ice craft. The upright balanced movement, the management of the rope,
turning, anchoring, etc., are the same, or only slightly modified.
Only points of detail, therefore, need be mentioned which are peculiar
to the different qualities of snow surface. In certain cases, such as
bridges and cornices, both snow and ice are in question, and the notes
are then supplementary to those made under general ice craft.
To make snow steps is a matter of muscle and rhythm; to use them, one
of balance and endurance; but to know how to avoid making them and
where not to make them is the science of snow craft. We may learn to
identify snow states by description: nothing but experiment can teach
us how to deal with them.
We may classify the states of snow under many heads; but we are only
practically concerned with three points: which of these states are
pleasant, which are unpleasant, and which are unsafe to walk upon.
Of most importance is it to be certain which states are likely to be
unsafe, and to be able to recognize their presence beforehand.
Under Reconnoitring some suggestions are made as to the signs by
which snow states may be interpreted from a distance, and some of the
certainly unsafe ones consequently avoided in anticipation.
As to whether the state on a particular day will be pleasant or
unpleasant, the weather of the day, the hour and the angle of the snow
can tell us much. The final test must always be by touch.
[Sidenote: Some Characteristics and Countermoves.]
Snow lying at above an angle of 20 degrees may slide whenever its
support is not equal to its mass. Its support comes either from behind,
the rock, ice or snow surface upon which it rests; or from its quality,
the cohesion of its particles; or from below, the angle and mass of the
subtending snow slope. In deciding about its safety we must take all
those three points under our inspection. Of its sub-surface we know
something if we can ascertain the lie of the rock strata or detect the
presence of ice. Of its quality and mass we judge by surface signs and
our recollection of the weather. Of its support from below we judge
by the angle at which it lies; not only by the angle of a specimen
section, but the angle of all sections of the slope below.[17]
Snow lying at easy angles, exposed to the directer rays of the sun,
will usually be soft; and while we may be able to mince over its
night crust before sunrise, we do well to avoid its possibilities of
purgatory on our return later in the day. Snow on south and south-east
faces for the same reason is the more to be respected, and its earlier
deterioration must be accepted without resentment.
If a strong wind has been blowing, the snow on the sheltered side of
a peak will be the softer and the more likely to avalanche. Snow on a
sheltered face becomes loosened in fibre by the balance between the
air-currents, whereas, on the windy side, it will get blown off or
blown superficially hard.
If there has been Föhn in the wind, the snow will be untrustworthy all
round. Föhn has the insidious quality of disintegrating snow through
all its depth; it may appear to have affected the surface relatively
little, but it will have reduced the under-snow to slush. This is the
most perilous of avalanche states.
Snow may be expected to slide, under the usual conditions, not only
after hot days or days of wind. Days of warm mist and diffused sunlight
may be even more deleterious.
Certain states of snow may start sliding irrespective of all changes of
temperature, at any time and on calm days, merely as the result of some
slight disturbance. First among these is ‘powdery’ snow. This may be
either fresh snow or old snow which has never been melted and refrozen.
Older snow in a powdery state we shall only expect in summer to find at
greater heights, where the daily sun has little power. Since we shall
recognize by sight that it is older snow, and since it has neither
blown off nor as yet fallen, we shall be reassured about its holding
quality, provided that we can also make certain that it is not lying
in great masses or at a minatory angle. Sometimes, although we may not
have seen it, we shall get evidence of its presence above us, in the
appearance on gusty days of cascades of thin powdery snow streaming
like dust down the lower ice or snow slopes. In the Alps these wind
cascades of old powdery snow are sensational to see or to feel pouring
round us on a steep wall, but they are too light to be harmful. The
difference in weight between a flying veil of dry snow and one of
wet snow must be felt on the shoulders or ankles to be appreciated.
Cascades, of a more threatening sound, betray to us the presence above
of old granular or crystal snow. The grains are easily set in motion;
but in the Alps snow of this sort rarely lies at a depth to be worth
regarding. Old powdery or granular snow, lying at a good angle and in
light mass, we shall expect to be laborious but not to avalanche:--at
least until we have put it to its last test of touch.
New snow, as a dry powder, if it lies in large masses, must be expected
to avalanche on all slopes of steeper angle. In lesser quantities, it
may be started by wind or by an incautious passage. On ice or rock it
is never stable, until it has been cleared away or melted and refrozen.
New snow, as a wet powder on rocks, is desperately chilly for the
hands, and has the disagreeable quality of transforming itself into
an ice glaze under the pressure of the boots or the glove. If we are
caught out by a fall of new wet snow on rock, ice-claws will protect
our foothold, but nothing will save the hands. I have known very few
men whose hands would stand more than a very short spell of clearing
out rock holds in wet snow. Gloves are soon saturated, and the ice
glaze forming under the hand still further reduces the effective
grip of the numbed fingers. It is this that makes climbing on rocks
impossible for days after a snowfall; while from snow or ice slopes,
where we are not so concerned with handhold, the same storm will
restrain us by its threat of avalanches.
After a storm of any length, two or three fine days are required in
summer for the rock to clear. The first day of sun should melt the
snow; the night following will refreeze it into a glaze: the second hot
day will melt the glaze; and, with luck, the third day may find the
rocks clear.
All wet snow, melting in heat or rain, in Föhn or after wind, is liable
to avalanche, according to the angle at which it lies and in proportion
to the amount of water which it contains. Only experience and touch
can tell whether snow is or is not overcharged for the angle at which
it is lying. It is astonishing what a quantity of water snow will hold
without moving; and again, what a trifle will set it falling or arrest
it. I have seen a whole quiet mountain face break into avalanches under
the extra snow weight discharged during a few minutes of after-squall;
and I have watched water-logged snow streaming like thin milk over
the slabs of a north precipice, stopping suddenly as heavy, cold grey
clouds crept over the rocks, only to begin again the instant the clouds
passed and the sun broke through.
Frothy snow, neither powdery nor wet, but of the texture of dry
sea-foam, is not so frequent in summer in the Alps as in some other
great ranges. But I have found it occasionally near big summits or high
up on northern snow faces. In spite of its intimidating quality, it is
safe at almost any angle if it lies on a good sub-surface. But it is
infinitely laborious. A step takes us up to our waist or shoulders.
Progress is only possible by flogging a furrow up it with forearms and
shins, which leaves a trail like an ecstatic sea-serpent. Some relief
can be got by slapping down the shaft of the axe flatwise above us and
crossways to the line, and pulling up on it as on a horizontal bar.
Before venturing upon snow of definitely unstable type, such as powdery
snow or wet snow, we must make certain of its mass, its angle and the
nature of the surface below it. We then adapt our methods accordingly.
For instance, if we find that wet or powdery snow is lying upon ice
at anything but a very low angle, we start by finding out if it is of
the same quality for all its depth. If it is, we must clear it away
at each pace and cut a step in the ice below. If the poor quality is
only superficial and improves below, or if we notice that where the
lowest skin of snow rests on the ice it adheres either in a film or
in measle-patches,--which signifies that the ice and the snow surfaces
are going through a gradual process of peaceful interpenetration,--we
can count on this lower snow surface for sure footing. We need not cut
steps, but only stamp through the snow to a safe depth for a sound step.
If we have any doubt as to the security of a slope, which we shall have
when the angle of the slope and quality of the snow are varying and
the resultant stability is indeterminable, we must ascend or descend
it vertically, if possible, or on very steep zigzags. We must take
care to cross incipient cleavages, or traces of horizontal strains on
the surface, at right angles, and never encourage them by letting the
weight of our party tramp parallel to their length.
A steep slope of doubtful quality, if it has to be traversed, should
be crossed as near its upper edge as possible, and this particularly
if the slope is subtended by a cliff or a snow slope of steeper
inclination.
On a slope actually showing traces of a recent slide, secondary falls
may be expected. A snow slope is not a _sérac_, and it is not so safe
to assume that all has fallen that can fall without close inspection.
If we cannot see the place of origin we can make a deduction, as in the
case of an ice fall, from the appearance of the nearer debris: as to
whether it was a recent fall, a night or day fall, a surface skim, a
local powder-rush or a sample of gravitating under-slush.
On the lee side of ridges which have been exposed to the wind, we must
expect to find snow accumulations of a poorer quality, and liable to
slide according to the angle at which they lie. This will be especially
the case if the ridges are subordinate ribs descending from a principal
ridge. On such ribs, if we find wind signs on the near side, we must
be careful of the snow on the far side of each rib, and in all the
adjoining protected hollows.
Good snow is either snow with a hard surface, or snow which, below the
surface, remains sticky and light. Except at great heights, we shall
only find snow hard before the sun has touched it. Before sunrise,
after wholesome cold nights, we count on finding all snow surface good
and every bridge holding. When we find soft surfaces in the early hours
after a warm night, it bodes us ill if we have to return the same
way later. On hard, steep snow, wherever our boots begin to scratt
fretfully for foothold, it is less fatiguing to put on claws, or to
make a notch with a single one-handed tug stroke of the adze-blade. On
very steep snow of medium hardness, when a handhold is needed, it is
better to use the blade of the axe than the pick.
The more level the snow the more directly will it have felt the sun;
the thinner will be its night crust and the softer its under layers.
Therefore we avoid, especially later in the day, launching out upon
the great snow plateaux and valleys of the higher regions of glaciers,
such as are labelled ‘_Firn_,’ ‘_Névé_,’ ‘_Ewige Schnee_’ on maps,
names of foreboding. If we have to take to them, we keep to the sides,
where the snow-levels begin to climb and the rays strike less directly.
If we have a choice, we select the side or line which is subject to
the shortest hours of full sunlight. Always, if they are there, we
use old foot tracks. The floor of an old step melts and refreezes
and, protected by its depth, remains firmer than its surroundings. On
popular peaks these tracks can become immense frozen ruts, very awkward
and ankle-racking to descend. It was reported one radiant year that
a tourist on the final slopes of the Jungfrau had fallen into one of
these ‘steps,’ and had been extricated with difficulty.
[Sidenote: Snow Travail.]
When we are really in for a steady plough through deep snow, the stride
should be kept short, the knee bent, the weight well forward, and the
body swaying from side to side--in fact we adopt the ‘tramp’s walk.’
To thrust with the straight knee is uselessly fatiguing. On soft snow
we are lost if we cannot achieve some sort of steady rhythm. The feet
should be planted _straight_, and not toes outward. The length of the
stride with either leg should be absolutely equal.
If the weights of the party are very uneven, the heavy man should
precede. It is less fatiguing for a heavy man to make his own steps,
where he allows beforehand for the ‘give’ of the snow, than to stride
out behind expecting a firm tread, only, in two out of three steps,
to find the floor give way under him. Irregular resistances are the
negation of rhythm.
Unless he has the shortest legs of his party, the step maker must
always shorten his normal stride on soft snow. The length of the first
man’s stride is increased as each man behind slightly deepens the
steps, until the last man may have to be making a grasshopper bound to
reach from tread to tread of what started as a normal pace.
On soft surfaces, especially where the resistance is irregular, it is
difficult to keep in balance, and the axe comes into use at every step.
I have usually found it better to reverse the axe. The head, like a
ski-stick, gives broader stay on level snow, and firmer touches against
inclined soft snow, than the point.
Crusted snow, where the surface has melted and refrozen, but too
lightly to carry our weight, is the worst snow of all. When it lies
at easy angles, it may be extraordinarily wearisome to cross. It just
bears our weight until the body is fairly over the foot, then it gives
and lets us through. At least the half of each lifting effort is thus
lost, and each fresh step has to be made from a yielding basis uphill
on to a hard one. Rhythm is impossible, and the prolonged aggravation
is demoralizing. For which reason I have found soft snow the one test
of sheer endurance in which good guides are inferior to good amateurs.
We meet it not infrequently in our own islands, and welcome it then as
good ‘alpine’ training.
For really bad crust there is no countermove, except strong thighs
and a high flat-foot step. On crust of a better character, especially
before sunrise, a shuffling step, which distributes the weight, often
saves the foot from going through, or lets it sink to a less depth.
On some crusted surfaces it is possible to slide cautiously along on
the shuffle-step, where lighter men, walking ‘heel and toe,’ are going
through at each stride. When the surface is too soft for even a shuffle
to save us, the tread should be made with the whole flat of the sole,
and not with the heel leading as is usual in road walking. Under the
flat foot, as under a snow-shoe, the snow packs more quickly. To pivot
upon the foot, before the weight comes upon it, widens the bearing
surface.
Soft snow cannot be taken at a rush. There is a peculiarly clinging
and binding quality in the snow of old avalanche debris. These are
just the places where most folk start seven-leagued leaping. If we
cannot restrain them, we make them take off the rope first. To be
tied to a hop-o’-my-thumb when our leg has just entered binding snow,
up to the thigh, at an acute angle to the pull is full of unpleasant
possibilities. The wise man will continue even here to move lightly,
and only as rapidly as balance and rhythm will allow.
On long monotonous snow wades, if we cannot get a good rhythm of legs
or body, it is sometimes of use to supply its place by an artificial
rhythm, counting the steps up to fifty and then pausing, or whistling,
or following a tune in our head--anything that may introduce a rhythm,
with rests, into the featureless vista of effort. The boredom that
may afflict a party on snow is peculiar to itself. The even glare
and the winding line of diminishing tracks hypnotize the eye and
mind, and produce a conviction of exhaustion which is often in great
part self-suggested. The wader feels that he absolutely cannot take
another step. If counting fails, and other wiles and conversational
red-herrings shrivel up in the silent white monotony, rest is the only
cure. Sleep follows easily in such states, and a few minutes’ slumber
often restores a man or a party surprisingly.
On long snow plods it is best to get rid of the rope whenever the
absence of crevasses will allow. It but doubles the uneasy travail. If
it has to be kept on, avoid spoken remonstrance when the man before or
behind jerks you; let the rope do the talking. If you are leading, keep
a small, loose coil in your hand, so that the man behind shall not drag
you in mid-step. If you are last, you can always exercise a salutary,
silent check. If you are in the middle, and you have, as is frequent
in tired parties, an energetic leader trying provokingly to press the
pace in front and the weakest member lagging slightly but protestingly
upon your rope behind, the best way to protect yourself, inoffensively,
is to take up both their ropes in your one hand, and so link their
opposing pulls directly on to one another. You can thus maintain
equilibrium with no further discomfort to yourself. When I was learning
the craft in early years between two guides, or a guide and amateur of
unequal endurance, I had many occasions for perfecting the device.
The use of ski upon snow is treated of separately. Whenever summer ski
have been made as available as ice-claws, there can be no doubt that
they will cancel out for us as much of the technical consideration
of these penitential snow fields as claws have simplified for us the
labour upon all the angles of ice.
[Sidenote: Snow Slopes.]
To make steps upon inclined snow is a matter of little difficulty.
The direction and weight of the kick are suggested by the angle and
texture of the surface. But to use them calls for more care than is
usually given to the matter. On soft slopes it is a nuisance if the
step stamper has a length of stride that makes each pace a slight
effort for us. It is better to remonstrate at once: to shorten the
pace by refashioning the step is to break rhythm for the whole line.
Of course on easy slopes, if we are out of the rope, we go as we
like, provided that we do not exhaust, by eccentric following, the
energy which we should be reserving for our turn in the lead. But as
the angle increases, or where the going gets more heavy, men of any
experience fall into single file; and then to make missteps, to tread
a step down at the heel, or to step outside the line, is to throw
the whole march of those behind us out of gear, and to waste our own
energy in repeating the leader’s work. It is impossible on snow not to
be conscious of the leg swing of the man ahead. If he walks with the
wrong foot for the trail, we are either drawn into his error, to our
own inconvenience, or we resist the attraction with a conscious and
tiresome effort. Our common rhythm goes. Worse than this, he spoils
the steps for us. Nothing is more muddling, in ascending or descending
snow slopes, than to find the steps broken or doubled. We bungle,
and get the wrong foot for the leader’s tracks; our body as a result
balances wrong for their angle of use. In coming down especially, a
bad second man, who lets himself lollop carelessly into tracks or
makes ‘tumble-steps’ on either side, confuses every one behind him as
well as himself. The whole party will be wasting temper and strength
in choosing between a maze of ‘joy’ tracks, or in remaking their own
in despair, where they should have been following mechanically on a
ready-made line.
In using steps on steep snow of uncertain stability, it is vital
to tread right to the fraction of an inch. A tired man who steps a
nail-breadth false on a descending ladder of this character will
certainly cause some step to give, and endanger the general safety by
a slide. He may explain that the step ‘broke away’; but the fault has
been his. It is the ideal of all good climbers, although very few men
can live up to it, to use steps as accurately and with as dancing and
precise a foot at the end of a long day as they did at the beginning.
If a snow step on a steep slope looks insecure, as it often may on wet
snow after several men have passed, it is best to tread slightly inside
it and scrape down a shaving of fresh snow to strengthen the floor
under the foot. But this intentional over-tread should never be made on
the outside of a step. If a step has broken away and a new step has to
be made, it should be trodden, similarly, inside the old one, over but
not exactly in line above the broken step.
Descending on snow of poor quality is oddly nervous work. The
descending action is awkward, as upon ice, and there is the added doubt
as to what will happen when we drop on to the foothold. Every one has
days when the muscles are stiff and when the descent of shaky steps
does not go in easy balance. At such times it is reasonable, and safer,
to make ‘arm-scoop’ holds to help the balance on the step-down. We
may do on snow what we may not do on ice--take the weight momentarily
off our foothold on to the arms; because on snow, if some one else
slips, we can at once drive another foothold with the heel and get
into balance for the jerk. In coming down steps in soft, steep snow
which have been worn away by previous members of the party, it is often
even advisable to make these arm-scoops in order to save the effort of
making new steps and to lessen the weight on the old ones.
On high, popular ridges in fine weather the lines of old steps with
their floors refrozen and their shape spoilt are often uncomfortable to
use on the descent. For the mountaineer the whole day should be equally
of pleasure. The more the difficulty of the climb is over, the more we
may consider our comfort, even to the point of demanding a new set of
steps.
On steep zigzags, if we are crossing and recrossing one another, we
remember to give the man below us ascending, or above us descending,
time to make his turning step at the corners. If we do not slacken, we
shall jerk him or force him to let out his hand coil just when he is
most occupied with the turn.
On big faces, of yielding snow, we find firmer stepping up the
wind-blown crests of the undulations, often only detectable by their
correspondence with the buttresses descending from the cliffs above.
Conversely, on faces of recalcitrant snow, we foot it more lightly up
the troughs between the waves.
[Sidenote: The Rope and Axe.]
Except on hard morning snow, or on snow where we can make absolutely
certain of what is happening underneath, it is a good principle to
retain the rope. Progress is quicker than on ice, but sight and
prescience can ensure us less completely against the accident and the
unseen. As a partial illustration of the distinctions to be observed,
a strong party might be justified in making their way unroped and on
claws up a formidable dry ice fall; but they would, if they knew their
business, then put on the rope to traverse the easy but snow-covered
angles of the _névé_ above, seemingly far safer than the _séracs_ they
have just passed singly and unroped.
“What is happening underneath” must be interpreted to mean not only
what may be lurking underneath the snow surface, in the way of ice or
crevasses, but what is happening below us on the mountain side. We keep
the rope on unless we are _certain_ that the breaking of a step or a
slip will lead to no worse results. If there is a long, steep wall of
ice or snow below, or the suggestion of crevasses or a bergschrund, or
a rock cliff, or even a section of the slope which we cannot see and
which may contain a cliff, we may take no chance, and the rope must be
retained.
On all smooth snow and ice slopes, unless we are moving short-roped
over safe and fairly even glacier, the rope-lengths between us should
be allowed to ‘travel’ lightly on the surface. This lightens the draw
of a heavy rope carried on the waist or hand, and avoids the strain
upon the balance. Too much travelling rope is a drag; too little
tightens on us like a brake. The hand must get to know by feel when
there is just enough down to let it travel lightly and freely. The
hand, too, as on rock, must learn the habit of freeing, freeing the
rope continually, so that it shall not catch. Over rough surface we
raise it clear; and over ‘suspected’ glacier we keep it all but taut,
taking up the slack in a hand coil.
We may never trust snow steps, unless in a very fine quality of snow,
to carry more than our own weight. In protecting others of the party,
therefore, we cannot, as upon ice, rely exclusively on balance and our
foothold to take the jerk upon our rope in case of a slip.
To anchor, on all steep and doubtful snow slopes where the angle or the
quality of the snow advises the retention of the rope, the axe must be
thrust into the snow beside and above us at every step. It is driven to
the head or to just beyond half its length according to the condition
of the surface. The rope is passed round the shaft and rests on the
snow, so that in case of a slip we get the friction of the snow into
which it cuts to help us. At a turning step on a zag the rope is put
round the shaft in the reverse direction. This driving of the axe and
the looping of the rope men should execute when the feet are at rest on
the holds, and not, as many do, while they are taking the step. It is
often very difficult for tired men to continue for hours the regular
thrust of the axe and the careful anchor of the rope at each pace. But
just on those angles and on those types of surface where the precaution
is most laborious is the protection most needed. Snow is not ice, and
in proportion as snow steps are easier to make they are easier to
break, and more in need of assistance from the hand.
On the sharp edges of big ridges the true footing is often along the
crest itself. If the crest is too frail for the feet, it can still
provide the best bedding for the driven axe or an armhold. If the snow
is really threatening, and it is unsafe to trust to steps along the
side or on the edge, it is occasionally preferable for two climbers to
make their own steps along opposite sides of the crest, with the rope
riding across the snow edge between them _à la mode Tartarin_.
If rocks or obstacles forbid us to use the rope in this literary
fashion, on such risky snow we shall, of course, only move one at a
time. To secure a safe anchor step while the other man shifts, I have
used the device of driving the axe almost up to the head, and then
standing on the snow crook immediately behind it.
To arrest another man’s slip on steep snow, the snow itself must be
used to minimize by friction the jerk of the rope on axe and arm.
Any bulge or corner of snow will serve, for the rope to play over
and, slowly, cleave through. I have seen a rope, held across a sharp
slanting edge, cut four feet into the snow under the weight of a
sliding man; the friction stopping him gently before the jerk came upon
the axe. If there is no corner to help, we must lean the whole weight
of our body upon the rope where it runs out to us round the belay on
our axe; so crushing the racing rope into the snow and reducing the
final tug upon the driven axe shaft.
[Sidenote: Bergschrund and Bridge.]
The crossing of the obvious bridges over the bergschrunds that subtend
snow slopes is an art by itself. Flat or snub bridges are less secure
than bridges that display a Roman archness of irregular snow on their
upper surface. If the bridge is steep enough to call for steps, the
steps of the leader should be followed absolutely, unless he has
previously cast doubts upon their validity by falling through them.
If the centre of the bridge, or the spring of the arch at its higher
end, appears too frail for steps, and the word be given to crawl, the
crawling should be done quite flat, and the body pulled along by the
axe. To fox-trot on hands and knees is little safer than to walk on the
feet.
If the bridge is only doubtful, we cat-step across it with the lightest
foot we can. We carry the axe at thigh level and at right angles to
the body, so that if a leg goes through, the axe comes down on the
snow like a rail under the arm, and has a good chance of catching on
firmer snow at either end. I once dropped ten feet into a crevasse,
and was stopped thus by the axe under my arm-pit hitching between the
narrowing walls. If we feel a foot going through, we must avoid above
all things our first impulse, to throw the weight convulsively on to
the other foot. The whole body should be allowed to fall forward flat.
A swimming movement with the arms then often extricates us without
further collapse. Of course on no bridge may more than one man cross at
a time; and for a doubtful bridge at least two men must be stationary
and anchoring the rope of any man crossing.
A steep bridge of unproven security is often best crossed, on a
descent, by a prone glissade. If the bridge has an obviously continuous
surface, we may prefer to fly it head forward and face down, because
clothes admit less snow in such fashion. But if the continuity is
doubtful--and the fact is often difficult to ascertain from above--it
is best to shoot the bridge lying on the back and feet foremost. The
hands and feet are held ready to shove off backward against the snow,
and we are ready to finish the crossing on a flying jump, should a
breach appear in the bridge as we approach it.
If there is no bridge, we sometimes have to jump considerable widths
and depths. It is better then to take off soon, and not to yield to the
temptation to creep just a little farther down the steep, crumbling
upper lip of the schrund. Too long a descent often ends in a slip as
the wall steepens, and it requires a nice judgment to continue the slip
discreetly, and shove off for the jump at just the right instant to
carry us across to the other lip. For a high jump into soft deep snow
it is permissible to throw the axe ahead; and it is essential to see
that there is enough rope out for the jump. Again, if a man has jumped
and is shooting on down the snow slope beyond the rift, it is kinder
not to be in a hurry to stop him categorically with the rope. On lower
snow slopes the angle is rarely too steep for a man to be able to stop
himself gradually and less painfully, helped by friction and the merest
suggestion of restraint. Jumps of more than twenty feet into soft snow
have been made; but they are not agreeable. If the snow on landing is
at all sticky, it binds at once round the legs, and threatens a break
or a severe strain as the weight of the body travels forward above them.
[Sidenote: Snow Cornices.]
The cunning of hidden cornices cannot be overrated. Its detection is
dealt with elsewhere.
Once we have located what we take to be their line of junction with the
parent snow crest, we must allow a further broad margin in selecting a
safe line for our steps. I have known a section of cornice thirty feet
deep break away along the line of our steps, when we thought we had
allowed a good ten-foot margin from its line of junction. The heavier
the cornice, the deeper the margin we must leave; not an easy rule to
keep, as the snow curve backing a big cornice will be all the more
gradual and solid-looking. Leaders are always apt to cut the margin
too fine, for the reason that the farther we move away down the back
of a cornice, the steeper becomes the slope, and the harder probably
will be the snow for step-making. At great heights the same cold winds
which blew the cornice may have blown the snow slope to crusted snow
or snow-ice; whereas, where the angle eases off right upon the crest
and the back curves over into the cornice, the direct exposure to the
sun will often produce a band of softer snow, easy to kick steps in.
When we are dealing with huge ridges and long distances, it is very
trying to have to continue to cut steps at a snail’s pace, on a steep
wall, when three feet above there is a line where we could walk. But
these are just the situations which differentiate between good and
bad mountaineers. Danger is a matter for our individual judgment, and
if a guide, however famous, makes steps at a level that seems to our
mountain sense to allow too narrow a margin, we need never have the
least hesitation in starting to make another line below. The implied
criticism is better than remonstrance.
Occasionally when the cornice is not too big and its back is
ice-crusted or exposed to a high wind, it is possible to work along
underneath it, below the crest of the wave. This must be done with
caution; the shock of step-making may easily loosen a section of the
overhang on to our heads.
Where a ridge is surmounted by a double cornice, that is, by two
cornices curving opposite ways, one on the top of the other, there
is simply no safe way of getting past them. Parties who persist in
traversing a great ridge when they find it in this condition must be
persuaded that their luck will take pity on their understanding.
In approaching the edge of any ridge, if it is not otherwise obvious
that no cornice exists, the leader must test for the cornice every few
inches with strong, deep thrusts of the axe shaft. The rest of the
party, protecting him with the rope, must remain well below on the
face until he has demonstrated that no cornice exists, or until he has
had time to locate its line and to return to a point well below the
junction. Such a crest should never be approached diagonally, lest two
men might find themselves on the cornice together, but always at right
angles. If an uncorniced ridge gives us reason to suspect, as we follow
along its crest, that a cornice is beginning, at least two of the party
should descend well down the face (if rock anchorage is not available),
and protect the leader while he investigates.
If we wish to cross a ridge or a pass and the far side is overhung by
a cornice, the leader must be strongly protected while he flogs away a
section of the cornice, back to the sound edge. A large slice in this
case should be cleared away, as adjacent parts of the cornice weakened
by the fracture may fall upon the party subsequently as they descend.
These crossings should never be made where the cornice is really heavy.
We shall never, of course, approach a crest up a wall crowned by a
large cornice; which is equivalent to climbing deliberately up under a
toppling _sérac_. A light cornice we may approach, but preferably at a
point where it has broken away. If no such gap exists, we may be forced
to cut our own skylight through it. This calls for great caution and
skill; a small fragment may easily sweep away any man below us on the
slope.
[Sidenote: Snow in Couloirs.]
In couloirs and chimneys snow can remain at a higher angle than on
open slopes, and presents therefore some exceptional features. Certain
of these are dealt with under other headings. Snow in a rock couloir,
late in the day, must always be tested before we descend on to it. This
can sometimes be done with less trouble by throwing heavy stones on to
the surface. The way the snow spurts or squelches or rives to receive
them tells much to the practised eye. If they start a surface avalanche
they may either betray ice below, or they may leave bare a tract of
hard under-snow down which we can kick good steps. The presence of ice
below snow is often evident at the edges where the snow-ice splays out
on to the containing walls. The testing process should be repeated at
intervals, as we descend, on doubtful snow. A long couloir, of pure
snow above, has frequently ice below snow in its lower sections.
In descending couloirs of uncertain snow, we naturally make use of the
rock walls, when possible, for belays or holds. There are often good
leg stances between the rock and the snow, where the snow veil has
shrunk away, with an ice-trimmed border.
If the snow is of good quality, we proceed as we like; but if it is
shallow, lying on ice, or of suspicious consistency, we ascend it in
as direct a line as possible, or in steep zags, with a disposition to
keep near the sides. On really threatening snow we ascend and descend
by means of the vertical ladder of apses or pigeon-holes, climbing face
inwards, and using both hands and feet. Our tread in this fashion is
more feline, and our weight better distributed.
If we desire to leave a snow couloir by the rocks on either hand, or
to use the rocks to help the ascent, it is sage first to try the side
which is exposed for the longest time to the sun: the snow adhering
to these rocks will be kindlier, and there will be less chance of
an ice glaze. We have, however, to remember that the sunny side is
usually that upon which falls of stones start earlier and occur more
frequently; and our decision must depend upon the evidences of their
spoor on the snow.
Outcrops of rock, in large snow couloirs, on ice or snow slopes, often
appear as welcome islands in a long labour of step-making. But outcrops
are apt to be more or less disintegrated, according to the character
of the rock. If they are not rotten, they are not unusually rubbed
bare and holdless by the passage of ice, stones and snow over them.
Such islands, on ice slopes, are nearly always encircled by harder ice
for a space round their lower walls, which increases our labour in
approaching or leaving them. On their upper side they sometimes support
a convenient spit of good snow. On the whole, they generally give more
trouble than they save.
A particular type of couloir which is found in the Alps is worth
mentioning, because of its false heart and honest, grubby face. These
are the easy couloirs that debouch on to the glaciers at the bases of
many sound granite peaks. They are plastered inside with loose rubble
and snow or gritty mud, and we assume sound granite at the back. With
dirt and care they seem fair enough to scramble down. But they are
often in a precarious state of deeper decay. The passage of the party
will start a gradual or rapid dissolution; and on occasion I have
seen the whole cuticle of couloirs of this type, grubble, snow and
large rocks, slough itself off on to the glacier a few minutes after
the descent of a party. They should always be tested before entry by
discharging large rocks down them, to prove their honesty or expose
their enamelled senility.
[Sidenote: Snow at Home.]
Among the Scottish mountains practice of a very useful character in
our snow craft can be had during the winter months. From November to
May snow will be found of different qualities: the best during March
and April. On northern and eastern faces we may get step-cutting on
hard crust and ripple crust, passable glissading, and happy experience
of small snow slides, large cornices and snow travail. On north
faces, exposed and crusted by the cold winds, snow will stay at an
exceedingly high angle, and as there is small risk of underlying ice,
we can adventure admirable practice in very steep snow work with
more excitement than peril. The snow couloirs at times introduce us
to bergschrunds, and, educatively, to reconnoitring exercises in
identifying the respective runnels of stone fall and water spurt.
On north faces in the Lakes and in North Wales normally the snow work
is confined to the first quarter of a cold season. Ice is rare, except
as glaze or as frozen water-fall or drip in wet gullies sheltered from
the sun. Step-making is commoner than step-cutting. Of snowy, icy and
glazed rocks we can get more than we may desire; but for snow technique
little but practice in travail, step-kicking, back-sliding, rope craft
and blizzard-facing,--all very pleasurable holiday experiences, for
which it is worth while taking down the ice-axe.
It is curious to note that ski-ing as a common device used once to be
practised by the boys and herds of the north, the primitive ski being
formed out of the hoops of barrels. The custom has now lapsed: the
effect of the enclosing of the hills by walls, or of the boys by Board
Schools. The reintroduction of some less elaborate ski might revive a
more romantic spirit.
[Sidenote: Confusing Weather.]
In fair weather route finding on snow has no difficulties comparable
with those of ice or snow glacier. The flaws are obvious, and there
are no hidden angles. The one complication is weather and atmospheric
condition. As a result of the somewhat featureless simplicity of snow
slight changes produce more serious confusions.
High wind is always an enemy,--not only on snow. A mountaineer is more
afraid of going out on windy days than on days of rain and snow fall.
On snow, wind finds a new weapon to hand in the snow particles, whose
blinding assault interferes with the discretion. The sight of the faint
blur of snow as it is blown up from the skyline of a high ridge will
always give us pause: no passage there will be possible while the halo
remains. Wind and snow combined may confuse the best of mountaineers,
and often the compass proves the one rescue from a complete reversal of
direction. However resolutely they march, few men can resist on a long
tramp the impulse of snow or wind on their faces to swing unconsciously
one way or the other for protection. A shift of wind in a mist may take
a party, steering by it on snow, through a complete circle. I have
known of men, attempting a descent on the sheltered side of a level but
interrupted ridge, who were led, by a spinning wind in mist, through
the ridge and back along its other side to their starting-point, and
all in twenty minutes.
But even when unsupported by wind or obscurity, a slight depression
or a light cloud may make way-finding difficult on even snow, where
there are no rock outlines to penetrate its guile. A diaphanous mist,
approaching in tint that of the snow surface, is sufficient to conceal
or completely alter distances and angles.
In cases where the mist exactly combines in tone with the snow, a
curious phenomenon makes itself uncomfortably evident. The leader on a
snowy crevassed glacier will suddenly, and apparently wilfully, begin
to fall into crevasses which are visible to those following behind
him on the rope. They will marvel at his stupidity, until they begin
to lead themselves, when they will reproduce it. The reason will have
been that whereas those behind have some dark object, man or rope,
upon which to focus their eyes, the eyes of the man in front, looking
only upon a uniform blank surface, go out of focus, and become unable
to distinguish between details of the same tone. Any detail darker by
contrast--a rock, or the length of the rope ahead, or even the sight
of a distant peak,--for such mists are often transparent--will yield
them a focal point again. If he has no such natural assistance, the
leader must keep looking methodically at his feet, and then forward.
This will discover to him the nearer crevasses. For a longer view he
may try the device of balling snow, till it crushes to a darker colour,
and throwing it ahead: he will then again be able to see more distant
details in their relation to the passage of the snowball.
In a mist or at night, on glaciers, or on snow slopes where there is
reason to suspect the neighbourhood of rocks, it is possible to keep
direction, and to discover towards which side of a slope or glacier our
march is tending, by shouting, and calculating our position by the time
it takes for the echo to return from the rock on either side. Across
smooth slopes a very small and remote obstruction will give echo to our
appeal.
On open snow slopes where there are no retaining walls, the best method
is to have the full length of the rope out, and put a man with the
compass at the rear end to correct the leader’s line. If a compass
is lacking--if it can ever be lacking in the mountains!--the man far
behind is still in the better position to judge, by the pointer of the
rope, whether the line is being maintained or is inclining either way.
If a return in mist over the same ground is expected, the tracks should
be made intentionally deep, in order to reinforce the line against
the sun’s action, which may be all the more rapid when the light is
diffused through such mist. The axe should be driven deeply into the
snow at short intervals, so as to leave marks which may last longer
than footprints; and this especially on hard snow.
On rocks or snow in mist, and even with less excuse on clear days, some
other-land climbers adopt the device of marking the line of return at
important points of divergence by squares of red paper fixed under
stones. In emergency these can be of service; but they are unsightly,
and their frequent use encourages climbers to pay insufficient
attention to a very important part of their work--which is to note
and record in memory the details of a route against the time of their
return. A climber who has to find the return line on difficult rock
or glacier, or on any climb that winds by devious ways, should never
omit at all points of divergence or of salient indication to turn round
and note how the passage or kink looks from the opposite direction;
which is generally very different from its aspect on the approach.
Distant views are often confused and absurdly distorted by mist; but
details close at hand, for whose memorizing alone red paper could be
a substitute, are seldom sufficiently obscured not to be recognizable
by a trained observation and memory. Only in two cases--one, the rare
event of an expedition over fog-bound snow being continued with the
intention of return over the same line; and two, equally singular,
the case of a party, which contains only one mountaineer capable of
leading the return route, attempting in mist a climb whose difficulty
will necessitate the expert going last on the descent--would the use of
red paper seem to be justified. Waste paper is inelegant, and makes an
unimpressive substitute for hill craft. But mist is a subtle enemy on
glaciers, and we may sympathize with folk who meet it by tricks when
they happen to have brought a box of them with them.
[Sidenote: The Sense of Direction.]
In the end, and behind all memory and observation, we have to fall back
upon that useful but mysterious faculty, the sense of direction. Its
existence is often denied, especially by men who do not possess it, and
its workings are attributed to powers of observation, to unconscious
memorizing and to reasoning. But no one who has mountaineered or
travelled much in uncharted ground with men of very divergent or very
similar powers of sight or experience will be found to discredit its
positive but entirely accidental possession. Irrespective of sight
and independently of the presence of any other respectable mental
faculties, some men are found to possess it and some not; and no
experience or study will ever equalize the capacity of those who cannot
with that of those who can exercise it in dealing with misty conditions
or unknown country. Men who have it only in a slight degree frequently
impair its fidelity by training their observation and memory. By
taking thought we can nearly always confuse it, in ourselves or in our
neighbour; and this fact has especially to be borne in mind in dealing
with less educated brains, such as those of guides, where its working
is unconscious when it exists at all. A pertinent question or reminder
may often set them, or ourselves, thinking or doubting, and lead to
hesitation or wandering where a moment before confident movement
reigned.
If we have once made certain that a guide or even a younger or less
experienced climber possesses it, we may accept its leading thankfully
in moments of doubt, although its counsel may contradict our own
reasoning or conscientious observation.
Those who do not possess the instinct, and those who possess it only
in a small degree, will find it almost impossible in thick mist
on featureless snow to avoid the inclination to turn in a circle,
generally to the left. In mist, with the most resolute intentions, it
is at times even difficult to correct the inclination, by allowing for
the stronger thrust of the right foot (or whichever may be the leading
foot in our own case) and by taking the axe in the opposite hand to
that foot; or by discovering and allowing for our exact amount of bias.
The compass is the only secure guide for the ungifted.
Some men have the sense in the form of an ability to keep a straight
line once set, no matter what the obstruction or obscurity; others in
the form of knowing their position in relation to any near or distant
point they have previously visited. With a few the sense is polarized;
they ‘feel’ the north. My own sense indicates only direction between
points already visited. Although making all allowance for the leading
foot, and conscious that as leader I was being kept to a straight line
by the compass in the hand of my last man, I have myself in thick mist
on level snow, after forty-five minutes of what was actually straight
marching, felt positive that I had led the party through one complete
and one half-circle to the right, so strong was the instinct to turn to
the left in spite of all precaution and prevision. On the other hand,
I have watched a man who had been brought round from Hammersmith to
South Kensington by Underground on his first visit to London, and set
to the task without previous warning, take and keep, in thick fog, the
most direct line back again through the maze of cross streets; which
he could not be said to be seeing for the first time, as they remained
invisible. A singular case was that of a high Wrangler, a mountaineer,
whose sense of direction was acute, but inverted: it indicated points
precisely opposed to the correct ones. Once we had discovered this, and
allowed for the idiosyncrasy, we made frequent use of his otherwise
very exact sense. For those who may have interested themselves in the
faculty, I will add that this friend similarly produced or wrote down
the results of all mental calculations with the figures in the reverse
order.
GLISSADING
Glissading is an art that rewards the skilful. For the inexpert,
though the pleasure in its prospect never dies, the actual performance
is more often productive of aching shins and wet clothes, than of
birdlike exhilaration. Until ski-ing came in to complement it, and we
may say to improve upon it, glissading gave its artists their nearest
approximation to the sensation of flying. Its physical thrill is very
little less intense than that of flying on machines through the air,
because the exciting vibration of the feet over the solid surface
provokes a lively consciousness of pace and motion disproportionate to
the actual rate usually attained.
But it has never been widely recognized that the art has to be learned.
Very little has been written about it, and much of that little has been
fundamentally wrong. All men glissade in a sort of way, as a kind of
amusing frolic, with tumbles forming an integral part of the fun, like
the periodic shrieks of the ladies on the Earl’s Court roundabouts.
But men who know how to glissade, and how to use its opportunities
as a real auxiliary to their mountain progress, have always been the
exceptions. Guides are seldom able exponents. More than a dozen fatal
accidents are directly traceable to bad glissading.
Fortunately, the greater popularity of ski-ing has come to the rescue,
and its more general practice should have prepared both the minds and
feet of a much larger number for a more serious treatment of their
mountaineering glissading. A man who can ski is half-way to becoming a
good glissader. A good glissader, once the first surprise of the ski
feeling is overcome, finds many of the simpler ski motions familiar.
In learning to glissade, a man has three points of normal contact which
he must learn to control: his two feet, and the shaft-point of his
axe. There is also a fourth point of possible contact, with which I
deal separately under sitting glissades. The head of the axe, except
in one very rare case, is useless for contact, and should never be
brought into play. In fact, during the time of learning,--and to learn
properly will take as long as has to be devoted to the beginnings of
ski-ing,--it is better to use only a stick with a single point, or a
ski-stick. The axe head during the preliminary falls is apt to point
too keen a moral.
A certain school of icemen, the devotees of the short axe, keep the axe
head always sheathed in its leathern cover. In glissading the practice
has distinct advantages: it preserves the keenness of the edge,
protects the climber, and is far warmer to grasp. Those who learn to
glissade with an axe and not a stick may well copy the practice. This
suggestion applies to learning both on snow and on glacier.
ON ICE
Glissading on ice is practically confined to short rushes on glaciers;
even there it is generally avoidable, but its mastery adds a delightful
possibility of directness and pace to the late returns down ice falls.
No sane man will ever start a glissade on ice on a mountain side,
unless the slope is evidently short and is seen to end in safe
arresting snow, or in the earth deposits found on Himalayan glaciers.
The sheer pace and rude vibration produce helplessness and, soon,
unconsciousness on a steep ice slide of any great length. Control
cannot be maintained for more than a brief period of inevitable
acceleration. Often, however, quick bands of ice intrude, visibly or
not, on a steep snow glissade, and it is then important to be able to
make the new adjustments required by ice; and so avoid being thrown
out of balance by the sudden alterations in the quality of the surface
flashing under our feet.
[Sidenote: Positions.]
In ice-glissading the point of the axe takes practically all the
weight. It is essentially axe riding. The feet become only props to
the balance. Ice is rarely quite smooth, and, if the weight is at all
on the feet, the slightest irregularity or ‘stick’ in the surface at
this high rate of speed throws the heels back and over the head. The
right hand grasps the shaft, just sufficiently far from where the
point touches the ice to avoid scraping the knuckles. The left hand
grips the head. The more the left hand forces the head up, and the
greater the weight that we throw upon the right hand holding the shaft,
the sharper is the brake upon the pace, and, incidentally, the more
prepared is our balance against an accidental trip.
On hard ice the feet cannot be used to brake; nor, except by very
gradual movements, can they attempt to steer. Their business is to
carry their small proportion of the weight as lightly as possible over
the irregular surface, and, like the front wheel of a bicycle, to
prevent a forward or sideways fall. On rotten ice, if claws are worn,
braking with the feet is possible by driving in the heels; but such
surfaces are unusual in the Alps.
The knees must be well bent, with the body bowed almost into a sitting
position, so as to keep the centre of gravity well down upon the
supporting tripod of legs and axe. The zigzag spring, formed by the
curves of knees and body, absorbs most of the jar. The soles rest flat
on the ice, with the toes pointing down the slope. The feet should be
kept slightly apart, for the better balance over roughnesses. To avoid
obvious lumps they can be slid more apart or brought together. If they
are used to steer at all, they must both be pointed sideways in the
desired direction; but no attempt can be made to drive in the edges
of the boot, as is done on snow. This would merely result in a fall.
Steering, in this position, must be left to the gradual friction of the
soles inclined sideways and downwards, and, in the main, to the swing
of the weight on the axe.
On very rough ice, or on the rough icy surfaces found in snow couloirs,
where we cannot make certain of keeping on the feet if we face squarely
forward, it is best to adopt a sideways position of the body, the sides
of both feet in contact with the slope, and one foot just below and
slightly separated from the other. The distance between the feet must
depend upon the character of the surface and the angle of the slope.
On an easy angle of rough slope, where it is desired to go slowly and
stop at any sudden point, the lower foot, with the knee only slightly
bent, can be thrust well ahead, taking somewhat more of the weight,
and acting as a shifting brake. On steep, rough ice, or wherever it
is desired to increase the pace, and at the same time to protect the
balance, the feet, still in the sideways position, should be kept close
together, while the knees and thighs are drawn up into a crouching
attitude. The weight, of course, still rests mainly on the axe.
On steep, rough slopes of snow and ice alternating, where the balance
is easily upset by the changing surface, this squatting or crouching
sideways position must always be adopted, with the heels slightly
apart and brought right up under the body, which practically sits upon
them. The centre of gravity is then well down upon the three points of
contact, which are all in firm and close relation to one another, and
the balance is steady. Ice-glissading is possible for the expert, in
this position, on many long ice intrusions where ordinary folk have
to creep carefully down in steps. For a beginner, the under faces of
the great ice hummocks below the falls on dry glaciers give the best
practice, as their length and angle can be selected. Since near the
crest these concave faces are often vertical or overhanging, early
practice should be limited to their lower curves.
As in ski-ing, the start-off from the rim of an ice slope or from the
crest of an ice wave is the most difficult moment. We cannot jump into
our glissade as we can upon snow, or at least only on ice of very mild
angles. The right position is to start in a ‘crouch,’ with the toes
just over and the heels just holding the ice edge; the weight is then
thrown back upon the axe, the toes turn down and the legs shoot out.
As soon as the balance in motion is secured, the forward, the sideways
position or the crouch, is assumed according to the feel of the surface
and the angle.
On very steep dry ice, for the first body length or so at the start
of a slide over a vertical or overhanging crest, be it on a glacier
or at the top of an ice couloir, it is sometimes necessary, in order
to remain in contact with the concave surface at all, and not to be
flung out head foremost by the kick of the axe point against the ice,
to leave the ‘crouch’ the instant the feet are launched, and to shoot
out the legs to their full extent. The whole length of the body is then
held rigid, with the feet pressed as much as possible sideways and
flat against the ice. In such a position there is considerable risk of
cutting knuckles or other surfaces against the ice. The position is,
of course, only required for a second or so, as no glissade may be
attempted where the angle does not ease off sufficiently after a few
feet to allow of continuing the descent in one of the normal attitudes
of controlled glissading.
The fortunate will sometimes find an admirable surface on the more
easily inclined planes of lower dry glaciers, where melting and
freezing have followed one another during the day. The ice is so
slippery that it is only possible to walk with maddening dislocations,
and it is generally too level for a long glissade. It is then often
feasible to adopt a ski-ing or skating stride, and strike out with
either foot alternately. On a good surface and angle one may find
oneself travelling in this way almost as easily as on skates.
Similarly, on the wet lower ends of afternoon glaciers, if rubber-soled
shoes happen to have been brought, it is worth while putting them on.
One can drift down on them as lightly as on ski.
[Sidenote: Arrests.]
If the balance is once lost upon ice, and there is no prospect of an
early arrest on a softer surface lower down, it is best to turn on
the back, keep the head and hands off the ice, and force the point of
the shaft back under the arm-pit and into the ice, so that the weight
dragging on the shaft may gradually arrest the progress. The body must
be kept head upwards; the legs, if slightly apart and rigid, will help
to check the pace by friction and by the rugosities encountered by the
heels.
If in such case the ice slope has been badly chosen, and the fallen
glissader perceives that the only hope of avoiding a fall over rock is
to stop the slide at all hazards, the risk must be taken of turning
over on the face. The head of the axe must then be gripped with both
hands, so that the adze-blade rests just over the right shoulder, and
the pick-point is ground into the ice with the whole weight. It is
useless to attempt to force in the pick if the axe is held only by the
shaft, or at the stretch of the arms above the head. The axe at arm’s
length will be torn from the hands the moment the pick touches the ice.
These two methods of arrest can also be turned to account in checking
falls on steep and hard snow, or snow with a crusted or icy surface.
ON SNOW
Even more on snow do the positions for glissading vary with the angle
and consistency of the surface. The expert glissader changes from one
attitude to another, as the feel of his feet on the changing surface
suggests, without loss of balance or even a check to the pace.
[Sidenote: Positions.]
The axe should be grasped as for ice-glissading. The knees should
be bent, slightly or more according as the surface is slow or fast,
forming a convenient arch of balance for the body. The bent leg acts as
a strong spring to absorb jolts, and it is more quickly and powerfully
adjustable to the changing demands of balance, when the body is in
rapid motion, than the straight leg. To keep the knees straight is
impracticable on all but perfectly uniform ‘show’ snow slopes. Those
who have at times advised it have been influenced by some pictorial
ideal which had small regard for the mechanism of the body or for the
conditions of the glissade in action.
The body should not be bent forward or crouched, as is done in
ice-glissading, but held upright or inclined slightly backward, so as
to form a continuous and concordant arc with whatever may be the curve
of the leg at the moment. The lower end of this curve will always be
bent more sharply at the flex of the knee; but in proportion as the
knee is more or less bent, the graceful inclination backward from the
hips will vary correspondingly.
The shoulders, especially that above the hand on the shaft, should
be braced well back, and the head inclined a little forward, for
better sight. The tendency to let the shoulders stoop forward and the
body sag downward into a sitting position has to be resisted on snow
surfaces. It is a false position, that follows inevitably on an attempt
to keep the knees straight; and it is as bad a beginner’s error as
the inclination to sit forward and not back when learning to jump on
horseback. The fact that it has been suggested as the ideal attitude,
both in description and in illustration, may have been responsible
for the large number of mountaineers who have never become more than
‘axe riders’ in snow-glissading. Sagging and axe riding are necessary
in ice-glissading, where we do not attempt to balance on the feet,
but depend for safety and steering upon the axe brake. On snow the
good glissader aims at reducing friction and riding by balance. To sag
or use the straight knee throws us back upon the axe for balance and
for our steering. Straightened knees mean the weight on the heels and
the toes up; but if the weight is more on the heels than on the toes,
steering with the feet is impossible.
The feet should be kept close together, with the toes pointing down
the slope, so as to reduce friction and facilitate foot-steering. If
the surface for a space gets icier and rougher, the feet are allowed
to separate slightly, so as to secure the balance on their wider base
and brake the pace by the angle that the two outward-pointing toes make
with the direct line of descent.
On good snow surfaces to draw the feet slowly or sharply together, so
as to grip up a snow wrinkle between them, or to thrust them apart,
with the toes slightly turned inwards, produces each a different degree
of brake, or helps to reconfirm our balance, if we require it.
Small interruptions on the surface should be allowed to pass between
the feet. In practical glissading, in fact, the feet are very rarely
kept long in one position; they drift gently about, as balance or the
surface demand.
The decision as to when they should be kept exactly parallel to one
another, with the weight evenly distributed between the two, or when
the one should travel slightly in advance, carrying the larger share of
weight for the moment, must depend upon the snow surface and angle, and
on the amount of work that is being done, in consequence, by the axe.
If the surface is roughish and steep or hard, the weight will be more,
and for longer periods, thrown back upon the axe shaft, and this for
reasons of balance. So supported on the axe, there is not the same risk
on a bad surface of our being suddenly pitched outward, head foremost.
In such case the feet are best kept parallel and together, acting as
supports supplementary to the axe, as upon ice. But if the surface
is straightforward in angle and quality there is less threat to the
balance, and our object is to reduce the surface friction and increase
the pace. To this end all the weight will be brought forward off the
axe and kept in balance above the feet. The axe will only be lightly
or occasionally in contact with the slope. The body will be sailing
down upright, but on a curve of balance agreeing with the bend of the
knees. The feet, in this case, adopt a position and a motion familiar
in ski-ing. They remain close together, but one foot travels slightly
in advance of the other, carrying for the moment the greater share of
the weight. The other foot runs in close support. It is brought up, and
in turn passes into the lead, according as ease of balance, steering,
or need of rest for the employed leg suggest. The balance sways lightly
from one leg to the other as each is employed, and the motion, allowing
for the different length of stroke, is not unlike the smooth steady
running in long-distance skating. At any second, if the surface demands
it, the weight can be thrown back upon the axe, and the feet are then
brought parallel again.
Now that ski-ing experience is familiar, it is unnecessary to explain
why glissading on one foot--that is, on a single line of contact, with
the other foot and axe in partial support and ready to take their turn
if required--is easier, quicker and less exposed to accident than
moving on the two feet parallel, with the weight distributed evenly
between them. The instance of the relative pace and security of bicycle
and tricycle, although not quite on all fours, gives us a suggestive
comparison.
On an obviously good and continuous snow slope the axe brake can be
removed altogether, and the axe is then carried easily in front across
the body, ready at any moment to be shot back under the arm into the
snow. The body then sways to the balance, above the slight bend of
the knees, and is practically upright. This is the most delightful of
all positions: there is no tension upon any of the body muscles, and
the sensation is that of a winged swoop. To brandish the axe at arm’s
length over the head, a fashion affected by performers of a theatrical
type more familiar in illustrations than on the mountains, adds nothing
to the pleasure and diminishes the security. The balance above the feet
is prejudiced, and the axe recovery in case of need is slower.
[Sidenote: Steering.]
The steering is done, as in skating or ski-ing, firstly, by canting the
feet and twisting the toes in the required direction; and secondly,
by swinging the weight of the body into the new position above them,
either by means of the sway of balance if we are glissading free, or
by the thrust from the axe point if we are axe riding. For instance,
if we wish to turn to the right, in order to avoid an obstacle or make
a zigzag on a slope too steep for comfortable direct descent, we twist
the toes to the right, and at the same time cant the feet in the same
direction; that is, we press down the right-hand edge of both boots
into the snow, gently or hard according as we wish to make a sharp
or an easy turn. If we wish to accelerate the turn, we bring the axe
into use, pressing back upon the point, which we thrust into the snow
slightly on our right. Similarly, to make a turn to the left, we twist
the toes and cant the feet to the left, and, if required, press on the
axe transferred to our left side.
By making all three movements energetically at the same moment it is
possible to execute very sharp turns. The steeper the slope the higher
the speed, and the higher the speed the more acute the angle of turn
possible.
If a glissader is expert enough to be able to descend steep slopes in
balance on his feet alone, without the axe as brake, and has mastered
the finer art of travelling upon alternating feet, he can steer his
turns also without the axe, and can descend on a succession of sharp
zigzags without the small awkwardness involved in transferring the
axe from one side to the other of his body. When he wishes to turn
to the right out of a direct descent, he sways his balance on to his
right foot, directs and cants it, and as he turns brings across his
less weighted left foot into line again below it. When he wishes to
turn back again to the left out of a zig to the right, he throws his
weight on to his heels, as in a ski-ing turn, directs and cants his
feet to the left, sways his weight over on to the left foot again, and
so continues on the new zag. In travelling on the one-foot method,
sharp turns are made by throwing the weight on to both heels; gradual
turns can be made on the one foot. Slight changes of direction, not
big enough to be turns, are more quickly made by bringing up the rear
and less weighted foot, sliding it in front into the new direction
required, and then swaying the weight across on to it.
An expert can thus swing quickly and safely down a slope or couloir
too steep for direct descent, zigzagging from side to side almost
without help from the axe. His turns are less crisp than those of ski
or skates; but he can descend on a snow ribbon or in a narrow couloir,
where only short boots could find room to travel or turn.
Even if a glissader has only accustomed himself to descend travelling
on his two feet parallel, with his weight evenly distributed between
them, he can still make slight changes of direction, without help from
the axe, by sliding one foot in front of the other. This will deflect
his course correspondingly in the opposite direction: that is, to turn
to the right, he brings forward the left foot; to turn to the left,
he advances the right. But his turns without the axe will never be
effective or sharp until he has learned to glissade mainly on one foot.
The second foot, for a one-foot glissader, acts as a free auxiliary to
indicate the new direction and to support the turning movement, while
the body swings in easy support from one foot to the other, as the turn
suggests.
[Sidenote: Jumping.]
The hands alone should never be used as rudders. Supposing we wish
completely and suddenly to change the line of descent, because we see
some obstruction below, or discover better snow farther off, this
is best done by a half-turn, and a spring on to the free leg. For
instance, to get across to our left we swing our free right foot across
us to the left until it touches the snow again at its utmost reach. The
weight is then flung across on to it by means of the axe, or by a rub
with the outside of our left arm against the snow. The left leg follows
(all without checking the descent), and we descend on the new line, or
swing the right leg again if a second spring is needed. To make these
changes of line, a sideways jump across, off the one travelling foot
and alighting on the two feet held sideways and slightly apart, is a
neater method, but it requires more practice.
Jumping, sideways or downward, is as pleasant a refinement in
glissading as it is on ski, and very generally useful. It is often
more convenient to jump interruptions, of ice blocks, rock bands and
snow humps, than to steer round them. A good glissader jumps off
either foot, and alights on both. Even large crevasses can be safely
jumped by a skilful man, with a great saving of the time usually spent
in circumventing them. But this requires considerable skill and a
discreet eye in selecting the take-off. The edges of bergschrunds are
generally hidden or rotten, and the crouch and spring have to be made
well ahead of possible breakages. The glissader has no hand-made wall
to guide him and to dispatch him on his jump at the right instant,
angle and velocity; and the angle of the slope below has not been
chosen to accord with his curve of descent on to it, and down it.
If we fall, after a jump or stumble, the first thing, on a steep
slope, is to stop any tendency to roll, which is the shortest road to
unconsciousness. The next is to get the head up. Then, if we have held
on to the axe, we get it by the head and begin to brake, as described
above. If the axe is lost, we do the same with elbows and heels,
sliding on our back; but never with fingers and toes, face downwards.
[Sidenote: Brakes.]
There are two methods of stopping or braking, the axe brake and the
foot brake, which are used in conjunction for purposes of sudden arrest.
The axe brake is made by pulling the head of the axe upward with the
one hand, and forcing the shaft point down, and into the snow, with the
other. The weight of the body is thrown on to the lower arm, and the
thighs are brought close against the axe shaft. If it is necessary to
make a sudden stop on a hard snow surface where one is being ‘run away
with,’ the most powerful brake of all is to bring the shaft of the axe
under the right arm-pit, grip the left hand on the head, with the right
hand close to it, and turn the body slightly sideways, so that the
whole edge of each boot, heel and toe, scrapes against the surface.
The foot brake is made by turning the toes up and shoving the heels in
and down into the snow, at the same time straightening the legs. If the
surface is too hard to admit the heels easily, or the pace and hard
surface combined threaten that an attempt to check with the straight
heels will mean one or both legs being torn up underneath the body, so
flinging us out and off our balance, the feet must be turned sideways
to the slope. The heels at the same instant are thrust downwards, the
legs are straightened, and the weight is thrown equally upon the axe
shaft and upon the feet.
On any surface where a glissade is justifiable it is possible to stop
with these combined brakes within a distance of a few feet, provided
that, as with a motor-car, they are not jammed on so suddenly as to
upset the equilibrium and detach the points of contact from the surface.
For gentle checks to pace, touching at intervals with the axe point, or
pressing on one or both heels momentarily, is sufficient.
[Sidenote: Sitting.]
Practically no snow slope of right consistency and termination is too
steep to glissade down; but many incline at too low an angle, or are of
too soft a surface, to glissade down in a standing position.
So long as we are young and thoughtless, and place the enthusiastic
memories of youthful tobogganing before the after-discomfort of wet
clothing,--a youth which in the case of mountaineers appears to extend
well on into the sixties,--we hail such soft slopes as the recovered
opportunity of recalling a lost ideal; and we descend them sitting-wise.
For sitting, the methods of guiding and braking with the axe and the
feet are much the same as for standing; only they are more clumsy and
proportionately less effective, as the slope also is less exacting.
The axe is held under the arm, in the same manner, to brake, and is
transferred from side to side to steer.
The foot steering is performed by obstructing with one heel or the
other. For a sharper turn, the legs are lifted and swung across in the
desired direction. To avoid rolling over in a quick turn like this,
the body leans over on the side towards which the turn is made, and
the weight is thrown inward and back upon the axe. The whole length of
the outside of the leg and thigh contributes to the steering action,
as an equivalent for the canting of the feet in a standing turn. Leg
and thigh thus supplement the ineffective guidance of the heels. The
movement checks the pace usefully, for the snow will begin to hummock
under the thighs and up under the jacket, whereas before it was merely
percolating through the breeches.
In descending direct the legs are kept together, and the body is
converted into as rigid a reproduction of a torpedo as the incidents of
descent permit. To accelerate the pace the body can be thrown back and
held stiff, which takes off the brake made by the curves of the back
and distributes the weight, as on a sleigh or ski. This movement adds
the neck to the other potential snow orifices.
On unwilling slopes, punting with the axe and a swimming motion of
the legs can be resorted to, for propulsion; but the effort is not
dignified. Shooting, or ‘chuting,’ head-foremost has an exuberant
appearance, but does not add materially to the chances of pace.
Braking is done upon easy slopes by opening the legs, and allowing a
triangle of travelling snow to pack between them. To brake sharply, the
axe point is driven into the snow under the arm, the body is arched
stiffly upward clear of the slope on the support of the axe, and the
heels are driven down and in, close together.
For standing glissading, if the surface is good, we generally each
choose a line of virgin snow. Pace will come of itself, and is not so
important as uniformity of surface. But in sitting glissading the first
to descend has the worst place. He has to make a clearer and harder
track for the rest. If a trough of this kind is once formed, it will
be most polished in its exact centre; and men are well advised to turn
slightly upon one thigh and shoot down upon their longest but narrowest
available body-surface.
A very pleasant method of descending, as a party, is to form a
fashion of bob-sleigh, each man sitting close behind the man in front
and having his legs held up by him clear of the slope. The most is
thus made of the collective weight and the least of the collective
body-surface necessarily in contact with the snow. The best situation
is towards the rear of the human sleigh. The man at the head will
collect most of the snow pack, and there will be only the usual moist
permeations to be enjoyed by the tail.
The first man descending on an unknown slope after fresh snow, or on
the occasional snow patch found at lower levels, should always make
careful examination to see that there are not rock or stones near
enough to the surface to inconvenience, if not injure, his descent.
Sitting glissading is useful not only on snow too soft or too easily
inclined for standing, but also upon surfaces where a crust has formed
over soft snow, through which the feet break under any attempt to
glissade standing. On snow of this character both steering and stopping
are even more difficult than they are in ordinary sitting glissading,
since any attempt to drive in the heels suddenly may result in a
head-over-heels fling. On such a surface it is best to lie as flat and
stiff as possible, and avoid making any abrupt local movements.
The sitting glissade has been already mentioned as of use in crossing
schrunds with awkward-angled or dubitable bridges. Each man before he
shoots for the bridge should make certain that he leaves enough free
rope and good sense behind him to allow him to come to rest on the far
side without a disruptive or a premature jerk.
[Sidenote: Stone Tests.]
It is always wise, before glissading on a slope of uncertain
consistency, to throw a few large stones on to the snow to test the
surface. They should be as heavy as possible, so as to ascertain
the weight at which the snow will avalanche. The practice has the
further advantage, on a slope whose termination we can see, and where,
therefore, a slight avalanche quality in the snow need not deter us
from glissading, of clearing away all the deciduous snow from at least
one line of descent. There is left a smooth, harder track whereon a
human being can descend comparatively dry. At the best, the stones
may start a general avalanche, and so leave a safe and clean slope
where we can choose our line. Incidentally, the stone track serves to
discover the presence or absence of concealed stones or of rock points
uncomfortably near the surface.
[Sidenote: The Rope.]
To remain roped is impossible in ice-glissading, and is a nuisance
in snow-glissading. The rope should never be necessary where there
is any long and comfortable glissade in safe prospect. Pace and real
foot-running are impossible on the rope. Its use enforces axe braking
and slow-coach running at even distances, so that the rope shall
neither tighten upon the front man and upset his balance nor entangle
in loose coils about his feet. Every one in a roped party, however
expert, must be axe braking, and wearying his shin muscles, if no more,
in the vain effort to keep an even distance over surfaces of quickly
varying quality and angle.
For the men in the middle of a rope, to be thus glissading is simple
weariness of the flesh. On short glissades, during long climbs, the
rope may have to be retained to save time, but on slopes of any length
it is always worth while to unrope. If the rope has to be retained on
such slopes for precautionary reasons, because the end of the slope
is not in sight or because there are beginners taking part, the party
should rope in pairs. Two experts can glissade fairly freely on a rope
by descending on adjacent parallel lines with the rope loosely across
between them. They have only then to see that it does not catch on
excrescences which they themselves are avoiding. In the same choric
fashion an expert can glissade alone with a beginner, protecting him
and accommodating himself to his uneven descent. He follows beside or
slightly behind, and is at liberty to quicken up, overtake, and even
get secure anchorage in time, if he sees his companion beginning to
descend the slope in other fashion than on his feet. In glissading with
a beginner on a rope the pace should never be allowed to become greater
than one is absolutely certain of being able to regulate, not only for
oneself but for one’s companion, with plenty of margin for accidents.
Once a man has been jerked off his balance, it is far harder for him to
stop himself and his companion by the travelling axe brake, on a steep
slope, than when he is stationary and upright with his heels well in.
He must therefore keep the pace well within the speed limits.
The higher refinements of glissading, the zigzag and the free sailing
on one or both feet, are of course out of the question for more than
two on the rope; and barely feasible for them.
[Sidenote: Some Variations.]
There are a few occasions where exceptional varieties of glissading may
be found of use.
[Sidenote: Alternate Glissading.]
In descending snow slopes of doubtful consistency, or slopes or
couloirs whose lower end is concealed, and therefore an object of
suspicion for free glissading, an alternate slide and anchor method can
often be adopted. It is especially good for protecting beginners who
cannot be relied upon to arrest their glissade at any given instant.
The experienced man anchors firmly in the snow with the rope round his
driven axe. The front man then glissades down until he is arrested by
the rope or a call from the rear. The rear man follows, and glissades
either down to him or past him, stopping himself in the latter case,
if he is wise, before the rope runs out. _If_ he is wise, because no
inexperienced man can be relied upon to know what security of anchorage
is required to resist the jerk of a man running out a double length of
rope on steep snow. The first man then, in turn, glissades past, and
is stopped by the expert with the rope. The process can be repeated
until the bottom of the slope is reached, or the secure termination
of a freer glissade is ascertained. The method is a good time-saver,
especially in steep couloirs, but it must be worked with all caution. I
tried it on one occasion with a mountaineer of confident self-security,
and after sailing past him, and becoming certain that my rope must
have run out, I turned round, to see him head-foremost after me down
the slope. He had been twitched from his stance without so much as
a perceptible check to my rope. Since then I always, in alternate
glissading, turn face inward when I feel the rope is near its end, and
stop myself,--for the first few ‘runs-out’ at least, until I know I can
depend on my second. With a beginner it is best to stop, as last man,
when one reaches him. With a good second it is enough to arrange with
him that each shall call out sharply to the man glissading some three
yards or so before the rope runs out, leaving him time to stop himself.
[Sidenote: Face Inward.]
Any man who wants to get all he can out of the opportunities to
glissade must be able to travel in every reasonable attitude, and to
change from one position to another at any instant without check or
loss of control in the movement. The axe is the transitional support
during all movements involving sudden or marked alteration of balance.
As a convenient variety it is useful to be able to glissade face inward
toward the snow. On slopes of doubtful termination, and in couloirs
more especially, where it proves impossible to discover if there may
not be some ‘cut-off’ below, or where the quality of the snow, and
perhaps the presence of ice beneath it, make caution imperative, a more
controlled, watchful and restful descent can be made with the face
towards the slope. The axe head is then gripped under the arm with the
pick caught behind the shoulder. The two hands are firm on the shaft in
front, ready to shove the point into the snow. The legs are slightly
apart, with the feet parallel and the toes inclined upward. The descent
can be stopped in an instant by pressing on the axe shaft, and by
forcing the toes outward and downward, so that the inside edges of the
boots scrape downward against the surface. On rough icy surfaces, in
order to allow us to look round, and also to prevent the toes catching
and throwing the body outward, it is sometimes even safer to bend one
leg up, so that the flat of the one sole rests against the slope at
about the level of the knee of the lower straighter leg. The body then
lies forward over this bent leg as on a firm spring, with the centre
of gravity low and the balance secure. The head is freer to turn and
prospect above or below. A foot brake of extra power and rapidity can
be made by scraping the upper, raised foot downward along the slope
with the whole force of the body--a sort of stopping kick. For hurrying
the descent of awkward couloirs where the glissade of short stretches
may have to be stopped within inches, I have usually preferred this
face-inward glissade. In this position we not only can stop, but steer
with great precision and power; and in a very confined space, as in a
narrow couloir, we can side-step or side-jump easily. To jump obstacles
or crevasses when glissading face inward, we must of course turn round
first; but a good glissader should find no difficulty in twisting
round, especially out of the last position described, with the one leg
raised, which is in itself already a half-turn attitude.
The position has the additional advantage of allowing us to watch
companions above; and, in suspicious couloirs, to keep a look out for
their loosened stones or small following avalanches. Stones can be
dodged once they are seen; and a fine face-inward glissader, whenever
he sees the small, wavering, pursuing avalanche, looks round and ahead
for some lower bay of shelter in the walls of the couloir, and, if need
be quickening his pace, steers out of its way into safety at the edge.
[Sidenote: Plunging.]
In couloirs or on slopes faced with soft sticky snow, too soft or too
gradual for a free glissade, it is often possible to save a long trudge
of descent by using the ‘plunging’ step. A few long springing steps,
driving the heels hard along the surface, will start a small surface
snow slide, and upon this we can ride down, until it again packs,
when the plunges are again repeated. If the snow joins in the game too
heartily, and there is a risk of losing control and of being swept down
in a cumulative avalanche, we use the swinging cross-step to the edge
of the wave, and jump clear. When the avalanche has passed there may be
a fine surface left for normal glissading.
On every slope where we begin to feel that the travelling mass of
accompanying snow is getting beyond control, the glissader must be
ready to swing-step or to jump clear of it on one side or the other.
When it is past, he has also to look out for the not infrequent chance
of the furtive slides which will pursue the first. If two men are
glissading on a rope, the upper will be in the best position to decide
when the mass is growing too big, and he must give timely warning to
his companion before he jumps clear himself.
[Sidenote: On Claws.]
In couloirs of a certain type, where there is a thin covering of fresh
snow over ice, or where snow has partially melted into ice glaze over
rock, I have occasionally found light claws a great help to safe
glissading. The angle may be too steep, and the snow upon ice too bad
to allow of a prospect of descent without prolonged, deep step-cutting
or slow ambling on our prehensile claws. A pair of light claws that one
has no fear of blunting may then be found of great service to save time
and labour. Glissading lightly and slowly on the feet, side-crouching
as upon ice, or still better face inward, the claws slip down with the
surface snow. Where the snow is thin, they scrape through on to the
ice and retard the pace; where it thickens, they can still be forced
through by throwing more of the weight off the axe on to the feet;
and the descent, with the fitful brake of the axe, remains perfectly
controlled.
As before noted, claws of the long-pointed pattern can be used in the
same fashion on rotten ice.
On hard, smooth ice at high angles, claws of the light type are often
safer than nailed boots. A good position for such claw-glissading is
one of those familiar in ski-ing. We sit astride of the axe shaft with
the point against the ice. We can then throw the weight back upon the
shaft, and brake, while we release the feet to steer, or we can let the
weight forward on to the feet and increase the pace. Either or both
feet can be relieved of the share of weight if anything threatens to
catch them and upset the balance.
This axe-riding position is occasionally convenient in icy couloirs, or
on fresh snow, where only an absolutely slow and controlled glissade
would be safe.
It can also be made use of on very rough surfaces, on dry glaciers
or practice ice slopes, without the extra security of claws and
trusting to the boot-nails alone. But on nails alone the glissade is
proportionately less regulated, and we are more dependent upon the axe
for control and braking.
ON OTHER GROUNDS
Many surfaces other than ice or snow give us good practice and
pleasurable moments. Volcanic ash is said to provide the finest
conceivable flying footing. Sand of sea-cliffs or quarries, and even
the mud shoots of the east-coast cliffs, give excellent fun; but the
most common, and perhaps the most admirable sub-alpine surface is a
light, steep scree slope.
[Sidenote: On Scree.]
Our method of descending these shoots is dictated by the size of the
stones composing them. When they are of shale, or light enough to slide
away under our weight, we need only straighten the leg, stiffen the
ankle, incline the body slightly forward from the hips, and start with
a long leaping stride, forcing the heels well down and in. Small scree,
at a good angle, will carry us on and down of itself. The axe is held
in the same way as on snow, and is only used for balance touches.
On scree at a lower angle we shall have to continue the plunging
strides, leaping from heel to heel and travelling as far as possible
on the stones set moving by each foot. The stronger the leg the longer
may be the stride. The massing of the stones under the foot will stop
each step with the softness of a slow spring, and if we are thrown out
of balance by one too abrupt foot check, we can generally recover it on
the next stride.
Towards the end of the slope the scree grows larger, and whether
sliding or plunging, we have to look out for knee and ankle twisting.
We go cautiously, but driving always harder with the heel, until the
stones refuse to yield to the thrust; and then we call in our loose
legs under control, and proceed to stumble or dance down the rest
according to the perfection of our ankles and balance. A man light of
foot and supple of joint can let his feet drift, as it were, over even
large rolling stones, letting them adjust themselves to the varying
resistances without checking his pace. A man who judges his scree not
by its size but by its angle, its shape and the way it sits on the
surface, can continue his glissade often well beyond the point where
the less expert begin to fall or crawl.
Once the blocks grow too big to be kicked into harmless motion, and
the drifting feet begin to slip over them into the interstices, the
wise man begins to look for other shoots to carry him farther. By
using the swinging cross-step described already, we can make diagonal
descents of slopes on a succession of connected parallel glissades.
By choosing a line well ahead, and crossing from shoot to shoot, many
hillside descents of weary prospect can be charmed into a few moments
of stimulating racing. It is well to remember that up-running spits of
light scree often conceal themselves in depressions between ribs of
rock or in hollows between slopes of heavier scree, especially near the
bottom of the slopes.
The light screes that lie in these lower furrows on hillsides are
among the deepest and pleasantest. Our zagging from furrow to furrow
will divert our thoughts if not our feet from the last tiresome steep
grass drop. Where the lower spits of light shilla thin out, generally
at their lower ends, it is wise to look out for the catch to the ankle
of rocks or wet earth or grass, stripped of their scree varnish by the
driving heel.
It is best for each member of a party to choose a different line,
otherwise the larger stones dislodged, often accumulating a torrent,
may surprise a speedier forerunner. Similarly, it is safer to leap
sideways occasionally ourselves, and wait while our own attendant
torrent passes.
The angle of inclination at which small scree lies is invariably the
angle of disinclination for big scree. Big scree, when we cannot avoid
it, is an unqualified worry, and we worry out of it as we can. The
method, traditionally recommended, of sitting or standing on one large
stone and tobogganing down on it over the others, would seem to be only
successful for distances not yet ascertained.
[Sidenote: In Winter Gullies.]
Except in the North, where winter snow gives much the same conditions
for glissading as the summer Alps, winter glissading in Britain is
usually upon snow-covered scree or mixed snow and scree. The end of our
glissades in this case has a special risk: where the snow thins and
weakens among the larger blocks, which it yet continues to cover--to
our downfall. To glissade near emerging rocks is risky, on account of
the probable holes and hidden pockets in the snow round them.
In gullies alone we find snow over rock. Here there is another special
risk in the rock steps or pitches, which may be only partially covered
with snow. The drop is often invisible from above, and an inexperienced
glissader may be unable to stop himself in time, when he is close
enough to recognize a break in the continuity of the snow slope.
Sometimes there is a frail lid of snow more deceptive than an open
break; and I have seen a man shoot over a pitch of this sort through
the snow lid and down the wet rock channel under the lower snow. Where
the rock of such pitches is visible, we have still to look out for
another trap. We may count upon stopping as we reach the rock; but
the very end of the slope, where the melting snow has run down and
refrozen over rock, is usually of harder surface, if not of ice. Hence
we have to allow for a sudden and surprising acceleration just where we
intended to slow up.
No man should start glissading down a gully or slope that he does not
know; or that he cannot see throughout its whole length; or until he is
expert enough to know what the snow, as he finds it, will do with his
feet.
[Sidenote: On Grass and Heather.]
Glissading is also possible and pleasant on slopes of grass, heather
or whortleberry growth, if the angle of the hill is steep and the
conditions right.
Under snow, even in small quantity or half melted, any herbage will
serve; but the dry, polished, almost glassy surface of grass or short
growth, produced by drought or hot sun, is almost as slippery as snow.
On firm covering snow over hill grass, of course a standing glissade is
indicated.
If the snow is soft or thin, so that the feet would catch through it
upon the grass or heather stems, sitting is best. On steep slopes
sitting means rapid going, while there is any snow at all showing
between the stalks.
If the snow is merely a wet skim, or if we are glissading upon dry
glassy herbage, it is better for clothes and comfort to use the feet.
The correct method is to sit or squat right down on the heels. If we
have an axe or stick, we lean back upon it, or push with it, as balance
or our relenting pace suggests. If we have no stick, we clasp the hands
round the knees and shoot down in a honeypot attitude. At a check, the
legs are shot out, and a raking action of the heels starts the slide
again. This fashion of sliding crouched upon the feet is feasible upon
nearly all steep slopes of smooth, thick, fatiguing herbage, where
the walking descent would be slippery and laborious; but it must be
used with caution. Stones, roots and hummocks intrude; and nowhere is
a human being more helpless, once he has lost control, than on steep,
slippery grass. If he once starts to roll, a broken arm or a bad
shaking may be the least disagreeable consequence. There have been more
serious accidents due to slips on grass than on all the snow mountains
of the world put together.
FOOTNOTES:
[13] _Climb. Club Ann._, 1912. Also, where there is danger of
frost-bite to the feet, as in the Himalaya, the risk of a nailed boot
is avoided by wearing claws over soft hide boots or strong wrappings.
For the same reason it is better to wear warm ski-boots, with removable
claws, rather than nailed boots in winter mountaineering in the Alps,
where the ski-ing alternates with the climbing and a soft boot would be
insufficient.
[14] See “Equipment,” p. 93.
[15] See “Rock Climbing,” p. 151.
[16] See “Norway,” p. 546.
[17] See “Mountaineering on Ski,” p. 424. This chapter should
be consulted for the more detailed study of snow phenomena required for
winter and spring ski-ing. In “Snow Craft” I have limited myself to the
conditions that a climber may meet with in the ordinary alpine summer
season.