THE SPITSBERGEN DOLOMITES
When the sun passed round behind the Pretender, casting his shadow out
upon the glacier far beyond camp, a hard frost set in, sealing up the
runlets of water and binding the loosened rocks on the face of the
cliff, so that stonefalls became rare; but no sooner did the fiery
monarch come out from his retreat behind the mountains in the east than
all the batteries of the hills opened to salute him. The afternoon
of August 3, being our morning, Garwood and I shouldered packs for a
scramble on the Pretender, minded to pass northward round his foot and
then make way up the ridge that forms, higher up, the lip of the funnel
of the falling stones. The weather was glorious, but the white sea-fog
had crept up to the tents, so that we set forth from the very edge of
the mist. After going some little way up the main glacier we bore to
the right on to the hillside, and went diagonally up a slope of snow.
Below on the left was a _bergschrund_, and above on the right were the
steep rocks. Presently the slope increased and became of hard ice,
into which Garwood cut steps. The position was not altogether a safe
one, for we had not bothered to bring a rope, and now discovered that
quantities of stones were in the habit of falling down the slope into
the _bergschrund_, which was ready to engulf either of us impartially
in the event of a slip. However, we did not slip, and the sun had not
yet reached the stones, which were still in the bondage of frost. The
rocks above the slope were safely reached and a brief scramble carried
us over the edge of the ridge on to the screes of the north-east face.
Beyond them was a wide snow-slope reaching up to the steep dolomite cap
that forms the top 500 feet of the peak. The snow was hard frozen, so
the ascent had to be made up the screes. They were particularly loose,
and that is all to say about them. Scree-slopes are never anything but
nasty to climb. The top of them was the edge of the nearly level ridge,
whence we looked down into the funnel on the other side and across to
the beautiful dolomite cliff visible from camp. At the foot of the
_couloir_ of the funnel we could just discover our tiny tents.
The point thus gained was all that could be desired for surveying and
geologising. Now was displayed in all its wide extent the _névé_ region
of the Crowns Glacier, utterly different in character from that of the
King’s Highway. Here was no ice-filled trough between two serrated
walls, but a huge expanse, so gently sloping as to appear flat--a
marble pavement, of three hundred square miles, beneath the blue dome
of heaven. Far away it swelled into low white domes, on whose sides a
few rocks appeared, whilst in the north-east was its undulating upper
edge, beyond which were remoter snow-covered plateaus with mountain
summits peering over from yet farther off. The white _névé_ was lined
by the many-branching water-channels of its drainage system, like the
veins in a leaf, indicating the structure and trend of the ice. Where
areas were crevassed, blue shadows toned the white. Everywhere the
delicate modelling of the surface, by slightly varying the amount of
light reflected to the eye, produced a tender play of tones, within the
narrowest conceivable limits from brightest to darkest. The whole was
visibly a flowing stream, not a stagnant accumulation, for the curves
of flow were everywhere discernible. Thus a sense of weight and volume
was added to the effect of boundless expanse which first overwhelmed
the observers. The noble flood of ice, narrowing considerably between
the hill on which we stood, and the beautifully composed group of
sharp-crested rock-peaks opposite, disappeared beneath the floor of
sea-mist whereon the sunshine lay dazzling.
Turning round toward the east from this enthralling prospect, the
eye rested on the group of the famous Crowns. They are called the
Three Crowns on all the maps, but there are many more than three.
The prominent trio are pyramidal hills of purple sandstone, shaped
with almost artful regularity, each surmounted by a cap of the same
dolomite limestone as that which crowns the Pretender. They resemble
golden crowns above purple robes. The caps are the fragmentary remains
of an ancient plateau, denuded away in the lapse of time. Just behind
the Three Crowns we saw a low broad pass, giving access to the head
of a glacier flowing eastward. There was sea-fog lying on it also, so
we knew that Ekman Bay could not be very far off in that direction.
This is the lowest and shortest pass between Kings Bay and Ice Fjord.
Lightly laden men could cross this way in a long day’s march from
sea to sea, climbing one of the Crowns _en route_. The expedition
would take them through what is, to my thinking, the finest scenery
in Spitsbergen. The whole panorama was clear to the remotest edge of
the horizon, flooded with undimmed sunshine, and overarched by a sky
faintly blue below, deeply azure in the fathomless zenith.
[Illustration: THE THREE CROWNS FROM KINGS BAY.]
We spent some hours at this point, lunching, admiring, and taking
observations. The view was, to me, so novel in character, so beautiful,
so full of revelations that, for a long time, I was too excited to
work. The other side, though less unusual, was hardly less wonderful.
There the eye plunged down into the depth of the funnel, and beheld
the stone-avalanches beginning their fall. Far below were the flocks
of birds flying about the rocks. Their cries came faintly up to us.
Finally, close at hand there was the great dolomite cliff, an absolute
wall, more than ever resembling some artificial structure, the work
of giants, falling to decay. The varied colouring of its beds and the
vertical streaks caused by trickling water were as beautiful close at
hand as when seen from the depths of the gulf of air below. We walked
along the narrow ridge to the actual foot of this cliff, where the
_arête_ rises vertically, so that the further ascent must be made by
the north-east face. There was a height of about 500 feet to be climbed
by way of snow slopes, here and there narrowing into gullies between
protruding beds of rock--so, at least, we thought, but the attempt
showed that the slopes were of hard ice. The step-cutting involved had
no attractions, for there was nothing to be gained by ascending to the
peak. It would only show, on the other side, country already known
to us, whilst we were to have many better opportunities of looking
northward from points both higher and better situated. What settled the
matter finally was the sight of our men just arriving at camp heavily
laden with good things. We accordingly turned round and took the easy
way downhill, glissading a good part of it on treacherous snow-covered
ice.
After supper another expedition was made down the glacier all along
under the Pretender’s face, in further investigation of the fault. It
is only thus, by constant moving about beneath a great cliff, that
one is finally enabled to realise its magnitude. One true measure of
scale that a healthy man possesses is fatigue. When you have learned by
actual experience that it takes several days’ marching to pass the base
of a big Himalayan mountain, you begin to feel the size of the thing.
A precipice of 200 feet differs only in size from one of 2000 feet.
To appreciate the majesty of the larger, you must become physically
conscious of its scale. Such knowledge has to be laboriously acquired.
No one, I imagine, who has not climbed the Matterhorn, can have any
real conception of the magnitude of the pyramid beheld in the view
from the Riffel; yet a consciousness of the magnitude is an essential
element in the impressiveness of the view. I believe that only mountain
climbers are in a position to thrill with perfect resonance to the
glory of a mountain prospect. The passion for mountain-climbing derives
much of its power over men from thus fostering and developing in them
the capacity for admiration, wonder, and worship in the presence of
Nature’s magnificence.
Next day (August 4) camp was again struck for an onward march, some
supplies being left behind for use on the way down. The crevassed
nature of the glacier involved the choice of a very devious route far
out upon the ice, then back toward the Crowns. When the foot of the
middle Crown was reached, I called for my camera, but it could not be
found. It had dropped off Nielsen’s sledge, and he must go back to
retrieve it. Garwood and I accordingly set off to climb the Crown,
leaving Svensen below, plunged again in miseries and forebodings, now
that the sea was becoming remote and snowfields were spreading their
hateful expanse around him. The pyramids of the south and middle
Crowns are planted together on a snowy plinth. Up the slope of this we
ascended on ski, taking a devious course to avoid the steepest incline,
at the same time steering clear of a few groups of open crevasses. In
three-quarters of an hour we were standing at the foot of the rocks,
where the ski were left behind. A long and steep slope of _débris_
had next to be surmounted. The material lies in an unstable condition
and slips away beneath the foot at every step. Keeping as close as
possible to the left _arête_, we gained height steadily. The _débris_
accumulation becomes thinner as the summit is approached. Halfway up,
little walls of rock emerge, and afford some agreeable scrambling.
By the last of these the _arête_ itself is gained and the ascent
completed along it, except where an overhanging snow cornice forces
the climber down on the south face. A little chimney gives access to
the crowning rock (4000 ft.). The ascent from the top of the snow-slope
took three-quarters of an hour. It is easy enough. The southern
Crown (3840 ft.) can be similarly climbed by its south face, but the
northern Crown (4020 ft.) would be more difficult, for it is cut off,
apparently all the way round, by a short precipice, perhaps a hundred
feet high. There are some gullies grooved into this wall, but they too
are vertical. One or other of them would certainly prove climbable if
any one cared to give the time needed for the attempt. All three Crowns
were reputed inaccessible by the general opinion of persons who had
only seen them from Kings Bay.
Our ascent was made for the purpose of obtaining a view, and generously
were we rewarded. The northern Crown is higher than the middle one,
and that in turn than the southern; but the differences are a few feet
only, whilst in point of situation the middle Crown is best placed
for a panorama. Garwood and I agreed that it was the most beautiful
we had seen in Spitsbergen, though it was afterwards equalled by the
view from the Diadem, and surpassed, in some respects, by that from
Mount Hedgehog. What struck us most was the colour. The desert of snow
was bluish or purplish-grey; only the sea-mist, hiding Kings Bay and
the foot of the glacier, was pure white. In the foreground were the
golden Crowns above purple slopes casting rich blue shadows. On the
snowfields lay many sapphire-blue lakes. All the rock in sight was of
some rich colour--yellow, orange, purple, red. Large glaciers radiated
away in several directions: one down to Ekman Bay, whose head we could
see, another to Ice Fjord, beyond whose distant waters we recognised
Advent Bay and the hills behind it, with clouds lying still upon them.
Last year, whenever we saw King James Land in the distance the sun was
always shining on it. This year the Advent Vale region was hardly ever
seen clear of clouds. It is the bad weather, as King James Land is the
fine weather region of Spitsbergen.
To the south were a maze and multitude of peaks. We thought that we
identified Hornsunds Tind in a solitary white tower very far away.
I afterward took a true bearing of it with the theodolite, and, on
reducing the observation at home, find that the peak observed stands
exactly in the line of Hornsunds Tind; so that if the two are not
identical the coincidence is extraordinary. The distance of the
mountain from the Three Crowns is just a hundred miles. I find it
difficult to believe that such a distance can often be pierced by the
sight in the relatively dense atmosphere of Spitsbergen. Foreland
Sound was, as usual, full of fog, but the peaks of the Foreland
itself rose out of its shining embrace. The highest group is south of
the middle of the island; its members are beautifully white and of
graceful form. Farther north the peaks are smaller and only their tips
appeared. The Cross Bay Mountains with their serrated edge looked finer
than ever; then came the great snowfield, beheld in all its extent,
stretching up to a high undulating crest and back to remote bays and
hollows--fascinating to look upon, but who shall say how wearisome
to wander over? Far away to the north-east was a row of mountains of
varied forms, some white and dome-like, others sharply pointed, others
again chisel-edged. We saw them now for the first time, and believed
them to be the range that borders Wijde Bay on the west; but they have
since proved to be the mountains at the head of that bay, between it
and Dicksons, a range of unsuspected importance in the structure of
the country. The sky overhead was blue and clear, fading downward into
white, as in an old Flemish picture. There was no movement in the cool
air. Garwood left me alone on the top and went down to crack rocks.
Long did I sit in perfection of enjoyment, letting my eye roam round
and round the amazing panorama. There was a peculiar sensation of being
in the midst of a strange world, whose parts seemed to radiate from
this point. Never did I feel more keenly the wonder of the domain of
ice. Utter silence reigned, till there came a writhing in the air,
heard but not felt. It passed, returned, and passed again, as though
flocks of invisible beings were hurrying by on powerful wings.
Chilled to the bone, at length I began the descent, picking up Garwood
and some of his fossil spoils on the way. A magnificent ski-slide
carried us in a great curving zigzag, first to the foot of the southern
Crown, then round the snowy base to the tents. We dropped a thousand
feet in a few minutes. So keen was the joy of this rush through the
air, that we talked of scrambling up again to repeat it, but the
attractions of supper proved more powerful than those of glissading.
Our view from the middle Crown showed that nothing was to be gained by
pushing camp farther north, unless we went very much farther than the
means at our disposal permitted. The whole region for many miles round
could be mapped from the summits of hills within reach of our present
camp. We judged it better, therefore, to climb from that base, rather
than to spend time dragging sledges about over almost featureless
snowfields. So, next morning (August 5), away we went on ski--Garwood,
Nielsen, and I--carrying instruments and food on our backs, and
delighted to have no hindering load a-drag behind. The weather
continued faultless. Our plan was to follow the left margin of the
glacier to the bay beyond the northern Crown, to turn up that to its
head, and to climb the Diadem Peak, whose situation seemed specially
favourable for a view. The snow was very soft and became softer
every hour, but we shuffled comfortably over it and pitied our poor
colleagues in the Alps, wading knee-deep in _névé_. The surface was
not really in good condition for skiing; it was too soft and adhesive
to be slippery. However, we made good progress, and in less than two
hours the northern Crown was passed and the side glacier opened. It
flows down from a ring of dolomite-capped peaks and comes out into
the main glacier between the northern Crown and the peak beyond it,
named by us the Exile because its crown has been wholly denuded away.
It is a regular pyramid of red sandstone with top and corners rounded
off. There is not a fragment of rock visible _in situ_, the whole
solid substance of the mountain being buried beneath accumulations of
_débris_.
Turning, then, with the northern Crown on our right hand, the Exile
on our left, and the great snowfield at our backs, we made diagonally
up the side glacier toward a snow-saddle between the Exile and the
Diadem. All the snow was saturated with water, which gravitated to
the middle of the valley and formed a great Slough of Despond there.
Advancing very gingerly to find a way across, I suddenly sank up to my
waist in the freezing mixture. The ski turned round under my feet and
fastened them down, so that I was helplessly anchored, and it was all
that Nielsen and Garwood could do to withdraw me from the uncomfortable
position. We ultimately passed round the head of the Slough and swiftly
made for the rocks of the Exile, where I undressed and wrung out my
dripping things. Whether it was more comfortable to sit half-clothed
while the things dried, or to put them on in a sodden condition, was
a question I am now enabled to decide by experience. Fortunately the
sunshine had a little warmth in it, but the preliminary bath certainly
did not add to the enjoyment of lunch.
Just below the rocks was an open _bergschrund_ into which Nielsen
tumbled, ski and all, but he caught the upper edge and extricated
himself with a mighty kick and pull. The hidden crevasses over which
we slid were countless, but the ski deprived them of all power to
injure or annoy. A slide from the rocks to the broad snow-saddle,
then the ascent of the Diadem began. We knew that it would present no
difficulties below the summit rocks. They were vertical on our side,
but there were indications that the snow-slope reached far up them on
the other. For some distance we could climb straight ahead; then the
slope steepened and we had to zigzag, each man choosing his own route.
About six hundred feet below the top, ski could no further go, for the
surface was hard frozen, so that they obtained no grip upon it. They
were accordingly left behind, planted erect, for if they are left lying
down they will assuredly find means to break loose and go careering
away to some remote level place. As soon as it became a question of
kicking steps in the increasingly hard and steep slope, the scattered
elements of the party concentrated and so came to the foot of the final
peak together. A snow-slope, as we had foreseen, reached almost to the
top, but it was cut across by two large _bergschrunds_, well enough
bridged. The rope was now put on and the final approaches made in
orthodox fashion. Scrambling up a few steep rocks, we came out on the
curious little flat summit plain (4154 ft.), from whose edges the drop
is vertical all round, except where the slope we ascended abuts.
The view resembled that from the middle Crown, but was more extensive
to the north and east. The whole island was displayed. We overlooked
the region of almost horizontally-bedded, chocolate-coloured sandstone,
capped with dolomite near at hand, but dipping away from the old
rocks underlying it, which appeared in the north-east as mountain
ranges. Advent Bay was again clearly visible across Ice Fjord, so that
the Diadem and the Crowns can be seen from the hotel there, a fact
previously unsuspected. I set up the instruments and worked for more
than an hour, growing colder and colder in the raw air. Garwood and
Nielsen warmed themselves by building a big cairn as a monument of our
climb.
The first stage of the descent required some care, for the slope was
steep and of ice, whilst the bridges over the _bergschrunds_ did not
appear particularly strong. Once on the main snow-slope the rope could
be laid aside and each could make for his ski by the shortest route.
Nielsen went on ahead and disappeared over the bulging declivity at a
great rate, but when I tried to follow his example I found it difficult
to maintain a footing on the hard, icy slope. The boards under my
feet shot away so quickly that without a powerful break I could not
maintain my balance. No application of the spike of the ice-axe to
the slope produced friction enough to prevent the bewilderment of a
lightning-like descent, which always ended in a shattering overthrow.
How Nielsen had managed remained a mystery to me, till I came up with
him and learnt that he had put his ice-axe between his legs and sat
upon it, thus turning himself into a tripod on runners. Riding, like a
witch on a broomstick, he gained the gentler slope below without delay
or misfortune. Garwood was less lucky, for one of his ski gave him the
slip and raced away on its own account. We heard him howling aloft, but
knew not what about till his truant shoe had dashed past, heading for
a number of open crevasses. It leapt these in fine style, but bending
away to the right, made for the hollow, north of the Exile, to which we
had to descend to fetch it. Rather than reascend and return over the
mile of snow-slope down which the ski had shot, we changed the route
of our return. To see Garwood walking about unroped among the maze
of crevasses and crossing _bergschrunds_ by rotten snow-bridges was
decidedly unpleasant. If he had fallen through anywhere we could have
done nothing for him, and he would never have been seen again; but the
fates were propitious. Instead of sliding down as we did, he had to
wade through knee-deep snow, but that was the limit of his misfortune.
The great snowfield was joined at the north foot of the Exile, and
straight running made for camp. It was a long and thirsty shuffle
back, for, since my immersion, we had come across no drop of drinkable
water, all that flows from the Exile and the northern Crown being
chocolate-coloured and thick with sand. Areas of snow formation, new
to us in appearance, were passed below the Exile; the most remarkable
was where the surface of the _névé_ was covered with a kind of scaly
armour-plating, consisting of discs or flakes of ice, hard-frozen
together, piled up and projecting over one another. Wind was the
determining agent, I fancy, in producing this phenomenon. Steadily
plodding on over the now uneven and adhesive snow, at last we reached
camp, about midnight, well satisfied with the expedition. We had
travelled eighteen and a half miles over the softest _névé_ snow
imaginable, besides climbing our peak and devoting some hours, _en
route_ and on the top, to the work of surveying. Without ski this
would have been hard work for three days. During our absence Svensen
had cleaned out the tents, dried and aired our things, and otherwise
made himself useful. He had never expected us to appear again, so that
his work was perhaps the more meritorious. Late at night we heard him
lying in his tent and “prophesying” (as we used to call it) in deep and
solemn tones to Nielsen. The further we went from the coast the more
frequent and solemn were these deliverances, not a word of which could
we understand. I asked Nielsen what they were about. “Oh,” he said, “he
talks about his farm and his old woman, and what she gives him to eat;
and then he says if he ever gets back home he will not go away any more
as long as he lives.”
A few hours later Svensen set forth on his ski to fetch an instrument
I required from the baggage below the Pretender. He was instructed on
no account to quit the tracks made by the sledges on the way up, and
to take care not to fall into any of the crevasses. Once fairly alone
on the glacier, he proceeded to set these directions at naught. The
tracks were devious; he would make a short cut and save himself time
and distance. What mattered the maze of concealed crevasses? He frankly
walked _along_ them, whether on their arched roofs or the ice beside
them being a mere matter of chance. We saw his tracks next day and
wondered at his many escapes. As it was, he fell into two crevasses and
only extricated himself with much difficulty. The Svensen that returned
to camp was a yet sadder and more pessimistic individual than the one
that set forth. He had looked Death in the face, and seemed to feel
swindled in that he had escaped destruction.
This day the sky was actually covered with an unmistakable heat
haze. Thunderstorms, I believe, never occur in Spitsbergen; if we
had not known this, we should have thought one was brewing. It was
actually hot and stuffy within the tent, but outside the temperature
was perfect. Our intention was to climb the middle Crown again, when
Svensen returned, and to spend some hours on the mountain, Garwood
photographing and hunting for fossils in the limestone, I observing
angles. At last we could set forth with theodolite and whole-plate
camera for the top of the Crown. There was no novelty in the ascent,
except that the sky was steadily clouding over, so that we had to race
the weather. Unfortunately the clouds won. The sun was blotted out
when we reached the top, many hills were obscured by clouds, and the
panorama was rendered relatively uninteresting. There was nothing for
Garwood to photograph, and far fewer points for me to observe than I
could have wished. The cold became bitter. Fiddling with the little
screws of the theodolite was horribly painful. I endured it for more
than an hour before complete numbness rendered further work of that
kind impossible. Nielsen kept warmth in his veins by prizing crags
away; they thundered and crashed over the precipice on the north,
finding a swift descent down one of the many vertical chimneys, and
then rushing out on the snow-slope beneath. The results of his labours
were widely spread abroad below. Before packing up to descend we all
joined in building a big cairn, which, I think, will last for many
years. A hurried descent down rocks and screes and a fine ski-slide
to camp set the blood circulating merrily in our veins. The tents
were just within the margin of a fog, which hung like a veil over the
western landscape, where a mottled roof of cloud above the jagged crest
of the Cross Bay hills shone golden bright, fading away below into the
misty grey foreground of vaguely-outlined, broken ice.