_THE URBACHTHAL AND GAULI GLACIER._
Our bivouac at Meyringen was _le Sauvage_, who discharged his duty as a
host with credit to himself and with satisfaction to us. Forster (the
statesman) arrived, and in the afternoon of the 3rd we walked up the
valley, with the view of spending the night at Hof. Between Meyringen
and Hof, the vale of Hasli is crossed by a transverse ridge called the
Kirchet, and the barrier is at one place split through, forming a deep
chasm with vertical sides through which plunges the river Aar. The
chasm is called the Finsteraarschlucht, and by the ready hypothesis of
an earthquake its formation has been explained. Man longs for causes,
and the weaker minds, unable to restrain their longing, often barter,
for the most sorry theoretic pottage, the truth which patient enquiry
would make their own. This proneness of the human mind to jump to
conclusions, and thus shirk the labour of real investigation, is a most
mischievous tendency. We complain of the contempt with which practical
men regard theory, and, to confound them, triumphantly exhibit the
speculative achievements of master minds. But the practical man, though
puzzled, remains unconvinced; and why? Simply because nine out of ten
of the theories with which he is acquainted are deserving of nothing
better than contempt. Our master minds built their theoretic edifices
upon the rock of fact, the quantity of fact necessary to enable them to
divine the _law_ being a measure of individual genius, and not a test
of philosophic system.[7]
[7] This was written soon after Mr. Buckle’s Royal Institution lecture,
which I thought a piece of astonishing rhetoric, but of very unsound
science.
The level plain of Hof lies above the mound of the Kirchet; how was
this flat formed? Is it not composed of the sediment of a lake? Did
not the Kirchet form the dam of this lake, a stream issuing from the
latter and falling over the dam? And as the sea-waves find a weak point
in the cliffs against which they dash, and gradually eat their way so
as to form caverns with high vertical sides, as at the Land’s End, a
joint or fault or some other accidental weakness determining their line
of action; so also a mountain torrent rushing for ages over the same
dam would be sure to cut itself a channel. The lake after its drainage
left the basis of green meadows as sediment behind; and through these
meadows now flows the stream of the Aar. Imagination is essential to
the natural philosopher, but its matter must be facts; and its function
the discernment of their connection.
We were called at 4 A.M., an hour later than we intended, and the sight
of the cloudless mountains was an inspiration to us all. At 5.30 A.M.
we were off, crossing the valley of Hof, which was hugged round its
margin by a light and silky mist. We ascended a spur which separated
us from the Urbachthal, through which our route lay. The Aar for a
time babbled in the distance, until, on turning a corner, its voice
was suddenly quenched by the louder music of the Urbach, rendered
mellow and voluminous by the resonance of the chasm into which the
torrent leaped. The sun was already strong. His yellow light glimmered
from the fresh green leaves; it smote with glory the boles and the
plumes of the pines; soft shadows fell from shrub and rock upon the
pastures; snow-peaks were in sight, cliffy summits also, without snow
or verdure, but in many cases buttressed by slopes of soil which bore
a shaggy growth of trees. To the right of us rose the bare cliffs of
the Engelhörner, broken at the top into claw-shaped masses which were
turned, as if in spite, against the serene heaven. Bennen walked on
in front, a mass of organised force, silent, but emitting at times a
whistle which sounded like the piping of a lost chamois. In a hollow
of the Engelhörner a mass of snow had found a lodgment; melted by the
warm rock, its foundation was sapped, and down it came in a thundering
cascade. The thick pinewoods to our right were furrowed by the tracks
of these destroyers, the very wind of which, it is affirmed, tears up
distant trees by the roots.
For a time our route lay through a spacious valley, which at length
turned to the left, and narrowed to a gorge. Along its bottom the
hissing river rushed; this we crossed, climbed the wall of a _cul de
sac_, and from its rim enjoyed a glorious view. The Urbachthal has been
the scene of vast glacier action. Looking at these charactered cliffs,
one’s thoughts involuntarily revert to the ancient days, and we restore
in idea a state of things which had disappeared from the world before
the development of man. Whence this wondrous power of reconstruction?
Was it locked like latent heat in ancient inorganic nature, and
developed as the ages rolled? Are other and grander powers still
latent in nature, destined to blossom in another age? Let us question
fearlessly, but, having done so, let us avow frankly that at bottom we
know nothing; that we are imbedded in a mystery, towards the solution
of which no whisper has been yet conceded to the listening intellect of
man.
The world of life and beauty is now retreating, and the world of death
and beauty is at hand. We were soon at the end of the Gauli glacier,
from which the impetuous Urbach rushes, and turned into a chalet for
a draught of milk. The Senner within proved an extortioner--‘_Ein
unverschämter Hund_;’ but let him pass. We worked along the flank of
the glacier to a point which commands a view of the cliffy barrier
which it is the main object of our journey to pass. From a range of
snow-peaks linked together by ridges of black rock, the Gauli glacier
falls, at first steeply as snow, then more gently as ice. We scan the
mountain barrier to ascertain where it ought to be attacked. No one
of us has ever been here before, and the scanty scraps of information
which we have received tell us that at one place only is the barrier
passable. We may reach the summit at several points from this side,
but all save one, we are informed, lead to the brink of intractable
precipices, which fall sheer to the Lauteraar glacier. We observe,
discuss, and finally decide. We enter upon the glacier; black chasms
yawn here and there through the superincumbent snow, but there is no
real difficulty. We cross the glacier and reach the opposite slopes;
our way first lies up a moraine, and afterwards through the snow; a
laborious ascent brings us close to the ridge, and here we pause once
more in consultation. There is a gentle indentation to our left, and a
cleft in the rocks to our right; our information points to the cleft,
but we decide in favour of the saddle.
The winter snows were here thickly laid against the precipitous crags;
the lower part of the buttress thus formed had broken away from the
upper, which still clung to the rocks, the whole ridge being thus
defended by a profound chasm, called in Switzerland a Bergschrund.
At some places portions of snow had fallen away from the upper slope
and partially choked the schrund, closing, however, its mouth only,
and on this snow we were now to seek a footing. Bennen and myself
were loose coming up; Forster and his guide were tied together; but
now my friend declares that we must all be attached. We accordingly
rope ourselves, and advance along the edge of the fissure to a place
where it is partially stopped. A vertical wall of snow faces us. Our
leader carefully treads down the covering of the chasm; and having
thus rendered it sufficiently rigid to stand upon, he cuts a deep gap
with his ice-axe in the opposing wall. Into the gap he tries to force
himself, but the mass yields, and he falls back, sinking deeply in the
snow of the schrund. He stands right over the fissure, which is merely
bridged by the snow. I call out, ‘Take care!’ he responds, ‘All right!’
and returns to the charge. He hews a deeper and more ample gap; strikes
his axe into the slope above him, and leaves it there; buries his
hands in the yielding mass, and raises his body on his two arms, as on
a pair of pillars. He thus clears the schrund and anchors his limbs in
the snow above. I am speedily at his side, and we both tighten the rope
as our friend Forster advances. With perfect courage and a faultless
head, he has but one disadvantage, and that is an excess of weight of
at least two stone. In his first attempt the snow-ledge breaks, and
he falls back; but two men are now at the rope, the tension of which,
aided by his own activity, prevents him from sinking far. By a second
effort he clears the difficulty, is followed by his guide, and all four
of us reach the slope above the chasm. Its steepness was greater than
that of a cathedral roof, while below us, and within a few yards of us,
was a chasm into which it would be certain death to fall. Education
enables us to regard a position of this kind almost with indifference;
still the work was by no means unexciting. In this early stage of our
summer performances, it required perfect trust in our leader to keep
our minds at ease. We reached the saddle, and a cheer at the summit
announced that our escape was secured.
The indentation formed the top of a kind of chimney or funnel in the
rocks, which led right down to the Lauteraar glacier. Elated with our
success, I released myself from the rope and sprang down the chimney,
preventing the descent from quickening to an absolute fall by seizing
at intervals the projecting rocks. Once an effort of this kind shook
the alpenstock from my hand: it slid along the rubbish, reached a
snow-slope, shot down it, and was caught on some shingle at the bottom
of the slope. Quickly skirting the snow, which, without a staff,
cannot be trusted, I reached a ridge, from which a jump landed me on
the _débris_: it yielded and carried me down; passing the alpenstock
I seized it, and in an instant was master of all my motions. Another
snow-slope was reached, down which I shot to the rocks at the bottom,
and there awaited the arrival of my guide.
We diverged from the deep cut of the chimney, Bennen adhering to the
rough rocks, while I, hoping to make an easier descent through the
funnel itself, resorted to it. It was partially filled with indurated
snow, but underneath was a stream, and my ignorance of the thickness
of the roof rendered caution necessary. At one place the snow was
broken quite across, and a dark tunnel, through which the stream
rushed, opened immediately below me. My descent being thus cut off,
I crossed the couloir to the opposite rocks, climbed them, and found
myself upon the summit of a ledged precipice, below which Bennen stood,
watching me as I descended. On one of the ledges my foot slipped; a
most melancholy whine issued from my guide, as he suddenly moved
towards me; but the slip in no way compromised me; I reached the next
ledge, and in a moment was clear of the difficulty. We dropped down
the mountain together, quitted the rocks, and reached the glacier,
where we were soon joined by Forster and his companion. Turning round,
we espied a herd of seven chamois on one of the distant slopes of
snow. The telescope reduced them to five full-grown animals and two
pretty little kids. The day was fading and the deeper glacier pools
were shaded by their icy banks. Through the shadowed water needles of
ice were darting: all day long the molecules had been kept asunder
by the antagonistic heat; their enemy is now withdrawn, and they
lock themselves together in a crystalline embrace. Through a reach
of merciless shingle, which covers the lower part of the glacier, we
worked our way; then over green pastures and rounded rocks, to the
Grimsel Hotel, which, uncomfortable as it is, was reached with pleasure
by us all.