CLIMBING IN COMBINATION
In no craft or sport is combination so vital as in climbing. The
brilliant individual run or single score is impossible. The members of
a party are combined for life or death. Their achievement is that of
their united efficiency. Their progress depends upon their success in
realizing complete harmony of thought and movement. The rope is their
nervous link. There are few things more pleasing to watch than the
co-operation of a good rope on a stiff rock climb. To the untutored
eye the party may all appear to be doing different things--some
pausing, some turning, some climbing. Only the expert may discover the
continuity of motion passing from one end to the other of the rope
through the separate actions of each climber. Like the progress of
a snake, seen in a slow cinema film, the sinuous connection is only
apparent to the eye that can read in each apparently stationary phase
its relation to the phase which precedes and follows it.
[Sidenote: Collective Rhythm.]
To climb as an individual, each man has to learn how he can most safely
and economically manage his muscles, his will and his nerves, and how
to accommodate his personal rhythm to the accidents of rock structure.
To climb in a party, he has to adjust this to the collective rhythm of
whatever men he climbs with. He has not only to get up rocks, he has
to do so as part of a machine. If all the party is moving together, he
has to watch the hands and feet of the man in front, so as to lose no
time in renewed searching for his own holds; to see that the rope in
front does not catch or lie about, but take it up in loose, neat coils
in his hand, and let it out again as required; to keep his distances,
so as not to hurry or jerk the men in front or behind him; to carry
his axe and generally a loose coil of rope; and at the same time to
climb securely himself, with a view to having to meet at any moment an
unexpected slip by some one else. If the party is moving singly, he has
to see exactly where the man in front goes; to watch his position on
the next stance above, so as to adopt at once the right attitude for
belaying or holding the man below when he himself reaches the stance
in his turn, and to pull in the rope of the man behind as he comes up,
while seeing that the rope of the man in front runs out without hitch.
Climbing on the rope falls naturally into two divisions of technique,
alternating in their employment according to the difficulty of the rock
traversed and the ability of the party: that of all moving together,
or ‘continuous climbing,’ on easy and moderately difficult rock; and
that of moving singly, ‘interrupted’ or ‘one at a time,’ on difficult
rock; in the latter case the man above will always be stationary and
‘anchoring’ the rope for the succeeding climber. This distinction is
made throughout in discussing the different uses of the rope.
The mastery of continuous movement on the rope is the more important;
it is the finer art, and the better foundation for big mountaineering.
But it has become too much the fashion with our climbers to ignore its
importance, and to treat, and therefore to train their following to
treat, each section of rock as an individual ‘problem.’
The necessity of learning how to move singly is forced upon us in any
case by the sectional character of most of our difficult British rock
climbs, which are apt to divide themselves into separate ‘pitches.’
Unfortunately, the effect has gone deeper. Not only do we practise
moving singly almost to the exclusion of collective continuous
climbing, but we allow the interrupted method to destroy the rhythm and
pace that properly form part of good ‘one-at-a-time’ climbing. Such
sectional climbing establishes a habit which is bad for the individual
style and disastrous in big mountaineering.
A mountaineer on a rope has to learn to feel that he is charged with a
portion of a united personality represented by the rope. In proportion
as he himself is secure or not, at any moment when others are less
well placed, he carries a greater or lesser share of this collective
responsibility. If all are moving together, his own movements are of
importance to the party in so far as they coincide with the collective
rhythm and contribute to the pool of safety against accidents. If the
party is moving singly, at the moments when he himself is actually
climbing he is free to look after himself alone, but the instant he has
ceased to move he has a double measure of security to assure for those
starting to move above or below him. This is his contribution to the
combined safety of the party. His contribution to the collective pace
is that he should climb as quickly as is consistent with safe progress
and not as slowly as his own comfort might desire.
Slack habits on short English climbs prevent a party ever finding its
rhythm, or even discovering its value as a combination. A good party
acquires a fine collective momentum from the impulse transmitted by the
sharp ending of one climber’s effort to the immediate start of the next
man. There is as attainable a rhythm in ‘interrupted’ climbing as in
continuous climbing. When a party can move singly or together, slow or
fast, and yet retain its collective rhythm, it will have bridged the
gap between the severe problem-climb that may have seemed to it the
limit of individual performance, and the great alpine expedition which
may pile fifty such problems into a day without coming to the end of
the greater collective power of a roped party.
[Sidenote: Imitation.]
A climber’s first task on a rope is to learn to watch the man in front.
This must become a second nature. It should be sufficient that one man
has found the right holds; it is a waste of time and a bad break of
rhythm if all, or even one other man following, finds it necessary to
look for them again. On continuous climbing, pace cannot be achieved
without this subconscious imitation. On difficult ‘one-at-a-time’
climbing, to fail to start or to follow with the correct hand or foot
often means failure to follow at all where another has easily led.
There is nothing lowering in imitation. Big climbing is not competitive
puzzle-work. The man behind is in any case handicapped by the rope,
and by his extra share of responsibility in guarding his leader. He
owes it to the party not to waste time in working out the leader’s job
for himself over again. This habit of observation may become quite
unconscious. As a personal instance, I once traversed the Matterhorn
with a well-known guide as companion. In descending, I was occupied
subconsciously in choosing holds and consciously in examining a
prospected route on the distant Dent d’Hérens. We were unroped, and the
guide was some distance in front. I have no recollection of noticing
him. After a time I found myself constantly adjusting my line so as to
take holds always with the same hand. I remarked the fact gradually,
because I became conscious that it was not always the obvious or most
convenient adjustment. In an instant the explanation flashed across me.
The guide climbed admirably, but an accident some years before had left
him only one hand to climb with. Unconsciously, or as a third mental
operation, I had been noting his adjustments and imitating them without
being even aware that I saw him.
A criticism very frequently made, especially of a man untrained in
combined climbing, is: “You can’t depend on him; he takes different
holds:--I never feel sure with him on the rope behind.” If the man
moving in front knows what holds the next man is using he knows where
he will be encountering a difficulty or a loose hold, and he is already
half prepared in case of his help being needed. If, on the other
hand, he knows only that a new set are being discovered, he has to be
constantly turning round and waiting, and uncertainty is added to his
necessary watchfulness. The criticism applies, primarily, to climbing
on rock of a certain difficulty, where there will be only one ‘best’
line of holds to use. On easy rock greater liberty is permissible. At
the same time a distinction must be drawn between the duty of noting
the holds, and their fashion of use by the man in front, and the
duty of using them in precisely similar fashion. On very difficult
rock passages a man of different physique may, from lack of reach or
a divergence in proportions, find it necessary to employ different
adjustments. None the less will he profit by having noted the holds his
front man used, and, in most cases, by imitating his actual fashion of
using them. On such passages of course the party will be moving singly.
The front man will therefore in any case be on his guard, and no extra
risk or loss of time is involved in the enforced departure from his
method.
If the party is moving one at a time, it is easier to notice the exact
holds taken by one’s predecessor, but it is also easier in this case to
forget them again in the excitement of watching his further progress.
Therefore, in moving singly, the effort of noticing has to be more
directly conscious.
If we are moving together, conscious observation is assisted, and in
part supplied, by the continuous action of the body, as it adjusts its
poise of its own accord not to one hold, but to a sequence of holds.
If a man is swinging along to the same rhythm as his leader, his body
automatically makes use of the same holds as the leader has found to
suit his balancing progress.
But if we are moving one at a time, each man has to watch the holds. We
have to notice not only what holds the leader tried and rejected,--as
these will be the obviously convenient holds whose temptation must be
resisted if his example is to be of service,--but what were the actual
holds and movements by which he finally conquered. For the sake of
those following it is important to imitate these as closely as we can.
It is astonishing how many good climbers fail to notice even, say, such
an important point as the fact that the leader turned round so as to
face the opposite wall of a crack at a particular point; and how many
more can give no account of what holds they themselves used, even the
moment afterwards. It is a sign of a poor mountaineer if he has to call
out to his front man for guidance: “Did you go to the right here?”
or “What do I do now?” It is generally impossible to direct him from
above, however well the leader may remember the holds, especially if he
is standing back, as he should be, in order to hold the rope. All the
necessary guidance should have been noted during the front man’s ascent.
[Sidenote: The Rope while Moving Together.]
Apart from acquiring this faculty of imitation, the climber has to
learn how to manage the rope. It might be maintained that, on places
where all the party are able to move together, the rope is not needed.
But in big mountaineering the easy and the hard passages alternate
so frequently that the constant taking off and on, the coiling and
uncoiling of the rope, would involve great loss of time. There is also,
even on easy rock, always the possibility of a slip or of a breaking
hold to be considered, even with a first-rate party. Often there may
be danger when there is little or no difficulty. And since good men can
hold almost anywhere, even while moving, if one of them does slip, the
rope protects him against any worse consequences.
[Sidenote: The Rope to the Man in Front.]
In continuous climbing, with a good party, each man, unless he be the
leader, is primarily concerned with the section of rope in front of
him. It is best to keep this always a little slack, and to gather up
one coil or two coils in the outside hand. These loops can either be
retained while the hand is used for holding on, or they can be dropped
for the second if the full grip of both hands is needed. But your
first concern is not to jerk the man in front; it is only of minor
importance to get up comfortably yourself. For the jerk on your friend
will be unexpected, and therefore disturbing, if not upsetting; whereas
inconvenient holds for yourself, or the extra effort required to keep
the rope clear, you can foresee, and therefore discount. To break your
own rhythm under these circumstances, in order to avoid breaking that
of the man in front, does less injury to the collective movement. It
is often better, for the same end, to take an awkward touch-hold, with
elbow or knee, rather than to lose time in dropping the coils so as to
free your hand. If the coils have to be dropped, the time can yet be
saved and the rhythm remain unbroken, if you quicken up for a step or
two and close in on the man in front. The loose coil in the hand of the
man behind you will leave you this margin. When you drop your coil, see
that it falls into a position in which it will not be likely to hitch
and from which it can be caught up again at once.
The arm, with the hand, has above all things to learn the mechanical
swing which frees, frees, frees the rope in front of you, before,
after, and even during each step, at whatever inconvenience to
yourself. It is something of the motion of cracking a whip slowly,
upwards or sideways according to the lie of the rock. The art of the
swing, from all positions, can only come with practice.
Fortunately for us, the business of watching the rope combines
conveniently with that of watching the movements and holds of the man
ahead, and does not withdraw our eye from its first duty. Meanwhile,
for our own holds we must trust to the hastiest of passing glances, and
depend for the rest on our imitation of our front man. To this extent
combined climbing makes a further demand upon the ability to take holds
previously marked, unaided at the moment by sight; an art which the
feet and hands have had to learn in acquiring balance method.
[Sidenote: The Rope from the Man Behind.]
With the man behind, in continuous climbing, we are less concerned.
If he is of equal strength, he can be left to himself. Yet we have to
remember where the checks of difficulty or bad holds occurred that
broke our own rhythm, and we must allow for them in turn by slackening
our pace slightly when instinct tells us that the man following is
approaching these check-points. If a party is moving well in tune,
we shall know without looking round when the next man will probably
be checking or when he will be forced to drop his coils of rope for
better hold. We shall therefore be prepared for a check, or even a jerk
to our rope should a blunder occur. If the man behind is distinctly
less expert, some allowance in pace and attention has to be made at
such times; and it is as well, without necessarily stopping or turning
round, to feel backwards with one hand, and discover if the rope is
advancing freely. The hand can even take up a coil or so of the rope
behind, and hold it together with the coils it holds of the rope
in front. We then have some margin of rope to let go in case it is
checked from behind on such expected places. A weaker man behind may be
expected to check where his predecessor passed without pause; and to
take up a loop or so of his rope, bringing it taut in the act, keeps us
in touch with his movements, and ready to help him if needed, without
forcing us to take our eyes off our leader or our attention off our own
progress. If the man behind is a novice, it is best always to adopt
this plan, and leave him free to use his hands, while we ourselves hold
the loose coils which normally would be his care. This throws a double
task on the middle man, who thus has two ropes to manage; but a good
centre will be able to keep all his eyes for his leader and yet discern
all he needs to know about the progress of his rear man from the feel
of the rope.
[Sidenote: The Rope while Moving Singly.]
In steep climbing, where the party moves one at a time, the rope is
used for direct protection and not merely as a precautionary link.
The rope is for safety; it is not for assistance. Above all, there
is no magic in its use. It does not or cannot level up the powers of
an unequal party to the standard of its best members. In so far as
members of a rope find it necessary to have recourse to it as direct
aid, they are drawing upon the reserve of strength and security which
the party pools, and thus diminishing the margin which is required
for their feats in the lead by the more expert members. They are
depriving the party of its rhythm, and the leader of the sense of a
safe collective capacity behind him, which is the impetus that makes
for his success. This warning is not unneeded at the present time. It
has become the custom for a group of first-class leaders to conduct
various assortments of less capable climbers up the most difficult
climbs in our islands. For them it is only a friendly effort. The
climbs are short; the reserve of a good leader is sufficient for such
‘one-man’ climbs, which are climbed ‘one at a time.’ But the harm for
the individuals who follow may be great. They are depriving themselves
of any chance to develop their own balance and confidence. They are
confusing their judgment as to their own unaided capacity, and are
spoiling their taste by sensations they cannot digest. They may be
getting into careless habits of trusting to the rope as an auxiliary
engine whenever their wind or power fails. When these methods and
ill-assorted companionships are transferred to the Alps, the results
are lamentable. With difficulties magnified a hundredfold in length,
upon climbs which can only be expected to yield in a whole day to
the attack of combined efficiency, and with far longer hours of easy
climbing to face, of a kind to demand the utmost individual precision
for its timely passage, such methods make impossible demands upon
the margin of power and security that the ablest of leaders has over
for the common ‘pool’ of his party. There follow late returns, and
exhaustion, and ill-temper, and nights out, if no worse. In this
respect British climbing may be the very reverse of a preparation for
the Alps. The rope can be abused until it becomes a danger.
There is no harm in taking an occasional pull from the man above; some
rock passages are more difficult for certain types of figure, others
for others. The hour and the weather may on occasion make it better not
to waste the time of the party. But any man who has habitually to give
‘trunk calls’ is climbing with a leader and on a class of climb beyond
his capacity. He is delaying the party and injuring his own climbing
permanently. If it is only practice he lacks, he should insist upon
better opportunity for real practice and a slower pace. If this does
not relieve him from the necessity of ‘rope-riding,’ he will do himself
more good by working for a period on easier rock with a humbler rope.
If, on the other hand, he finds that as his technique improves he can
manage unaided all that his leader sets him, he should insist on being
given his share of leading.
[Sidenote: Following and Leading.]
This will be the more necessary if he begins to find himself in doubt
whether he could lead places over which he knows he can follow capably.
He has clearly then been neglecting a most important side of his
climbing education, his self-knowledge and confidence. It is a fact
that any moderate climber who has not sacrificed his own sound training
and the education of his nerve to the exactions of too rapid a party,
climbs twenty per cent better, when he is leading, than he ever does
when he is following. There have been plenty of cases of men who for
years remained average climbers behind some dominating leader, and who,
when placed by some chance reluctantly in the lead, suddenly developed
powers beyond all expectation, and retained them. They had merely
to add self-knowledge and confidence to their technically thorough
training.
Conversely, it is a fact that a man who has been accustomed only to
lead climbs some twenty per cent worse when he has on occasion to
follow. The habit of imitation, the instinct for rope management,
and the necessity of taking and not setting the rhythm are all novel
to him. To this defect in education is in part due the disappointing
performances of some excellent rock climbers when they first
mountaineer in the Alps. Men always accustomed to lead at home never
climb at their best behind a guide. And men who have always followed
have never acquired confidence or self-dependence sufficient to meet
new circumstances happily. For these reasons every habitual leader
should accustom himself to follow at home; he will be far more
efficient when he starts to learn his business behind professionals
in the Alps, or when, with a guideless party, he has to alter the
order, and follow himself, as is sometimes necessary for greater
safety. Again, every one upon whom circumstances force the position of
generally following, either on British rocks or in the Alps, should
insist upon his share of leading where he feels that it is within his
physical powers.
[Sidenote: Stances.]
The extent to which the rope is now used as a general assistance or
as a decoration on easy passages is apt to contribute to a neglect of
the study of positions proper to its secure use in places where its
protection is really needed. It is as vital for a leader to know what
character of stance he requires in order to bring up his following
safely, as to get up a passage himself. Many old climbers are frankly
inept in their choice of stance and of attitude upon it. It would seem
simple enough for a man to think out from what direction a pull will
come upon him, and how he can best place his body to meet it. But many
minds can never get beyond the sense of a comfortable attitude of
body at the moment, and quail before the further step of considering
how that attitude is suited to a pull from a particular direction.
It brings a shudder to remember occasions when we have arrived at a
platform after a severe struggle and found our anchor man carefully
jammed in a position that could not have resisted the faintest pull
from the only important direction! And behind the possible doubt in
many a man’s mind, so placed, seems always to be the dangerous feeling:
“Anyhow, it’s only for a moment, and old So-and-so won’t slip.” Perhaps
So-and-so half-way up calls out, “Can you give me a little pull?”
For So-and-so has been climbing probably with something of the same
sort of feeling: “I’ll have a shot; and anyhow, there’s always old
Such-and-such up there with the rope!” At the call comes further doubt
above, and even that ominous “Wait a second!” while the upper man
hastily tries to alter his position. This is as common an event as it
is unpardonable.
The ‘Wait a second’ man may be a perilous goose; but even he is
not so bad as the ‘All right! come along!’ man in like situation. A
leader--and I am not writing without knowing of instances--who under
any circumstances of excitement or difficulty says he is all right to
hold when he knows or even suspects that he is not, and who allows his
next man to enter on a doubtful passage on this false understanding,
is guilty of constructive manslaughter, only partially redeemed by the
possibility that it may be also constructive suicide.
A climber has to think out exactly how the pull on the rope will come,
and what hold he has about him to help him to meet it. Our object is
to stay in balance on the feet as long as possible, so as to be able
to pivot on our legs and meet the strains, if and as they come. To sit
down is an all too vulgar error. On steep sloping ledges where we stay
the heels against rock or herbage, or astride of a ridge, or jammed
in a crack or chimney, we may have to sit down; but our position is
weak. We are out of balance and out of the true line of the rope, which
almost of necessity will be fraying over some edge, interrupting our
information as to how the invisible man below us is getting on, and not
improbably loosening stones on to him.
Whenever the stance permits we stand in free balance on the feet, with
our outside or firm leg in line with the pull of the moving rope. The
body inclines inward, ready to take the pull, if it comes, down the
thrust of our rigid leg. If the ledge is narrow, we rest against the
rock with shoulder or our inside knee, but still keep a free poise of
the body to meet any slight alterations in the direction of strain. If
the ledge is too narrow to allow us to lean back and so take the strain
down through our leg to the rock, or if the stance does not even allow
of balancing without handholds, then we must look out for a belay or
anchor, any knob or split corner of rock, round which to pass the rope
as extra security.
[Sidenote: With Belays.]
We make the distinction between an ‘anchor,’ the loop of inactive rope
with which a stationary climber secures himself to a rock point, in
order to protect himself and the rest of the party while somebody else
is climbing, and a ‘belay,’ which is the rock-and-rope attachment by
which the active rope of a moving man is protected while it is running
out or being pulled in.
We distinguish again between a ‘direct belay,’ where the rope in action
connects directly on to or round rock, and an ‘indirect belay,’ where
some form of human spring is interposed between the active rope and the
solid rock.
The _anchor_ should not be made with a section of the rope momentarily
in action. The man on the stance takes a loop of the inactive rope
between himself and the next stationary climber and puts it over a
point. He can either hold it there looped, or secure it by putting on a
second coil, which will confirm it by friction. An anchor is not much
good unless it is quite close to or vertically above us. The farther
off it is, the more open it becomes to all our objections to a direct
belay. Its object is to assure the balance of a stationary climber
while he is managing the rope of a moving climber, and safeguard the
rest of the party in case of the fall of both. The same point of rock
may have to serve for both anchor and belay, but their affixing should
be quite independent. If a leader, wearing necessarily only the one
rope, the active rope to his second man, wishes to secure an anchor, he
must divide his anchor loop from that portion of his active rope which
he is using to belay his second man by very secure friction coils round
the rock. If there is no place for both anchor and belay, the anchor
must be sacrificed, and the belay then made as indirect as ingenuity
can devise.
The _direct belay_ is unsound to protect a _leader_. If the rope is
playing round rock, it may at any second jerk him, a fatal fault. If
he falls with a long rope out, the rope will, or ought to, break, when
the jerk comes directly upon a solid point, and very often a point
with sharp edges. If he falls on a short rope, similarly attached
directly to rock, the chance of its snapping is only slightly less.
For a long rope may take up much jerk in its elastic spring, but a
short rope cannot. This should be more widely known. Many leaders think
they will be safe in trying a risky passage if they can find a direct
belaying-point which only leaves a short run-out. They either use it
like a ‘peg,’ passing the rope behind it and taking out enough slack
to let them do the passage, or they bring up their second men on to
bad stances to hold the rope over it. Neither course lessens the risks
of the direct belay. Some preventable accidents have been due to this
dangerous misconception.
An exception would appear to be the case of the leader ‘threading the
rope,’ behind a jammed stone, in order to protect himself in attempting
a bad bit from a stance not good enough for him to bring his second up
to. This ‘threading’ is only sound if, firstly, the run-out above it is
only to be for a few feet; and, secondly, if the rope will _run_ freely
behind the stone so that the second man below can play it and turn it
into an _indirect_ belay, to some extent, in case of a slip. Otherwise
threading is really only a brittle reed of moral reassurance for a
leader who is uncertain about his standard of the day.
As a protection to a man _following_ us up rock the direct belay is
almost equally unsound. To drag the moving rope round rock frays
it, and runs the risk of there being a hitch or some slack rope to
complicate matters if he slips or needs a pull. Few knobs can be
trusted to retain a travelling rope unless the hands keep it in
position. A rope dragged round a point, also, rolls against the lay
of the strands, and may roll up and off a rounded knob unexpectedly.
Again, a rope may play easily round a splinter while it is loose, but
when a strain comes upon it it will jam in the crack behind, and the
sudden stopping of the ‘give’ in the rope pinches and may snap it. In
one-at-a-time climbing it should rarely be necessary to take a direct
belay to protect a man following. It is our business not to use a
stance unless we can render its belay in some way indirect. Only in
continuous climbing do we content ourselves sometimes with cursory
direct belays, generally in descending. Then they are simply a passing
precaution, not a definite protection; and they are sound because the
easy character of the climbing will permit us, at need, instantly
to convert them into indirect belays or anchors. Otherwise direct
belays are more often used in laziness or ignorance than from any dire
climbing necessity.
For the _indirect belay_ we loop the active rope of the man climbing
round a convenient point, and then make it our business to interpose
our hands, arms, legs, shoulders, or any part of us which may prevent a
jerk of his rope from coming uninterruptedly on to the solid rock. If
we have fair room to balance, we play the rope entirely free with our
arms and the spring of our body, using only an anchor to the rock if
we need it. If we have not room, and especially if we are protecting a
leader, whose fall would jerk us off most positions of free balance, we
put the rope over the point and play it round with both hands, ready to
grip and spring it upon our arms if a jerk comes. Or we pass the active
rope round our forearm or over the thigh or across the shoulder, on its
way to the belay-point.
It often happens that the rope does not play easily round the belay
as we pass it from one hand to the other. We may have to free it and
run a coil through quickly, or alter its lie round the belay. These
shifts should never be made except when the man protected by the rope
is momentarily at rest. Similarly we may have to take it off the belay
for a second, to let it run out quickly enough for a rapid leader, who
above all things must not be jerked. For these adjustments it is better
to keep always a small margin of slack in the rope, which we continue
to take up in the hands as they play the rope round the belay, until
a suitable moment comes for making the readjustment we intend. This
margin also leaves us a loose curl through which to twist wrist or arm,
as an extra spring, in case of a fall on the rope.
As an extra precaution we may insert glove or cap or even earth between
the rope and the knob, if we think it may reduce the friction or ease
the passage.
We may not always be satisfied that we have rendered our belay
classically indirect, but we can always prevent its being crudely
direct. Our eye must learn to take instinctive offence at the sight of
any active rope running direct from a moving man to a rigid rock.
[Sidenote: Without Belays.]
Belays and handholds are almost synonymous, for there is very little
handhold which ingenuity cannot convert into some form of extra
security for the rope. Where handholds fail us, belays fail us, and
we have to fall back for our securing of the rope upon balance and
the mechanics of our bodies. The nature of the stance suggests the
position. The strongest holding attitude is that of the body turned
somewhat sideways to the direction of the expected pull, and inclined
slightly inwards over the inner bent leg; thus the strain is taken down
the outer rigid leg to the rock. This leg is planted firmly on the
foot, and sloped in the same line as the rope from the man ascending
below us, or, alternatively, in the line which the rope from the man
above us may be expected to take, supposing he were to fall. The
sideways turn enables us to make a spring of the body; which we bend
or straighten over the bent inner leg and behind our rigid leg, as we
pull in or check the rope, without risk of being pulled off our stance.
Whereas, if we face squarely outward, we cannot get _behind_ both our
legs, to pull, without sitting down; and any forward bend of the body,
to meet a pull, risks the balance and the foothold.
We use any roughness of the surface as extra purchase for the outer,
firm foot. Two such small holds, if only for the side-nails of the
boots, give sufficient purchase, under a body in balance, to lift the
whole weight of a heavy companion, or, less certainly, to check a
considerable weight falling from above.
Sometimes it is best to bend the inner leg until the knee rests against
the wall behind. If the rock above us projects, or is so steep that we
cannot lean in behind our firm leg, the stance is not sound without
some belay. But it is at times possible, if the stance is broad and the
slope of the projection above allows it, to kneel on the inside knee,
and belay the rope over the outside knee with both hands. A man with
powerful legs can make this a secure spring for the rope. The centre
of gravity is so low in this position that a heavy jerk from below can
safely be taken. But it is useless, of course, without other hold, as a
belay against a fall from above.
No stance is sound without a belay or anchor where we feel we need
handhold for our balance, or where we feel we shall need it to resist
the pull of a rope, from below or above as the case may be. No man,
dependent upon handhold himself, is safe enough to secure the rope for
another climber. He must either be able to convert his handhold into an
anchor for himself or into some form of indirect belay for the climber,
or else he must seek another stance.
The more we learn of the mechanics of climbing, the more we incline to
use only _free stances_ if we wish to assist or protect a man _below_;
and free stances reinforced by _anchors_ on the inactive rope to
protect a leader _above_; and the less and less we get to like even
indirect belays, for either, on the active rope. For a man below, it
is of more assistance that we should be able to give him the immediate
pull or steady with his active rope which a free stance or body belay
allows us to do, and which will prevent him slipping at all, than that,
when for lack of this instantaneous touch he has slipped, his active
rope should be rock-belayed, and should be thus more stonily certain of
stopping him in his further fall. For a leader above us, it is of more
service that we should associate ourselves with his action, keep a free
stance or a body or arm belay on his active rope, and, if he falls, be
free to interpose all our human mechanism to ease the jar, than that
we should seek to diminish our responsibility and risk, and increase
his danger, by entrusting his active rope to the perilous rigidity of
a rock belay. We must, indeed, always take an anchor for a leader on
the inactive rope, if we can; because this strengthens our position in
functioning as his human spring, and protects the rest of the party in
case of our failure to save him by our interposition. And we should
take it for a man below, on severe rock, whenever our free stance is
not secure enough to safeguard ourselves and, consequently, those above
us.
But the very human inclination which assails our novitiate upon all
rock that tries our strength or imposes upon our nerves, to shove off
our responsibility on to any rock point that presents itself, and to
jam the active rope round it, regardless as to whether our position
will allow us to interpose any effective human spring upon it in case
of a slip, below or above us, must be sternly resisted and unlearned.
Unless we can be certain that we can keep the belay an indirect one
_when the pull comes upon the rope_, and not only while we are daintily
handling its slack, we must not take the belay. If we cannot substitute
for it a free stance or an anchor on the inactive rope, we must reject
such a stance altogether, and move to another.
In my experience, the better the mountaineer, the more boldly he throws
in his lot with the action and security of the man at the moment
climbing above or below him; that is, the more he associates his human
mechanism, either as impulse or as check, directly with the active
rope; and uses the rock, for anchor or indirect belay, as a protection
behind him for the inactive rope and the rest of the party. Between
good climbers the rope serves as a telegraph wire. So long as it runs
free we can receive our call for help or reassurance and return our
instantaneous touch or impulse down it with a response that is almost
anticipation. Any rock interposition interrupts the one and delays the
other. The rescue of rock should be held in ready reserve to reinforce
us with an anchor or with an indirect belay, after our human spring has
performed its function and has at least absorbed most of the stock.
[Sidenote: Holding the Rope.]
Climbing rope is as a rule too thin to be conveniently held or pulled
with a heavy weight at the end, except by men of abnormal grip or
specially developed hands. Many men, therefore, when taking position
for holding on a stance, anchored or not, give the rope one or two
half-twists round the forearm. This is convenient, but not without risk.
The most comfortable position, on a free or anchored stance, is to pass
the rope round the body just above the hips, gripping it on either
side in front with the two hands, and passing it along from one to the
other hand as required. The best hand-grip is to turn the palms of the
hands upward, and to lay the rope between the first fingers and thumbs
of each hand. If the outside arm is then turned slightly outward, palm
up, and the body, as it stands sideways to the pull of the rope, is
inclined inwards, thrusting against the outer firm foot, the body, the
outer firm leg and the outer arm will all be approximately in line with
the direction of the pull. The utmost use is thus being made of the
spring-pulley of arm and body, with no energy wasted round corners.
The inside hand pulls in or lets out the rope round the body. The
spring, up or down, of the body from the waist is ready at any moment
to help in absorbing the jerk of a pull from above, or in giving the
steady ‘little pull’ that prevents the jerk coming at all from the
approaching man below. The rope passing round the body and the forearm
gives a surprising amount of resistance in friction; more so, owing
to the elastic surface it embraces, than is given by a rigid belay.
With its aid, if the feet are firm and the balance good, we can take a
man’s weight on one arm alone, and leave the other hand free to hold
the loop-anchor, or pass the loose coils round the belay or round our
body as they come in. Naturally we can resist a far greater strain
on the rope round our hips, and immediately above and behind our firm
leg, than our balance could support if the pull came higher, upon our
arms and shoulders. It is sounder for this reason, when we use the body
belay, always to pass the rope round both hips and out under the arm,
and not bring it out, as is usually done, over our inside shoulder. The
pull is sometimes, but not often, vertical enough to make this last
a sound position. The same rule applies even more strongly if we are
forced to stand facing outward.
Sometimes, when there is no room to balance for the body belay, and
we find no rock belay or anchor low enough to allow of our using our
arms as effective springs on the rope, we have to be content with high
handholds or an anchor-point well above us. In such a case we can often
interpose our shoulder as a spring. While we hold the anchor on the
point above us with the one hand, with the other we pull a foot or so
of the active rope down across our inner shoulder and upstretched arm,
springing the rope, as it were, across the bow of arm and shoulder. We
thus convert the high anchor into an indirect belay.
A very common position upon steep rock, where our stance is too narrow
to allow of turning sideways or of belaying the rope round the body
balanced above the firm outer leg, is to turn face inward, and pass the
rope round some belay-point from one hand to the other. The only way to
make this sound, that is, to prevent the rope in case of a slip coming
upon the rock as upon a direct belay--since the grip of one hand on the
active rope must be insufficient to act as an effective spring,--is to
give the rope one twist round the forearm of the hand behind the belay.
With the rope half twisted round the free hand, which is drawing the
rope out in front of the belay, we can apply, as between the tug of the
arm behind and the ‘give’ of the hand in front, an efficient spring.
With such a hold we must wait for the pauses of the man climbing to
pull in the rope round our belay. To pull it in while he is actually
climbing deprives us of any chance of applying the hand-spring in time.
I have noticed, in confirmation of what I have said before, that the
more freely balanced and adroit a climber becomes, the less often he
appears to find it necessary to use this sort of quasi-sound stance.
On the same ledge where the average man would turn face inward for his
rock belay, the expert will find some good leg-thrust for a sideways
body belay, and will use the rock point for an anchor-loop to protect a
man above, or often only as an extra balance hold for his inside hand
if he has to resist a pull from a man below.
[Sidenote: The Order on the Rope.]
To get the order on the rope right is as important a duty as to get
men in their right places on the battlefield or the polo-ground. Every
man should take his share of leading on suitable rock if he is ever to
improve or discover himself; but on difficult or unsound rock, or on
new climbs, the best climber should always lead and come down last.
Tossing for the lead is folly. On easier rock, if the order is not
dictated by capacity or by fair alternations, climbing is too gracious
a sport for its precedence to be settled by chuck-penny rather than
by courtesy. The accepted manager, in cases of doubt, must decide. A
mountaineer who either from amiability or from incapacity to gauge
a climb and his friend’s power allows a less expert climber to lead
or descend last on a climb which he knows or suspects would test his
own strength, is gravely at fault. Some men, however, seem incapable
of remembering how much effort a climb cost them. They have done an
exposed climb themselves. With the pride that apes humility they let
some enthusiast, their inferior, have his way and lead it the next
time, confident in their own skill, or the fallacious doctrine of the
belay, to find a remedy in the last resort. But difficult climbs are
full of passages where the second man cannot really protect his leader
or last man. The leader falls, and the rope, if it does not break,
only serves to support an injured or nervously shaken man. Whether the
results are serious or slight, the error is equally great, and the
expert of the party is to blame.
[Sidenote: The Order on Direct Ascents and Descents.]
In parties of equal merit, of any number, the order is unimportant,
except that, as stated, on difficult passages, up or down, the most
experienced leads up and comes down last.
In efficient parties of four, or of any even number, on easy and
moderate rock, it is best to rope in parties of two, ascending or
descending.
In parties of three of unequal merit, the weakest man goes up last and
comes down first,--with two exceptions of which I speak later under the
Order with Beginners.
In parties of four of unequal merit, on easy and moderate ascents,
where the leader is good enough to require no special protection, we
may distribute the skill, and put a weak man behind the leader, the
second best man third, and the weakest man at the end. The leader and
the second string can then each look after one tiro. This is especially
advisable on ascents or descents where the rocks allow of all moving
together. The accidental slip of each weaker brother can be quickly
corrected if he climbs below a good man; whereas, if the two weak men
are put at the tail, the slip becomes cumulatively perilous to the
party.
On really easy ascents and descents with a party of this size and
character, the alternative is admissible of breaking into parties of
two, each of the two more expert taking one of the weaker men on his
rope.
On ascents of a medium class, where movement may, however, have
incidentally to be one at a time, the order of the tail in a party of
this constitution is less important. On harder sections the watchful
eye of a stationary man above will always be on the motions of each
climber in turn, and a slip can be checked at once. But if the novices
have not even mastered the art of holding from a stance, two ought not
to be placed next to one another, even for this moving one at a time.
But strong men, even as novices, will always be able to learn the art
of stance-taking before that of continuous moving.
On really difficult rock, or on new ascents or descents, the leader
must always be backed up and secured by the next best climber of the
party. On such climbs as many as two weaker men should never be taken
in a party of four. Behind two good men one novice may justifiably be
trailed at the end of the rope.
Parties of five or more, which are cumbrous for stiff climbs, can take
novices, in the proportion of two to five or three to six, if they feel
so disposed.
On climbs where long traverses are anticipated, either along ridges of
moderate difficulty or diagonally up or down faces, the best man still
goes up first and comes down last.
[Sidenote: The Order For Traversing on Faces and Ridges.]
In a party of fairly equal strength, the second best should still come
next to the leader, if it is anticipated that the major part of the
climb will be upward or downward and not on horizontal traverses. On
difficult diagonal traverses, upward or downward, it is still of first
importance that the leader or last man should be well secured.
With the same party on horizontal traverses the same order should be
followed.
But if one member of a party of three is distinctly weaker, and the
amount of horizontal traversing expected along a ridge or across a
face is considerable,--enough to involve a greater risk to the party
in leaving the inexpert man unprotected than in lessening the support
for the leader or last man,--the weaker man should be placed in the
middle of a rope of three. The second best man then traverses, in
ascending, last, and in descending, first. The weaker man is thus
protected at either end of his traverses and cannot slip far. Such an
irregular order, however, must depend upon the relative inferiority of
the weaker member, and on the amount of horizontal traversing expected.
Its withdrawal of support from the leader, in the case of a rope of
three, must be recognized as putting a lower limit upon the standard
of difficulty which he, thus less secured, may warrantably attempt in
ascending or descending. To put the weaker man in the middle deprives
both the first and last man of the confidence of each other’s sounder
protection. It destroys the collective efficiency, and leaves a party
of individuals, not a combination. Nevertheless, it is an order too
frequently adopted by climbers irrespective of the class of difficulty
expected, and even upon direct ascents and descents. It should only be
considered justifiable as a means of getting an inexperienced man over
particular horizontal passages; and on difficult climbs, if they are
undertaken with such a novice, the order should be changed back again,
even at the risk of loss of time, so soon as the horizontal passages
cease, or there is expectation of only a small proportion of them to
come.
In a more equal party of three, however, where two are experts and the
third not a novice at climbing but only less expert in alpine route
finding, whose presence in the middle does not, therefore, weaken
the rope materially, it is advisable for the second best of the
experts to go in the lead in descending, or in traversing along and
down big ridges of no special difficulty. He is better able to find
the best line, and thus leaves the weakest of the three with no other
responsibility than to attend to his own going. This is a usual order
for a guided party in the Alps on long ridge work: the guide at the
tail, and the best amateur, or the porter as the case may be, in the
lead. The order again depends upon the comparative ease of the rock
work for the man descending last.
In a party of four, similarly, if there are two weaker members,
these two may well be put in the centre for any period of difficult
horizontal traversing. The object is to avoid either weak climber
having to make a traverse of this sort at the end of the rope and so
only half protected. In this order a party of four may move only one at
a time, and the best and second best men must act as fixed anchors at
either end of the rope while the weaker men are successively moving.
On any such traverse, wherever the leader feels that all can move
together, which will not be possible unless the rock is easy enough to
allow of the weakest man traversing the passage unaided, the second
best man should again separate the two less expert, and so prevent
their association of inexperience and its cumulative effect in case of
a chance slip. On such a passage the leader or last man will not, by
the nature of the case, require the support of a good second, and he
will be able to spare full attention to the single novice placed behind
him or, in descending, in front of him, upon the rope.
The same order may, on occasion, be adopted with similar party of four
on the long easy traverse or descent of big alpine ridges, when two
weaker climbers are efficient but not expert at route finding. It is
often adopted with guided parties: the guide at the tail, the porter or
the best of the amateurs in the lead, to choose the line, and the other
two free to look after themselves and one another.
In a rope of four, for exacting horizontal traverses or for diagonal
lines up or down ridges or across faces of any difficulty, when three
men of the four are of almost equal merit and the fourth alone is
inferior, one of the three better men goes last, with the other two
in the lead, in ascending, and one of the three goes first, with the
other two at the tail, in descending.
Where there is only one expert on the rope and two or three less secure
climbers behind him, diagonal or horizontal traverses of any difficulty
may never be attempted, unless the leader is prepared himself to hold
the rope and belay the advance of each of the others separately, and
in his turn, across every doubtful passage. No climber, however good,
can count on checking in time the fall of two others; and if one novice
slips on a rope so constituted, and the jerk comes first on another
inexperienced climber, it is too late to hope to be able to stop the
catastrophe. The neglect of this rule, one which it is difficult for a
man in the pride of strength and skill to observe, has been the cause
of some of the most melancholy of accidents.
There is one variation in the order, only coming into question in big
alpine mountaineering, that must be mentioned separately. Occasionally
on the traverse of long level or gradually inclined alpine ridges, up
or down, where the technical difficulty of progress is not excessive,
but where, owing to serrated ridges, cornices, snow-covered towers,
etc., the risk of accident is greater than the difficulty, and the safe
and swift management of the rope is both intricate and important, it is
wiser for the most experienced climber of a party of three efficient
amateurs to go in the middle, and not in the lead. He can then manage
both ropes, and leave his less expert friends free to attend only to
their own holds and progress, while he has them both, as it were,
under his hand. As some compensation for the extra hindrance which the
management of the two ropes will put in the way of his own climbing,
he has the protection of the double support himself from either end.
This order will be found of service in saving time and in preventing
risk where, as often in amateur parties happens, the rope contains
one or more brilliant climbers, good enough to lead and to follow,
but still inexpert in the advanced technique of the rope. Variegated
alpine ridges of this broken, crested type are the final test of rope
management, and progress is often quicker and safer, for a party so
constituted, with the expert leader acting as pivot and anchor in the
centre.
This sort of combination, one or two more experienced mountaineers
with one or two fine but still inexperienced climbers, is frequently
the party preferred by guideless British climbers in the Alps; and
it is therefore worth while adding here that the same order may be
soundly adopted, with such a party, not only on traverses of ridges,
but on big alpine ascents of length and severity. It is especially
important in such combinations for the accepted leader, like a good
stroke, to keep something in reserve. Assuming he knows his men to
be good cragsmen, he may consider himself free to put one of them in
the lead in ascending rocks, for part of the day at least, himself
retaining the discretionary power which is as well exercised from the
position of second man, and keeping his actual strength in reserve for
real emergencies or for situations calling for expert mountaineering
rather than for rock climbing technique. If his object is to train his
men, he is even better able to do so from this position. This forms no
exception to the rule that the best man should go first and last on new
ascents and descents, and on all climbs where the difficulty requires
an expert mountaineer, in the lead in ascending or at the tail in
descending.
[Sidenote: The Order of Merit.]
To be able to go first and get up difficult places, although a fine
quality and necessary where only rock climbing is in question, loses
its unique importance when large mountaineering expeditions in the
greater Alps come into consideration. It is the combined efficiency of
the party in this case that chiefly counts. Qualities of management,
ability to contribute the most to the combinations of the party, to
its reserve of power, confidence and cheerfulness, and so to increase
its continuous effectiveness, are the marks of the ‘leader’ in great
mountaineering. The better mountaineer may not be the better able to go
first up passages of excessive difficulty, and may, on occasions such
as I have mentioned, even operate more potently from the centre of the
rope.
There have been cases of mountaineers who have seldom if ever led a big
climb, but to whose management, reserve power and cool judgment the
successes of their party, under whatever first man of the moment, have
been really due. One must not only see a rope in action, one must climb
with it, if one wishes to discover the actual ‘leading’ mountaineer of
the party, who is contributing most in a long day to the collective
efficiency and safety.
For the same reason we are not in a position to assign individual
credit for the great mountaineering feats of the past, or to say of
a mountaineer, “He always had first-class guides; he never led; they
did his mountaineering for him;” or of an amateur, “He always led his
friends: his was the credit!” It may safely be accepted that on great
alpine climbs, if the party has succeeded, the success has not merely
been due to the guide or first man. On such climbs there are whole
hours of the day during which the slip or shortcoming of any single
climber may be fatal, and where the fact that even one man draws his
unfair share from the pool of efficiency can prevent any chance of
success. To the whole party belongs the credit for a great climb. Its
members alone can venture to say whose was the moving spirit, or what
was the order of merit.
[Sidenote: The Order with Beginners.]
Beginners may be either real novices, or only beginners in alpine
work, route finding and so on. A complete beginner is more bothered
by the management of the rope than anything else; therefore it is
better for our progress to let him come up last and go down first.
The exception is when we are descending by a route which is not easy
to find or retrace. We may then put the beginner one from the end, in
a party of four, with a route finder ahead and two sound men behind
him. In a party of three we may put him in the centre; but not when
the climbing is too stiff to justify our leaving to the last man all
the tasks, of coming down last, looking after the beginner, and seeing
that the beginner looks after the rope of the route finder. With such
a party, on such a descent, I have often preferred to put the best
mountaineer in the centre, behind the beginner, to coach him as to the
route and look after him, while the other expert descended on a short
rope behind, and looked after himself. Often he is more comfortable
if he unropes altogether. The justifiability of this inversion of
the order must depend upon a judgment at the time as to the relative
importance of protecting the last man or of finding the right route at
the right pace. If the rocks are really difficult, the beginner should
go first, and the expert behind must coach as to the route. Such an
occasion seems to me the only one that really offers a good case for
the continental practice of putting red paper under stones at suitable
points, to guide the descent. As a rule, a man ought to be able to
find the way down where he has gone up. It is an important part of a
beginner’s training to learn the habit of turning and noting the look
of passages from the reverse direction while he ascends. In all cases
of a descent where no previous ascent has been made, the permissibility
of any alteration in the usual order must depend upon our estimate of
the difficulty for the last man. If the rocks are severe, the ordinary
order must be preserved.
A beginner is always greatly hampered by the rope on both sides of him;
and if we are making a big expedition where progress and good temper
are of more importance than a lesson in ‘middleman’ work, it is better,
when consistent with safe mountaineering, to arrange that he is either
on a rope of two, or at the free end of a rope. Again, be it in a large
or a small party, it is always well to put him, or her, definitely in
charge of some one, if not of the leader; who will precede him going
up and follow him down, whatever the other order on the rope may be;
acting as coach and general buffer.
For the same purpose, in a rope of three on easy ascents, while one of
the two good climbers leads, the other is often better placed climbing
immediately behind the beginner, shepherding his or her feet, giving
shoulders, steadies, etc.
In a rope of four, similarly, on easy or moderate ascents, we put one
of the three better climbers behind the beginner. The man looks after
his own rope, and is of more use in coaching, helping and succouring
the beginner than he would be as an extra reinforcement above. This is
the soundest method with women novices or children. It is not suitable
on really difficult rock; but then neither are women novices or
children.
A single expert taking two such beginners up a very easy climb, more
especially if they are girls or boys, whose stances and holding-power
for each other cannot be depended upon, often does best to put himself
in the middle of a long rope. He ascends first and descends last, as
usual; but by this arrangement he can himself bring up or lower the
two beginners separately to or from each stance, with less confusion
of ropes. On very easy ridges, with a light following, if he ties
himself between them so as to leave the ropes of different lengths, he
can often save time by bringing up both beginners simultaneously, one
starting after and climbing below the other.
An expert climbing with two such novices should always himself, before
attempting any passage not absolutely easy, see that the rope or ropes
to himself are anchored at the end close to his following, leaving free
for himself the full run-out of rope he will require. He should never
risk their security in case of his slip, or his own security while
climbing, by allowing the rope to be paid out as he goes by anyone
ignorant of its management or too weak to check his fall.
On British climbs, such as may be, in their general difficulty,
permissible to attempt with beginners, there are sometimes passages,
say of slabs, which a novice weak in the arms finds he or she simply
cannot manage without being hoisted on the rope. No expert will make
one of a party of two with a beginner on any climb where he expects
such a passage, unless he is very sure of a good stance above it, from
which to haul, and of his own strength in relation to the weight of the
novice.
In a party of three when such hauling has to be done, it saves the
strain on the rope, on the second man’s arms and on the novice’s
nerves, for the leader to wait with his second man on the stance above
each particular pitch until the novice has been hauled up. He can also
send down a second rope, and so divide the effort. If necessary, he
unties from his end of the rope, in order to have a second rope to send
down. If this is done quickly and efficiently, less time is lost than
if the second man has to do all the pulling alone and on his single
rope.
In such cases we must see that the haulee uses his feet to scrape with
at least, and thrusts out from the rock with his hands. If he clings
with hands and body to the rock, the effort, for all parties, is
doubled by the friction.
Frequently on such places it is only the matter of one arm-pull or so
at the start of a pitch that proves insuperable, especially for women.
If there is no third climber to propel the novice, it is then better
for the second man to wait on the stance below the pitch, to pass up
the rope to the leader above, and himself to give a knee and shoulder
as footholds up the difficult section. The actual haul will thus be
shorter; or its necessity may be avoided altogether.
On exposed cliffs it is a mistake to leave the novice alone at the
end of a long rope if there are difficult problems to tackle, and
especially if these include any traverses. It is trying for the nerves
and not good for the style. If the party is not large enough to have
one climber always in attendance on the novice, the middle man should
give him or her his company as often as his first duty to the leader
will allow.
If, upon easy rock, a novice is taking his lesson in leading, the best
climber should follow him on as short a rope as the rocks will allow.
But he must avoid bustling or flurrying him, and observe all the rules
of etiquette due to a leader.
Any request from a beginner for a ‘little pull,’ or for putting on the
rope, must be always and at once complied with. Delay or reasoning may
be dangerous, and will in any case shake confidence. The rope is for
protection, nervous as much as physical.
[Sidenote: The Order of Moving.]
In ascending easy rock or in traversing easy ridges, all can be moving
together, if the strength of the party allows it.
On difficult ascents or ridges, in a party of three or less, each moves
singly. In a party of four, once the leader is up, number three may
bring up number four while the leader is bringing up number two.
On steep ascents of moderate difficulty, in a party of three, if the
second man is really sound and the stances allow of his managing two
ropes, one running out and one running in, he may bring up the third
man while the leader is still climbing. But the leader must be aware
that he is doing so. In a party of four, on such ascents, the second
and fourth man can always be climbing simultaneously. This double
movement saves much time on long climbs.
On descents the same rules hold, in the reverse order.
For a strong party a possible variant may be mentioned. If the last man
is sound, and feels himself secure, he can let numbers two and three
descend to the full length of their ropes, both climbing at the same
time. Number two starts as soon as number three has run out his rope,
and so he enables number three to descend another length without pause.
The last man then descends to number two, moving alone. On his arrival
the other two start simultaneously again. If number three, however, is
not dependable enough to move entirely without protection from number
two, it is sounder for number two to remain at anchor while number
three descends; but the last man meanwhile descends to number two. In
this case the last man and number three climb simultaneously, while
number two remains at anchor between them, and descends alone.
On either system a third of the time is saved. But all such
accelerations must depend upon the relative difficulty of the several
sections which each in turn is descending. If the lowest man wishes to
be secured over a section, he must say so; and then number two must not
descend simultaneously with him. If number two has found the passage of
some section hard, he will need to give his full attention to the last
man while he is descending it; and he must not then allow the lowest
man to be descending at the same time as the last man.
[Sidenote: The Duty of the First Man.]
The leader on the rope _may_ be the manager of the party; but he should
be, on any climb of difficulty, the best climber. His business is to
get up rocks capably, and to get his party up. He is responsible for
getting them out of their difficulties, and also for not taking them
into them. He must know what the men behind him can do, as much as
what he himself can do, on any given day. He sets the pace, selects
the stances and directs the movements throughout the climb. He must
be able to concentrate absolutely upon his task. He must be competent
to distinguish between difficulty and danger, and to observe the
differences between our two sorts of danger--between the objective
perils of falling stones, storm, etc., and the subjective dangers
which form a nimbus of potential risk surrounding every point of
difficulty, contracting or enlarging according to the capacity of each
climber dealing with the difficult point. To excel, he must be certain
of knowing his normal standard and his standard of the day; be steel
against spasms of mistrust, that consume strength even more than
nerve; be resolute in advance, as resolute timely to retreat.
Most leaders have their personal tricks when ‘all out.’ Some are
Olympian and impassive; some talk to themselves; some like to lull a
hostile pitch into security by loudly protesting its hopelessness,
with half a hope of catching it unawares; some like to hum or whistle;
others have a tune or phrase running in their heads--most of us know
the comfort of working our muscles to the accompaniment of some rhythm,
audible or imaginary. Consciously or not, every leader draws upon the
pooled confidence of the men behind him. In return he owes it to them
to cherish the confidence so far as he can. He should avoid sharing his
doubts over some difficult place with his friends unnecessarily. They
cannot help him, and he will only undermine their confidence. He should
never make demonstrations which may alarm those of the party who cannot
see their true origin, or be of any use if they could. If he has a
well-tried second, who knows too much about him to mind, he may let off
steam to him. A little mystery and silence are rather a good fault in
a first man; men do not want to be over-enlightened before their turn
comes. But with a silent leader we are dependent upon a good second man
to keep the party informed as to what is really happening. It is very
depressing to be kept shivering on holds, and not even know whether the
pitch is ‘going,’ or is even going to ‘go.’
A leader’s solitary battle with natural forces is so personal and
isolated that it is harder for him to remember always what a heavy
responsibility he carries for the whole party. No man but the leader
ever knows what were the risks he ran or how near his shaves may have
been. He is induced to forget them by the relieved admiration of
those who have followed him on the rope, only too delighted to get
up. Very few will be ill-mannered enough afterwards to recall their
real feelings as they watched him take a rash chance, or tell him they
thought him a silly ass. The leader has greater privileges, greater
freedom and greater responsibilities than any other man of a party. To
deserve them, he must never cease to study for others, never fear to
decide for himself. In the words of a very great mountaineer, it is
“that detachment of mind, commonly called courage, which, combined
with high powers, alone makes the great leader.”
[Sidenote: The Duty of the Second Man.]
The qualities required for a good second man are all but as important
to a rope as those of the leader, and are more rarely found in their
perfection. A few ‘born’ leaders, who have learned their business by
long experience, are independent of actual help and advice; but all
leaders are, consciously or not, much influenced in their standard of
the day, by the feeling of the spirit or the experience that is backing
them immediately behind. A first man capable of rock work of the high
modern standard must possess a ‘temperament.’ He is often a man of
moods. The limit of physical possibility is so constantly approached
on rock, that only men capable of high nervous concentration, able
to call out their full strength and borrow again from their vitality
and will, can keep their standard of performance securely up to the
level demanded. In such performance the faintest doubt in the leader’s
mind of the confidence or capacity of the man behind, the merest
suspicion that his second man is not absolutely sure of his own stance
or confident in his, the first man’s, leading, may lower a sensitive
leader’s ability twenty or thirty per cent. The leader’s mind is
distracted; his concentration on the single effort is dissipated.
Even good, sound climbers, who take the important second place on the
rope without knowing its duties, may retreat day after day to the inn
speculating with their friends why their leader has so suddenly ‘gone
off’: quite unconscious that they themselves are alone responsible. The
leader himself may be, crossly, unaware of the reason. Not infrequently
in such cases, in a vexed reaction from constant turnings back, he
loses his better judgment and forces himself to attempt something
reckless the next time he goes out. This will do him no good; nor
will anything, until he changes his party or finds reason for better
confidence in his second man.
[Sidenote: Backing up, metaphysically.]
A great university stroke used to say that, give him a good ‘seven,’
and he didn’t care how the rest of the boat was manned. Almost to the
same extent, a good second makes a rope. He should be strong, able to
give a shoulder, arm or hand, and to carry his leader’s sack as well
as his own. He must be a fine enough climber to be able to follow up
a step or two in the most awkward places, and thence to spare a hand
to rest the leader’s strength or give him a fresh start. He must be
equable in temper, optimistic, and, whatever his private thoughts,
never less than cheerful. Above all, he must have the knack of
transmitting his own feeling of confidence, so that the leader may feel
a comfortable current of reassurance coming from his second’s secure
stance to his own precarious advance. If his leader is of the highly
strung, nervous class from which many great leaders are drawn, he must
learn to gauge him exactly, know what form he is in, and decide whether
he is up to doing the particular problem, so far as his climbing powers
are concerned. If he decides he can, he must lay himself out to give
just the quiet encouragement that will put his leader in the right
state of mind to use his powers at their best. As to how he effects
this, much must depend on the personality of the leader. Many a leader
objects to being talked to. Conversation is generally waste of climbing
time. He may take council how to do a place beforehand, but once he
has started it will only disturb or distract him to hear advice or be
asked anxious questions. None the less he is often quickly aware of the
‘atmosphere’ behind him; and he becomes conscious, without words, if
his second’s attention wanders or if his confidence is wavering.
For this reason it is bad form, as well as a sign of inattentive
mountaineering, for men to chatter to one another while the leader is
doing something that requires all his skill. Much of his individual
power is drawn from their sympathy, that should be then centred upon
him alone. And this applies not only to the climbing of the leader. It
is quite as bad form for him, when he is safely up, to exchange airy
jokes across the head of another climber in the throes of a passage.
A word or movement heard, or still worse, half heard, takes off the
climber’s attention and dissipates the concentration necessary for a
delicate balance or a supreme hoist.
Some leaders like asking questions about their difficulties, to which
they expect answers, without any intention of attending to them. Others
let off steam by declaring that it ‘won’t go,’ or they’re ‘coming
down.’ Protest or argument will irritate them; what they are really
asking for, unconsciously, is the confidence note in the voice behind
them, the sense of a human sympathy that realizes their difficulty but
yet feels them equal to it. It helps them greatly to be assured, by
the tone more than by the words, of another expert’s complete belief
in their ability to proceed. The second man gives his leader not only
the support of his own faith: he is the funnel to the leader of the
united spirit, the mutual support, which are pooled by the party, and
upon which each draws again for his individual efforts. In his more
dangerous and isolated work the leader, who needs it most, is most
separated from its atmosphere, and it is the second man’s duty to keep
him in touch with it, to control, as it were, the signals and air-pipes
that keep the diver in touch with humanity and reassure him in his work.
At the same time, the second man should relieve the leader in difficult
climbing, as far as possible, of all unnecessary physical labour: for
instance, avoid asking help for himself with the rope; relieve him of
pulling up the rest of the party; carry the sacks; and so on. He must
be able, at times, to manage the leader’s rope and that of the man
behind himself simultaneously. He has at such times to control the
movement of the party, and determine when it is proper for the next
man to start. He must decide where it is safe to let his leader run
out his rope, with no more attention than will suffice to prevent it
catching, and where, on the other hand, his rope will require every
attention. His rope, belay and stance technique must be as practised as
his judgment. If he decides that the passage is beyond the leader on
his standard of the day, he should take the responsibility of saying
so definitely, and share the vexatious responsibility of turning back.
If a leader has been ‘all out’ on a pitch and yet failed, his judgment
will be for the moment disturbed, and his decision as to whether he
will try again or turn may not be a considered one. But if he has
learned to trust his second, he will take his opinion in preference
to his own, even though he might be himself considered normally the
manager of the party. If it be to go forward, in spite of preceding
failure, then he will renew his attempt with redoubled confidence; if
it be to turn back, he will have the consolation of feeling that his
second man was in the best position to watch the original effort, and
was therefore better able to judge if a new attempt could succeed
under any circumstances.
The second man has thus a most responsible position. While the leader
is converting himself into a motor engine to get the party up the
climb, the second man, even if he be not accepted as such already,
becomes the temporary manager or mind of the party, conscious of it
in all its mechanism, and not only of its dynamic leader. In severe
rock climbing so much of the leader’s energy and time is spent on the
physical struggle and in isolated situations, that the position of
second may become for hours together the really vital one on the rope.
His selection and education should be the first consideration for a
party of ambition or merit.
[Sidenote: Backing up, physically.]
In discussing the order on the rope, we said that on all exacting rock
the second man without exception backs up his leader, behind him going
up, in front of him going down. On easier passages he may either lead
the rope on a descent, or come between two weaker climbers on an ascent
or descent.
The duties involved in backing up depend upon the situation. If the
passage of descent to be made is long and holdless, and the leader,
after letting the rest down, is unable to make use of the double rope,
his second should remain as close as possible to him. A good second,
from very sketchy stances, can often give just that touch of help
or direction which makes the last man’s descent less solitary and
precarious, and is of more use to him than much anchoring of his rope
upon remote platforms below.
In ascending, again, by putting a hand or an axe under a leader’s heel
when his toe is not over-secure, a second can often give his leader
a security greater than his own may be at the moment. In fact, the
duty of the second man, if he judges the place will go at all, is to
sacrifice his own comfort and do anything that is not a definite risk
to help the leader to get up more safely. A touch to his balance or
foothold, judicious and opportune, is worth more as a protection than
nine coils round a billiard-table boulder would be to him after he has
slipped.
But backing up is subject to certain restrictions; a second must
remember that he cannot do two things at once. If he helps with hand
or shoulder or head,--that is, in climbing parlance, if he selects to
identify himself with the active rope,--he has generally to sacrifice
much of his value as buffer or anchor-man between the leader and the
party. To be justified in so prejudicing his security as an anchor, he
must feel wholeheartedly certain that his leader will not fail. It is
often difficult to find a position of compromise, such as will allow
him really to help the leader and also to retain his protective anchor
for the party. He must be guided primarily by what he judges to be
best for the collective safety, and only secondly by what contributes
most to their success in getting up the climb. If he decides that no
backing up on his part can make certain the leader’s ascent, whilst it
sacrifices, in the attempt, his anchor in case of his fall, he must
stay by his secure anchorage, and to such extent diminish the leader’s
chance of success. But if he sees that his backing up can just make
the difference to the leader’s safe and certain ascent, he is free to
combine the claims of safety for the party and success for the leader,
and move decisively and promptly to the leader’s support.
For a second man compromise, in such a choice, is always ineffective
and sometimes dangerous. As one small instance: partly with the idea
of doing both things, and partly from nervousness, many inexperienced
seconds cling as close to the rock as they can when they are giving
the leader a ‘shoulder,’ so as to remain more secure themselves. This
is wrong. The nearer his human support stays to the rock, the more
difficult is it for the leader to keep his balance as he stands upon
him. If his second man then rises, as is often required of him, so
as to give his leader an extra lift, as he stands on his shoulder or
his hand or his head, his nearness to the rock thrusts the leader’s
feet inward and his balance outward. The second man, when he gives a
‘shoulder,’ should aim at giving a really secure step on knee or hip
or shoulder or head (for a good second can make his body a regular
staircase, and painlessly, if he makes the right adjustments) as far
away from the rock as he can securely thrust himself, even to full
arm’s length. He is then in a position of some use; and should the
leader’s re-descent be necessary, he can sometimes let him pass down
inside, between himself and the rock. A good hold can be given, on a
firm stance, by making a stirrup of the locked hands for the leader’s
foot, and then straightening the back with a lift.
The tightened muscles of the thigh, well above the knee, give a
painless foothold. The strong muscles at the junction of the neck, back
and shoulder of a stooping man, but not on the point or in the curve of
the shoulder, are good for a foothold. The hip-bone, provided that the
leg using it is pressed close against the ribs over the hip, makes a
useful foothold for a man descending from the shoulders.
In making use of these anatomical holds, the climber must remember
never to shuffle or screw his boot once it is placed; otherwise the
human frame is good for far more use than its owner will usually
tolerate. I have had a guide of some weight, but of delicately managed
feet, walking from my shoulder to my head and back again for twenty
minutes, while he was trying to noose the lower pinnacle on the
Charmoz, without feeling any great discomfort.
The second man should never give a leader so climbing any push or lift
that will come to him unexpectedly. It is not uncommon to see a second
man grasp a leader’s foot, as soon as it moves off his shoulder, and
shove it indiscriminately upward, regardless of the leader’s balance
or the holds he may be designing to use. The human ladder is only of
use in so far as the leader can calculate exactly upon its location
and function; it must remain for him as passive as any part of the
rock he is engaged with. He steps from the thigh, puts his knee on one
shoulder, and brings his other foot up on to the other shoulder; or
he clings up his second’s back, if the second is standing upright, by
knee pressure against his sides. Once he is up, he must know exactly
where he will be able to put knee or foot in returning. If he has to
descend from the rock on to his second again, he need barely use his
boot at all. The instant his toe has discovered the position of the
shoulder below, he can slide his leg down the back and let himself slip
down, and the friction of the two surfaces of clothes will regulate his
descent until his hands have reached the supporting shoulders. He must
cling as close as possible to his second’s body and bend inwards, so as
to relieve the outward strain upon his second’s balance, and he must
never let his descending weight pull upon him askew.
The instant his leader is up and at rest, by the help of his impulses,
moral and physical, the second man should prepare to follow, and as
he approaches the leader’s stance he should notice exactly how he has
placed himself, so that when the leader moves out he can put himself
in the same position for holding. There should be no need for him to
have to ‘get comfortable.’ If the third man is required to come up
before the leader starts again, the second man should at once call,
“Come!” and not wait to be asked, “Are you all right?” These seconds
are, cumulatively, most valuable. In a good party the third man will be
ready to start the instant he gathers that the man above has taken his
stance.
[Sidenote: The Duty of the Third Man.]
In big alpine climbing, or on long mountaineering expeditions in
general, yet another group of duties comes into prominence which
cannot well be discharged by the leader and second man, who will have
sufficient to do in looking after their respective functions. These
create the position, for such climbing, of what may best be termed a
‘third man,’ though the party may consist of four or more, and the
duties may be subdivided. If the second man’s duties may be called
‘backing up,’ the third man’s are those of ‘following up.’ He must
be strong and able to carry, so that the spare rope and sacks of the
leaders in really serious situations can all be discharged on to his
shoulders without hesitation. He must be expert enough to manage a
belay for both his leaders, if the situation demands the second man
backing up the leader on an exposed passage, and be able to give them
at least the moral support of his sound anchoring of the rope. He
must have no false pride, and be prepared to get up himself as best
and quickest he can, using the rope to save time. He must be always
patient, ready to stand and shiver in his steps without complaint while
the difficulties are solved. He must take the inevitable loosened
stones, flying ice-chips and cleared-off snow incidental to his lower
position with a hardened heart and, if possible, on a hard head, with
no more than reasonable protest, and be able to see the humour of snow
melting down his neck with the cheerfulness that it will afterwards he
found to have caused to his friends. He must be prepared to go last,
behind any weaker member, if there be four or more men in the party,
and to look after him, following him up closely wherever he is able,
without expecting help himself or much attention to his own rope. He
must be good-tempered, ready to set the example of accepting decisions
to turn back without discussion and even without knowing their reasons,
and prepared in crises to remain quietly reassuring without bothering
his occupied friends with questions. His use is, directly, as a support
of strength and cheeriness to the leader and the second man if the
serious nature of the climbing demands their combined preoccupation,
and, indirectly, as an example of genial co-operation and ‘following
up’ to other members of the party.
In a sense every member of the party should be a ‘third man’; but in
big undertakings it is of undoubted help to the leader and second to
have one man upon whom they can specially rely to look after the humour
of the rest in the trying times of waiting while they themselves are
working out the difficulties; to relieve them of the minor tasks of
carrying and directing; and to come up without pride or protest in
inconvenient ways, to inconvenient places, at convenient times.
[Sidenote: More about the Rope during Climbing.]
During all the intricate manœuvres incidental to combined climbing, the
watch on the rope may never be relaxed, and a few further hints as to
its management may be useful to leaders and followers alike.
With a rope, as with a horse, anticipation is the secret. Once it
catches, or kinks, or entangles, the result is nightmare. Of its
control, when men are moving together, I have already spoken: the
perpetual glance, and flick, and swing, to keep it free, that must
become subconscious.
In climbing singly on steep ascents, the rope, as it is drawn out by
the man climbing above, must be watched as well as held, and warning
must be given to him that it is running out at least four feet before
it is taut. This is a primary rule. To jerk the man climbing, by a
hitch, or to let the rope closure his advance without sufficient
warning, is an unpardonable fault.
As we draw in the rope of a man ascending or descending to our stance,
it should be gathered in neat coils, near the belay if one is used.
Above all, it should be laid well out of the way--at the back or side
of the stance. In pulling in the rope we must always consider exactly
where the next man will come up and how he will stand; and lay his
coil, as it runs in, as well as the coil of the man ahead, which is
running out, where there is no chance that the rear man will be forced
to ‘cross’ either rope. If our hands are occupied with holding or with
the belay, so that we have no time to coil it down, the slack of the
rope should be flung evenly over the arm, or somewhere out of the way,
as it runs in. The moment the next man is up it should be passed to him
in its chance coils; or else, if it has coiled down neatly, it may be
left lying where it is.
If a belay has been used, the end of the rope running in should be
taken off the belay as the next man reaches the stance, while the end
of the rope nearest our own waist is put over it, lying always in
the direction in which it will afterwards have to be paid out. These
operations have to become practically mechanical. The instant the next
man takes our place on the stance and imitates our last position, the
rope, rightly laid, should be ready to his hand.
On severe climbs there is often not room for two men at the same time
on the same stance or platform. To avoid any awkward juggling on the
ledge, it is best for us, if we are holding, to move a step or two from
the belay, so soon as we see the next man has got a good handhold near
the stance that will bring him securely and immediately to the belay.
In this case it is essential for us to leave the ropes lying exactly
right, so that the next man may take position to protect himself, and
us, with the shortest possible interruption to the safe continuous
anchor of the rope.
The man who is actually climbing is the man first to be considered. To
clear the way for him we must be prepared momentarily to sacrifice our
own comfort or solidity. This may seem a commonplace, but it requires
quite an effort of will. I have remarked even among good cragsmen that
seven times out of ten they wait too long on the stance, until the next
man is on the top of them, and ropes and legs are all in a muddle. But
when, with the object of leaving the next man room, we move out of his
way off a stance, we must take note exactly of what is going to be our
own line of advance when he is secure and we start the next section;
and we must avoid moving into any position which will mean repassing
and unsettling him, or even, as one sometimes sees done, climbing over
him. Apart from the risk to his and our own balance, we shall almost
inevitably entangle the rope by a switchback of this sort.
In pulling in the rope of an ascending man, we should be mindful to
keep it just taut, but never tightened or tugged, unless he calls
for it. It requires some education of touch to distinguish between
the three. Guides are wretched judges in this respect. “Don’t pull!”
“Nicht ziehen!” “Ne tirez pas!” is the groan of protest that eddies
all the week round alpine centres. But the guide remains convinced
he merely had the rope ‘taut.’ All leaders who have never or seldom
practised going behind on the rope are apt to make the same mistake.
The complaint is constant. The difference between ‘taut,’ ‘tightened’
and ‘tugged’ is best learnt from below.
On the other hand, many climbers who have never led are equally
unconscious of the difference, and of how much they owe on occasion
to a discreetly handled rope. “You didn’t pull me there!” or, “I
did _that_ without the rope, anyway!” are the common forms. Only a
climber experienced in balance can honestly distinguish between the
constricting tug that takes his whole weight, the taut rope that is
only precautionary, and the delicate tightening that just serves to
keep his body in balance and so allows freedom to hand and foot to find
easy holds. The first is called “using the rope,” the second “without
using the rope,” and the last guileless but material aid to adjustment
is often euphemistically entitled “the moral support” of the rope.
I must repeat that, however easy the place or good the climbers, a
man who calls for the rope, or a pull from the rope, should always be
helped at once. Inexperienced climbers are incurably prone to argue
that the rope is not really needed. Some accidents have been caused
in this way. The rope should be put on before rather than when it is
really wanted.
The rope of a man descending to our stance, especially of a man
descending last, demands no discernment between subtler strains; but
it requires even more adroit handling. It must never be jerked or
tightened, which may pull him off his balance holds. If it appears
to be catching on intervening points, it must be loosened with the
lightest of flicks: a strong flick will run up the rope and jerk him
like the crack of a heavy whip. It must never be left loose to drag or
catch close to his feet, where it will get in the way of his foothold
or get round his feet or legs. If he has a long rope out, the weight
alone of the rope, if we hold it anything like taut from below, will
drag on him. It is best in such case to keep it sliding gently down the
rock towards us. As the climber moves down, a very slight motion of our
hand will just free it, without taking its weight off the rock.
Our eye should never for an instant leave a man so descending to,
or ascending from, our stance, so that if he finds it necessary to
reascend or redescend a few inches in order to better his holds or
position for the next movement, we may at once be ready to relax or
take in the extra coil he requires or releases. If he is out of our
sight while descending towards us, we watch the rope, which tells us
as much as the sight of the man. If he is out of sight while ascending
above us, our feel of the rope as it tautens or slackens will tell us
almost as much as sight or speech. But a man ascending or descending
out of sight below us will have to tell us what he wants, if it is
anything more than the usual steady playing, out or in, of the taut
rope.
If, as often happens in the case of a man who is just climbing up off
our stance, the rope, owing to his having tied his waist-knot in front,
or crossed the rope, makes a spiral round his leg, he should be warned
at once, and we must hold the rope ready to swing it from under his
foot as he raises it for the purpose. This sometimes also happens if a
man is descending quickly on to our stance. In neither case must the
rope be jerked or swung, to release it, without his knowledge or the
signal of his lifted foot. Similarly, if a man is starting to descend
from our stance, and has his rope knotted in front, as he turns face
inward the rope makes a spiral round his neck or arm. A warning, and a
light sway of the rope may prevent him from anticipating fate.
In climbing with beginners it is always worth while seeing, before
they leave our stance, that the knot of their waist-loop is secure,
and pulled round well to the side, under the arm. For ascending, the
rope should run up straight from the knot, in front of the shoulder;
for descending, in front of or behind the shoulder, as balance and the
angle of the rock suggest.
A very risky practice, common with beginners, is that of using the
active rope as a handhold in difficulties, to pull themselves up by.
Unless they can reach a balanced position in one pull, they are forced
then to keep hold of the rope for their balance, and to take yet a
second and higher hold upon it for their next movement. They are thus
accumulating a quantity of slack between their point of dependence
from the rope and its noose on their waist. And a slack rope is full
of dangers. If their grip fails, they fall all the length of the
slack, and the rope may break. If it does not, the man above will be
subjected to a most unfair jerk, of whose possibility he may be all the
time unconscious. In any case, the climber is depriving himself of the
steady help and protection of a rope, pulled in taut from above, on
just the passages where he has found himself least capable to cope with
the difficulties unaided. No climber should use the rope as handhold
without full warning to the man above, and without making certain that
he can in a single pull reach a balanced stance, where the rope can be
again drawn taut upon him.
[Sidenote: With Stones.]
To avoid sending down stones with the rope is a sure test of expert
climbing. A climber’s responsibility in this respect extends the whole
length of the rope between him and the companion whose progress he
is superintending. In the case of a man above us, we have a personal
interest in seeing that his rope does not drag over loose pebbles
or catch on disintegrating points. In that of the man below us, our
personal interest may be less, but it will be no less appreciated. It
must be remembered that the rope as it comes in taut will touch and
dislodge much that seemed out of its range when we selected its line
of pull-in. An inspection should be made to discover if there are any
pebbles lurking just over or on the edges over which it will pass.
These last are a special danger in couloirs or British gullies, which
consist largely of steep pitches surmounted by accumulations of loose
scree. It is often safer and more tempting to move up to the top of
these scree spits and not to anchor on the immediate lip of the pitch.
Great care has then to be taken to remove all loose stones from the
line of the rope; for the rope when taut will drag over the edge of
the pitch, and even apparently firmly embedded stones may work loose
under its friction when it is too late to move them into safety.
If a rope length has been allowed to sag against the rock, it must not
be pulled in or jerked free hurriedly, unless we can see that there
is nothing it might loosen. Over surface visibly friable or pasturing
stray stones the rope must be kept from touching at all--a delicate
task in continuous going.
When men are all moving together, and our hand, while seeking for its
holds, is also charged with loose coils and the task of freeing the
rope, it is often difficult to combine an attention to all the loose
stones that may be caught by the swinging coils with a simultaneous
precaution against possible loose stones under our feet or hands. Of
course we give warning if one gets loose in spite of our care. But I
must add that it is considered no valid excuse among mountaineers to
plead that a stone was dislodged by the rope.
[Sidenote: During Halts.]
The rope, during halts or interruptions, should never be left lying
about in a tangle. It may catch over points from which it will be
difficult to release it. I remember an occasion on an Aiguille when
it took a quarter of an hour to extract some loose lengths, which had
jammed in a deep cleft of the slab on which we were standing.
Halts for lunch are full of dangers. Men begin to cross and recross
each other’s ropes, for matches or for conversation, and at the end
of the halt a maze presents itself which can only be solved by long,
impassioned moments of general untying and reroping. It is better for
the two end men to unrope for the halt, and leave their coils ready for
easy resumption.
Two middle men can only get their rope twisted, not crossed. When a
middle man finds, as often happens, that the ropes going backward and
forward from his waist-knot have got twisted round one another and make
a bunch at his waist, he has only got to lift the upper of the two
ropes over his head and pass it under his feet the requisite number of
times, to clear it. Once, after an eighteen hour traverse of the Dent
Blanche by the Viereselgrat, we took a midnight halt on the glacier,
and on re-starting found the rope inextricably interwoven between the
five of us. The guides were tired, too tired to unrope, or to move
eurhythmically; and the next ten minutes of frenzied gyrations, with
the lanterns whirligigging round one another in the darkness among the
crevasses, will remain a picture as precious as its moral.
[Sidenote: Coiling.]
At the end of a climb the rope should be carefully coiled up, so that
the loops will run out without entanglement. To coil with the lay of
the strands avoids kinks. We never know when next the rope may be
needed in a hurry; and the unknotting evolutions, the passing of the
long ends, etc., are more irritating before a late start than a late
return.
During coiling, the loops should be caught up in the hand, with the
lay, and laid against one another, but not allowed to cross. For most
men, especially if they prefer to carry the rope round their chest, the
most convenient length of coil is that made round the sole of the boot
and the knee. Some prefer coiling round the hand and the elbow.
A convenient trick for finishing off such coils is to bind the loose
end once or twice round the whole mass of coils near one end, and
then thread it through the smaller of the loops into which the whole
coil is thus divided. The loose end, so threaded, makes a comfortable
shoulder-strap, by which the whole coil can be suspended over the back.
This method of fixing the end is less trouble to undo than the more
usual method--to twine both loose ends of the rope through and round
and round the finished coil in opposite directions, and knot them where
they meet. This forms a single firm hoop to hang over one shoulder.
For this single hoop, however, a still better way to finish is to make
a half-hitch on the coil with one loose end, and then wind this one end
in a spiral round the coil in the same direction as that of the spiral
of the rope-strands. While winding this loose end, twist its strands
tight with the fingers. Their inclination to untwist will keep the
spirals clinging close round the coil.
Yet another convenient and quick method of coiling the rope, suitable
for short intervals of disuse, is that of linking it in ‘chain knots’:
short loops are successively pulled through one another in a continuous
linking chain, and this is then swung over the shoulder. The rope
should only be left in chain-knots for short periods.
The rope can be carried either as a hoop round the shoulders, or, more
conveniently, hung over the shoulder-straps, as a cushion between the
rucksack and the back. If it is wet or heavy, it is best to put it in
an empty sack, or to fix it, by means of string or its loose ends,
upright between the shoulders, like a rucksack.
If the rope is new, and has got wet, it is well to uncoil it in the
evening and suspend it, neither strained nor taut, round the banisters
or looped along a wall. It is wrong to strain a wet rope, as many
climbers do. It stretches the twist and weakens the resilience which is
its strength.
If a rope has kinked during a climb, or from being left wet in coil,
in order to clear the kinks it is not necessary to untwist them with
the hand. The rope need be only grasped some distance from its end with
one hand and swung round circularly in the direction opposed to the
twist of the kinks. They work themselves free, and the hand can then be
shifted farther up the rope, and repeat the swing for another section.
The rope should never be dried in the sun or near a fire.
The rope should be examined after every ascent, and at intervals
during the day, for bruises or frayed strands. A single frayed strand
justifies the cutting or rejecting of the rope. An old rope should
never be used. Guides are careless in this respect.
[Sidenote: Suitable Lengths.]
Some parties prefer to have their rope in lengths of 45 to 55 feet.
Each climber is roped separately, and the middle men thus wear two
waist-nooses. This method allows of rapid changes of order, of easy
separation into parties of two, and so on. For most rock climbing a
length of 60 feet is all that is required for the leader. A rope of 100
to 120 feet is sufficient for three. For parties of four, one length
of 60 feet for the leader, and one of 90 to 100 feet for the rest, are
generally found correct. For parties of two, the length depends on
the character of the climb in prospect. But the leader requires more
initial allowance for absolute security, since it is awkward, with only
two men, for one to unrope in critical positions and give his leader
more as he requires it. In larger parties this is less risky.
A run-out of 50 to 60 feet is usually accepted as the maximum which a
leader should allow himself, and most sound climbs on rock offer good
stances within or at this distance. A few exceptional climbs need 80
or 100 feet; but their supposed number is constantly being reduced, as
later parties at their greater leisure discover adequate anchorages at
shorter intervals. At distances of 100 feet, or even less, the rope
ceases to be even a moral reassurance to the leader, and its drag alone
diminishes his security. If he has a following on such climbs who
cannot get up without the help of the rope, to carry it coiled, and let
it down when he reaches his remote platform, may be the safer course.
[Sidenote: Funicula.]
Our first lesson is to learn how to knot the waist-loop quickly, and
how to untie ourselves. Our second, to unravel expeditiously the
entanglements that invade the rope during the extra manœuvring which
the presence of inexperienced climbers entails. The best end-man
knot can be made with a single continuous movement of the hand. The
methods of roping and knotting are dealt with elsewhere; but we must
remember to re-examine waist-knots frequently, for ourselves and the
inexperienced. The noose sometimes slips down or becomes dangerously
loose amid the confused disarrangement of garments which stiff rocks
excite. Cases have occurred where men, slipping on rock or into a
crevasse, have all but fallen out of their careless waist-nooses, and
have remained suspended by one armpit. Theoretically we always rope
round the chest; but round a large chest or tapering ribs the rope will
not stay up, unless it is too tight to be comfortable. Consequently
many men, and all women, prefer to rope round the waist. Anyone who,
like myself, prefers to keep the rope up round the chest, will find a
convenient device is to pass the end of the rope, after tying the knot,
over one shoulder, and knot it lightly on to the noose again behind.
This prevents the weight of the rope, especially in the case of a
leader, from pulling down the noose round the false chest.
If a climber has to make a jump while on the rope, he must give notice
first, and be sure that he has enough slack rope not to jerk his
friends or spoil his own jump. Beginners and boys are apt to jump in
unexpected places, and to forget that they have the rope on.
On boulders and such-like problems, wherever height and difficulty
make the protection of a rope from above advisable, the climber should
be roped on properly. To dangle a loose cord past him, as is so often
done, is worse than useless. It tempts him to risky assays; and then,
if he slips, it is utterly impossible for him to save himself by
snatching at the rope.
An unroped man who calls for the rope is generally unable to free
more than one hand to tie himself on. Therefore the loop, already
tied, should be sent down to him, which he can work under his armpits
_seriatim_. Failing a loop, he should twist the rope round his forearm;
but never trust to the grip of the hand alone. If he is within reach,
it is often easier to give him a hand than the rope. A hand-clasp is
not strong enough for a sheer lift. Each man should grasp the other’s
wrist; or they should crook and interlock their fingers. This last is a
very powerful hold.
Every climber should know how to make the simple hitches for sending up
sacks or axes on the rope. An undue proportion of the wasted moments of
my own life have been spent in unravelling the labyrinthine ‘granny’
knots with which well-meaning friends have plotted to protect the
ascents of their sacks.
The ‘stirrup’ and other marabout rope-tricks may be studied in rescue
handbooks. The rope, as a support, precautionary, corrective or moral,
cannot be too minutely studied; but as a means of evasive traction, or
detached ætherial flight, it need not occupy the mundane climber.