_ASCENT OF THE EIGER AND PASSAGE OF THE TRIFT._
Grindelwald was my first halting-place in the summer of 1867: I reached
it, in company with a friend, on Sunday evening the 7th of July. The
air of the glaciers and the excellent little dinners of the Adler
rendered me rapidly fit for mountain-work. The first day we made an
excursion along the lower glacier to the Kastenstein, crossing, in
returning, the Strahleck branch of the glacier above the ice-fall, and
coming down by the Zäsenberg. The second day was spent upon the upper
glacier. The sunset covered the crest of the Eiger with indescribable
glory that evening. It gave definition to a vague desire I had
previously entertained to climb the mountain, and I forthwith arranged
with excellent old Christian Michel, and with Peter Baumann, the
preliminaries of the ascent.
At half-past one o’clock on the morning of the 11th we started from the
Wengern Alp; no trace of cloud was visible in the heavens, which were
sown broadcast with stars. Those low down twinkled with extraordinary
vivacity, many of them flashing lights of different colours. When an
opera-glass was pointed to such a star, and shaken, the line of light
described by the image of the star resolved itself into a string of
richly coloured beads: rubies and emeralds hung thus together on the
same curve. The dark intervals between the beads corresponded to the
moments of extinction of the star. Over the summit of the Wetterhorn
the Pleiades hung like a diadem, while at intervals a solitary meteor
shot across the sky.
We passed along the Alp, and then over the balled snow and broken
ice cast down a glacier which fronted us. Here the ascent began; we
passed from snow to rock and from rock to snow by turns. The steepness
for a time was moderate, the only thing requiring caution being the
thin crusts of ice upon the rocks over which water had trickled the
previous day. The east gradually brightened, the stars become paler and
disappeared, and at length the crown of the adjacent Jungfrau rose out
of the twilight into the rose of the sun. The bloom crept gradually
downwards over the snows. At length the whole mountain-world partook
of the colour. It is not in the night nor in the day--it is not in any
statical condition of the atmosphere--that the mountains look most
sublime. It is during the few minutes of transition from twilight to
full day through the splendours of the dawn.
Seven hours’ climbing brought us to the higher slopes, which were for
the most part ice, and required deep step-cutting. The whole duty of
the climber on such slopes is to cut his steps properly, and to stand
in them securely. At one period of my mountain life I looked lightly on
the possibility of a slip, having full faith in the resources of him
who accompanied me, and very little doubt of my own. Experience has
qualified this faith in the power even of the best of climbers upon a
steep ice-slope. A slip under such circumstances must not occur.
The Jungfrau began her cannonade very early, five avalanches having
thundered down her precipices before eight o’clock in the morning.
Baumann, being the youngest man, undertook the labour of step-cutting,
which the hardness of the ice rendered severe. He was glad from time
to time to escape to the snow-cornice which, unsupported save by its
own tenacity, overhung the Grindelwald side of the mountain, checking
himself at intervals by looking over the edge of the cornice, to assure
himself that its strength was sufficient to bear our weight. A wilder
precipice is hardly to be seen than this wall of the Eiger, viewed
from the cornice at its top. It seems to drop sheer for eight thousand
feet down to Grindelwald. When the cornice became unsafe, the guide
retreated, and step-cutting recommenced. We reached the summit before
nine o’clock, and had from it an outlook over as glorious a scene as
this world perhaps affords.
* * * * *
On the following day I went down to Lauterbrunnen, and afterwards
crossed the Petersgrat to Platten, where, the door of the curé being
closed against travellers, we were forced into dirty quarters in an
adjacent house. From Platten, instead of going as before over the
Lötschsattel, we struck obliquely across the ridge above the Nesthorn,
and got down upon the Jäggi glacier, making thus an exceedingly fine
excursion from Platten to the Bel Alp. Thence, after a day’s halt, I
pushed on to Zermatt.
I have already mentioned Carrel, the _bersaglier_, who accompanied
Bennen and myself in our attempt upon the Matterhorn in 1862, and who
in 1865 reached the summit of the mountain. With him I had been in
correspondence for some time, and from his letters an enthusiastic
desire to be my guide up the Matterhorn might be inferred. From the
Riffelberg I crossed the Theodule to Breuil, where I saw Carrel. He
had naturally and deservedly grown in his own estimation. But I was
discomfited by the form his self-consciousness assumed. His demands
were exorbitant, and he also objected to the excellent company of
Christian Michel. In fact my friend Carrel was no longer a reasonable
man. I believe he afterwards felt ashamed of himself, and sent his
friends Bich and Meynet to speak to me while he kept aloof. But the
weather was then too bad to permit of any definite arrangement being
made.
I waited at the Riffel for twelve days, making small excursions here
and there. But, though the weather was not so abominable as it had been
in the previous year, the frequent snow-discharges on the Matterhorn
kept it unassailable. In company with Mr. Crawfurd Grove, who had
engaged Carrel as his guide, Michel being mine, I made the pass of
the Trift from Zermatt to Zinal. I could understand and share the
enthusiasm experienced by Mr. Hinchliff in crossing this truly noble
pass. It is certainly one of the finest in the whole Alps. For that
one day, moreover, the weather was magnificent. Next day we crossed
to Evolena, going considerably astray, and thus converting a light
day into a rather heavy one. From Evolena we purposed crossing the
Col d’Érin back to Zermatt, but the weather would not let us. This
excursion had been made with the view of allowing the Matterhorn a
little time to arrange its temper; but the temper continued sulky, and
at length wearied me out. We went round by the valley of the Rhone
to Zermatt, and, finding matters worse than ever, both Mr. Grove and
myself returned to Visp, intending to quit Switzerland altogether.
Here he changed his mind and returned to Zermatt; on the same day the
weather changed also, and continued fine for a fortnight. He succeeded
in getting with Carrel to the top of the Matterhorn, and I succeeded in
joining the British Association at Dundee. A ramble in the Highlands,
including a visit to the Parallel Roads of Glenroy, concluded my
vacation in 1867.