Scrambles Amongst the Alps in the years 1860-69 Part 18

[WESTERN SIDE OF THE COL DE TALeFRE]

WESTERN SIDE OF THE COL DE TALeFRE

CHAPTER XIX. THE COL DE TALeFRE.

The person who discovered the Col du Geant must have been a shrewd mountaineer. The pa.s.s was in use before any other was known across the main chain of Mont Blanc, and down to the present time it remains the easiest and quickest route from Chamounix to Courmayeur, with the single exception of the pa.s.s that we crossed upon the 3d of July for the first time, which lies about midway between the Aiguille de Triolet and the Aiguille de Talefre, and which, for want of a better name, I have called the Col de Talefre.

When one looks toward the upper end of the Glacier de Talefre from the direction of the Jardin or of the Couvercle, the ridge that bounds the view seems to be of little elevation. It is overpowered by the colossal Grandes Jora.s.ses and by the almost equally magnificent Aiguille Verte. The ridge, notwithstanding, is by no means despicable. At no point is its elevation less than eleven thousand six hundred feet. It does not look anything like this height. The Glacier de Talefre mounts with a steady incline, and the eye is completely deceived.

In 1864, when prowling about with Mr. Reilly, I instinctively fixed upon a bent couloir which led up from the glacier to the lowest part of the ridge; and when, after crossing the Col de Triolet, I saw that the other side presented no particular difficulty, it seemed to me that this was the _one_ point in the whole of the range which would afford an easier pa.s.sage than the Col du Geant.

We set out from the Montanvert at 4 A. M. upon July 3, to see whether this opinion was correct, and it fortunately happened that the Rev. A. G.

Girdlestone and a friend, with two Chamounix guides, left the inn at the same hour as ourselves, to cross the Col du Geant. We kept in company as far as our routes lay together, and at 9.35 we arrived at the top of our pa.s.s, having taken the route to the south of the Jardin. Description is unnecessary, as our track is laid down very clearly on the engraving at the head of this chapter.

Much snow had fallen during the late bad weather, and as we reposed upon the top of our pa.s.s (which was about eleven thousand six hundred and fifty feet above the level of the sea, and six hundred feet above the Col du Geant), we saw that the descent of the rocks which intervened between us and the Glacier de Triolet would require some caution, for the sun's rays poured down directly upon them, and the snow slipped away every now and then from ledge to ledge just as if it had been water-in cascades not large enough to be imposing, but sufficient to knock us over if we got in their way. This little bit of cliff consequently took a longer time than it should have done, for when we heard the indescribable swishing, hissing sound which announced a coming fall, we of necessity huddled under the lee of the rocks until the snow ceased to shoot over us.

We got to the level of the Glacier de Triolet without misadventure, then steered for its left bank to avoid the upper of its two formidable ice-falls, and after descending the requisite distance by some old snow lying between the glacier and the cliffs which border it, crossed directly to the right bank over the level ice between the two ice-falls. The right bank was gained without any trouble, and we found there numerous beds of hard snow (avalanche debris), down which we could run or glissade as fast as we liked.

[GLISSADING.]

GLISSADING.

Glissading is a very pleasant employment when it is accomplished successfully, and I have never seen a place where it can be more safely indulged in than the snowy valley on the right bank of the Glacier de Triolet. In my dreams I glissade delightfully, but in practice I find that somehow the snow will not behave properly, and that my alpenstock _will_ get between my legs. Then my legs go where my head should be, and I see the sky revolving at a rapid pace: the snow rises up and smites me, and runs away, and when it is at last overtaken it suddenly stops, and we come into violent collision. Those who are with me say that I tumble head over heels, and there may be some truth in what they say. Streaks of ice are apt to make the heels shoot away, and stray stones cause one to pitch headlong down. Somehow, these things always seem to come in the way, so it is as well to glissade only when there is something soft to tumble into.(62)

Near the termination of the glacier we could not avoid traversing a portion of its abominable moraine, but at 1.30 P.M. we were clear of it, and threw ourselves upon some springy turf, conscious that our day's work was over. An hour afterward we resumed the march, crossed the Doire torrent by a bridge a little below Gruetta, and at five o'clock entered Courmayeur, having occupied somewhat less than ten hours on the way. Mr.

Girdlestone's party came in, I believe, about four hours afterward, so there was no doubt that we made a shorter pa.s.s than the Col du Geant; and I believe we discovered a quicker way of getting from Chamounix to Courmayeur, or vice versa, than will be found elsewhere so long as the chain of Mont Blanc remains in its present condition.

CHAPTER XX. ASCENT OF THE RUINETTE-THE MATTERHORN.

All of the excursions that were set down in my programme had been carried out, with the exception of the ascent of the Matterhorn, and we now turned our faces in its direction, but instead of returning via the Val Tournanche, we took a route across country, and bagged upon our way the summit of the Ruinette.

We pa.s.sed the night of July 4 at Aosta, under the roof of the genial Tairraz, and on the 5th went by the Val d'Ollomont and the Col de la Fenetre (9140 feet) to Chermontane. We slept that night at the chalets of Chanrion (a foul spot, which should be avoided), left them at 3.50 the next morning, and after a short scramble over the slope above, and a half-mile tramp on the Glacier de Breney, we crossed directly to the Ruinette, and went almost straight up it. There is not, I suppose, another mountain in the Alps of the same height that can be ascended so easily.

You have only to go ahead: upon its southern side one can walk about almost anywhere.

Though I speak thus slightingly of a very respectable peak, I will not do anything of the kind in regard to the view which it gives. It is happily placed in respect to the rest of the Pennine Alps, and as a stand-point it has not many superiors. You see mountains, and nothing but mountains. It is a solemn-some would say a dreary-view, but it is very grand. The great Combin (14,164 feet), with its n.o.ble background of the whole range of Mont Blanc, never looks so big as it does from here. In the contrary direction the Matterhorn overpowers all besides. The Dent d'Herens, although closer, looks a mere outlier of its great neighbor, and the snows of Monte Rosa behind seem intended for no other purpose than to give relief to the crags in front. To the south there is an endless array of Becs and Beccas, backed by the great Italian peaks, whilst to the north Mont Pleureur (12,159 feet) holds its own against the more distant Wildstrubel.

We gained the summit at 9.15, and stayed there an hour and a half. My faithful guides then admonished me that Prerayen, whither we were bound, was still far away, and that we had yet to cross two lofty ridges. So we resumed our harness and departed; not, however, before a huge cairn had been built out of the blocks of gneiss with which the summit is bestrewn.

Then we trotted down the slopes of the Ruinette, over the Glacier de Breney, and across a pa.s.s which (if it deserves a name) may be called the Col des Portons, after the neighboring peaks. From thence we proceeded across the great Otemma glacier toward the Col d'Olen.

The part of the glacier that we traversed was overspread with snow, which completely concealed its numerous pitfalls. We marched across it in single file, and of course roped together. All at once Almer dropped into a creva.s.se up to his shoulders. I pulled in the rope immediately, but the snow gave way as it was being done, and I had to spread out my arms to stop my descent. Biener held fast, but said afterward that his feet went through as well, so, for a moment, all three were in the jaws of the creva.s.se. We now altered our course, so as to take the fissures transversely, and after the centre of the glacier was pa.s.sed, changed it again and made directly for the summit of the Col d'Olen.

It is scarcely necessary to observe, after what has been before said, that it is my invariable practice to employ a rope when traversing a snow-covered glacier. Many guides, even the best ones, object to be roped, more especially early in the morning, when the snow is hard. They object sometimes because they think it is unnecessary. Creva.s.ses that are bridged by snow are almost always more or less perceptible by undulations on the surface: the snow droops down, and hollows mark the course of the chasms beneath. An experienced guide usually notices these almost imperceptible wrinkles, steps one side or the other, as the case may require, and rarely breaks through unawares. Guides think there is no occasion to employ a rope, because they think that they will _not_ be taken by surprise. Michel Croz used to be of this opinion. He used to say that only imbeciles and children required to be tied up in the morning. I told him that in this particular matter I was a child to him. "You see these things, my good Croz, and avoid them. I do not, except you point them out to me, and so that which is not a danger to you _is_ a danger to me." The sharper one's eyes get by use, the less is a rope required as a protective against these hidden pitfalls, but according to my experience the sight never becomes so keen that they can be avoided with unvarying certainty, and I mentioned what occurred upon the Otemma glacier to show that this is so.

I well remember my first pa.s.sage of the Col Theodule, the easiest of the higher Alpine glacier pa.s.ses. We had a rope, but my guide said it was not necessary-he knew all the creva.s.ses. However, we did not go a quarter of a mile before he dropped through the snow into a creva.s.se up to his neck. He was a heavy man, and would scarcely have extricated himself alone; anyhow, he was very glad of my a.s.sistance. When he got on to his legs again, he said, "Well, I had no idea that there was a creva.s.se there." He no longer objected to use the rope, and we proceeded-upon my part with greater peace of mind than before. I have crossed the pa.s.s thirteen times since then, and have invariably insisted upon being tied.

Guides object to the use of the rope upon snow-covered glacier, because they are afraid of being laughed at by their comrades; and this, perhaps, is the more common reason. To ill.u.s.trate this, here is another Theodule experience. We arrived at the edge of the ice, and I required to be tied.

My guide (a Zermatt man of repute) said that no one used a rope going across that pa.s.s. I declined to argue the matter, and we put on the rope, though very much against the wish of my man, who protested that he should have to submit to perpetual ridicule if we met any of his acquaintances.

We had not gone very far before we saw a train coming in the contrary direction. "Ah!" cried my man, "there is R--" (mentioning a guide who used to be kept at the Riffel hotel for the ascent of Monte Rosa): "it will be as I said-I shall never hear the end of this." The guide we met was followed by a string of tomfools, none of whom were tied together, and had his face covered by a mask to prevent it becoming blistered. After we had pa.s.sed, I said, "Now, should R-- make any observations to you, ask him why he takes such extraordinary care to preserve the skin of his face, which will grow again in a week, when he neglects such an obvious precaution in regard to his life, which he can only lose once." This was quite a new idea to my guide, and he said nothing more against the use of the rope so long as we were together. I believe that the unwillingness to use a rope upon snow-covered glacier which born mountaineers not unfrequently exhibit, arises-first, on the part of expert men from the consciousness that they themselves incur little risk; secondly, on the part of inferior men from fear of ridicule, and from aping the ways of their superiors; and thirdly, from pure ignorance or laziness. Whatever may be the reason, I raise my voice against the neglect of a precaution so simple and so effectual. In my opinion, the very first thing a glacier-traveler requires is plenty of good rope.

A committee of the English Alpine Club was appointed in 1864 to test, and to report upon, the most suitable ropes for mountaineering purposes, and those which were approved are probably as good as can be found. One is made of Manila and another of Italian hemp. The former is the heavier, and weighs a little more than an ounce per foot (103 ounces to 100 feet). The latter weighs 79 ounces per 100 feet, but I prefer the Manila rope, because it is more easy to handle. Both of these ropes will sustain 168 pounds falling 10 feet, or 196 pounds falling 8 feet, and they break with a dead weight of two tons. In 1865 we carried two 100-feet lengths of the Manila rope, and the inconvenience arising from its weight was more than made up for by the security which it afforded. Upon several occasions it was worth more than an extra guide.

Now, touching the _use_ of the rope. There is a right way and there are wrong ways of using it. I often meet, upon glacier-pa.s.ses, elegantly got-up persons, who are clearly out of their element, with a guide stalking along in front, who pays no attention to the innocents in his charge. They are tied together as a matter of form, but they evidently have no idea _why_ they are tied up, for they walk side by side or close together, with the rope trailing on the snow. If one tumbles into a creva.s.se, the rest stare and say, "La! what is the matter with Smith?" unless, as is more likely, they all tumble in together. This is the wrong way to use a rope. It is abuse of the rope.

[THE WRONG WAY TO USE THE ROPE.]

THE WRONG WAY TO USE THE ROPE.

[THE RIGHT WAY TO USE THE ROPE.]

THE RIGHT WAY TO USE THE ROPE.

It is of the first importance to keep the rope taut from man to man. There is no real security if this is not done, and your risks may be considerably magnified. There is little or no difficulty in extricating one man who breaks through a bridged creva.s.se if the rope is taut, but the case may be very awkward if two break through at the same moment, close together, and there are only two others to aid, or perhaps only one other.

Further, the rope ought not upon any account to graze over snow, ice or rocks, otherwise the strands suffer and the lives of the whole party may be endangered. Apart from this, it is extremely annoying to have a rope knocking about one's heels. If circ.u.mstances render it impossible for the rope to be kept taut by itself, the men behind should gather it up round their hands,(63) and not allow it to incommode those in advance. A man must either be incompetent, careless or selfish if he permits the rope to dangle about the heels of the person in front of him.

The distance from man to man must be neither too great nor too small.

About twelve feet is sufficient. If there are only two or three persons, it is prudent to allow a little more-say fifteen feet. More than this is unnecessary, and less than nine or ten feet is not much good.

It is essential to examine your rope from time to time to see that it is in good condition. If you are wise you will do this yourself every day.

Latterly, I have examined every inch of my rope overnight, and upon more than one occasion have found the strands of the Manila rope nearly half severed through accidental grazes.

Thus far the rope has been supposed to be employed upon level, snow-covered glacier, to prevent any risk from concealed creva.s.ses. On rocks and on slopes it is used for a different purpose (namely, to guard against slips), and in these cases it is equally important to keep it taut and to preserve a reasonable distance one from the other. It is much more troublesome to keep the rope taut upon slopes than upon the level, and upon difficult rocks it is all but impossible, except by adopting the plan of moving only one at a time.

From the Col d'Olen we proceeded down the combe of the same name to the chalets of Prerayen, and pa.s.sed the night of the 6th under the roof of our old acquaintance, the wealthy herdsman. On the 7th we crossed the Va Cornere Pa.s.s, en route for Breuil. My thoughts were fixed on the Matterhorn, and my guides knew that I wished them to accompany me. They had an aversion to the mountain, and repeatedly expressed their belief that it was useless to try to ascend it. "_Anything_ but Matterhorn, dear sir!" said Almer-"_anything_ but Matterhorn." He did not speak of difficulty or of danger, nor was he shirking _work._ He offered to go _anywhere,_ but he entreated that the Matterhorn should be abandoned. Both men spoke fairly enough. They did not think that an ascent could be made, and for their own credit, as well as for my sake, they did not wish to undertake a business which in their opinion would only lead to loss of time and money.

I sent them by the short cut to Breuil, and walked down to Val Tournanche to look for Jean-Antoine Carrel. He was not there. The villagers said that he and three others had started on the 6th to try the Matterhorn by the old way, on their own account. They will have no luck, I thought, for the clouds were low down on the mountains; and I walked up to Breuil, fully expecting to meet them. Nor was I disappointed. About halfway up I saw a group of men cl.u.s.tered around a chalet upon the other side of the torrent, and crossing over found that the party had returned. Jean-Antoine and Caesar were there, C. E. Gorret and J. J. Maquignaz. They had had no success. The weather, thev said, had been horrible, and they had scarcely reached the Glacier du Lion.

I explained the situation to Carrel, and proposed that we, with Caesar and another man, should cross the Theodule by moonlight on the 9th, and that upon the 10th we should pitch the tent as high as possible upon the east face. He was unwilling to abandon the old route, and urged me to try it again. I promised to do so provided the new route failed. This satisfied him, and he agreed to my proposal. I then went up to Breuil, and discharged Almer and Biener-with much regret, for no two men ever served me more faithfully or more willingly.(64) On the next day they crossed to Zermatt.

The 8th was occupied with preparations. The weather was stormy, and black, rainy vapors obscured the mountains. Toward evening a young man came from Val Tournanche, and reported that an Englishman was lying there extremely ill. Now was the time for the performance of my vow, and on the morning of Sunday, the 9th, I went down the valley to look after the sick man. On my way I pa.s.sed a foreign gentleman, with a mule and several porters laden with baggage. Amongst these men were Jean-Antoine and Caesar, carrying some barometers. "Hullo!" I said, "what are you doing?" They explained that the foreigner had arrived just as they were setting out, and that they were a.s.sisting his porters. "Very well: go on to Breuil, and await me there-we start at midnight, as agreed."

Jean-Antoine then said that he should not be able to serve me after Tuesday, the 11th, as he was engaged to travel "with a family of distinction" in the valley of Aosta. "And Caesar?" "And Caesar also."

"Why did you not say this before?" "Because," said he, "it was not settled. The engagement is of long standing, but _the day_ was not fixed. When I got back to Val Tournanche on Friday night, after leaving you, I found a letter naming the day." I could not object to the answer, but the prospect of being left guideless was provoking. They went up, and I down, the valley.

The sick man declared that he was better, though the exertion of saying as much tumbled him over on to the floor in a fainting-fit. He was badly in want of medicine, and I tramped down to Chatillon to get it. It was late before I returned to Val Tournanche, for the weather was tempestuous and rain fell in torrents. A figure pa.s.sed me under the church-porch. "Qui vive?" "Jean-Antoine." "I thought you were at Breuil." "No, sir: when the storm came on I knew we should not start to-night, and so came down to sleep here." "Ha, Carrel," I said, "this is a great bore. If to-morrow is not fine, we shall not be able to do anything together. I have sent away my guides, relying on you, and now you are going to leave me to travel with a party of ladies. That work is not fit for _you_" (he smiled, I supposed at the implied compliment): "can't you send some one else instead?" "No, monsieur.

I am sorry, but my word is pledged. I should like to accompany you, but I can't break my engagement." By this time we had arrived at the inn door.

"Well, it is no fault of yours. Come presently with Caesar, and have some wine." They came, and we sat up till midnight, recounting our old adventures, in the inn of Val Tournanche. The weather continued bad upon the 10th, and I returned to Breuil. The two Carrels were again hovering about the above-mentioned chalet, and I bade them adieu. In the evening the sick man crawled up, a good deal better, but his was the only arrival. The Monday crowd(65) did not cross the Theodule, on account of the continued storms. The inn was lonely. I went to bed early, and was awoke the next morning by the invalid inquiring if I had heard the news. "No-what news?" "Why," said he, "a large party of guides went off this morning to try the Matterhorn, taking with them a mule laden with provisions."