THE MAKING OF A MOUNTAINEER
[Illustration: _Climbing the Matterhorn by the Zmutt ridge._
“We had to cut steps across a wide ice slope” (_page 187_).
_Frontispiece_
]
THE MAKING
OF
A MOUNTAINEER
BY
GEORGE INGLE FINCH
WITH SEVENTY-EIGHT PHOTOGRAPHS, ONE DRAWING AND TWO DIAGRAMS
[Illustration]
ARROWSMITH :: LONDON :: W.C.1
_First published in May, 1924_
Printed in Great Britain by
J. W. ARROWSMITH LTD.
11 Quay St. & 12 Small St., Bristol
To
MY WIFE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
PREFACE 11
I EARLY DAYS 13
II CLIMBING IN CORSICA 20
III THE WETTERHORN 40
IV THE JUNGFRAU 52
V THE JUNGFRAU AND THE JUNGFRAUJOCH 68
VI ON SKIS IN THE BERNESE OBERLAND 82
VII ON SKIS IN THE BERNESE OBERLAND (_continued_) 95
VIII A WINTER’S NIGHT ON THE TÖDI 107
IX THE BIFERTENSTOCK 122
X MONTE ROSA 140
XI THE TWINS 153
XII THE MATTERHORN--A BEGINNER’S IMPRESSIONS 164
XIII THE MATTERHORN 182
XIV THE DENT D’HÉRENS 193
XV MONT BLANC 213
XVI MONT BLANC FROM THE SOUTH 227
XVII TWO CHAMONIX AIGUILLES 248
XVIII THE AIGUILLE DU DRU 269
XIX TOWARDS MOUNT EVEREST 283
XX MOUNT EVEREST 296
XXI MOUNTAINEERING PHOTOGRAPHY 335
ILLUSTRATIONS
Climbing the Matterhorn by the Zmutt ridge _Frontispiece_
FACING
PAGE
Rock-climbing 14
Crossing a steep snow slope 14
Scrambling in the range of the Tödi 18
Climbing the Capo al Dente 24
The southern summit of Capo Tafonato 28
The Cinque Fratri from below the Col de Foggiale 32
Paglia Orba from the Cinque Fratri 36
Morning mists 44
Climbing down a steep ridge 48
The short cut--roping down 48
The north face of the Jungfrau 52
The icefall of the Guggi Glacier 56
“We basked on the roof of the Guggi hut” 62
Cutting steps over the upper lip of a bergschrund 76
Evening storm 80
Morning calm 80
The Eismeer icefall 86
Sounding a snowbridge 86
Cornices on the Punta Margherita 98
A cornice on the Rôchefort ridge 98
The Tödi 108
The Tödi from the Bifertenlücke 116
The summit of the Tödi 116
The Bifertenstock from the Bündner Tödi 128
“... a faithful record of Forster’s blood-bespattered
condition” 136
The east face of Monte Rosa 142
The Frisallücke 148
The Grenz Gipfel 150
The Val Sesia from Monte Rosa 150
A crevasse on the Zwillings Glacier 154
Castor 154
The Swiss ridge of the Matterhorn from the Matterhorn
hut 166
The Swiss summit of the Matterhorn from the Italian
summit 170
The summit of Mont Blanc in 1911 170
Descending the Italian ridge 174
The Matterhorn from the Dent d’Hérens 178
The Matterhorn from the Stockje 184
The Matterhorn at sunset 184
“... that tremendous overhang called the ‘Nose of
Zmutt’” 186
An ice avalanche 196
The north face of the Dent d’Hérens, showing route
followed 210
Back at the Schönbühl hut after the climb 210
Mont Blanc from the Dôme hut 218
Descending Mont Maudit 224
The Peuteret ridge from the Col du Géant 224
Mont Blanc from the Val Veni 228
The Innominata from the Col du Fresnay 236
The Aiguilles Blanche and Noire de Peuteret 244
“A traverse of about thirty yards across the steep western
flank of the Peuteret ridge....” 244
Chamonix Aiguilles and Mont Blanc 250
Descending the Grépon 250
A stiff chimney 250
A sérac 254
“Two ladders tied together and laid across the chasm” 254
The summit of the Grépon 258
Good, sound rock 264
The bergschrund below the Dru 270
Where next? 272
“La Pendule” 274
“... A rather steep ice slope--the Mur de la Côte” 274
On the summit of the little Dru 278
On the first day out from Phari Dzong 290
Shekar Dzong 290
Mount Everest and the Base Camp 294
Camp II. 294
“A suitable slope was soon found” 302
Amid the séracs of the East Rongbuk Glacier 304
Crossing a trough on the East Rongbuk Glacier 304
Mount Everest from Camp III. 306
The North Peak and the North Col Camp 314
The North Peak from an altitude of nearly 24,500 feet on
Mount Everest 316
Mount Everest from the North Col, showing route 330
Monsoon clouds 330
On the return journey to the Base Camp 332
In a mountain hut 336
The Aiguille du Géant 338
The Sella Pass 338
PREFACE
Man’s heritage is great. There are the mountains; he may climb them.
Mountaineering is a game second only to the greatest and best of all
man’s games--life.
The War all but dried up the steady stream of youthful and enthusiastic
devotees who kept alive and fresh the pursuit of mountain-craft. But
fresh blood is as essential to the healthy life of mountaineering as
it is to any other game, craft or pursuit, and, fortunately, there are
cheerful signs that the after-effects of the War are fast becoming
spent. Our youth is beginning to find the dancing floor, the tennis
court and the playing fields of Great Britain too narrow, too lacking
in scope, perhaps also a little bit too soft; and the craving grows for
wider fields and a sterner, freer pastime.
It is primarily for the members of the younger generation that
this book has been written, in the hopes that, by affording them a
glimpse of the adventurous joys to be found in the mountains, they
may be encouraged to take up and try for themselves the pursuit of
mountaineering.
Portions of Chapters II and XVIII have appeared in the _Climber’s Club
Journal_, Chapter VIII in the _British Ski Year Book_, and Chapters
XIV and XVI in the _Alpine Journal_. Where not otherwise stated, the
illustrations are from photographs by the Author.
In conclusion, I would like to thank Captain T. G. B. Forster for the
loan of four photographs; Mr. A. B. Bryn for one photograph; Mr. R.
H. K. Peto for the pen-and-ink sketch of the east face of Monte Rosa
and the drawing of an ice-axe; my brother for Chapter VIII; and last,
but not least, my wife for her contribution, Chapter XII, and for the
tireless pains she has taken in assisting me with the preparation and
correction of the manuscript and proofs.
I also wish to place on record my appreciation of what I owe to the
inspiration and example of the _Alpine Journal_ and of Mr. Geoffrey
Winthrop Young, and to the inspiring influence of Miss P. Broome.
10 GAINSBOROUGH MANSIONS,
LONDON, W.14,
_April, 1924_.
THE MAKING OF A MOUNTAINEER
CHAPTER I
EARLY DAYS
Some twenty-two years ago, on a dewy spring morning in October, I
urged my panting pony towards a hill-top in the Australian bush, the
better to spy out the whereabouts of a mob of wallaby. The last few
feet of the ascent being too much for the pony, I dismounted and,
leaving him behind, scrambled up a short, rocky chimney to the summit.
The wallaby were nowhere to be seen; but my wondering eyes were held
spell-bound by such a vision as I had never even dreamed of. Miles and
miles away the white-washed roofs of the township of Orange gleamed
brightly in the clear morning sunshine; the main roads converging
upon the town showed sharp and distinct from out their setting in the
rolling bush. The picture was beautiful: precise and accurate as the
work of a draughtsman’s pen, but fuller of meaning than any map. I was
just thirteen years old, and for the first time in my life the true
significance of geography began to dawn upon me; and with the dawning
was born a resolution that was to colour and widen my whole life.
Before returning to my pony after this, my first mountain ascent, I had
made up my mind to see the world; to see it from above, from the tops
of mountains, whence I could get that wide and comprehensive view which
is denied to those who observe things from their own plane.
A year later my brother Maxwell and I, now proud possessors of Edward
Whymper’s _Scrambles in the Alps_, emulated our hero’s early exploits
by scaling Beachy Head by a particularly dangerous route, much to the
consternation of the lighthouse crew and subsequent disappointment of
the coastguards who arrived up aloft with ropes and rescue tackle just
in time to see us draw ourselves, muddy and begrimed, over the brink
of the cliff into safety. That climb taught us many things; amongst
them, that a cliff is often more difficult to climb than would appear
from below; that flints embedded in chalk are not reliable handholds,
but sometimes break away when one trusts one’s weight to them; that
there are people who delight in rolling stones down a cliff without
troubling to see whether anyone is underneath; and that if it be good
to look down upon the world, the vision is beautiful in proportion to
the difficulties overcome in gaining the eminence. A few weeks later,
an ascent of Notre-Dame by an unorthodox route might well have led to
trouble, had it not been for the fact that the two gendarmes and the
kindly priest who were the most interested spectators of these doings
did not lack a sense of humour and human understanding. Then we passed
through Basle into Switzerland, bitterly disappointed to find that
the railway did not wind through dark, tortuous valleys bordered by
glistening snow-capped mountains.
That winter we broke bounds. Shod in the lightest of shoes, with
clothing ill-suited to protect against wind, with walking sticks, and
a pocketful of sandwiches we took the train to Wesen. There we bought
a map and set off to climb the Speer, a mountain barely 6,000 feet
in height, but nevertheless a formidable enough proposition for such
an ill-equipped party in winter. All that day we struggled on, often
knee-deep in snow. At dusk, still far from our goal, we sought refuge
from the cold breezes of eventide. Letting ourselves in through the
chimney hole in the roof of a snowed-up Alp hut, we bivouacked
for the night. Shivering and sleepless we lay, watching the stars as
they twinkled derisively in frosty clearness through the hole in the
roof. After what seemed an eternity, morning came, and we plodded on
with stiff and weary limbs to the summit. There, bathed in the warm
sunshine, all hardships were forgotten, and we gazed longingly over to
the ranges of the Tödi and the Glärnisch--real snow and ice mountains
with great glaciers streaming down from their lofty crests. Thence the
eye travelled away to the rich plains, the gleaming lakes and dark,
forested hills of the lowlands, until details faded in the bluish
mist of distance. Switzerland, a whole country, was at our feet. This
escapade taught us further lessons: that mountaineering is a hungry
game; that boots should be waterproof, and soles thick and studded with
nails; that a thick warm coat can be an almost priceless possession.
[Illustration:
_Photo G. I. Finch._
_Rock-climbing._
_The rope is belayed over a projecting spike of rock._]
[Illustration:
_Photo T. G. B. Forster._
_Crossing a steep snow slope._
_Facing page 14._
]
Then came a glorious summer vacation of fishing and sailing round the
coast of Majorca, with hours of splendid clambering on the cliffs
of Miramar, followed by a week with our tutor on the Pilatus. Our
tutor was a sportsman, and we scrambled about together to our hearts’
content, more than once sailing as close to the wind as any of us have
ever done since. And yet again we had learned something: that the
stockinged foot finds a firmer hold on dry limestone than a nailed
boot; that wet limestone slabs are slippery and an abomination to be
avoided; that the thrusting muscles of one’s legs are more powerful and
more enduring than the pulling muscles of one’s arms; and that strong
fingers are of more use in climbing than a pair of well-developed
biceps.
More holidays came and went: summers passed on the shores of the
western Mediterranean, but Christmas vacations spent in Grindelwald,
and devoted to learning the art of ski-ing. In Grindelwald we had the
good fortune to win the liking of old Christian Jossi, in his day one
of the greatest guides and best step-cutters in the Alps. He took us
to the upper Grindelwald Glacier and on its mighty ice pinnacles, or
séracs, taught us the elements of step-cutting in ice and the use of
the rope. He showed us how to fashion a stairway in hard, blue ice, the
floor of each step sloping inwards so that it was easy for one to stand
securely. He showed us the points by which to judge of the merits of a
good axe, how to hold and use it, and how, imitating him, to cut good
safe steps with a minimum number of blows and expenditure of labour.
He showed us how easy it is to check a slip and hold up a man on the
rope provided it be kept always taut from man to man; and he did not
hesitate to rub in, by demonstrations accompanied by much forceful
language, what a fearful snare the rope could be if it were improperly
used and permitted to be trailed loose and in coils between the various
members of a party. He also pointed out some of the many varieties of
snow: some good, in which on even the steepest slopes a kick or two
sufficed to make a reliable step; others which could not be trusted
on any but the gentlest of slopes and needing only a touch to start
slithering down with an insidious hissing sound to form an avalanche
which would sweep everything with it in its path of destruction. Last
but not least, Christian Jossi instilled into us some of his own fervid
love of the mountains and of mountain adventure.
The summer holidays of 1906 drew nigh. Our longing for mountain
adventure was no longer to be denied, and elders and betters had
perforce to give way. But they enforced two provisos--we were to be
accompanied by guides, and climbing was to be restricted to the lesser
Alps of Northern Switzerland. We climbed a few lesser summits, all
about 10,000 feet high; on none was there climbing where hands as well
as feet were required, and not once did we see the axe used to cut a
step. Efforts to wheedle our stalwart guardians into attacking the bold
pyramid of the Segnes Tschingelhorn, always provocatively before our
eyes, failed miserably; they had their instructions. But they could not
always keep us in sight, and more than once, stealing forth alone, we
found good climbing, adventure and untrammelled fun; and the desire to
climb without guides was born in us.
That winter the lesser peaks and passes of Grindelwald were visited
on skis. A stern effort to gain the Strahlegg Pass was frustrated by
a snowstorm in the teeth of which for nineteen hours on end we fought
our way back to Grindelwald, having learnt that, with map and compass
and given your bearings, bad weather in the mountains can be faced and
even enjoyed if you only keep on moving and do not get flurried. We
also knew now that boots should be large enough to enable two pairs of
woollen socks to be worn without pinching the foot, and that toe-caps
should be high and roomy so as not to interfere with the circulation.
A sweater worn underneath a wind-proof jacket of sailcloth was found
to be both lighter and much warmer than heavy tweeds through which the
wind could blow and to which the snow would stick.
From 1907 onwards until 1911, Max and I both studied in Zürich and
were thus thrown into close and continual contact with the mountains,
from which we were separated only by some three or four hours by rail.
Barely a week-end went by without our taking train to the mountains and
climbing. During the Easter holidays of 1907 we betook ourselves on
skis up to the Clariden hut, one of the many little shelters built by
the Swiss Alpine Club in the heart of the mountains. These huts are
furnished with straw-filled sleeping bunks, blankets, a small cooking
stove, a supply of wood, and cooking and eating utensils. We had with
us provisions for a week, during the whole of which period the weather
was fine and snow conditions at their best. We climbed almost all the
surrounding summits, the return to the hut each evening taking the form
of an effortless run on skis over the Clariden Glacier.
During the summer vacation of the same year Max and I successfully
obtained _carte blanche_ to climb without guides, and for nearly three
months we roamed in and about the range of the Tödi. We climbed most
of the summits in the range, including the Tödi itself, which with its
11,800 feet of altitude was much the highest mountain so far grappled
with. We always endeavoured to exercise every possible attention to the
following out of the lessons hitherto learnt, losing no opportunity of
acquiring fresh knowledge regarding matters of equipment, the handling
of rope and axe, and the mountains themselves. In particular we aimed
at cultivating a sense of route-finding and teaching ourselves how to
use the map. The winter of that year saw us embarking upon expeditions
of a more ambitious nature than those previously attempted. Up to
the Easter of 1908 our most successful winter feat was an ascent of
the Sustenhorn on skis; but during that vacation we accomplished the
ascent of the Tödi, a winter expedition that even to-day is reckoned
by no means a simple undertaking. As the summer holidays approached,
a still more ambitious programme was drawn up. Our self-assurance,
confidence--call it what you like--seems to have been boundless, for
we now considered that our apprenticeship had been sufficiently long
to justify us in letting ambitions soar into reality. The programme,
although not carried out in its entirety, nevertheless proved a
great success. Beginning with the Bernese Oberland, we climbed the
Wetterhorn, were driven back by storm just below the summit of the
Eiger, but followed up the reverse by climbing the Mönch, Jungfrau
and Finsteraarhorn. Thence making our way down the Aletsch Glacier to
the Rhône Valley, we went up to Zermatt. From there we climbed the
Matterhorn and the Dent Blanche, then crossed over the Col d’Hérens
to Arolla, where for the first time we experienced to the full the
pleasures of traversing a mountain, that is, ascending by one route
and descending by another. Amongst others, were traversed the Aiguille
de la Za, the Aiguilles Rouges d’Arolla and the Pigne d’Arolla. The
ascent of the last-named was made by cutting steps up the steep north
face, and it was this climb more than any other that won me over to the
delights of ice-climbing. Returning to Zermatt by various high-level
passes, we journeyed northwards and wound up the season in the Tödi
district, where all the major summits were traversed.
[Illustration:
_Photo T. G. B. Forster._
_Scrambling in the range of the Tödi._
_Facing page 18._
]
Thus from its chance nucleus on the hill-top in the Australian bush,
snowball-wise the zest for the mountains grew until it has actually
become an integral part of life itself. The health and happiness that
the passion has brought with it are as incalculable as the ways of
the “divinity that shapes our ends,” chooses our parents for us, and
places us in a certain environment. The love that Max and I have for
the mountains I cannot but attribute to the fact that we were possessed
of a father who taught us from our earliest years to love the open
spaces of the earth, encouraged us to seek adventure and provided the
wherewithal for us to enjoy the quest and, above all, looked to us to
fight our own battles and rely on our own resources.