User:Zil/Scambles amongst the Alps/Chapter 9
CHAPTER IX.
THE ASCENT OF THE POINTE DES ECRINS.
"Filled with high mountains, rearing their heads as if to reach to heaven, crowned with glaciers, and fissured with immense chasms, where lie the eternal snows guarded by bare and rugged cliffs; offering the most varied sights, and enjoying all temperatures; and containing everything that is most curious and interesting, the most simple and the most sublime, the most smiling and the most severe, the most beautiful and the most awful; such is the department of the High Alps."
Before 5 o'clock on the afternoon of June 23, we were trotting down the steep path that leads into La Bérarde. We put up, of course, with the chasseur-guide Rodier (who, as usual, was smooth and smiling), and, after congratulations were over, we returned to the exterior to watch for the arrival of one Alexander Pic, who had been sent overnight with our baggage viâ Freney and Venos. But when the night fell, and no Pic appeared, we saw that our plans must be modified; for he was necessary to our very existence—he carried our food, our tobacco, our all. So, after some discussion, it was agreed that a portion of our programme should be abandoned, that the night of the 24th should be passed at the head of the Glacier de la Bonne Pierre, and that, on the 25th, a push should be made for the summit of the Ecrins. We then went to straw.
Our porter Pic strolled in next morning with his usual jaunty air, and we seized upon our tooth-brushes; but, upon looking for the cigars, we found starvation staring us in the face. "Hullo! Monsieur Pic, where are our cigars?" "Gentlemen," he began, "I am desolated!" and then, quite pat, he told a long rigmarole about a fit on the road, of brigands, thieves, of their ransacking the knapsacks when he was insensible, and of finding them gone when he revived! "Ah! Monsieur Pic, we see what it is, you have smoked them yourself!" "Gentlemen, I never smoke, never!" Whereupon we inquired secretly if he was known to smoke, and found that he was. However, he said that he had never spoken truer words, and perhaps he had not, for he is reported to be the greatest liar in Dauphiné!
We were now able to start, and set out at 1.15 p.m. to bivouac upon the Glacier de la Bonne Pierre, accompanied by Rodier, who staggered under a load of blankets. Many slopes had to be mounted, and many torrents to be crossed, all of which has been described by Mr. Tuckett.[1] We, however, avoided the difficulties he experienced with the latter by crossing them high up, where they were subdivided. But when we got on to the moraine on the right bank of the glacier (or, properly speaking, on to one of the moraines, for there are several), mists descended, to our great hindrance; and it was 5.30 before we arrived on the spot at which it was intended to camp.
Each one selected his nook, and we then joined round a grand fire made by our men. Fortnum and Mason's portable soup was sliced up and brewed, and was excellent; but it should be said that before it was excellent, three times the quantity named in the directions had to be used. Art is required in drinking as in making this soup, and one point is this—always let your friends drink first; not only because it is more polite, but because the soup has a tendency to burn the mouth if taken too hot, and one drink of the bottom is worth two of the top, as all the goodness settles.
[While engaged in these operations, the mist that enveloped the glacier and surrounding peaks was becoming thinner; little bits of blue sky appeared here and there, until . suddenly, when we were looking towards the head of the glacier, far, far above us, at an almost inconceivable height, in a tiny patch of blue, appeared a wonderful rocky pinnacle, bathed in the beams of the fast-sinking sun. We were so electrified by the glory of the sight that it was some seconds before we realised what we saw, and understood that that astounding point, removed apparently miles from the earth, was one of the highest summits of Les Ecrins; and that we hoped, before another sun had set, to have stood upon an even loftier pinnacle. The mists rose and fell, presenting us with a series of dissolving views of ravishing grandeur, and finally died away, leaving the glacier and its mighty bounding precipices under an exquisite pale blue sky, free from a single speck of cloud.]
The night passed over without anything worth mention, but we had had occasion to observe in the morning an instance of the curious evaporation that is frequently noticeable in the High Alps. On the previous night we had hung up on a knob of rock our mackintosh bag containing five bottles of Kodier's bad wine. In the morning, although the stopper appeared to have been in all night, about four-fifths had evaporated. It was strange; my friends had not taken any, neither had I, and the guides each declared that they had not seen any one touch it. In fact it was clear that there was no explanation of the phenomenon, but in the dryness of the air. Still it is remarkable that the dryness of the air (or the evaporation of wine) is always greatest when a stranger is in one's party—the dryness caused by the presence of even a single Chamounix porter is sometimes so great, that not four-fifths but the entire quantity disappears. For a time I found difficulty in combating this phenomenon, but at last discovered that if I used the wine-flask as a pillow during the night, the evaporation was completely stopped.
At 4 a.m. we moved off across the glacier in single file towards the foot of a great gully, which led from the upper slopes of the glacier de la Bonne Pierre, to the lowest point in the ridge that runs from the Ecrins to the mountain called Roche Faurio,—cheered by Rodier, who now returned with his wraps to La Bérarde. This gully (or couloir) was discovered and descended by Mr. Tuckett, and we will now return for a minute to the explorations of that accomplished mountaineer.
In the year 1862 he had the good fortune to obtain from the Dépôt de la Guerre at Paris, a MS. copy of the then unpublished sheet 189 of the map of France, and with it in hand, he swept backwards and forwards across the central Dauphiné Alps, untroubled by the doubts as to the identity of peaks, which had perplexed Mr. Macdonald and myself in 1861; and, enlightened by it, he was able to point out (which he did in the fairest manner) that we had confounded the Ecrins with another mountain—the Pic Sans Nom. We made this blunder through imperfect knowledge of the district and inaccurate reports of the natives;—but it was not an extraordinary one (the two mountains are not unlike each other), considering the difficulty that there is in obtaining from any except the very highest summits a complete view of this intricate group.
The situations of the principal summits can be perceived at a glance on the accompanying map, which is a reproduction of a portion of sheet 189. The main ridge of the chain runs, at this part, nearly north and south. Roche Faurio, at the northern extreme, is 3716 mètres, or 12,192 feet, above the level of the sea. The lowest point between that mountain and the Ecrins (the Col des Ecrins) is 11,000 feet. The ridge again rises, and passes 13,000 feet in the neighbourhood of the Ecrins. The highest summit of that mountain (13,462 feet) is, however, placed a little to the east of and off the main ridge. It then again falls, and in the vicinity of the Col de la Tempe it is, perhaps, below 11,000 feet; but immediately to the south of the summit of that pass, there is upon the ridge a point which has been determined by the French surveyors to be 12,323 feet. This peak is without a name. The ridge continues to gain height as we come to the south, and culminates in the mountain which the French surveyors have called Sommet de l'Aile Froide. On the spot it is called, very commonly, the Aléfroide.
There is some uncertainty respecting the elevation of this mountain.[2] The Frenchmen give 3925 metres (12,878) as its highest point, but Mr. Tuckett, who took a good theodolite to the top of Mont Pelvoux (which he agreed with his predecessors had an elevation of 12,973 feet), found that the summit of the Alefroide was elevated above his station 4'; and as the distance between the two points was 12,467 feet, this would represent a difference in altitude of 5 metres in favour of the Aléfroide. I saw this mountain from the summit of Mont Pelvoux in 1861, and was in doubt as to which of the two was the higher, and in 1864, from the summit of the Pointe des Ecrins (as will presently be related), it looked actually higher than Mont Pelvoux. I have therefore little doubt but that Mr. Tuckett is right in believing the Aléfroide to have an elevation of about 13,000 feet, instead of 12,878, as determined by the French surveyors.
Mont Pelvoux is to the east of the Aléfroide and off the main ridge, and the Pic Sans Nom (12,845 feet) is placed between these two mountains. The latter is one of the grandest of the Dauphiné peaks, but it is so shut in by the other mountains, that it is seldom seen except from a distance, and then is usually confounded with the neighbouring summits. Its name has been accidentally omitted on the map, but its situation is represented by the large patch of rocks, nearly surrounded by glaciers, that is seen between the words Ailefroide and Mt. Pelvoux.
The lowest depression on the main ridge to the south of the Aléfroide is the Col du Selé, and this, according to Mr. Tuckett, is 10,834 feet. The ridge soon rises again, and, a little farther to the south, joins another ridge running nearly east and west. To a mountain at the junction of these two ridges the Frenchmen have given the singular name Crête des Bœufs Rouges! The highest point hereabouts is 11,332 feet; but a little to the west there is another peak (Mont Bans) of 11,979 feet. The main ridge runs from this last-named point, in a north-westerly direction, to the Cols de Says, both of which exceed 10,000 feet.
It will thus be seen that the general elevation of this main ridge is almost equal to that of the range of Mont Blanc, or of the central Pennine Alps; and if we were to follow it out more completely, or to follow the other ridges surrounding or radiating from it, we should find that there is a remarkable absence, throughout the entire district, of low gaps and depressions, and that there are an extraordinary number of peaks of medium elevation.[3] The difficulty which explorers have experienced in Dauphine in identifying peaks, has very much arisen from the elevation of the ridges generally being more uniform than is commonly found in the Alps, and the consequent facile concealment of one point by another. The difficulty has been enhanced by the narrowness and erratic courses of the valleys.
The possession of the 'advanced copy' of sheet 189 of the French map, enabled Mr. Tuckett to grasp most of what I have just said, and much more; and he added, in 1862, three interesting passes across this part of the chain to those already known. The first, from Ville Vallouise to La Bérarde, viâ the village of Claux, and the glaciers du Selé and de la Pilatte,—this he called the Col du Selé; the second, between Ville Vallouise and Villar d'Arène (on the Lautaret road) viâ Claux and the glaciers Blanc and d'Arsine,—the Col du Glacier Blanc; and the third, from Vallouise to La Bérarde, viâ the Glacier Blanc, the Glacier de l'Encula, and the Glacier de la Bonne Pierre, the Col des Ecrins.
This last pass was discovered accidentally. Mr. Tuckett set out intending to endeavour to ascend the Pointe des Ecrins, but circumstances were against him, as he relates in the following words:—"Arrived on the plateau" (of the Glacier de l'Encula), "a most striking-view of the Ecrins burst upon us, and a hasty inspection encouraged us to hope that its ascent would be practicable. On the sides of La Bérarde and the Glacier Noir it presents, as has been already stated, the most precipitous and inaccessible faces that can well be conceived; but in the direction of the Glacier de l'Encula, as the upper plateau of the Glacier Blanc is named on the French map, the slopes are less rapid, and immense masses of névé and séracs cover it nearly to the summit."
"The snow was in very bad order, and as we sank at each step above the knee, it soon became evident that our prospects of success were extremely doubtful. A nearer approach, too, disclosed traces of fresh avalanches, and after much deliberation and a careful examination through the telescope, it was decided that the chances in our favour were too small to render it desirable to waste time in the attempt. . . . I examined the map, from which I perceived that the glacier seen through the gap" (in the ridge running from Roche Faurio to the Ecrins) "to the west, at a great depth below, must be that of La Bonne Pierre; and if a descent to its head was practicable, a passage might probably be effected to La Bérarde. On suggesting to Croz and Perrn that, though baffled by the state of the snow on the Ecrins, we might still achieve something of interest and importance by discovering a new col, they both heartily assented, and in a few minutes Perrn was over the edge, and cutting his way down the rather formidable couloir," etc. etc.[4]
This was the couloir at the foot of which we found ourselves at daybreak on the 25th of June 1864; but before commencing the relation of our doings upon that eventful day, I must recount the experiences of Messrs. Mathews and Bonney in 1862.
These gentlemen, with the two Croz's, attempted the ascent of the Ecrins a few weeks after Mr. Tuckett had inspected the mountain. On August 26, says Mr. Bonney, "we pushed on, and our hopes each moment rose higher and higher; even the cautious Michel committed himself so far as to cry, 'Ah, malheureux Ecrins, vous serez bientôt morts,' as we addressed ourselves to the last slope leading up to the foot of the final cone. The old proverb about 'many a slip' was, however, to prove true on this occasion. Arrived at the top of this slope, we found that we were cut off from the peak by a formidable bergschrund, crossed by the rottenest of snow-bridges. We looked to the right and to the left, to see whether it would be possible to get on either arête at its extremity; but instead of rising directly from the snow as they appeared to do from below, they were terminated by a wall of rock some forty feet high. There was but one place where the bergschrund was narrow enough to admit of crossing, and there a cliff of ice had to be climbed, and then a path to be cut up a steep slope of snow, before the arête could be reached. At last, after searching in vain for some time, Michel bade us wait a little, and started off to explore the gap separating the highest peak from the snow-dome on the right, and see if it were possible to ascend the rocky wall. Presently he appeared, evidently climbing with difficulty, and at last stood on the arête itself. Again we thought the victory was won, and started off to follow him. Suddenly he called to us to halt, and turned to descend. In a few minutes he stopped. After a long pause he shouted to his brother, saying that he was not able to return by the way he had ascended. Jean was evidently uneasy about him, and for some time we watched him with much anxiety. At length he began to hew out steps in the snow along the face of the peak towards us. Jean now left us, and, making for the ice-cliff mentioned above, chopped away until, after about a quarter of an hour's labour, he contrived, somehow or other, to worm himself up it, and began to cut steps to meet his brother. Almost every step appeared to be cut right through the snowy crust into the hard ice below, and an incipient stream of snow came hissing down the sides of the peak as they dug it away with their axes. Michel could not have been much more than 100 yards from us, and yet it was full three quarters of an hour before the brothers met. This done, they descended carefully, burying their axe-heads deep in the snow at every step.
Michel's account was that he had reached the arete with great difficulty, and saw that it was practicable for some distance, in fact, as far as he could see; but that the snow was in a most dangerous condition, being very incoherent and resting on hard ice; that when he began to descend in order to tell us this, he found the rocks so smooth and slippery that return was impossible; and that for some little time he feared that he should not be able to extricate himself, and was in considerable danger. Of course the arête could have been reached by the way our guides had descended, but it was so evident that their judgment was against proceeding, that we did not feel justified in urging them on. We had seen so much of them that we felt sure they would never hang back unless there was real danger, and so we gave the word for retreating."[5]
On both of these expeditions there was fine weather and plenty of time. On each occasion the parties slept out at, and started from, a considerable elevation, and arrived at the base of the final peak of the Ecrins early in the clay, and with plenty of superfluous energy. Guides and travellers alike, on each occasion, were exceptional men, experienced mountaineers, who had proved their skill and courage on numerous antecedent occasions, and who were not accustomed to turn away from a thing merely because it was difficult to do. On each occasion the attempts were abandoned because the state of the snow on and below the final peak was such that avalanches were anticipated; and, according to the judgment of those who were concerned, there was such an amount of positive danger from this condition of things, that it was unjustifiable to persevere.
We learnt privately, from Messrs. Mathews, Bonney, and Tuckett, that unless the snow was in a good state upon the final peak (that is to say, coherent and stable), we should probably be of the same opinion as themselves; and that although the face of the mountain fronting the Glacier de l'Encula was much less steep than its other faces, and was apparently the only side upon which an attempt was at all likely to be successful, it was, nevertheless, so steep, that for several days, at least, after a fall of snow upon it, the chances in favour of avalanches would be considerable.
The reader need scarcely be told, after all that has been said about the variableness of weather in the High Alps, the chance was small indeed that we should find upon the 25th of June, or any other set day, the precise condition of affairs that was deemed indispensable for success. We had such confidence in the judgment of our friends, that it was understood amongst us the ascent should be abandoned, unless the conditions were manifestly favourable.
By five minutes to six we were at the top of the gully (a first-rate couloir, about 1000 feet high), and within sight of our work. Hard, thin, and wedge-like as the Ecrins had looked from afar, it had never looked so hard and so thin as it did when we emerged from the top of the couloir through the gap in the ridge; no tender shadows spoke of broad and rounded ridges, but sharp and shadowless its serrated edges stood out against the clear sky.[6] It had been said that the route must be taken by one of the ridges of the final peak, but both were alike repellent, hacked and notched in numberless places. They reminded me of my failure on the Dent d'Herens in 1863, and of a place on a similar ridge, from which advance or retreat was alike difficult. But, presuming one or other of these ridges or aretes was practicable, there remained the task of getting to them, for completely round the base of the final peak swept an enormous bergschrund, almost separating it from the slopes which lay beneath. It was evident thus early that the ascent would not be accomplished without exertion, and that it would demand all our faculties and all our time. In more than one respect we were favoured. The mists were gone, the day was bright and perfectly calm; there had been a long stretch of fine weather beforehand, and the snow was in excellent order; and, most important of all, the last new snow which had fallen on the final peak, unable to support itself, had broken away and rolled in a mighty avalanche, over schrund, névé, séracs, over hills and valleys in the glacier (levelling one and filling the other), completely down to the col, where it lay in huge jammed masses, powerless to harm us; and had made a broad track, almost a road, over which, for part of the way at least, we might advance with rapidity.
We took in all this in a few minutes, and seeing there was no time to be lost, despatched a hasty meal, left knapsacks, provisions,and all incumbrances by the col, started again at half-past six, and made direct for the left side of the schrund, for it was there alone that a passage was practicable. We crossed it at 8.10. Our route can now be followed upon the annexed outline. The arrow marked d
Thus far there was no trouble, but the nature of the work changed immediately. If we regard the upper 700 feet alone of the final peak of the Ecrins, it may be described as a three-sided pyramid. One face is towards the Glacier Noir, and forms one of the sheerest precipices in the Alps. Another is towards the Glacier du Vallon, and is less steep, and less uniform in angle than the first. The third is towards the Glacier de l'Encula, and it was by this one we approached the summit. Imagine a triangular plane, 700 or 800 feet high, set at an angle exceeding 50°; let it be smooth, glassy; let the uppermost edges be cut into spikes and teeth, and let them be bent, some one way, some another. Let the glassy face be covered with minute fragments of rock, scarcely attached, but varnished with ice; imagine tins, and then you will have a very faint idea of the face of the Ecrins on which we stood. It was not possible to avoid detaching stones, which, as they fell, caused words unmentionable to rise. The greatest friends would have reviled each other in such a situation. We gained the eastern arête, and endeavoured for half-an-hour to work upwards towards the summit; but it was useless (each yard of progress cost an incredible time); and having no desire to form the acquaintance of the Glacier Noir in a precipitate manner, we beat a retreat, and returned to the schrund. We again held a council, and it was unanimously decided that we should be beaten if we could not cut along the upper edge of the schrund, and, when nearly beneath the summit, work up to it. So Croz took off his coat and went to work;—on ice,—not that black ice so often mentioned and so seldom seen, but on ice as hard as ice could be. Weary work for the guides. Croz cut for more than half-an-hour, and we did not seem to have advanced at all. Some one behind, seeing how great the labour was, and how slow the progress, suggested that after all we might do better on the arête. Croz's blood was up, and indignant at this slight on his powers, he ceased working, turned in his steps, and rushed towards me with a haste that made me shudder: "By all means let us go there, the sooner the better." No slight was intended, and he resumed his work, after a time being relieved by Almer. Half-past ten came; an hour had passed; they were still cutting. Dreary work for us, for there was no capering about to be done here; hand as well as foot-holes were necessary; the fingers and toes got very cold; the ice, as it boomed in bounding down the bergschrund, was very suggestive; conversation was very restricted, separated as we were by our tether of 20 feet apiece. Another hour passed. We were now almost immediately below the summit, and we stopped to look up. We were nearly as far off it (vertically) as we had been more than three hours before. The day seemed going against us. The only rocks near at hand were scattered; no bigger than tea-cups, and most of these, we found afterwards, were glazed with ice. Time forbade cutting right up to the summit, even had it been possible, which it was not. We decided to go up to the ridge again by means of the rocks; but had we not had a certain confidence in each other, it unquestionably would not have been done; for this, it must be understood, was a situation where not only might a slip have been fatal to every one, but it would have been so beyond doubt: nothing, moreover, was easier than to make one. It was a place where all had to work in unison, where there must be no slackening of the rope, and no unnecessary tension. For another hour we were in this trying situation, and at 12.30 we gained the arête again, but at a much higher point (b), close to the summit. Our men were, I am afraid, well-nigh worn out; cutting up a couloir 1000 feet high was not the right sort of preparation for work of this kind. Be it so or not, we were all glad to rest for a short time, for we had not sat down a minute since leaving the col six hours before. Almer, however, was restless, knowing that midday was past, and that much remained to be accomplished, and untied himself, and commenced working towards the summit. Connecting the teeth of rock were beds of snow, and Almer, but a few feet from me, was crossing the top of one of these, when suddenly, without a moment's warning, it broke away under him, and plunged down on to the glacier. As he staggered for a second, one foot in the act of stepping, and the other on the falling mass, I thought him lost; but he happily fell on to the right side and stopped himself. Had he taken the step with his right instead of the left foot, he would, in all probability, have fallen several hundred feet without touching anything, and would not have been arrested before reaching the glacier, a vertical distance of at least 3000 feet.
Small, ridiculously small, as the distance was to the summit, we were occupied nearly another hour before it was gained. Almer was a few feet in front, and he, with characteristic modesty, hesitated to step on the highest point, and drew back to allow us to pass. A cry was raised for Croz, who had done the chief part of the work, but he declined the honour, and we marched on to the top simultaneously; that is to say, clustered round it, a yard or two below, for it was much too small to get upon.
FRAGMENT FROM THE SUMMIT OF THE POINTE DES ECRINS.
According to my custom, I bagged a piece from off the highest rock (chlorite slate), and I found afterwards that it had a striking similarity to the final peak of the Ecrins. I have noticed the same thing on other occasions,[7] and it is worthy of remark that not only do fragments of such rock as limestone often present the characteristic forms of the cliffs from which they have been broken, but that morsels of mica slate will represent, in a wonderful manner, the identical shape of the peaks of which they have formed part. Why should it not be so, if the mountain's mass is more or less homogeneous? The same causes which produce the small forms fashion the large ones; the same influences are at work; the same frost and rain give shape to the mass as well as to its parts.
We could stay on the summit but a short time, and at a quarter to two prepared for the descent. Now, as we looked down, and thought of what we had passed over in coming up, we one and all hesitated about returning the same way. Moore said, no. Walker said the same, and I too; the guides were both of the same mind: this, be it remarked, although we had considered that there was no chance whatever of getting up any other way. But those 'last rocks' were not to be forgotten. Had they but protruded to a moderate extent, or had they been merely glazed, we should doubtless still have tried: but they were not reasonable rocks,—they would neither allow us to hold, nor would do it themselves. So we turned to the western arête, trusting to luck that we should find a way down to the schrund, and some means of getting over it afterwards. Our faces were a tolerable index to our thoughts, and apparently the thoughts of the party were not happy ones. Had any one then said to me, "You are a great fool for coming here," I should have answered with humility, "It is too true." And had my monitor gone on to say, "Swear you will never ascend another mountain if you get down safely," I am inclined to think I should have taken the oath. In fact, the game here was not worth the risk. The guides felt it as well as ourselves, and as Almer led off, he remarked, with more piety than logic, "The good God has brought us up, and he will take us down in safety," which showed pretty well what he was thinking about.
The ridge down which we now endeavoured to make our way was not inferior in difficulty to the other. Both were serrated to an extent that made it impossible to keep strictly to them, and obliged us to descend occasionally for some distance on the northern face and then mount again. Both were so rotten that the most experienced of our party, as well as the least, continually upset blocks large and small. Both aretes were so narrow, so thin, that it was often a matter for speculation on which side an unstable block would fall.
DESCENDING THE WESTERN ARÊTE OF THE POINTE DES ÉCRINS.
At one point it seemed that we should be obliged to return to the summit and try the other way down. We were on the very edge of the arête; on one side was the enormous precipice facing the Pelvoux, which is not far from perpendicular; on the other a slope exceeding 50°. A deep notch brought us to an abrupt halt. Almer, who was leading, advanced cautiously to the edge on hands and knees, and peered over; his care was by no means unnecessary, for the rocks had broken away from under us unexpectedly several times. In this position he looked down for some moments, and then, without a word, turned his head and looked at us. His face may have expressed apprehension or alarm, but it certainly did not show hope or joy. We learned that there was no means of getting down, and that we must, if we wanted to pass it, jump across on to an unstable block on the other side. It was decided that it should be done, and Almer, with a larger extent of rope than usual, jumped; the rock swayed as he came down upon it, but he clutched a large mass with both arms and brought himself to anchor. That which was both difficult and dangerous for the first man was easy enough for the others, and we got across with less trouble than I expected; stimulated by Croz's perfectly just observation, that if we couldn't get across there we were not likely to get down the other way.
We had now arrived at C, and could no longer continue on the arête, so we commenced descending the face again. Before long we were close to the schrund, but unable to see what it was like at this part, as the upper edge bent over. Two hours had already passed since leaving the summit, and it began to be highly probable that we should have to spend a night on the Glacier Blanc. Almer, who yet led, cut steps right down to the edge, but still he could not see below; therefore, warning us to hold tight, he made his whole body rigid, and (standing in the large step which he had cut for the purpose), had the upper part of his person lowered out until he saw what he wanted. He shouted that our work was finished, made me come close to the edge and untie myself, advanced the others until he had rope enough, and then with a loud jödel jumped down on to soft snow. Partly by skill and partly by luck he had hit the crevasse at its easiest point, and we had only to make a downward jump of eight or ten feet.
It is now 4.45 p.m.; we had been more than eight hours and a half accomplishing the ascent of the final peak, which, according to an observation by Mr. Bonney in 1862, is only 525 feet high.[8] During this period we had not stopped for more than half-an-hour, and our nerves and muscles had been kept at the highest degree of tension the whole time. It may be imagined that we accepted the ordinary conditions of glacier travelling as an agreeable relief, and that that which at another time might have seemed formidable we treated as the veriest bagatelle. Late in the day as it was, and soft as was the snow, we put on such pace that we reached the Col des Ecrins in less than forty minutes. We lost no time in arranging our baggage, for we had still to traverse a long glacier, and to get clear of two ice-falls before it was dark; so, at 5.35 we resumed the march, adjourning eating and drinking, and put on a spurt which took us clear of the Glacier Blanc by 7.45 p.m.[9] We got clear of the moraine of the Glacier Noir at 8.45, just as the last remnant of daylight vanished. Croz and myself were a trifle in advance of the others, and fortunately so for us; for as they were about to commence the descent of the snout of the glacier, the whole of the moraine that rested on its face peeled off, and came down with a tremendous roar.
We had now the pleasure of walking over a plain that is known by the name of the Pré de Madame Carle, covered with pebbles of all sizes, and intersected by numerous small streams or torrents. Every hole looked like a stone, every stone like a hole, and we tumbled about from side to side until our limbs and our tempers became thoroughly jaded. My companions, being both short-sighted, found the travelling especially disagreeable; so there was little wonder that when we came upon a huge mass of rock as big as a house, which had fallen from the flanks of Pelvoux, a regular cube that offered no shelter whatever, Moore cried out in ecstasy, "Oh, how delightful! the very thing I have been longing for. Let us have a perfectly extemporaneous bivouac." This, it should be said, was when the night threatened thunder and lightning, rain, and all other delights.
The pleasures of a perfectly extemporaneous bivouac under these circumstances not being novelties to Croz and myself, we thought we would try for the miseries of a roof, but Walker and Almer, with their usual good nature, declared it was the very thing that they, too, were longing for; so the trio resolved to stop. We generously left them all the provisions (a dozen cubic inches or thereabouts of bacon fat, and half a candle), and pushed on for the chalets of Aléfroide, or at least we thought we did, but could not be certain. In the course of half-an-hour we got uncommonly close to the main torrent, and Croz all at once disappeared. I stepped cautiously forward to peer down into the place where I thought he was, and quietly tumbled head over heels into a big rhododendron bush. Extricating myself with some trouble, I fell backwards over some rocks, and got wedged in a cleft so close to the torrent that it splashed all over me.
The colloquy which then ensued amid the thundering of the stream was as follows:—
"Hullo, Croz!" "Eh, Monsieur." "Where are you?" "Here, Monsieur." "Where is here?" "I don't know; where are you?" "Here, Croz;" and so on.
The fact was, from the intense darkness, and the noise of the torrent, we had no idea of each other's situation; in the course of ten minutes, however, we joined together again, agreed we had quite enough of that kind of thing, and adjourned to a most eligible rock at 10.15.
How well I remember the night at that rock, and the jolly way in which Croz came out! We were both very wet about the legs, and both uncommonly hungry, but the time passed pleasantly enough round our fire of juniper, and until long past midnight we sat up recounting, over our pipes, wonderful stories of the most incredible description, in which, I must admit, my companion beat me hollow. Then, throwing ourselves on our beds of rhododendron, we slept an untroubled sleep, and rose on a bright Sunday morning as fresh as might be, intending to enjoy a day's rest and luxury with our friends at La Ville de Val Louise.
I have failed to give the impression I wish if it has not been made evident that the ascent of the Pointe des Ecrins was not an ordinary piece of work. There is an increasing disposition now-a-days amongst those who write on the Alps, to underrate the difficulties and dangers which are met with, and this disposition is, I think, not less mischievous than the old-fashioned style of making everything terrible. Difficult as we found the peak, I believe we took it at the best, perhaps the only possible, time of the year. The great slope on which we spent so much time was, from being denuded by the avalanche of which I have spoken, deprived of its greatest danger. Had it had the snow still resting upon it, and had we persevered with the expedition, we should almost without doubt have ended with calamity instead of success. The ice of that slope is always below, its angle is severe, and the rocks do not project sufficiently to afford the support that snow requires, to be stable, when at a great angle. So far am I from desiring to tempt any one to repeat the expedition, that I put it on record as my belief, however sad and however miserable a man may have been, if he is found on the summit of the Pointe des Ecrins after a fall of new snow, he is likely to experience misery far deeper than anything with which he has hitherto been acquainted.[10]
- ↑ Alpine Journal, December 1863.
- ↑ It is shown in the engraving facing p. 35. It has several points nearly equally elevated, all of which seem to be accessible. I am informed that it was ascended this year (1870), but details of the ascent have not reached me.
- ↑ There are more than twenty peaks exceeding 12,000 feet, and thirty others exceeding 11,000 feet, within the district bounded by the rivers Romanche, Drac, and Durance
- ↑ Alpine Journal, Dec. 1863.
- ↑ Alpine Journal, June 1863.
- ↑ The above view of the Ecrins was taken from the summit of the Col du Galibier.
- ↑ The most striking example which has come under my notice is referred to in Chapter xx.
- ↑ See vol. i., p. 73, of Alpine Journal. We considered the height assigned to the final peak by Mr. Bonney was too small, and thought it should have been 200 feet more.
- ↑ The Glacier Blanc is in the direction indicated by the arrow below the letter e on the outline on p. 212.
- ↑ The ascent of the Pointe des Ecrins has been made once since 1864, by a French gentleman, named Vincent, with the Chamounix guides Jean Carrier and Alexandre Tournier. They followed our route, but reversed it; that is to say, ascended by the western, and descended by the eastern arête.
The best course to adopt in future attacks on the mountain, would be to bring a ladder, or some other means of passing the bergschrund, in its centre, immediately under the summit. One could then proceed directly upwards, and so avoid the labour and difficulties which are inevitable upon any ascent by way of the aretes.