THE ALPINE CLUBS
Though the palm for Alp-climbing is not held by the Swiss
themselves--one unkind critic has said that "in this as in all other
things the Swiss show their invincible mediocrity"--and the Swiss
Alpine Club was not the pioneer among climbing clubs, its work has
been of very great value in safeguarding the Alps against desecration
and Alpine climbers against accident. In the year 1913 it celebrated
its jubilee year, and the occasion was marked by great festivities in
Lucerne. Unlike the British Alpine Club, which is of a somewhat
aristocratic constitution, the Swiss institution is of a very
"democratic" character, not exacting high subscriptions and welcoming
all to its ranks who can pay the very moderate subscription.
The objects for which the Club was originally founded were "to
explore the Swiss Alps, to study them more accurately from every point
of view, to make them better known, and to facilitate access to them."
This programme has been interpreted in a very liberal sense, for it
has been made to include not merely the construction, furnishing, and
maintenance of huts, but also the training and insurance of guides,
the organisation of rescue parties, and the publication of
guide-books, of accurate maps, of an annual, and of two periodicals,
one in German and the other in French. The Swiss Alpine Club now
numbers 13,496 members (the German and Austrian 100,023, the Italian
7500, the French about 6500, and the British about 730). A British
section of the Swiss Alpine Club exists, and its members last year
presented the parent club with funds to erect and furnish a new hut,
the Britannia Hut, situated above Saas Fee, a district of Switzerland
to which British climbers most frequently go.
That section of the work of the Swiss Club which is worthy of the most
praise is devoted to urging upon visitors a standard of good conduct
and respect for the rights and convenience of others. Its recently
issued "Mottoes for Mountaineers" are put up on the walls of railway
stations, in mountain inns, or anywhere else where they are likely to
attract the notice of those whom it is hoped to educate. They exhort,
in particular, to the avoidance of all alcoholic drinks when in the
mountains; to suitable equipment; to quiet behaviour and refraining
from bawling and shouting; to the clearing up of all litter after a
meal, leaving no soiled paper or tins about, and, above all, not
throwing away or breaking any bottles. They likewise appeal for
merciful treatment of Alpine wild flowers.
We are all of us familiar with a "tourist resort" of some kind, so
general is the habit of travel for curiosity's sake to scenes of
beauty or of renown; and we are all of us aware, therefore, of the
need there is for popular education to contend against the vulgar
defacement of natural beauties and of historic monuments. No place is
spared by a type of visitor eager to perpetuate a worthless name, and
careless to stain a revered shrine with his untidy litter. An historic
grove has its tree-trunks marked with knives; a famous meadow or a
field of renowned beauty has its surface scarred with rubbish; a
grand cathedral or hall of renown has its stones scratched, its floors
littered. All praise to the Swiss Alpine Club for its work to protect
Alpine meadows from bottles and tins, Alpine cliffs from scratched and
painted inscriptions. And if, perhaps, it one day takes heart of grace
and decides to make a stand against the undue extension of railways
and palace hotels upon beautiful peaks, it will earn still warmer
praise, and will act, too, in the best interests of Switzerland, which
gains from tourists now L12,000,000 a year, and is in danger of
driving some of the pilgrims of the picturesque away to the
Carpathians or the Balkans by allowing the Swiss peaks to be spoiled
with too much "modern improvement."
Before the growth of the influence of the Swiss Alpine Club, the Swiss
did not indulge in mountain-climbing as a sport on their own account
to any very great extent. But the Club is working to arouse a national
"amateur" (as opposed to mercenary) interest in the national
mountains, and the quick growth of its membership seems to argue well
for its success. Will a climbing knowledge of the mountains lead to a
better appreciation of them on the part of the Swiss and a better
determination to protect them against railway and hotel vandalism? It
is a moot point. Sir Martin Conway, who has climbed mountains in three
continents, seems to think that familiarity brings increased respect
at first, but that afterwards the aesthetic interest begins to fade:
Almost universal is the feeling aroused by a first sight of a
great snowy range that it is unearthly. Mystery gathers over
it. Its shining majesty in full sunlight, its rosy splendours
at dawn and eve, its pallid glimmer under the clear moon, its
wreathed and ever-changing drapery of cloud, its terrific
experiences in storm, all these elements and aspects strike the
imagination and appeal broadly to the aesthetic sense. Nor are
they ever quite forgotten even by the most callous of
professional mountaineers.
But with increase of experience on the mountains themselves
come knowledge and a whole group of new associations.... The
mountain, judged by the scale of remembered toil, grows
wonderfully in height. The eye thus trained begins to realise
and even to exaggerate the vast scale on which peaks are built.
But along with this gain in the truthful sense of scale comes
the loss of mystery. The peak which was in heaven is brought
down to earth. It was a mere thing of beauty to be adored and
wondered at; it has become something to be climbed. Its details
have grown intelligible and interesting. The mind regards it
from a new aspect, begins to analyse its forms and features,
and to consider them mainly in their relation to man as a
climber. As knowledge grows this attitude of mind develops.
Each fresh peak ascended teaches something....
The longer a climber gratifies his instincts and pursues his
sport, the larger becomes his store of reminiscences and the
greater his experience. If he confines his attention to a
single range of mountains such as the Alps, he is almost always
in sight of mountains he has climbed and glaciers he has
traversed. Each view shows him some route he has once pursued,
some glacier basin he has explored, some pass he has crossed.
The labyrinth of valleys and the crests of successive ridges do
not puzzle him. He knows how they are grouped and whither they
lead. Beyond those mountains is the Zermatt valley; that peak
looks down on Zinal; that col leads to Saas. Thus there grows
in him the sense of the general shape and arrangement of the
country. It is no longer a tangled chaos of heights and depths,
but an ordered anatomy, formed by the action of definite and
continuous forces. So far as his knowledge extends this
orderliness is realised. He has developed a geographical
sense....
As the seasons go by, it happens that the aesthetic interest,
which was at first the climber's main delight, begins to fade.
If he be a man of scientific interests it is liable to an even
quicker evanescence than if he be not, for problems of
geological structure, or of botanical distribution, or of
glaciology and the like, are a keen source of intellectual
enjoyment. At length, perhaps, the day comes when the loss is
felt. There is a gorgeous range of snow mountains with every
effect of cloud and sunshine that the eye can desire, displayed
about and upon them, yet the climber finds with dismay that his
heart is cold. The old glory has vanished from the scene and
the old thrill is an unfelt emotion. What is the matter? Have
his eyes grown dim? Has he lost the faculty of delight? Is he
growing old? Whatever the cause, the effect is painful in the
extreme. It is one that many of us have felt, especially
towards the close of a long and successful climbing season, or
extensive journey of exploration. There is but one remedy--to
quit the mountains for a while and attend to the common
business of life. When winter months have gone by and summer is
again at hand, the old enthusiasm is liable to return. Sooner
or later the true mountain-lover will begin to starve for sight
of the snows.
[Illustration: LOOKING UP VALLEY TOWARDS ZERMATT FROM NEAR RANDA.]
From a tourist-attracting point of view, then, the encouragement of
climbing would not seem to be altogether a good thing. But on the
other side of the argument it has to be remembered that the population
of Switzerland is fairly large for its area, that a generation is not
eternal, and that there is no likelihood of a very large number ever
getting so much Alpine climbing as to find the mountains an _ennui_.
On the whole it would seem to be good policy on the part of the Swiss
Alpine Club to seek to extend its membership and to encourage in other
countries similar "democratic" climbing organisations, with the idea
of spreading as widely as possible the sport of mountain-climbing in
the Alps, not in its highest phase of very difficult and dangerous
ascents, but in a moderate form available to people of moderate
strength and moderate means. So far as the danger of climbing has to
be taken into consideration, all the ascents have been so carefully
mapped now that in good weather, with good guides, there is
practically no risk to careful and strong climbers. Yet the present
summer (1913) has been a very deadly one on the Alps, a fact due to
over-much familiarity bringing to climbers some measure of contempt
for the dangers of the peaks and inducing foolhardy attempts under
unsuitable weather conditions. During September of 1913 there were
eleven fatal accidents to climbers, and five other accidents causing
grave injuries. The climbing season was a late one, as the weather had
been consistently unfavourable in July and August. In September the
weather still continued uncertain, but there was a general tendency
among disappointed climbers and guides to take risks so as to get in
some ascents before the season closed. To this willingness to take
undue risks most of the accidents were due. A characteristic one was
on the Zermatt Breithorn when a guide allowed himself to be persuaded
against his better judgment to continue an ascent in the face of
obvious danger. The details regarding this accident are worth
recording as illustrating the actual most pressing peril of the Alps
to-day, that of foolhardiness. Three German climbers, one a lady, set
out with the guide Heinrich Julen to attempt to ascend the Zermatt
Breithorn--usually easy. When they reached the Gandegg or Lower
Theodule hut (10,000 feet), the weather being very threatening, they
took with them a second guide, an Italian. The party ploughed through
very deep fresh snow for about an hour and a half, after which one of
the men and the lady said they would prefer to turn back. The other,
however, Dr. Schrumm, of Kempten, Bavaria, insisted on continuing the
ascent with the guide Julen, who, it is said, was very unwilling to
proceed. Nevertheless he did so. Apparently the party did not leave
the Gandegg Hut, owing to bad weather, until 8 A.M., and it was four
in the afternoon when Dr. Schrumm and the guide Julen reached the
summit. During the descent a violent snowstorm came on, the guide lost
his bearings, and, not being provided with a compass, wandered about
for a time without making any progress. He scooped out a hole in
the snow for shelter. The doctor and guide remained there the night,
and the next morning the doctor died of cold and exhaustion.
Apparently he was not sufficiently warmly clad.
[Illustration: THE DENTS DU MIDI FROM GRYON ABOVE BEX.]
This accident caused a good deal of discussion among Alpine climbers,
and it is possible that one outcome of it will be to protect guides by
more stringent regulations against the urgency of climbers who wish to
incur dangers of which they are ignorant.
There are, however, to be enjoyed in Switzerland very many Alpine
climbs which come within an ample margin of safety, requiring guides
in some cases, but not taking any extravagant toll either on the purse
or on the muscles. Thus from Adelboden one may go to the summit of the
Gemmi Pass and back within a day: or over the Bunderchrinde to
Kandersteg; or to the Bonderspitze (8343 feet), the Elsighorn (7697
feet), the Elsigfirst (8366 feet), the Albristhorn (8366 feet), the
Gsuer (8894 feet). Or from the same point of departure with a little
more expense, but no more danger, the Wildstrubel (10,715 feet) may be
climbed. There is a fine glacier (the Strubel) on this route. From
another point of departure, Champery, the various peaks of the Dents
du Midi are easily reached. In the Dents du Midi group the highest is
the most accessible. To climb the Haute Cime one usually sleeps at
Bonaveau, whence one starts off at early morning through the Pas
d'Encel, the valley and the pass of Susanfe. With a guide these can
easily be done and without difficulty in six hours. From the summit
the panorama embraces all of the central and western Alps. From Les
Plans (to mention another centre) there are no less than fifty good
climbs, most of them suitable for the modest Alpinist. For an example
of a "big" climb from this centre take the ascent of the Grand Muveran
(10,040 feet). It is a steep and difficult ascent, not dangerous, but
a guide is a necessity. The starting-point is Les Plans. From there to
the summit takes at least five hours. The expedition is less fatiguing
if the climber passes the night at the Rambert shelter. From this hut
to the top of the mountain it is a climb of two hours. From the
Muveran the view over the Valais is particularly good. The ascent of
the Diablerets (10,663 feet), the summit of the Vaudois Alps, is more
difficult, but in good weather not attended with any risk.
In bad weather almost any climb can be dangerous, and one needs to be
a particularly expert and keen Alpinist to attempt an ascent when
storms are likely. But for that expert and keen Alpinist it seems that
there is "a music in the thunder and the growling of the gale," and a
joy in breasting and overcoming an Alpine storm. A stirring
description of such a storm by a famous climber:
The gathering squadrons of the sky grow dark, and seem to hold
the just departed night in their bosoms. Their crests impend.
They assume terrific shapes. They acquire an aspect of
solidity. They do not so much seem to blot out as to destroy
the mountains. Their motion suggests a great momentum. At first
too they act in almost perfect silence. There is little
movement in the oppressively warm air, and yet the clouds boil
and surge as though violently agitated. They join together,
neighbour to neighbour, and every moment they grow more dense
and climb higher. To left and right, one sees them, behind also
and before.
The moments now are precious. We take a last view of our
surroundings, note the direction we should follow, and try to
fix details in our memories, for sight will soon be impossible.
Then the clouds themselves are upon us--a puff of mist first,
followed by the dense fog. A crepitating sound arises around
us; it is the pattering of hard particles of snow on the
ground. Presently the flakes grow bigger and fall more softly,
feeling clammy on the face. And now probably the wind rises
and the temperature is lowered. Each member of our party is
whitened over; icicles form on hair and moustache, and the very
aspect of men is changed to match the wild surroundings. Under
such circumstances the high regions of snow are more impressive
than under any other, but climbers must be well-nourished, in
good hard condition, and not too fatigued, or they will not
appreciate the scene. No one can really know the high Alps who
has not been out in a storm at some great elevation. The
experience may not be, in fact is not, physically pleasant, but
it is morally stimulating in a high degree, and aesthetically
grand. Now must a climber call up all his reserves of pluck and
determination. He may have literally to fight his way down to a
place of shelter. There can be no rest, neither can there be
any undue haste. The right way must be found and followed. All
that can be seen is close at hand and that small circle must
serve for guidance. All must keep moving on with grim
persistence, hour after hour. Stimulants are unavailing and
food is probably inaccessible. All depends upon reserve stores
of health and vigour, and upon moral courage. To give in is
treason. Each determines that he for his part will not fail his
companions. Mutual reliance must be preserved.
It seems certainly a fine experience--to recall afterwards. But I
confess that I never really enjoyed a mountain storm except in the
case of one that I saw from above the clouds, fighting out its quarrel
in the valleys below Mount Kosciusko. To see a storm from above--that
is a spectacle of grandeur; and there is no threat of danger or of
discomfort to the spectator.
[Illustration: THE SCHWARTZHORN FROM THE FLUELA HOSPICE.]
But the idea must not be gathered from the descriptions of the dangers
of mountaineering that it is a sport suitable only for the
exceptionally sturdy. Any one with fair physique who has not reached
old age can join an Alpine Club and enjoy Alpine climbing, so long as
actually dangerous and freak ascents are avoided. Mr. Symonds, who
went to the Alps apparently a hopeless invalid, was able to enjoy
Alpine climbing, and has given in prose and verse some fine
pen-pictures of its joys; this in particular of an ascent of the
Schwartzhorn:
'Neath an uncertain moon, in light malign,
We trod those rifted granite crags, whereunder,
Startling the midnight air with muffled thunder,
Flowed infant founts of Danube and of Rhine.
Our long-drawn file in slow deliberate line
Scaled stair on stair, subdued to silent wonder;
Wound among mouldering rocks that rolled asunder,
Rattling with hollow roar down death's decline.
Still as we rose, one white transcendent star
Steered calmly heavenward through the empurpled gloom,
Escaping from the dim reluctant bar
Of morning, chill and ashen-pale as doom;
Where the day's chargers, champing at his ear,
Waited till Sol should quit night's banquet-room.
Pure on the frozen snows, the glacier steep,
Slept moonlight with the tense unearthly charm
Of spells that have no power to bless or harm;
But, when we touched the ridge which tempests sweep,
Death o'er the murk vale, yawning wide and deep,
Clung to frost-slippery shelves, and sharp alarm,
Shuddering in eager air, drove life's blood warm
Back to stout hearts and staunch will's fortress-keep.
Upward we clomb; till now the emergent morn,
Belting the horror of dim jagged eastern heights,
Broadened from green to saffron, primrose-pale,
Felt with faint finger-tips of rose each horn,
Crept round the Alpine circuit, o'er each dale
Dwelt with dumb broodings drearier even than night's.
Thus dawn had come; not yet the day: night's queen
And morning's star their state in azure kept:
Still on the mountain world weird silence slept;
Earth, air, and heaven held back their song serene.
Then from the zenith, fiery-white between
Moonshine and dayspring, with swift impulse swept
A splendour of the skies that throbbing leapt
Down to the core of passionate flame terrene--
A star that ruining from yon throne remote,
Quenched her celestial yearnings in the pyre
Of mortal pangs and pardons. At that sign
The orient sun with day's broad arrow smote
Black Linard's arrogant brow, while influent fire
Slaked the world's thirst for light with joy divine.
[Illustration: AN ALPINE MEADOW IN BLOOM.]