a little, and so pass on to the west face of the mountain, and by this face to ascend and gradually work back to the ridge. No doubt during this part of the climb we made much the same mistake in judgment as had previously been made on a memorable ascent of the Matterhorn, and crossed far more on to the face than was really necessary or advisable. The mountain has since the time when these lines were originally written passed through the regular stages of gradual depreciation, and it is more difficult now to realise that we considered it at the time very difficult. Probably, however, subsequent travellers have improved considerably on the details of the route we actually followed; at any rate the ascent is now considered quite proper for a novice to attempt, at any rate by the novice himself. We worked ourselves slowly along in the teeth of a biting cold wind, and without finding the fixed rope necessary to assist our progress. Reaching the ridge again, the way became distinctly easier, and we felt now that the peak was at our mercy. Presently, however, we came to a huge inverted pyramid of rock that tried rather successfully to look like the summit, and we had some little difficulty in surmounting it. By dint of strange acrobatic feats and considerable exertion we hoisted our leading guide on to the top. It was fortunate for him perhaps that the seams of his garments were not machine-sewn, or he would certainly have rent his raiment. Finding, however, that the only alternative that offered when he got to the top of the rock was to get down again on the other side, the rest of us concluded that on the whole we should prefer to walk round. The last few yards were perfectly easy, and at 1.30 P.M. we stood on the summit enjoying a most magnificent view in every direction.
Effects of reaching a summit
It is a somewhat curious phenomenon, but one frequently remarked, that the mountaineer’s characteristics seem abruptly to change when he reaches the summit of a peak. The impressionable, excitable person instantly becomes preternaturally calm and prosaic, while those of lymphatic temperament have not unfrequently been observed to develop suddenly rather explosive qualities, and to yell or wave their hats without any very apparent incitement thereto. Individuals whose detractors hold to be gifted with poetic attributes have been heard to utter quite commonplace remarks, and I have even known a phlegmatic companion so far forget himself, under these modifying circumstances, as to make an excessively bad pun and laugh very heartily at it himself, quite an unusual occurrence in a wag. Others find relief for their feelings by punching their companions violently in the back, or resorting to such horse-play as the area of the summit allows scope for. Directly, however, the descent commences the climber resumes his normal nature. The fact is, that in most cases, perhaps, the chief pleasure of the expedition does not come at the moment when the climber realises that he is about to undo, as it were, all his work of the day. There is no real climax of an expedition, and, as has been said, it is quite artificial to suppose that the enjoyment must culminate on reaching the top. But still it is considered proper to testify to some unusual emotional feelings. Some of the most enjoyable climbs that the mountaineer can recall in after life, are not those in which he has reached any particular point. Guides consider it becoming to evince in a somewhat forced way the liveliness of their delight on completing an ascent. But such joy as they exhibit is usually about as genuine and heartfelt as an organ-grinder’s grin, or a Lord Mayor’s smile on receiving a guest whom he does not know and who has merely come to feed at his expense.
The wind was too cold to permit of a very long stay on the summit, and having added a proper number of stones to the cairn, a ceremony as indispensable as the cutting of a notch in the mainmast when the traditional fisherman changes his shirt, we descended rapidly to the point where it was necessary to quit the ridge. Down the first portion of the steep rock slope we passed with great caution, some of the blocks of stone being treacherously loose, or only lightly frozen to the face.
A narrow escape
We had arrived at the most difficult part of the whole climb, and at a rock passage which at that time we considered was the nastiest we had ever encountered. The smooth, almost unbroken face of the slope scarcely afforded any foot-hold, and our security almost entirely depended on the rope we had laid down in our ascent. Had not the rope been in position we should have varied our route, and no doubt found a line of descent over this part much easier than the one we actually made for, even without any help from the fixed cord. Imseng was far below, working his way back to the arête, while the rest of the party were holding on or moving but slowly with faces turned to the mountain. Suddenly I heard a shout from above; those below glanced up at once: a large flat slab of rock, that had afforded us good hold in ascending, but proved now to have been only frozen in to a shallow basin of ice, had been dislodged by the slightest touch from one of the party above, and was sliding down straight at us. It seemed an age, though the stone could not have had to fall more than ten feet or so, before it reached us. Just above me it turned its course slightly; Franz, who was just below, more in its direct line of descent, attempted to stop the mass, but it ground his hands against the rock and swept by straight at Imseng. A yell from us hardly awoke him to the danger: the slab slid on faster and faster, but just as we expected to see our guide swept away, the rock gave a bound for the first time, and as, with a startled expression, he flung himself against the rock face, it leapt up and, flying by within a few inches of his head, thundered down below. A moment or two of silence followed, and then a modified cheer from Imseng, as subdued as that of a “super” welcoming a theatrical king, announced his safety, and he looked up at us with a serious expression on his face. Franz’s escape had been a remarkably lucky one, but his hands were badly cut about and bruised. In fact it was a near thing for all of us, and the mere recollection will still call up that odd sort of thrill a man experiences on suddenly recollecting at 11 P.M. that he ought to have dined out that evening with some very particular people. Had not the rock turned its course just before it reached Franz, and bounded from the face of the mountain over Imseng’s head, one or more of the party must unquestionably have been swept away. The place was rather an exceptional one, and the rock glided a remarkably long distance without a bound, but still the incident may serve to show that falling stones are not a wholly imaginary danger.
The youthful tourist
It would have been difficult, with the elementary knowledge of mountaineering that I now see we possessed at that day, to have descended without using the attached rope, and quite out of the question for anyone possessed of a proper respect for his suit of dittos to have done so. In this latter respect we had to exercise economical caution: for we had no very great store at the hotel or many changes of raiment. It is generally possible to gauge pretty accurately an Alpine traveller’s experience by the amount of luggage he takes on a tour. Some tourists, following the advice given in the “Practical Guide Book” (a disconnected work written in the style of Mr. Jingle’s conversation, but much in favour at one time), were in the habit of travelling with one suit of clothes and a portable bath. The latter, though they took it with them, they seldom took more than once; at the best it was of comparatively little use as an article of apparel, but imparted an aromatic flavour to anything packed up in its immediate neighbourhood. In those youthful days we considered, forsooth, that a little leathern wallet adequately replaced a portmanteau, and in transporting luggage did not always act on the sound commercial maxim that you should never do anything for yourself which a paid person might do equally well for you; consequently a heavy rain shower reduced the traveller to inactivity, and an oversight on the part of the laundress entailed consequences that it is not permissible to mention.
Meanwhile our turn had come to move on. A zigzagging crack, which was too narrow to admit of anything but a most uncomfortable position, afforded the only hand and foot hold on which we could rely. Our gloveless hands, clutching at the rope, cooled down slowly to an unpleasant temperature that rendered it doubtful whether they were attached to the arms or not, and we began to wish we had gone down the Zinal side of the mountain. However, Imseng wormed himself along the rocks, to which he adhered with the tenacity of a lizard, and finally reached the end of our rope and a region of comparative safety. We followed his example slowly, and, having joined him, seated ourselves on some rocks inappropriately designed for repose, and finished off the food we had with us. Climbing carefully down the east face of the mountain, we reached the snow ridge and passed rapidly along it, our spirits rising exuberantly as we looked back on the vanquished peak. As usually happens, the guides had
