proud title; but its ascent is still held to rank amongst the most difficult rock-climbing problems which the climber is able to find in the Alps or, indeed, in any other part of the world.
The ascent of the Grépon formed the last item upon our programme for the summer of 1911. Like the Requin, the Grépon is built up of huge blocks of marvellously firm granite, and, after my experience of the former, I hoped for little mountaineering enjoyment from the latter. As far as we could gather, there would be real mountaineering only on the ascent to the Col Charmoz-Grépon, whence the actual climb starts, and on the descent from the Col des Nantillons. Several mountaineers, however, had assured us that rock-climbing was not only more attractive than snow and ice work but also more difficult. So, desirous of testing fairly the truth of this statement so far as we ourselves were concerned, Max and I left the Montanvert at 2 a.m. on September 5, bound for thene plus ultraof rock ascents.
If care is taken never to lose sight of it, a path, at first well-marked but dwindling away to a diminutive track, may be followed almost on to the Nantillons Glacier, whence the broad couloir running down from the Col Charmoz-Grépon is reached. The head of this glacier is enclosed in a cirque of horseshoe shape formed by the cliffs of the Charmoz, Grépon and Blaitière. In line with the ends of the horseshoe, the glacier tumbles over a cliff, and the icefall thus formed divides it into an upper and lower half. We succeeded in keeping to the Montanvert track all the way to the glacier and, while walking up the gently inclined snow-free surface of the lower half, had ampletime to study the icefall. It was easy to recognise in a steep island of rocks lying close under the cliffs of the Blaitière the best line of ascent to the upper half of the glacier. Below these rocks the ice steepened somewhat, and a few steps had to be cut before the island was gained. Once on the rocks the traces of previous climbers were everywhere in evidence, and we followed a trail of empty tins, bottles and other leavings of humanity to the farther end of the island, where, just after daybreak, we roped and embarked upon the glacier. We had proceeded only a few yards, when we were suddenly brought up short on the edge of an enormous crevasse which stretched away, unbridged, on either hand to the bounding cliffs of the cirque. To cross would have involved hours of hard work and step-cutting, but for the fact that two ladders tied together and laid across the chasm at its narrowest point were still in a sufficiently serviceable condition to enable us to gain the farther edge without trouble. Thence, hastening through a short zone endangered by the séracs of an ice wall at the foot of the Blaitière, we gained the middle of the upper basin of the Nantillons Glacier and proceeded leisurely up the hard-frozen snow to the foot of the couloir which gives access to the Col Charmoz-Grépon.
The summer having been exceptionally dry and fine, the mountain was practically free from snow and ice, so we left one of our axes and a knapsack containing all superfluous baggage at the foot of the couloir, to be recovered on the descent. In the remaining knapsack we carried spare clothing, a spare one-hundred-and-fifty-foot rope and a few provisions, including a can of peaches and a tin of condensed milk reserved for the summit feast. Camera and spare films were stowed away, as usual, in my coat pocket. Some little difficulty was experienced in effecting a lodgment in the rocky bedof the couloir, the glacier having shrunk away from the rock to such an extent that a rather deep cleft had been formed. The descent into the cleft was easy enough, but it was only after a sharp, if short, struggle up a very steep chimney with unreliable holds on the upper side of the cleft that the broken rocks of the couloir were gained. Here the climbing was perfectly easy, though the rock was far from firm, and care was necessary. We climbed close together on a short rope on account of the many loose rocks, some of which needed only a touch to start them crashing down to the glacier. Without meeting with any real obstacle, we mounted rapidly, keeping for the most part well to the left of the couloir which bore unmistakable signs of stone-falls. At the point where the couloir bifurcates, we took the branch to the right. It was much steeper and narrower than the lower part of the couloir and was partially filled with ice, but the remains of steps were still fairly well preserved and needed but little re-cutting. Shortly before 7 a.m. we gained the Col Charmoz-Grépon. On a little level ledge overlooking the immense and tremendously steep precipice falling away towards the Mer de Glace, we found shelter from the icy morning breeze and, warmed by the rays of the sun, settled down to our first rest and meal since leaving the Montanvert. Progress had been on the whole leisurely. The climb had provided mountaineering of the ordinary, everyday kind without notable difficulty, though, had it not been for the ladders, the large crevasse would undoubtedly have provided hard work. But it had been real mountaineering with all its essential variety, now rock, now ice, now snow; everything had been taken as it came, and, in addition, we had been almost throughout in, to us, an unknown region of wild and beautiful scenery. But now from the col onwards, if the information of others couldbe relied upon, we should for hours on end be indulging in nothing more than a strenuous form of gymnastics.
A sérac.
“Two ladders tied together and laid across the chasm....”
Facing page 254.
For one whole delightful hour we dallied, basking in the warm sun; then, deeming it time to begin acrobatic operations, we returned to the col to have a good look at the famous Mummery crack with which the climb commences, and which is held to be the most difficult portion of the ascent. The crack lies on the Nantillons side of the ridge and is formed by a huge flake of rock which has become partially detached from the main mass of the mountain. It is about seventy feet high and almost vertical; indeed, in its lower part it appears even to overhang slightly. A spacious enough platform at the bottom provides a good jumping-off place. Leaving my camera and all other impedimenta behind in the col, I gained the platform and immediately set to work, while Max, perched on a slender, leaning spire jutting out of the col, belayed the rope. The crack was sufficiently deep to permit me to get my right arm into it beyond the elbow, and, though narrow, it was sufficiently wide to admit my right foot. Left arm and foot sought and found hold, though minute, on the rough crystalline texture of the outside surface of the flake. By twisting my right arm or turning my right boot, either could be wedged firmly into the fissure at will, and an absolutely reliable hold obtained. By adopting a method of progression similar to that of a caterpillar, that is, alternately bending and straightening myself, I rose quickly, passed beyond the lower overhanging portion, and about half-way up gained a small ledge on the flake which provided good standing room for the left foot. Thus far the climbing had been more a question of knack than a trial of strength, and I looked up at the second half of the crack expecting to see some hitherto hidden feature that would give serious trouble. If anything,however, it seemed easier than the part already overcome. Here and there a stone jammed tightly into the fissure promised perfect handhold. I rested for a few seconds, then resumed the attack. A little way above the ledge, both surfaces of the flake became very smooth, and for the first time I had to struggle really hard; but soon my right hand gripped the first of the chock-stones, and the remainder of the crack to within six feet of its top was easily negotiated. The final wall to the right was studded with plentiful handholds and soon I was standing on the crowning platform. The ascent of Mummery’s crack had taken me just over two and three-quarter minutes. While I held his rope, Max, with ice-axe and knapsack, now climbed over to the ledge at the foot of the crack. There he unroped and tied on the baggage, which I then hauled up to my perch. As soon as it was safely stowed away, I flung the end of the rope back to Max, whose turn had now come. He clambered up at an amazing pace without even pausing to rest at the half-way ledge, and was soon beside me on the broad platform, panting out a scathing criticism on those who dared to compare gymnastics on rock with the varied difficulties of snow and ice work.
From here onwards the climbing, though almost throughout difficult, never came up to the standard of that of the crack. Sometimes we climbed on one side of the ridge, sometimes on the other, and at times on the crest itself. Belays were in evidence everywhere, and the rock was uniformly good. Never did we meet with a single loose or unreliable hand- or foothold. After passing the bold pinnacle which is the northern summit of the aiguille, we arrived on the great platform which breaks away in the precipitous, unclimbable wall, called the Grand Diable, leading down to a deep gap in the ridge. Thanksto our plentiful supply of rope, this obstacle was easily overcome by resorting to the time-honoured dodge of roping down. From the gap, a level ledge known as the Route des Bicyclettes winds along the Mer de Glace face and enables one to circumvent the ensuingbe-pinnacled portion of the ridge. After some further scrambling we stood at the foot of the final summit pinnacle. This, a great square-cut tower, capped by a huge, flat stone and seamed by a formidable-looking cleft, had been in full view before us ever since passing the northern summit, and we had already jumped to the conclusion that the way to the top led up this cleft. As the description of the summit crack given to us, a few days before, tallied more or less with the fearsome-looking thing to our left, we decided to disregard an obviously easy ledge running round to the Nantillons face. It is true that we had been told that the summit crack was much easier than Mummery’s, and we failed to see anything easy in the crack before us; also, as it hung right out over the terrific precipices running down to the Mer de Glace, one would be in a frightfully exposed position while climbing it. But appearances are never so deceptive as in the mountains, so I buttoned up my coat, made sure that the knot fastening the rope about my waist was well tied and started off. Max had good standing ground and could belay my rope securely. Once in the crack, the work began in earnest; a very real earnest indeed, as subsequent events proved. It was wider than Mummery’s crack, but not wide enough to allow me to get right inside it; with my left arm and shoulder and leg inside whilst right hand and boot scraped outside in search of hold, I slowly struggled and fought my way up. It was most exhausting work. Just below the summit I had to turn round and get my right shoulder and leg into the crack, and left leg and arm out;a change of position that was accomplished only after an almost desperate struggle which robbed me of breath and sapped my strength to such an extent that, when it came to swinging myself up over the flat, overhanging summit stone, I found myself unequal to the effort. I was powerless alike to retreat or advance. Max, however, who had never for a moment relaxed his attention to my movements, had noted my dilemma and, with a warning shout that he was coming, hastened to my assistance, armed with knapsack and ice-axe. With my left hand and my teeth I took in his rope as he climbed upwards. When his head was just below my feet, he stopped and jammed himself firmly into the fissure. With his head as a foothold and a prod from the axe, I received the extra ounce of steadying support that enabled me to complete the ascent and haul myself up to the safety of the flat table-like stone that is the distinguishing feature of the summit of the Grépon. As fast as my breathless state would permit, I pulled in the rope until it was taut between us; and a few minutes later, just before midday, Max was seated by my side.
We were both rather puzzled and not a little humbled. The fierce tussle which the last crack had demanded, had provided something of a shock. If this were the sort of thing that most climbers of the Grépon called by no means excessively difficult and certainly easier than Mummery’s crack, then it would have to be admitted that rock-climbing had, indeed, its points, and that we were sadly in need of practice. A little later, however, the mystery was solved. Going over to the Nantillons side of the summit platform, with a view to glancing at the way down to the Col des Nantillons, I discovered a perfectly straightforward crack of no great length which ended on the easy ledge that we hadpreviously neglected to explore. There could be no doubt that we had taken the wrong way up the final summit pinnacle. Several months later, I learnt that this formidable crack was the famous Venetz crack, climbed but once before, and that in 1881, on the occasion of the first ascent of the mountain. To this day the only other ascent recorded was made in 1923 by a party led byMr.G. S. Bower. That no more than three ascents have been made in the course of thirty-two years is testimony enough to what this crack offers.
The summit of the Grépon.
The Venetz crack is the dark cleft which ends under the flat stone on the summit.
Facing page 258.
Returning to Max, I imparted the reassuring news, but to heedless ears, for he proved far more interested in plying the usual inefficient pocket-knife edition of a tin-opener in an attempt to lay bare the luscious contents of a two-pound tin of Californian peaches. His efforts were too vigorous and determined for any tin to withstand for long, and we were soon enjoying a feast of peaches and Nestlé’s milk. The only thing lacking was snow which was sorely needed, not only to dilute the somewhat concentrated ingredients of our meal, but also to assuage the thirst that assailed us. After lunch, following our usual custom where time was of no vital importance, we settled down to sleep, not omitting, however, to secure the rope to the summit stone as a guard against the dangers of rolling out of bed. We found out later that these simple actions had been assiduously watched from Chamonix and gravely misconstrued by the many telescope owners who, while making petty fortunes, had been explaining to their clientèle of trippers that we were two mad young Englishmen who would certainly come to grief because we had with us no stalwart guides to ensure our safety. Now, on lying down to sleep, we suddenly disappeared from their view, and the rumour at once went round that we had fallen off thesummit! Two hours passed by without our reappearing, and the rumour had deepened into conviction; even one of our friends in Chamonix had begun to have fears for our safety. At 3 p.m. we awoke and began to prepare for the descent. This sudden resurrection put an end to the supposed tragedy, but henceforward we were not onlyfousbutabsolument fous, for no self-respecting Chamoniard has any use for a mountain-top except to leave it as soon as is decently possible after gaining it. Personally I love to dally in such places as long as is compatible with safety. Memories of hours spent stretched out in half-somnolent ease on the great sun-kissed slabs of summits, in splendid isolation, with the blue vault of heaven above and the brown-green earth spread out below, are treasure beyond price, eternally one’s own and never to be lost, inviolate to the onslaughts of the getting, grabbing world.
The descent on the Nantillons side of the summit was effected without difficulty, and landed us out on the previously neglected ledge close to a collection of rope slings indicative of the beginning of the next pitch. This proved to be a chimney some eighty feet long and seemingly quite unclimbable, at all events in its upper portion; the doubled rope, however, solved the problem as effectively as usual, and we found ourselves on a little platform at the top of an apparently almost unbroken series of huge precipitous slabs falling away to the Nantillons Glacier. To descend without an enormous amount of spare rope seemed out of the question, but, as the edge of the platform on which we stood was garnished with the bleached remains of two rope slings, we concluded that it was the usual way down. So Max held my rope and let me over the precipice. I descended quite a hundred feet, but no feasible way out revealed itself, and I had to go back. The return cost us both a stern effort,Max pulling in the rope while I lent him as much assistance as possible by making what use I could of the few available holds. Casting round for a way out of theimpasse, we chanced upon a boot nail in the bed of a steep but short chimney leading up in the direction of the ridge. We immediately followed up this timely clue and gained the top of the chimney, to find, a few steps farther on, a simple and straightforward line of descent open out before us. The way led frequently over steep ground, but everywhere there was a profusion of holds and belays, and the rock still remained as firm and reliable as cast iron. At half-past four, the Col des Nantillons was under foot, and the acrobatic part of the day’s work was over. One could not help feeling that a baboon would have acquitted himself throughout with much more distinction than any of his human brothers.
The remainder of the descent was accomplished without incident. The crevasses near the head of the Nantillons Glacier were readily negotiated, thanks to reliable snow bridges that obligingly provided a crossing at the very places one would have chosen oneself. Passing by the foot of the couloir leading to the Col Charmoz-Grépon, we picked up the axe and knapsack left there in the morning and then, swinging round to the left, hurried across the sérac-swept slopes to the great crevasse. The ladder was still in position, and soon we were on the little rock island, where the rope was taken off and stowed away.
We had originally intended to make Chamonix that evening; but to do that now would entail hurry. It was our last day of a wonderful season of health and happiness-giving adventure in the Alps, and we were loth to leave the scene. To hasten from the midst of these great towers of silence and the white purity of the snows they nurse wasimpossible. So we decided to pass the night at the Montanvert. Eager to retard the flight of our little season of freedom, we strolled downwards with lagging steps, pausing at whiles to drink in the glories of the mountains as the shades of night closed in upon them.
That evening, after dinner, we sat together, somewhat heavy-hearted, on the hôtel terrace overlooking the Mer de Glace. The Grandes Jorasses and the Rôchefort ridge were dimly outlined against the starry heaven. The Charmoz and the Dru, dark, ghostly pillars almost piercing the skies, stood, as if on guard, at the portals of that great world of snow and ice-bound rock where we had found true happiness, and to which we were now to bid farewell for a space.
It may be instructive to consider in how far a training in British rock-climbing will help or hinder the aspirant to high adventure in the Alps or any of the world’s greater mountain masses. To the uninitiated, mountaineering is the dangerous, foolhardy, yet withal praiseworthy sport of the superman, heroic of physique and nerve, who gaily struts along the brinks of, or nonchalantly hangs over, awesome precipices and, disregarding all moral obligations, continually and with careless smile fences with death. In short, the untutored idea superficially conceives of a mountain as a thing of dark, frowning, rocky glories—a natural stage on which a superior type of acrobat displays his muscular agility. And so the term “mountaineer” loses its dignity and becomes synonymous with that of “rock-climber.” But the “white domes of frozen air” exist outside the poetic imagination, and mountaineering is not a simple but a complex science, and the proficient mountaineer is not only a rock-climber, but asnow-and-ice craftsman, an adept in the use of rope and axe, a pathfinder, something of a meteorologist, an organiser and, no less important, must have acquired the knowledge of how to conserve his energy, build up his powers of endurance and cultivate the proper mentality. To what extent can the various attributes of the composite being that is the true mountaineer be fostered amongst the crags and fells of the British Isles?
From the geological point of view, the rocks of the Alps may be divided into two classes, namely silicious rock and calcareous rock. The mountaineer will further subdivide these two classes into good, bad or indifferent; thus, in all, the climber in the Alps meets with six different types of rock. These might be multiplied according to degree, but for our present purpose such meticulous treatment is needless. As a general rule, the rock-climber in the British Isles encounters only the good silicious class of rock. Other classes are to be met with, but a glance at the list of the more popular and outstanding climbs, such as those on Kern Knotts, the Pillar Rock, and Lliwedd, would seem to show that they are more or less avoided. In time, this one-sided training inculcates bad habits of which the climber does not even know himself guilty. Of the many types of rock met with in the Alps, the good silicious brand is the most rare; so that there the knowledge of the one form and the inexperience of the other forms of rock are likely to prove quite inadequate, indeed even dangerous, assets. A school that teaches one to master only the safe is no sufficient school for the would-be mountaineer, and the British-trained climber will soon find that he has much to learn of rock-climbing in the Alps.
Again, stone avalanches are unknown in Britain. The only stones that fall there do so through human agency—the clumsy placing of a foot or hand, the careless use of therope—and not through the working of the natural forces of sun and frost. When and where stone-falls may be expected to occur is part of the mountain lore that a mountaineer must acquire, and it will not be acquired, at first-hand at least, on the Cumbrian or Welsh hills.
It is often reiterated that Great Britain provides climbs of a higher standard than do the Alps. Disregarding the obvious limitations of the former (not least of these being that in Great Britain almost all the difficult climbs are ascents, and difficult descents are neglected), and the fact that they are, as it were, at the back door of one’s hotel, whereas the latter are approached only after hours of hard and fatiguing preliminary work which robs one’s strength of its edge, I should like to make a few simple comparisons from my own experiences. One morning in July, 1913, I climbed Kern Knotts crack twice, first without the rope and alone, then roped and as leader. The niche was gained by the crack below; the useful chock-stone above the niche was missing. No shoulder was used. During the afternoon I climbed the Eagle’s Nest ridge which still ranks, I believe, as one of the most difficult of British rock ascents. On this climb I trailed behind me a hundred-foot length of half-inch diameter rope, one end of which was tied round my waist. Nailed boots were worn on all three climbs. I came to the conclusion that Kern Knotts crack is shorter, less steep, requires less skill and knack, and is altogether considerably less difficult than the famous Mummery crack on the Grépon. It will not for one moment bear comparison with the Venetz crack on the same peak. The Eagle’s Nest ridge, though very difficult, is undoubtedly less trying than the first buttress on the west ridge of the Bifertenstock.
Photo A. I. I. Finch.
Good, sound rock.
Facing page 264.
What are the opportunities in Great Britain for training in snow and ice-craft? I have met with only five different kinds of snow in the hills of these islands; and all were good from the mountaineer’s point of view. The snow was either cohesive or could be made to cohere. In the Alps I have taken notes of some of the characteristic features and properties of very many distinct types of snow, the majority of which called for the exercise of special caution in venturing upon the slopes on which they lay. Ice is rarely met with in Great Britain, and then never in sufficient quantity to necessitate the cutting, at the outside, of more than a few steps—poor practice indeed for the pitiless ice slopes of the east face of Monte Rosa. Avalanches and snow-shields are unknown here; in the Alps, especially in winter, and in the Himalayas at all times, one must be on one’s guard against such dangers. Ignorance in this respect has been the cause of some of the most deplorable of mountaineering accidents. Glaciers and crevasses are non-existent in Britain. In fine, as a training ground for snow and ice-craft, our homeland hills are useless. To assert what one does not know is a fairly universal human failing; and there are some British rock-climbers who contend that snow and ice-craft is no more difficult than rock-climbing. In reality there is not one of the big snow and ice expeditions of the Alps that does not represent a far more serious undertaking, physically and mentally, than the Grépon, Requin or any other of the better known “crack” rock-climbs. Not only does British rock-climbing fail to provide the beginner with practice in the use of the axe for sounding, step-cutting and belaying, but it also fails to teach him what is almost equally important—how to handle and carry the axe when it is not actually required. On ninety-nine out of every hundred scrambles at home the axe is left behind altogether.
Moreover, in the use of the rope, non-Alpine and Alpine practices vary greatly. Owing to the shortness of climbs in Great Britain, time is immaterial. Parties move one man at a time. The leader climbs on ahead, free from the encumbrances of axe and knapsack, until he finds a suitable belay. The second man follows, likewise unencumbered, as the leader takes in the rope. The last man sometimes carries a light knapsack, though I myself have never seen it done, nor do the numerous pictures of British rock-climbing now before me show any trace of such impedimenta. Time is too valuable in the Alps to permit of such tactics except where the difficulties are considerable. In the case of almost any Alpine expedition, for more than half the time the members of a party are moving all together; and to be proficient in the use of the rope means that one must be able not only to move without its continually getting in the way, but also to look after it and keep it taut, so as to check a slip immediately, while actually climbing. Practice in this is necessarily limited in Great Britain. Hence it is no uncommon sight to see a party of British-trained rock-climbers on an easy Swiss rock peak, with the rope in loose, untidy coils, catching in jutting out rocks, dragging about loose stones and generally acting as a menace to safety. This abuse of the rope is, paradoxically enough, the outcome of the undeniable virtues of sure-footedness and steadiness that have been learned on the British crags. The fault does not lie in the climbers’ incapacity to keep the rope taut, but merely in that, trusting to their steadiness, they do not bother to do so. I have observed that many of those who err in the handling of the rope are as sure-footed as cats.
Route-finding in the Alps, and still more so in the other great mountain groups of the world, is a matter of prime importance. Before embarking on an expedition in the Alps,the climber first makes his choice of mountain, and then, according to the degree of difficulty desired, chooses the face or ridge by which to gain the summit. This done, he brings all his knowledge of route-finding to bear upon the selection of the easiest and safest way up that face or ridge. Difficulties are avoided as much as possible. The adoption of bull-at-a-gate methods will lead to much loss of time; and time, of little consequence in England, is a factor to be reckoned with seriously in the Alps. Owing to the limited nature of climbs at home, the reverse practice is adopted. One is taught to look for difficulties, instead of avoiding them and seeking the line of least resistance; and the habit thus engrained is apt to persist when the British-trained rock-climber looks for adventure abroad. The corollaries are numerous. Those that most concern our purpose are that he learns on British crags only to a very limited degree how to conserve his energy, build up his powers of endurance or cultivate the proper mentality. All these things are acquired only in a school of hardships under physical and climatic conditions that are foreign to our islands.
Once one accepts the fact that the difference between a mountain and a crag is not only one of scale, it will be readily acknowledged that he who disports himself on the latter has much to learn and, possibly, something to unlearn before he can become a mountaineer in the full sense of the word. How many of those who have begun their climbing in Great Britain have accomplished anything of note in real mountaineering? Rock-climbing is too liable to strangle any innate aptitude for mountaineering proper, and to restrict achievement in the wider craft to a level of dull mediocrity.
For those whose ambitions do not soar beyond home, the crags and fells are a pleasurable playing ground where they mayscramble to their hearts’ content; to those who have well served their apprenticeship in the wider and loftier playground of the Alps, the homeland hills will provide useful muscular exercise and plenty of healthy fun; but for the beginner who aims at being a true mountaineer, the only safe place within easy reach to learn the craft is the Alps.
On the morning after our ascent of the Grépon, while waiting for the Chamonix train, Max and I were comparing with the reality M. Vallot’s well-known, panoramic sketch on the stone in front of the Montanvert. The first batch of the day’s sightseers had arrived, among them a tall, faultlessly garbed young lady, who approached and addressed us.
“Say, are you mountaineers?”—evidently having come to the conclusion at the sight of our heavy hobnailed boots and rather tattered clothes.
“Well—yes,” replied my brother. “At least, we have been doing some climbing.”
Pointing to the Géant, she inquired:
“Have you climbed that mountain?”
“Yes!”
“And those?” indicating in turn each of the summits of the Rôchefort ridge.
“Yes.”
Finally, with outstretched finger towards the Dru and a note of challenge in her voice: “And that one?”
“Yes,” answered Max; adding, “we climbed it a few days ago.”
Stepping a pace or two backwards, the tall, young lady very slowly, but distinctly, closed the conversation.
“Well, I guess I always knew you English were some story-tellers!”