THE STORY OF A BIG JUMP
Through the kindness of Dr Kennedy, I am enabled to reprint from his new
edition of _The Alps in 1864_, by the late Mr A. W. Moore, an admirable
account of the first passage of the Col de la Pilatte in Dauphiné. This
expedition has become classical, thanks to Mr Whymper's fine description
of it,[9] so it is interesting to read what impression the adventures of
the day made on another member of the party. The first part of the
expedition was easy, but, wrote Mr Moore, "before getting near the foot
of the couloir, we had something to do in threading a way up and through
the huge chasms into which the glacier was broken. Croz was here
thoroughly in his element, and led the way with great skill and
determination, passing one obstacle after another, and bearing gradually
to the left towards the enemy. At every step we took, it became more
apparent that nature had never intended any one to pass this way, and
had accordingly taken more than usual pains to render the approach to
the couloir difficult and dangerous. Below the highest _bergschrund_
were a series of smaller ones, arranged systematically one above the
other, stretching completely across a very steep slope, so that they
could not be turned, but must each in succession be attacked _en face_.
Fortunately at this early period of the season, and with so much snow,
the difficulty was less considerable than it would have been under other
circumstances, and, exercising every precaution, we finally passed the
last of the outer lines of defence, and had nothing but a short steep
slope between us and the final _schrund_, above which the couloir rose
more unfriendly than ever, as we approached it nearer. I had been sorely
puzzled in my mind how we were going to get across this chasm, as from
below it appeared to have a uniform width of about 10 feet, the upper
edge, as usual, much higher than the lower, and no visible bridge at any
point. On getting up to it, however, we found that on the extreme right
it had been choked by a considerable mass of snow, the small remains of
which at one point formed a narrow, rotten, and most insecure bridge,
over which Croz cautiously passed, and made himself firm in the soft
snow above. Walker, Whymper, Mons. Renaud, myself, and Almer, then
followed, as if we were treading on eggs, and all got safely over, much
to our relief, as there really appeared no small chance of the bridge
going to grief before we were all across, which would have been awkward
for those on the wrong side.
"It was just 9.30 when we fairly took to this extraordinary gully,
which, above the _bergschrund_ was certainly not more than 12 feet wide,
and gradually narrowed in its upward course. For the first few steps we
trod in a sufficiency of soft snow in good condition, but, to our
dismay, this soon sensibly diminished both in quantity and quality,
until at last there was nothing but the old, disgusting, powdery snow
resting on hard ice. The axe accordingly came into play; but if steps
were cut of the ordinary size, we should never get to the top till
night, so Croz just hacked out sufficient space for the feet to cling
to, and worked away as fast as possible, cautioning us emphatically to
look out, and to hold on well with our axes while each step was being
cut. Another argument in favour of rapid progress arose from the
palpable danger in which we were. The centre of the couloir was occupied
by a deeply-scored trough, evidently a channel for stones and
avalanches, while the space on either side was so narrow that in case of
a large fall we could scarcely expect to escape unharmed. Looking up to
see what was likely to come down, we discovered at the very head of the
couloir a perpendicular or slightly overhanging wall of _névé_, some 30
feet in height, and lower down, projecting over the rocks on our left,
an enormous mass of icicles, on which the sun was playing, and, of
course, momentarily loosening their tenure to the rocks. At the moment
we were exactly in the line which they must follow, if they fell, as
they evidently would before long, so we lost no time in crossing the
stone channel to the other side, where the great mass was scarcely
likely to come, and we might probably ward off any stray fragments. I
received a lively hint as to the effect of a _large_ mass of ice coming
suddenly down on one's head, by the effect of a blow from a
comparatively small piece, which Croz hewed out from one of the steps.
Being so far down in the line, it had time to gain momentum before it
struck me, which it did on the head with such violence that for a few
moments I felt quite sick and stupid. The incident will give a very good
idea of the steepness of the slope on which we were. I had too much to
think of to measure it with a clinometer, but it was certainly steeper
than any part of the couloir leading to the Col des Ecrins, the greatest
inclination of which was 54°. At one point a little water trickled over
the rocks, which the two front men managed to get a suck at, but those
behind were out of reach, and the footing was too precarious for more
than a minute's halt, not to mention occasional volleys of small stones
which shot by us, and might be the precursors of large ones. I don't
think that I ever experienced a greater feeling of insecurity than
during the whole of this ascent, which was unavoidably long. What with
the extreme steepness of the slope, and the necessary vagueness of the
steps, which were made additionally unsafe by the powdery snow which
filled them up as soon as they were cut, I felt that a slip was a by no
means unlikely contingency, and was glad enough upon occasions to find
Almer's hand behind, giving me a friendly push whenever a particularly
long stride had to be made. When we were nearing the top, our attention
was attracted by a tremendous uproar behind us, and, looking round, we
were just in time to see a prodigious avalanche falling over the cliffs
of the Pic de Bonvoisin, on the other side of the valley. It was at
least a quarter of a mile in length, and many minutes elapsed before the
last echoes of its fall died away. We were now so near the great
snow-wall that it was time to begin to circumvent it; so, crossing the
couloir again, we clambered up the rocks on that side in order to get
out of it, hoping to be able from them to get on to the main ridge to
the left of the wall, which itself was quite impassable. As Almer had
expected, the snow was here very thin over the rocks, and what little
there was, was converted into ice, so that the climbing was most
difficult and perilous, and we had no small trouble to get on at all.
However, we managed to scramble up, and found ourselves overlooking a
gully running parallel, and of a similar character, to the one we had
been ascending, but free from snow and ice, and much more precipitous.
On our side it was quite impossible to get on to the main ridge as an
impracticable rock rose above our heads, and it was, therefore,
necessary to step across this second couloir. I never made a nastier
step; the stride was exceedingly long, there was nothing in particular
to stand on, and nothing at all but a smooth face of rock to hold on by,
so that we had literally to trust to the natural adhesiveness of our
hands. Fortunately, there was sufficient rope to allow the man in front
to cross and get on to the main ridge, and make himself fast before his
successor followed, so we attacked the difficulty in turn. I got over
somehow, but did not like it at all; lifted myself on to the ridge,
Almer followed, and at 10.45 A.M., the Col was gained.
"During our ascent of the couloir, the weather, though doubtful, had not
been unfavourable, but, just as we got on to the ridge, a cloud swooped
down, and enveloped us in its dense folds, and at the same moment it
began to snow violently. Luckily Croz, who was first on the top, had
been able to satisfy himself that we _were_ above the Glacier de la
Pilatte, and got a glimpse of what lay between us and it; but the state
of the atmosphere was, nevertheless, sufficiently disappointing, as we
were unable to fix with accuracy the exact position of our gap with
reference to the peak of Les Bans, and the highest point of the Boeufs
Rouges, or to determine its height. From the Brèche de la Meije, we had
seen clearly that we were then considerably lower than any point on the
ridge south of the Glacier de la Pilatte, and, taking this into
consideration, together with the apparent height of our gap, seen from
the valley below, we estimated the height of the Col, which we proposed
to call Col de la Pilatte, at about 11,500 feet. It is certainly not
much below this, and is, therefore, probably the highest pass yet
effected in the Dauphiné Alps.
[Illustration: A VERY TAME BERGSCHRUND. By Mr. Leonard Rawlence.]
[Illustration: HOMEWARD OVER THE SNOW-SLOPES.]
"It was no less provoking to have missed the view of the Ecrins and
Ailefroide, which we had expected to be particularly fine. But there was
no help for it, and no prospect of immediate improvement; so, without
halting for a minute, we commenced the descent in the same order as
before. All we could see was a steep ice-wall, stretching downwards from
our feet, the actual ridge not being more than a couple of feet wide.
What was the length of the wall, or what lay below it, we could not
discover, but had a shrewd suspicion that we should anyhow find a
considerable _bergschrund_. Croz steered to the left, and began cutting
steps diagonally downwards. The snow was in a much worse condition than
it had been in the couloir; there was more of it, but it was so
exceedingly soft, that our feet pressed through it to the hard ice, as
though it had been water, and we were very rarely able to trust to it
without cutting a step. We should have been better pleased had there
been no snow at all, as the whole slope, the angle of which was about
50°, was in just the proper condition for an avalanche. I never saw
Almer so nervous, and with reason; for, as he himself said, while he
implored us not to move from one step into another before we felt that
one foot at least was secured, this was just one of those places where
no amount of skill on the part of Croz or himself could entirely prevent
the chance of a serious accident. It was a wonder how we did manage to
stick to some of the steps, the objectionable character of which was
increased from their being cut along the side of the slope, a position
in which it is always more difficult to get from one to the other than
when they are cut straight up or down. As we got lower down there was
more snow, which, though softer than ever, was so steep that we could
tread tolerably secure steps on it, by help of which we worked down,
until we found ourselves brought up short on the upper edge of the
expected _bergschrund_. Croz had hoped to hit this at a point where it
was partially choked, but he was disappointed, as the chasm yawned below
us, entirely unbridged. A glance right and left showed that there was no
more assailable point within reach, so Croz gave out the unwelcome
intelligence that if we wished to get over we must jump and take our
chance. The obstacle appeared to be about 10 feet wide, of uncomfortable
depth, and the drop from the upper to the lower edge about 15 feet. From
the lower edge the glacier sloped away, only less steep than the wall on
which we were, of which it was a continuation, but cut off by this
sudden break. There was, however, so much soft snow that we should fall
easy, and the only difficulty, therefore, was to take a sufficiently
fair spring to clear the chasm; for, good as I believed my rope to be, I
should have been sorry to see any one suspended by it, with a sudden
jerk, over such a gulf as that we had beneath us. Walker was untied, so
as to give rope enough to Croz, who then boldly sprung over, and landed
heavily on the lower edge in the snow, where he stood to receive the
rest of the party. Walker followed, and then Whymper, leaving Mons.
Renaud, myself, and Almer above. Mons. Renaud advanced to the edge,
looked, hesitated, drew back, and finally declared that he could not
jump it; he felt perfectly convinced that he should be unable to clear
the distance, and should jump in instead of over. We encouraged him,
but without effect, and at last proposed to lower him down, when the
others would hook hold of his legs somehow and pull him across. Almer
and I, therefore, made our footing as secure as possible, anchored
ourselves with our axes, and made all ready to lower our friend, but his
courage failed him at the last moment, and he refused to go. We were now
obliged to use stronger arguments, as it was snowing fast, and time was
passing, so we pointed out that, if we wished to return ever so much, we
could not get the others back across the _schrund_, and that, in point
of fact, there was no chance--over he _must_ go. Again did he advance to
the edge, again draw back, but finally, with a despairing groan, leaped,
and just landed clear of the chasm, but, instead of letting his rope
hang loose, he held it in one hand, and thereby nearly pulled me over
head foremost. Then came my turn, and I must confess that, when I stood
in the last step from which I had to spring, I did not like the look of
the place at all, and, in fact, felt undeniably nervous. But I had not
been one of the least backward in objurgating Mons. Renaud, so felt
constrained to manifest no hesitation myself, whatever might be my
private feelings. I, therefore, threw over my axe and spectacles,
gathered myself up, and took the leap. The sensation was most peculiar.
I had not the faintest idea whether I should or should not clear the
chasm, but the doubt was soon solved by my landing heavily on the
further side, rather to the right of the rest of the party. The heavy
load on my back sent me forwards on my face, and I shot down the slope
with tremendous velocity, head foremost, until I was suddenly stopped by
the tightening round my waist of the rope, the other end of which was
held by Almer above. My first impression was, that half my ribs were
crushed in; as it was, my wind was so completely bagged by the severity
of the jerk that I could not speak, but laughed hysterically, until
nature's bellows had replenished my unlucky carcass. The incident was so
far satisfactory that it showed the enormous strength of the rope, and
also how severe a shock a man like Almer, standing in a most insecure
position, can bear unmoved when he is prepared for it. My weight,
unloaded, is 10½ stone, and the strain on the rope was certainly nearly
as great as though I _had_ jumped into the crevasse. Almer now followed
us over, and at 11.35 we were all together without accident below the
_schrund_, which, with the wall above it, was as ugly-looking a place as
I would wish to see.
"We now floundered down the slope of soft snow, without taking much
care, as we imagined that henceforward it was all plain sailing, but
were abruptly checked in our pace by coming upon a huge crevasse, of
great length and breadth, but covered over in places. Several attempts
were made to cross at one of these points, but without success, as the
breadth was too great, and the snow unsubstantial in the extreme, and a
long _détour_ was necessary before we were able to get over near its
eastern extremity. This proved to be the beginning of a new series of
troubles, as the chasms became more and more numerous and complicated,
until the slope which we had imagined would be so easy, resolved itself
into a wall of gigantic _séracs_, the passage of which tasked our
energies to the utmost. The difficulty of the position was increased by
our still being enveloped in a mist so thick that we could not see a
distance of 20 feet below us, and were in a happy state of ignorance as
to whether we were steering properly, or were only plunging deeper into
the mire. Nothing, however, could exceed the energy and skill with which
Croz threaded his way through the labyrinth which surrounded us. He
never once had to retrace his steps, but, cutting along the sides of
some crevasses and underneath others, he steadily gained ground. In
spite of the generally deep snow, a good deal of step-cutting was
necessary here and there, and we had nearly an hour of most exciting
work before the inclination of the glacier diminished, and at 12.30
P.M., for the first time since leaving the Col, we stood at ease upon a
flat plain of snow. But how long would it last? A fog on an unknown
glacier always suggests to my desponding mind the probability of
marching round and round in a circle, and finally having to pass the
night in a crevasse, so that I, personally, was particularly relieved
when, just as we emerged from the _séracs_, the mist suddenly lifted
sufficiently to let us see a long way over the glacier in front, which
displayed itself to our admiring eyes perfectly level and
uncrevassed."
[Illustration: THE ECRINS FROM THE SUMMIT OF THE GRANDE RUINE.]
[Illustration: _The summit of the Jungfrau._ (_P. 217._)
_To face p. 235._]
[Illustration: CLOUDS BREAKING LIKE A GIANT WATERFALL ON A MOUNTAIN
RIDGE.]
[Illustration: SNOW (NOT CLOUD) BLOWN BY A TERRIFIC WIND FROM A MOUNTAIN
RIDGE.]