Meanwhile the mists closed round us once more. The cliffs above looming through the rushing vapour, looked ever bigger and more precipitous, so, to avoid the possibility of being cut off by some insuperable step, we worked to our right into the couloir. We were at first able, from time to time, to use the rocks on our right as a ladder, and thus save the labour of step-cutting, but as we got higher the slabs became too large and smooth, and we were forced to proceed relying on the axe alone. We soon got tired of this, and crossed back to our rib and found that its appearance was delusive, and that in fact it was a perfect staircase. Beaching the near neighbourhood of the ridge, we swung across easy slopes to our right, traversing the head of the couloir, and making for the top of the great buttress.
I took this line fearing that otherwise we might waste valuable energy in climbing to the top of the "Sugar Loaf"; it being, in the dense fog, quite impossible to tell just where this pinnacle was. Collie, it is true, was quite sure that we were on the Verte side of it, but the blight of a sceptical age was upon me and we kept to the right. Just as we scrambled on to the crest of the buttress, an eddy of wind swept the arête bare of cloud, and we halted a few minutes to inspect our mountain. Swinging back to our left, a short diagonal ascent landed us on the main ridge at 8.20 a.m., and we were able to look down on to the
