It is of primary importance to distinguish most carefully between the

crust formed by sun action and the crust formed by wind. A south slope

crusted by sun followed by frost will never avalanche so long as the

crust remains unmelted. Sun-formed crusts never avalanche. A careful

study of south slopes will soon teach the ski-runner to recognize

crust formed by sun and to distinguish it from crust formed by wind.

The wind-slab is usually patchy, granulated, and often betrays the

action of wind by a slight rippled appearance. The expert can detect

wind-formed crust and can distinguish it from sun-formed crust.

The contrast between crust formed by sun (or by any process of

alternate melting and frost) and crust formed by wind is instructive.

The fact that the former is safe and the latter often dangerous is

due not to any surface differences but to the difference in the nature

of the connection between the under-surface of the crust and the

underlying snow.

Sun-formed crust always merges gradually into the underlying snow.

There is no sharp plane of cleavage. The hard crust merges into softer

crust; the softer crust into soft snow. There is often, of course,

a plane of cleavage between two successive falls of snow--the upper

layer may be soft snow resting on crust; or it may be snow which is

superficially crusted resting on crust. And directly the sun melts the

superficial crust there may be danger. But so long as crust formed by

alternate melting and frost remains unsoftened by the sun, it may be

deemed to be absolutely safe so far as avalanches are concerned, for

this sun-formed crust will merge gradually into the snow immediately

below it.

Wind-formed crust is, however, often sharply separated from the snow

underneath it. Wind-swept crust may overlie powder snow with no

intervening and softer crust to act as a binding influence. The crust

may be absolutely separate, susceptible to different strains and

tensions, and forming the shallow vault described above.

Should you suspect a wind-slab, sound with the ice-axe, and try to

discover whether the snow is homogeneous or rests on a soft streak of

snow below. If, at the border of the dangerous slope, a sharp stamping

with your ski produces a settling noise, followed by the breaking away

of detached fragments of snow-slab, you will know that the slab is

probably insecurely poised on a shallow vault below.

Wind-slabs are, fortunately, not very common. They can only exist under

winter conditions, heavy snowfalls, severe wind and comparatively weak

sun action. After April, for instance, the formation of a wind-slab

would be impossible, for the May sun is strong enough to melt any crust

formed by wind or by any other action. In summer they are uncommon

excepting under unusual conditions. They sometimes occur in late

summer, when the sun has lost much of its strength and is no longer

powerful enough to thaw snow which has been converted by wind into a

wind-slab.

IV. OLD WET SNOW AVALANCHES.--For the distinction between old wet snow

and new wet snow, see p. 427.

Old wet snow avalanches are very common in spring. The snow, which

has been melted and frozen, and remelted again and again, gradually

becomes denser and heavier. As the spring advances the power of the

sun becomes very great. In the afternoon, and at lower altitudes long

before midday, most snow slopes are saturated to a greater or a lesser

depth by the melting power of the sun. Such old wet snow is of course

extremely dangerous.

The great spring avalanches, the ‘Grundlawinen’ of Continental writers,

usually select well-known tracks. Some of them have local names, and

their annual occurrence is as regular as the return of spring. The long

tongues of bare spaces between forests mark their track. Incredible

quantities of snow are torn from the mountain side; trees are uprooted

and boulders carried downwards. The avalanche comes to rest far below,

and spreads out a discoloured tongue of snow-blocks, dark with the

earth rooted from the mountain side, and strewn with small trees and

shrubs. Sometimes, after an unusually severe winter, these big spring

avalanches extend their domain, and destroy chalets, and bridges, and

even villages. Roads that cross the line of these spring avalanches

must be ensured against destruction by tunnels.

Superficial avalanches of old wet snow are more common than these big

ground avalanches. These superficial avalanches occur daily in spring

weather. The snow is saturated with water, which acts as a lubricant

between one layer of snow and the harder crust beneath. Sometimes

avalanches are started by the snow thawing from the ground upwards,

for the ground in the late spring is warm enough to thaw the snow

immediately above it. I have seen a vault one foot in height between

the ground and the overlying snow.

The power of avalanches is best appreciated by those who have visited

the Alps in May. It is an interesting, if annoying, experience to be

confined to some high alpine club hut in May by a sudden invasion of

Föhn. If the club hut can only be approached over steep ground or up

a steep and narrow valley, there is nothing to be done but to wait

till the Föhn disappears. Hardly a minute passes without an avalanche

falling off some near or distant slope. The roar of big avalanches is

varied by the hiss of the smaller snow-slides. Thousands of tons of

snow are removed from the steeper slopes every hour.

Old wet snow avalanches are much more deadly than avalanches formed of

new snow. Newly fallen snow weighs about 1½ cwt. the cubic yard. Old

wet spring snow weighs about 15 cwt. or ¾ of a ton the cubic yard--in

other words, ten times as much as newly fallen snow.

Furthermore, if you are overwhelmed by old wet snow, you will find the

very greatest difficulty in freeing yourself, even if you are only

covered by a layer a foot or so in depth. Powder snow contains a great

deal of air, so that you can live for some time even if buried in a

powder avalanche, but the wet spring snow contains nothing but water,

and suffocation is a matter of minutes.

Whenever the Föhn blows in spring, all slopes above a very moderate

degree of steepness immediately become extremely dangerous. In normal

clear weather there is a frost at night, so that any slope, however

steep, can be crossed without fear of avalanches between sunset and

dawn. As soon as the superficial soft crust begins to form on the wet

snow all danger of avalanches disappears.

On the lower slopes in May, the interval after the dawn during which

a steep slope may be crossed with safety varies greatly. In May hard

crust softens with surprising speed, and after 9 a.m., or even earlier,

the risk of avalanches below the glacier level soon becomes formidable.

A vital distinction must be drawn between the kind of softening that

is produced when a solid homogeneous crust softens superficially, and

the melting of a superficial layer or crust resting on an older crust

below. The second case occurs when a layer of soft snow, or of crust,

rests on the older strata of crust. Once this new layer has melted it

is very liable to slide off from the older layer below. On the other

hand, a homogeneous crust softening superficially is usually safe

enough so long as the underlying crust remains hard. Telemark crust,

which is crust softened superficially so that Telemarks are easy (p.

415), is usually safe.

The great danger is the existence of a layer of crust formed by a

recent snowfall resting on an older layer. I was once climbing the

steep slopes that lead from Zinal to the Mountet glacier. It was on

the last day of April, and the sun had just struck the slope. The

local guide was leading, and I ventured to suggest a detour to avoid a

traverse across a slope that had begun to soften. He ignored the risk,

and proceeded. I remained behind and watched him. Suddenly a layer of

snow about six inches in thickness, which had softened down to the old

hard crust beneath, slid away with startling rapidity. The guide gave a

small jump, and got his ski into the old layer, while the softened snow

slid away and disappeared over the cliff below. The guide’s top ski

had cut through to the old layer before the snow slipped, otherwise he

would have been killed.

In May in the High Alps the risks of such avalanches is small on all

save very steep slopes. Most of the big spring avalanches fall below

the limits of the summer snowline. They slide off slopes which are

bare of snow in summer. Once the region of the _névés_ is reached the

danger is very much less, though of course by no means non-existent,

especially when the Föhn is blowing. The May ski-runner must often time

his ascent to a club hut to arrive in the early hours of the morning,

and wait for his descent from the glaciers to the lower valleys for the

hour after sunset.

As the winter advances the danger from avalanches increases, not only

because the quantity of snow increases and because the sun is more

powerful and the temperature higher, but also because the inequalities

on the underlying surface gradually disappear. Scree, small boulders,

shrubs and other natural checks to the flow of an avalanche vanish

in the ever-deepening snow. Roads and small shelving plateaus, which

break up a steep slope, get buried. Each succeeding avalanche leaves

some of its burden on all protruding shelves, and thereby tends to

smooth out the mountain side, creating, in place of a slope broken by

inequalities, one long, even flow which presents no hindrance to the

avalanche. Thus big avalanches tend to take the place of the smaller

avalanches which fell down part of the slope, only to be arrested at

some convenient terrace, such as a road or small plateau.

In the spring avalanches often fall right across rivers, which very

soon form a tunnel beneath the snow-bridge of the avalanche. Such

snow-bridges should be crossed with caution. More than one ski-runner

has been killed by breaking through the remains of an avalanche into a

river.

It is a common illusion among the inexperienced that north slopes are

safer than south slopes in spring. They are not--in fact, north slopes

are more dangerous than south slopes. In spring it is the general air

temperature which determines the fall of avalanches. True, the south

slopes avalanche first, and for this reason north slopes hold much

more snow, so that when they finally get rid of their superfluous snow

they produce far and away the most destructive avalanches. Of course

in spring the sun shines on all slopes, and it shines with quite

sufficient force even on due north slopes to produce an avalanche. In

fact, the really great spring avalanches are those which fall from

northerly slopes.

SUMMER SNOW AVALANCHES

During the summer months, as already explained, every type of snow can

be found in the High Alps from pure winter powder to the numberless

varieties of spring crusts and spring soft snow.

It follows that avalanches in summer obey the same laws as in spring.

There are far fewer avalanches in summer than in spring, for there

is far less snow to fall. Quite enough, however, is left to make the

avalanche problem of vital importance for the ski-runner and the summer

climber.

The various types of avalanches described in this chapter are not

confined to winter or spring, with the possible exception of the

wind-slab avalanche. I should have said, a priori, that wind-slab

avalanches were peculiar to winter and the early spring, for they

depend for their existence on snow falling at a very low temperature,

and on the snowfall being followed by strong and cold winds before

the sun has time to melt the snow and to bind it into the underlying

surface. I am told by Mr. Young that he has seen wind-slab avalanches

in summer--probably, I should imagine, in the very late summer or early

autumn, when the conditions begin to approximate to winter conditions.

Apart, then, from wind-slab avalanches, which must be very uncommon

in summer, all the other types are by no means unusual. Avalanches of

powder snow, of old wet snow and new wet snow can occur at any month of

the year.

It is not necessary to give separate rules for summer and for spring.

The important factors in the problem are not so much the season as

the amount of snow that has fallen, the temperature, the angle of the

sun, etc. etc. If the reader thoroughly understands avalanche craft in

winter and in spring, he should be able to cope with the same or with

similar problems in summer.

The majority of fatal avalanche accidents in summer are due to snow

slides. I have for convenience’ sake adopted the arbitrary distinction

of avalanches into avalanches proper--those which are dangerous owing

to the weight and quantity of the snow that falls--and snow-slides,

which are only dangerous in so far as they carry the climber or

ski-runner with them over a cliff or into a crevasse. Most summer

avalanche accidents are due to snow slides, and occur in places which

the ski-runner could not reach on ski. Snow resting on ice in gullies,

or snow resting on smooth slabs, etc., are frequent causes of fatal

accidents. Such avalanches or snow-slides have been described by Mr.

Young.

The classical device for testing whether snow is resting on ice--i.e.

throwing a big rock down the suspicious slope--is often of use to a

ski-runner who is in doubt whether to descend a doubtful slope on ski

or on foot.

TACTICS ON AVALANCHE GROUND

The simplest rule is to avoid avalanche ground. Unfortunately, this

is not always possible. The limits of danger are so wide that one may

occasionally find oneself on a slope which might conceivably avalanche.

Such a slope may provide the only possible means of getting down to

the valley, so that the choice is not merely between giving up an

expedition or risking an avalanche, but between the certainty of a

night out if one recrosses the pass and the possibility of an avalanche.

It has sometimes been asserted that a ski-runner could escape an

avalanche by turning his ski downhill and making a sudden dive

downward. Of course this is wildly absurd. I have only once been caught

in an avalanche, and, long before I could have turned my ski downhill,

the avalanche had carried me some twenty yards downhill. An avalanche

does not start by a kind of snowball action. It starts with a sharp

crack, and the sudden sliding away of a deep layer of snow. Watch snow

sliding off a roof and you will understand that an avalanche is very

sudden and overwhelming. Almost every avalanche leaves a clean line

of cleavage behind--a wall of snow which is exactly as deep as the

avalanche at its birth.

The chance of escaping an avalanche by flight is infinitesimal if you

are near the point where the avalanche starts. You are lucky if you

have time enough to kick your ski off, and you will only be able to

do this if you have unloosened the bindings previous to crossing the

dangerous slope. There will be no chance of unstrapping them once the

avalanche is upon you. If you cannot kick them off instantaneously,

they will remain attached to you.

Your chance of surviving is very much greater if you can get rid of

your ski, for the ski drag you under, and prevent all hope of fighting

your way to the surface of the avalanche. Once you are overwhelmed

you should adopt a swimming motion. Above all, try to keep your head

uppermost. A vigorous swimming motion with the hands is said to be

useful by people who have survived.

Dangerous slopes should always be crossed as high as possible. An

avalanche is much more dangerous if it overwhelms you from above than

if it starts from the immediate neighbourhood of your ski. Steep slopes

below a cliff usually yield a fairly safe passage just below the rocks,

for there is often a little gap between the edge of the snow and the

rocks which affords a secure route. Take advantage of every belt or

shelf of gentler ground that may run across a steep slope. Traces of

old roads or even of footpaths are better than nothing.

Clearly a man on ski is much more likely to start an avalanche than

a man on foot. I have often been surprised to see chamois-tracks

down slopes 40-50 degrees steep. It is true chamois occasionally get

killed by avalanches, but they certainly possess a great immunity. The

reason is obvious. The chamois’ slender hoofs sink in very deeply.

They penetrate right through the snow to any hard underlying crust

that there may be beneath. Further, the chamois does not, like the

ski-runner, cut the snow by a continuous line which divides the slope

in two, and deprives the snow above the ski-tracks of much of its

support. Chamois-tracks form a row of small holes, and therefore have a

much less unsettling effect.

A man on foot has some of the advantages of the chamois. He is at

least much safer than on ski. His feet get down to the old crust below

unless the soft snow is very deep. On ski it is extremely easy to start

a small superficial avalanche or snow-slide; and on ski it is very

difficult to check such a small or big avalanche once it is started.

The ski may sink just into the superficial layer and help to detach it.

On dangerous ground you should therefore remove the ski and proceed on

foot. If possible, tackle such slopes by a direct ascent or descent in

single file. Traversing is much more likely to cut the snow slope and

start an avalanche.

Never rope on avalanche ground unless one member of the party can

remain on safe ground, i.e. a cluster of rocks, and secure the man

who is traversing a short stretch of dangerous snow. If two or three

ski-runners are caught by an avalanche while roped together, their

chance of escape is slight, as the rope tends to get caught, to drag

them under the snow and to suffocate them.

Dangerous ground should, of course, be crossed by only one man at a

time.

It has been suggested by an experienced mountaineer that each member

of the party should drag behind him a long thin red cord, which would

provide a clue to the whereabouts of a man who had been buried by an

avalanche. The ski-ing mountaineer’s kit is already so overcharged that

few people would be likely to add to it for this purpose.

For the descent of dangerous slopes, if the party do not proceed on

foot, they should put on their sealskins, so as to run the slopes as

steeply and directly as possible.

The ice-axe should always be driven in as far as possible, so as to

find purchase in the underlying snow. Ski-sticks that are provided with

removable disks are very useful, as they can be driven in much deeper

than ordinary ski-sticks.

When in doubt, sound with an axe or stick and try to discover whether

the snow is homogeneous, and if not, what lies below the surface layer

and what lies below the snow itself.

When in doubt, turn back if possible. If it is necessary to proceed,

take off your ski. If speed is important, keep on your ski; and if you

are descending, put on sealskins. If you cannot spare the time to put

on sealskins, sit on your ski and descend by a sitting ski-glissade,

which is, by the way, a knack in itself.

THE HIGH ALPS IN WINTER

[Sidenote: Weather Conditions.]

The weather after the New Year is usually more settled than in the

summer. A spell of absolutely unbroken weather lasting from three

weeks to a month or more is almost inevitable some time in January or

February. As a rule, February is the finest month in the winter.

These typical fine-weather periods are often accompanied by mild

weather. The temperature even by night is often surprisingly high on

the glaciers, even when there is no touch of Föhn in the air. This has

led some observers to claim that the temperature in winter--even in

the shade--is often lower in the valleys than on the mountains. I have

never seen any evidence produced for the phenomenon which has been

romantically described as ‘inverted temperature,’ and have no reason

to believe that any such violation of the laws of temperature really

exists. It is often, of course, colder in the plains when the plains

are covered by _nebelmeer_ than in sunny alpine stations, but this is

very different to any general inversion of temperature. I have, it is

true, sat on the summit of the Finsteraarhorn in midwinter stripped to

the waist, and I have often been uncomfortably hot at great altitudes

in the sun. But it is dangerous to generalize from such experiences,

and though on a windless day, winter mountaineering may be as warm and

comfortable as summer climbing, the ski-runner must always be prepared

for sudden danger of temperature, and severe cold.

The variations in temperature are surprising. A cushion of cold air,

several degrees below freezing, may exist near the surface of the snow,

and three feet above the surface of the snow the air may be quite

mild. This is a phenomenon well known to rink-makers. In the sun the

heat may be quite intense, and yet, a few yards off, in the shade the

temperature may be several degrees below freezing.

A suspicion of wind may transform a mild and equable into an

unpleasantly cold atmosphere. The changes of temperature are very

sudden. You may be basking in shirt-sleeves on one side of a ridge, and

be frost-bitten within a few minutes on turning a corner into the wind.

The great danger of winter mountaineering is the risk of a sudden

change of weather. Storms seem to blow up out of clear skies with a

suddenness to which summer affords no parallel. The man who is caught

in a big winter storm is lucky if he escapes without casualty. A

driving wind makes ski-ing almost impossible. The snow is blown into

one’s face, and in a few minutes one’s eyelashes are gummed up with

miniature icicles.

The big storms that sometimes prevail for more than a week at a time

may imprison the climber in a club hut until all his provisions are

exhausted. From most club huts escape is completely impossible till

the storm drops. Even when the storm has given place to fine weather,

retreat may be very dangerous owing to the avalanche peril.

Under fair conditions winter mountaineering is often surprisingly easy.

Men who have enjoyed unbroken good luck with their weather are tempted

to discount the very real dangers of mountaineering in winter, and to

adopt a paradoxical attitude towards the Alps in winter, implying that

the only danger to be feared is sunstroke and snow-blindness. Those who

have not been so uniformly lucky realize that winter mountaineering on

a big scale is a sport from which the element of danger will never be

lacking; that a sudden storm may transform even an easy expedition into

a desperate struggle for safety.

[Sidenote: The Approaches to the High Alps.]

Often the most difficult, and sometimes the most dangerous, part of a

winter expedition in the High Alps is the first day’s march to the club

hut. Once the upper regions are attained, progress is usually fairly

straightforward. It is quite normal for ski-runners to make nearly as

good time on the ascent of a snow-peak as summer climbers, but it is

very rare indeed that the club hut is reached in anything approaching

summer time. From one and a half to twice as long must be allowed for

the ascent to most club huts.

The long, narrow valleys that so often lead to huts are usually very

deep in soft powdery snow, so that progress must be slow, whereas in

the upper regions the snow is usually more or less packed by the wind,

which makes for easier going on the ascent, even though the descent may

be far from pleasant. Moreover, the danger from avalanches is usually

much more serious in the lower regions, where the slopes are much

steeper and the valleys narrower.

On the first day’s march the guides will be heavily loaded, for the

full equipment for a serious expedition in the High Alps is very much

more bulky and weighty than that necessary in summer. In the first

place, no prudent ski-runner commits himself to a High Alp tour without

ample reserves of food. He must allow for the danger of finding himself

stormbound in a hut for a period which may be anything from a day to

a fortnight. Plenty of compressed reserve food is essential until the

club huts begin to store emergency rations. Further, as a broken ski

may involve serious consequences, he must burden himself with spare

ski-tips and all the apparatus for mending ski. Extra clothes, plenty

of gloves, and, of course, crampons add to the overburdened rucksacks.

Unless one is prepared to carry very heavy sacks it does not pay to

economize in porters. As a rule, you should reckon two guides or

porters for every member of the party if you contemplate an expedition

of some five to six days in length, unless, of course, you are prepared

to carry some thirty pounds or so in your own sack for the first day.

Of course, if you take two porters to the hut, they may be sent back

from the hut; but it is obviously unfair to expect a solitary porter to

make the descent alone.

Everything should be done to make matters easy. If the first part of

the ascent lies up a path or a wood-track, a boy should be hired to

carry your ski. If the ascent begins from some out-of-the-way alpine

valley, it will often pay to send a guide on ahead the day before to

make tracks for part of the distance in soft snow. This is especially

useful if you are attempting a very big climb from one of the rather

higher alpine valleys or mountain inns without using a club hut. It is

unwise to reckon on climbing more than an average of 500 feet per hour

for the first day.

An early start is essential. The longest days pass fairly comfortably

if you break them up with frequent _short_ halts and short feeds. It is

often impossible in winter to make a prolonged halt owing to the cold.

A few caramels or some chocolate, which can be easily got at, should

be kept in one’s pocket, and munched during short halts. Napoleon’s

rule of a short rest and something to eat every hour is a good rule for

climbers, especially winter climbers who are heavily laden.

The huts as a rule are comfortable enough in winter, though the stoves

often prove troublesome. Wood is usually kept in large quantities,

brought up at the end of the autumn, though it is as well to make

inquiries on this point before starting. On reaching the hut, set the

aneroid barometer usually found in most huts. A pocket-barometer is not

so reliable, for, as Whymper pointed out and conclusively proved, the

usual aneroid tends to lose on the mercurial. In other words, if you

carry a pocket-aneroid up some thousands of feet and then set it at the

hut, it will usually fall a point during the night, where a mercurial

barometer would have remained stationary.

So, too, if you descend from a peak to a hut, the pocket-aneroid will

rise where a mercurial would remain stationary, thereby often conveying

very dangerous and misleading information. It is most important to set

the hut aneroid, so as to have some warning of the approach of a sudden

storm.

If you are unlucky enough to be caught by bad weather in a hut, and if

your provisions run short, you should spend as much of your time as

possible lying down and keeping warm, for the less exercise you take

the less food you will need. People who practise the ‘fast cure’ have

proved that a man can go without any food for a week and carry on his

ordinary business without feeling unduly weakened. It is therefore in

every way better to stay at the hut fasting--even for three or four

days--than to attempt to descend in a bad storm. If the worst comes to

the worst, and the party is thoroughly weakened by lack of food, they

can always stay at the hut and await the search party.

If a sally is attempted in bad weather from a hut which is situated

among glacier snow-fields, it is advisable to cut up a number of small

stakes from the firewood. These can be planted in the snow at intervals

of a hundred yards or so in order that a retreat can always be made

back to the hut if further advance is impossible.

[Sidenote: Snow Conditions in the High Alps.]

If the Alps were windless, the snow that falls between November and the

end of February would remain powdery and unspoiled on all save very

steep south slopes. At high altitudes the sun is powerless to affect

the snow in midwinter on _gentle_ south slopes. The snow would remain

powdery on _northern_ slopes till the middle of April but for wind.

Unfortunately, the High Alps are swept by wind, more especially during

long spells of fine cloudless weather, during which the ‘bise,’ or

north wind, sweeps across all exposed ridges and faces. Consequently,

the snow seldom remains long unspoiled. In sheltered glacier valleys

it may retain its powdery condition, but on all more or less exposed

slopes it soon hardens. Of course, if an expedition is planned within

two or three days of a fresh snowfall, the party may have perfect

powder snow; but such snow is the exception in winter in the High Alps,

whereas it is the rule in spring.

[Sidenote: Rock Ridges and Ice Slopes.]

Rock climbing does not properly come within the scope of mountaineering

on ski; but so many ski-runners combine a ski tour with a final

scramble up a rock ridge, such as the last arête of Monte Rosa or the

Zinal Rothhorn, that some discussion of the condition of rocks and ice

slopes in winter is essential.

As a rule, rock ridges are as dry, or drier, in winter than in summer.

Snow that falls in summer often falls at a temperature little below

freezing. It is often most adhesive stuff. The strong summer sun

followed by frosts at night turns this snow into crust, or at least

into snow with a considerable power of sticking to the rocks. In summer

it is often several days before the big rock peaks will go after a

heavy snowfall. But in winter the snow that falls in the High Alps is

light and powdery. The low temperatures and the reduced power of the

sun prevent the snow melting; it retains its light powdery character,

and is swept away from exposed ridges by the wind. It offers no

resistance to the wind, for it is composed of light dry crystals with

no cohesive or adhesive power. Consequently, the rock ridges in the

winter are often freer from snow than in average summer weather, which

is a mixture of good and bad. In winter, cornices have little chance

of forming. In fact, if the weather is mild and the ridge windless on

the day of the ascent, it is scarcely more difficult to climb a rock

ridge of average difficulty in winter than in summer. South ridges are,

of course, much warmer than north ridges, but they are not necessarily

more free of snow; for the agent that reduces the snow on the rock

ridges is not the sun--powerless as a melting agent at these altitudes

in winter--but the wind; and in fine weather the wind, as often as not,

blows from the north. Of course, if the north wind is blowing, a north

ridge may be impossible, for the rocks promptly become extremely cold

to touch, so that in general it is wisest to select south rock ridges

in preference to north. None the less, rock ridges facing north, such

as the north ridge of the Zinal Rothhorn or the north ridge of the

Gspaltenhorn, have been climbed without difficulty in midwinter.[22]

The same causes which keep the rock ridges comparatively free from snow

tend to remove any snow that may fall on to steep ice slopes.

Inexperienced winter mountaineers are often surprised to find as much

or more ice on summit slopes in winter than in summer.

As a matter of fact, there is often quite as much ice on steep exposed

slopes in winter as in summer.

An ice slope is transformed into a snow slope when falling snow is

accompanied by a temperature just above freezing-point--in other

words, when the snow is very nearly sleet. Such snow adheres to the

underlying ice, and by the normal process of alternate thaw and frost

becomes more and more firmly attached. The next snowfall that occurs

attaches itself to the underlying thin stratum of snow crust lying

on ice, so that in the course of time the ice slope is covered by a

compact and reliable layer of crusted snow.

But the dry powder of midwinter has no chance of finding a permanent

resting-place on steep ice. The first strong wind that blows will

remove it.

Many slopes vary from season to season and from month to month.

Sometimes they are ice, sometimes snow. Such slopes, if they are ice

in October, will remain ice until the following spring. May and June

are the months in which the conversion of ice slopes into snow slopes

usually takes place.

GLACIERS IN WINTER

The light powder snow which is swept from rock and ice ridges is

deposited on the broad glacier snow-fields, which therefore receive

more than their fair share of snow. In midwinter there are few open

crevasses to be seen, save at the icefalls, and most traces of

concealed crevasses disappear from the upper _névés_. None the less,

the danger from concealed crevasses is by no means trivial. The dry

powder snow forms the most brittle of snow-bridges.

In the Grenz glacier accident a snow-bridge _fourteen feet thick_

collapsed beneath a party of ski-runners. Of course, sooner or later,

most crevasses are bridged, not only by powder snow, but various forms

of wind-driven snow and wind-formed crust. Such crust is, of course,

less brittle than powder snow-bridges, but it is quite brittle enough.

The low temperature tends to increase the brittleness of snow-bridges.

In the early hours of a _summer_ morning a snow-bridge two or three

inches thick will usually be safe enough; for such bridges are

generally formed of a mixture of ice and hard snow which is due to

alternate melting and freezing. Such crust is much more compact, more

solid, and far less brittle than crust formed by wind.

Glaciers are, in fact, safer in summer than in winter; for though

there are many more crevasses open, there are far fewer dangerous

crevasses whose existence cannot easily be detected. The droop on the

snow and other unmistakable signs in ordinary seasons betray most

concealed crevasses to the experienced eye. In winter the winds are so

powerful, and their effect is so much greater (for reasons explained on

pp. 446-447), that they obliterate all traces of underlying crevasses.

The surface of the snow is apparently one uniform field of wind-driven

snow, and even the most expert cannot possibly detect the presence of

concealed crevasses.

This raises the very vexed question of ski-ing on a rope. It is quite

easy with a little practice to ski at a reasonably high speed on a

rope, and to make combined swings. Roped running is, in fact, quite

enjoyable, but it is not, and never can be, as enjoyable or as easy as

free ski-ing. Consequently, many ski-runners will never consent to rope

on the descent, save on glaciers, which are known to be badly crevassed.

There are three methods of ski-ing on a glacier:

1. _A Roped Descent._--For the technique of ski-ing on a rope, see pp.

452-456.

2. _A Descent in exactly the same Tracks as were used for the

Ascent._--This method is based on the presumption that a snow-bridge

which held in the morning during the ascent will hold during the

descent. Obviously the strain is much less during the fast descent than

during the climb. Also, as the variations of temperature in winter are

of no great importance, provided that the temperature remains below

freezing, a snow-bridge which holds in the morning should hold in the

afternoon, though the same cannot, of course, be said in summer. As the

tracks of the ascent were presumably made on sealskins, the descent

must also be made on sealskins if it be desired to follow with any

accuracy the line of the ascent and to avoid rapid swings and turns

which are liable to test severely a snow-bridge strong enough to resist

the ordinary uphill track. For my part, though this method is sometimes

used, I consider that the necessity to wear skins and to keep exactly

along one line is just as troublesome and not nearly so safe as the

rope.

What usually happens when people start a descent _without_ skins, but

with the pious intention of keeping to the uphill tracks, is that they

very soon find themselves curving and swinging some considerable

distance from their old tracks.

3. _A Free Descent Unroped._--If you discard the rope, you should be

doubly careful to reduce risk to a minimum by paying attention to

the general laws of crevasse formation. The middle of a glacier is

usually the safest part of the glacier in winter. Lateral crevasses,

i.e. crevasses at the side of the glacier, are wider, more numerous,

and more complicated than transverse crevasses. The crevasses in the

middle of a glacier are usually at right angles to the line of flow,

so that a ski-runner who is running straight will cross them at their

narrowest breadth. Lateral crevasses usually run at an angle of 30-45

degrees to the line of flow,[23] so that they will usually be crossed

by a ski-runner at a more or less wide angle, and the danger of running

along the whole length instead of across a snow-bridge is therefore

great.

The principal rules for glacier ski-ing in order of importance are

as follows: (1) Don’t fall. (2) Don’t make sudden swings. (3) Run

straight. (4) Don’t use your stick. (5) Keep to the middle of the

glacier.

In other words, run as straight as you can consistent with not falling.

It is better to run straight and to use your stick to reduce your

speed than to check your speed by swings and turns, for a swing to

a standstill above a crevasse is more likely than any other ski-ing

manœuvre to break a snow-bridge.

Keep close together on the descent, but not too close. Above all

things, avoid crossing the same snow-bridge while another member of the

party is crossing it. In the Grenz glacier accident three members of

the party fell into the same crevasse.

Avoid short sharp turns, and cultivate long gentle turns if you cannot

run straight.

It is often advisable to follow the leader’s tracks, for if the leader

has passed over a crevasse without falling in, the chances are that you

will be equally fortunate.

There should be two ropes in the party, so that if one rope disappears

with its bearer into a crevasse the second rope may be available to

pull him out.

At least one rope, and, in addition, the first-aid case and mending

apparatus for ski, should be in the rear of the party, as nothing is

more annoying than to see the leader disappearing far below with the

spare ski-tip just as your ski-point has snapped off.

“Always rope on snow-covered glaciers.” This is the law, and in theory

the law admits of no exceptions. But in winter, as in summer, this

law is often broken. Few climbers have a clear record on this point.

The temptation to break the law is, of course, much stronger for the

ski-runner than for the foot-climber. There have been comparatively few

accidents in which ski-runners have fallen into crevasses. On glaciers

that are known to be little, if at all, crevassed in summer, only a

pedant would rope in winter. Local knowledge is therefore very useful

indeed, and if a local guide can be taken, so much the better.

Such accidents as have happened have been either on the ascent, or

during a more or less level traverse, or as the result of a sudden

swing or stem which has disturbed the snow. I know of no case in which

a ski-runner has fallen into a crevasse during a fast, free, unchecked

descent. Indeed, I should doubt if it would be possible to break

through a snow-bridge while moving fast and running straight. I have

myself shot an open crevasse about ten feet or more in breadth while

travelling at a fairly high speed.

Most ski-runners would rope in winter on a glacier that was known to be

very crevassed in summer. Many ski-runners always rope in winter, but

far more only rope when they know the glacier to be very crevassed.

In May or June there is no reason to rope for the descent, save under

very exceptional circumstances. The risk of falling into a crevasse in

May or June is so slight that the rope may usually be discarded.

[Sidenote: Ski-ing on a Rope.]

Ski-ing on a rope is not so difficult as the inexperienced might

suppose. Experts who have practised together can attain high speeds,

and perform all the turns while roped together. A couple of good

runners with a little practice should be able to run safely at a fair

speed. But practice is necessary, and an hour or two of roped running

in the valley is well worth while.

Two is the most manageable number on a rope, and of course, there need

never be more than three, for larger parties can divide up into two

twos, a two and a three, etc.

First a word as to roping. Most guides make a loop at the very end of

the rope. This is quite unsound. The loop should be made about four

feet from the end of the rope, and this four feet of spare rope should

again be tied round the waist. Otherwise, if you fall into a crevasse,

the pressure on your waist may almost suffocate you before you are

withdrawn; whereas, if you have four feet of spare rope, you can uncoil

this, make a new loop into which you can place a foot, thereby at once

relieving the pressure on your body. With a little effort you should be

able to wriggle out of the main noose, standing in what may be called

the stirrup noose. If you are not exhausted, you might then be able to

swarm up the rope, which would of course be quite impossible if, as

would otherwise be the case, the end of the rope was originally tied

round your body. Two men on a glacier alone sometimes adopt Mummery’s

plan of wearing a second rope, which, in the event of a fall into a

crevasse, is untied by the man above and wound round the head of an axe

driven into the snow. The man below pulls on to the rope wound round

the axe. The man above pulls on to the rope round the fallen man’s

body. Thus there are virtually two men pulling one.

There is another method of roping sometimes used when three ski-runners

are tied to the same rope, which--though it has been employed by

experienced guides--seems to me most unsound. In this method two

ski-runners are tied to one rope, along which runs a small iron ring.

To this ring a second rope is fastened, and to this second rope the

third ski-runner attaches himself. The theory is that the third

ski-runner, being attached to a rope which in turn is attached to a

movable ring free to slide on the main rope, is far less constrained in

his movements than if all three were on the same rope. This is true,

but I should be sorry to be the third ski-runner if I was to fall into

a crevasse. Suppose the other two ski-runners are on opposite sides

of this crevasse. The man in the crevasse is then attached to a rope

which slides helplessly with the ring along the main rope. The iron

ring probably buries itself in the lower lip of the crevasse. I do not

quite see how any tension is to be exerted on the secondary rope.

It is simpler to begin by considering the case of two ski-runners,

A and B, running on a rope. If there is a marked difference in the

ability of A and B, the poorer ski-runner should lead, for it is much

easier to lead on a rope than to be the last man. The last man on the

rope has to moderate his pace and his direction in accordance with the

movements of the leader. If, however, A and B are equally good runners,

then the leader should be the one whose ski are the faster: I do _not_

mean the faster ski-runner, but the one whose ski are running better,

either because the ski themselves are faster and more slippery, or

because their owner is the heavier of the two, and therefore, other

things being equal, tends to get downhill quicker. For if, on a gradual

slope which is to be taken straight without braking or stemming, A

(whose ski are faster) is constantly overrunning B, the rope will get

mixed up with the ski, and A will have to regulate his pace by stemming

or braking in order to keep the proper distance. On the other hand, if

A leads, his extra speed will keep the rope taut, and the tension of

the rope will enable B to keep a uniform distance.

On easy ground A and B can ski in single file. B, whose ski are slower,

will be kept in line by the tension of the rope. It is not necessary

nor desirable for B to follow exactly the same spoor as A: his spoor

should be an inch or two to the side of, and parallel to, A’s spoor.

B must be on the look out for sudden increases in pace on the part of

A: A may, for instance, come to a steeper gradient, and B, if he is

not on the look out, is liable to be pulled over and pitched on to his

head. Similarly B, if A runs on to a gentler gradient, will have to

guard against overrunning A, and thereby rendering the rope useless;

for if A and B are on the same snow-bridge they may both fall in. _At

least_ 75 feet of rope should be allowed between A and B. On easy

ground this rope may be allowed to be taut; on more difficult ground B

should keep a coil of rope in his hand to allow a margin in the event

of A suddenly increasing his speed.

The normal position for straight running should be modified. In free

running lateral strains may usually be disregarded; the main risk

of a fall lies in fore and aft changes of speed. Consequently, for

normal running the narrow groove and the lengthened base, as in the

Telemark position, are usually preferable to a broad track. But a

ski-runner on a rope is always liable to lateral strains. It is rare

that one runs exactly in line; whenever one’s track is parallel rather

than coincident with the track of the leader, and whenever the leader

changes his direction, however slightly, the rope exercises a certain

amount of sideways pull. The greater the distance between the parallel

tracks, the greater the lateral tension of the rope. Consequently, the

ski-runner on a rope must be prepared, not only for forward and, in the

case of the leader, for backward jerks, but also for sideway strains.

The best position for roped running is to hold the ski about 8 inches

apart. One ski should be a few inches ahead of the other, and the knees

should be loose. The body should be slightly bent below the waist. The

Telemark position is, of course, most unsound.

On average ground the ski-sticks should be held together in the left

hand, leaving the right hand free to hold a spare coil of rope. If it

is necessary to brake or to control your speed, you should do so by

stemming and not by the stick.

On difficult ground you should use the stick to control your speed--a

recourse which is seldom, if ever, justified, except when running on

the rope. It is quite easy to hold both the sticks and also a spare

coil of rope in your two hands; and if you intend to brake with your

sticks, you must, of course, put your sticks together and get both

your hands on to them. The most efficient stop turn on a rope is the

Christiania helped out with the sticks. If you are unroped, a yard

or two of sideslip after a sudden stop is quite a good thing, but if

you are roped, you need to stop in the smallest possible compass,

especially if you are leading and the man behind falls. For this

purpose there is nothing to beat the stop Christiania helped out with

the sticks. As a rule, however, stemming is sufficient without using

the sticks. Good runners can, of course, make a series of linked turns

on ski, and there are few prettier sights than a skilful party on a

rope descending in a series of Stemming turns.

Whether leading or going last, always keep your partner fully informed

as to your changes of speed or direction. If the back man feels that he

is going to fall, he must shout out at once, so as to give the leader

time to stop by a stick Christiania. Similarly the leader, if he comes

to a steeper gradient, should warn his partner that the speed is likely

to increase.

_Be prepared to fall neatly and with the maximum of effect._ Should

the leader fall into a crevasse, don’t allow yourself to be dragged

after him. Throw yourself on the ground, and bring your ski round, as

you fall, at right angles to the track and below you. This is more

difficult than might be imagined. An indifferent runner, or even a good

runner who had not trained himself to expect a fall, would run a big

risk of being pulled into the crevasse by the first man.

The ‘falling Christiania’ is the best method of avoiding being pulled

after the leader into a crevasse.

On fairly steep slopes it is best not to run in line. A and B should

run side by side. Provided the rope is long enough (and at least 75

feet should be allowed between each partner), there is no danger that

A and B will fall into the same crevasse. A and B will probably not

be exactly side by side. B will be just a little behind A. In other

words, the line of the rope will not be exactly at right angles to the

parallel lines of the two tracks cut by A and B. This side-by-side

method is much easier than running in line; if A suddenly quickens in

speed, the only result is that A, instead of being side by side with

B, tends to run on ahead, and the two tracks tend to close up together

until the speed is readjusted. So, too, if B falls suddenly, A has much

more chance and more room in which to make a stop Christiania than if

they were running exactly in line. Also it is not necessary for either

A or B to hold a coil of rope in his hands. If the snow is smooth, the

rope need not be taut between the runners if they are running side by

side. It cannot be allowed to hang loose and to sweep the snow.

All that has been said above applies equally to three men on a rope:

three on a rope is, however, a more difficult combination; the position

of the middle man liable to both fore and aft jerks is far from

enviable. The best man should be placed in the middle. It is, however,

surprising how easily a party of three practised roped runners can

execute straight running and even combined turns on a rope.

Ropes that are employed in winter should be new. Old summer ropes

should not be used up in winter. Ropes break much more easily in winter

than in summer, and the strain is much greater in the event of a fall

into a crevasse owing to the greater speed on ski than on foot.

THE HIGH ALPS IN SPRING

There is a fascination about the High Alps in winter that is unique.

Never are the great peaks so icily aloof, the silences of the glaciers

so inviolate. No moon compares with the full moon of January shining

on some great glacier causeway; no views are clearer than the summit

panorama of February. None the less, winter is _not_ the proper season

for ski tours in the High Alps. It is true that the rock ridges are

usually free from snow in the winter and corniced in spring, so that

for expeditions which combine ski-ing with more or less difficult

rock climbing, winter is preferable to spring. At the same time, it

is possible to exaggerate this point. An ardent champion of winter

mountaineering once cited to me the Lyskamm as a mountain that could

not be climbed in May owing to cornices. Unfortunately for his case,

the Lyskamm _had_ been climbed in May. I have known the cornice on the

Wetterhorn almost invisible in May, whereas in many winters it is quite

formidable.

Still we may concede that rock ridges are certainly far easier in

February than in May, and cornices in general much larger in spring

than in winter.

And of course the snowline is lower in winter than in spring; but, as

we shall try to prove, this is not of very great importance.

The winter is the season for ski tours of modest length. It is the

season for what may be called _sub-alpine_ ski-ing. (We need some handy

expression in English for the most useful German word _Mittelgebirge_.)

Spring, on the other hand, is eminently suitable for ski tours in the

High Alps.

The best month for glacier ski-ing is May. June is also excellent.

Indeed, from about the middle of May to the middle of June is, on the

average, as good a month as any in the year for glacier ski-ing.

February is usually the best of the winter months, and May is the best

month for spring ski-ing. May is, among other things, usually fine.

April is almost always stormy; but the weather usually mends at the end

of April, and a long spell of perfect weather is as common in May as in

February.

Let us then compare ski-ing among the glaciers in May and in February

from the point of view of (1) Safety; (2) Quality of ski-ing; (3)

Effort; (4) Scenery.

(1) _Safety._--The shortness of the days and the great variations of

temperature, from mild and equable to bitterly cold, all add an element

of danger to the High Alps in February. A small mishap may have very

serious consequences. A broken leg half-way down Monte Rosa or the

Wetterhorn probably means a night in the open, and a night in the open

may mean a fatal ending. The sudden changes of weather, the storms that

rise in a night and last for days, all make February ski-ing among

the glaciers a sport with its own dangers. In May all these risks

are reduced almost to vanishing-point. A broken leg is a broken leg

in February or in May, but a night in the open in May should have no

permanent effect on any but a very badly wounded climber.

We have already dealt with avalanches. Here we need only repeat that

though avalanches are of daily occurrence in May, an experienced party

has no difficulty in avoiding them. They have a regular time-table,

and, provided one times one’s ascent or descent so as to avoid

crossing certain slopes at certain hours, one is absolutely safe. In

winter, avalanches can fall at any hour of the day, under certain

circumstances, and at any temperature. To take a concrete example: the

Gauli hut. This hut lies at the head of a very steep and narrow valley,

the Urbachthal. In winter one would never be quite safe in this valley.

A sudden wind might rise and bring down a powder avalanche; and even in

steady weather the risk of a powder avalanche from the very steep sides

of this valley is never entirely absent.

In spring one leaves Meiringen before midnight, climbs this valley

at night, and, provided the weather is fine, one is absolutely safe;

for in spring, avalanches fall in the afternoon and never fall at

night, save when the Föhn is blowing. And when the Föhn is blowing the

ski-runner stays at home, or remains in a club hut.

Finally, the glaciers are not oversafe in winter, for reasons explained

on pp. 448-449. In May all save very badly crevassed glaciers can be

descended on ski by an unroped party, without greater risks than those

which must be faced by every bold pedestrian that crosses Piccadilly

Circus. The crevasses are never so securely bridged as in spring.

(2) _Quality of the Ski-ing._--In winter it is the exception to find

good snow in the High Alps. The wind, as has already been explained,

spoils the snow on all exposed slopes. But in May the wind is

powerless, for the first fine day and hot sun will melt the snow so

thoroughly that all traces of wind action during the snowfall will

entirely disappear. Thenceforward the wind is powerless, for the wind

cannot churn up the heavy melted snow of spring, still less the hard

crust which is found in the early morning.

Snow in spring is hard crust in the early morning, Telemark crust up to

midday or later on high north slopes. In the afternoon it is usually

soft and heavy, but in the evening it once again yields fine ski-ing.

The ski-runner who visits the High Alps in winter can form no forecast

as to the possible conditions of the snow, for the snow is dependent on

the direction and on the strength of the winds that have blown since

the snow fell. It is therefore a matter of chance whether the snow is

good or bad, for nobody can foretell the conditions which depend on

such a fickle element as the wind. The longer fine weather endures in

winter, the greater the chance that the snow will be spoiled. In spring

the reverse is the case. _The more often snow is melted and refrozen

the better it becomes._ In general, provided the weather remains fine,

the spring ski-runner can count almost with certainty on perfect

ski-ing and perfect snow.

An important point in favour of spring is the fact that one usually

gets good ski-ing for every foot that one climbs on snow. In winter the

summit snow slopes are often so windswept, that the ski are left some

distance below the actual top and the final ascent is made on foot.

In spring the snow is just as good on the most exposed summit slope

as lower down. I have started spring or summer ski descents from the

_actual summits_ of such peaks as the Dom, Ebnefluh, Galmihorn, etc.

This is an important advantage, and more than counterbalances the fact

that the snowline is higher in May than in February; for though one may

lose a thousand feet of ski-ing on the last day, one more than balances

this loss by the fact that good ski-ing is obtained from the highest

limit of the snow.

The snowline in May usually extends down to 5000 feet. I have spent

three May months in the Alps, and I have always been able to get good

ski-ing well on to the middle of May down to about 5500 feet, and

sometimes lower. In narrow valleys the remains of spring avalanches

survive into the summer. I have skied in the middle of June below 6000

feet in the Gredetschthal, and I have often, in the middle or end of

June, obtained first-class ski-ing below 7000 feet.

Of course the height of the snowline is of no very great importance if,

as is usually the case, one spends four or five days on the glaciers.

One can sacrifice a thousand or two thousand feet of ski-ing on the

last day with complete composure if one is certain, as one is never

certain in winter, that one will get really good ski-ing for every foot

of snow slope that one climbs.

(3) _Effort._--Much less energy is expended on a spring than on a

winter ski tour. In winter most of the climbing is done on ski. Tracks

have to be made in the soft snow; a gradual zigzag course has to be

taken; time is wasted over ‘kick turns.’

In spring one climbs on foot or on crampons. The ski are dragged

behind on string. On level or gentle slopes the weight of the ski is

almost imperceptible if they are pulled along on string. On steep

slopes they are by no means a great hindrance. It is surprising what

can be accomplished by a man who is dragging instead of carrying ski.

I have seen Knubel climb a short but very steep snow and ice wall in

which he had to cut half a dozen handholds, and on which he had to

steady himself with one hand while he cut hand and foot holes with

the axe held in his right hand. Meanwhile his ski were dangling on

string--attached to his waist--over the bergschrund below.

The ski should, of course, always be secured by two strings in case one

breaks.

In spring on hard snow one climbs very nearly as fast dragging one’s

ski as one would climb without ski, and from 50-100 per cent faster

than one would climb if one was forced to ascend the same slope on ski

with soft winter snow.

The saving of effort is as remarkable as the saving of time, for it is

much easier to climb direct on foot than to zigzag up soft snow on ski.

Apart from the upper snows, the approaches to the High Alps are easier

in spring than in winter. The snow at night is nearly always hard in

May. The narrow valleys, filled with soft powder snow, are covered

with a firm groundwork of hard crust in spring. The climb to the club

hut is usually done at night or in the early morning. Though the snow

lies down to five thousand feet well on into the middle or end of May,

so that the ski descent can be prolonged down to very low levels, it

is usually possible to pick a route up snow-free slopes (either on

southern or south-westerly or south-easterly slopes) far higher than

the lowest levels of the snowline. Paths can be utilized instead of

snow slopes, more especially if the peasants have begun to tramp out

the paths for their own purposes. The long detours, often necessary in

winter, to avoid dangerous avalanche slopes are needless in spring, for

such slopes can always be crossed with safety at night when the snow is

crusted.

(4) _Scenery._--I have tried to show that the High Alps yield better

and safer ski-ing in May than in winter. Even if this were not so, May

would possess a charm for the mountaineer that no other month affords.

It is perhaps idle to compare the rival beauties of the four great

alpine seasons, for, even if one season could be proved paramount, the

true mountaineer would wish to study the mountains in all their moods.

The icy virginity of the High Alps in winter reveals secrets that are

hidden in spring and in summer.

None the less, if it be permitted to state a preference, I for one

should give my vote to May months. Contrast is the greater teacher,

and May is the month of contrasts. I think of moments when one stepped

on to a high ridge after hours among the burning snow-fields of May,

and looked down, with a shock of surprise, on to the valleys dressed

in a green that was different, transfigured, miraculous--a green that

the valley-dweller has never seen. I think of quiet evenings after

long days among the snows, when one strolled down through the scented

pines with one’s ski on one’s back and the music of a perfect run still

echoing in one’s heart--of the Dollfuss in May, a little oasis of

green young turf covered with gentian and anemone in a wilderness of

burning snow and granite ridges. I think of a sunset hour just above

Rosenlaui, following four perfect days among the May glaciers, the

foreground of marsh-marigolds a sheet of flame, and the whole valley

one full-throated chorus of spring. Running water is always beautiful,

but there is no music in all the harmonies of Nature to compare with

mountain torrents in spring after days among the dead silence of the

upper snows. Such are the contrasts that reward the mountaineer in May.

Within the compass of dawn and sunset he can live through the cycle

of the seasons, can pass from winter to spring, can enjoy the best

that snow yields to the ski-runner, and the chiefest rewards that the

hills yield to those that explore them when the great rebirth of colour

and music has finally prevailed over the stubborn obstinacy of the

retreating snows.

In order to understand the conditions that prevail in the High Alps in

spring, the effect of sun on snow and the various habits of sun-formed

and sun-melted crust must be grasped. These are dealt with on pp.

412-417. Avalanches are analysed on pp. 423-438. All that now remains

is to consider the application of the principles laid down to the

various months of spring.

[Sidenote: March.]

The winter of the calendar ends officially on 23 March, and the

calendar spring lasts from 24 March to 23 June. None the less March,

whatever the calendar may say, is winter in the High Alps. The snow,

unless disturbed by wind, remains powdery on all north slopes and

gentle south slopes. March is often a month of snowstorms, though

occasionally it is distinguished by really fine weather. On the whole,

however, it cannot be said to be a good month for glacier ski-ing,

though, on the other hand, the days are longer than in February. The

sun is stronger and the crevasses more securely bridged.

[Sidenote: April.]

April marks the transition from winter to spring. As a rule, April is

marked in the Alps by frequent storms, varied by periods of wet Föhn.

Occasionally one gets a week of really good weather and fine ski-ing,

even at very low altitudes, and it often happens that the last week

in April is perfect succeeding to a long period of snowstorms. But as

a rule good weather is less common in April than in any month of the

alpine year.

The snow itself varies. Powder snow is found on north slopes at high

altitudes. South slopes are usually crusted. The crust varies a great

deal, and resembles, in general, the crust found in winter at low

altitudes. In other words, April crust on the glaciers is usually

marble crust in the early mornings. The law, explained on p. 414, “The

milder the frost the better the crust,” often gives the clue to timing

a successful descent. As one descends on an early morning in April the

crust usually improves.

As a rule, the sun is strong enough to melt the crust just before or

just after midday, and in this case you get perfect running on Telemark

crust. Owing to the lower temperature the snow remains good much longer

than in May. In fact, at high altitudes it seldom becomes completely

thawed, so that the ski-ing on April afternoons is usually better than

on May afternoons.

It is important to notice that when, as in spring and summer, the sun

remains above the horizon after 6 p.m., the northern slopes will be in

the sun after the southern slopes have lost the sun, for the sun at

6 p.m. is due west and after 6 p.m. is north of west. Of course, as

the sun is low in the sky only north slopes that are not shut in by

neighbouring slopes will keep the sun.

If a north wind is blowing, the snow on north slopes, previously

crusted by sun and frost, may remain quite unmelted throughout the day.

I have found hard slippery crust in the late afternoon at the end of

April just below the rocks of the Zinal Rothhorn, with the result that

the ski-ing was most unpleasant. A bitter north wind was blowing at the

time. So, too, south slopes when the north wind is blowing may resist

the sun, and though they will not, like north slopes, remain really

hard, they will not be thoroughly melted.

If you are lucky enough to get fine weather, April ski-ing is often

delightful. After a few days of sun traces of wind action disappear

from all slopes, save perhaps north slopes at very high altitudes.

Telemark crust towards midday, and even later, and salt snow or hypo

snow (p. 417) as you descend from the glaciers to the lower regions,

are characteristic of April ski-ing.

It may be necessary to time your descent to the valley so as to pass

a dangerous slope before the sun has struck it. With ordinary caution

an experienced party should run no risk whatever of being caught by

an avalanche; but it is undeniable that inexperienced parties come to

grief more frequently in April than in any other month. This does not

prove that the avalanche danger is really greater, but only that it is

greater for the inexperienced.

[Sidenote: May.]

In May newly fallen snow usually remains powdery for one or two days

on north slopes, and even longer at high altitudes. But, in general,

powder snow is the exception in May. At high altitudes you will find

hard marble crust in the early morning. At lower altitudes you will

usually find ‘film crust’ and ‘perforated crust.’ For the formation of

these excellent running surfaces, see p. 414.

The main difference between marble crust on the one hand, and either

film crust or perforated crust on the other hand, is that the former is

too slippery to give the ski purchase, whereas film or perforated crust

is a splendid surface for Stemming turns or Christianias.

As a rule, in spring one descends after the sun has softened the crust.

Whether the original morning crust was hard and slippery, or covered by

a film or perforated crust, does not matter once the sun has melted its

surface.[24] In any case, there will be a period of ski-ing on Telemark

crust (p. 415). The main importance of film or perforated crust is its

value when you have to begin a descent before the sun has softened the

snow. I remember starting one morning just after the dawn from the

Oberaarjoch. I intended to ski down to the Grimsel and thence to climb

the Galenstock, and I hoped to go from the Oberaarjoch hut to the Furka

between dawn and sunset, taking the Galenstock _en route_. It was

obvious that an early start was necessary. At that date I had done

little ski-ing in June, and I fully expected that the top slopes of the

Oberaarjoch would be covered by very hard and slippery marble crust. To

my great surprise the crust, though hard, was covered by a beautiful

film of soft, transparent brittle ice. As the ski swung round on a turn,

this soft film peeled away and rustled down the slope with a soft

splashing sound. No surface could be finer. Straight running was

absolutely safe on the even, unchanging gradients of those summit

slopes. There were no hidden rocks or hidden crevasses to fear. The film

crust was absolutely true. There was no risk of running into a soft

sticky patch or a windswept pocket. One could run as fast as one liked,

secure in the knowledge that at any moment one could stop by a

long-drawn-out Christiania. On really steep slopes one could link a

succession of sweeping Christianias, the loveliest of all conceivable

turns, and on gentle slopes one could run straight. The soft film gave

an excellent purchase and prevented the ski side-slipping helplessly as

one began to turn, for the ski cut in under the film and peeled it away.

Until a man has skied down from some glacier pass at dawn on film crust

he has yet to learn the best that ski-ing can yield. That run from the

Oberaarjoch stands out as one of the finest runs of my life. The great

charm of film crust is that fast running can be combined with absolute

safety, for a dangerous fall is almost impossible on this surface. I

remember that we took twenty minutes from the pass to the snout of the

glacier, and duly arrived at Gletsch after taking the Galenstock _en

route_ before sunset.

Perforated crust is harder and firmer than film crust. On very steep

slopes it is a little too slippery, but on anything below 25 degrees it

gives perfect running.

In May film crust and perforated crust are common in the early morning,

and marble crust is unusual. After fresh snow one finds all sorts of

shades of snow from pure winter snow to film crust, but a few days of

cloudless weather is usually sufficient to change powder into crust on

all but very high north slopes.

[Sidenote: June.]

June differs mainly from May in that the snowline is higher and that

winter snow is even more uncommon. Film crust and perforated crust is

the rule at all save high altitudes and just after fresh snow.

As a rule the snow is even better in June than in May. _The more

frequently spring snow is melted and refrozen the better it becomes.

Old snow that has passed through this process again and again acquires

a granular and crystalline character._ It does not melt so thoroughly.

Provided there is no touch of Föhn in the air, it retains this

crystalline form even when it is melted. In June the snow remains good

for ski-ing much later in the day than in May, even though the sun is

higher in the sky. In May the period of transition from wet snow to

crust is very sudden. One moment the snow is wet and heavy, and half

an hour later the first crust has formed. In June there is often a

well-marked intermediate period when the snow gradually gets colder

and more crystalline. This granular snow is very fast and very true,

and suitable for every kind of turn and swing at high speed. On May

evenings the soft crust is very pleasant, but it is a little too soft

and the snow underneath the crust is a little too woolly; but in June

when the sun goes off the slopes the snow becomes crystalline, cold,

fast and just compact enough to prevent the ski sinking in too deep.

In June the lower limits of the _névé_ often show signs of furrowing.

The action of the sun forms ridges and furrows producing a wavy effect.

These ridges are unpleasant to ski on or to ski over when the snow is

hard, but quite harmless when the snow has begun to soften. On steep

slopes the ridges run roughly parallel with the fall of the slope. On

the level the snow is divided into numberless little hillocks with

corresponding holes.

The action is similar on a small scale to the erosive action of water

on a large scale. Water furrows an even mountain side with gullies and

a more or less level plain with intersecting ravines that produce a

series of hills. And just as in the geological cycle the last stage of

a mountainous country is a peneplane, so on snow the action of the sun

acts on the ridges and hillocks formed by previous action of the sun

and once again reduces the surface to a plain. I have seen in winter

one heavy rainstorm furrow the hillsides with miniature ridges and

a level snow slope with miniature hillocks, and I have seen the next

rainstorm--which followed two days later--erode the ridges and hillocks

formed by the first storm and once again produce slopes of even contour

and levels unbroken by hillocks.

THE SPRING TIME-TABLE

The spring ski-runner has, in general, the choice of two periods of

the day for his descent. He can descend in the morning just after

the sun has begun to soften the surface of the hard crust, or in the

evening when the soft melted snow is beginning to freeze again. If

the day’s run ends at some club hut situated at a reasonable height,

say 9000-10,000 feet, he can usually leave the hut about dawn and

return about midday, for the snow at this height is usually perfect

just before midday; or he can time his descent for just before or just

after sunset. If he is descending to the valley, it is usually best to

time his descent a great deal earlier. In May the snow below 8000 feet

softens very quickly directly the sun touches it, and becomes dangerous

on steep slopes. In this case, should the snow on the glaciers be

film or perforated crust, he can start his descent before the sun has

softened the crust, so as to reach the lowest limits of the snow before

they have been softened by the sun.

As this is often impossible, it is best to time the descent from the

peak to the club hut for midday, or rather before midday, and then to

wait in the hut till sunset, and continue the run down to the valley

after the sun has set and the snow begun to freeze again. Guides are

often dreadfully impatient, and have the greatest objection to spending

a long time on the summit of a peak. Many guides seem to regard summit

views with studied malevolence, and very few guides really understand

spring snow. If, as often happens, the arrival on the summit occurs

after midday, it is absurd to spoil a perfect descent by running down

in the afternoon. The amateur must exercise reasonable restraint and

insist on waiting. There are many things more unpleasant than to lie

about on the summit of some great peak for three or four hours studying

the changing effect of a May afternoon on distant hills and valleys,

what time the snow gradually improves.

Great judgment is required in spring to get the best value out of the

descent; it will often pay a party to wait three or four hours for the

snow to improve. Summer climbers seldom linger on the summit, for in

summer the wind usually makes itself felt, but in May or June one can

bask on the top of a peak in shirt sleeves even after the sun has set.

Eastern slopes, of course, are the first to soften in the morning and

the first to freeze at night. The best moment to descend varies with

the orientation of a slope. It is often possible to choose one of two

alternatives,--an eastern or a western route,--and the wise ski-runner

can often improve the quality of the descent by a clever choice of line

and slope.

Considerable experience is needed after a fresh fall of snow. Snow

usually remains powdery for a day or two on north slopes in May or

June. Perfect powder snow is by no means the exception in spring;

an inch or two of winter powder on spring crust provides a surface

which is absolutely unrivalled. When, however, the powder begins to

turn into crust the ski-ing may often be difficult. After a snowfall

you should try either to find slopes holding winter snow or slopes

holding spring snow, but not slopes on which the snow is just changing

from powder to crust. You may, for instance, have spent the night at

a club hut at a height of 9000 feet above the sea. You have arrived

in the middle of June on the first fine day after a snowstorm. The

snow near the hut has been thoroughly melted by the sun before your

arrival. The weather is clear, and there is a north wind blowing. You

may reasonably expect powder snow on north slopes down to about 10,000

feet, so that if you have a choice of an expedition on north snow, say

a peak 13,000 feet high, you should attempt it, and you will probably

find powder snow most of the way. On the other hand, a peak of the

same height that faced south might be an unpleasant condition, powder

turning into sticky snow or crust. It might therefore be best to choose

a small peak, say 11,000 feet, facing south, and run down below the

hut, remounting in the evening. Such an expedition might yield better

ski-ing than a high peak.

After a day or two of fine weather all snow, excepting snow on north

slopes at a very great height, is transformed into ordinary spring

snow. Thenceforward the ski-runner may count on perfect snow, provided

he times his descent right.

It is only with forty-eight hours of a snowfall that there is any real

difficulty. During such short periods the experienced spring ski-runner

will know whether to go for north slopes in the hope of winter snow or

for southern slopes, or north slopes at lower altitudes, in search of

spring snow.

SUMMER AND AUTUMN SKI-ING

In summer the snowline climbs ever higher, and the scope of the

ski-runner is accordingly limited. Climbers who go straight up a peak

and down again to the valley will therefore be unwilling to burden

themselves with ski; but for a man who spends several days in club huts

without ever descending far below the summer snowline, the use of ski

for snow-peaks is as valuable as at any other season of the year. Monte

Rosa, Ebnefluh, Fiescherhorn, etc., yield quite as good ski-ing down to

the club-hut levels in August as in January--better, in fact, for the

snow is usually better in August than in January.

Of course the crevasses are more open than in spring, and the greatest

care is needed after a fresh fall of snow.

The snow conditions as the summer advances gradually change. July is

not unlike June, excepting that there is less snow on the mountains

and that the snowline is higher. Otherwise one finds in July all the

varieties of spring snow from film crust to granular snow.

On 20 August the sun is at the same altitude as on 20 April, and on 20

September it is at the same altitude as on 20 March. So that towards

the end of September we should expect that the sun would be powerless

to affect powder snow on north slopes just as it is powerless at

the end of March to transform powder into crust on north slopes at

reasonably high altitudes.

In August powder snow on north slopes usually remains uncrusted for

two or three days after a fall. The wind, which was powerless in May

or June, begins to regain its ascendancy. In August one finds at high

altitudes on north slopes all the usual effects of wind action that one

may observe in April. One does not see the same traces of wind that

one observes in January, for the snowfalls are lighter and the sun is

stronger, but windboard and rippled snow are common enough in August.

In September and October snow remains powdery unless affected by Föhn

on north slopes above 9000 feet.

In October the snowfalls usually begin at the ordinary alpine centres.

I have enjoyed perfect ski-ing at Mürren by the middle of October; ski

expeditions in the High Alps have also been carried out at this date,

though the practice is to be discouraged; for, of course, the glaciers

are never so dangerous as in October or November, when the maximum

number of crevasses are open and the snow bridges more insecure than at

any other period of the year.

In a few years’ time many club huts will be provided with ski, so

that the trouble of carrying ski to the summer snowline will no

longer exist. When once this obstacle to summer ski-ing is removed, I

confidently expect that it will be the exception rather than the rule

to see climbers ascending Monte Rosa or similar peaks without ski at

any period of the year.

SUMMER SKI

Short summer ski are very useful. A handy size is about 5½ feet in

length. Such ski are very light and easily carried, and can be tied on

between the rucksack and the back. They are becoming very popular, and

have a great future.

On hard snow short ski are nearly as fast and as steady as long ski.

On soft snow they are, of course, nothing like so fast, and are apt

to be jerky and unpleasant if the snow varies in density or in speed.

On steep slopes of soft snow they are quite as good as long ski, for

they are very easy to turn; and so long as the slope is steep enough

to descend with continuous turns, short ski are as good or better than

long ski. It is on gradual slopes of soft snow or crust that their

disadvantage is marked.

They are amazingly handy for really steep narrow slopes, such as

gullies. On short summer ski one can descend a gully 40 degrees steep

and about 12 feet wide with sharp continuous turns. Stemming turns and

Christianias are ridiculously easy.

Mountaineers who have never been on ski will find short ski quite easy

to manage. A man who can glissade with safety down a steep gully will

be able to ski almost at once on good snow and on easy slopes without

too many falls, and should be able to make slow turns on short ski

after a day or two’s practice. Provided the snow is good, the average

_névé_ is an ideal practice-ground for beginners owing to the absence

of obstacles.

Even very short ski, 3 feet or 4 feet in length, are a great deal

better than no ski. On steep slopes they are most useful, and even on

gentle slopes, provided the snow is hard, one can get a really fine run

on a pair of ski no more than a yard in length.

FOOTNOTES:

[18] I may perhaps refer the reader to my own book _Cross

Country Ski-ing_ (Methuen) or to V. Caulfeild’s book _How to Ski_ for

the technique of ski-ing.

[19] I am ignorant of physics and should be glad to have this

guess corroborated by a physicist.

[20] Eastern slopes retain powder snow rather longer than

western slopes, possibly because the morning sun is less powerful

than the evening sun, as the atmosphere warms up as the day proceeds.

Further, as the prevailing alpine winds blow from the west, slopes that

face east are less often spoiled by wind than those which face west.

[21] Sometimes when the night is unusually mild the crust

is not sufficiently firm, and at the first touch of sun, it does not

merely melt superficially producing Telemark crust, but gives under the

ski and yields very nasty running. This is usually the case at _low_

altitudes in May.

[22] As the prevailing alpine winds blow from the west, western rock

ridges and rock faces are usually more free from snow than eastern

ridges. See footnote, p. 409.

[23] As the middle of the glacier moves faster than the sides,

and as the line of cleavage is at right angles to the line of tension,

lateral crevasses, contrary to what casual deduction might suppose, run

backwards from the side of the glacier to the centre.

[24] Provided that the night has been cloudless. An overcast

sky, or Föhn, will only produce a very weak crust which gives at once

when the sun rises. See footnote on p. 415. A couple of hours of a

cloudless sky is, however, quite enough to produce a good firm crust at

night.