The Ascent Of The Matterhorn Part 8

I know what my friend meant. Croz was happiest when he was employing his powers to the utmost. Places where you and I would "toil and sweat, and yet be freezing cold," were bagatelles to him, and it was only when he got above the range of ordinary mortals, and was required to employ his magnificent strength, and to draw upon his unsurpa.s.sed knowledge of ice and snow, that he could be said to be really and truly happy.

Of all the guides with whom I travelled, Michel Croz was the man who was most after my own heart. He did not work like a blunt razor, and take to his toil unkindly. He did not need urging, or to be told a second time to do anything. You had but to say _what_ was to be done, and _how_ it was to be done, and the work _was_ done, if it was possible. Such men are not common, and when they are known they are valued. Michel was not widely known, but those who did know him employed him again and again. The inscription that is placed upon his tomb truthfully records that he was "beloved by his comrades and esteemed by travellers."

At the time that I was planning my journey, my friends Messrs. A. W. Moore and Horace Walker were also drawing up their programme; and, as we found that our wishes were very similar, we agreed to unite our respective parties. The excursions which are described in this and the two following chapters are mutual ideas which were jointly executed.

Our united programme was framed so as to avoid sleeping in inns, and so that we should see from the highest point attained on one day a considerable portion of the route which was intended to be followed on the next. This latter matter was an important one to us, as all of our projected excursions were new ones, and led over ground about which there was very little information in print.

My friends had happily secured Christian Almer of Grindelwald as their guide. The combination of Croz and Almer was a perfect one. Both men were in the prime of life;(91) both were endued with strength and activity far beyond the average; and the courage and the knowledge of each was alike undoubted. The temper of Almer it was impossible to ruffle; he was ever obliging and enduring,-a bold but a safe man. That which he lacked in fire-in dash-was supplied by Croz, who, in his turn, was kept in place by Almer. It is pleasant to remember how they worked together, and how each one confided to you that he liked the other so much because he worked so well; but it is sad, very sad, to those who have known the men, to know that they can never work together again.

We met at St. Michel on the Mont Cenis road, at midday on June 20, 1864, and proceeded in the afternoon over the Col de Valloires to the village of the same name. The summit of this pretty little pa.s.s is about 3500 feet above St. Michel, and from it we had a fair view of the Aiguilles d'Arve, a group of three peaks of singular form, which it was our especial object to investigate.(92) They had been seen by ourselves and others from numerous distant points, and always looked very high and very inaccessible; but we had been unable to obtain any information about them, except the few words in Joanne's _Itineraire du Dauphine_. Having made out from the summit of the Col de Valloires that they could be approached from the Valley of Valloires, we hastened down to find a place where we could pa.s.s the night, as near as possible to the entrance of the little valley leading up to them.

By nightfall we arrived at the entrance to this little valley (Vallon des Aiguilles d'Arve), and found some buildings placed just where they were wanted. The proprietress received us with civility, and placed a large barn at our disposal, on the conditions that no lights were struck or pipes smoked therein; and when her terms were agreed to, she took us into her own chalet, made up a huge fire, heated a gallon of milk, and treated us with genuine hospitality.

In the morning we found that the Vallon des Aiguilles d'Arve led away nearly due west from the Valley of Valloires, and that the village of Bonnenuit was placed (in the latter valley) almost exactly opposite to the junction of the two.

At 3.55 A.M. on the 21st we set out up the Vallon, pa.s.sed for a time over pasture-land, and then over a stony waste, deeply channelled by watercourses. At 5.30 the two princ.i.p.al Aiguilles were well seen, and as, by this time, it was evident that the authors of the Sardinian official map had romanced as extensively in this neighbourhood as elsewhere, it was necessary to hold a council.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Plan to show route]

Three questions were submitted to it:-Firstly, Which is the highest of these Aiguilles? Secondly, Which shall we go up? Thirdly, How is it to be done?

The French engineers, it was said, had determined that the two highest of them were respectively 11,513 and 11,529 feet in height; but we were without information as to which two they had measured.(93) Joanne indeed said (but without specifying whether he meant all three) that the Aiguilles had been several times ascended, and particularly mentioned that the one of 11,513 feet was "relatively easy."

We therefore said, "We will go up the peak of 11,529 feet." That determination did not settle the second question. Joanne's "relatively easy" peak, according to his description, was evidently the most northern of the three. _Our_ peak then was to be one of the other two;-but which of them? We were inclined to favour the central one; but it was hard to determine, they looked so equal in height. When, however, the council came to study the third question-"How is it to be done?" it was unanimously voted that upon the eastern and southern sides it was certainly "relatively" difficult, and that a move should be made round to the northern side.

The movement was duly executed, and after wading up some snow-slopes of considerable steepness (going occasionally beyond 40), we found ourselves in a gap or nick, between the central and northernmost Aiguille, at 8.45 A.M. We then studied the northern face of our intended peak, and finally arrived at the conclusion that it was "relatively" impracticable. Croz shrugged his big shoulders, and said, "My faith! I think you will do well to leave it to others." Almer was more explicit, and volunteered the information that a thousand francs would not tempt him to _try_ it. We then turned to the northernmost peak, but found its southern faces even more hopeless than the northern faces of the central one. We enjoyed accordingly the unwonted luxury of a three-hours' rest on the top of our pa.s.s; for pa.s.s we were determined it should be.

We might have done worse. We were 10,300 or 10,400 feet above the level of the sea, and commanded a most picturesque view of the mountains of the Tarentaise; while, somewhat east of south, we saw the monarch of the Dauphine _ma.s.sif_, whose closer acquaintance it was our intention to make.

Three sunny hours pa.s.sed away, and then we turned to the descent. We saw the distant pastures of a valley (which we supposed was the Vallon or Ravine de la Sausse), and a long snow-slope leading down to them. But from that slope we were cut off by precipitous rocks, and our first impression was that we should have to return in our track. Some running up and down, however, discovered two little gullies, filled with threads of snow, and down the most northern of these we decided to go. It was a steep way but a safe one, for the cleft was so narrow that we could press the shoulder against one side whilst the feet were against the other, and the last remnant of the winter's snow, well hardened, clung to the rift with great tenacity, and gave us a path when the rocks refused one. In half-an-hour we got to the top of the great snow-slope. Walker said-"Let us glissade;"

the guides-"No, it is too steep." Our friend, however, started off at a standing glissade, and advanced for a time very skilfully; but after a while he lost his balance, and progressed downwards and backwards with great rapidity, in a way that seemed to us very much like tumbling head over heels. He let go his axe, and left it behind, but it overtook him and batted him heartily. He and it travelled in this fas.h.i.+on for some hundreds of feet, and at last subsided into the rocks at the bottom. In a few moments we were rea.s.sured as to his safety, by hearing him ironically request us not to keep him waiting down there.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE AIGUILLES D'ARVE, FROM ABOVE THE CHALETS OF RIEU BLANC, SHOWING ROUTE.]

We others followed the track shown by the dotted line upon the engraving (making zigzags to avoid the little groups of rocks which jutted through the snow, by which Walker had been upset), descended by a _sitting_ glissade, and rejoined our friend at the bottom. We then turned sharply to the left, and tramped down the summit ridge of an old moraine of great size. Its mud was excessively hard, and where some large erratic blocks lay perched upon its crest, we were obliged to cut steps (in the mud) with our ice-axes.

Guided by the sound of a distant "moo," we speedily found the highest chalets in the valley, named Rieu Blanc. They were tenanted by three old women (who seemed to belong to one of the missing links sought by naturalists), dest.i.tute of all ideas except in regard to cows, and who spoke a barbarous patois, well-nigh unintelligible to the Savoyard Croz.

They would not believe that we had pa.s.sed between the Aiguilles,-"It is impossible, the _cows_ never go there." "Could we get to La Grave over yonder ridge?" "Oh yes! the _cows_ often crossed!" Could they show us the way? No; but we could follow the _cow_-tracks.

We stayed a while near these chalets, to examine the western sides of the Aiguilles d'Arve, and, according to our united opinion, the central one was as inaccessible from this direction as from the east, north, or south.

On the following day we saw them again, from a height of about 11,000 feet, in a south-easterly direction, and our opinion remained unchanged.

We saw (on June 20-22) the central Aiguille from all sides, and very nearly completely round the southernmost one. The northern one we also saw on all sides excepting from the north. (It is, however, precisely from this direction M. Joanne says that its ascent is relatively easy.) We do not, therefore, venture to express any opinion respecting its ascent, except as regards its actual summit. This is formed of two curious p.r.o.ngs, or pinnacles of rock, and we do not understand in what way they (or either of them) can be ascended; nor shall we be surprised if this ascent is discovered to have been made in spirit rather than body; in fact, in the same manner as the celebrated ascent of Mont Blanc, "not entirely to the summit, but as far as the Montanvert!"

All three of the Aiguilles _may_ be accessible, but they _look_ as inaccessible as anything I have seen. They are the highest summits between the valleys of the Romanche and the Arc; they are placed slightly to the north of the watershed between those two valleys, and a line drawn through them runs, pretty nearly, north and south.

We descended by a rough path from Rieu Blanc to the chalets of La Sausse, which give the name to the Vallon or Ravine de la Sausse, in which they are situated. This is one of the numerous branches of the valley that descends to St. Jean d'Arve, and subsequently to St. Jean de Maurienne.

Two pa.s.ses, more or less known, lead from this valley to the village of La Grave (on the Lautaret road) in the valley of the Romanche, viz.:-the Col de l'Infernet and the Col de Martignare. The former pa.s.s was crossed, many years ago, by J. D. Forbes, and was mentioned by him in his _Norway and its Glaciers_. The latter one lies to the north of the former, and is seldom traversed by tourists, but it was convenient for us, and we set out to cross it on the morning of the 22d, after having pa.s.sed a comfortable, but not luxurious, night in the hay, at La Sausse, where, however, the simplicity of the accommodation was more than counterbalanced by the civility and hospitality of the people in charge.(94)

[Our object now was to cross to La Grave (on the high road from Gren.o.ble to Briancon), and to ascend, _en route_, some point sufficiently high to give us a good view of the Dauphine Alps in general, and of the grand chain of the Meije in particular. Before leaving England a careful study of "Joanne" had elicited the fact that the shortest route from La Sausse to La Grave was by the Col de Martignare; and also that from the aforesaid Col it was possible to ascend a lofty summit, called by him the Bec-du-Grenier, also called Aiguille de Goleon. On referring, however, to the Sardinian survey, we found there depicted, to the east of the Col de Martignare, not _one_ peak bearing the above _two_ names, but _two distinct summits_; one-just above the Col-the Bec-du-Grenier (the height of which was not stated); the other, still farther to the east, and somewhat to the south of the watershed-the Aiguille du Goleon (11,250 English feet in height), with a very considerable glacier-the Glacier Lombard-between the two. On the French map,(95) on the other hand, neither of the above names was to be found, but a peak called Aiguille de la Sausse (10,897 feet), was placed in the position a.s.signed to the Bec-du-Grenier in the Sardinian map; while farther to the east was a second and nameless peak (10,841), not at all in the position given to the Aiguille du Goleon, of which and of the Glacier Lombard there was not a sign. All this was very puzzling and unsatisfactory; but as we had no doubt of being able to climb one of the points to the east of the Col de Martignare (which overhung the Ravine de la Sausse), we determined to make that col the basis of our operations.](96)

We left the chalets at 4.15 A.M. [under a shower of good wishes from our hostesses], proceeded at first towards the upper end of the ravine, then doubled back up a long b.u.t.tress which projects in an unusual way, and went towards the Col de Martignare; but before arriving at its summit we again doubled, and resumed the original course.(97) At 6 A.M. we stood on the watershed, and followed it towards the east; keeping for some distance strictly to the ridge, and afterwards diverging a little to the south to avoid a considerable secondary aiguille, which prevented a straight track being made to the summit at which we were aiming. At 9.15 we stood on its top, and saw at once the lay of the land.

We found that our peak was one of four which enclosed a plateau that was filled by a glacier. Let us call these summits *A*, *B*, *C*, *D* (see plan on p. 128). We stood upon *C*, which was almost exactly the same elevation as *B*, but was higher than *D*, and lower than *A*. Peak *A*

was the highest of the four, and was about 200 feet higher than *B* and *C*; we identified it as the Aiguille de Goleon (French survey, 11,250 feet). Peak *D* we considered was the Bec-du-Grenier; and, in default of other names, we called *B* and *C* the Aiguilles de la Sausse. The glacier flowed in a south-easterly direction, and was the Glacier Lombard.

Peaks *B* and *C* overhung the Ravine de la Sausse, and were connected with another aiguille-*E*-which did the same. A continuation of the ridge out of which these three aiguilles rose joined the Aiguilles d'Arve. The head of the Ravine de la Sausse was therefore encircled by six peaks; three of which it was convenient to term the Aiguilles de la Sausse, and the others were the Aiguilles d'Arve.

We were very fortunate in the selection of our summit. Not to speak of other things, it gave a grand view of the ridge which culminates in the peak called La Meije (13,080 feet), which used to be mentioned by travellers under the name Aiguille du Midi de la Grave. The view of this mountain from the village of La Grave itself can hardly be praised too highly,-it is one of the very finest road-views in the Alps. The Ortler Spitz from the Stelvio is, in fact, its only worthy compet.i.tor; and the opinions generally of those who have seen the two views are in favour of the former. But from La Grave one can no more appreciate the n.o.ble proportions and the towering height of the Meije, than understand the symmetry of the dome of St. Paul's by gazing upon it from the churchyard.

To see it fairly, one must be placed at a greater distance and at a greater height.

I shall not try to describe the Meije. The same words, and the same phrases, have to do duty for one and another mountain; their repet.i.tion becomes wearisome; and 'tis a discouraging fact that any description, however true or however elaborated, seldom or never gives an idea of the reality.

Yet the Meije deserves more than a pa.s.sing notice. It was the last great Alpine peak which knew the foot of man, and one can scarcely speak in exaggerated terms of its jagged ridges, torrential glaciers, and tremendous precipices.(98) But were I to discourse upon these things without the aid of pictures, or to endeavour to convey in _words_ a sense of the loveliness of _curves_, of the beauty of _colour_, or of the harmonies of _sound_, I should try to accomplish that which is impossible; and, at the best, should succeed in but giving an impression that the things spoken of may have been pleasant to hear or to behold, although they are perfectly incomprehensible to read about. Let me therefore avoid these things, not because I have no love for or thought of them, but because they cannot be translated into language; and presently, when topographical details must, of necessity, be returned to again, I will endeavour to relieve the poverty of the pen by a free use of the pencil.

Whilst we sat upon the Aiguille de la Sausse, our attention was concentrated on a point that was immediately opposite-on a gap or cleft between the Meije and the mountain called the Rateau. It was, indeed, in order to have a good view of this place that we made the ascent of the Aiguille. It (that is the gap itself) looked, as my companions remarked, obtrusively and offensively a pa.s.s. It had not been crossed, but it ought to have been; and this seemed to have been recognised by the natives, who called it, very appropriately, the Breche de la Meije.

I had seen the place in 1860, and again in 1861, but had not then thought about getting through it; and our information in respect to it was chiefly derived from a photographic reproduction of the then unpublished sheet 189, of the great map of France, which Mr. Tuckett, with his usual liberality, had placed at our disposal. It was evident from this map that if we could succeed in pa.s.sing the Breche, we should make the most direct route between the village of La Grave and that of Berarde in the Department of the Isere, and that the distance between these two places by this route, would be less than one-third that of the ordinary way via the villages of Freney and Venos. It may occur to some of my readers, why had it not been done before? For the very sound reason that the valley on its southern side (Vallon des Etancons) is uninhabited, and La Berarde itself is a miserable village, without interest, without commerce, and almost without population. Why then did we wish to cross it? Because we were bound to the Pointe des Ecrins, to which La Berarde was the nearest inhabited place.

When we sat upon the Aiguille de la Sausse, we were rather despondent about our prospects of crossing the Breche, which seemed to present a combination of all that was formidable. There was, evidently, but one way by which it could be approached. We saw that at the top of the pa.s.s there was a steep wall of snow or ice (so steep that it was most likely ice) protected at its base by a big schrund or moat, which severed it from the snow-fields below. Then (tracking our course downwards) we saw undulating snow-fields leading down to a great glacier. The snow-fields would be easy work, but the glacier was riven and broken in every direction; huge creva.s.ses seemed to extend entirely across it in some places, and everywhere it had that strange twisted look, which tells of the unequal motion of the ice. Where could we get on to it? At its base it came to a violent end, being cut short by a cliff, over which it poured periodical avalanches, as we saw by a great triangular bed of debris below. We could not venture there,-the glacier must be taken in flank. But on which side?

Not on the west,-no one could climb those cliffs. It must, if any where, be by the rocks on the east; and _they_ looked as if they were _roches moutonnees_.

So we hurried down to La Grave, to hear what Melchior Anderegg (who had just pa.s.sed through the village with the family of our friend Walker) had to say on the matter. Who is Melchior Anderegg? Those who ask the question cannot have been in Alpine Switzerland, where the name of Melchior is as well known as the name of Napoleon. Melchior, too, is an Emperor in his way-a very Prince among guides. His empire is amongst the "eternal snows,"-his sceptre is an ice-axe.

Melchior Anderegg, more familiarly, and perhaps more generally known simply as Melchior, was born at Zaun, near Meiringen, on April 6, 1828. He was first brought into public notice in Hinchcliff's _Summer Months in the Alps_, and was known to very few persons at the time that little work was published. In 1855 he was "Boots" at the Grimsel Hotel, and in those days, when he went out on expeditions, it was for the benefit of his master, the proprietor; Melchior himself only got the _trinkgelt_. In 1856 he migrated to the Schwarenbach Inn on the Gemmi, where he employed his time in carving objects for sale. In 1858 he made numerous expeditions with Messrs. Hinchcliff and Stephen, and proved to his employers that he possessed first-rate skill, indomitable courage, and an admirable character. His position has never been doubtful since that year, and for a long time there has been no guide whose services have been more in request: he is usually engaged a year in advance.

It would be almost an easier task to say what he has not done than to catalogue his achievements. Invariable success attends his arms; he leads his followers to victory, but not to death. I believe that no serious accident has ever befallen travellers in his charge. Like his friend Almer, he can be called a _safe_ man. It is the highest praise that can be given to a first-rate guide.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MELCHIOR ANDEREGG IN 1864.]

Early in the afternoon we found ourselves in the little inn at La Grave, on the great Lautaret road, a rickety, tumble-down sort of place, with nothing stable about it, as Moore wittily remarked, except the smell.(99) Melchior had gone, and had left behind a note which said, "I think the pa.s.sage of the Breche is possible, but that it will be very difficult."

His opinion coincided with ours, and we went to sleep, expecting to be afoot about eighteen or twenty hours on the morrow.

At 2.40 the next morning we left La Grave, in a few minutes crossed the Romanche, and at 4 A.M. got to the moraine of the eastern branch of the glacier that descends from the Breche.(100) The rocks by which we intended to ascend were placed between the two branches of this glacier, and still looked smooth and unbroken. By 5 o'clock we were upon them, and saw that we had been deluded by them. No carpenter could have planned a more convenient staircase. They were _not moutonnee_, their smooth look from a distance was only owing to their singular firmness. [It was really quite a pleasure to scale such delightful rocks. We felt the stone held the boot so well, that, without making a positive effort to do so, it would be almost impossible to slip.] In an hour we had risen above the most creva.s.sed portion of the glacier, and began to look for a way on to it.

Just at the right place there was a patch of old snow at the side, and, instead of gaining the ice by desperate acrobatic feats, we pa.s.sed from the rocks on to it as easily as one walks across a gangway. At half-past 6 we were on the centre of the glacier, and the inhabitants of La Grave turned out _en ma.s.se_ into the road, and watched us with amazement as they witnessed the falsification of their confident predictions. Well might they stare, for our little caravan, looking to them like a train of flies on a wall, crept up and up, without hesitation and without a halt-lost to their sight one minute as it dived into a creva.s.se, then seen again clambering up the other side. The higher we rose the easier became the work, the angles lessened, and our pace increased. The snow remained shadowed, and we walked as easily as on a high road; and when (at 7.45) the summit of the Breche was seen, we rushed at it as furiously as if it had been a breach in the wall of a fortress, carried the moat by a dash, with a push behind and a pull before, stormed the steep slope above, and at 8.50 stood in the little gap, 11,054 feet above the level of the sea.

The Breche was won. Well might they stare; five hours and a quarter had sufficed for 6500 feet of ascent.(101) We screamed triumphantly as they turned in to breakfast.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Map of the Breche de la Meije, etc.]

All mountaineers know how valuable it is to study beforehand an intended route over new ground from a height at some distance. None but blunderers fail to do so, if it is possible; and one cannot do so too thoroughly. As a rule, the closer one approaches underneath a summit, the more difficult it is to pick out a path with judgment. Inferior peaks seem unduly important, subordinate ridges are exalted, and slopes conceal points beyond; and if one blindly undertakes an ascent, without having acquired a tolerable notion of the relative importance of the parts, and of their positions to one another, it will be miraculous if great difficulties are not encountered.

But although the examination of an intended route from a height at a distance will tell one (who knows the meaning of the things he is looking at) a good deal, and will enable him to steer clear of many difficulties against which he might otherwise blindly run, it will seldom allow one to p.r.o.nounce positively upon the practicability or impracticability of the whole of the route. No living man, for example, can p.r.o.nounce positively from a distance in regard to rocks. Those just mentioned are an ill.u.s.tration of this. Three of the ablest and most experienced guides concurred in thinking that they would be found very difficult, and yet they presented no difficulty whatever. In truth, the sounder and less broken up are the rocks, the more impracticable do they usually look from a distance; while soft and easily rent rocks, which are often amongst the most difficult and perilous to climb, very frequently look from afar as if they might be traversed by a child.

It is possible to decide with greater certainty in regard to the practicability of glaciers. When one is seen to have few open creva.s.ses (and this may be told from a great distance), then we know that it is _possible_ to traverse it; but to what extent it, or a glacier that is much broken up by creva.s.ses, will be troublesome, will depend upon the width and length of the creva.s.ses, and upon the angles of the surface of the glacier itself. A glacier may be greatly creva.s.sed, but the fissures may be so narrow that there is no occasion to deviate from a straight line when pa.s.sing across them; or a glacier may have few open creva.s.ses, and yet may be practically impa.s.sable on account of the steepness of the angles of its surface. Nominally, a man with an axe can go anywhere upon a glacier, but in practice it is found that to move freely upon ice one must have to deal only with small angles. It is thus necessary to know approximately the angles of the surfaces of a glacier before it is possible to determine whether it will afford easy travelling, or will be so difficult as to be (for all practical purposes) impa.s.sable. This cannot be told by looking at glaciers in full face from a distance; they must be seen in profile; and it is often desirable to examine them both from the front and in profile,-to do the first to study the direction of the creva.s.ses, to note where they are most and least numerous; and the second to see whether its angles are moderate or great. Should they be very steep, it may be better to avoid them altogether, and to mount even by difficult rocks; but upon glaciers of _gentle_ inclination, and with few open creva.s.ses, better progress can always be made than upon the _easiest_ rocks.

So much to explain why we were deceived when looking at the Breche de la Meije from the Aiguille de la Sausse. We took note of all the difficulties, but did not pay sufficient attention to the distance that the Breche was south of La Grave. My meaning will be apparent from the accompanying diagram, Fig. 1 (constructed upon the data supplied by the French surveyors), which will also serve to ill.u.s.trate how badly angles of elevation are judged by the unaided eye.