THE PIZ BERNINA SKI CIRCUIT IN ONE DAY
Old snow well padded with new--Christmas Eve in the Bernina
hospice--The alarum rings--Misgivings before battle--Crampons
and sealskins--A causeway of snow--An outraged glacier--The
Disgrazia--A chess-player and a ski-man--Unroped!--In the
twilight--The Tschierva hut--Back to Pontresina--Hotel
limpets--Waiting for imitators.
At the close of 1910 Marcel Kurz was at Pontresina. I had occasion to
draw up certain reports upon the winter aspect of the district, and
he kindly undertook the inspection of the glacier routes for me. A
few glorious days seemed about to efface the memory of many previous
gloomy ones. On the day on which this account begins, a little snow had
fallen in the morning, the skier’s welcome _quotum_. Nothing affords
such excellent sport as old snow well padded out with about a foot of
new floury stuff. The ski blades sink nicely through the top layer of
rustling crystals. The ski-points pop out of the snow like the periscope
of a submarine. The sparkling prismatic flakes stream past each side of
the lithe, curled-up blade, like silvery waves parted by the prow of a
fast motor canoe.
“The north wind,” writes Mr. Kurz, “was now clearing the sky of every
cloud, leaving the dazzling snowy heights and the forests below steeped
in sunshine and brightness. It was our last chance, and, in a few
minutes, our minds were made up to accept it. Half an hour later we were
in the train on our way to the Bernina pass.
“The exact itinerary of this expedition I published in the _Alpina_
(Mitteilungen des Schweizer Alpenclubs) number of February 1st, 1911,
p. 22. The following only being intended as a short sketch, I will not
describe the route too minutely. The principal landmarks are: Pontresina,
Bernina pass, Alp Palü, Palü glacier, Fellaria glacier, Upper Scerscen
glacier, Fuorcla Sella, Sella glacier, Roseg glacier, and back to
Pontresina.
“‘Grützi Herr Stäub! Grützi Herr Kurz!’ These first words of greeting,
uttered on our arrival by our little friend at the hospice, showed her
evident pleasure on seeing us so soon back again. It was, in fact, our
second visit to the hospice within the week, but this time we came firmly
intending at last to carry out our plan.
“Here was the same low-ceiled, comfortable room in which we had sat
before, while the landlord and his friends talked the whole evening
away, with a big dog snoozing by the stove. We had taken supper at this
very table with Casper Grass, the Pontresina guide, on Christmas Eve.
Here had huddled together an Italian couple, busily writing endless
cards of Christmas greetings. The landlord, ever to be remembered, his
bead-like eyes looking out from behind his spectacles with a malicious
twinkle, stood up at times, munching a long ‘Brissago,’ to see that all
was right, while talking volubly in Italian. A maidservant sat at the
corner table, pen in hand and with vacant look, evidently stuck fast in
the midst of her literary endeavours. Not a star was to be seen outside,
and the howling wind, rattling the shutters with every gust, made us feel
how rash it was to have come at all. To drown the sound of the storm we
set the phonograph going, which cheered but little our drooping spirits.
Still, we started on the morrow, but on arriving at the Alp Grüm, the
violence of the wind made it impossible to go further--a disappointment
we had anticipated.
“But now we were out on our second attempt, and would not go back. This
time our friend Grass had unfortunately been obliged to remain behind at
Pontresina, in spite of his longing to join our expedition. The weather
was fine and cold, intensely cold. Our chances of success were great; the
reconnoitring done on Christmas Eve had sharpened our appetite for the
unknown beyond.
“The alarum had rung long since, and our candle had been alight some
time. The window-panes, white with frost, shut out the black night and
the piercing cold; never had one’s bed felt so comfortable. If our
bodies remained motionless, our thoughts wandered forth, trying to pry
into the secrets still lying concealed in the lap of the coming day, just
as the watchman’s lamp pierces the darkness of the night.
“There is a delightful thrill of impending battle hazards in being the
first to break upon new ground, as when a troop nearing the line of fire
eagerly questions the dissolving morning mists and doubtingly greets the
light that will expose it to the enemy’s strokes. What unkind shafts
might Fate have in store? What bolts might the glacier be preparing to
fire off, when we should pass under the portcullisses of its castellated
strongholds? With what pitfalls might the snow desert not be strewn under
the winning aspect of its rustling silken gown?
“If we wished to reach the Roseg glacier before nightfall, we must cross
the Fuorcla Sella between four and five o’clock that afternoon. This,
supposing that we should have passed the Palü glacier by midday. All
that, and back to Pontresina, in one day! Would it be very hard work?
That was the question, for nobody had yet ventured there in winter, and
on ski.
“Thus did our thoughts travel till we finally dropped off to sleep again,
only to wake a few minutes later with a start, and leap from our beds to
make up for lost time.
“At 6.30 we left the hospice. It was pitch dark, though numberless were
the stars shining overhead, so the lantern was lighted which had already
guided many travellers. A cheery voice, from one of the windows above,
wished us good luck, and with this pleasant sound in our ears we started
on our way.
[Illustration: PIZ BERNINA CIRCUIT.
(Reproduction made with authorisation of the Swiss Topographic Service,
26.8.12.)
To face p. 248.]
“Having reached Lago Bianco, we went due south, the wind at our backs.
Looking down, we saw the valley of Poschiavo sunk in the mist. We rapidly
crossed the lake and the level ground beyond, when dawn began to break.
By the time we had passed Pozzo del Drago it was already broad daylight.
At the steep wooded slope above Alp Palü we took off our ski and put on
crampons. The ten- or eight-pronged crampons fit very well on to ski.
They are wide enough--being calculated to enclose the heavy-nailed sole
of mountain shoes--to embrace the blade of the ski, and the bands are
long enough to be buckled conveniently over one’s boots.
“To the left appeared Le Prese, with its lovely lake among forests of
chestnuts, while to the right began to tower the threatening mass of the
Palü glacier, which formed part of our route. We were again running on
our ski when, at this point, the snow proving very slippery, we attached
our sealskins.
“These should be fitted with a ring to throw over the point of the
ski, and should stretch down to the middle of the ski, where they
should terminate. Here they are fastened to the ski binding by a proper
mechanical contrivance. They may be taken on to the back end of the ski,
but then they are difficult to stretch and fix over the heel of the ski.
It is quite unnecessary to carry the sealskin so far back. The clamp
under the beak of the ski completes the arrangement and tightens or
loosens the skin _ad libitum_.
“We continued thus till our arrival at the first fall of the glacier,
when, to reach the opposite side, we passed along a narrow strip of
snow we had noticed and marked to that effect some time before. The
slope became so steep that our sealskins failed to adhere, and we were
beginning to skate about on the hard crust of snow. Above our heads hung
the _séracs_, which forbade our venting our wrath in loud vociferations.
We strengthened ourselves, therefore, with the additional safeguard of
our crampons, and proceeded comfortably, taking care to have a firm grip
of the hard snow. On arrival at the first table of the glacier we stopped
for breakfast and enjoyed the sun. Before us stretched a long causeway of
snow to the top of the glacier; near us Pizzo di Verona, its ice cascades
resembling a shower of glittering emeralds, cast a shadow on all around.
The weather was glorious. Stäubli introduced me to several of his old
friends towering on the opposite side. Far beyond appeared the majestic
Ortler group.
“We continued our ascent round the western side of the glacier, roped
this time. At the foot of Piz Cambrena we took the direction of the col
opening to the west of Pizzo di Verona, and from thence an easy way
opened up through wonderful _séracs_ all aglow with the morning sun. _Va
piano, va sano._ A few more gaping crevasses had to be carefully avoided,
then the _névé_ became even, and we finally reached the col, leaving
behind us the Palü glacier, moping over its mysteries now unveiled. It
was midday.
“We could not restrain an outburst of admiration at the new world before
us, with the Disgrazia as the culminating point. Stäubli, mad with
delight, began a wild dance on the edge of the precipice. One of the many
slabs of stone which surrounded us served well for a table. While the
kettle was boiling we could have had time to ascend Pizzo di Verona, but
we preferred to remain where we were and enjoy the wonders before us,
taking an occasional photograph. A great stillness reigned everywhere.
We did not talk. We understood each other just as well, perhaps better.
But why should there not have been more than the two of us to enjoy that
glorious sight? Would that I could have transported all you city people
to magic scenes like these!
“I cannot help thinking of one who, regularly every day, at Zürich, comes
to the restaurant where I dine to play his game of chess at a table near
me. He salutes his partner, the small glass of cognac is brought, the
cigars are lighted, and then the game begins and continues to the end,
without a single word being uttered, and this each day of his life. Poor
wretch, how I pity you! How shall we repay our fathers for showing us the
mountains and their glory?
“We were roused from our motionless ecstasy by a sensation of cold, and
upwards still, continued our way along the Italian frontier towards the
Piz Zupo, and lazily skid over the frozen ice-waves of the Fellaria
glacier. How shall I describe the fairy-like scenes met at every step? We
came to the foot of the huge buttresses of the Piz Zupo and Piz Argient.
What a contrast between those awful, dark, jagged arêtes and the snowy
robes flowing round their feet? Further on we came into a fresh region of
glaciers, dazzling in their brightness, with the mass of the Disgrazia in
the background, sunk in shadow.
“‘Man wird verrückt!’ exclaimed Stäubli, my dear little friend Stäub.
“Having unroped and relieved our ski both of crampons and sealskins, we
once more glided softly over those lovely snow deserts which run along
the border on Italian territory. A cry of ‘Youhéé’ fills the air. Stäubli
was flying over an enchanting lake of ice, and though the snow was not
of the best, we enjoyed our run to the full. Soon we were half-way
across the Fellaria glacier, directing our steps towards the western
side, where a new region was about to open before us; a black _arête_,
however, hid the other side still from view. It was a solemn moment. We
began to descend and fly over the ground, when, turning the cornice of
rock, we suddenly stopped to gaze on the wonderful sight before us. The
two Scerscen glaciers stood out bathed in light at the foot of the Gümels
and Piz Roseg, the whole suffused with the soft mauve tints of the ebbing
twilight.
“We soon reached the Upper Scerscen glacier, in the midst of a formidable
amphitheatre of mountains. The king of them all, Piz Bernina, was at last
revealed to us, towering above Piz Argient, Crast Agüzza, and Monte Rosso
di Scerscen. The Italians showed their good taste in erecting the Rifugio
Marinelli in this very Eden. We could stop at this little stone hut for
the night. We preferred, however, continuing our run. From here to the
Fuorcla Sella we roped, and made a large circuit to avoid the region
of crevasses as much as possible. Soft clouds of snow were raised by the
wind, and sparkled like diamonds in the sun.
[Illustration: UPPER SCERSCEN AND ROSEG GLACIERS.
To face p. 253.]
“By twilight we began ascending the last slopes to the Fuorcla Sella. We
reached the col, and, leaving the sunny Italian slopes behind us, entered
into the shadow of the Sella basin. It was 4.30 p.m.; we still had
three-quarters of an hour of daylight left, which would exactly allow us
to reach the flat of the Roseg glacier. We enjoyed a lovely run over the
soft, powdery snow tinted with mauve, the reflection from the rocks of
Piz Roseg all on fire in the setting sun. We knew our way here by heart,
and skimmed over the snow without fear, ‘yodling’ frantically.
“By the last ray of the setting sun we left the Sella glacier, and
passed on to the Roseg glacier. There were still a few traces left of
our expedition three days before on our way to the Piz Glüschaint. Far
in the distance we could see the lights of Pontresina brightly shining.
We seemed quite near already. We stepped over the back of the glacier in
long strides, and on nearing the Tschierva hut, where two friends were
to meet us, we began to yodle. However, our calls remained unanswered,
and no lights could we see. We were not astonished on learning later that
those two distinguished mountaineers had been enjoying luxurious couches
at Samaden all the time!
“One difficulty remained, in the shape of the Tschierva moraine. I asked
Stäubli for some light. He tied an electric lamp on to his belt, leaving
me in complete darkness!
“A little later we started on a splendid run, descending from the
Tschierva hut, where we flew over the ground like phantoms. This run was
cut short on arrival at the bridge of the Roseg Restaurant, where the
road is completely spoiled with the deep ruts made by the sleighs. We
took advantage of this stoppage to rest awhile and finish some cake left
from our morning’s repast. After this, we passed through the beautiful
Val Roseg, a lovely spot, but wearisome after a long night run.
“In the hotel, brilliant with many electric lights, we are sitting at
a table with our friend, the guide Grass, and some welcome bottles of
wine. Stäubli, the pink of neatness, is giving the guide a long account
of our trip. Around us the usual set of well-dressed people laugh and
talk. For them it is like every other evening; for myself, I find it
difficult to realise that all I have seen and felt is not a dream. A glow
of happiness fills my heart that not all these lights could surpass,
and the wish comes to shut out all around and rest once more in those
glorious solitudes. What a gulf seems to separate me from those who have
not seen the wondrous mountains, those who have not shared our vision of
the silent snows!
“Life is made up of contrasts, and I take pleasure in recalling them to
my mind in order to perpetuate their memory.”
Strange it is, on reading over those lines written by Marcel Kurz,
to have to add that the idea of the Piz Bernina ski circuit did not
germinate in a Pontresina mind. Forsooth it was reserved for the Swiss
to conceive and execute. But how strange is that apathy, that subjection
to routine on the part of an otherwise bold and enterprising people! And
how strange too that out of the number of foreign sportsmen congregating
every winter in the Engadine, not one could brace himself to “get up
and go” from Pontresina to the Bernina hospice, thence to the refuge
Marinelli, thence to the Tschierva hut and back to Pontresina, in three
days, if he so pleased!
[Illustration]