THUNDERSTORMS IN THE ALPS
The fatal accident caused by lightning on the Wetterhorn in 1902 has
emphasized the curious fact that, except on that occasion, and once
before, many years ago, when Mrs Arbuthnot was killed on the
Schildthorn, no lives[10] have been lost in a thunderstorm on the Alps.
This is the more remarkable when we glance through books on
mountaineering, and notice how often climbers have been exposed to the
full fury of summer storms, and what narrow escapes they have had. In
July 1863, Mr and Mrs Spence Watson, with two friends and two guides,
made an excursion from the Æggischhorn to the high glacier pass of the
Jungfraujoch, an admirable account of the day's adventures having been
contributed by Mr Watson to _The Alpine Journal_, from which I extract
the following details.
After starting on a lovely morning, the weather changed, and when they
got to the pass they encountered a severe storm of wind, snow, and hail.
They quickly turned to descend, the snow falling so heavily that they
could not for a time see their old tracks. Suddenly a loud peal of
thunder was heard, "and shortly after," writes Mr Watson, "I observed
that a strange singing sound like that of a kettle was issuing from my
alpenstock. We halted, and finding that all the axes and stocks emitted
the same sound, stuck them into the snow. The guide from the hotel now
pulled off his cap, shouting that his head burned, and his hair seemed
to have a similar appearance to that which it would have presented had
he been on an insulated stool under a powerful electrical machine. We
all of us experienced the sensation of pricking or burning in some part
of the body, more especially in the head and face, my hair also standing
on end in an uncomfortable but very amusing manner. The snow gave out a
hissing sound, as though a shower of hail were falling; the veil in the
wide-awake of one of the party stood upright in the air; and on waving
our hands, the singing sound issued loudly from the fingers. Whenever a
peal of thunder was heard the phenomenon ceased, to be resumed before
its echoes had died away. At these times we felt shocks, more or less
violent, in those portions of the body which were most affected. By one
of these shocks my right arm was paralysed so completely that I could
neither use nor raise it for several minutes, nor, indeed, till it had
been severely rubbed by Claret, and I suffered much pain in it at the
shoulder joint for some hours. At half-past twelve the clouds began
to pass away, and the phenomenon finally ceased, having lasted
twenty-five minutes. We saw no lightning, and were puzzled at first as
to whether we should be afraid or amused. The young guide was very much
alarmed, but Claret, who had twice previously heard the singing
(unaccompanied by the other symptoms), laughed so heartily at the whole
affair that he kept up our spirits."
[Illustration: ON A RIDGE IN THE OBERLAND.]
[Illustration: THE SECOND LARGEST GLACIER IN THE ALPS. By Royston Le
Blond.
_To face p. 259._]
The position of the party, was, however, by no means safe, yet though I
have often heard the buzzing of ice-axes and rocks when in a
thunderstorm on the mountains, I have never seen any ill effects from
it.
A little later another description appears in _The Alpine Journal_, by
Mr C. Packe, who, during the descent of a peak in the Pyrenees, was
astonished to hear a curious creaking sound proceeding from behind him.
He was carrying various heavy articles at the time, and imagined that
the noise was due to the straining of the straps of his knapsack. He
presently unslung his load, and was amazed to find a strange buzzing
noise proceeding from his rifle, "as though it had been an air gun
trying to discharge itself. As I held it away from me, pointed upwards,"
he continues, "the noise became stronger, and as I in vain sought to
account for it, I thought it possible that some large insect--a bee or
beetle--might have got down the barrel, and be trying to escape. I held
the barrel downwards, with a view to shake it out; but on lowering the
gun the sound at once ceased, but was renewed as often as I raised it."
It then began to occur to Mr Packe that the sound was electrical, and he
felt sure this was so when he found that his alpenstock had joined in
the buzzing. He therefore made a hasty retreat out of the highly charged
upper regions. Several peals of thunder had previously been heard but no
lightning was seen. A violent storm had, however, been experienced in a
neighbouring district. That similar conditions may seem delightful to
one man and entirely odious to another will strike whoever reads the
following short extract from an account of a climb in the Pyrenees made
by Mons. Henri Brulle. It was translated by Count Russell for _The
Alpine Journal_, and runs as follows:
"Another time I crossed the Vignemale alone, _en col_, under conditions
which made this expedition the pleasantest of my souvenirs. A furious
storm was raging. Enveloped in the morning in a dense fog, annoyed in
the steep couloirs of the Cerbillonas by vultures which swept over me
like avalanches, just grazing me with their long wings, assailed during
three hours by hailstones of such size that they bruised and stunned me,
deafened by thunder, and so electrified that I was hissing and
crepitating, I notwithstanding reached the summit at half-past four in
the evening, amidst incessant detonations. In descending the glacier I
got lost in a labyrinth of crevasses, and while balancing myself on an
ice-wave I nearly dropped my ice-axe. As a climax, night came on as
black as ink, and I had to grope and feel my way down the endless valley
of Ossoue. It was eleven o'clock at night when I reached Gavarnie,
almost starved and quite exhausted, but having lived the crowning day of
my life."
Here is indeed Mark Tapley in the flesh!
Captain E. Clayton relates in _The Alpine Journal_ an adventure that
nearly cost him his life.
"On 17th August last I left the Hochjoch Haus with Gabriel
Spechtenhauser with the intention of ascending the Weisskugel at the
head of the Oetzthal. The weather for the past week had been very
changeable, but when we started at 3 A.M. it was fine and starlight. A
German gentleman with two guides and two others with two guides started
at the same time. As long as the aid of a lantern was desirable we kept
together, but as it grew light Gabriel and I gradually drew ahead. As
day broke clouds began to gather, and when we halted for breakfast at
6.10 A.M. they hung so heavy on the Weisskugel that after breakfast,
instead of going straight on, we diverged to the top of the rocks
leading down towards Kurzras, with the intention of waiting a short
time to see what the weather would do, and if it did not mend, of going
down to Kurzras, where a friend was awaiting me.
"At these rocks we were overtaken by the single German gentleman with
his guides, who had outstripped the other party. Before long the weather
seemed to improve, the clouds on the Weisskugel got lighter, the sky
seemed bright to the north, and we thought that very soon everything
would be quite clear. The German quickly made a fresh start, but Gabriel
and I waited to finish our pipes. However, we soon passed the other
party, and, passing over a minor summit, where we left the rope, reached
the real summit at 8.30 A.M. We had heard one or two peals of thunder on
the way, but none appeared very close, and they seemed to be getting
more distant. The summit was still in cloud, but it did not seem thick,
and I thought it would soon blow away. But almost directly we reached
the top it began to hail, and we went down a few steps on the rocky
ridge that falls towards the Langtauferer Glacier, to be somewhat
sheltered.
"Here I remember handing Gabriel my map to put in his pocket to keep
dry, and knew nothing more till I woke to the consciousness that he was
lifting me up from where I was lying on the rocks, some 20 feet, I
suppose, lower than the point where we had been standing. I was
bleeding from a cut on the head, and my right arm was very painful, and
turned out afterwards to be broken. Gabriel said that he had been
knocked down also, but not rendered insensible, and, falling on his
hands towards the upward slope, was not hurt. He also said that he was
to a certain extent conscious of there having been a sudden glare and
explosion, but I knew nothing of it. The German and his two guides, who
at the time were just below the first summit, but not within sight of
us, were so alarmed at the lightning and thunder, that they turned at
once and never stopped till they reached Kurzras. The other party, who
had not got beyond the rocks where we halted during the ascent, waited
there for us, and Joseph Spechtenhauser, one of their guides, came to
meet us and see if we wanted assistance. However, I was quite myself
when I came to, which was directly Gabriel lifted me up, and the
mountain is so easy that my disabled arm was of little consequence. I
did not notice any more thunder or lightning after the flash that
knocked us down, and the day cleared up to a lovely one. I have every
reason to be pleased with Gabriel's kindness and attention to me without
regard to himself, and very much regret that my accident prevented me
from carrying out any of the other expeditions which I had promised
myself the pleasure of making in his company."
One of the most exciting accounts of an adventure in the Alps is Mr
Tuckett's description of "A Race for Life,"[11] on the Eiger. Hardly
less stirring is a paper in _The Alpine Journal_ by the same famous
climber, from which he most kindly allows me to give a long quotation,
telling of a narrow escape during one of the most appalling
thunderstorms that could be experienced. The party were making the
ascent of the Roche Melon, a peak 11,593 feet high not far from the Mont
Cenis. The weather was unsettled, and grew worse as they mounted.
"Proceeding very cautiously through the whirling wreaths of vapour lest
we should suddenly drop over upon Italy and hurt it--or ourselves--we
struck up the 'final incline'--as an American companion of mine once
dubbed the cone of Vesuvius as we looked down upon it from its rim--and
at 11.15 stood beside the ruins of the signal and enjoyed a very
magnificent view of nothing in particular. As we had plenty of time at
our disposal--three and a half hours sufficing for the descent to
Susa--and the wind was keen and damp, our first proceeding was to search
for the chapel, which we knew must be quite close to the summit of the
peak; and, about 30 feet lower down, on the southern side, which was
entirely free from snow, we came upon a tight little wooden building,
some 6 or 7 feet long and high by 5 broad, very carefully constructed,
with flat bands of thin iron on the outside covering the lines of
junction of the planks, so as effectually to keep out both wind and
moisture. Opposite the door, which we found carefully bolted, was a
wooden shelf against the wall serving as an altar, on which stood a
small bronze statuette of the Virgin, whilst on either hand hung the
usual curious medley of votive paintings, engravings, crosses, tapers
etc., not to mention certain pious scribblings. Taking great care to
disturb nothing, we arranged a loose board and our packs on the rather
damp floor so as to form a seat, and waited for the clouds to disperse
and disclose the superb panorama that we knew should here be visible.
"Here I may be allowed to mention that a chapel, said to have been
originally excavated in the rock, and subsequently buried under ice or
snow, was here dedicated to the Virgin by a crusader of Asti, Boniface
by name, of the house of Rovero, in fulfilment of a vow made whilst a
captive in the hands of the Saracens. More recently the present wooden
structure has taken its place, and every year, on 5th August, pilgrims
resort to it in considerable numbers. Lower down on the Susa side is a
much more substantial structure, at a height of 9396 feet, called the Cà
d'Asti, in allusion to the circumstances of its foundation. The last is
a solidly, not to say massively, constructed circular edifice of stone
and mortar, some 15 or 16 feet in diameter, and perhaps rather more in
height, with a vaulted roof of solid masonry covered externally with
tiles, and surmounted by an iron cross. Seen from below, it stands out
boldly on a mass of crags which conceal the actual summit of the Roche
Melon, and close by are some low sheds, which appear ordinarily to serve
as shelter for flocks of sheep browsing on the grassy slopes around, but
on the night preceding the festa of 5th August, furnish sleeping
quarters for the assembled pilgrims, who attend mass in the adjoining
chapel, if the weather, as frequently happens, does not permit of its
being celebrated on the summit of the mountain, in what is probably the
most elevated shrine in Europe.
* * * * *
"The Roche Melon stands just in the track of the great storms which,
brewed in the heated plains of Lombardy and Piedmont, come surging up
through the valley of the Dora Riparia, and burst, hurling and crashing
over the depression of Mont Cenis, to find or make a watery grave in the
valley of the Arc. Of their combined fierceness and grandeur we were
soon to have only too favourable an opportunity of judging, for scarcely
more than five minutes after we had comfortably established ourselves
under shelter, suddenly, without a moment's warning, a perfect
_mitraille_ of hail smote the roof above us, tore through the mist like
grape-shot through battle-smoke, and whitened the ground like snow. We
closed the door carefully, for now came flash after flash of brilliant
lightning, with sharp, angry, snapping thunder, which, if we had been a
quarter of an hour later, would have made our position on the exposed
northern side anything but pleasant. We congratulated ourselves on our
good fortune, but were glad to pitch our axes amongst the _débris_ of
rock above us and await patiently the hoped-for dispersal of the fog. In
a few minutes the hail ceased, the mist became somewhat brighter, rifts
appeared in all directions, and, issuing forth, we were amply rewarded
by such glimpses of the wonderful view as, if not fully satisfactory for
topographical purposes, were, in a picturesque and artistic point of
view, indescribably grand and interesting. The extent of level country
visible is a remarkable feature in the view from the Roche Melon, as
also in that from the summit of the Pourri, where Imseng not a little
amused me on first catching sight of the plains of France stretching
away till lost in the haze, by shouting in a fit of uncontrollable
enthusiasm, 'Ach! Das ist wunderschön!--ganz eben!'[12]
"We had not had more than time enough to seize the general features of
the panorama and admire the special effects with their ever-changing and
kaleidoscopic combinations, when the mist once more swooped upon us,
again to be followed by hail, lightning, and thunder, and a fresh
clearance. But this second visitation left behind it a further souvenir
in the shape of a phenomenon with which most mountaineers are probably
more or less familiar, but which I never met with to the same extent
before--I allude to an electrified condition of the summit of the
mountain and all objects on its surface by conduction. As the clouds
swept by, every rock, every loose stone, the uprights of the rude
railing outside the chapel, the ruined signal, our axes, my lorgnette
and flask, and even my fingers and elbows, set up
"'a dismal universal hiss.'
It was as though we were in a vast nest of excited snakes, or a battery
of frying-pans, or listening at a short distance to the sustained note
of a band of _cigali_ in a chestnut wood--a mixture of comparisons which
may serve sufficiently to convey the impression that the general effect
was indescribable. I listened and looked and tried experiments for some
time, but suddenly it burst out with an energy that suggested a coming
explosion, or some equally unpleasant _dénouement_, and, dropping my
axe, to whose performance I had been listening, I fairly bolted for
the chapel.
[Illustration: 13,300 FEET ABOVE THE SEA.]
[Illustration: ON THE FURGGEN GRAT.]
[Illustration: A "PERSONALLY CONDUCTED" PARTY ON THE BREITHORN.]
[Illustration: PACKING THE KNAPSACK AFTER LUNCH.
_To face p. 269._]
"We had now spent a couple of hours on the summit, and had succeeded in
getting, bit by bit, a sight of most of the principal features of the
very remarkable view, with the exception of Monte Viso, which
persistently sulked; so at 1.15, as there seemed a probability of the
weather becoming worse before it improved, we quitted our excellent
shelter, and, after putting everything in order and carefully closing
and bolting the door, sallied forth into the mist, which was again
enshrouding the mountain, apparently as the advance guard of the
fiercest storm in the neighbourhood, which we had for some time been
watching as it swept solemnly towards us down the valley of the Dora.
"There is a sort of track, rather than well-defined path, down the bare,
rocky, and _débris_-covered southern face of the mountain, but in the
fog and momentarily increasing gloom of the coming tempest it was not
always very easy to distinguish it. Still, we descended rapidly, and in
less than half an hour had dropped down some 2000 feet to a point where,
during an instant's lift, we descried the outline of the Cà d'Asti five
minutes below us, just as the edge of the coming hail smote us with a
fury which it was hard at times to face. We dashed on--it was a regular
_sauve qui peut_--blinded and staggering under the pitiless pelting and
the fury of the blast, gained the door of the chapel, which faced the
storm, deposited our axes outside, and darted in, thankful again to find
ourselves under so good a roof just when it was most needed.
"For, if there had been at times wild goings on upon the summit during
the morning, they were merely a faint prelude to the elemental strife
which now raged around. The wind roared and the hail hissed in fiendish
rivalry, and yet both seemed silenced when the awful crashes of thunder
burst above and about us. We were in the very central track and focus of
the storm, and, as we sat crouched upon the floor, the ground and the
building seemed to reel beneath the roar of the detonations, and our
heads almost to swim with the fierce glare of the lightning. I had
carefully closed the door, not only to keep the wind and hail out, but
also because lightning is apt to follow a current of air, and, to the
right on entering, at about the height of a man, was a small unglazed
window some 2 feet square. Opposite the door was the altar, on the step
of which I seated myself. Imseng took a place by my side, between me and
the window, whilst Christian perched himself on the coil of rope with
his back to the wall, not far from the door, and between it and the
window. A quarter of a hour may have gone by when a flash of intense
vividness seemed almost to dart through the window, and so affected
Imseng's nerves that he hastily quitted his seat by me and coiled
himself up near Christian, remarking that 'that was rather too close to
be pleasant.' Then came four more really awful flashes, followed all but
instantaneously by sharp, crackling thunder, which sounded like a volley
of bullets against a metal target, and then a fifth with a slightly
increased interval between it and the report. I was just remarking to
Christian that I thought the worst was past, and that we should soon be
liberated, adding, 'How fortunate we are for the second time to-day to
get such shelter just in the nick of time,' when--crash! went
everything, it seemed, all at once:
"'No warning of the approach of flame,
Swiftly like sudden death it came.'
If some one had struck me from behind on the bump of firmness with a
sledge-hammer, or if we had been in the interior of a gigantic
percussion shell which an external blow had suddenly exploded, I fancy
the sensation might have resembled that which I for the first instant
experienced. We were blinded, deafened, smothered, and struck, all in a
breath. The place seemed filled with fire, our ears rang with the
report, fragments of what looked like incandescent matter rained down
upon us as though a meteorite had burst, and a suffocating sulphurous
odour--probably due to the sudden production of ozone in large
quantities--almost choked us. For an instant we reeled as though
stunned, but each sprang to his feet and instinctively made for the
door. What my companions' ideas were I cannot tell; mine were few and
simple--I had been struck, or was being struck, or both; the roof would
be down upon us in another moment; inside was death, outside our only
safety. The door opened inwards, and our simultaneous rush delayed our
escape; but it was speedily thrown back, and, dashing out into the
blinding hail, we plunged, dazed and almost stupefied, into the nearest
shed. For the next few minutes the lightning continued to play about us
in so awful a manner that we were in no mood calmly to investigate the
nature or extent of our injuries. It was enough that we were still among
the living, though I must own that, at first, I had a fearful suspicion
that poor Imseng was seriously wounded. He held his head between his
hands, and rolled it about in so daft a manner, and was so odd and
unnatural in his movements generally, that it struck me his brain might
have received some injury. I, for my part, was painfully conscious of a
good deal of pain in the region of the right instep, and I saw that one
of Christian's hands was bleeding, and that he was holding both his
thighs as if in suffering.
[Illustration: MONTE ROSA FROM THE FURGGEN GRAT.]
[Illustration: THE MATTERHORN FROM THE WELLENKUPPE.
_To face p. 272_.]
"Gradually the storm drew off towards the Mont Cenis, and, with minds
free from the tension of imminent peril, we had time to take stock of
our condition. It was a relief to see Imseng let go his head and
observe that it remained erect; to hear Christian say that his thighs
were getting better; and to find, on examining my foot, that the
mischief was nothing more than a flesh wound, which was bleeding but
slightly. My hat, indeed, was knocked in, my pockets filled with stones
and plaster, and my heart, it may be, somewhat nearer my mouth than
usual, but otherwise we could congratulate ourselves, with deep
thankfulness on a most marvellous escape from serious harm.
"On comparing our impressions, Imseng declared that the lightning had
entered through the window, struck the altar, glanced off from it to the
wall, and then vanished, whilst Christian and I agreed in the belief
that the roof had been the part struck, and the flash had descended
almost vertically upon us. Quitting our place of refuge and repairing to
the chapel, we encountered a scene of ruin which at once confirmed the
correctness of our views. The lightning had evidently first struck the
iron cross outside and smashed in the roof, dashing fragments of stone
and plaster upon us which, brilliantly illuminated, looked to our dazed
and confused vision like flakes of fiery matter. It had then encountered
the altar, overturning the iron cross and wooden candlesticks only 3
feet from the back of my head as I sat on the step, tearing the wreath
of artificial flowers or worsted rosettes strung on copper wire which
surrounded the figure of the Virgin, and scattering the fragments in all
directions. Next it glanced against the wall, tore down, or otherwise
damaged, some of the votive pictures (engravings), and splintered
portions of their frames into 'matchwood.' The odour of ozone was still
strong, the water from the melting hail was coming freely through the
roof, and the walls were in two places cracked to within 5 feet of the
ground. In fact, as a chapel, the building was ruined, though showing
little traces, externally, of the damage done, so that it is
possible--unless a stray shepherd happened to look in--that its
condition would for the first time become known upon the arrival of the
pilgrims on the eve of 5th August.
"We stood long watching our departing foe, and then three very sobered
men dropped down silently and quickly that afternoon upon Susa, thinking
of what might have been our fate."