THE AIGUILLE DU DRU
After our border-line crossing of Mont Blanc, Max and I arrived at
the Col du Géant on the evening of August 31, 1911. There we met a
German climber armed with a letter of introduction from Martini, who
had climbed the Zmutt ridge with us earlier in the season. As our new
acquaintance considered ice-climbing to be a vicious and unpleasant
way of indulging in the delights of the mountains, a traverse of
the Dru was decided upon, in preference to the joys of step-cutting
on the slippery slopes of the north face of the Verte. Accordingly,
after sunrise on the following morning, we set out across the Géant
Glacier towards the Montanvert. Max and I still felt the effects of
our recent activities and were consequently inclined to take things
rather easily. Before arriving at the top of the icefall, however,
our friend’s protests against the slowness of the pace began to take
effect and stung us into something that was very much the reverse of
our previous lethargy, with the result that we worried a way through
the broken icefall with quite a useful turn of speed. Well before
arriving in the thick of the séracs, a puzzled and rather concerned
expression had taken the place of the patronising though kindly smile
with which our companion had blessed the previous labours of his two
young associates. A little later, he fell a victim to the fact that the
size of an ice-step is inversely proportional to the velocity of the
party, and he lost his footing. The rope, however, sufficed to palliate
the effects of the slip, but was quite unequal to the task of stemming
the torrent of guttural language which condemned as reckless the speed
which, after all, merely resulted from the granting of a request! After
discarding the rope on the gentle slopes of the Mer de Glace, a normal
rate of progress was once more reverted to, and, long ere arriving at
the Montanvert, we had all recovered our equanimity.
In the afternoon we left the Montanvert, with three days’ provisions
and two one-hundred-foot ropes. Max and I, as usual, carried heavy
knapsacks and consequently found the struggle with the moraines leading
up towards the Charpoua hut both difficult and unpleasant. Our friend,
however, bounded on far ahead with the agility of a two-year-old.
We were pleasantly surprised to find that the hut was not in the dirty
condition so characteristic of the majority of the club-huts in the
Mont Blanc district, and that it also contained most of those little
things which go so far towards making life pleasant after a harrowing
and steep climb in the heat of the afternoon.
At 4 a.m. next morning we left the hut, taking with us, in addition
to our own two hundred feet of rope, an eighty-foot length belonging
to the hut and kept there expressly for the use of climbers bound for
the Dru, a stake of wood, and only two ice-axes. At 6 a.m., after
having been held up by a rather lengthy bout of step-cutting across
the head of the Charpoua Glacier, we gained the lower lip of the final
bergschrund. This proved to be an extremely difficult customer to deal
with, for the upper lip at its lowest point could only be surmounted
by cutting up an exceedingly steep ice wall of about thirty feet in
height. After the first fifteen feet, only one hand could be used for
cutting, and the work became so severe that a rest was necessary after
practically each step. Max and I took turns at the work, each doing
a step whilst the other retired to the level floor of the schrund to
rest and infuse fresh life into half-frozen fingers. At eight o’clock
we gained the upper lip, but, deciding that too much time had been lost
for us to be able to complete the climb that day without running the
risk of a night out, we drove the wooden stake into the snow and, tying
a doubled one-hundred-foot length of rope to it, retreated down the ice
wall and joined our companion, whom we acquainted with our decision to
retreat, then and there, to the hut.
[Illustration: _The bergschrund below the Dru._
“This proved to be an extremely difficult customer....”
_Facing page 270._
]
No time was lost in preparing for the descent, as there was every
evidence of the head of the Charpoua Glacier being much exposed to
falling stones. My desire that Max, armed with an axe, should bring
up the rear of the party was waived in deference to the wishes of
our companion who assured us that he could hold both of us should
occasion arise. The small, hastily-hewn steps of the morning had become
partially effaced by the sun, and a considerable amount of work was
required to renew them sufficiently well to afford secure footing. Max
followed me, but after a few steps felt so insecure without an axe that
he turned round and warned the last man on the rope to be prepared for
a slip at any moment. Just as I was engaged in cutting a very large and
deep step which would serve as a belay, I heard a shout from behind
and, instinctively guessing that a slip had occurred, quickly braced
myself as firmly as possible against the slope, with the pick end of
my axe pressed well home against the ice. The jerk came, but it was
only a mild one, and the strain was easily withstood. Thinking that
the trouble had now been averted, I was about to look round, when a
second and savage tug came which almost dragged me out of my steps.
This is what had happened: Whilst I was engaged in cutting the large
step, our companion had left the firm footing provided by the level
floor of the bergschrund to make his way down towards Max. Max had then
slipped, and the other had not only failed to hold him but was in his
turn pulled out of his steps. The first pull on the rope was due to the
checking of Max’s slip; the second, and far worse jerk was caused by
our companion’s slip down the steep, icy slope for a distance of nearly
a hundred feet before being held up by the rope. Incidentally, he also
lost his grip upon his axe; fortunately, it slid down towards Max, who
had the presence of mind to seize it. Thanks to this useful effort, the
return of the errant members of the party to their steps was speedily
effected. At half-past nine we were back at the hut and spent the
remainder of the day in a series of repasts and sun baths on the great,
rough, warm slabs near by.
Towards sunset a French climber and two agreeable Chamonix guides
arrived. Their intention was to traverse the Dru, starting with the
little Dru first. The leading guide was inclined to be anxious about
the condition of the bergschrund, but was quite relieved on hearing
that we had left a stake embedded in the upper lip, which would enable
them to rope down over the hindrance without difficulty. We also came
to an agreement whereby axes were exchanged, they undertaking to leave
our axes at the foot of the rocks of the little Dru, and we to leave
theirs at the bergschrund on the way up to the big Dru. Thanks to this
excellent arrangement, we were able to carry out this long rock climb
without being encumbered by axes.
[Illustration:
_Photo T. G. B. Forster._
_Where next?_
_Facing page 272._
]
On September 3, 1911, at 4 a.m., we roped and left the hut. I led,
carrying a spare eighty-foot rope; Max followed, and our companion
brought up the rear, Max and I both being firm believers in what is
still often considered to be a heresy, namely, that on climbs of
this sort the “unknown” element of the party should always be the
last on the ascent, on the principle that it is easier for the dog to
wag the tail than _vice versa_. Shortly after 5.30 a.m. the upper lip
of the bergschrund was tackled and easily ascended by means of our
fixed rope. While the process of cutting steps up the short, steep,
final slope towards the rocks was going on, Max coiled up this rope
and strapped it on to his knapsack. This brought the sum total of the
party’s available rope up to two hundred and eighty feet. On arriving
at the top of the slope, the problem confronted us as to how to gain a
footing on the rocks, for a deep, unbridged chasm separated the snow
from the latter. Finally, I was let down about twenty-five feet into
the cavernous depths below, and by a pendulum process was able to
swing across and obtain a somewhat precarious footing on the smooth
rock. Climbing with no little difficulty up the ice-worn slabs until
about thirty feet above the others, I found secure standing ground
on a spacious platform. The others did not trouble to repeat these
roundabout tactics, but swung straight across on the rope held by me
and soon joined me on my perch. A few yards more of rather difficult
climbing led to steep, but broken and easy rocks, over which rapid
progress was made. Near by on the left, was the somewhat slabby couloir
which leads down from the col situated immediately to the north of the
Dru. None of the party had anything more than a very vague idea of the
best route to be followed, beyond believing that it was unnecessary
actually to reach this col before traversing to the left on to the
rocks of the peak proper. We kept, therefore, a sharp look-out for the
first possibility of crossing the couloir and taking to the rocks on
the other side.
About two hundred feet below the col such an opportunity presented
itself. We climbed across the couloir without much difficulty, and
gained a narrow ledge leading round under an overhanging buttress
towards the foot of a steep slab. The appearance of the latter
was sufficiently forbidding to cause one to hesitate and wonder
whether this could be, after all, the right way; but, as any further
prospecting would have entailed loss of time, we decided to carry on
in the hope that things might improve higher up. As a matter of fact,
although it was not until almost a hundred feet of rope had been run
out that safe standing ground was found, the ascent of the slab was
by no means very difficult, even if somewhat sensational. Thence easy
scrambling led to a broad and well-defined ledge, which seemed to
run without break from the col to a point almost directly under the
summit of the Dru. We followed this ledge without meeting with any set
back. At one point it is interrupted by a deep cleft where we found a
frayed rope, by means of which one could swing from one side to the
other. This is evidently the spot known as “La Pendule.” The cleft
can be crossed without overwhelming difficulty in several places by
the ordinary methods of climbing, but there is no doubt that swinging
across by means of the fixed rope does save time. The process, also,
is quite an amusing one. At a short distance beyond “La Pendule” the
ledge narrowed down, but at the same time the rocks towering above on
our right became more and more broken and were furrowed by a series
of chimneys leading in the direction of the summit ridge. Bearing up
to the right, we came across an old wooden ladder, possibly a relic
of Dent’s first ascent. Soon afterwards, on doubling back a few yards
in the direction of the col, we arrived at the foot of a long and
wicked-looking chimney, several steps of which appeared to overhang.
A closer acquaintance with this obstacle, however, was reassuring.
The chimney was long, and did overhang, but there was such a profusion
of holds in the warm, firm rock that the ascent almost resembled
the scaling of a ladder. Above the chimney, an easy scramble over
huge, rough boulders and broken rocks led on to the ridge. On being
rejoined by Max, I unroped and walked up over the ridge towards the two
enormous rocky teeth which form the summit of the big Dru. An attempt
to gain the summit of the higher tooth from the north failed, but, by
traversing slightly downwards to the left, I reached the foot of a
short gully leading up into the gap between the teeth. A few steps from
this gap placed me on the summit at 10 a.m. The others soon joined me
and ensconced themselves on the lower tooth, more room being available
there than on my perch.
[Illustration: “_La Pendule._”
“... one could swing from one side to the other.”]
[Illustration: “... _A rather steep ice slope--the Mur de la Côte_”
(_p. 222_).
_Facing page 274._
]
The day was cloudless, and there was not a breath of wind. The view
towards the northern slopes of the Aiguille sans Nom was striking. As
if in warning and for our edification, a huge avalanche fell down these
precipices whilst we were scanning them for a possible line of ascent.
The actual summit rest was cut somewhat short owing to the cramped
nature of the seating accommodation; but, on the almost level plateau
from which the cliffs sweep down into the gap between the big and the
little Dru, we discovered almost sufficient room for the laying out of
a tennis court. After an unusually excellent, mountaineering apology
for lunch, I set out to prospect for the best line of descent into
the gap. At one point, almost directly in line with the two summits
of the mountain and on the extreme edge of the plateau, there were a
number of fixed coils of rope hanging round a jutting out rock; but on
leaning as far forward over the precipice as was possible, it seemed
to me extremely doubtful whether we had enough rope to enable us to
descend in safety at this point. Had Max and I been alone, we should
doubtless have slid down the doubled rope without more ado; with a new
companion, however, we had serious doubts as to the prudence of this
method of procedure. It behoved me, therefore, to cast farther around
for an alternative route where the individual roping down distances
were not so great. We had heard vague rumours of the existence of a
so-called “Z” route, but had no notion as to where to look for it.
Prospecting in the direction of the Grandes Jorasses revealed nothing
useful, and I turned my attention to that corner of the plateau from
which the northern precipices of the mountain fall away. Here, a short,
partially ice-clad gully revealed itself. Faint traces of steps were
still clearly visible in the ice, and a conveniently-placed boulder
had a new and serviceable looking sling fastened round it. Not quite
satisfied that this was the beginning pitch of the sought-for “Z”
route, I went back to fetch a rope and to enlist Max’s help in making
a more intimate exploration of the chimney and its hidden secrets.
Securely held by Max, I descended the gully for about fifty feet, and
was then able, just before the gully faded away into thin air above one
of the most appalling precipices I have ever looked down, to step over
on to a small platform situated directly under a huge, overhanging nose
of rock. Crossing this platform in a couple of steps, a clear view of
the rocks leading down into the gap presented itself, and showed that
one, or at most two, comparatively short descents on the doubled rope
would solve any remaining difficulties.
Returning to the foot of the gully, I yelled up the good news to Max,
who went off to fetch our friend and the knapsacks. After sending down
the latter to be stowed away on the platform, Max fixed a doubled rope
to serve as an extra support for our friend’s descent of the chimney.
Securely held by Max’s sturdy grip, and with a little judicious
pulling from below, he was soon down. Max followed, giving a perfect
exhibition of how this sort of thing should be done, and was on the
platform and pulling in the doubled rope almost before our comrade had
realised that he was on terra firma. Twice again we repeated these
roping down tactics over a series of steep slabs, which, however,
could have been descended by ordinary methods of climbing without too
much difficulty. After the last use of the doubled rope, I went on
with a view to saving time by seeking out the rest of the descent into
the gap. This lower part of the wall was easily negotiated by means
of a series of well-defined ledges leading to a final short chimney
immediately above the gap. After passing up this information to Max, I
walked over the broad ridge built up of huge blocks of granite, towards
the summit of the little Dru, and arrived there at 12.30 p.m., just as
the party with whom we had exchanged axes earlier on in the morning
were leaving for the big Dru. After carefully shepherding our companion
down the last chimney above the gap, Max grew tired of slow and careful
methods and completed the descent in great style by a bold glissade
which landed him on all fours in a tangle of rope on the broad back of
the gap--much to our concern, who mistook his voluntarily rapid descent
for the result of a slip. A few minutes later we were reunited on the
spacious and flat summit of the little Dru.
The view I suppose must have been glorious, but, candidly, I remember
little more than the sinking feeling caused by an inspection of the
extraordinary precipices into which the mountain falls away to the
north; and even this keen impression soon had its edge taken off by the
enjoyment of the result of Max’s noble efforts with a tin of peaches,
condensed milk and snow.
At 2 p.m. the pleasant sojourn came to an end, and we embarked on the
descent. The way down was shrouded in complete mystery though, on the
whole, the general opinion of the party inclined to the view that
a bee-line for the Montanvert would give the correct direction, at
all events for the first part of the descent. In any case we felt no
anxiety, for one can do much with plenty of rope. Accordingly, taking
the Montanvert as the objective, we set off, and the fun began at
once. Immediately after leaving the summit, we had to resort to the
doubled rope in order to descend a long and steep chimney which ended
on a ledge of most ungenerous proportions. Our friend here provided a
little thrill. He was half-way down the chimney, with still practically
forty feet to go, when something apparently went wrong, for he turned a
somersault in mid-air and finished up the descent head downwards, with
feet waving frantically in the air and his felt hat floating gracefully
down over the precipices. Max had him secure on the climbing rope,
however, and so he was never in any danger.
It was almost impossible to obtain anything like a clear survey of
the ground ahead, for the general steepness was certainly excessive,
and numerous inconvenient bulges and overhangs hid far too much from
view. After a short consultation, Max and I confessed to one another
that neither liked the appearance of things in general, but as there
were no eager volunteers for climbing back up the chimney that had
just been roped down, it was decided that we should take the chances
of carrying straight on. Steep chimney after steep chimney followed,
and not only did we see no signs of previous descents or ascents, but
the ground became increasingly difficult. Finally, when we had arrived
at a point level with and slightly to the south of the enormous,
slate-grey patch below the summit, which is so prominent a feature
of the Dru when seen from the Montanvert, all possibility of further
descent seemed precluded, and we were forced to realise that the
outlook was somewhat critical. To our left we could see the ridge
over which the correct line of descent must certainly have led, and
we were, therefore, faced with the question of either gaining this
ridge by a most unwholesome-looking traverse, or by retreating back to
the summit. The latter alternative could only be regarded as a very
forlorn hope, and not to be attempted unless the traverse should prove
impracticable. The chief drawback of the traverse was the fact that we
would be able to give each other little or no help or support until the
worst was over. However, it was no good wasting time in indecision. I
have forgotten many of the details of the traverse, but at first it led
across almost vertical slabs by means of the minutest of cracks and
ledges. The climbing was most difficult and, owing to almost complete
lack of belays, somewhat risky. But our companion rose brilliantly to
the occasion and tackled the difficult and exposed slabs in a steady,
sure-footed style and with a complete absence of nervousness. Before
gaining the ridge, the work became less serious. Comparatively broad
and broken ledges separated one tier of slabs from another, and easy
ground finally led round on to the ridge at a well-marked step or
depression a short distance below a prominent _gendarme_ which, I
believe, is known in Chamonix as “le Poisson.”
[Illustration: _On the summit of the little Dru._
_Facing page 278._
]
It was now about 4.30 p.m., and much valuable time had been lost
through this somewhat sensational variation of the descent. It was
still far from easy, even on the ridge, to survey the further line
of descent for any distance ahead. I therefore took off the rope and
went on to prospect, leaving the others to follow. Several times I
got on to the wrong track, but being alone and, therefore, climbing
more rapidly, was able to rectify such errors before the other two
arrived. Lower down, an _impasse_ in the ridge, in the shape of a bold
_gendarme_ followed by a clean and almost vertical cliff, held me up
until Max’s arrival. The best means of circumventing the obstacle
appeared to lie in the descent of a vertical chimney which bore a close
resemblance to Mummery’s crack on the Grépon. It led to a platform on
the northern side of the ridge. We fixed a double rope, and I proceeded
down. A large chock-stone was jammed in about half-way down the
chimney, but as there was no real necessity for making use of it as a
hold, and as it could be easily avoided, I did not attempt to dislodge
it, preferring to let sleeping dogs lie. I sent up word to the other
two, however, to leave it alone lest it should prove to be dangerously
loose. On arriving on the platform, I let go the doubled rope and,
while the second man was preparing to descend, cast round for further
means of escape. The only available route led along a narrow, sloping
ledge running towards the ridge from a point about four feet below the
edge of the platform on which I stood. With the greatest care, most
emphatically urged upon me by the sheerness and depth of the precipices
below, I lowered myself on to the ledge, still retaining a grip in the
numerous small cracks with which the platform was fissured. By taking a
couple of steps and leaning well outwards, it was possible to see round
and beyond an intervening corner of rock towards easy, though exposed,
ground over which the ridge could be regained. Before climbing farther,
I looked up towards Max to give him this information. Our companion was
nearly half-way down the chimney and almost level with the chock-stone.
I was just repeating my warning not to make use of this possibly
insecure hold, when it came hurtling down through space and, crashing
on to the ledge, broke into two pieces. One of them, in bounding out
over the precipice, narrowly missed my head, but the other was more
perfect in its aim and dealt me a clean, knock-out blow on the chest.
The shock caused me to lose hold with my left foot and hand. By means
of the kind of effort that one is able to exert when it comes to making
a bid for life, I was otherwise able to retain my balance. I struggled
on to the platform and lay there absolutely winded, totally unable to
answer any inquiries.
The rest of the route down the ridge promised to be less complicated.
Our companion descended first, whilst I, still sorrowing over bruised
ribs, was tied in the middle of the rope and tenderly nursed off the
platform and round the ledge. Our original order of march was, however,
_pour cause_, soon reverted to. But the day’s troubles were nearly
over. An opportunity of descending from the ridge towards the Charpoua
Glacier revealed itself, and, scrambling over huge glacier-worn slabs
broken up by numerous ledges and chimneys, we presently arrived at the
point, a few feet above the ice, where the other party had left our
axes.
Of the French climbers we could as yet see nothing, but surmised that
they must by now be somewhere in the neighbourhood of the bergschrund
at the head of the Charpoua Glacier. While we were speculating as to
their exact whereabouts, a tremendous avalanche of stones plunged down
from the direction of the Pic sans Nom, swept the rocks immediately
above the bergschrund, and crashed over this and the upper slopes of
the Charpoua Glacier towards the icefall below which we stood. So great
was the volume and impetus of this avalanche, that for some moments
we expected to see the stones fall even beyond our standpoint. Having
the gravest fears as to the safety of the other party, we gave vent to
a series of hefty yells, and were finally reassured by a faint reply
coming from the rocks just above those over which the avalanche had
swept. In continuation of their good fortune, this party later on
found that our axes and the stake of wood, that we had driven into the
snow above the bergschrund, had not been touched by any of the falling
stones, though several had gone very near.
The sun had set, and, as we were without a lantern, there was no time
to be lost in crossing the glacier. The unfriendly, threatening aspect
of the séracs, below which we threaded our way between numerous blocks
of ice and crevasses, also urged the necessity for speed. Once on the
far side of the glacier, the danger from falling ice was past, and a
brief ascent over a diminutive bergschrund and gentle snow slope led
on to the summit of the hump that separates the two tongues of the
Charpoua Glacier, and upon which, somewhat lower down, stands the
Charpoua hut. Shortly after 7 p.m., we entered the welcome refuge.
The other party rolled up soon after 8 p.m. Lured on towards the
Montanvert by visions of civilised luxury and comfort, they hardly
found time to gulp down the cups of tea we proffered. But the visions
proved false, for the local knowledge and lanterns of the guides
fizzled out in the midst of the maze of crevasses of the Mer de Glace,
and it was not until daybreak that they entered the Montanvert.
We, on the other hand, slept soundly, and in the fresh hours of morning
strolled over to the Montanvert, where we arrived in good time for
lunch.
As a climb, the traverse of the Dru is magnificent. Unlike the Grépon
or the Requin, the Aiguille du Dru is every inch a mountain. The rock
varies from bad to good; to get to the rock, good ice work is called
for; and the route-finding is far from simple. Though essentially
regarded only as a rock-climb, it is really an all-round, first-class
expedition.