_THE BERNINA-SCHARTE._
The general reader may perhaps find the following description somewhat
dry; the climber may share his opinion. Having fairly warned both, and
promising to make my account as short as possible, I will now embark
upon it.
Piz Bernina is the highest mountain in the Grisons, a canton in which
climbing is rather neglected. It is a pity that more members of the
A.C. do not go there, especially now that several good guides are
available; but I am digressing already, so _revenons au Piz Bernina_.
This peak is frequently ascended by the ordinary route, but until last
summer seldom by any of the other lines of attack. The time has now
come, however, when the route by the “Scharte” is the most popular.
The first ascent of Piz Bernina by the “Scharte” was made in 1879 by
Dr. Güssfeldt, who considered it so difficult that he left a bottle
in the gap, with a notice inside it to the effect that he defied
any one to bring it down. But on August 6, 1883, Dr. Schultz, with
Alexander Burgener and C. Perren, repeated the expedition, and brought
Dr. Güssfeldt’s bottle back with them. Commenting on this, the _Alpine
Journal_ says: “We regret to say that this most dangerous expedition
was effected a fourth time in August 1884 (by Herren Zsigmondy and
Purtscheller without guides, who slept two nights on the way), and that
there is some talk of building a hut to facilitate the climb, though
we trust the scheme will never be carried out.” From this reputation
the route by the “Scharte” has gradually fallen--or risen, as I prefer
to call it--to what it is at present. In 1889 Mr. W. E. Davidson
wrote, “The Scharte is easy, the _arête_ a fine climb;” and now we
find that the excursion has been undertaken twelve times alone under
Martin Schocher’s guidance. The route having now lost its terrors, an
account of an ascent may interest that section of our country-folk who
propose following in our footsteps. I had often thought of making the
expedition, but had taken no definite steps towards accomplishing it,
till one day I heard that a party had just returned from descending
Piz Bernina by this route. “Now,” thought I, “here is my opportunity.
The steps are made, the mountain is known to be in good order, why
not start at once?” But the elements were against me. No sooner did we
reach the Misaun Alp than a terrific thunderstorm burst upon us, and
farther advance was impossible. Nor could we renew our attempt, for
heavy snow fell, and climbing was at an end for that season. But the
following year I returned to the attack, and though the weather nearly
checkmated me again, we contrived to carry our plans through with
success.
On this occasion we took up our quarters for the night under a boulder
about an hour and a half farther than the Roseg restaurant. We set out
in perfect weather, but towards evening clouds drifted up, and as the
sky gradually became more and more obscured, our spirits sank lower and
lower, till at midnight, when the guides relit the fire, an ominous
drip-drip-drip on the boards which we had propped up against the
boulder as a shelter from the wind, caused a feeling akin to despair to
steal over us. Weibel indulged in a few forcible expressions towards
the elements, while Schocher and I made tea and gloomily discussed the
situation. Of course, the Bernina by the Scharte in bad weather was out
of the question for prudent people like ourselves; still we did not
wish to return whence we came. We had almost resolved, “if the worst
came to the worst,” to stretch our limbs by crossing Piz Morteratsch
to the Boval hut, when a brilliant idea came to me. “Schocher,” I said,
“let us go up Piz Prievlusa!” Now, I must here state that the route for
this peak (which up to now has been but once ascended) is the same for
a considerable distance as that for the Prievlusa Saddle, and to the
Prievlusa Saddle we had to go for the Bernina-Scharte. Schocher jumped
at my suggestion, and no sooner was our plan decided on than the rain
saw fit to stop. The sky, however, was still darkened by clouds, though
every now and then a star shone out from a ragged hole in the mists.
We collected our baggage, put the rugs and saucepan in a heap for the
porter to fetch down later in the day, and at 1.15 A.M. were off. I
must say that my hopes of getting up the Bernina were at a low ebb,
the only feeling I associate with the occasion being one of drowsy
stubbornness--in fact, a sensation of walking as in a dream, I knew not
whither.
As we neared the mountain, and dawn came on apace, cloud-banners were
seen drifting wildly from the sharp and jagged crest. Weibel pointed
to them, exclaiming that we could never pass along the ridge in such
a wind; but Schocher, after examining the flying clouds with care,
pronounced them of no importance, as they were blowing down, and
not across the ridge. I was much struck with the skill he showed in
coming to this conclusion, which, later on, turned out to be perfectly
accurate.
By daybreak we had a large expanse of blue over our heads, and though
fleecy clouds clung to most of the neighbouring summits, the Bernina
remained persistently clear, save for an occasional shred of mist
streaming from the upper rocks. At 5.30 we gained the pass between Piz
Prievlusa and Pizzo Bianco, known as the Fuorcla Prievlusa. Making our
way to the Morteratsch side, we sat in the welcome rays of the sun on a
rocky ledge at the top of a grand wall, up the face of which the pass
is reached from the Boval side. Here we breakfasted, and then continued
our way towards Piz Bernina. The first bit of the ridge, until the
rocks were gained, was the most unpleasant piece of work we encountered
during the whole climb. The snow here was in bad order, the step from
it on to the rocks was awkwardly steep and long, and I, for one, was
glad to get my foot on to a more solid surface, and to profit by the
good handhold available. The rock _arête_ affords pleasant climbing,
but from the point where it ceases to the summit of Pizzo Bianco
is a long grind over snow. Every step had to be cut, and Schocher
hacked almost without ceasing till we reached the Pizzo Bianco, from
where the really interesting portion of the ascent commences. An hour
or so earlier we had seen another party rapidly mounting the snow
slopes below the Fuorcla. It consisted of Messrs. Scriven and West,
accompanied by Peter Dangl of Sulden and a local guide, by name Joos
Grass. The latter, oddly enough, I had met on a previous ascent of the
Bernina by the ordinary route; both on that occasion and the climb I
am now writing of he impressed me favourably. This party had spent the
night at the inn in the Rosegthal, which they had not left till 3 A.M.
After nearly an hour’s halt on Pizzo Bianco, we once more got under
weigh, and, as we were starting, the others joined us, and paused in
their turn for a meal on the point we were quitting. I had thus the
pleasure of traversing a narrow rock ridge with four critical pairs of
eyes watching my awkward movements from a first-rate point of view.
Fain would I have clung on with my hands; my pride obliged me to walk
uprightly whenever such a mode of progression was at all possible. I
had a sneaking conviction that there was hardly a single place where,
not only was it possible, but even tolerably easy, and that the sense
of obligation was good discipline in forcing me to strive after better
“form” than usual.
The descent into the “Scharte” (or cleft in the _arête_) proved simple
enough, with the knowledge that until I reached the bottom Schocher
was bestriding the ridge above, and was “_ganz fest_.” He followed
with ease and rapidity, and turning the party the other way on, began
to cut steps round the great rocky tower which here bars the ridge.
The _couloir_ was ice throughout, and we spent a lot of time before we
were clear of it at the foot of the final peak of the Bernina. Climbing
up this without difficulty, though delayed somewhat by the fresh snow
overlying the rocks, we reached the top at 10.30, the other party
following immediately in our wake.
The weather, which had behaved better than we had dared to hope, now
gave up the paths of virtue, and a thick mist, with lightly falling
snow, hid everything at more than a few yards’ distance from our view.
However, we had reached our goal, and the clouds could now do their
worst without endangering our return. So after half an hour’s halt, we
started off in a cheerful frame of mind for Boval. How we scrambled
down the _arête_, glissaded over the snow-fields, and raced through the
Labyrinth, need not be told. We got to Boval early in the afternoon in
steady and soaking rain, and astonished the people at the restaurant by
dropping down upon them out of the clouds from Piz Bernina. So ended
our day’s excursion.