MONTE ROSA
Upon a bright summer’s morning in 1911, we[6] lay on the warm rocks of
the Monte Moro, gazing spell-bound at the avalanche-swept slopes of the
greatest precipice in the Alps--the east face of Monte Rosa. Max saw
chances of a grand climb and thought some of the bergschrunds looked
bad; then, turning his attention to more personal matters, proceeded
to indulge in a rigid foot inspection. Obexer could not contain his
enthusiasm and greeted each avalanche, as it swept down the Marinelli
Couloir, with merry song and derisive yells. Case “guessed you’d
have to hustle some in the Rockies to go one better” and, curling up
comfortably on a warm slab, went to sleep.
Perhaps from nowhere else are the impressive beauties and the almost
overwhelming grandeur of the Monte Rosa of Macugnaga to be seen to
better advantage than from the Monte Moro. From the Jägerhorn up the
Nordend, over the Grenz Gipfel, beyond the Zumstein Spitze and the
Punta Margherita down to the Colle della Loccie, the eye travelled on
that still, clear morning along a bewildering succession of clear-cut
snow-crests, aglow and glistening in the morning light, interrupted
here and there by gaunt rock cliffs all dusted with freshly-fallen
snow. Rolling mists obscured the Macugnaga Glacier and gently bathed
the foot of the precipitous slopes and avalanche-seared cliffs that
towered up, tier upon tier, to the support of the summit ridges--a
support seemingly robbed of stability by the clouds that concealed
its foundations; an immense wall perched up above illimitable space
and threatened with imminent dissolution. The trembling, bluish haze
of distance, deepening in hue as the sun’s rays gained in strength,
softened the sharp outlines of the ridges, the harsh contrast between
rock and snow; and, with the thinning of the mists above the Macugnaga
Glacier, cliff and cloud gradually merged into each other. A grand and
glorious sight had now been transformed into a vision, almost ethereal
in its sublime beauty, and into my half-waking dreams there came a
fleeting glimpse of the climber’s paradise.
The moments passed, bringing in their train a multitude of thoughts and
happenings of which the mind, with such happy facility, selects and
stores up none but the pleasant, to serve later as a panacea for all
the evils that beset those of the true faith during their servitude
in the plains. Max had donned his boots, and together we discussed
the problem confronting us. Case stirred uneasily on his rocky couch,
awoke, and joined in the solemn conclave. Then came Obexer, who, with
the optimism of all his nineteen years, pointed out a route leading up
to the rocks of the Grenz Gipfel, to follow which would have led to
certain and sudden death. Detail was lost in the hazy distance, and we
could arrive at no solution of how to avoid the badly-broken belt of
séracs which crowns the rocks of the Imseng Rücken. Avalanches fell
frequently; many, finding insufficient room in the Marinelli Couloir to
contain them in their mad rush towards the glacier far below, plunged
down over the broken rocks of the Imseng Rücken in rolling clouds of
driven snow.
We lunched in Macugnaga. The porter, Alessandro Corsi, the sole
survivor of the ill-fated Damiano Marinelli’s party which was
overwhelmed by an avalanche on the Imseng Rücken in 1881, joined us at
our table with that delightfully unassuming camaraderie which is still
an endearing feature of the natives of the unspoilt valleys of Alpine
Italy. The news of our project spread rapidly, and all too soon we were
forced to beat a hasty retreat up the path to the Belvedère Hôtel, in
order to escape the lively torrent of questions and comments which were
rained down upon us from all quarters. But it was only another case
of out of the frying-pan into the fire. Long before we found shelter
in the Belvedère, a thunderstorm had drenched us to the skin. Towards
sunset, the clouds lifted from the summit ridges, to reveal a generous
sprinkling of new snow on the upper slopes of Monte Rosa.
After sunrise on the following morning (August 7, 1911), we left our
comfortable quarters and strolled up the Macugnaga Glacier past the
Pedriolo Alp. Here a halt was called to enable Max and myself to
submit to a critical examination the séracs above the Imseng Rücken.
If only possible, we wished to avoid having to find a way through the
lower belt of these grotesquely piled-up pinnacles whose stability
was so obviously doubtful. Apart from this, I was well aware of the
difficulties with which this intricate labyrinth abounded, and of the
loss of time that the overcoming of these difficulties would entail--a
most serious matter on such an expedition as this. From the Imseng
Rücken to the Silber Sattel, the Marinelli Couloir glistened with ice,
and the idea of cutting up its full length was soon renounced. Quite
apart from the volume of step-cutting in promise, the couloir serves as
a huge drainage funnel for the avalanches falling down the walls of the
vast amphitheatre extending from the Nordend to the Punta Margherita,
and to remain in it for hours on end would be to incur too grave
risks. Finally, we decided to try to evade the worst of the séracs by
cutting up the Marinelli Couloir to a point about six hundred and fifty
feet above the head of the Imseng Rücken; then, turning to the left
towards the Punta Margherita, we would grapple with the broken medley
of séracs, ice cliffs and bergschrunds through which a way must be
forced ere the final bergschrund below the rocks of the Grenz Gipfel
were gained. Actually the expedition was carried out in conformity with
these plans, down to almost the last detail; but in the light of later
experience I believe that following the Marinelli Couloir throughout
would have brought us to our goal more quickly and in far greater
safety.
[Illustration:
_R. H. K. Peto._
_The east face of Monte Rosa._
_The summits on the skyline ridge are, from left to right, the Punta
Margherita, Zumstein Spitze, Grenz Gipfel and the Nordend. The
Marinelli Couloir descends from the depression between the Grenz Gipfel
and the Nordend._
_Facing page 142._
]
While the others wandered off at intervals towards the rocks of the
Jäger Rücken upon which the Marinelli hut is built, I remained behind
for some moments to make a few rough sketches and notes which might
serve later to guide our party through some of the more intricate
portions of the climb. Upon rejoining my companions, I found that they
had missed the ill-defined track which leads to the hut; but as time
was our own, and no one evinced a desire to waste energy looking for
anything so elusive as a mountain track, we muddled along contentedly,
always keeping to the northern slopes of the Jäger Rücken. The
steepening rocks were interspersed with abominable screes and slippery
grass, and in due course the inevitable happened, and further progress
appeared to be barred. Closer inspection, however, revealed a long and
narrow chimney of forbidding aspect and furnished with a tremulous
chock-stone. It led upwards in the desired direction towards the ridge
of the Jäger Rücken to our left. A first attempt to scale the chimney
failed, and I beat a retreat to the foot of the stubborn obstacle to
rid myself of the encumbrance of the knapsack and tie myself on to the
rope which Max had meanwhile uncoiled. The second attack met with
more success, and, after a wobbly fight with the unsteady chock-stone
and having run out to the full length of a hundred-foot rope, I found
good standing ground. Those below resolutely refused to be cajoled into
climbing up to me with their lawful burdens upon their own shoulders,
and, in spite of my protests, I was reduced to hauling the knapsacks up
on the rope. The others speedily followed, and in a few strides we were
on the ridge. A moment or two later the track revealed itself, though
somewhat late in the day. The easy going methods of the guideless
climber, who seldom bothers to find the correct way to a hut, and the
last little tussle with the chimney had cost much time; we had been
over five hours on the way, when four hours’ easy going should have
seen us settled in the hut. Now, however, everything was plain sailing,
and the level of the hut was rapidly approached. Just as we were about
to leave the ridge to traverse towards the hut, a large stone--gentle
reminder, perhaps, of what the morrow held in store--hurtled down
through space with a fiendish “whirr-whirr” and crashed into the rocks
a few yards below. This sort of thing was somewhat disconcerting, for
do not the most learned authorities assure the climber that falling
stones are not met with on ridges? Perhaps this was merely the
proverbial exception to the rule; but, not wishing to become embroiled
in a contest with another such exception, we left the ridge and, under
the comparative shelter of some steep rocks, traversed rapidly towards
the hut. At midday we had successfully solved the problem of unlocking
the door with an ice-axe, that most efficient of master-keys.
The Marinelli hut is built against an overhanging rock wall at an
altitude of over 10,000 feet on the Jäger Rücken, a broad and somewhat
ill-defined rocky ridge which, forming the lower boundary of the bottom
half of the Marinelli Couloir, separates the latter from the Nordend
Glacier. The floor space of the hut measures some thirteen by nineteen
feet, of which half is occupied by two bare, wooden shelves which
do duty as sleeping quarters; the other half accommodates a table,
a couple of rough benches and a stove which, for lack of firewood,
appeared to us to be the only superfluous luxury in an interior of
otherwise Spartan simplicity. Eight musty and evil-smelling blankets
which we hung up outside to air and dry, a visitors’ book and a few
dirty pots and pans completed the inventory. The visitors’ book soon
fell into the eager hands of Obexer, and whilst Case and Max busied
themselves with preparations for lunch and struggled with a refractory
spirit stove, he proceeded to pump me dry of all the information at my
disposal which would help him to compile the array of facts entering
into the calculation of what he gruesomely termed “the mortality
percentage of the east face.”
Having done justice to Max’s combined lunch and tea, I wandered over to
the Marinelli Couloir. Case, whose usually somewhat dormant interest in
external matters had been roused to a greater pitch than usual by the
frequent thunder of collapsing séracs and the continuous rumbling hiss
of snow sliding down the couloir, elected to accompany me. Traversing
almost horizontally along a series of broken ledges, we gained the edge
of the couloir in less than ten minutes. About a hundred and fifty feet
above, a low but overhanging buttress jutting well out into the couloir
obscured part of the view. A few minutes’ stiff scrambling, however,
placed us above the obstruction, and we were able to indulge in an
almost complete survey of the whole of the route by which we hoped to
gain the rocks of the Grenz Gipfel.
The warmth of the rays of an Italian sun was loosening the precarious
grip of the heavy masses of fresh snow that had fallen during the
thunderstorms of the two preceding evenings. A steady, unbroken stream
of wet snow hissed rapidly down the deep-cut channels with which the
bed of the Marinelli Couloir is scored. At frequent intervals, larger
masses, often mixed with ice and stones, would break loose, swell over
and out of the channels and, as if impatient of the bonds thrust upon
them by the narrow confines of the couloir, would overflow the Imseng
Rücken and with the reverberating noise of thunder dash down to the
glacier below. Far aloft, gleaming proudly in the brilliant light, a
great ice pinnacle nodded sedately forward, turned slightly round as
if to recover balance, then, dragged down by the irresistible pull of
gravity, crashed and broke into a thousand fragments which bounded
down the great gully in grotesque leaps and jumps. A small cave, close
at hand and opening out towards the valley, afforded refuge from the
onslaughts of the blocks of ice and masses of snow that careered past
within a few feet of us. The whole wall was literally alive with
movement; during our sojourn of fully two hours, five consecutive
minutes never passed without the rattle of falling stones or the mad,
headlong rush of an avalanche.
While I was trying to reconcile the rough sketches made from the
Macugnaga Glacier in the early morning with the foreshortened
appearance the mountain now presented, Max hove in sight, and together
we talked over plans. Finally, it was decided to begin the attack upon
the couloir from the rocks upon which we stood, and then, by cutting
across in a slightly ascending direction, to gain the rocks of the
Imseng Rücken at their nearest point, distant by nearly two hundred
yards. Once on the rocks of the Imseng Rücken, the original plan of
ascent, formulated _en route_ to the hut, was to be adhered to as far
as possible. Two other points were impressed upon us; first, the need
for all possible speed and the avoidance of any unnecessary delay after
having once embarked upon the ascent; and, second, the necessity of
postponing the carrying out of the expedition for one, possibly two,
days in order to give the sun an opportunity of clearing away as much
as possible of the loose, fresh snow which still remained upon the
slopes above.
Meanwhile, the sun had disappeared behind the Punta Margherita. The
chill air of deepening shadows conjured up, by contrast, a glowing
picture of our quarters for the night. Near the hut, hidden under a
stone, a welcome find revealed itself--a few handfuls of wood. A merry
fire was soon crackling and blazing away in the crazy little stove. The
bright flames, the dancing shadows, and the curling wisps of smoke,
supplied the heretofore wanting elements of cheerful warmth that made
the hut a real home.
It was too late for breakfast and too early for lunch when the first
sleepy head, with an inquiring eye as to the weather prospects, was
poked out at the door. But August 8 was no exception to the golden rule
of 1911; the sky was cloudless. The day was usefully spent in marking
the best route to the Marinelli Couloir by numerous cairns, and by
prodigious efforts at demolishing our generous stock of provisions.
Towards evening, knapsacks were packed, ropes were laid ready, and the
fit of climbing irons was tested. Not until then did I discover that
Obexer’s irons were only six-toothed, and that the front teeth lay
quite two inches behind the toes of his boots. That meant making deeper
steps, and consequent loss of time.
On August 9, at 1 a.m., under the light of a brilliant moon, we left
the hut. We were roped in two parties. Case and myself led off; Max
and Obexer brought up the rear. All wore climbing irons. We followed
the now familiar route on to the rock promontory jutting into the
couloir. A glance above. All was quiet in the cold night air. A hasty
step in hard-frozen snow, and the attack was launched. Here the slope
of the couloir is about 46°, but the climbing irons gave firm grip
and, ascending slightly, we crossed at the double. Now and again ice
showed through in the beds of narrow, deep-cut troughs, and the axe
was brought into play. Two of these troughs gave trouble. Both were
over twelve feet deep and sixteen feet wide, with under-cut sides.
The difficulty in crossing lay, not in getting on to the floor of
the trough--a jump did that--but in cutting out over the ice of the
overhang on the far side. Beyond these obstacles, steep snow slopes
led to the rocks of the Imseng Rücken where Max and Obexer soon
joined us, little over half an hour after leaving the hut. The rocks,
though fairly steep, are, relatively speaking, not difficult; and,
climbing occasionally to the left, but more often to the right of the
ill-defined ridge, we all indulged in a passion for speed, racing
upwards as fast as heart and lungs would permit. The ridge becomes
narrower higher up, and the rocks gradually merge into a sharp
snow-crest which at first is almost level, but rapidly steepens and
broadens out to lose itself in the slopes which form the southern bank
of the Marinelli Couloir.
According to our pre-arranged plan, a brief halt was called and both
ropes joined together. Meanwhile, the moon had disappeared behind
the Zumstein Spitze, and two lanterns were lighted. We were now at a
height of about 11,500 feet. My watch showed 2.35 a.m.; thus our rate
of progress so far was satisfactory. From this point, however, the
problem assumed a far more serious aspect. The general angle of
the ground was very abrupt, and ice was everywhere laid bare by the
scouring action of untold avalanches. A brief but heavy bout of cutting
landed us on a small island of rocks, a last outcrop of the Imseng
Rücken. Though inclined to be slabby, they were surprisingly easy and
in a few minutes brought us to a steep, bare ice slope. To the left, a
short traverse offered an easy way into the zone of séracs, the route
of our predecessors; but, determined to adhere to original plans, we
faced the slopes leading upwards. The axe rang to the tinkle of falling
ice fragments. Case kept close behind and, with a lantern tied on to
the end of his axe, lit up the ice in front of me. Max hewed staunchly
away at deepening the steps, occasionally cutting additional ones to
suit Obexer’s short legs; for, to save all possible time, the steps
were cut as far apart as was consistent with safety. From far above in
the wild crags of the Nordend came the rattle of falling stones. Down
thundered the avalanche, swelling to a veritable torrent, and poured
through the Marinelli Couloir. Some few boulders, as if possessed
of a more adventurous spirit than the rest, leapt wildly across the
couloir in great ungainly bounds, throwing up thick clouds of snow as
they hurried over the upper part of the Imseng Rücken, which we had
just ascended. No word was spoken; the labour of step-cutting went on
steadily. The slope increased in steepness, until it was only just
possible to cut without resorting to handholds. At last, after gaining
some three hundred feet by the hardest of work, the slope suddenly
eased off, and we found ourselves on an almost level platform at the
foot of a huge sérac. Five minutes’ rest for sorely-tried lungs, and
then onwards once more!
[Illustration: _The Frisallücke._
_The snow slope is intersected by a bergschrund, which in turn is
cut by a trough formed by stones falling from the cliffs of the
Bifertenstock on the left._
_Facing page 148._
]
The first signs of dawn appeared and gradually dispelled the gloom
with which the moon had plunged everything when it had disappeared
behind the ridges high above; but it was still too dark to dispense
with the lanterns. Traversing almost horizontally in the direction
of the Punta Margherita, a series of easy snow ledges, interrupted
here and there by the scoured-out, icy, avalanche-swept channels that
exacted their due toll of step-cutting, led us well into the midst of
the crevasses, bergschrunds and séracs with which this part of the
east wall is so profusely armoured. Avoiding several likely looking
opportunities of once more progressing upwards--for our previous
reconnaissance had convinced us that the only way through the labyrinth
lay close under the steep slopes of the Punta Margherita--we forced a
way across, and sometimes even through, crevasse after crevasse, and
above or below sérac after sérac. At last, after having thus traversed
across almost the whole of the east face, a steep and rickety snow
bridge over a bergschrund of quite unusual dimensions at last gave
access to less steep ground where the climbing irons could find safe
purchase without the cutting of steps.
Meanwhile, it had become light; yet, in spite of all possible efforts
at speed, we had gained a level of only about 12,000 feet. The outlook
was not too good, for there was still much fresh snow on the slopes
above, and, with the sun’s advent, we should be at the mercy of
avalanches until the rocks of the Grenz Gipfel were gained.
Case and Max packed away their lanterns, and, redoubling our efforts,
we set out at a furious pace across the ledge leading to the next
icefall, the weakest point in which was a slope of, as near as we could
judge, 70° in steepness and about one hundred and fifty feet high. At
the first glance it appeared perpendicular, but it was just possible to
stand in shallow steps and cut without having more than occasional
recourse to handholds. Half-way up this exceptionally steep slope, an
irregularity in the ice provided me with a safe footing, so that my
companions were able to follow me up in the very skimpy steps with
which I had been satisfied in the first instance. The remainder of the
ascent of the ice wall was no less severe. Towards the top it became
even steeper. Footholds and carefully cut handholds were necessary to
enable us to reach the gentler slopes of the terrace above. The last
icefall was clearly impassable except on its extreme right, close to
where it adjoins the Marinelli Couloir. We had already realised this
from our inspection from the Macugnaga Glacier two days ago.
[Illustration:
_Photo A. I. I. Finch._
_The Grenz Gipfel._]
[Illustration: _The Val Sesia from Monte Rosa._
_Facing page 150._
]
Striking off in the direction of the Marinelli Couloir, we covered
ground rapidly, though without gaining much height. On arriving at the
very edge of the couloir, we discovered a steep slope of good snow, by
means of which the formidable icefall was easily turned. Cutting up
this slope, we arrived on the last terrace below the final bergschrund.
The only likely bridge over this schrund lay, as we knew, almost under
the Grenz Sattel. No time was lost in making for this point, and
we raced up over the comparatively gentle slopes with a speed that
must have astonished several parties who were warily descending the
Zumstein Spitze towards the Grenz Sattel. These parties were none too
careful in their climbing, and, before reaching the bergschrund, we
were reduced to dodging stones which whizzed past us at an alarming
rate. A most efficient snow bridge helped us across the schrund, and we
proceeded to cut steps diagonally upwards towards the lowest rocks of
the Grenz Gipfel, which lay about three hundred feet above. The snow
soon gave out, and we were reduced once more to cutting in bare ice. We
were still in considerable danger from falling stones which the sun
was loosening in increasing numbers from the Grenz Gipfel. Numerous
parties, spread out over the ridge leading from the Grenz Sattel to the
Grenz Gipfel, also added their little contributions in this respect,
in their eagerness to watch our advance. At 6.50 a.m. we grasped the
warm rocks of the east ridge of the Grenz Gipfel, and, climbing on to
a ledge, we felt, for the first time since leaving the Marinelli hut,
that we were at last in safety. The ascent of the final ice slope had
cost forty minutes. Our pace and the amount of step-cutting had been
so stiff, that I was never so glad to take a rest. However, a few
minutes worked wonders, and, after taking off our climbing irons and
re-arranging ourselves into two parties, Max and Obexer being in one,
and Case and myself taking the lead, we got busy with the last stage in
the expedition--the steep rocks in front of us. We kept to the ridge
itself, only occasionally traversing a few yards to the left. The rock
is good, but the climbing is difficult and strenuous. The whole ridge
seems to consist of overhanging steps, each about ten feet high and
calling for plenty of arm work. By this time, however, we were anxious
to see if we could not establish a record ascent from the point of
view of time. Max and Obexer affected to take things more easily, and,
shortly before we had attained the level of the Grenz Sattel, we parted.
Case shared my eagerness for speed, with the result that in less
than two hours’ climbing we stood on the summit of the Grenz Gipfel
(15,158 ft.). Ten minutes later, at 9.15 a.m., we were prospecting for
a suitable place for a sun bath on the summit of the Dufour Spitze
(15,217 ft.). We had taken just over eight hours from hut to summit. At
a quarter to ten Max and Obexer arrived, and the day was won.
FOOTNOTES:
[6] J. C. Case, F. Obexer, M. B. I. Finch and G. I. Finch.