THE PIZ SCERSCEN TWICE IN FOUR DAYS--THE FIRST ASCENT OF MONT BLANC BY
A WOMAN.
It was a mad thing to do. I realised that when thinking of it
afterwards; but this is how it happened.
I had arranged with a friend, Mr Edmund Garwood, to try a hitherto
unattempted route on a mountain not far from Maloja. He was to bring
his guide, young Roman Imboden; I was to furnish a second man,
Wieland, of St Moritz.
[Illustration: WIELAND ON THE HIGHEST POINT OF PIZ SCERSCEN (page
200).]
[Illustration: A PARTY ON A MOUNTAIN TOP.]
[Illustration: THE OTHER PARTY DESCENDING PIZ BERNINA (page 202).]
[Illustration: A PARTY COMMENCING THE DESCENT OF A SNOW RIDGE.]
The hour had come to start, the carriage was at the door and the
provisions were in it, and Wieland and I were in readiness when, to
our surprise, Roman turned up without Mr Garwood. A note which he
brought explained that the latter was not well, but hoped I would make
the expedition all the same, and take Roman with me. I was unwilling
to monopolise a new ascent, though probably only an easy one, so I
refused to go till my friend was better, and asked the guides to
suggest something else. The weather was lovely and our food ready, and
it seemed a pity to waste either.
Wieland could not think of a suitable climb, so I turned to Roman, who
had only arrived at Pontresina two days before, and asked him his
ideas.
He very sensibly inquired: "What peaks have you not done yet here,
ma'am?"
"All but the Scerscen."
"Then we go for the--whatever you call it."
"Oh, but Roman," I exclaimed, "the Scerscen is very difficult, and
there is 3 feet of fresh snow on the mountains, and it is out of the
question!"
"I don't believe any of these mountains are difficult," said Roman
doggedly, with that contempt for all Engadine climbing shown by guides
from the other side of Switzerland.
"Ask Wieland," I suggested.
Wieland smiled at the question, and said he did not at all mind going
to look at the Scerscen, but, as to ascending it under the present
conditions, of course it was absurd.
"Besides," he added, "we are much too late to go to the Marinelli Hut
to-day."
"Why not do it from the Mortel Hut?" I remarked, on the "in for a
penny in for a pound" principle.
He smiled again; indeed, I think he laughed, and agreed that, as
anyhow we could not go up the Scerscen, we might as well sleep at the
Mortel Hut as anywhere else.
"Have you ever been up it?" Roman inquired.
Wieland answered that he had not. Roman turned to me: "Can you find
the mountain? Should you know it if you saw it? Don't let us go up the
wrong one, ma'am!"
I promised to lead them to the foot of the peak, and Roman repeated
his conviction that all Engadine mountains were perfectly easy, and
that we should find ourselves on the top of the Scerscen next morning.
However, he made no objection to taking an extra rope of 100 feet,
and, telling one friend our plan in strictest confidence, we climbed
into the carriage.
We duly arrived at the Mortel Hut and were early in bed, as Roman
wished us to set out at an early hour, or a late one, if I may thus
allude to 11 P.M. He was still firmly convinced that to the top of the
Scerscen we should go, and wanted every moment in hand, in spite of
his recent criticisms of Engadine mountains. There was a very useful
moon, and by its light we promised Roman to take him to the foot of
the peak, where its rocky sides rise abruptly from the Scerscen
Glacier.
I must here explain that there are several ways up the Scerscen. I
wished to ascend by the rocks on the south side, which, though harder,
were safer than the other routes. As for the descent (if we got up!)
we intended coming down the way we had ascended, little knowing not
only that no one had been down by this route, but also that a party
had attempted to get down it and had been driven back. As for finding
our way up, some notes in the _Alpine Journal_ were our only guide.
The mountain had been previously ascended but a few times altogether,
and only, I think, once or twice by the south face. No lady had up
till then tried it.
We were off punctually at 11 P.M., and by the brilliant light of the
moon made good time over the glacier and up the snow slopes leading to
the Sella Pass. This we reached in three hours, without a pause, from
the hut, and, making no halt there, immediately plunged into the
softer snow on the Italian side, and began to skirt the precipices on
our left. Even in midsummer, it was still dark at this early hour,
and the moon had already set. A great rocky peak rose near us, and
Wieland gave it as his opinion that it was the Scerscen. I differed
from him, believing our mountain to be some distance farther, so it
was mutually agreed that we should halt for food, after which we
should have more light to enable us to determine our position.
Gradually the warmth of dawn crept over the sky, and soon the
beautiful spectacle of an Alpine sunrise was before us, with the
wonderful "flush of adoration" on the mountain heads. There was no
doubt now where we were; our peak was some way beyond, and the only
question was, how to go up it? I repeated to Roman the information I
had gleaned from the Journal, and he thanked me, doubtless having his
own ideas, which he intended alone to be guided by. Luckily, as we
advanced the mountain became visible from base to summit, so that
Roman could trace out his way up it as upon a map. We walked up the
glacier to the foot of the mighty wall, and soon began to go up it,
advancing for some time with fair rapidity, in spite of the fresh
snow. After, perhaps, a couple of hours or so, we came to our first
real difficulty. This was a tall, red cliff, with a cleft up part of
it, and, as there was an evil-looking and nearly perpendicular gully
of ice to the right and overhanging rocks to the left, we had either
to go straight up or abandon the expedition. The cleft was large and
was garnished with a sturdy icicle, or column of ice, some 5 feet or
more in diameter. Bidding me wedge myself into a firm place, Roman
began to cut footholds up the icicle, and then, when after a few steps
the cleft or chimney ended, he turned to his right and wormed himself
along the very face of the cliff, holding on by the merest
irregularities, which can hardly be termed ledges. After a couple of
yards he struck straight up, and wriggling somehow on the surface,
rendered horribly slippery by the snow, he at last, after what seemed
an age, called on Wieland to follow. What was a _tour de force_ for
the first man was comparatively easy for the second, and soon my turn
came to try my hand--or rather my feet and knees and any other
adhesive portion of my person--on the business. The first part was the
worst, for, as the rope came from the side and not above till the
traverse was made, I had no help. Eventually I, too, emerged on to the
wall, and saw right over me the rope passing through a gap, behind
which, excellently placed, were the guides. I helped myself to the
utmost of my capacity, but a pull was not unwelcome towards the end,
when, exhausted and breathless, I could struggle no more. As I joined
the guides they moved to give me space on the ledge, and we spent a
well-earned quarter of an hour in rest and refreshment. The worst was
now over, but owing to the snow, which covered much of the rock to a
depth of about 2 or 3 feet, the remainder of the way was distinctly
difficult, and as the mountain was totally unknown to us we never
could tell what troubles might be in store. However, having left the
foot of the actual peak at 5.40 A.M., we arrived on the top at 10.40
A.M., and as we lifted our heads above the final rocks, hardly daring
to believe that we really were on the summit, a distant cheer was
borne to our ears from Piz Bernina, and we knew that our arrival had
been observed by another party.
So formidable did we consider the descent that we only allowed
ourselves ten minutes on the top, and then we prepared to go. Could we
cross the ridge to Piz Bernina and so avoid the chimney? It had a
great reputation, and we feared to embark on the unknown. So at 10.50
A.M. we began the descent, moving one at a time with the utmost
caution. Before long the difficulties increased as we reached the
steeper part of the mountain. The rocks now streamed with water from
the rapidly melting snow, under the rays of an August sun. As I held
on, streams ran in at my wristbands, and soon I was soaked through.
But the work demanded such close attention that a mere matter of
discomfort was nothing. Presently we had to uncoil our spare 100 feet
of rope, and now our progress grew slower and slower. After some hours
we came to the chimney. No suitable rock could be found to attach the
rope to, so Roman sat down and thought the matter out. The difficulty
was to get the last man down; for the two first, held from above, the
descent was easy. Roman soon hit upon an ingenious idea. Wieland and I
were to go down to the bottom of the cleft. Wieland was to unrope me
and, leaving me, was to cut steps _across_ the ice-slope to our left
till leverage was obtainable for the rope across the boss of rock
where Roman stood, and where it would remain in position so long as it
was kept taut, with Roman at one end and Wieland slowly paying out
from below. The manoeuvre succeeded, and after about two hours' work
Wieland had hewn a large platform in the ice and prepared to gradually
let out the rope as Roman came down. He descended in grand form,
puffing at his pipe and declared the difficulty grossly over-rated,
though he did not despise the precaution. At 2.30 A.M. we re-entered
the Mortel Hut, somewhat tired, but much pleased with the success of
our expedition.
Our second ascent of Piz Scerscen is soon told.
Four days later Roman casually remarked to me: "It is a pity, ma'am,
we have not crossed the Scerscen to the Bernina."
"It is," I replied. "Let us start at once and do it."
Wieland was consulted, and was only too delighted to go anywhere under
Roman's leadership. Our times will give an idea of the changed state
of the mountain, for, leaving the Mortel Hut at 12.30 midnight, we
were on the top of the Scerscen at 8 A.M. At nine we set off, and
taking things leisurely, with halts for food, we passed along the
famous arête, and, thanks to Roman's choice of route, met with not one
really hard step. At 2.30 P.M. we found ourselves on the top of Piz
Bernina, and had a chat with another party, who had arrived not long
before. I waited to see them start, and rejoiced that I had kept two
plates. Then we, too, set forth, and were in the valley by 7 P.M.
THE FIRST ASCENT OF MONT BLANC BY A WOMAN, AND SOME SUBSEQUENT ASCENTS
The first woman who reached the summit of Mont Blanc was a native of
Chamonix, Maria Paradis by name. Her account of her expedition is so
admirably graphic and picturesque that I shall give a translation of
it as like the original as I can. Though it was so far back as the
year 1809, Maria writes quite in the spirit of modern journalism.
She begins:--"I was only a poor servant. One day the guides said to
me, 'We are going up there, come with us. Travellers will come and see
you afterwards and give you presents.' That decided me, and I set out
with them. When I reached the Grand Plateau I could not walk any
longer. I felt very ill, and I lay down on the snow. I panted like a
chicken in the heat. They held me up by my arms on each side and
dragged me along. But at the Rochers-Rouge I could get no further, and
I said to them 'Chuck me into a crevasse and go on yourselves.'
"'You must go to the top,' answered the guides. They seized hold of
me, they dragged me, they pushed me, they carried me, and at last we
arrived. Once at the summit, I could see nothing clearly, I could not
breathe, I could not speak."
Maria was thirty years of age, and made quite a fortune out of her
achievement. From that time, tourists returning from Mont Blanc
noticed with surprise, as they passed through the pine woods, a feast
spread out under the shade of a huge tree. Cream, fruit, etc., were
tastefully displayed on the white cloth. A neat-looking peasant woman
urged them to partake. "It is Maria of Mont Blanc!" the guides would
cry, and the travellers halted to hear the story of her ascent and to
refresh themselves.
The second woman, and the first lady to climb Mont Blanc, was a
Frenchwoman, Mademoiselle d'Angeville. For years she had determined to
make the attempt, but it was only in 1838, when she was 44 years of
age, that she came to Chamonix with the intention of immediately
setting out for the great mountain. She had many difficulties to
surmount. The guides feared the responsibility of taking up a woman,
many of the Chamonix people thought her mad, and while one was ready
to offer a thousand francs to five that she would not reach the top,
another was prepared to accept heavy odds that there would be a
catastrophe. At last, however, all was ready, and she started. Two
other parties offered to join her. She declined with thanks. After
half an hour on the glacier she detached herself from the rope and
would accept no help. This was far from being out of sheer bravado, it
was simply that she desired to inspire confidence in her powers.
During the night on the rocks of the Grands Mulets she suffered
terribly from cold and could not snatch a moment's sleep. When the
party stopped for breakfast at the Grand Plateau, she could eat
nothing. At the Corridor, feverishness, and fearful thirst overcame
her; she fell to the ground from weakness and drowsiness. After a
little rest, however, she was able to go on, but at the Mur de la Cote
she felt desperately ill. Violent palpitation seized on her and her
limbs felt like lead. With a tremendous effort she moved on. The
beatings of her heart became more suffocating, her pulse was too rapid
to count, she could not take more than ten steps without stopping. One
thing only remained strong in her--the _will_. During these frequent
halts she heard the murmuring of talk between the guides, as in a
dream. "We shall fail! Look at her, she has fallen asleep! Shall we
try and carry her?" while Couttet cried, "If ever I find myself again
with a lady on Mont Blanc!" At these words Mademoiselle d'Angeville,
with a desperate effort, shook off her torpor and stood up. She clung
with desperate energy to the one idea: "If I die," she said to the
guides, "promise to carry me up there and bury me on the top!" And the
men, stupified with such persistence, answered gravely, "Make your
mind easy, mademoiselle, you shall go there, dead or alive!"
[Illustration: HARD WORK.]
[Illustration: MRS AUBREY LE BLOND SETS OUT IN A LONG SKIRT (page
87).]
As she approached the top she felt better, and was able to advance
without support, and when she stepped on to the summit, and knew that
her great wish was at last accomplished, all sensation of illness
vanished as if by enchantment.
"And now, mademoiselle, you shall go higher than Mont Blanc!"
exclaimed the guides, and joining hands they lifted her above their
shoulders.
One more ascent by a lady deserves mention here, that of Miss
Stratton, on 31st January 1876. She was the first person to reach the
summit of Mont Blanc in mid-winter.
It is difficult to understand why these early climbers of Mont Blanc,
men as well as women, suffered so terribly from mountain sickness, a
disease one rarely hears of nowadays in the Alps. The question is too
vexed a one for me to discuss it here, but I may say that want of
training and unsuitable food bring it on in most cases. "The
stagnation of the air in valleys above the snow-line," was believed to
produce it, and I cannot help thinking that this does have some
effect. The first time I went up Mont Blanc I did not feel well on the
Grand Plateau, but was all right when I reached the breezy ridge of
the Bosses. The second time, ascending by the route on the Italian
side of the peak, where there are no snowy valleys, I did not suffer
at all. The third time I felt uncomfortable on the slope leading to
the Corridor, but quite myself again above.