CHAPTER XVI
MONT BLANC FROM THE SOUTH
It is a curious fact that, to this day, the southern slopes of Mont Blanc rank amongst the least frequented districts of the Alps. Mr. James Eccles who, with Michel and Alphonse Payot, first climbed Mont Blanc from the south, over forty-four years ago, remarked in a paper read before the Alpine Club, “It is singular that, notwithstanding their close proximity to a good mountaineering centre, the glaciers of the south-western end of Mont Blanc have been, compared with other parts of the chain, so neglected by Alpine climbers.” Of the Brouillard and Fresnay Glaciers, the serious explorers of which may almost be counted on one’s fingers, Eccles’s words still hold good.
In its general outline, the geography of the southern slopes of Mont Blanc is simple enough. The western and eastern boundaries are, respectively, the Brouillard and Peuteret ridges, which converge in Mont Blanc de Courmayeur. The region enclosed by these two colossal ridges is bisected by the Innominata ridge, on either side of which a glacier flows down from Mont Blanc; the Brouillard Glacier between the ridge of the same name and the Innominata ridge, the Fresnay Glacier between the latter and the Peuteret ridge. Both glaciers are remarkable for their steepness and the extent to which they are broken up. From source to snout, the Brouillard Glacier forms an almost uninterrupted icefall, the Fresnay Glacier even more so: indeed, from afar the latter resembles the tumbling, foaming crest of a storm-tossed wave. To the south of the Innominata lies a third glacier, the Glacier du Châtelet, but compared with the other two, it is insignificant in size and gentle in slope. All three ridges rise from the Val Veni in the form of great bluffs and cliffs. These, in the case of the Brouillard, soon narrow down to a well-defined ridge which, unbroken by any really prominent feature, rises steadily up to the two summits of Mont Brouillard (13,012 and 13,298 feet respectively). A gentle dip leads farther to the snowy Col Émile Rey (13,147 ft.), out of which steep cliffs, constituting a somewhat badly-defined ridge, swing themselves up to the Pic Luigi Amadeo (14,672 ft.), whence a long ridge rising at a comparatively gentle angle culminates in Mont Blanc de Courmayeur (15,604 ft.). From beginning to end, the Brouillard ridge forms a vast crescent; curving north-north-west in its lower half, it veers towards the north-north-east in its upper, and terminates almost due north of its source in the Val Veni. The precipitous, rocky south-eastern flank of the ridge between the Pic Luigi Amadeo and Mont Blanc de Courmayeur constitutes the uppermost portion of the south face of Mont Blanc.
Totally different in character is the Peuteret ridge once it has become well-defined as such in the vicinity of the summit of the Aiguille Noire de Peuteret, where the two ridges enclosing the Fauteuil des Allemands converge. Following a north-westerly direction, the Peuteret ridge carries two outstanding elevations, the Aiguilles Noire and Blanche de Peuteret, which are separated from neighbouring portions of the ridge by the deep clefts of the Col des Dames Anglaises and the Col de Peuteret respectively. Out of the former tower the bold spires of the Dames Anglaises, enhancing the jagged outline characteristic of the ridge which, from the Col de Peuteret, in a final stupendous effort, soars up to Mont Blanc de Courmayeur.
[Illustration: _Mont Blanc from the Val Veni._
_Facing page 228._ ]
In the Aiguille du Châtelet (8,292 ft.) the Innominata ridge at first makes rather a pusillanimous attempt to merit the description, then becomes lost in broad scree slopes from which emerge two ridges. One of these flanks the Brouillard Glacier, the other the Fresnay Glacier, and carries the Aiguille Joseph Croux and the depression called the Col de l’Innominata. At a point south of the Innominata itself, these two ridges finally unite, enclosing between their southern flanks the little Glacier du Châtelet. North of the Innominata, the ridge, running almost parallel to the Peuteret, dips into the depression known as the Col du Fresnay. Above the col it rises to a rocky summit over 13,000 feet high and called Pic Eccles, beyond which lies another depression, now known as the Col Supérieur du Fresnay, whence, in a futile attempt to connect with the Brouillard ridge, it rises abruptly in the direction of a point almost midway between the Pic Luigi Amadeo and Mont Blanc de Courmayeur and, after a last supreme endeavour to preserve its individuality in the shape of a huge, precipitous, red rock buttress, eventually loses itself in the rocky escarpments of the south face of Mont Blanc at an altitude of about 14,500 feet.
In so far as successful attempts to reach the summit of the mountain are concerned, the history of the exploration of the south face of Mont Blanc is soon told. Prior to 1919, only two parties met with success. On July 30, 1876, Mr. James Eccles, accompanied by the guides Michel and Alphonse Payot, left Courmayeur and bivouacked on the rocks of the Innominata ridge, about midway between the Col du Fresnay and the Pic Eccles, at about 12,500 feet. Leaving their bivouac at 2.55 next morning, they traversed the Pic Eccles into the Col Supérieur du Fresnay, whence, descending steep rocks and an ice-filled couloir, they gained the uppermost level of the Fresnay Glacier. Three hours after leaving their bivouac, they crossed the bergschrund and began the ascent of the steep slopes of the great snowy couloir, which falls away towards the Fresnay Glacier from a point on the Peuteret ridge about 1,200 feet below Mont Blanc de Courmayeur. Taking to the broken rocks on the left (ascending) bank of the couloir as soon as possible, they followed these without difficulty to their end. Another bout of step-cutting then brought them out on to the Peuteret ridge, up which they arrived on to the summit of Mont Blanc de Courmayeur at 11.40 a.m. At 12.35 p.m., less than ten hours after leaving their bivouac, Mont Blanc itself was under foot.
The only other successful expedition carried out before 1919 was that of Signor Gruber, with Émile Rey[9] and the porter Pierre Revel, in 1880. Leaving Courmayeur on August 14, they bivouacked on some rocks near the Col du Fresnay. Crossing the col next morning, they descended to the Fresnay Glacier and worked towards the foot of the great rock buttress immediately between the huge uppermost icefall of the glacier and the Aiguille Blanche de Peuteret. Late that afternoon, after most difficult climbing, they arrived in the Col de Peuteret, and thence followed the Peuteret ridge until nightfall compelled them to bivouac a second time. They were then about 1,200 feet below the summit. Next day (August 16), always keeping to the Peuteret ridge and very soon joining Eccles’s route, they passed over Mont Blanc de Courmayeur and, four hours after leaving their last bivouac, stood on the summit of Mont Blanc.[10] This climb is usually referred to as if it were merely a variation of Eccles’s route. It is true that they have in common the ascent to the Col du Fresnay and the final 1,200 feet of the Peuteret ridge, but otherwise the two routes differ to such an extent that Gruber’s is worthy of being described as a new climb, and it was, moreover, the first complete ascent of the Peuteret ridge, from the Col de Peuteret.
For the next thirty-nine years the gaunt ramparts of the southern flank of Mont Blanc effectively repelled all further assault. It seemed almost as if the great white mountain had found fresh strength in the defeats suffered through the hard-won victories of Eccles and Gruber. It was not that Mont Blanc, during this long interval, remained a victor through lack of would-be conquerors. All who came were firmly repulsed. The more fortunate escaped whole in life and limb; from others the death-toll was ruthlessly exacted.[11]
The spell was finally broken in 1919. On August 20, Messrs. Oliver and Courtauld, with Adolfe and Henri Rey[12] and Adolf Aufdenblatten, bivouacked in the Col du Fresnay. The following day they traversed round the Pic Eccles, close below its summit, and gained the Col Supérieur du Fresnay, whence they followed the continuation of the Innominata ridge until, driven over to the left by the vertical, smooth rocks of its great final buttress, they were forced to climb the rocks of the south flank of the uppermost Brouillard ridge. This they gained at a point between the Pic Luigi Amadeo and Mont Blanc de Courmayeur, but rather nearer the latter. In little over eight hours after leaving their bivouac, they arrived on the summit of Mont Blanc, having thus opened a third route from the south.
Early in August, 1921, the fourth successful ascent was effected by the famous Italian mountaineers Si. G. F. and G. B. Gugliermina and Francisco Ravelli--names for ever entwined with the history of Mont Blanc--and a porter from Courmayeur. They followed in its essentials the route of Messrs. Oliver and Courtauld. Their first bivouac was in the rocks of the Innominata below the Col du Fresnay, their second at the foot of the final great buttress of the Innominata ridge, while, on the descent, a third night was spent in the Vallot hut.
Towards the end of July, 1921, I found myself in Zermatt, without a climbing companion--a lamentable state of affairs, due to trouble in Ireland preventing Forster from joining me as had been arranged. When Oliver and Courtauld arrived with the two Aufdenblattens after a successful traverse of the Dom from Saas, I was therefore more than pleased by their kind invitation to join their party. Theoretically, of course, I had no right to accept this, because I was out of training and had done nothing beyond walking half-way up to the Schwarzsee.
Getting into training seems to be a spectre which looms large in the minds of most climbers of to-day. Often I feel impelled to think that, at all events from the physical point of view and as far as more youthful climbers are concerned, this fantastic mental conception must be, to a great extent, the result of auto-suggestion. In spite of a sedentary occupation, wholly unrelieved by any active form of sport, I am always ready to start climbing by climbing, and not by indulging in a ramble. In this instance, moreover, the immediate programme in view was not too ambitious, our aim being merely to get, somehow or other, to Breuil. The Col Tournanche was chosen as a pass for the sake of its novelty, none of us having previously crossed it. Arrived in Breuil, Oliver and Courtauld went on to Courmayeur, whilst I returned to Zermatt to bring my luggage round to Courmayeur by rail. A few days later, we were together on the Aiguille de Tronchey, with a keen eye to possibilities of a new route up the Grandes Jorasses. The great south ridge of the latter, however, showed no breach in its formidable defences, but the Peuteret ridge of Mont Blanc appeared to be in such a first-rate condition that, could it but be gained from the Brouillard and Fresnay side, it would almost certainly “go.” Talking matters over on our return to Courmayeur, we decided to repeat Eccles’s route. The ascent of the Peuteret ridge via the Aiguille Blanche de Peuteret was ruled out on account of the dangerous condition of the Brenva Glacier and of the Aiguille Blanche itself--a condition due to the huge fall of rock and ice in November, 1920.
On the following day, from a point in the road near the second refuge on the Italian side of the Petit St. Bernard, I carefully examined the south flank of Mont Blanc. The descent from the Col Supérieur du Fresnay on to the upper basin of the Fresnay Glacier seemed feasible, but the bergschrund below Eccles’s great couloir leading up to the Peuteret ridge appeared most formidable. The rocks showing through both to the left and the right of the Peuteret ridge, however, seemed to be as free from snow and ice as they were ever likely to be, while the ridge itself appeared to carry good snow.
On August 7, we left Courmayeur with four porters and two carriages bearing our kit, Oliver, Courtauld, and myself as far as the Alpe du Fresnay, shortly after leaving which we encountered our first difficulty in the shape of the unfordable torrent descending from the Fresnay Glacier. By means of two felled trees discovered in a wood near by, we improvised a somewhat unstable bridge which most of us preferred to cross on all fours. Alfred Aufdenblatten boldly essayed to walk across, but not knowing the secret of keeping his eyes fixed on the bridge instead of on the water, lost his balance and only saved himself by a wild jump which barely landed him on the far bank. Towards nightfall we gained the new Gamba hut, situated on the Innominata ridge a little above the Aiguille du Châtelet.[13]
Next morning we left shortly after daybreak, ascending over the débris-strewn slopes towards the moraine on the left bank of the Brouillard Glacier and took to this glacier at an altitude of about 9,500 feet, at the point where the moraine ends and the rocks steepen up towards the Innominata. The work in front of us now changed completely in character. Ropes and climbing irons were put on; Adolf and Courtauld took the lead; Oliver, Alfred, and I formed the second party; while the porters, roped together two by two, brought up the rear-guard of our little army.
Our labours began at once. Huge crevasses, the upper lips of which were often disconcertingly high above the lower, soon forced us out towards the middle of the glacier, where constant step-cutting was the rule. Progressing very rapidly, Adolf cut small steps, upon which we improved, so as to make things easier for the heavily-burdened porters. After much twisting and turning and some pretty ice work, we reached a small plateau where the Brouillard Glacier makes an heroic but rather unavailing effort to be level, prior to indulging in a mad tumble over a noisy “Heisse Platte.”[14] Here a half-hour halt was called for breakfast. We could now see right up to the head of the glacier, and Oliver pointed out to me the line of their ascent of 1919.
The choice of either of two ways up to the Col du Fresnay now lay before us. We could follow the glacier, keeping more or less in the middle, or else traverse high up to the right across steep ice slopes leading down from the ridge of the Innominata. The latter route bore unmistakable evidence of having been recently swept by falling stones; débris on the glacier, however, testified even more generously to the fact that ice also falls, and, in addition, we could detect an abundance of bridgeless crevasses. We therefore chose honest step-cutting across the steep ice slopes. All set to work with a will, and progress was rapid. Dangers and difficulties ceased at a point somewhat below, and to the west of, the Col du Fresnay, where the glacier once more interrupts its headlong course to the valley by indulging in a small snowfield of moderate incline. No difficulty was offered by the final bergschrund below the col, into which we stepped at 10 a.m., nearly five hours after leaving the hut.
The Col du Fresnay is a striking view point from which the Innominata and the Aiguille Noire de Peuteret both show to extraordinary advantage. The descent from the col on to the Fresnay glacier does not appear to be difficult, although the rocks are sometimes steep and certainly rather rotten.
After a rest of an hour and a half we once more got under way and, climbing up the ridge in the direction of the Pic Eccles, mounted over a short pitch of steep rock followed by an ice slope where heavy step-cutting was essential. This slope landed us on another diminutive snowy plateau, over which we made our way in the direction of the spur of rocks forming the west ridge of the Pic Eccles, and on which, after crossing a bergschrund and cutting up an ice slope, we effected a lodgment. Just as my party gained the rocks, a loud clattering was heard from the slopes of Mont Brouillard. Quickly pulling out my camera from my coat pocket, I was in good time to take a photograph of one of the most gigantic stone-falls I have ever seen. For several minutes dense clouds of stone dust hung over the track of the avalanche, while many large blocks swept over the Brouillard Glacier, right across the line of ascent followed by the brothers Gugliermina on the occasion of their memorable crossing of the Col Émile Rey.
After a brief halt, for the porters to close up, we commenced our assault on the rocks ahead. The climbing, though occasionally very steep, was not particularly difficult, despite the treacherous nature of the rock and the downward slope of its stratification. Incidentally, it may be remarked that, though unreliable, the rocks of the Pic Eccles were certainly the best encountered during the expedition. Taking the utmost care to avoid dislodging loose stones, which were sometimes of formidable size, we made our way up towards the summit of the Pic. When still some distance below it, however, Adolf led out to the left on the Brouillard side, and after some healthy passages across ice-filled gullies, we arrived in the Col Supérieur du Fresnay, without having actually passed over the top of the peak. The rocks on the Mont Blanc side of the col were gained at 2.30 p.m., and the several members of the party proceeded to select their couches for the night. It had been arranged that at this point two of the porters should return to the Gamba hut, but beyond depositing their loads, they made no attempt to move; indeed, they even threw out hints about preferring to stay with us till the following day. The polyglot imaginative eloquence of Adolf, however, soon persuaded them of the supreme folly of shivering in a bivouac when the seductive warmth and shelter of the hut were awaiting them. Their two companions were provided with blankets, as they were to remain the night and take down the sleeping-bags and excess kit on the morrow.
[Illustration: _The Innominata from the Col du Fresnay._
_Facing page 236._ ]
The Col Supérieur du Fresnay consists of a narrow snow ridge sloping off abruptly on one side to the Brouillard, and on the other to the Fresnay Glacier. To the east, beyond the Col Émile Rey we could see a snow summit, probably one of the summits of the Aiguilles de Trélatête. The height of our bivouac, therefore, must have been about 13,200 feet. The great south face of Mont Blanc falls away from the Brouillard ridge above, in slopes of broken rocks which finally merge into enormously steep, slabby precipices abutting on the Brouillard Glacier. The eye could follow the course of this glacier almost throughout its length. It is so grotesquely broken up that one wonders that it is possible to thread it. The uppermost basin, still untrodden, I believe, by human foot, and forming a little, almost level snowfield, is isolated by one or two formidable crevasses which cut right across the glacier from side to side. The west face of the Aiguille Blanche de Peuteret, composed almost wholly of dark grey rock unrelieved by scarcely a single speck of snow, looks practically inaccessible. The route of the late H. O. Jones,[15] led by Laurent Croux, looks difficult and desperately dangerous from falling stones. Formerly, the Col de Peuteret was, so Oliver tells me, a snow-saddle from which either the Peuteret ridge or the rocks of the Aiguille Blanche could be gained with comparative ease. Now, however, as a result of the huge avalanche which fell away from the Peuteret ridge and the col itself in November, 1920, the height of the latter has been considerably lowered, so that from our bivouac we could see beyond it right down to well below the summit of the Grand Flambeau. Great bergschrunds now bar direct access to either the Peuteret ridge or the Aiguille Blanche de Peuteret. From the lower rocks of the ridge itself much has fallen away, and they are now much steeper. Continual stone-falls, and the liberal traces left by them about the foot of the ridge, offered ample evidence of its present unstable condition.
It was impossible to find, or even make, a ledge which would accommodate the whole party; indeed, none proved wide enough to take more than one man, so that after each had selected his couch, we found ourselves well scattered over the mountain side. The two porters found a berth for themselves at the point where the snowy ridge of the col abuts on the rocks. My own sleeping place was a level stretch of rock and snow ridge slightly higher up on the Mont Blanc side of the col, and on the very backbone of the Innominata ridge. About three feet wide at the pillow end, but dwindling away to next door to nothing in the region of my feet, it had the advantage of length combined with the pleasant uncertainty as to which of the two glaciers, the Fresnay or the Brouillard, would have the honour of receiving my mortal remains should I lose my balance. The others deposited themselves on more or less inadequate ledges on the Brouillard side of the ridge. The nearest water supply was five minutes’ climbing distance down towards the Brouillard Glacier. On their journey back, skilfully balancing well-filled cooking vessels, Alfred and one of the porters (Henri Rey’s son) performed some choice feats of rock-climbing.
There were still two hours of sunshine due before the last rays sank behind the Brouillard ridge, and these we utilised by changing our clothing (a lengthy process, as one hand was usually required for balancing purposes) and re-arranging knapsacks, all superfluous equipment being put on one side for the porters descending next morning. In spite of all my efforts to reduce weight, my burden for the morrow’s climb proved to be quite a respectable one. In addition to spare clothing, comprising shirt, storm cap and gloves, I had climbing irons, two cameras, films for seventy-six exposures in air-tight tins, and one day’s iron ration for the whole party. This, consisting of two pounds of chocolate, the same quantity of sausage, and fifty cigarettes, I had brought with me, feeling confident that the optimistic Adolf had made no provision as far as food was concerned for the possible eventuality of our being forced to bivouac a second time.
At half-past four we had a frugal but welcome meal of hot soup. At five the sun set behind the Brouillard ridge, and the inevitable chill of high altitude soon making itself felt, one and all prepared for the night. Alfred and I, finding our ledges somewhat too exposed for our liking, roped at either end of a sixty-foot rope which we belayed over a projecting rock. Six o’clock saw us all settled down more or less comfortably. From all accounts, I seem to have spent the warmest night, and in view of this a few particulars as to my sleeping-bag may possibly be of interest. It was home-made: 7 feet long and 3¹⁄₂ feet wide; it consisted of an inner bag composed of 3 lb. of finest grade eiderdown, quilted in 1-foot squares into the thinnest procurable balloon fabric, and an enveloping outer bag of similar material rendered air-tight and damp-proof by a coating of “Duroprene.” The total weight was just short of five pounds.
I crawled into my bag. But soon the inevitable stone in the small of the back, the antagonist of many a nocturnal episode in that wonderful Odyssey of the climber, _Peaks, Passes, and Glaciers_, began its insistent ministrations. Unlike the heroes of olden times, however, I, deeming discretion the better part of valour, not only resisted the temptation to put the enemy _hors de combat_, but, by the simple expedient of curling round and clinging fondly to it with my hands, I made of it a comrade in arms whose tangibility did much to dispel the feeling of insecurity born of the airiness of my perch. The last thing I remember was the crimson glory of the sunset touching the huge columns of storm-clouds which reared themselves aloft over the Grivola. I slept soundly. Twice only did I awake; once to find the lower portion of my anatomy dangling coquettishly over the Brouillard side of my couch; and again, stirred from a deep slumber by my instinctive grappling for an elusive handhold, to discover that I had transferred my legs to the Fresnay side.
About half-past four I was aroused by Adolf, rather blue about the gills, but cheerful as ever and obviously looking forward to a good day’s work. He winked portentously, then, with a somewhat vacant stare, looked out beyond me towards the plains of Italy. Following his gaze, I soon understood. Over the Paradiso group, vast thunder-clouds still brooded; the sky was streaked with ominous, long, dark, fish-shaped masses, and I suddenly became aware that a wind had sprung up and was blowing past our bivouac in angry, fitful gusts. It seemed almost as if our climb were going to develop into a race against the approaching storm. I returned Adolf’s confidential wink in kind as he passed me a generous cup of hot tea--a luxury which in similar situations, as a guideless climber, I had always had to procure for myself.
After a quickly-swallowed breakfast, all was bustle in our camp. My boots, which I had lashed to a rock to make certain of not losing them (horrible thought!), were easily pulled on, for, though stiff, they were very large. By 5 a.m. everything was packed, sleeping-bags rolled up handy for the porters, and, roping in the same order as yesterday, we began the descent on to the Fresnay Glacier. This led down a steep couloir over extremely rotten rocks. The danger of inadvertently loosening stones was so great that we gave Adolf and Courtauld time to get round a corner out of harm’s way before beginning our own descent. Once past the uppermost portion, the slope of the couloir became more reasonable, and we were able to work down over a rib on one side till we reached a point a little above the head of the uppermost icefall of the Fresnay Glacier. Our way to the upper basin of the glacier led across a steep, ice-clad couloir followed by an ice slope which bore palpable signs of being frequently raked by falling stones and ice. Before we were ready to proceed, however, a stone-fall of generous proportions clattered down into the couloir, isolated pebbles following at odd intervals. Nothing daunted, Adolf, the neatest, fastest, and most powerful step-cutter it has ever been my good fortune to see at work, banged away across the danger zone in great style. The descent on to the Fresnay Glacier occupied, in all, barely an hour. Besides the extreme rottenness of the rock, we had met with no real difficulty and were well satisfied with our rate of progress.
Threading our way through a maze of ice blocks, remnants of icefalls from the huge bergschrund above, we crossed the basin, veering round and up towards the bergschrund at a point almost immediately below the rocks flanking the western bank of Eccles’s great couloir. The previous evening we had decided that of the only two possible ways of surmounting the obstacle, this was the safer. The alternative lay in crossing the bergschrund far over towards the Pic Eccles, at the only spot where it was more or less adequately bridged. But this would have entailed hours of step-cutting across the stone-swept slopes above the schrund before Eccles’s couloir could be gained. At the point of attack a flake had become partially detached from the bergschrund, and Adolf and Courtauld made rapid headway to the summit of the flake which was, unfortunately, about twenty feet short of the top of the schrund. Seeing that further operations promised to take time, we ensconced ourselves comfortably down below, while Adolf brought his wits to bear upon the solution of the problem of overcoming twenty feet of practically perpendicular ice. He was half-way over the obstacle when he encountered a bulge which threatened to come perilously near destroying his balance. But the last ounce on the right side was supplied by Alfred’s ice-axe, after we had hurriedly joined Courtauld on his somewhat unstable perch. After that all was easy, at least as far as the others were concerned, for they seemed to find no difficulty in gaily walking up Adolf’s well-cut steps. But what with a knapsack on my back and a camera in my coat pocket, I found more than a little trouble in balancing myself round the bulge. This obstruction, in all sixty feet high, having been negotiated, a steep slope, sometimes snow, sometimes ice, intervened between us and our next objective, the rocks on the west bank of Eccles’s couloir. We mounted quickly, for scarcely a step needed to be cut, thanks to the plentiful pock-marks made by falling stones. On reaching the rocks, we found them almost unclimbable in their lower portion and were forced out towards the middle of the couloir--a procedure which necessitated the crossing of a deep ice-clad stone chute. Thence we climbed over a small island of rocks all but submerged in ice, from the upper end of which we were able to traverse back and finally gain the rocks on the west bank of the couloir, at a point where they were broken up and obviously easy to climb. None too soon, however, for hardly had the last man reached dry land when a stone-fall clattered down the couloir behind us.
It was 8.30; we had been nearly three and a half hours under way and for the best part of the time working at high pressure. On looking up towards the Peuteret ridge and Mont Blanc de Courmayeur, it appeared as if we had left all real difficulties behind us, and the optimists of the party prophesied being on the summit within a couple of hours. So, though the weather was fast becoming worse, we settled down light-heartedly to a second breakfast. The iron ration sausage was produced and attacked with gusto; though of the same breed, it differed distinctly from the ordinary salami, which to me is somewhat reminiscent of cat and dog. Whatever its constituents may have been, it went down well, being as savoury as usual, but less salted and not so highly spiced. We allowed ourselves half an hour’s grace, then stowed away our climbing irons and started up the rocks. They proved to be easy, though most unreliable. Here and there ice, covered more often than not by bad snow, took time to negotiate, but on the whole we made rapid progress. Shortly after ten we gained the end of the rocks; slightly below us and to the right was the point where the snowy upper half of the Peuteret ridge begins. A little snow slope brought us out on the ridge itself, but not without free use of the axe. The snow was deep and very bad; it lacked cohesion and concealed hard ice. Working along slightly on the Brenva side of the ridge, we at first found snow just sufficiently good to bear our weight in kicked steps, but in less than a rope’s length it had become so bad that it had to be cleared away before the climbing irons would bite into the ice underneath. The spikes of my irons, fully three-quarters of an inch longer than those worn by the others, proved their value here. By merely stamping, I could force my foot far enough through the snow to grip the ice below. This was one of the several occasions arising on this expedition where the presence of an indifferent ice-climber would have proved not only troublesome but a real danger to the safety of the party, by causing the loss of much valuable time. After progressing in this manner for about a hundred yards, we got tired of threshing down the execrable snow which seemed to get worse as we gained in altitude. Within easy reach both to the left and the right were rock ribs which offered a less tedious means of advance. A traverse of about thirty yards across the steep western flank of the Peuteret ridge brought us on to one of these ribs, the rocks of which soon showed themselves to be exceedingly rotten. Once more the climbing irons were removed and placed in our knapsacks. Oliver, at this point, had the misfortune to lose his axe; he placed it on a ledge, where it lost its balance and fell down in a few stately bounds towards the Fresnay Glacier. It was while watching the axe disappear that I realised for the first time the enormous general steepness of the ground upon which we were climbing.
[Illustration: _The Aigulles Blanche and Noire de Peuteret._
_From a point on the Peuteret ridge about 1,200 feet below the summit of Mont Blanc._]
[Illustration: “_A traverse of about thirty yards across the steep western flank of the Peuteret ridge._...”
_Facing page 244._ ]
It now looked as if rocks could be followed practically all the way to the summit--a relief for which we were duly thankful, having had quite enough of snow. There was some difference of opinion as to the best line of ascent up these rocks; but, on the whole, there seems to have been little in our respective choices, for Adolf and Courtauld, whose route converged with that of our party from time to time, always succeeded in maintaining a lead of one or more rope’s lengths. The climbing was difficult, and throughout extreme caution was necessary, on account of the unreliability of the rock. Occasionally, a belt of almost vertical red rock of a fair degree of firmness would crop up, but even this was invariably crowned with the rotten, dark brown variety. Nevertheless, we climbed quickly, for while still six hundred feet below Mont Blanc de Courmayeur, swirling mists practically obliterated all view of our surroundings, and it was evident that, if we were not soon to find ourselves in a critical situation, every minute gained was precious. The rocks came to an end about a hundred feet below the summit of Mont Blanc de Courmayeur, and only a slope covered with the usual pernicious snow lay between us and safety. Adolf, trusting more to his climbing irons and to gentle treatment of the snow than to his ice-axe, climbed rapidly up to immediately beneath the cornice, cut himself a good step, and with a few powerful strokes hewed a channel through which he was speedily followed by Courtauld. While we were putting the finishing touches to the donning of extra clothing, in preparation for the cold weather up aloft, Adolf’s stentorian voice shouted down a cheery “Come along!” Looking up, I could just barely make out his well-muffled-up head framed in the notch in the cornice. Then he disappeared.
At 1.15 p.m. we, in turn, stepped through the cornice on to Mont Blanc de Courmayeur, to be greeted by a high and chilly wind. Adolf and Courtauld were already out of sight, though they were certainly not far away, for the jingling of their axes against the rocks of a _gendarme_ close by was audible above the sound of the gale. The mist was so thick that we could not see each other at rope’s length. Adolf’s tracks led off along the crest of the ridge towards Mont Blanc. Having painful memories from last year, however, of what this ridge could be like in stormy weather, I forsook his tracks and plunged down on to the Trélatête side, in the hopes of there finding more shelter from the icy blast. In view of Oliver’s axeless condition this involved step-cutting; but, on looking back after having cut about twenty steps, I saw him coming along as nonchalantly as if he were on a London pavement, so immediately gave up further cutting and relied upon climbing irons alone. In this way we skirted round the bases of three or four rocky outcrops and regained the ridge at about its lowest point between Mont Blanc and Mont Blanc de Courmayeur.
A little farther on we found the other two, who were inclined to mistake a small snowy hump for the summit of Mont Blanc. To avoid the wind, we now crossed over on to the Brenva side of the ridge and, traversing diagonally upwards, found tracks leading up from the Mur de la Côte. These were followed to the summit where we arrived at 1.45 p.m., having been eight and three-quarter hours under way from our bivouac.
The state of the weather precluded descending by either the Rochers or the Dôme route, and we contented ourselves with going down directly to Chamonix. Being the only member of the party with first-hand knowledge of the Grands Mulets route, I was deputed to show the way. The descent was uneventful, except for Oliver’s spraining his ankle, and for the fact that my pigheadedness in refusing to follow the tracks brought us out to the Pierre à l’Échelle, which route, I have since learnt, has been recently discarded in favour of the Montagne de la Côte.
This narrative would be incomplete were it brought to a close without expressing my admiration for the professional members of the party. Adolf and I were not unknown to each other, for twelve years ago, on a stormy September day, we had stood together on the summit of the Lyskamm. Since then he has joined that select coterie of first-class guides whose number can be counted on one’s fingers. He has climbed Mont Blanc by nearly every conceivable route and thus knows the mountain better than any other living guide. I need say little of his prowess either on ice or on rock; he is first-rate on both. Last, but not least, he is an excellent companion, ever eager to be doing, and ready to put every ounce of energy into any problem upon which he embarks. Alfred, who was serving only the second season of his apprenticeship, is fast following in his brother’s footsteps. He too will, sooner or later, become a first-class guide. Four Courmayeur porters accompanied us up to the Col Supérieur du Fresnay. They carried heavy loads, but through all the trying situations that arose, they preserved their good humour and determination. Their conduct was admirable.
FOOTNOTES:
[9] Émile Rey was one of the finest of Alpine guides. He lost his life, in 1895, through a slip while descending the easy rocks at the base of the Aiguille du Géant.
[10] An interesting inscription, written by Signor Gruber and giving brief details of this formidable expedition, may still be seen pencilled on a beam in the Dôme hut, _via_ which the party returned to Courmayeur. From the general tone of this inscription, short as it is, can be gathered the strong impression which Mont Blanc had, on this occasion, made upon all members of the party.
[11] In 1874 Mr. J. G. Marshall, with the guides Johann Fischer and Ulrich Almer, fell into a crevasse on the Brouillard Glacier. The two first-named were killed.
Professor F. M. Balfour and his guide Johann Petrus lost their lives in 1882 while attempting to repeat Signor Gruber’s ascent.
[12] Sons of Émile Rey.
[13] The original Gamba hut stood on the Fresnay side of the Châtelet-Innominata ridge. In the winter of 1919-20, however, it was wrecked by an avalanche, and from the débris was constructed the present hut which stands on the ridge itself about ten minutes above the old site, at approximately 8,300 feet.
[14] The rocky bed of a glacier sometimes becomes so steep that the ice falls away and exposes the rock underneath. As the ice at the top of such a rock slope partakes of the continual downward movement of the glacier, it is continually breaking away and crashing down the rock to the continuation of the glacier lower down. Swiss guides call such a place “Heisse Platte,” _i.e._ “hot (or lively) slab.”
[15] Professor and Mrs. Jones and their guide Truffer were killed in 1921 while climbing the Mont Rouge de Peuteret.
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