FROM VAL LOUISE TO LA BÉRARDE BY THE COL DE PILATTE.(115)
“How pleasant it is for him who is saved to remember his
danger.”
EURIPIDES.
From Ailefroide to Claux, but for the path, travel would be scarcely more
easy than over the Pré de Madame Carle.(116) The valley is strewn with
immense masses of gneiss, from the size of a large house downwards, and it
is only occasionally that rock _in situ_ is seen, so covered up is it by
the débris, which seems to have been derived almost entirely from the
neighbouring cliffs.
It was Sunday, a “day most calm and bright.” Golden sunlight had dispersed
the clouds, and was glorifying the heights, and we forgot hunger through
the brilliancy of the morning and beauty of the mountains.
We meant the 26th to be a day of rest, but it was little that we found in
the _cabaret_ of Claude Giraud, and we fled before the babel of sound
which rose in intensity as men descended to a depth which is unattainable
by the beasts of the field, and found at the chalets of Entraigues(117)
the peace that had been denied to us at Val Louise.
Again we were received with the most cordial hospitality. Everything that
was eatable or drinkable was brought out and pressed upon us; every little
curiosity was exhibited; every information that could be afforded was
given; and when we retired to our clean straw, we again congratulated each
other that we had escaped from the foul den which is where a good inn
should be, and had cast in our lot with those who dwell in chalets. Very
luxurious that straw seemed after two nights upon quartz pebbles and
glacier mud, and I felt quite aggrieved (expecting it was the summons for
departure) when, about midnight, the heavy wooden door creaked on its
hinges, and a man hem’d and ha’d to attract attention; but when it
whispered, “Monsieur Edvard,” I perceived my mistake,—it was our Pelvoux
companion, Monsieur Reynaud, the excellent _agent-voyer_ of La Bessée.
Monsieur Reynaud had been invited to accompany us on the excursion that is
described in this chapter, but had arrived at Val Louise after we had
left, and had energetically pursued us during the night. Our idea was that
a pass might be made over the high ridge called (on the French map) Crête
de Bœufs Rouges,(118) near to the peak named Les Bans, and that it might
be the shortest route in time (as it certainly would be in distance) from
Val Louise, across the Central Dauphiné Alps. We had seen the northern (or
Pilatte) side from the Brèche de la Meije, and it seemed to be practicable
at one place near the above-mentioned mountain. More than that could not
be told at a distance of eleven miles. We intended to try to hit a point
on the ridge immediately above the part where it seemed to be easiest.
We left Entraigues at 3.30 on the morning of June 27, and proceeded, over
very gently-inclined ground, towards the foot of the Pic de Bonvoisin
(following in fact the route of the Col de Sellar, which leads from the
Val Louise into the Val Godemar);(119) and at 5 A.M., finding that there
was no chance of obtaining a view from the bottom of the valley of the
ridge over which our route was to be taken, sent Almer up the lower slopes
of the Bonvoisin to reconnoitre. He telegraphed that we might proceed; and
at 5.45 we quitted the snow-beds at the bottom of the valley for the
slopes which rose towards the north.
The course was N.N.W., and was prodigiously steep. _In less than two miles
difference of latitude we rose one mile of absolute height._ But the route
was so far from being an exceptionally difficult one, that at 10.45 we
stood on the summit of the pass, having made an ascent of more than 5000
feet in five hours, inclusive of halts.
Upon sheet 189 of the French map a glacier is laid down on the south of
the Crête des Bœufs Rouges, extending along the entire length of the
ridge, at its foot, from east to west. In 1864 this glacier did not exist
as _one_ glacier, but in the place where it should have been there were
several small ones, all of which were, I believe, separated from each
other.(120)
We commenced the ascent from the Val d’Entraigues, to the west of the most
western of these small glaciers, and quitted the valley by the first great
gap in its cliffs after that glacier was passed. We did not take to the
ice until it afforded an easier route than the rocks; then (8.30) Croz
went to the front, and led with admirable skill through a maze of
crevasses up to the foot of a great snow _couloir_, that rose from the
head of the glacier to the summit of the ridge over which we had to pass.
We had settled beforehand in London, without knowing anything whatever
about the place, that such a couloir as this should be in this angle; but
when we got into the Val d’Entraigues, and found that it was not possible
to see into the corner, our faith in its existence became less and less,
until the telegraphing of Almer, who was sent up the opposite slopes to
search for it, assured us that we were true prophets.
[Illustration: A SNOW COULOIR.]
Snow _couloirs_ are nothing more or less than gullies partly filled by
snow. They are most useful institutions, and may be considered as natural
highways placed, by a kind Providence, in convenient situations for
getting over places which would otherwise be inaccessible. They are a joy
to the mountaineer, and, from afar, assure him of a path when all beside
is uncertain; but they are grief to novices, who, when upon steep snow,
are usually seized with two notions—first, that the snow will slip, and
secondly, that those who are upon it must slip too.
Nothing, perhaps, could look much more unpromising to those who do not
know the virtues of couloirs than such a place as the engraving
represents,(121) and if persons inexperienced in mountain craft had
occasion to cross a ridge or to climb rocks, in which there were such
couloirs, they would instinctively avoid them. But practised mountaineers
would naturally look to them for a path, and would follow them almost as a
matter of course, unless they turned out to be filled with ice, or too
much swept by falling stones, or the rock at the sides proved to be of
such an exceptional character as to afford an easier path than the snow.
Couloirs look prodigiously steep when seen from the front, and, so viewed,
it is impossible to be certain of their inclination within many degrees.
Snow, however, does actually lie at steeper angles in couloirs than in any
other situations;—45° to 50° degrees is not an uncommon inclination. Even
at such angles, two men with proper axes can mount on snow at the rate of
700 to 800 feet per hour. The same amount can only be accomplished in the
same time on steep rocks when they are of the very easiest character, and
four or five hours may be readily spent upon an equal height of difficult
rocks. Snow couloirs are therefore to be commended because they economise
time.
Of course, in all gullies, one is liable to be encountered by falling
stones. Most of those which fall from the rocks of a couloir, sooner or
later spin down the snow which fills the trough; and, as their course and
pace are more clearly apparent when falling over snow than when jumping
from ledge to ledge, persons with lively imaginations are readily
impressed by them. The grooves which are usually seen wandering down the
length of snow couloirs are deepened (and, perhaps, occasionally
originated) by falling stones, and they are sometimes pointed out by
cautious men as reasons why couloirs should not be followed. I think they
are very frequently only gutters, caused by water trickling off the rocks.
Whether this is so or not, one should always consider the possibility of
being struck by falling stones, and, in order to lessen the risk as far as
possible, should mount upon the sides of the snow, and not up its centre.
Stones that come off the rocks will then generally fly over one’s head, or
bound down the middle of the trough at a safe distance.
At 9.30 A.M. we commenced the ascent of the couloir leading from the
nameless glacier to a point in the ridge, just to the east of Mont
Bans.(122) So far the route had been nothing more than a steep grind in an
angle where little could be seen, but now views opened out in several
directions, and the way began to be interesting. It was more so, perhaps,
to us than to our companion M. Reynaud, who had no rest in the last night.
He was, moreover, heavily laden. Science was to be regarded—his pockets
were stuffed with books; heights and angles were to be observed—his
knapsack was filled with instruments; hunger was to be guarded against—his
shoulders were ornamented with a huge nimbus of bread, and a leg of mutton
swung behind from his knapsack, looking like an overgrown tail. Being a
good-hearted fellow, he had brought this food, thinking we might be in
need of it. As it happened, we were well provided for, and having our own
packs to carry, could not relieve him of his superfluous burdens, which,
naturally, he did not like to throw away. As the angles steepened, the
strain on his strength became more and more apparent. At last he began to
groan. At first a most gentle and mellow groan; but as we rose so did his
groans, till at last the cliffs were groaning in echo, and we were moved
to laughter.
Croz cut the way with unflagging energy throughout the whole of the
ascent, and at 10.45 we stood on the summit of our pass, intending to
refresh ourselves with a good halt. Unhappily, at that moment a mist,
which had been playing about the ridge, swooped down and blotted out the
whole of the view on the northern side. Croz was the only one who caught a
glimpse of the descent, and it was deemed advisable to push on
immediately, while its recollection was fresh in his memory. We are
consequently unable to tell anything about the summit of the pass, except
that it lies immediately to the east of Mont Bans, and is elevated about
11,300 feet above the level of the sea. It is the highest pass in
Dauphiné. We called it the Col de Pilatte.
We commenced to descend towards the Glacier de Pilatte by a slope of
smooth ice, the face of which, according to the measurement of Mr. Moore,
had an inclination of 54°! Croz still led, and the others followed at
intervals of about 15 feet, all being tied together, and Almer occupying
the responsible position of last man. The two guides were therefore about
70 feet apart. They were quite invisible to each other from the mist, and
looked spectral even to us. But the _strong_ man could be heard by all
hewing out the steps below, while every now and then the voice of the
_steady_ man pierced the cloud,—“Slip not, dear sirs; place well your
feet: stir not until you are certain.”
For three quarters of an hour we progressed in this fashion. The axe of
Croz all at once stopped. “What is the matter, Croz?” “Bergschrund,
gentlemen.” “Can we get over?” “Upon my word, I don’t know; I think we
must jump.” The clouds rolled away right and left as he spoke. The effect
was dramatic! It was a _coup de théâtre_, preparatory to the “great
sensation leap” which was about to be executed by the entire company.
Some unseen cause, some cliff or obstruction in the rocks underneath, had
caused our wall of ice to split into two portions, and the huge fissure
which had thus been formed extended, on each hand, as far as could be
seen. We, on the slope above, were separated from the slope below by a
mighty crevasse. No running up and down to look for an easier place to
cross could be done on an ice-slope of 54°; the chasm had to be passed
then and there.
A downward jump of 15 or 16 feet, and a forward leap of 7 or 8 feet had to
be made at the same time. That is not much, you will say. It was not much;
it was not the quantity, but it was the quality of the jump which gave to
it its particular flavour. You had to hit a narrow ridge of ice. If that
was passed, it seemed as if you might roll down for ever and ever. If it
was not attained, you dropped into the crevasse below; which, although
partly choked by icicles and snow that had fallen from above, was still
gaping in many places, ready to receive an erratic body.
Croz untied Walker in order to get rope enough, and warning us to hold
fast, sprang over the chasm. He alighted cleverly on his feet; untied
himself and sent up the rope to Walker, who followed his example. It was
then my turn, and I advanced to the edge of the ice. The second which
followed was what is called a supreme moment. That is to say, I felt
supremely ridiculous. The world seemed to revolve at a frightful pace, and
my stomach to fly away. The next moment I found myself sprawling in the
snow, and then, of course, vowed that _it was nothing_, and prepared to
encourage my friend Reynaud.
He came to the edge and made declarations. I do not believe that he was a
whit more reluctant to pass the place than we others, but he was
infinitely more demonstrative,—in a word, he was French. He wrung his
hands, “Oh! what a _diable_ of a place!” “It is nothing, Reynaud,” I said,
“it is _nothing_.” “Jump,” cried the others, “jump.” But he turned round,
as far as one can do such a thing in an ice-step, and covered his face
with his hands, ejaculating, “Upon my word, it is not possible. No! no!!
no!!! it is not possible.”
How he came over I do not know. We saw a toe—it seemed to belong to Moore;
we saw Reynaud a flying body, coming down as if taking a header into
water; with arms and legs all abroad, his leg of mutton flying in the air,
his bâton escaped from his grasp; and then we heard a thud as if a bundle
of carpets had been pitched out of a window. When set upon his feet he was
a sorry spectacle; his head was a great snowball; brandy was trickling out
of one side of the knapsack, chartreuse out of the other—we bemoaned its
loss, but we roared with laughter.
This chapter has already passed the limits within which it should have
been confined, but I cannot close it without paying tribute to the ability
with which Croz led us, through a dense mist, down the remainder of the
Glacier de Pilatte. As an exhibition of strength and skill, it has
probably never been surpassed in the Alps or elsewhere. On this almost
unknown and very steep glacier, he was perfectly at home, even in the
mists. Never able to see fifty feet ahead, he still went on with the
utmost certainty, and without having to retrace a single step; and
displayed from first to last consummate knowledge of the materials with
which he was dealing. Now he cut steps down one side of a _sérac_, went
with a dash at the other side, and hauled us up after him; then cut away
along a ridge until a point was gained from which we could jump on to
another ridge; then, doubling back, found a snow-bridge, across which he
crawled on hands and knees, towed us across by the legs, ridiculing our
apprehensions, mimicking our awkwardness, declining all help, bidding us
only to follow him.
About 1 P.M. we emerged from the mist and found ourselves just arrived
upon the level portion of the glacier, having, as Reynaud properly
remarked, come down as quickly as if there had not been any mist at all.
Then we attacked the leg of mutton which my friend had so thoughtfully
brought with him, and afterwards raced down, with renewed energy, to La
Bérarde.
Reynaud and I walked together to St. Christophe, where we parted. Since
then we have talked over the doings of this momentous day; and I know that
he would not, for a good deal, have missed the passage of the Col de
Pilatte, although we failed to make it an easier or a shorter route than
the Col du Selé. I rejoined Moore and Walker, the same evening, at Venos,
and on the next day went with them over the Lautaret road to the hospice
on its summit, where we slept.
So our little campaign in Dauphiné came to an end. It was remarkable for
the absence of failures, and for the ease and precision with which all our
plans were carried out. This was due very much to the spirit of my
companions; but it was also owing to the fine weather which we were
fortunate enough to enjoy, and to our making a very early start every
morning. By beginning our work at or before the break of day, on the
longest days in the year, we were not only able to avoid hurrying when
deliberation was desirable, but could afford to spend several hours in
delightful ease whenever the fancy seized us.
I cannot too strongly recommend to tourists in search of amusement to
avoid the inns of Dauphiné. Sleep in the chalets. Get what food you can
from the inns, but do not as a rule attempt to pass nights in them.(123)
_Sleep_ in them you cannot. M. Joanne says that the inventor of the
insecticide powder was a native of Dauphiné. I can well believe it. He
must have often felt the necessity of such an invention in his infancy and
childhood.
On June 29 I crossed the Col du Galibier to St. Michel; on the 30th, the
Col des Encombres to Moutiers; on July 1, the Col du Bonhomme to
Contamines; and on the 2d, by the Pavilion de Bellevue to Chamounix, where
I joined Mr. Adams-Reilly to take part in some expeditions which had been
planned long before.