A NIGHT ADVENTURE ON THE DENT BLANCHE
Mr Cecil Slingsby has kindly allowed me to extract the following
admirable account of a guideless ascent with two friends of the Dent
Blanche. It will be noticed that during a very cold night they "avoided"
their "brandy-flask like poison." When a climber is exhausted and help
is near a flask of brandy is invaluable, but when a party has to spend a
bitterly cold night in the open, it is madness to touch spirits at all.
The effect of a stimulant is to quicken the action of the heart and
drive the blood with increased rapidity to the surface. Here it is
continually cooled, and before long the heart finds it has to work
double hard to keep up the circulation. Therefore to take brandy in
order to resist the cold for hours together is like stirring up a cup of
hot fluid, whereby fresh surfaces are continually brought in contact
with the air and cooled with far greater rapidity than if left quiet.
The best companion a climber can have during a night out above the
snow-line is a small spirit-lamp. With this he can amuse and fortify
himself at intervals, melting snow and making tea or soup, which will be
of real help in enabling the party to pass without injury through the
ordeal. Doctors and climbers of experience will, I know, bear out what I
say. The truth of it was once more shown not very long ago under the
following circumstances:
[Illustration: PROVISIONS FOR A MOUNTAIN HOTEL. By Royston Le Blond.
_To face p. 152._]
[Illustration: THE DENT BLANCHE FROM THE THEODULE GLACIER IN SUMMER.]
[Illustration: AN OUTLOOK OVER ROCK AND SNOW.]
[Illustration: THE DENT BLANCHE FROM THE SCHWARZSEE IN WINTER.]
In August 1902 two French tourists with a guide and a porter set out to
ascend Mont Blanc. The weather became very bad, nevertheless they
pressed on, hoping to reach that veritable death-trap, the Vallot Hut.
In this they failed, and as the hour was late they took the fatal course
of digging a hole in the snow in which to pass the night. They were
provided with brandy, and, doubtless in ignorance of the results it was
sure to cause, they shared all they had. Both travellers died before
morning, and the guides then attempted to descend to Chamonix. They seem
to have been dazed, and to have lost their heads, and within a few
minutes of each other each fell into a crevasse. The porter was killed
on the spot, the guide was rescued, but little injured, after six hours'
imprisonment.
Will people ever realise that Mont Blanc, by reason of the very facility
by which it may be ascended, is the most dangerous mountain a beginner
can ascend? He is almost certain to chance on incompetent guides, and
these, if the weather becomes bad, have not the moral force--indeed a
first-class man would have something even more compelling--to insist on
an immediate return. The size of the mountain is so great that to be
lost on it is a risk a really good guide would simply refuse to face.
To turn now to Mr Slingsby's narrative. His party had reached the
_arête_ of the Dent Blanche without incident, and he writes:
"The rocks on the crest of the ridge were in perfect order. The day was
magnificent, and there was not the remotest sign of a storm. Climbers
who were on neighbouring mountains on this day all speak of the fine
weather. My friend, Mr Eric Greenwood, who was on the Rothhorn, told me
that that peak was in capital condition, but that there was a strong
N.W. wind blowing at the top. We had perfect calm. Mr Greenwood stopped
on the snow _arête_ till a late hour in the afternoon, taking
photographs, and neither his guides nor he had the slightest expectation
of a thunderstorm.
"We stuck faithfully to the ridge, and climbed up, and as nearly as
possible over, each point as we reached it, because of the ice which
shrouded the rocks almost everywhere on the west face.
"We were forced on to the face of one little pinnacle, and had to use
the greatest care.
"Nowhere did we come to any place where we felt that our powers were
overtaxed; still, the work was difficult, though not supremely so.
"A few days later I met Mr Conway at Breuil, and I asked him what he
meant in this case by the term, 'following the _arête_.' His
interpretation, which is rather an elastic one, is this: 'Climb over the
pinnacles if it is convenient to do so. If not convenient, shirk them by
passing below their western bases.' This latter method was most probably
impracticable on the occasion of our ascent, which fully accounts for
the great difference between Mr Conway's 'times' and our own, as we
certainly climbed at least as quickly as an average party on the Dent
Blanche during the whole of our ascent.
"The time sped merrily and quickly by, and the difficulties decreased as
we hastened onward. Just as we left the last rocks a light filmy cloud,
sailing up from the north, hovered for an instant over the top of the
mountain, and then settled upon it; otherwise, though it had then become
exceedingly cold, the sky was clear and the day perfect, and we could
not help comparing our good fortune with that of those early climbers
who fought their way upwards, step by step, against most ferocious
gales.
"After some tiring step-cutting on the gentler slopes above the rocks,
which, like the west face, were sheathed in ice, we reached at last the
south end of the little flat ridge which forms the summit of the Dent
Blanche, where a small flagstaff is usually to be seen. Here there was
an enormous snow cornice which overhung the eastern side. The little
cloud merely clung to the cornice on the ridge, and evidently had no
malice in it at all. None of us put down the time at which we reached
the top. One of us thinks that it was just after four o'clock, but the
memory of the two others is clear that it was between three and four; at
any rate, of this we are all agreed, that it was not so late as 4.12,
the hour when the author of _Scrambles in the Alps_ reached the summit
in bad weather. My watch, being out of order, was left at Zermatt.
"We left directly, and in less than a minute were out of the little
cloud, which was uncommonly cold, and again we revelled in bright
sunshine. We were under no apprehension of danger, nor had we any reason
whatever to be anxious, as our way was clear enough: there was no doubt
about that. We were in capital training, and we had, most certainly, a
sufficiency of daylight still left to allow us to get well beyond every
difficulty upon the mountain. Moreover, Solly, with his usual
instinctive thoughtfulness, carried a lantern in his pocket, and we had
left another lower down. Thus we had a most reasonable expectation of
reaching the Stockje that evening, and Zermatt early the next morning.
[Illustration: The hut on the Col de Bertol, where climbers now often
sleep for the ascent of the Dent Blanche. By Mr. Leonard Rawlence.]
[Illustration: A party ascending the Aiguilles Rouges (Arolla). The
people can be seen on the sky-line to the left, at the top of the white
streak. By Mr. Leonard Rawlence.]
[Illustration: The summit of the Dent Blanche. By Mr. Leonard Rawlence.]
[Illustration: Cornice on the summit of the Dent Blanche. By Mr. Leonard
Rawlence.
_To face p. 156._]
"When we had come down for about an hour, we saw an occasional flash of
lightning playing about the Aiguilles Rouges d'Arolla. This was the
first indication that we had of foul weather. Soon afterwards a dark
cloud crept up ominously over the shoulder of Mont Collon, and on to the
Pigne d'Arolla. Still no cloud seemed to threaten us, but we hurried on
very quickly.
"On arriving at the col, just above the great rock tower, we turned down
a little gully on the west face. Here, though the work was exceedingly
difficult, we lost no time whatever, and undoubtedly we chose the best
route. The storm, meanwhile, had crossed over the east Arolla ridge, and
we saw the lightning flashing about the Aiguille de la Za and Dent
Perroc, and the clouds, as they advanced, grew more and more angry
looking.
"We were advancing as quickly as the nature of the ground would allow on
a buttress which supports the great tower on the west. It was then about
six o'clock. We had, at the most, only 150 feet of difficult ground to
get over, when a dark and dense cloud fell upon us, and it became,
suddenly and almost without any warning, prematurely dark. Our axes
emitted electric sparks, or rather faint but steady little flames, on
both the adze and pick part; so also did our gloves, the hair of which
stood out quite straight. A handkerchief, which I had tied over my hat,
was like a tiara of light. This was very uncanny, but still deeply
interesting. The sparks, when touched by the bare hand or the cheek,
gave out no heat. There was no hissing to be heard on our axes or on the
rocks, but Solly felt a sort of vibration about the spectacles which
were on his forehead that he did not at all like, so he put them under
his hat.
"Under ordinary circumstances we should have put away our axes until the
storm should had passed away. Of course we did not do this, nor indeed
would any other member of the Alpine Club have done so if he had had the
good fortune to be with us. We wished to get across the 150 feet which
was the only difficulty yet remaining before us. Each one of us was
quite capable of undertaking the work, and, in spite of the unusual
darkness, we had sufficient light for the purpose.
"Solly was leading across a difficult bit of rock, and clearing away the
ice; Haskett-Smith was paying out the rope as required; I was perched
firmly at the bottom end of a narrow and steep ledge round the corner of
a crag above them with the rope firmly hitched. We were all working
steadily and most carefully, and hoped in a few minutes to clear our
last difficulty. All at once the whole mountain side seemed to be
ablaze, and at the same time there was a muzzled, muffled, or suppressed
peal of thunder, apparently coming out of the interior of the
mountain--so much so that, if a great crevice had been opened in the
rocks and fire had burst out from it, we should hardly have been more
surprised than we were. Solly and Haskett-Smith each exclaimed, 'My axe
was struck,' and each of them, naturally enough, let his axe go. Where
to none knew. Solly, describing this, says, 'At the moment I was
standing with my face towards the mountain, with my right arm stretched
out, feeling for a firm foothold with my axe, which I held just under
its head. For perhaps a minute the lightning was coming very fast; then
came the noise, and I saw a curve of flame on the head of my axe. I
involuntarily let it go. The whole place seemed one blaze of light, and
I could distinguish nothing. The thought that rushed through my mind
was--Am I blinded? the intensity of the light was so terrible. It is
difficult to put such events in any order of time; but I think the noise
or explosion came first, before the blaze of light, and the light seemed
to flicker as if a series of flashes were coming. I hardly know whether
my body or any part of my clothing was actually struck. My axe certainly
was, and I think the rocks just by me were.'
"Haskett-Smith said that his neck was burnt, and we saw later that a
dark-brown band, an inch and a quarter wide, had been burnt exactly half
way round his neck. I was untouched. All the sparks disappeared with
the flash.
"Now the matter was serious enough, as we had only one axe, and we felt
that we had had a most providential escape. There is little doubt that,
if this had occurred upon the crest of the ridge above us, the electric
current would have been much stronger, and the consequences much worse.
"My two companions then climbed up to the little ledge where I was
sitting, to wait at least until the storm should pass away. Whilst Solly
was doing this, a tremendous gust of wind swept up from the N.W., and
nearly carried him off his feet.
"The storm lasted much longer than we expected it to do, and by the time
it had vanished it was quite dark. All climbers will readily agree with
me when I say that the storm, seen from such a point of view, where the
mountain forms are so wild, and their guardian glaciers so vast and
glittering, was indescribably grand--so much so that, even under our
circumstances, there was a kind of grim enjoyment which we could not
help feeling.
"I put my axe upon a higher ledge for safety's sake. When the storm had
gone by we took stock of our goods. Solly had a lantern. We each had two
shirts, scarfs, and unusually warm clothing. We had plenty of food, some
cold tea, and a flask of brandy. We knew well that we must stop where we
were until morning. It was hard luck certainly, as there was only one
narrow prison moat between us and freedom. Once over these 150 feet, we
could have reached the Stockje by lantern light. Of this I am certain.
But no man living could cross the moat except in daylight.
"Haskett-Smith, who is a marvellous man for making all sort of hitches,
knots, and nooses, managed to get a capital hitch for our rope, and
lashed us to the rock most skilfully. The ledge was steep, and varied
from 1½ to 2 feet wide. As we could not sit back to back, which is the
best plan when possible, we did the next best thing, and sat, squatted,
or leaned, face to back. Solly, who sat at the bottom, had a loose piece
of friable rock which supported one foot. I was in the middle, with my
knees up to my chin, on a steep slope, but was supported by Solly's back
and by a singularly sharp little stone on which I squatted.
Haskett-Smith leaned with his back against a corner, and with his knees
against my back. Each of us had a rücksack, which helped to keep out the
cold. We made a good meal of potted meat, bread, chocolate, and an
orange, and left a box of sardines and other food for the morning.
"Several short but heavy snow and hail showers fell after the
thunderstorm had subsided, but we were thankful that there was no rain.
The wind got up too, and whistled wildly through the crags above us.
Fortunately, a screen of rock above our ledge partly sheltered us. We
faced a grim and grisly little pinnacle on the west face of the
mountain, which became, hour after hour, if possible, more ghostly. How
we did hate it, to be sure. A light in a châlet near Ferpécle shone like
a beacon for some hours, which was a pleasant contrast to the near view
of the ghost, but it seemed to be a terribly long way off. We kept up
our spirits capitally, and from previous experience I, at least, knew
how thankful we ought to be that no member of our party was of a
pessimistic turn of mind. At the same time, we were fully aware how
serious the matter was, but we were determined to get well through it,
helped, we trusted, by a power not our own.
"Our greatest trouble during the night arose from the consciousness that
Mr Schuster, Herr Seiler, and other friends at Zermatt would be very
anxious about us, and we often spoke of it with regret.
"We were most careful to keep moving our hands and feet all the night,
and, though the temptation to indulge in sleep was very great, we denied
ourselves this luxury. After two o'clock an increased vigilance was
necessary, as the sky became clearer, and the cold much more intense. Mr
Aitkin's guides, who were then bivouacking above the Stockje,
'complained much of the cold.' We probably suffered less than they did,
as, at our great altitude, the air was doubtless much drier than below.
At the same time, gentlemen who were occupying comfortable beds in
luxurious hotels in the Vispthal thought the night was unusually warm.
Haskett-Smith imagined the whole night that Solly was another member of
the A.C., and invariably addressed him by the wrong name. This
hallucination was, no doubt, the result of the electric shock.
"Shortly before 5 A.M. we opened our sardine-box, which was no easy
task, as our outer gloves were like iron gauntlets. We made a good meal
of petrified fish, frozen oranges, and bread. We avoided our
brandy-flask like poison on the whole expedition.
"We soon discovered the lost axes below us, half embedded in hard snow.
Then we began to move. Solly took my axe, and with much difficulty, and
at the expense of a good deal of time, cut down to and recovered one of
the missing ones. We found, however, that it was then far too cold, and
we were too benumbed to work safely, so we returned to our ledge again
until eight o'clock. Long before this hour the ghostly pinnacle was
gilded by the morning sun, and, if possible, we hated it more than ever,
as no warm rays could reach the place where we were for hours to come.
On telling several of the leading guides in Zermatt about waiting until
eight o'clock on the ledge, they all said that it was quite early
enough for us to move after spending a night out in the cold, and that
they had done exactly the same under similar circumstances. We were sure
we were right; still their testimony is valuable. Messrs Kennedy and
Hardy, when they had their 'Night Adventure on the Bristenstock,' say
they were 'obliged to stamp about for some twenty minutes in order to
restore circulation, or we should not have had sufficient steadiness to
have continued our descent in safety.' Well, these gentlemen had neither
waistcoats nor neckties, and had only a lump of bread and one bottle of
wine. We were at least well fed and warmly clad, but we had no room to
stamp about. Having now two axes, we were able to work again with
renewed confidence in our powers. We saw the third axe lying half
imbedded in the snow a long way below us, and about a rope's length from
some firm rocks. The hail and snow, which had partly covered the rocks,
increased the difficulty, and the ice in which we had to cut steps was
unusually hard. In fact, our 150 feet were gained with much difficulty,
and, by the exercise of great caution and severe labour, at last, after
much time and manoeuvring, we recovered the third axe, and were indeed
happy.
"Two minutes later we stood in bright sunshine, and such was its
invigorating power that in ten minutes all our stiffness had vanished.
My hat blew off here, and rolled on its stiffened brim at a tremendous
pace down a couloir of ice. Fortunately, I had a woollen helmet which
Miss Richardson had knitted for me. We hastened on very quickly in order
to relieve, as soon as possible, the anxiety which we well knew our
friends at Zermatt were enduring.
"When on the snow ridge between points 3912 mètres and 3729 mètres we
heard voices far below us on the west, and soon saw what we knew
afterwards to be Mr Aitkin, Imboden, and a porter. They had abandoned
their intention of climbing the Dent Blanche 'on account of bad
weather.' Indeed, Miss Richardson, who had spent the night at the
Stockje, was told by Imboden that 'in such weather it would be
impossible, and probably would remain so for a day or two; therefore,
they might as well go to Ferpécle and do another col the next day.'
"Seeing that the party were above the route to Ferpécle, we knew at once
that they were looking for us. Imboden shouted out to us, 'Where do you
come from?' We pointed to the Dent Blanche, and they immediately turned
towards Zermatt, and we only missed them by about five minutes at the
usual breakfast place.
"Now, as we knew that there was no need for us to hurry, we rested, and
made a most hearty breakfast, as we had left on the rocks a whole
chicken, some ham, bread, plums, and a bottle of white wine.
"On crossing the glacier to the Wandfluh rocks our axes and rücksacks
hissed like serpents for a long time, while we saw in the distance the
storm which overtook Mr Macdonald on the Lyskamm that very morning; and
none of us liked the renewal of electric energy, which may well be
believed. A heavy mist also threatened us. Mr Aitkin had a similar
experience to ours.
"We descended by way of the Wandfluh, and above the Stockje untied the
rope which we had had on for thirty-eight hours; and such is the virtue
of the Alpine knot that we were as firmly tied at the end of this time
as we were when we first put on the rope.
"On the Zmutt Glacier we bathed our hands repeatedly in the glacier
pools as a safeguard against possible frost-bites with entirely
satisfactory results. On the glacier we were delighted to meet Mr E. T.
Hartley, who welcomed us most warmly, and told us of the anxiety of our
friends; he, however, and one good lady in Zermatt said all the time
that we should return safe and sound again. Just off the glacier we met
three porters provided with blankets and provisions sent by the kind
thoughtfulness of Mr Schuster and Herr Seiler.
"We rested at the Staffel Alp, where we had some most refreshing tea,
and reached Zermatt in the evening."