Above the Snow Line: Mountaineering Sketches Between 1870 and 1880

The landlord produced at once a battered teapot with a little sieve dangling from its snout, which had been stewing on the hob, and poured out the contained fluid into two stalked saucers of inconvenient diameter. Stimulated by this watery extract, we entered into conversation together. The sight of a tourist with an ice axe led by a kind of reflex process to the landlord’s unburdening his mind with his usual remarks. Like other natives of the valley he had but two ideas of “extraordinary” expeditions. “Monsieur is going to the Jardin?” he remarked. “No, monsieur isn’t.” “Then beyond a doubt monsieur will cross the Col du Géant?” he said, playing his trump card. “No, monsieur will not.” “Pardon – where does monsieur expect to go to?” “On the present occasion we go to try the Aiguille du Dru.” The landlord smiled in an aggravating manner. “Does monsieur think he will get up?” “Time will show.” “Ah!” The landlord, who had a chronic cold in the head, searched for his pockethandkerchief, but not finding it, modified the necessary sniff into one of derision, and then demanded the usual exorbitant price for the refreshment, amounting to about five times the value of the teapot, sieve and all. We paid, and left him chuckling softly to himself at our insane idea, as he replaced the teapot on the hob in readiness for the next arrival. That landlord, though physically sleepy, was still wide awake in matters of finance. He once charged me five francs for the loan of a secondhand collection of holes which he termed a blanket.

We see a chamois

We got on to the glacier at the usual point and made straight across the slippery hummocks to the grass slope encircling the base of the Aiguille du Dru and the Glacier de la Charpoua. The glacier above gives birth to a feeble meandering little stream which wanders fitfully down the mountain side. At first we kept to the left, but after a while crossed the little torrent, and bearing more to the right plodded leisurely up the steep grass and rock slope. We had made good progress when of a sudden Franz gave a loud whistle and then fell flat down. The other two guides immediately followed his example and beckoned to us with excited gesticulations to behave in a similarly foolish manner. Thereupon we too sat down, and enquired what the purport of this performance might be. It turned out that there was a very little chamois about half a mile off. Knowing that it would be impossible to induce the guides to move on till the animal had disappeared, we seized the opportunity of taking an early breakfast. The guides meanwhile wriggled about on their stomachs, with eyes starting out of their heads, possessed by an extraordinary desire to miss no single movement of the object of their attention. “See, it moves,” said Franz in a whisper. “Himmel! it is feeding,” said Burgener. “It must be the same that Johann saw three weeks ago.” “Ach! no, that was but a little one” (no true chamois hunter will ever allow that a brother sportsman can possibly have set eyes on a larger animal than himself). “Truly it is fine.” “Thunder weather! it moves its head.” In their excitement I regretted that I could not share, not being well versed in hunting craft: my own experience of sport in the Alps being limited to missing one marmot that was sitting on a rock licking its paws. In due course the chamois walked away. Apparently much relieved by there being no further necessity to continue in their former uncomfortable attitudes, the guides sat up and fell to a warm discussion as to the size of the animal. A chamois is to a guide as a fish to the baffled angler or the last new baby to a monthly nurse, and is always pronounced to be beyond question the finest that has ever been seen. To this they agreed generally, but Franz, whose spirits had suddenly evaporated, now shook his head dismally, with the remark that it was unlucky to see a single chamois, and that we should have no success that day. Undaunted by his croaking, we pursued our way to the right side of the glacier, while our guide, who had a ballad appropriate to every occasion, sang rather gaspingly a tremulous little funeral dirge. We worked well across to the right, in order to obtain the best possible view of the Aiguille, and halted repeatedly while discussing the best point at which to attack the rocks. While thus engaged in reconnoitring close under the cliffs of the ridge running between the Aiguille Moine and the Aiguille Verte, a considerable block of ice, falling from the rocks above, whizzed past just in front of us and capered gaily down the slope. Hereupon we came rather rapidly to the conclusion that we had better proceed. Half an hour further on we reached the top of a steep little snow slope, and a point secure from falling stones and ice. Recognising that we must soon cross back to the rocks of the Dru, we tried to come to a final conclusion as to the way to be chosen. As usual, everybody pointed out different routes: even a vestry meeting could hardly have been less unanimous. Some one now ventured to put a question that had been troubling in reality our minds for some time past, viz. which of the peaks that towered above us was really the Aiguille du Dru. On the left there were two distinct points which, though close together, were separated apparently by a deep rift, and some distance to the right of the col which the previous party had tried to reach, a sharp tooth of rock towered up to a considerable height. Evidently, however, from its position this latter needle could not be visible from Chamouni or from the Montanvert. Again, it was clear that the mass comprising the two points close together must be visible from the valley, but which of the two was the higher? Alexander gave as his opinion that the more distant of these two points, that on the right, was the higher, and turned to the porter for confirmation. That worthy nodded his head affirmatively with extreme sagacity, evidently implying that he was of the same opinion. Franz on the other hand thought the left-hand peak was the one that we ought to make for, arguing that it most resembled the Dru as seen from the Montanvert, that there was probably little difference in height between the two, that our ascent would not be believed in unless we were to place a flag on the point visible from Chamouni, and finally that the left-hand peak seemed to be the easier, and would probably be found to conceal the sharper point of the right-hand summit. Having expressed these views, he in turn looked towards the porter to ascertain his sentiments. The porter, who was evidently of a complaisant temperament, nodded his head very vigorously to intimate that these arguments seemed the more powerful of the two to his mind, and then cocked his head on one side in a knowing manner, intended to express that he was studying the angles and that he was prepared to find himself in the right whichever view prevailed. We did not find out for certain till some time after that the right-hand summit, though concealed from view by the Montanvert, is very distinctly visible from Chamouni: excusable ignorance, as most of the Chamouni people are unaware of it to this day. Professor Forbes, as Mr. Douglas Freshfield has kindly pointed out to me, with his usual accuracy distinguished and also measured the two summits, giving their heights respectively as 12,178, and 12,245 feet.3 Knowing little as we did then of the details of the mountain, we followed Franz’s advice and made for the left-hand peak, under the impression that if one proved accessible the other might also, and there really seemed no reason why we should not, if occasion demanded, ascend both.

Doubts as to the peak

Leading up from the glacier two distinct lines of attack presented themselves. The right-hand ridge descends to the col very precipitously, but still we had some idea that the rocks did not look wholly impossible. Again, on the left of the Dru the rocks are cut away very abruptly and form the long precipitous ridge seen from the Montanvert. This ridge was so jagged that we could see no possible advantage in climbing to any part of it, except just at the termination where it merges into the south-western face of the main mountain. The choice therefore, in our judgment, lay between storming the mountain by the face right opposite to us or else making for the col and the right-hand ridge; but the latter was the route that Messrs. Pendlebury and Kennedy had followed, and we could not hope to succeed where such giants had failed. Burgener indeed wished to try, but the rest of the party were unanimously in favour of attempting to find a way up the face, a route that at the worst had the merit of novelty. We thought too that if a closer acquaintance proved that the crags were ill arranged for upward locomotion, we might be able to work round on the face and so reach the col by a more circuitous route. With the naked eye – especially a myopic one – the rocks appeared unpromising enough; while viewed through the telescope the rocks looked utterly impossible. But little faith, however, can be rested in telescopic observations of a mountain, so far as the question of determining a route is concerned. Amateurs, who, as a rule, understand the use of a telescope much better than guides, have not the requisite experience to determine the value of what they see, while but few guides see enough to form any basis for determination. Moreover, the instrument we carried with us, though it had an extraordinary number of sections and pulled out like the ill-fated tradesman’s trousers in a pantomime, was not a very remarkable one in the matter of definition. Still it is always proper and orthodox to look at a new peak through the telescope, and we were determined not to neglect any formality on the present occasion.

Telescopic observations

We were now rather more than half-way up the Glacier de la Charpoua. To reach the most promising-looking point at which we might hope to get on the rocks, it was necessary to travel straight across the snow at about the level on which we stood. Now, this Glacier de la Charpoua is not constructed on ordinary principles. Instead of the orthodox transverse bergschrund it possesses a longitudinal crack running up its whole length, a peculiarity that vexed us hugely. Half a dozen times did we attempt to cross by some tempting-looking bridge, but on each occasion we were brought to a stand by impassable crevasses; then had to turn back, go up a little farther, and try again. It was already late in the day and we could ill spare the time lost in this to and fro movement. Eventually we reached a little patch of rocks not far from the head of the glacier. No sooner had we reached these rocks than the guides hunted up a suitable place and concealed some utterly worthless property as carefully as if they expected evil-minded marauders to be wandering about, seeking what they might pilfer. Having effected the cache with due care, Franz once again burst into a strange carol, the burden of which was unintelligible, but the chorus made frequent allusion to “der Teufel.” We now saw that, after all, the only feasible plan would be to cut our way still higher up a steep slope, and thus to work right round, describing a large curve. An occasional step required to be scraped, for the glacier is in shadow till late in the morning, owing to the Aiguille Verte intervening and cutting off the sun’s rays. Throughout the day our second guide had been burning with a desire to exhibit the good qualities of the most portentous ice axe I ever saw, an instrument of an unwieldy character resembling a labourer’s pick on the top of a May pole. Its dimensions were monstrous and its weight preposterous: moreover, the cutting spike had an evil curve and, instead of hewing out blocks of ice neatly, preferred to ram a huge hole in the slope and stick fast therein, while a quiver ran through its mighty frame and communicated itself to the striker, who shuddered at each blow as after taking a dose of very bitter physic. However, Franz was so proud of his halberd that we were obliged to sacrifice rapid progress to the consideration of his feelings, and he was accordingly sent on to cut the steps which were now found necessary. With no little exertion did he construct a staircase of which the steps were about the size of foot baths, and with no slight impatience did we watch his gymnastics and athletic flourishes, which were a sort of mixture of tossing the caber and throwing the hammer combined with a touch of polo. Ultimately we were able to quit the glacier for the actual face of the mountain, at a point probably not very much below that struck by the previous party; but it was our intention at once to bear off to the left.

Franz and his mighty axe

We blundered a little on the rocks at first after the long spell of snow-walking. A cry from Franz caused us to look round, and we perceived that he had got entangled with the big axe, the spike of which was sticking into the third button of his waistcoat, causing him, as the strain on the rope above and below folded him up in a rather painful manner, to assume the attitude of a mechanical toy monkey on a stick. Fearing that he might be placed in the condition in which cats’ meat is usually offered for sale, we slackened the rope and saved him from impending perforation, but with the result that the axe bounded off down the slope, turned two or three summersaults, and then stuck up defiantly in a distant patch of snow, looking like a sign-post. While Franz went off to recover his loved treasure we huddled together on a very little ledge of rock, and sat there in a row like busts on a shelf – if the simile be not considered anatomically inappropriate. But these delays had wasted much time, and already success seemed doubtful. Little time could now be devoted to consultation, and little good would have come of it; now that we were on the rocks the only thing to do was to go straight on and see what would happen. At the same time we had a dim consciousness that we were considerably to the right of the best line of ascent. Our “general idea” – to borrow a military phrase of which, by the way, it may be remarked that the idea in question is usually confined to the general and is not shared in by the troops – consisted in making for the left-hand side or Montanvert aspect of the final peak. We set our teeth, whatever that may mean, then fell to with a will and for some two hours went with scarcely a check. And a rare two hours’ climb we had. The very thought of it makes the pen travel swiftly over the paper, as the scene comes back in every detail. How Burgener led the way without hesitation and almost without mistake; how our second guide chattered unceasingly, caring nought for a listener; how they both stuck to the rocks like limpets; how the big axe got in everybody’s way; how the rope got caught on every projecting spur of rock, jerking back the unwary, or when loose sweeping down showers of small angular stones from the little platforms and ridges, thereby engendering ill blood and contumely; how the silent porter climbed stolidly after us, and in the plenitude of his taciturn good-humour poked at us from below with his staff at inconvenient moments and in sensitive places; how at one moment we were flat against the rock, all arms and legs, like crushed spiders, and at another gathered into great loops like a cheese maggot on the point of making a leap; how a volley of little stones came whistling cheerily down from above, playfully peppering us all round; how our spirits rose with our bodies till we became as excited as children: of all these things it boots not to give any detailed description. Those who can recollect similar occasions need but to be reminded of them, and, to tell the truth, the minutiæ, though they are so graven upon the mind that a clear impression could be struck off years afterwards, are apt to prove somewhat tedious. Two facts I may note. One, that the rocks were at first very much easier than was expected; another, that we should have done better had we discarded the rope on this part of the climb: the rocks were hardly a fit place for those who could not dispense with its use. Ever and anon the guides’ spirits would rise to that level which may be called the shouting point, and they would jödel till they were black in the face, while the melodious roll of sound echoed cheerily back from the distant cliffs of the Aiguille Moine. And so we journeyed up.

A start in the wrong direction

Meanwhile the weather had changed; black clouds had come rolling up and were gathering ominously above us; it was evident that we had no chance of reaching the summit that day, even if it were practicable, but still we persevered desperately in the hope of seeing some possible route for a future attack. Progress, however, on a rock peak is necessarily slow when there are five on the rope, and we should probably have done more wisely if we had divided into two parties. We kept well to the left to a point on the face where a huge tower of rock stands four-square to all the winds of heaven that blow; and above us, as a matter of fact, there seemed to be a good many winds. This landmark, very conspicuous and characteristic of these aiguilles, seemed to be close to the ridge, but on reaching it we found that there was still a stiff passage intervening between us and the point from which we could overlook the other side of the mountain. Now we bore to the right and the climbing became more difficult. We made our way straight up a very shallow gully and finally reached a point on the western ridge overlooking the Montanvert, close to where this ridge merges into the corresponding face of the peak. Here a halt was called, for two reasons. In the first place a few flakes of snow were softly falling around and the gathering clouds betokened more to follow. Secondly, so far as we could judge through the mist, it was apparently impossible to ascend any higher from the place we had reached. So we cast off the rope and clambered separately to various points of vantage to survey the work that lay before us. The summit of the peak, enveloped in thin cloud, appeared to tower no great height above us, but we were too close under the cliff to estimate its elevation very correctly. At the time we thought that if we could only keep up the pace at which we had been going, an hour’s climb would have sufficed to reach the top. We found, it may be remarked parenthetically, that we were egregiously in error in this estimate some years later. The shifting clouds made the rock face – that is, the small extent of it that we could see at all – look much more difficult than in all probability it actually was. Through the mists we made out, indistinctly, a formidable-looking irregular crack in the rock face running very straight up and rather to our left, which apparently constituted the only possible route from our position to a higher level. But from where we stood we could not have reached the lower end of this crack without a ladder of about fifty feet in length, and the mist entirely prevented us from judging whether we could reach it by a détour. The choice lay between hunting for some such line or else in trying what seemed on the whole more practicable, viz. working round by the north-east face again, so as to search for a more easy line of ascent. But the latter alternative would have involved of necessity a considerable descent. While we debated what course to take the mists swept up thicker and thicker from below, and in a moment the peak above us was concealed and all the view cut off. A piercingly cold wind began to rise and a sharp storm of hail and sleet descended. Hints were dropped about the difficulty of descending rocks glazed over with ice with a proper amount of deliberation. It was obviously impossible to go up and might soon become very difficult to go down. The question was not actually put, but, in conformity with what was evidently the general sense of the meeting, we somewhat reluctantly made up our minds to return. A dwarf stone man was constructed, the rope readjusted, and half an hour’s descent put us out of the mist and snow. We stopped again and stared upwards blankly at the leve line of mist hanging heavily against the peak. Burgener now came forward with a definite resolution and proposed that we should stay where we were for the night and try again the next day. This was referred to a sub-committee, who reported against the suggestion on the ground that the stock of provisions left consisted of a tablespoonful of wine, four rolls, and a small piece of cheese which had strayed from the enveloping paper in the porter’s pocket and as a consequence smelt of tobacco and was covered with hairs and fluff. These articles of diet were spread on a rock and we mentally calculated the exact proportion that would fall to each man’s share if we attempted, as proposed, to subsist on them for a day and a half. But little deliberation was required. We decided at once to return. The porter gathered the fragments lovingly together and replaced them with other curious articles in his side pocket. By 8.30 P.M. we were back at Chamouni, having been out a little under twenty hours.

An adjournment

A day or two later we made up our minds to start once more. Great preparations were made for an early departure, the idea that we should find it distasteful to start at the hour at which a London ball begins being scouted, as it usually is over-night. We impressed on an intelligent “boots” with great earnestness the absolute necessity of waking us precisely at midnight, and then went to our repose, feeling about as much inclined for sleep as a child does during the afternoon siesta intended to prepare it for the glories of a pantomime. The “boots” did not fail; in fact he was extra-punctual, as our departure was the signal for his retiring. At midnight the party assembled in the little courtyard in front of the hotel, but a dismal sight met our gaze. Under the influence of a warm sou’-wester, thick black clouds had filled the valley, and a gentle drizzle reminded us of the balmy climate of our own metropolis in November. Our Alpine tour for the season was nearly at an end, and we gazed despondently around. Ultimately one practical person suggested that if we did not go to the mountain we might as well go to bed, and the practical person endorsed his suggestion by walking off. A scurvy practical joke did the clerk of the weather play on us that night. In the morning the bright sunbeams came streaming in through the window, the sky was cloudless and the outline of every peak was sharply defined in the clear air. A more perfect morning for the expedition could hardly have been chosen. Some ill-timed remarks at breakfast referring pointedly to people who talk a good deal over-night about early starts, and the deep concern of the “boots” at our presumed slothfulness, goaded us to desperation. We determined to start again and to have one more try the next day whatever the weather might prove to be. Once more we found ourselves in the small hours of the morning on the path leading to Les Ponts. Had it not been for the previous day’s lesson we should probably have turned back from this point, for the whole of the mountain opposite was concealed in thick drifting mist. The guides flatly refused to go on as matters stood. We were determined on our side not to give it up, and so a compromise was effected. It was agreed to wait for an hour or two and see if matters mended. So we stretched ourselves out on a damp sloping rock, prepared to resume our journey at the slightest indication of a change for the better. Rest at such a time even under these hard, not to say stony, conditions is seductive, and, as we lay half dozing, strange heretical thoughts came crowding into the mind. Why toil up this mountain when one can rest in luxury on these knobby rocks? Why labour over the shifting moraine, the deceitful glacier, the slippery rock? What is the good of it all? Can it be vanity or – “Vorwärts!” The dream vanished as the cheery cry broke out from the guide engaged on outpost duty, and as we rose and stretched ourselves the whole aspect of affairs seemed changed. A distinct break in the clouds at the head of the Mer de Glace gave promise of better things in store, and we felt almost guilty of having wasted an hour or more at our halt. The break became larger and larger, and before long the great cloud banks resolved into one huge streamer flying from the summit of the peak. I fancy that, at any rate in the early stages of mountaineering, many good chances are thrown away on such days, for guides are as a rule somewhat prone to despondency in the early morning hours. Once started, however, they became wondrously keen, complained of our delay, and even asserted with some effrontery that they had predicted fine weather all the time, and this without a blush; still some one rather neatly defined blushing as a suffusion least seldom seen in those who have the most occasion for it, and guides share with politicians a certain power of manipulating their opinions to suit the exigencies of the moment. The traces of our former attempt assisted us materially on the glacier. Our plan of attack consisted in getting on the rocks at our former point, but working on this occasion much more directly up the face. Burgener conceived that by following this line of assault we should be able to ascend, by means of a gully which existed only in his own imagination, to a more practicable part of the peak. Between the two summits of the Aiguille du Dru may be seen, at any rate in photographs, a tempting-looking streak of snow: it seemed possible, if we could once reach the lower point of this streak, to follow its line upwards. The lower peak of the Dru is well rounded on its eastern face, and the rocks appear more broken than in other parts of the mountain.