Scrambles Amongst the Alps in the years 1860-69 Part 13

Truly, he did not spare himself, and could he have performed the feats upon the boards of a theatre that he did upon this occasion, he would have brought down the house with thunders of applause. Here is what Moore wrote in _his_ Journal:

[The descent bore a strong resemblance to the Col de Pilatte, but was very much steeper and altogether more difficult, which is saying a good deal.

Croz was in his element, and selected his way with marvelous sagacity, while Almer had an equally honorable, and perhaps more responsible, post in the rear, which he kept with his usual steadiness... One particular pa.s.sage has impressed itself on my mind as one of the most nervous I have ever made. We had to pa.s.s along a crest of ice, a mere knife-edge-on our left a broad creva.s.se, whose bottom was lost in blue haze, and on our right, at an angle of seventy degrees or more, a slope falling to a similar gulf below. Croz, as he went along the edge, chipped small notches in the ice, in which we placed our feet, with the toes well turned out, doing all we knew to preserve our balance. While stepping from one of these precarious footholds to another, I staggered for a moment. I had not really lost my footing, but the agonized tone in which Almer, who was behind me, on seeing me waver, exclaimed, "Slip not, sir!" gave us an even livelier impression than we already had of the insecurity of the position...One huge chasm, whose upper edge was far above the lower one, could neither be leaped nor turned, and threatened to prove an insuperable barrier. But Croz showed himself equal to the emergency. Held up by the rest of the party, he cut a series of holes for the hands and feet, down and along the almost perpendicular wall of ice forming the upper side of the schrund. Down this slippery staircase we crept, with our faces to the wall, until a point was reached where the width of the chasm was not too great, for us to drop across. Before we had done we got quite accustomed to taking flying leaps over the schrunds...To make a long story short: after a most desperate and exciting struggle, and as bad a piece of ice-work as it is possible to imagine, we emerged on to the upper plateau of the Hohlicht glacier.]

The glimpses which had been caught of the lower part of the Hohlicht glacier were discouraging, so it was now determined to cross over the ridge between it and the Rothhorn glacier. This was not done without great trouble. Again we rose to a height exceeding twelve thousand feet.

Eventually we took to the track of the despised Triftjoch, and descended by the well-known but rough path which leads to that pa.s.s, arriving at the Monte Rosa hotel at Zermatt at 7.20 P.M. We occupied nearly twelve hours of actual walking in coming from the chalet on the Arpitetta Alp (which was two and a half hours above Zinal), and we consequently found that the Moming pa.s.s was not the shortest route from Zinal to Zermatt, although it was the most direct.

Two dozen guides-good, bad and indifferent, French, Swiss and Italian-can commonly be seen sitting on the wall in front of the Monte Rosa hotel, waiting on their employers and looking for employers, watching new arrivals, and speculating on the number of francs which may be extracted from their pockets. The messieurs-sometimes strangely and wonderfully dressed-stand about in groups, or lean back in chairs, or lounge on the benches which are placed by the door. They wear extraordinary boots, and still more remarkable head-dresses. Their peeled, blistered and swollen faces are worth studying. Some, by the exercise of watchfulness and unremitting care, have been fortunate enough to acquire a fine raw sienna complexion. But most of them have not been so happy. They have been scorched on rocks and roasted on glaciers. Their cheeks-first puffed, then cracked-have exuded a turpentine-like matter, which has coursed down their faces, and has dried in patches like the resin on the trunks of pines.

They have removed it, and at the same time have pulled off large flakes of their skin. They have gone from bad to worse-their case has be come hopeless-knives and scissors have been called into play: tenderly and daintily they have endeavored to reduce their cheeks to one uniform hue.

It is not to be done. But they have gone on, fascinated, and at last have brought their unhappy countenances to a state of helpless and complete ruin. Their lips are cracked, their cheeks are swollen, their eyes are bloodshot, their noses are peeled and indescribable.

Such are the pleasures of the mountaineer! Scornfully and derisively the last-comer compares the sight with his own flaccid face and dainty hands, unconscious that he too, perhaps, will be numbered with those whom he now ridicules.

There is a frankness of manner about these strangely-appareled and queer-faced men which does not remind one of drawing-room or city life; and it is good to see-in this club-room of Zermatt-those cold bodies, our too-frigid countrymen, melt together when they are brought into contact; and it is pleasant to witness the hearty welcome given to the new-comers by the host and his excellent wife. (40)

I left this agreeable society to seek letters at the post. They yielded disastrous intelligence. My holiday was brought to an abrupt termination, and I awaited the arrival of Reilly (who was convoying the stores for the attack on the Matterhorn) only to inform him that our arrangements were upset; then traveled home, day and night, as fast as express-trains would carry me.

CHAPTER XIII. THE ASCENT OF THE GRAND CORNIER.

Our career in 1864 had been one of unbroken success, but the great ascent upon which I had set my heart was not attempted, and until it was accomplished I was unsatisfied. Other things, too, influenced me to visit the Alps once more. I wished to travel elsewhere, in places where the responsibility of direction would rest with myself alone. It was well to know how far my judgment in the choice of routes could be relied upon.

The journey of 1865 was chiefly undertaken, then, to find out to what extent I was capable of selecting paths over mountainous country. The programme which was drawn up for this journey was rather ambitious, since it included almost all of the great peaks which had not then been ascended, but it was neither lightly undertaken nor hastily executed. All pains were taken to secure success. Information was sought from those who could give it, and the defeats of others were studied, that their errors might be avoided. The results which followed came not so much, perhaps, from luck, as from forethought and careful calculation.

For success does not, as a rule, come by chance, and when one fails there is a reason for it. But when any notable or so-called brilliant thing is done, we are too apt to look upon the success alone, without considering how it was accomplished, whilst when men fail we inquire why they have not succeeded. So failures are oftentimes more instructive than successes, and the disappointments of some become profitable to others.

Up to a certain point the programme was completely and happily carried out. Nothing but success attended our efforts so long as the excursions were executed as they had been planned. Most of them were made upon the very days which had been fixed for them months beforehand; and all were accomplished, comparatively speaking, so easily that their descriptions must be, in the absence af difficulty and danger, less interesting to the general reader than they would have been if our course had been marked by blunders and want of judgment. Before proceeding to speak of these excursions, it will not be entirely useless to explain the reasons which influenced the selection of the routes which were adopted upon them.

In the course of the past five seasons my early practices were revolutionized. My antipathy to snow was overcome, and my predilection for rocks was modified. Like all those who are not mountaineers born, I was, at the first, extremely nervous upon steep snow. The snow seemed bound to slip, and all those who were upon it to go along with it. Snow of a certain quality is undoubtedly liable to slip when it is at a certain inclination. The exact states which are dangerous or safe it is not possible to describe in writing. That is only learnt by experience, and confidence upon snow is not really felt until one has gained experience. Confidence gradually came to me, and as it came so did my partiality for rocks diminish. For it was evident, to use a common expression, that it paid better to travel upon snow than upon rocks.

This applies to snow-beds pure and simple, or to snow which is lying over glacier; and in the selection of routes it has latterly always been my practice to look for the places where snow-slopes or snow-covered glaciers reach highest into mountains.

It is comparatively seldom, however, that an ascent of a great mountain can be executed exclusively upon snow and glacier. Ridges peep through which have to be surmounted. In my earlier scramblings I usually took to, or was taken upon, the summits (or aretes) of the ridges, and a good many mountaineers habitually take to them on principle, as the natural and proper way. According to my experience, it is seldom well to do so when any other course is open. As I have already said, and presently shall repeat more particularly the crests of all the main ridges of the great peaks of the Alps are shattered and cleft by frost; and it not unfrequently happens that a notch in a ridge, which appears perfectly insignificant from a distance, is found to be an insuperable barrier to farther progress, and a great detour or a long descent has to be made to avoid the obstacle. When committed to an arete, one is tied, almost always, to a particular course, from which it is difficult to deviate.

Much loss of time must result if any serious obstruction occurs, and total defeat is not at all improbable.

But it seldom happens that a great Alpine peak is seen that is cut off abruptly, in all directions, from the snows and glaciers which surround it. In its gullies snow will cling, although its faces may be too steep for the formation of permanent snow-beds. The merits of these snow-gullies (or couloirs) have been already pointed out, and it is hardly necessary to observe, after that which was just now said about snow, that ascents of snow-gullies (with proper precautions) are very much to be preferred to ascents of rocky aretes.

By following the glaciers, the snow-slopes above, and the couloirs rising out of them, it is usually possible to get very close to the summits of the great peaks in the Alps. The final climb will, perhaps, necessarily be by an arete. The less of it the better.

It occasionally occurs that considerable mountain-slopes or faces are dest.i.tute of snow-gullies. In that case it will, very likely, be best to adhere to the faces (or to the gullies or minor ridges upon them), rather than take to the great ridges. Upon a face one can move to the right or to the left with more facility than upon the crest of a ridge, and when a difficulty is arrived at, it is, consequently, less troublesome to circ.u.mvent.

In selecting the routes which were taken in 1865, I looked, first, for places where glaciers and snow extended highest up into the mountains which were to be ascended or the ridges which were to be crossed; next, for gullies filled with snow leading still higher; and finally, from the heads of the gullies we completed the ascents, whenever it was practicable, by faces instead of by aretes. The ascent of the Grand Cornier (13,022), of the Dent Blanche (14,318), Grandes Jora.s.ses (13,700), Aiguille Verte (13,540), Ruinette (12,727), and the Matterhorn (14,780), were all accomplished in this way, besides the other excursions which will be referred to by and by. The route selected before the start was made was in every case strictly followed out.

We inspected all of these mountains from neighboring heights before entering upon their ascents. I explained to the guides the routes I proposed to be taken, and (when the courses were at all complicated) sketched them out on paper to prevent misunderstanding. In some few cases they suggested variations, and in every case the route was well discussed.

The _execution_ of the work was done by the guides, and I seldom interfered with or attempted to a.s.sist in it.

The 13th of June, 1865, I spent in the valley of Lauterbrunnen with the Rev. W. H. Hawker and the guides Christian and Ulrich Lauener, and on the 14th crossed the Petersgrat with Christian Almer and Johann Tannler to Turtman (Tourtemagne) in the Valais. Tannler was then paid off, as Michel Croz and Franz Biener were awaiting me.

It was not possible to find two leading guides who worked together more harmoniously than Croz and Almer. Biener's part was subordinate to theirs, and he was added as a convenience rather than as a necessity. Croz spoke French alone, Almer little else than German. Biener spoke both languages, and was useful on that account; but he seldom went to the front, excepting during the early part of the day, when the work was easy, and he acted throughout more as a porter than as a guide.

The importance of having a reserve of power on mountain expeditions cannot be too strongly insisted upon. We always had some in hand, and were never pressed or overworked so long as we were together. Come what might, we were ready for it. But by a series of chances, which I shall never cease to regret, I was first obliged to part with Croz,(41) and then to dismiss the others; and so, deviating from the course that I had deliberately adopted, which was successful in practice because it was sound in principle, became fortuitously a member of an expedition that ended with the catastrophe which brought my scrambles amongst the Alps to a close.

On June 15 we went from Turtman to Z'meiden, and thence over the Forcletta pa.s.s to Zinal. We diverged from the summit of the pa.s.s up some neighboring heights to inspect the Grand Cornier, and I decided to have nothing to do with its northern side. The mountain was more than seven miles away, but it was quite safe to p.r.o.nounce it inaccessible from our direction.

[PART OF THE SOUTHERN RIDGE OF THE GRAND CORNIER.]

PART OF THE SOUTHERN RIDGE OF THE GRAND CORNIER.

On the 16th we left Zinal at 2.05 A.M. having been for a moment greatly surprised by an entry in the hotel-book,(42) and ascending by the Zinal glacier, and giving the base of our mountain a wide berth in order that it might the better be examined, pa.s.sed gradually right round to its south before a way up it was seen. At 8.30 we arrived upon the plateau of the glacier that descends toward the east, between the Grand Cornier and the Dent Blanche, and from this place a route was readily traced. We steered to the north over the glacier, toward the ridge that descends to the east, gained it by mounting snow-slopes, and followed it to the summit, which was arrived at before half-past twelve. From first to last the route was almost entirely over snow. The ridges leading to the north and to the south from the summit of the Grand Cornier exhibited in a most striking manner the extraordinary effects that may be produced by violent alternations of heat and cold. The southern one was hacked and split into the wildest forms, and the northern one was not less cleft and impracticable, and offered the droll piece of rock-carving which is represented upon page 114. Some small blocks actually tottered and fell before our eyes, and starting others in their downward course, grew into a perfect avalanche, which descended with a solemn roar on the glaciers beneath.

It is natural that the great ridges should present the wildest forms-not on account of their dimensions, but by reason of their positions. They are exposed to the fiercest heat of the sun, and are seldom in shadow as long as it is above the horizon. They are entirely unprotected, and are attacked by the strongest blasts and by the most intense cold. The most durable rocks are not proof against such a.s.saults. These grand, apparently solid, eternal mountains, seeming so firm, so immutable, are yet ever changing and crumbling into dust. These shattered ridges are evidence of their sufferings. Let me repeat that every princ.i.p.al ridge of every great peak in the Alps amongst those I have seen has been shattered in this way, and that every summit amongst the rock-summits upon which I have stood has been nothing but a piled-up heap of fragments.

[PART OF THE NORTHERN RIDGE OF THE GRAND CORNIER.]

PART OF THE NORTHERN RIDGE OF THE GRAND CORNIER.

The minor ridges do not usually present such extraordinary forms as the princ.i.p.al ones. They are less exposed, and they are less broken up, and it is reasonable to a.s.sume that their annual degradation is less than that of the summit-ridges.

The wear and tear does not cease even in winter, for these great ridges are never completely covered up by snow, and the sun has still power.(43) The destruction is incessant, and increases as time goes on; for the greater the surfaces which are exposed to the practically inexhaustible powers of sun and frost, the greater ruin will be effected.

The rock-falls which are continually occurring upon all rock-mountains are, of course, caused by these powers. No one doubts it, but one never believes it so thoroughly as when the quarries are seen from which their materials have been hewn, and when the germs, so to speak, of these avalanches have been seen actually starting from above.

These falls of rock take place from two causes: first, from the heat of the sun detaching small stones or rocks which have been arrested on ledges or slopes and bound together by snow or ice. I have seen such released many times when the sun has risen high: they fall gently at first, gather strength, grow in volume, and at last rush down with a cloud trailing behind, like the dust after an express-train. Secondly, from the freezing of the water which trickles during the day into the clefts, fissures and crannies. This agency is naturally most active in the night, and then, or during very cold weather, the greatest falls take place.(44)

When one has continually seen and heard these falls, it is easily understood why the glaciers are laden with moraines. The wonder is, not that they are sometimes so great, but that they are not always greater.

Irrespective of lithological considerations, one knows that this debris cannot have been excavated by the glaciers. The moraines are _borne_ by glaciers, but they are _born_ from the ridges. They are generated by the sun and delivered by the frost. "Fire," it is well said in Plutarch's life of Camillus, "is the most active thing in nature, and all generation is motion, or at least with motion: all other parts of matter without warmth lie sluggish and dead, and crave the influence of heat as their life, and when that comes upon them they immediately acquire some active or pa.s.sive qualities."(45)

If the Alps were granted a perfectly invariable temperature, if they were no longer subjected alternately to freezing blasts and to scorching heat, they might more correctly be termed "eternal." They might continue to decay, but their abas.e.m.e.nt would be much less rapid.

When rocks are covered by a sheet of glacier they do enjoy an almost invariable temperature. The extremes of summer and winter are unknown to rocks which are so covered up: a range of a very few degrees is the most that is possible underneath the ice.(46) There is _then_ little or no disintegration from unequal expansion and contraction. Frost _then_ does not penetrate into the heart of the rock and cleave off vast ma.s.ses.

The rocks _then_ sustain grinding instead of cleaving. Atoms _then_ come away instead of ma.s.ses. Fissures and overhanging surfaces are bridged, for the ice cannot get at them; and after many centuries of grinding have been sustained, we still find numberless angular surfaces (in the _lee-sides_) which were fas.h.i.+oned before the ice began to work.

The points of difference which are so evident between the operations of heat, cold and water, and the action of glaciers upon rocks, are as follow. The former take advantage of cracks, fissures, joints and soft places-the latter does not. The former can work _underneath_ overhanging ma.s.ses-the latter cannot. The effects produced by the former continually increase, because they continually expose fresh surfaces by forming new cracks, fissures and holes. The effects which the latter produces constantly diminish, because the area of the surfaces operated upon becomes less and less as they become smoother and flatter.

What can one conclude, then, but that sun, frost and water have had infinitely more to do than glaciers with the fas.h.i.+oning of mountain-forms and valley-slopes? Who can refuse to believe that powers which are at work everywhere, which have been at work always, which are so incomparably active, capable and enduring, must have produced greater effects than a solitary power which is always local in its influence, which has worked _comparatively_ but for a short time, which is always slow and feeble in its operations, and which constantly diminishes in intensity? Yet there are some who refuse to believe that sun, frost and water have played an important part in modeling the Alps, and hold it as an article of their faith that the Alpine region "owes its present conformation mainly to the action of its ancient glaciers"!(47)

My reverie was interrupted by Croz observing that it was time to be off.

Less than two hours sufficed to take us to the glacier plateau below (where we had left our baggage): three-quarters of an hour more placed us upon the depression between the Grand Cornier and the Dent Blanche (Col du Grand Cornier), and at 6 P.M. we arrived at Albricolla. Croz and Biener hankered after milk, and descended to a village lower down the valley, but Almer and I stayed where we were, and pa.s.sed a chilly night on some planks in a halt-burnt chalet.

[Decoration]