_EAST OF THE BERNINA._
TARASP AND THE LIVIGNO DISTRICT.
---- Comest thou
To see strange forests and new snows
And tread uplifted land? EMERSON.
THE PRÄTIGAU--VERSTANKLA THOR--TARASP--PIZ PISOC--PASSO DEL
DIAVEL--LIVIGNO--MONTE ZEMBRASCA--PASSO DI DOSDÈ--VAL GROSINA.
In the last two chapters I have sketched a route from the highway of
traffic and tourists--the Rhine valley--to the Italian Alps, passing
to the west of the crowded roads which lead to the Upper Engadine. My
design now is to point out a similar track lying to the east both of
the Julier and the Albula, which by means of variations may be made
equally available either for the foot or carriage traveller.
Our starting-point is the station of Landquart, some miles beyond
Ragatz and short of Chur, and opposite the opening of the long, deep
Prätigau.
Above the gorge which secludes this side valley from the Rheinthal
a car-track mounts to Seewis, an upland village with 'Pensions,'
frequented in summer by Swiss guests, whence the ascent of the Scesa
Plana, an isolated block commanding a wide panorama, and enclosing in
its recesses a large mountain lake--the Luner See--is often made.
This frontier valley rivals as a specimen of Swiss pastoral scenery
the more famous spots in Canton Bern. Its villages, surrounded by fat,
wide-spreading meadows of the brightest green, and overshadowed by
noble walnuts, wear on the outside an air of long peace and prosperity.
The interiors do not contradict the first impression. In the wayside
inns one finds rich brown panelled walls decorated here and there with
armorial bearings, old mirrors and carved presses. Mountainous stoves
tower in peak form to the ceiling, and are cased in tiles, each of
which represents some Scripture scene in a style often remarkable both
for vigour and humour.
After twenty-four miles of tolerably continuous ascent the road
reaches the upper expanse of the Prätigau and the scattered hamlets
of Klosters. The scenery is of a character more common in Tyrol than
Switzerland. Although it does not awe by sublimity or enchant by
richness and variety, it is yet thoroughly Alpine.
Behind a foreground of level meadows and green but bold hillsides the
glaciers and snow-peaks shine modestly but invitingly in the distance.
They are not, as in the Bernese Oberland, magnificently rampant
intruders on the pasturages, but quiet, stream-nursing benefactors,
whose acquaintance is never forced on you, and must be sought out with
some trouble.
Consequently the charm of such valleys is a self-contained
peacefulness; and a troop of cows rather than a herd of chamois
represents the animal life in harmony with their sentiment.
At the bridge of Klosters, in 1866, my companion deserted me for
England. Francis and I wanted to turn south again to the Engadine, and
we determined to take a glance by the way at the retiring beauties of
the Silvretta Ferner. This considerable glacier group, scarcely known
to Englishmen, runs parallel to the Lower Engadine, separating that
valley from the Tyrolese Montafun and Paznaun Thal, and abutting at
its western end against the head of the Prätigau. The Swiss Alpine
Club made it one year the scene of their summer excursion, and have
conquered most of its peaks and passes. At their instigation a hut has
been built four and a half hours from Klosters, close to the glaciers,
and there we intended to pass the night.
A new inn and pension was just opened on the left bank of the stream,
and I did not long remain without society in the salon. First appeared
an invalid from the Baths of Serneus, who speedily broke down my German
by preferring to talk of war-politics rather than of mountains. Next
came a gentleman from Chur bound for Davos, who puzzled me still more
by launching into what he gave me to understand was English. Last of
all the local guide turned up, armed with testimonials from the Swiss
Alpine Club, and aghast at the notion of any traveller crossing the
glaciers without his aid. Finding the native willing to accompany us
on very moderate terms, and being one too few for a glacier pass, we
readily agreed to take him.
Above Klosters the path is level for some distance, and leads through
thick woods rich in ferns and flowers. After passing the mouth of the
Vereina Thal the forest grew thinner and we reached the châlets of
the Sardasca Alp, standing at the true head of the valley on a level
meadow where several streams poured down to form the Landquart. A steep
hillside was now climbed by sharp zigzags; then, a stream and track
leading to an easy pass into the Fermont Thal having been left, the
path wound along the hillside until it met the water flowing from the
great Silvretta Glacier.
A short distance higher a pole was conspicuously fixed on a
large boulder, and a few yards further back we found the hut in a
sheltered hollow scarcely 300 yards from the end of the glacier. It
was sufficiently large and proof against wind and rain, as we had
afterwards good reason to know; but the furniture was scanty and in bad
repair. Two benches and a hay-bed were all we found, and there was no
stove.
However, this did not matter much for the night. But before we went to
sleep the wind had begun to howl, and next morning when we opened the
door a great, white gust rushed in, and all without was a seething mist
alive with snow-flakes.
Unless we decided to return, there was nothing for it but to make our
provisions hold out by submitting to an orthodox 'Vendredi Maigre,'
and to amuse ourselves as best we could by toasting cheese and
carving wood. Fortunately an inkbottle was discovered which materially
alleviated our position. I have heard under similar circumstances of a
chess-board being constructed by means of a lead pencil, and the game
played with pieces of black bread and cheese appropriately carved; but
two are required for this diversion.
About midday we made a hopeless and rather feeble 'sortie,' which the
snow-storm speedily repulsed. Two peasants who had brought up wood for
the hut paid us a visit in the course of the day, and a stray cow-boy
dropped in later for an afternoon call.
To our great delight Saturday, though still cloudy, promised better
weather, and we left our prison at 5 A.M. and soon reached the broad
ridge of rocks separating the Silvretta and Verstankla Glaciers.
It was not our intention to cross the Silvretta Pass, but to find
a shorter way to the Engadine through the gap at the head of the
Verstankla Glacier, and to descend by the Tiatscha ice-fall[22] into
Val Lavinuoz--a course which we did not believe to have been previously
taken.
Substitute the Cimes Blanches for the Silvretta Pass, the short cut
from Zermatt to Breuil near the Matterhorn for the pass we aimed at,
and the Val d' Aosta for the Lower Engadine, and anyone who knows the
Zermatt district will understand the relation of the two routes. Only
of course the lateral glens of the Lower Engadine are much shorter than
the side valleys of Val d' Aosta.
The Verstankla Glacier lies lower than the Silvretta, and to avoid
a descent we kept on the spur between them to the point where it was
buried by an ice-cascade overflowing from the larger to the smaller
flood. We crossed the fall diagonally, and found ourselves in an upper
basin of snow, and close to a narrow gap between the splendid crags
of the Schwarzhorn and the far lower Gletscherkammhorn. This was our
Pass, the Verstankla Thor, already christened but not crossed by Swiss
climbers. The view was limited, but wonderfully snowy; on every side
stretched broad, white glaciers and dark snow-powdered rocks, and on
the south Piz Linard stood up, a bold, isolated pyramid against the
blue sky.
We soon reached the spot where the glacier first plunges towards Val
Lavinuoz in an ice-fall which in 1865 had turned back Herr Weilenmann,
one of the best climbers in the Swiss Club. It made an attempt,
at least, to frighten us. We had not reached the open crevasses
when François, who was leading, suddenly disappeared like a sprite
in a pantomime. There was no great shock given to the rope, but a
considerable one to the feelings of the Klosters guide. François had
lighted on a ledge, and after popping up his head for a moment to
reassure us, withdrew it again down the trapdoor to look for the pipe
which had been knocked out of his mouth by the fall. The treasure
recovered, our leader was helped out of his hole and we went on. An
incident like this, trivial as it is in fact and in telling, is so only
because the rope is used, and properly used; had we been unattached, or
walking too near one another, the consequences might easily have been
very different. If any Alpine novice wishes to learn how to have and
to describe moments of 'intensivsten Schrecken' he may turn to Herr
Weilenmann's 'Aus der Firnenwelt,' and read how, on almost the same
spot, the Swiss climber, walking with the rope in his hand instead of
round his waist, nearly lost his life.
We found a fairly easy way through some fine snow-castles and
ice-labyrinths to the rocks on the eastern side of the fall. The
cliffs close to the glacier are precipitous, but a commodious ledge
leads round to some beds of avalanche snow, down which it is easy to
glissade. The lower glacier is smooth, and below its end we had a very
pleasant walk down Val Lavinuoz, with views of the noble mass of Piz
Linard immediately overhead. The glen soon opened, at Lavin, on the
high-road of the Lower Engadine, which we reached in 4½ hours' walking
from the hut--so that our short cut is not liable to the charge,
usually brought against Alpine short cuts, of being considerably longer
than the ordinary road.
Lavin, in 1869, suffered the usual fate of Engadine villages, by being
burnt to the ground. It is consequently a new hamlet, with substantial,
stone-built cottages and broad expanses of whitewash. In their passion
for whiteness and cleanness, fresh paint and bright flowers, and, I
may add, in a certain slow persistency of character, the eastern Swiss
seem to me the Dutch of the mountains. The neighbourhood of Piz Linard
makes Lavin a desirable resting-place for climbers. Horses can be taken
for three hours in the ascent, and a path has, I believe, been made up
to the last rocks.[23] This taller rival of Piz Languard deserves more
attention from strangers than it has yet received.
But the ordinary tourist will hasten on until he reaches the great
bathing-place of the Lower Engadine, which, if it has not yet equalled
St. Moritz in popularity, is only behindhand because in the present
generation there are more Hamlets than Falstaffs, more nervous and
excitable than fat natures, and consequently a greater call for iron
than for saline waters.
The Baths of Tarasp are so named from the commune in which they are
situated. Between Tarasp and Schuls, on the verge of Switzerland and
within a few miles of the Austrian frontier at Martinsbruck, a number
of mineral springs issue from the ground on both sides of the Inn.
Their properties are various, but the most in repute with patients are
of a strongly saline character. Of late years a large bath-house--the
largest in Switzerland, as advertisements continually inform us--has
been built near to the principal sources.
The first disease on the long list prepared by the local doctor of
those likely to be benefited by a course of the waters is 'general
fattiness.' Hither, accordingly, from the furthest parts of Germany,
and even from Spain and Denmark, repair a crowd of patients to seek
relief from the bonds of the corpulency to which nature or their own
appetites have condemned them.
In short, if St. Moritz is, as Mr. Stephen thinks, the limbo of
Switzerland set apart for the world--that is, for kings, millionaires
and people who travel with couriers--Tarasp is its purgatory,
providentially created for the class whom the flesh has rendered unfit
for such Alpine paradises as Grindelwald, or even Pontresina.
The bath-house, planted as it is beside the river at the bottom of a
steep-sided trench, in a position very like a deep railway cutting, is
never, I think, likely to become a favourite resort of mountaineers.
It is difficult even to feel mountain enthusiasm in an establishment
tenanted chiefly by invalids or Italians whose walks are limited to
the extent of their own bowl's throw. The social atmosphere of the
place is, as might be expected, utterly unalpine. The use of guides is
unknown, as excursions are habitually undertaken in carriages and have
villages for their object; riding-horses for ladies are a rare luxury,
and their owners attempt to bargain that they shall never be taken off
the car-roads of the valley.
It is only fair, however, to say that travellers need not stay at
the Baths. They have the choice of two neighbouring villages, at
both of which inns have sprung up of late years. Neither of these
situations, however, struck me as attractive. Schuls, on the left bank
of the Inn, lies on a bare hillside at a considerable distance from
the commencement of all the pleasantest walks; while the pensions at
Vulpera, although better placed for excursions, look straight on to
the dreary slopes behind Schuls, a prospect to which eyes accustomed to
other Alpine scenery will scarcely reconcile themselves.
The neighbourhood of Tarasp is not, however, so wholly ugly as
appears probable to the traveller who arrives at the bath-house by
the high-road. The slopes on the northern side of the valley remain,
it is true, from whatever point they are seen, amongst the most naked
and featureless in the Alps, and the knobs which crown the lower spurs
of the Silvretta Ferner can only by an extreme stretch of courtesy be
called peaks. But the natural features of the country on the opposite
bank of the Inn are far bolder and more varied. There the ground rises
above the river in a succession of wooded banks and grassy terraces,
cut by the deep ravines of torrents issuing from wild lateral glens.
Copses of birch and fragrant pine-woods afford shelter to a host of
rare ferns and wild flowers, while the sides of the path are garlanded
with dog-roses blooming with a profusion and brilliancy peculiar to the
spot.
On the lowest and broadest of the meadow-shelves or terraces stands the
hamlet and castle of Tarasp; the latter a whitewashed building perched
on a rocky knoll, and mirrored in a shallow tarn. Seen from a certain
distance, it forms a picturesque element in the foreground. From this
point, where an hotel ought to be built, a charming forest-path follows
the right bank of the Inn to Steinhaus, and numerous sledge-tracks,
commanding fine views of the stern limestone peaks which encircle the
entrance to the Scarl Thal, lead to upper shelves of the mountain.
The Piz Pisoc, Piz St. Jon, and Piz Lischanna, are in their own way
really fine objects, challenging, of course, no comparison with the
snow-clad giants of the Upper Engadine, but rather recalling to mind
some of the wilder and least beautiful portions of the Venetian Alps.
Piz Lischanna is easy of ascent, and nourishes a glacier oddly
described in 'Bradshaw' as 'the finest of the higher glaciers of
Switzerland.' It is in fact a broad ice-lake which rests sluggishly on
its uplifted limestone platform, and, finding sufficient difficulty to
maintain existence where it is, has not energy enough to make a push
for the valley. A slight increase of temperature--say to the climate of
Primiero--would melt its masses and lay bare the rocky bed.
Piz Pisoc, the highest of the group, enjoyed for long a local
reputation for inaccessibility, until, in 1865, Fluri took the trouble
to come down from Pontresina, and, untroubled with any impediment
in the way of 'herrschaft,' but with for companion a young native of
Schuls, who has since left the country, planted a flag on the summit.
This is not the only first ascent that has been made by Pontresina
men on their own account: two of them repeated the unusual proceeding
afterwards on Piz d' Aela near Bergun. One ought to be glad, I suppose,
to see such evidence of a genuine love of sport in a class sometimes
represented as the unwilling victims of foreign gold. But to the
Alpine clubman such conduct looks a little like the gamekeeper turning
poacher, and selecting moreover the moment when his employer's game is
nearly exhausted to go out by himself and shoot off the few remaining
pheasants. And the mountaineer recollects further as an aggravation
of the offence that maiden peaks cannot like pheasants be bred in the
farmyard or sent down by the morning express from town. Fortunately
for the Engadiners they are not subject to the jurisdiction of a bench
of climbing county magistrates. From their own countrymen they have
nothing to fear. Swiss 'Klubists' do not seem to find the point or
interest of a 'first' ascent seriously diminished by the fact that
their guides have made it beforehand; and as the guides of Pontresina
have never got on particularly well with our countrymen they are
quite right, perhaps, even from a professional point of view, in their
practice.
Fluri furnished some details of his ascent for Herr Tschudi's
'Schweizerführer;' and, I presume, it was on the same authority
that in the new Grisons guide-tariff the mountain is described as
'schwierig,' and taxed at 30 francs a guide. No one had followed the
two Engadiners until, in 1870, I climbed the peak in company with
François Devouassoud. Our experiences, both as to the length and
difficulty of the expedition, differed considerably from those of our
predecessors, who probably did not hit off the best way. The following
directions will, I think, be found useful by future climbers:--Turn
off the road leading from Vulpera to Schloss Tarasp by a cart-track,
mounting steeply at first, and then traversing meadows to the entrance
of Val Zuort. At the corner take the higher of two paths, following
a watercourse until it reaches the stream. Cross and ascend by an
ill-marked track, which soon fails, and leaves you to find your own
way through rhododendron bushes and over stony slopes beside the rocky
barrier closing the glen. Climb the bank of snow above the barrier to
the level of the Zuort Glacier. A large snow-filled cleft now opens
among the rocks on the left, offering an unexpectedly easy means of
surmounting the lower cliffs of Piz Pisoc. Ascend this gully for some
distance, until, above a slight bend in its direction a recess is seen
on the left, with a small bed of snow in it divided from the great
snow-slope by a bank of shale.
This spot is the gate of the mountain. A short sharp scramble places
one on the rocks above the small snow-bed, and there is no further
difficulty in climbing straight up them towards the gap at the northern
base of the final peak. A few yards only before reaching it, turn
sharply to the right, and, by keeping below the ridge and choosing
with some care the easiest spots at which to pass a succession of low
cliffs, the summit will soon be gained. The blindness and intricacy of
the route form the only difficulty. If the right course is hit off,
there is no hard climbing on the mountain, but the general steepness
and abominably loose nature of its stony slopes render mountaineering
experience or a good guide essential.
Of the panorama as a whole I saw, and therefore can say, nothing. The
near view has a strong character of its own. The cornfields and white
villages of the Engadine enhance by contrast the savage effect of
the wild limestone crags and gloomy glens which surround the peak on
every side but the north. The drop from our feet on to the path which
threads the defile of the Scarl Thal was absolutely terrific, and the
precipices did not appear less tremendous when I looked up at them
afterwards from their base.
The return to Tarasp may probably be varied without difficulty by
turning to the left at the foot of the great gully, and crossing by
the gap at the head of Val Zuort into a branch of the Scarl Thal.
That valley well repays a visit. There will be found scenery the very
reverse of the pastoral landscapes of the Prätigau. If the former
is a country for cows, this is the very home for bears, and some of
the 'ill-favoured rough things' do in fact still find shelter among
the dense thickets of creeping pine which cover every patch of level
ground. Not that there are many such patches. The first part of the
Scarl Thal is a gorge of the most savage wildness; and if the lower
walls are not so unbrokenly perpendicular as in some other Alpine
defiles, there are probably few valleys where the peaks on either side
stand at so short a distance apart. The face of Piz Pisoc in particular
is built up as a whole at an angle of appalling steepness.[24] The path
through the gorge is called by courtesy a car-road, but it is barely
possible, and not very safe, to drive along it.
* * * * *
From Tarasp to Zernetz is but a short morning's drive through the
pleasantest portion of the Swiss Inn valley. The latter village,
situated at the junction of the Ofen road with that leading to the
Upper Engadine, is the best starting-point for the next stage in our
journey.
The country immediately east of the Bernina is an unknown land. Its
mountains are worse mapped and less accurately measured than those of
many much more remote Alpine districts. To a certain extent it deserves
the ordinary fate of mediocrities placed by the side of greatness.
Val Livigno and the surrounding glens cannot rival the Bernina or
the Orteler. Yet the foot-traveller taking this country on his way
southwards discovers much to reward him. He meets with green bowls of
pasture cut off from the outer world by miles of pathless defile, wild
rock recesses crowded with chamois and famous for bears, dolomitic
crags and snowy peaks streaming with glaciers, which, planted in the
Pyrenees, would have had long ago an European reputation, further east
in Tyrol at least a monograph apiece.
Yet I must repeat that in comparison with most of the ranges here
spoken of these mountains are mediocre. Val Masino is pre-eminent
for rugged grandeur. Val Maggia blends perfectly strength and grace.
Pinzolo contrasts them. The Brenta group, with its horns and pinnacles
shooting up above secluded dells, reminds us of fantastic romance, of
goblin castles, and woodland fays.
Livigno has at most a quiet charm; the wilder recesses of its mountains
are singular and savage rather than noble and majestic. The country
suffers scenically from the defect of all the source-valleys of the
Inn; its mountains have never been dug out to their foundations, their
lower limbs, like those of some half-wrought statue, are still buried
out of view.
The ranges between the Bernina and Buffalora roads on the east and
west, the Engadine and Val Tellina on the north and south, are, roughly
speaking, disposed in three parallel chains, separated by the troughs
of Val Viola and Val Livigno. The northernmost of the three ridges is
steep-sided and rugged, and the gorge broken through it by the Spöl
inaccessible except by circuitous and uneven paths, which render it
equal in length and fatigue to the neighbouring passes. The central
chain, although the Alpine watershed, sending down on one side waters
which ultimately join those of Elbruz in the Black Sea, on the other
streams which feed the Adda and the Adriatic, is easy of passage.
Hence Livigno has from early times been united to Bormio instead of
to the Engadine, and since the surrender of Savoy to France remains
the only piece of ground north of the Alps owned by Italy, with one
insignificant though interesting exception.[25] The southernmost of
the three ridges, that which divides Val Viola from the lower lateral
valleys of the Val Tellina, is the loftiest.
It bears on its northern slopes a considerable quantity of snow and
ice, and in the Cima di Piazza (11,713 feet) rises into a snow-dome,
which but for the immediate neighbourhood of the Orteler group would
have before this attracted the attention of English climbers.
Such local traffic as there is through this secluded region follows
well-marked lines. It passes along the Livigno valley and over the
easy gaps at its head to the Bernina Haüser, or La Rosa; by the trench
of the two Val Violas from La Rosa to Bormio; or from Zutz to Bormio,
crossing the northern and central ridges by the Casana and the Passo di
Foscagno. Those routes have been described in guide-books or by earlier
writers.[26] But, as is often the case amongst second-rate peaks and
in districts where the main valleys are more or less commonplace, the
byways open to a climber are far more interesting than the ordinary
traveller is led to expect.
In 1866 I struck out a new way from Zernetz to the Val Tellina, which
in three days' very easy walking showed us a great variety of scenery.
In the absence outside the Swiss frontier of any trustworthy map, we
were very much in the dark as to the best course. Our route therefore
is capable of improvement, and I do not fear that anyone in want of a
day or two's training will complain of having been persuaded to take
this country on his way to the Lombard Alps.
A considerable mass of dolomite crops out in the range which separates
the parallel troughs of the Upper Engadine and Val Livigno. The head
of Val Cluoza, which opens close to Zernetz, is entirely surrounded
by dolomite ridges. This valley, besides being recommended in
German guide-books to 'passionate mountain-tourists and friends of
characteristically wild Alp scenery,' has the attraction of being one
of the few recesses of the Alps where bears are 'at home,' even if
they will not always show themselves to visitors, and where chamois
can still be seen in herds. When therefore in the summer of 1866 I
carried out, in company with my friend Mr. Douglas Walker, an old plan
of striking straight across the Livigno district, we naturally decided
to pass through Val Cluoza, and make a way across the mountains at its
head in the course of our first day's march. At Zernetz we put up, by
Jenni's advice, at an inn kept by a certain Filli, well known in the
Lower Engadine as a great bear-hunter. The rooms were decorated with
highly-coloured sporting pictures, presented to our host by various
German and Austrian archdukes whom he had initiated into the mystery of
his craft. But the most striking ornament of the house was a specimen
of the natives of the wild country we were bent on exploring, in the
shape of a huge stuffed bear, six feet high, who, standing up on his
hind legs in one corner of the salle-à-manger, threatened us with an
hitherto undreamt-of Alpine danger on the morrow.
Our host the bear-slayer was of course consulted on our plans,
into which he entered warmly, entertaining no doubt of their being
practicable, although he assured us that no Zernetz hunter had ever
taken the route we had planned. Being himself unwell, he procured us a
strong youth, who knew the footpath up the lower part of Val Cluoza, to
act as porter.
The next morning broke grey and showery, and we delayed our start until
nearly 7 A.M., when we filed off across the meadows behind the village.
The Ofen road is left, and the Spöl crossed by a covered bridge, about
half a mile from Zernetz. From this point a cart-track leads up, first
amongst underwood, then through a pine-forest, to a brow overlooking
the narrow wooded gorge by which the stream of Val Cluoza finds a
way into the Spöl. The path through this ravine is a mere hunter's
track, overgrown by creeping pines, and almost destroyed in places by
torrents and earthslips. As it winds round the frequent gullies, at a
great height above the foaming torrent, the views are very striking,
whether the eye dips down into the ravine or rests on the opposite
mountain side--a mass of broken crag and wood. Close to the stump of an
old fir-tree, scored with numerous initials and dates, carved by the
hunters of the neighbourhood, the first view of the inner valley is
obtained. We saw before us a green glen covered by primeval forests,
and destitute of any signs of human habitation. The rugged crags and
scanty glacier of Piz Quatervals, the highest crest of this range, rose
at its head.
A screen of fir-logs was here raised across the track; this, we were
informed by our porter, was a hunter's lair, the situation of which
was determined by some herb, esteemed a special delicacy by Bruin,
growing close by, and often attracting him to the neighbourhood.
About two hours' walking from Zernetz, the path returns to the level
of the torrent, and recrosses to its left bank. After roaming on for
half an hour through fir-woods, where the trees seemed to decay and
fall unheeded, and the moss and lichens hung in long streamers from
the boughs, we crossed a small stream flowing from the glacier of Piz
Quatervals. Just beyond it we found a hunter's hut, a snug little den
built of pine-logs, with the interstices stuffed with moss, and fitted
inside with shelves and a bed. The clean solitary cabin, so unlike the
usual populous and filthy châlet, the dense pine-woods, the bold bare
peaks around, and, above all, the romantic flavour imparted to the
whole by the possibility of bears, gave an unusual zest to our midday
meal. From this point a mountaineer, not wishing to cross to Livigno,
can ascend Piz Quatervals, and descend through Val Trupchum, one of the
lateral valleys of the Engadine, to Scanfs or Zutz.[27]
Beyond the hut all definite path ceases. The character of the scenery
remains the same as far as the bifurcation, where Val Cluoza splits
into two utterly desolate glens, forcibly and appropriately named
the Valley of Rocks and the Valley of the Devil. The latter probably
offers the shortest way to Livigno; it seems also the wildest and most
striking of the two valleys. After the mouth of the Val del Sasso
has been passed, the Val del Diavel assumes a savage sublimity in
accordance with its name. Huge dolomitic cliffs--not so fantastically
broken as this rock often is, but stained with the strangest
colours--close in on all sides. In the bottom of the glen vegetation
entirely ceases, and the stream itself disappears, buried even in
September under the snow avalanches, which, falling in spring from
the impending crags, lie unmelted through the summer in these sunless
depths. Their hard consolidated surface affords an agreeable path, and
enables the explorer to avoid the rough boulders and advance rapidly
towards the barrier of mingled rock and snow which closes the view.
We had here an encounter with seventeen chamois, who were feeding
above us, until, disturbed by our shouts, they scampered off among the
wild crags which separated us from Val del Sasso. Only once, in the
Graians, had I seen a larger herd; but a meeting with small families
of three or four is to the climber a matter of daily occurrence. How
far chamois are from being 'nearly extinct,' as newspaper-writers and
tourists are apt to believe, may be judged from the following fact.
An old man of the name of J. Kung, who died last year at Scanfs, was
reported amongst his neighbours to have shot, besides eleven bears
and nine great eagles, 1,500 chamois. The larger figure may not be
strictly accurate, but its local acceptance bears sufficient witness to
the abundance of game which could alone render it credible. The eleven
bears I see no reason whatever to doubt. There is no lack of evidence
of the presence of these animals, and many stories are current about
their depredations. In the year of our visit the following anecdote
went the round of the Swiss press:--
A boy living at an alp close to the Passo di Verva came upon a bear
in the act of devouring one of his sheep. The young shepherd fell at
once upon the animal with his staff, but the bear was quite ready for
a round, and our David soon began to get the worst of it. When he ran
away the bear came after him. Pressed hard the boy leaped one of the
narrow clefts which the streams of this district often burrow through.
The pursuer blundered into the chasm and was found dead at the bottom.
Jenni, in getting out his telescope to inspect the herd, had laid down
his umbrella, an implement of enormous size and splendid colouring.
The Gamp was somehow forgotten, and, unless it has been discovered
by some fortunate hunter, probably remains to this day as a monument
of our passage. Down the rocky barrier already referred to the stream
from a glacier on the nameless summit marked 3,127 mètres on Dufour's
map pours in a waterfall. Mounting beside it we found ourselves on
the level of an elevated table-land, surrounded by rugged peaks, and
resembling, but on a much smaller scale, the interior of the horseshoe
of Primiero. At its further extremity was the low ridge in which
our pass lay. Advancing over beds of shale and snow, we soon came to
the foot of a small glacier, which we crossed, making for the lowest
portion of the ridge on the north-west of a tooth of rock which jutted
out conspicuously from its centre. A steep bank of snow had to be
climbed; this surmounted, our work was done, and we were looking away
to the west over the wild ranges which enclose Val Livigno. Deep below
us lay the head of Val Viera, ending in an amphitheatre of rock. The
descent into it was evidently steep. We found a way at first down
shale gullies; then came cliffs, much broken and presenting no serious
difficulty, although anyone who missed the right spot to take them
might easily get into trouble. Once beside the stream, we followed it
closely through the remains of avalanches. Val Viera soon bent abruptly
amidst the wildest rock scenery we had lately seen. Quaint red and grey
pinnacles of every variety of form rose above; pale, lemon-coloured
cliffs, stained by weather and spotted by the dark mouths of caves,
shut in the view, while, looking backward, the ridges from which we had
descended towered precipitously overhead. We were constantly arrested
by the fantastic and perpetually shifting character of the landscape.
At a second bend in the valley, where it turns back sharply to the
east, the path makes some ascent; but we encountered no difficulty, and
found some amusement in following the stream through a miniature gorge,
jumping from bank to bank as occasion required. When the crags retired
a little, the path rejoined us, and we met first some cows, then an
old woman gathering sticks, who was either dumb or rendered speechless
by fright at our sudden appearance. Travellers at Livigno at all are
few and far between; and as no human being had probably ever entered
the valley by our route, the old crone might well see in us a party of
gnomes descending from their rock castles on some errand of mischief.
When the picturesque ravine came suddenly to an end, we emerged without
any descent on to the broad meadows of Val Livigno, and, turning a
corner, saw the whole of its upper and inhabited portion before us.
The landscape had a distinctive and unusual character. The wide expanse
of the valley, its pervading greenness, the scanty fringe of forest,
clothing only the lowest hillsides, the glimpses of snow close at hand
suggested Norway rather than Italy. Yet nature, if no lavish, seems
a kindly friend to the peasantry of Livigno. No rude torrent tears up
their elastic turf, no avalanche-track scars the smooth hillsides, no
overshadowing mountain raises its bulk between the Diogeneses of the
valley and their sunshine. Behind the walls of dolomite which shut
them out from the nineteenth century, they spend in their remote tub
a quiet and patriarchal existence, of which the news that a mad dog
has been seen in a neighbouring valley is the greatest excitement. The
total population of the valley is said only to amount to 600 souls. The
figure seems small considering the number of houses which dot the broad
meadows. But the difficulty is explained when we find that each Livigno
farmer shifts his residence two or three times a year according as the
crops call for his attention. Half-an-hour's stroll over the softest
and smoothest of turf, on which all the croquet clubs in England might
find room to practise, brought us to the 'osteria' near the central
of the three churches, and just beyond the stream issuing from Val
Federia.
Even in its inn Livigno is conservative; that is, averse through
habit to all improvements not forced on it from without. The external
pressure appears here to be small; at any rate, the cottage which
receives strangers is the same now as it was twelve years ago. No
daring innovator, fired by the success of the next valley, has tapped
a mineral spring or borrowed money to build a guest-house. Nor have
the inhabitants as yet succeeded in grasping even the existence of
the mountaineering spirit, much less the profits to be gained from it.
When we announced our intention of crossing to Val Viola by the head
of Val Tressenda, the boy who had engaged to carry our provisions at
once demurred to having any part in so perilous an undertaking. He was
heartily supported by the patriarchs of the valley, who had gathered
to watch our preparations, and now quavered forth a chorus of which
'vedretta' and 'impossibile' formed the refrain. At its conclusion the
youth's father stepped forward, and in a solo recitative, illustrated
by appropriate gestures, forbad his son to peril his precious life, no
matter what the 'signori' might offer for his services. The difficulty
was only arranged by our giving a solemn pledge that the boy should
not be in any way tempted to enter on the horrible 'vedretta.' On this
understanding the parent consented to dismiss him with his blessing
and a huge baker's basket in which to stow away our small stock of
eatables.
As it turned out, we were not tempted to break our promise, for grass
and stone slopes lasted up to the gap we meant to cross. Four hours
after leaving the village we had planted our ice-axes in the snow-crest
of Monte Zembrasca, one of the highest summits of the range dividing
Val Livigno from Val Viola. From this mountain, despite its moderate
height--it is several hundred feet lower than Piz Languard--we enjoyed
a view more picturesque if less panoramic than the prospect from that
now famous belvedere. The peaks on the opposite side of Val Viola
surprised us by their fine forms and glaciers. The Cima di Piazza stood
up boldly as their leader, a noble mountain which almost persuaded
us to change our plans and rush off at once to its assault. West of
the green gap of the Passo di Verva rose a cluster of peaks about the
head of the Dosdè Glacier, and further distant we recognised the sharp
heads of the Teo and Sena, the former crowned by a stoneman of my own
building. The whole mass of the Orteler group, from the long zigzags of
the Stelvio road to the Gavia, was in sight. In the centre the black,
stumpy point of Monte Confinale was conspicuously thrown out against
the white snows of the Forno Glacier. Below us lay the two Val Violas
separated by broad, rolling pasturages.
The Swiss valley, or Val Viola Poschiavina, had just been the scene of
the one active exploit by virtue of which the Swiss forces could claim
to have taken part in the campaign of 1866. I tell the story as it was
told me.
Irregular troops were fighting on the Stelvio, and there seemed
a prospect of the Italians, if worsted, flying for refuge towards
Poschiavo. To prevent any violation of Swiss neutrality a considerable
force was stationed in the Engadine. Its head-quarters were at Samaden.
The large dining-room of the Engadiner Hof was just completed, and
it occurred to the inhabitants to celebrate the event by a banquet to
their brave officers. But scarcely had everyone sat down when a scout
entered with the, at the moment, particularly unpleasant news that a
Garibaldian force was advancing from Bormio. There was no help for the
officers: they had to saddle and away, taking with them their men, at
the greatest speed country carts could carry them.
La Rosa was fortunately reached before the invaders, but the force
had scarcely been carefully disposed so as to command the path, when
the enemy was caught sight of in the distance. Soon the glitter of
steel and the glow of red shirts could be distinguished through the
field-glasses: then for a few minutes the advancing band was hidden
behind a knoll. When it emerged again there was wrath among the
officers and mirth among the men. The supposed bayonets were short
scythes, the Garibaldians a party of Italian hay-cutters coming over on
their annual visit to the Engadine.
We spent the night near the head of the Val Viola Bormina, in the
principal châlet of the Dosdè Alp, a building of unusual size, and
boasting a staircase with an upper storey. The 'padrone' of the
establishment, a well-to-do native of Bormio, who lived for pleasure
on his alp during the summer months, volunteered to accompany us in
our attempt to find a direct passage over the Dosdè Glacier into Val
Grosina, a neglected but, in size at least, important side-glen of the
Val Tellina.
Favoured by a cold morning and hard snow, we reached in little more
than two hours the crest close to a little rock-turret conspicuous from
our night-quarters. At our feet lay Val Vermolera, one of the heads
of Val Grosina, a cheerful expanse of bright green woods and pastures
dotted with countless châlets.
Here we left the 'padrone,' greatly satisfied at having acquired a
knowledge of what lay behind the horizon of his daily life. Ambition
pushed us up to the nearest snow-top on our right, where we were
disappointed to find ourselves overlooked by a loftier summit to the
west, probably the Corno di Lago Spalmo of the Lombard map. It was
separated from us by a deep gap, offering a fine pass to the head of
Val Vermolera, which, on the south side, would lead over a glacier
unmarked in any map. The summit we had climbed is nameless, and I
shall not venture to anticipate the carefully-weighed decision of the
painstaking German, who will some day set himself to map and name the
peaks, passes, and glaciers of this remote corner.[28]
We soon slid down again to the gap at the eastern base of the turret. A
steep rock-wall cut us off from a snow-filled hollow. The difficulty,
such as it was, was soon over, and the rest of the descent was only
a trial for weak knees. A long hillside like that of the Monte Moro
was below us; the whole drop from the pass to the valley must be over
4,000 feet, and the distance is very small. For some time we followed
a stream, sometimes sliding down a snow-bed, sometimes stumbling over
rocky slopes. On the pasturages we found a track leading eastwards and
downwards. As we drew near the level of the valley the scenery became
very picturesque. On our right the river of Val Vermolera fell over
a rocky shelf in a fine fall. A few yards beyond a stone bridge over
a charmingly-wooded ravine we found a shady nook, tempting to a long
hour's siesta. It was very warm when we again set forward, but the
path was excellent and the valley delightful. After a time, however,
the woods came to an end, and we found ourselves amidst shadeless
hay-meadows. The way now grew stonier and hotter, and the scenery
somewhat monotonous. We were glad to reach a brow, whence we looked
down on the Val Tellina. A steep paved zigzag led us through chestnut
woods, past a dirty village, then through more chestnuts, fields
of Indian corn and vines, all overshadowed by the stern ruins of a
mediæval fortress. At last it fell into the straight, white Stelvio
road, midway between two campaniles which closed either vista. A few
minutes later we entered the shade of Grossotto, a little town gay with
new paint and Italian red, white and green, and blessed, at least in
our recollections, as the possessor of ripe fruit and Asti at a franc
a bottle.
FOOTNOTES:
[22] According to Herr Ziegler's map of the Lower Engadine,
the principal glacier of Val Lavinuoz is the Vadret Chama,
and the Vadret Tiatscha is a tributary ice-stream flowing
into it from the west. On the Federal map the Verstankla
Glacier is marked Winterthäli.
[23] The information is somewhat contradictory. Tschudi
speaks of a 'new path;' a writer in the last year's
publication of the German Alpine Club talks of the climb as
decidedly difficult.
[24] The summits of Piz Pisoc and Piz St. Jon are, as the
crow flies, 3,250 mètres apart; the bottom of the Scarl Thal
is 1,600 mètres, or about 5,400 ft. below them. The average
of the slopes on both sides the valley would be 45°.
[25] One of the sources of the Rhine is in Italy. The
pasturages of Val di Lei, a lateral glen of the Aversthal,
are pastured by Italian shepherds, and included within the
Italian frontier.
[26] See _The Grisons_, by Mrs. H. Freshfield. Longmans & Co.
[27] I ascended Piz Quatervals some years later from Val
Tantermuoza, a glen opening above Zernetz, and returned
to the Engadine by the way indicated above. The head of
Val Trupchum is very wild, but the walk as a whole is
disappointing.
[28] Herr Ziegler's map of S.E. Switzerland includes this
country. The scale is large, and the execution beautiful, but
the corrections introduced on the very inaccurate Lombard map
are but slight.