MONT BLANC FROM THE SOUTH
It is a curious fact that, to this day, the southern slopes of Mont
Blanc rank amongst the least frequented districts of the Alps. Mr.
James Eccles who, with Michel and Alphonse Payot, first climbed Mont
Blanc from the south, over forty-four years ago, remarked in a paper
read before the Alpine Club, “It is singular that, notwithstanding
their close proximity to a good mountaineering centre, the glaciers
of the south-western end of Mont Blanc have been, compared with other
parts of the chain, so neglected by Alpine climbers.” Of the Brouillard
and Fresnay Glaciers, the serious explorers of which may almost be
counted on one’s fingers, Eccles’s words still hold good.
In its general outline, the geography of the southern slopes of Mont
Blanc is simple enough. The western and eastern boundaries are,
respectively, the Brouillard and Peuteret ridges, which converge in
Mont Blanc de Courmayeur. The region enclosed by these two colossal
ridges is bisected by the Innominata ridge, on either side of which a
glacier flows down from Mont Blanc; the Brouillard Glacier between the
ridge of the same name and the Innominata ridge, the Fresnay Glacier
between the latter and the Peuteret ridge. Both glaciers are remarkable
for their steepness and the extent to which they are broken up. From
source to snout, the Brouillard Glacier forms an almost uninterrupted
icefall, the Fresnay Glacier even more so: indeed, from afar the
latter resembles the tumbling, foaming crest of a storm-tossed wave.
To the south of the Innominata lies a third glacier, the Glacier du
Châtelet, but compared with the other two, it is insignificant in size
and gentle in slope. All three ridges rise from the Val Veni in the
form of great bluffs and cliffs. These, in the case of the Brouillard,
soon narrow down to a well-defined ridge which, unbroken by any really
prominent feature, rises steadily up to the two summits of Mont
Brouillard (13,012 and 13,298 feet respectively). A gentle dip leads
farther to the snowy Col Émile Rey (13,147 ft.), out of which steep
cliffs, constituting a somewhat badly-defined ridge, swing themselves
up to the Pic Luigi Amadeo (14,672 ft.), whence a long ridge rising at
a comparatively gentle angle culminates in Mont Blanc de Courmayeur
(15,604 ft.). From beginning to end, the Brouillard ridge forms a vast
crescent; curving north-north-west in its lower half, it veers towards
the north-north-east in its upper, and terminates almost due north of
its source in the Val Veni. The precipitous, rocky south-eastern flank
of the ridge between the Pic Luigi Amadeo and Mont Blanc de Courmayeur
constitutes the uppermost portion of the south face of Mont Blanc.
Totally different in character is the Peuteret ridge once it has become
well-defined as such in the vicinity of the summit of the Aiguille
Noire de Peuteret, where the two ridges enclosing the Fauteuil des
Allemands converge. Following a north-westerly direction, the Peuteret
ridge carries two outstanding elevations, the Aiguilles Noire and
Blanche de Peuteret, which are separated from neighbouring portions of
the ridge by the deep clefts of the Col des Dames Anglaises and the Col
de Peuteret respectively. Out of the former tower the bold spires of
the Dames Anglaises, enhancing the jagged outline characteristic of the
ridge which, from the Col de Peuteret, in a final stupendous effort,
soars up to Mont Blanc de Courmayeur.
[Illustration: _Mont Blanc from the Val Veni._
_Facing page 228._
]
In the Aiguille du Châtelet (8,292 ft.) the Innominata ridge at first
makes rather a pusillanimous attempt to merit the description, then
becomes lost in broad scree slopes from which emerge two ridges. One
of these flanks the Brouillard Glacier, the other the Fresnay Glacier,
and carries the Aiguille Joseph Croux and the depression called the
Col de l’Innominata. At a point south of the Innominata itself, these
two ridges finally unite, enclosing between their southern flanks
the little Glacier du Châtelet. North of the Innominata, the ridge,
running almost parallel to the Peuteret, dips into the depression
known as the Col du Fresnay. Above the col it rises to a rocky summit
over 13,000 feet high and called Pic Eccles, beyond which lies another
depression, now known as the Col Supérieur du Fresnay, whence, in a
futile attempt to connect with the Brouillard ridge, it rises abruptly
in the direction of a point almost midway between the Pic Luigi Amadeo
and Mont Blanc de Courmayeur and, after a last supreme endeavour to
preserve its individuality in the shape of a huge, precipitous, red
rock buttress, eventually loses itself in the rocky escarpments of the
south face of Mont Blanc at an altitude of about 14,500 feet.
In so far as successful attempts to reach the summit of the mountain
are concerned, the history of the exploration of the south face of
Mont Blanc is soon told. Prior to 1919, only two parties met with
success. On July 30, 1876, Mr. James Eccles, accompanied by the guides
Michel and Alphonse Payot, left Courmayeur and bivouacked on the rocks
of the Innominata ridge, about midway between the Col du Fresnay and
the Pic Eccles, at about 12,500 feet. Leaving their bivouac at 2.55
next morning, they traversed the Pic Eccles into the Col Supérieur
du Fresnay, whence, descending steep rocks and an ice-filled couloir,
they gained the uppermost level of the Fresnay Glacier. Three hours
after leaving their bivouac, they crossed the bergschrund and began
the ascent of the steep slopes of the great snowy couloir, which falls
away towards the Fresnay Glacier from a point on the Peuteret ridge
about 1,200 feet below Mont Blanc de Courmayeur. Taking to the broken
rocks on the left (ascending) bank of the couloir as soon as possible,
they followed these without difficulty to their end. Another bout of
step-cutting then brought them out on to the Peuteret ridge, up which
they arrived on to the summit of Mont Blanc de Courmayeur at 11.40 a.m.
At 12.35 p.m., less than ten hours after leaving their bivouac, Mont
Blanc itself was under foot.
The only other successful expedition carried out before 1919 was that
of Signor Gruber, with Émile Rey[9] and the porter Pierre Revel, in
1880. Leaving Courmayeur on August 14, they bivouacked on some rocks
near the Col du Fresnay. Crossing the col next morning, they descended
to the Fresnay Glacier and worked towards the foot of the great rock
buttress immediately between the huge uppermost icefall of the glacier
and the Aiguille Blanche de Peuteret. Late that afternoon, after most
difficult climbing, they arrived in the Col de Peuteret, and thence
followed the Peuteret ridge until nightfall compelled them to bivouac
a second time. They were then about 1,200 feet below the summit. Next
day (August 16), always keeping to the Peuteret ridge and very soon
joining Eccles’s route, they passed over Mont Blanc de Courmayeur and,
four hours after leaving their last bivouac, stood on the summit of
Mont Blanc.[10] This climb is usually referred to as if it were merely
a variation of Eccles’s route. It is true that they have in common the
ascent to the Col du Fresnay and the final 1,200 feet of the Peuteret
ridge, but otherwise the two routes differ to such an extent that
Gruber’s is worthy of being described as a new climb, and it was,
moreover, the first complete ascent of the Peuteret ridge, from the Col
de Peuteret.
For the next thirty-nine years the gaunt ramparts of the southern flank
of Mont Blanc effectively repelled all further assault. It seemed
almost as if the great white mountain had found fresh strength in the
defeats suffered through the hard-won victories of Eccles and Gruber.
It was not that Mont Blanc, during this long interval, remained a
victor through lack of would-be conquerors. All who came were firmly
repulsed. The more fortunate escaped whole in life and limb; from
others the death-toll was ruthlessly exacted.[11]
The spell was finally broken in 1919. On August 20, Messrs. Oliver
and Courtauld, with Adolfe and Henri Rey[12] and Adolf Aufdenblatten,
bivouacked in the Col du Fresnay. The following day they traversed
round the Pic Eccles, close below its summit, and gained the Col
Supérieur du Fresnay, whence they followed the continuation of the
Innominata ridge until, driven over to the left by the vertical, smooth
rocks of its great final buttress, they were forced to climb the rocks
of the south flank of the uppermost Brouillard ridge. This they gained
at a point between the Pic Luigi Amadeo and Mont Blanc de Courmayeur,
but rather nearer the latter. In little over eight hours after leaving
their bivouac, they arrived on the summit of Mont Blanc, having thus
opened a third route from the south.
Early in August, 1921, the fourth successful ascent was effected by
the famous Italian mountaineers Si. G. F. and G. B. Gugliermina and
Francisco Ravelli--names for ever entwined with the history of Mont
Blanc--and a porter from Courmayeur. They followed in its essentials
the route of Messrs. Oliver and Courtauld. Their first bivouac was in
the rocks of the Innominata below the Col du Fresnay, their second at
the foot of the final great buttress of the Innominata ridge, while, on
the descent, a third night was spent in the Vallot hut.
Towards the end of July, 1921, I found myself in Zermatt, without a
climbing companion--a lamentable state of affairs, due to trouble
in Ireland preventing Forster from joining me as had been arranged.
When Oliver and Courtauld arrived with the two Aufdenblattens after a
successful traverse of the Dom from Saas, I was therefore more than
pleased by their kind invitation to join their party. Theoretically, of
course, I had no right to accept this, because I was out of training
and had done nothing beyond walking half-way up to the Schwarzsee.
Getting into training seems to be a spectre which looms large in the
minds of most climbers of to-day. Often I feel impelled to think that,
at all events from the physical point of view and as far as more
youthful climbers are concerned, this fantastic mental conception must
be, to a great extent, the result of auto-suggestion. In spite of a
sedentary occupation, wholly unrelieved by any active form of sport,
I am always ready to start climbing by climbing, and not by indulging
in a ramble. In this instance, moreover, the immediate programme in
view was not too ambitious, our aim being merely to get, somehow or
other, to Breuil. The Col Tournanche was chosen as a pass for the sake
of its novelty, none of us having previously crossed it. Arrived in
Breuil, Oliver and Courtauld went on to Courmayeur, whilst I returned
to Zermatt to bring my luggage round to Courmayeur by rail. A few days
later, we were together on the Aiguille de Tronchey, with a keen eye
to possibilities of a new route up the Grandes Jorasses. The great
south ridge of the latter, however, showed no breach in its formidable
defences, but the Peuteret ridge of Mont Blanc appeared to be in such a
first-rate condition that, could it but be gained from the Brouillard
and Fresnay side, it would almost certainly “go.” Talking matters over
on our return to Courmayeur, we decided to repeat Eccles’s route. The
ascent of the Peuteret ridge via the Aiguille Blanche de Peuteret was
ruled out on account of the dangerous condition of the Brenva Glacier
and of the Aiguille Blanche itself--a condition due to the huge fall of
rock and ice in November, 1920.
On the following day, from a point in the road near the second refuge
on the Italian side of the Petit St. Bernard, I carefully examined
the south flank of Mont Blanc. The descent from the Col Supérieur du
Fresnay on to the upper basin of the Fresnay Glacier seemed feasible,
but the bergschrund below Eccles’s great couloir leading up to the
Peuteret ridge appeared most formidable. The rocks showing through
both to the left and the right of the Peuteret ridge, however, seemed
to be as free from snow and ice as they were ever likely to be, while
the ridge itself appeared to carry good snow.
On August 7, we left Courmayeur with four porters and two carriages
bearing our kit, Oliver, Courtauld, and myself as far as the Alpe
du Fresnay, shortly after leaving which we encountered our first
difficulty in the shape of the unfordable torrent descending from the
Fresnay Glacier. By means of two felled trees discovered in a wood
near by, we improvised a somewhat unstable bridge which most of us
preferred to cross on all fours. Alfred Aufdenblatten boldly essayed
to walk across, but not knowing the secret of keeping his eyes fixed
on the bridge instead of on the water, lost his balance and only saved
himself by a wild jump which barely landed him on the far bank. Towards
nightfall we gained the new Gamba hut, situated on the Innominata ridge
a little above the Aiguille du Châtelet.[13]
Next morning we left shortly after daybreak, ascending over the
débris-strewn slopes towards the moraine on the left bank of the
Brouillard Glacier and took to this glacier at an altitude of about
9,500 feet, at the point where the moraine ends and the rocks steepen
up towards the Innominata. The work in front of us now changed
completely in character. Ropes and climbing irons were put on; Adolf
and Courtauld took the lead; Oliver, Alfred, and I formed the second
party; while the porters, roped together two by two, brought up the
rear-guard of our little army.
Our labours began at once. Huge crevasses, the upper lips of which
were often disconcertingly high above the lower, soon forced us out
towards the middle of the glacier, where constant step-cutting was the
rule. Progressing very rapidly, Adolf cut small steps, upon which we
improved, so as to make things easier for the heavily-burdened porters.
After much twisting and turning and some pretty ice work, we reached a
small plateau where the Brouillard Glacier makes an heroic but rather
unavailing effort to be level, prior to indulging in a mad tumble over
a noisy “Heisse Platte.”[14] Here a half-hour halt was called for
breakfast. We could now see right up to the head of the glacier, and
Oliver pointed out to me the line of their ascent of 1919.
The choice of either of two ways up to the Col du Fresnay now lay
before us. We could follow the glacier, keeping more or less in
the middle, or else traverse high up to the right across steep ice
slopes leading down from the ridge of the Innominata. The latter
route bore unmistakable evidence of having been recently swept by
falling stones; débris on the glacier, however, testified even more
generously to the fact that ice also falls, and, in addition, we
could detect an abundance of bridgeless crevasses. We therefore chose
honest step-cutting across the steep ice slopes. All set to work with
a will, and progress was rapid. Dangers and difficulties ceased at a
point somewhat below, and to the west of, the Col du Fresnay, where
the glacier once more interrupts its headlong course to the valley by
indulging in a small snowfield of moderate incline. No difficulty was
offered by the final bergschrund below the col, into which we stepped
at 10 a.m., nearly five hours after leaving the hut.
The Col du Fresnay is a striking view point from which the Innominata
and the Aiguille Noire de Peuteret both show to extraordinary
advantage. The descent from the col on to the Fresnay glacier does not
appear to be difficult, although the rocks are sometimes steep and
certainly rather rotten.
After a rest of an hour and a half we once more got under way and,
climbing up the ridge in the direction of the Pic Eccles, mounted
over a short pitch of steep rock followed by an ice slope where heavy
step-cutting was essential. This slope landed us on another diminutive
snowy plateau, over which we made our way in the direction of the
spur of rocks forming the west ridge of the Pic Eccles, and on which,
after crossing a bergschrund and cutting up an ice slope, we effected
a lodgment. Just as my party gained the rocks, a loud clattering was
heard from the slopes of Mont Brouillard. Quickly pulling out my camera
from my coat pocket, I was in good time to take a photograph of one of
the most gigantic stone-falls I have ever seen. For several minutes
dense clouds of stone dust hung over the track of the avalanche, while
many large blocks swept over the Brouillard Glacier, right across the
line of ascent followed by the brothers Gugliermina on the occasion of
their memorable crossing of the Col Émile Rey.
After a brief halt, for the porters to close up, we commenced our
assault on the rocks ahead. The climbing, though occasionally very
steep, was not particularly difficult, despite the treacherous nature
of the rock and the downward slope of its stratification. Incidentally,
it may be remarked that, though unreliable, the rocks of the Pic
Eccles were certainly the best encountered during the expedition.
Taking the utmost care to avoid dislodging loose stones, which were
sometimes of formidable size, we made our way up towards the summit of
the Pic. When still some distance below it, however, Adolf led out to
the left on the Brouillard side, and after some healthy passages across
ice-filled gullies, we arrived in the Col Supérieur du Fresnay, without
having actually passed over the top of the peak. The rocks on the Mont
Blanc side of the col were gained at 2.30 p.m., and the several members
of the party proceeded to select their couches for the night. It had
been arranged that at this point two of the porters should return to
the Gamba hut, but beyond depositing their loads, they made no attempt
to move; indeed, they even threw out hints about preferring to stay
with us till the following day. The polyglot imaginative eloquence of
Adolf, however, soon persuaded them of the supreme folly of shivering
in a bivouac when the seductive warmth and shelter of the hut were
awaiting them. Their two companions were provided with blankets, as
they were to remain the night and take down the sleeping-bags and
excess kit on the morrow.
[Illustration: _The Innominata from the Col du Fresnay._
_Facing page 236._
]
The Col Supérieur du Fresnay consists of a narrow snow ridge sloping
off abruptly on one side to the Brouillard, and on the other to the
Fresnay Glacier. To the east, beyond the Col Émile Rey we could see a
snow summit, probably one of the summits of the Aiguilles de Trélatête.
The height of our bivouac, therefore, must have been about 13,200 feet.
The great south face of Mont Blanc falls away from the Brouillard ridge
above, in slopes of broken rocks which finally merge into enormously
steep, slabby precipices abutting on the Brouillard Glacier. The eye
could follow the course of this glacier almost throughout its length.
It is so grotesquely broken up that one wonders that it is possible
to thread it. The uppermost basin, still untrodden, I believe, by
human foot, and forming a little, almost level snowfield, is isolated
by one or two formidable crevasses which cut right across the glacier
from side to side. The west face of the Aiguille Blanche de Peuteret,
composed almost wholly of dark grey rock unrelieved by scarcely a
single speck of snow, looks practically inaccessible. The route of
the late H. O. Jones,[15] led by Laurent Croux, looks difficult and
desperately dangerous from falling stones. Formerly, the Col de
Peuteret was, so Oliver tells me, a snow-saddle from which either the
Peuteret ridge or the rocks of the Aiguille Blanche could be gained
with comparative ease. Now, however, as a result of the huge avalanche
which fell away from the Peuteret ridge and the col itself in November,
1920, the height of the latter has been considerably lowered, so that
from our bivouac we could see beyond it right down to well below the
summit of the Grand Flambeau. Great bergschrunds now bar direct access
to either the Peuteret ridge or the Aiguille Blanche de Peuteret. From
the lower rocks of the ridge itself much has fallen away, and they are
now much steeper. Continual stone-falls, and the liberal traces left by
them about the foot of the ridge, offered ample evidence of its present
unstable condition.
It was impossible to find, or even make, a ledge which would
accommodate the whole party; indeed, none proved wide enough to take
more than one man, so that after each had selected his couch, we found
ourselves well scattered over the mountain side. The two porters found
a berth for themselves at the point where the snowy ridge of the col
abuts on the rocks. My own sleeping place was a level stretch of rock
and snow ridge slightly higher up on the Mont Blanc side of the col,
and on the very backbone of the Innominata ridge. About three feet wide
at the pillow end, but dwindling away to next door to nothing in the
region of my feet, it had the advantage of length combined with the
pleasant uncertainty as to which of the two glaciers, the Fresnay or
the Brouillard, would have the honour of receiving my mortal remains
should I lose my balance. The others deposited themselves on more
or less inadequate ledges on the Brouillard side of the ridge. The
nearest water supply was five minutes’ climbing distance down towards
the Brouillard Glacier. On their journey back, skilfully balancing
well-filled cooking vessels, Alfred and one of the porters (Henri Rey’s
son) performed some choice feats of rock-climbing.
There were still two hours of sunshine due before the last rays
sank behind the Brouillard ridge, and these we utilised by changing
our clothing (a lengthy process, as one hand was usually required
for balancing purposes) and re-arranging knapsacks, all superfluous
equipment being put on one side for the porters descending next
morning. In spite of all my efforts to reduce weight, my burden for
the morrow’s climb proved to be quite a respectable one. In addition
to spare clothing, comprising shirt, storm cap and gloves, I had
climbing irons, two cameras, films for seventy-six exposures in
air-tight tins, and one day’s iron ration for the whole party. This,
consisting of two pounds of chocolate, the same quantity of sausage,
and fifty cigarettes, I had brought with me, feeling confident that the
optimistic Adolf had made no provision as far as food was concerned for
the possible eventuality of our being forced to bivouac a second time.
At half-past four we had a frugal but welcome meal of hot soup. At
five the sun set behind the Brouillard ridge, and the inevitable chill
of high altitude soon making itself felt, one and all prepared for
the night. Alfred and I, finding our ledges somewhat too exposed for
our liking, roped at either end of a sixty-foot rope which we belayed
over a projecting rock. Six o’clock saw us all settled down more or
less comfortably. From all accounts, I seem to have spent the warmest
night, and in view of this a few particulars as to my sleeping-bag may
possibly be of interest. It was home-made: 7 feet long and 3¹⁄₂ feet
wide; it consisted of an inner bag composed of 3 lb. of finest grade
eiderdown, quilted in 1-foot squares into the thinnest procurable
balloon fabric, and an enveloping outer bag of similar material
rendered air-tight and damp-proof by a coating of “Duroprene.” The
total weight was just short of five pounds.
I crawled into my bag. But soon the inevitable stone in the small of
the back, the antagonist of many a nocturnal episode in that wonderful
Odyssey of the climber, _Peaks, Passes, and Glaciers_, began its
insistent ministrations. Unlike the heroes of olden times, however,
I, deeming discretion the better part of valour, not only resisted
the temptation to put the enemy _hors de combat_, but, by the simple
expedient of curling round and clinging fondly to it with my hands,
I made of it a comrade in arms whose tangibility did much to dispel
the feeling of insecurity born of the airiness of my perch. The last
thing I remember was the crimson glory of the sunset touching the huge
columns of storm-clouds which reared themselves aloft over the Grivola.
I slept soundly. Twice only did I awake; once to find the lower
portion of my anatomy dangling coquettishly over the Brouillard side
of my couch; and again, stirred from a deep slumber by my instinctive
grappling for an elusive handhold, to discover that I had transferred
my legs to the Fresnay side.
About half-past four I was aroused by Adolf, rather blue about the
gills, but cheerful as ever and obviously looking forward to a good
day’s work. He winked portentously, then, with a somewhat vacant stare,
looked out beyond me towards the plains of Italy. Following his gaze,
I soon understood. Over the Paradiso group, vast thunder-clouds still
brooded; the sky was streaked with ominous, long, dark, fish-shaped
masses, and I suddenly became aware that a wind had sprung up and was
blowing past our bivouac in angry, fitful gusts. It seemed almost as
if our climb were going to develop into a race against the approaching
storm. I returned Adolf’s confidential wink in kind as he passed me a
generous cup of hot tea--a luxury which in similar situations, as a
guideless climber, I had always had to procure for myself.
After a quickly-swallowed breakfast, all was bustle in our camp. My
boots, which I had lashed to a rock to make certain of not losing them
(horrible thought!), were easily pulled on, for, though stiff, they
were very large. By 5 a.m. everything was packed, sleeping-bags rolled
up handy for the porters, and, roping in the same order as yesterday,
we began the descent on to the Fresnay Glacier. This led down a steep
couloir over extremely rotten rocks. The danger of inadvertently
loosening stones was so great that we gave Adolf and Courtauld time to
get round a corner out of harm’s way before beginning our own descent.
Once past the uppermost portion, the slope of the couloir became more
reasonable, and we were able to work down over a rib on one side till
we reached a point a little above the head of the uppermost icefall
of the Fresnay Glacier. Our way to the upper basin of the glacier led
across a steep, ice-clad couloir followed by an ice slope which bore
palpable signs of being frequently raked by falling stones and ice.
Before we were ready to proceed, however, a stone-fall of generous
proportions clattered down into the couloir, isolated pebbles following
at odd intervals. Nothing daunted, Adolf, the neatest, fastest, and
most powerful step-cutter it has ever been my good fortune to see at
work, banged away across the danger zone in great style. The descent on
to the Fresnay Glacier occupied, in all, barely an hour. Besides the
extreme rottenness of the rock, we had met with no real difficulty and
were well satisfied with our rate of progress.
Threading our way through a maze of ice blocks, remnants of icefalls
from the huge bergschrund above, we crossed the basin, veering round
and up towards the bergschrund at a point almost immediately below
the rocks flanking the western bank of Eccles’s great couloir. The
previous evening we had decided that of the only two possible ways of
surmounting the obstacle, this was the safer. The alternative lay in
crossing the bergschrund far over towards the Pic Eccles, at the only
spot where it was more or less adequately bridged. But this would have
entailed hours of step-cutting across the stone-swept slopes above
the schrund before Eccles’s couloir could be gained. At the point of
attack a flake had become partially detached from the bergschrund,
and Adolf and Courtauld made rapid headway to the summit of the flake
which was, unfortunately, about twenty feet short of the top of the
schrund. Seeing that further operations promised to take time, we
ensconced ourselves comfortably down below, while Adolf brought his
wits to bear upon the solution of the problem of overcoming twenty feet
of practically perpendicular ice. He was half-way over the obstacle
when he encountered a bulge which threatened to come perilously near
destroying his balance. But the last ounce on the right side was
supplied by Alfred’s ice-axe, after we had hurriedly joined Courtauld
on his somewhat unstable perch. After that all was easy, at least as
far as the others were concerned, for they seemed to find no difficulty
in gaily walking up Adolf’s well-cut steps. But what with a knapsack
on my back and a camera in my coat pocket, I found more than a little
trouble in balancing myself round the bulge. This obstruction, in all
sixty feet high, having been negotiated, a steep slope, sometimes snow,
sometimes ice, intervened between us and our next objective, the rocks
on the west bank of Eccles’s couloir. We mounted quickly, for scarcely
a step needed to be cut, thanks to the plentiful pock-marks made by
falling stones. On reaching the rocks, we found them almost unclimbable
in their lower portion and were forced out towards the middle of the
couloir--a procedure which necessitated the crossing of a deep ice-clad
stone chute. Thence we climbed over a small island of rocks all but
submerged in ice, from the upper end of which we were able to traverse
back and finally gain the rocks on the west bank of the couloir, at a
point where they were broken up and obviously easy to climb. None too
soon, however, for hardly had the last man reached dry land when a
stone-fall clattered down the couloir behind us.
It was 8.30; we had been nearly three and a half hours under way and
for the best part of the time working at high pressure. On looking
up towards the Peuteret ridge and Mont Blanc de Courmayeur, it
appeared as if we had left all real difficulties behind us, and the
optimists of the party prophesied being on the summit within a couple
of hours. So, though the weather was fast becoming worse, we settled
down light-heartedly to a second breakfast. The iron ration sausage
was produced and attacked with gusto; though of the same breed, it
differed distinctly from the ordinary salami, which to me is somewhat
reminiscent of cat and dog. Whatever its constituents may have been,
it went down well, being as savoury as usual, but less salted and not
so highly spiced. We allowed ourselves half an hour’s grace, then
stowed away our climbing irons and started up the rocks. They proved
to be easy, though most unreliable. Here and there ice, covered more
often than not by bad snow, took time to negotiate, but on the whole we
made rapid progress. Shortly after ten we gained the end of the rocks;
slightly below us and to the right was the point where the snowy upper
half of the Peuteret ridge begins. A little snow slope brought us out
on the ridge itself, but not without free use of the axe. The snow was
deep and very bad; it lacked cohesion and concealed hard ice. Working
along slightly on the Brenva side of the ridge, we at first found snow
just sufficiently good to bear our weight in kicked steps, but in less
than a rope’s length it had become so bad that it had to be cleared
away before the climbing irons would bite into the ice underneath. The
spikes of my irons, fully three-quarters of an inch longer than those
worn by the others, proved their value here. By merely stamping, I
could force my foot far enough through the snow to grip the ice below.
This was one of the several occasions arising on this expedition where
the presence of an indifferent ice-climber would have proved not only
troublesome but a real danger to the safety of the party, by causing
the loss of much valuable time. After progressing in this manner for
about a hundred yards, we got tired of threshing down the execrable
snow which seemed to get worse as we gained in altitude. Within easy
reach both to the left and the right were rock ribs which offered a
less tedious means of advance. A traverse of about thirty yards across
the steep western flank of the Peuteret ridge brought us on to one of
these ribs, the rocks of which soon showed themselves to be exceedingly
rotten. Once more the climbing irons were removed and placed in our
knapsacks. Oliver, at this point, had the misfortune to lose his axe;
he placed it on a ledge, where it lost its balance and fell down in a
few stately bounds towards the Fresnay Glacier. It was while watching
the axe disappear that I realised for the first time the enormous
general steepness of the ground upon which we were climbing.
[Illustration: _The Aigulles Blanche and Noire de Peuteret._
_From a point on the Peuteret ridge about 1,200 feet below the summit
of Mont Blanc._]
[Illustration: “_A traverse of about thirty yards across the steep
western flank of the Peuteret ridge._...”
_Facing page 244._
]
It now looked as if rocks could be followed practically all the way
to the summit--a relief for which we were duly thankful, having had
quite enough of snow. There was some difference of opinion as to the
best line of ascent up these rocks; but, on the whole, there seems to
have been little in our respective choices, for Adolf and Courtauld,
whose route converged with that of our party from time to time, always
succeeded in maintaining a lead of one or more rope’s lengths. The
climbing was difficult, and throughout extreme caution was necessary,
on account of the unreliability of the rock. Occasionally, a belt
of almost vertical red rock of a fair degree of firmness would crop
up, but even this was invariably crowned with the rotten, dark brown
variety. Nevertheless, we climbed quickly, for while still six hundred
feet below Mont Blanc de Courmayeur, swirling mists practically
obliterated all view of our surroundings, and it was evident that,
if we were not soon to find ourselves in a critical situation, every
minute gained was precious. The rocks came to an end about a hundred
feet below the summit of Mont Blanc de Courmayeur, and only a slope
covered with the usual pernicious snow lay between us and safety.
Adolf, trusting more to his climbing irons and to gentle treatment of
the snow than to his ice-axe, climbed rapidly up to immediately beneath
the cornice, cut himself a good step, and with a few powerful strokes
hewed a channel through which he was speedily followed by Courtauld.
While we were putting the finishing touches to the donning of extra
clothing, in preparation for the cold weather up aloft, Adolf’s
stentorian voice shouted down a cheery “Come along!” Looking up, I
could just barely make out his well-muffled-up head framed in the notch
in the cornice. Then he disappeared.
At 1.15 p.m. we, in turn, stepped through the cornice on to Mont
Blanc de Courmayeur, to be greeted by a high and chilly wind. Adolf
and Courtauld were already out of sight, though they were certainly
not far away, for the jingling of their axes against the rocks of a
_gendarme_ close by was audible above the sound of the gale. The mist
was so thick that we could not see each other at rope’s length. Adolf’s
tracks led off along the crest of the ridge towards Mont Blanc. Having
painful memories from last year, however, of what this ridge could be
like in stormy weather, I forsook his tracks and plunged down on to
the Trélatête side, in the hopes of there finding more shelter from
the icy blast. In view of Oliver’s axeless condition this involved
step-cutting; but, on looking back after having cut about twenty steps,
I saw him coming along as nonchalantly as if he were on a London
pavement, so immediately gave up further cutting and relied upon
climbing irons alone. In this way we skirted round the bases of three
or four rocky outcrops and regained the ridge at about its lowest point
between Mont Blanc and Mont Blanc de Courmayeur.
A little farther on we found the other two, who were inclined to
mistake a small snowy hump for the summit of Mont Blanc. To avoid the
wind, we now crossed over on to the Brenva side of the ridge and,
traversing diagonally upwards, found tracks leading up from the Mur de
la Côte. These were followed to the summit where we arrived at 1.45
p.m., having been eight and three-quarter hours under way from our
bivouac.
The state of the weather precluded descending by either the Rochers or
the Dôme route, and we contented ourselves with going down directly to
Chamonix. Being the only member of the party with first-hand knowledge
of the Grands Mulets route, I was deputed to show the way. The descent
was uneventful, except for Oliver’s spraining his ankle, and for the
fact that my pigheadedness in refusing to follow the tracks brought us
out to the Pierre à l’Échelle, which route, I have since learnt, has
been recently discarded in favour of the Montagne de la Côte.
This narrative would be incomplete were it brought to a close without
expressing my admiration for the professional members of the party.
Adolf and I were not unknown to each other, for twelve years ago, on
a stormy September day, we had stood together on the summit of the
Lyskamm. Since then he has joined that select coterie of first-class
guides whose number can be counted on one’s fingers. He has climbed
Mont Blanc by nearly every conceivable route and thus knows the
mountain better than any other living guide. I need say little of his
prowess either on ice or on rock; he is first-rate on both. Last,
but not least, he is an excellent companion, ever eager to be doing,
and ready to put every ounce of energy into any problem upon which
he embarks. Alfred, who was serving only the second season of his
apprenticeship, is fast following in his brother’s footsteps. He too
will, sooner or later, become a first-class guide. Four Courmayeur
porters accompanied us up to the Col Supérieur du Fresnay. They carried
heavy loads, but through all the trying situations that arose, they
preserved their good humour and determination. Their conduct was
admirable.
FOOTNOTES:
[9] Émile Rey was one of the finest of Alpine guides. He lost his life,
in 1895, through a slip while descending the easy rocks at the base of
the Aiguille du Géant.
[10] An interesting inscription, written by Signor Gruber and giving
brief details of this formidable expedition, may still be seen
pencilled on a beam in the Dôme hut, _via_ which the party returned to
Courmayeur. From the general tone of this inscription, short as it is,
can be gathered the strong impression which Mont Blanc had, on this
occasion, made upon all members of the party.
[11] In 1874 Mr. J. G. Marshall, with the guides Johann Fischer and
Ulrich Almer, fell into a crevasse on the Brouillard Glacier. The two
first-named were killed.
Professor F. M. Balfour and his guide Johann Petrus lost their lives in
1882 while attempting to repeat Signor Gruber’s ascent.
[12] Sons of Émile Rey.
[13] The original Gamba hut stood on the Fresnay side of the
Châtelet-Innominata ridge. In the winter of 1919-20, however, it was
wrecked by an avalanche, and from the débris was constructed the
present hut which stands on the ridge itself about ten minutes above
the old site, at approximately 8,300 feet.
[14] The rocky bed of a glacier sometimes becomes so steep that the ice
falls away and exposes the rock underneath. As the ice at the top of
such a rock slope partakes of the continual downward movement of the
glacier, it is continually breaking away and crashing down the rock to
the continuation of the glacier lower down. Swiss guides call such a
place “Heisse Platte,” _i.e._ “hot (or lively) slab.”
[15] Professor and Mrs. Jones and their guide Truffer were killed in
1921 while climbing the Mont Rouge de Peuteret.