Letters of Asa Gray; Vol. 1

by Asa Gray

Grindelwald, Thursday, half past five, 27th June.

I take the first leisure hour to resume my account. I find that I must have walked about thirty-four miles yesterday, making due allowance for the windings of the path. I commenced at five o’clock, reached Engelberg at nine, where I rested till half past eleven, and reached Meyringen, as I said before, at half past seven. The journey from Stanz is through a narrow but fertile valley inclosed by high and picturesque mountains for about seven miles, when the valley contracts, the mountains on each side rise to a great height into sharp and bare peaks, leaving barely room for the Aar to descend between. It forms, I may say, one continual cataract from Engelberg to this point. Before this pass is reached I had gone by some other mountains which were very remarkable; among them the Brisenstock, a ridge of rock like the upturned edge of a hatchet, some 6,000 feet high, and throwing up from one extremity a column of rock like a vast obelisk. The road, which is carried at considerable elevation along one side of this narrow valley, is not difficult, and exhibits the whole way the most sublime scenery. The Wallenstock rises on one side to the height of above 8,000 feet; and those on the other side are not less lofty. Presently the shining summit of the Titlis rises before you, surrounded by others scarcely less elevated. The Titlis is the highest of the Unterwalden Alps, 10,710 feet. You then arrive at a place where the Aar forms a series of cataracts in the bottom of the gorge, nearly a thousand feet below you; the opposite mountain exhibits an almost perpendicular wall of rock, nearly 6,000 feet high, and a little cataract formed by the melting snow above falls from the top to the bottom. Soon I entered the little valley of Engelberg, the most beautiful and picturesque I have seen, probably the finest in Switzerland; at least that of Meyringen and this of Grindelwald, where I am now writing, are not to be compared with it. I only wonder it is so little known. I think it not improbable that I am the first American that has visited it. It is far out of the ordinary routes, and though easily accessible with chars from Stanz, yet the three passes that lead out of it are excessively difficult footpaths. It is a green, sunshiny valley, having perhaps eighty acres of plain, but very rich pastures rise up the mountain-sides to some distance; it is entirely shut in by the high mountains that rise on every side; the Titlis rising abruptly on the south within a few yards of the village, and sending down its avalanches in the spring close to the houses. But the glaciers are so situated as to send their summer avalanches in the other direction, so that the hamlet is not in danger; the other mountains toward the south have the glaciers on their summits, but the peaks on the other sides present naked precipices. The Engelberg, from which the hamlet is named (angel-mountain) is a lofty mountain shaped like a slender cone, with the apex cut off obliquely. It rises almost within the valley, and presents a very curious appearance. The large convent stands just between the base of this mountain and the Titlis. Attached to it is a very large and fine church for such an out-of-the-world place. I stopped at the simple auberge of the Engel (angel); mine host could only speak or understand German and Italian, so that our communication took place mostly by signs and single words, I giving him the German names as far as I could of what I wished. I got a very comfortable lunch of cold roast meat; but I wanted some strawberries, and could not think of the German name, and had considerable difficulty. At length he seemed dubiously to comprehend what I wanted; he went out, and returned in a few moments with a fine dish of the article in question. Excellent cream is as common as need be; so I had a fine feast. I found that I was the first visitor here this season. I amused myself with looking over the travelers’ book (which you always find) and reading the remarks of former visitors. An Englishman the summer before had ascended the highest peak of the Titlis. I afterwards saw that this could readily be done, as my route led me close to the top of the main body of the mountain.

To get into the valley of the Aar it was necessary to cross the Joch, a mountain connected with the Titlis, and almost as high. The pass between the two mountains is almost 7,000 feet at the summit, is covered with snow, and is in immediate proximity with the glaciers of the Titlis. The ascent is exceedingly difficult; indeed, from all I can learn, it is much more difficult than any of the passes at all frequented by travelers. I took a guide to the summit and some distance beyond, as a stranger could never have found the way. My guide was an old man of sixty years. From a high ridge near the summit, which belonged rather to the Titlis, I had a magnificent view of the mountains to the north and the valley I had passed through, and on the other side, close to us, of a vast glacier; the streams emerging from it formed a small river, which we had some difficulty in crossing, and which emptied into a dark alpine lake just below. Here I gathered a few alpine plants, as souvenirs of the place. Another weary climb over the snow brought us to the top of the Joch, and here, where shelter was impossible, we were exposed to a shower, but our umbrellas protected us in part, and the view repaid for a little wetting. Descending a little, my guide showed me a lake almost surrounded with snow, fed by the glaciers; the outlet, the source of one branch of the Aar, was the stream which flowed down the valley I was to descend to Meyringen; the knapsack was again transferred to my shoulders and I was left to myself. As I entered the valley of Engstlen the scenery grew wonderfully fine. Tired as I was I enjoyed the whole journey extremely, though it took me four hours and a half of continual descent; yet I look back upon it with delight. The main stream formed a succession of beautiful cascades; the mountains on each side very high, and mostly perpendicular faces of rock, and down these a great multitude of cascades of all sizes fell, some of them springing 500 feet at a leap; others, falling from much greater height over the rocks, looked like long skeins of yarn, if you will pardon the simile, dangling in the air. It must be much like the valley of the Lauterbrunnen, according to the description; but I think the latter cannot excel it. I hope to know to-morrow. A shower drove me into a miserable châlet, the highest one inhabited at this season, where I found a young man, who dwelt there for the summer, with his herd of goats, and his brother, a young lad of fifteen, who had come up from Meyringen to bring him some food, etc., and was just about to return, I drank about a quart of milk fresh from the goat, and found it excellent. When it stopped raining the youngster and I started together; I transferred my knapsack to his shoulders, and a franc and a half to his pocket, to the great satisfaction of both parties. He proved a very useful little fellow, though I could not understand much of what he said; he showed me some waterfalls and curious things that I should otherwise have missed. With the true spirit of his nation, ever ready to improve an opportunity, he told me he had a brother who spoke French, who would be my guide for the next day. It rained most of the way, but I was compensated for the partial wetting by the views of the most beautiful waterfalls, which fell into the valley in great profusion from the high precipices on each side. I could sometimes see twenty at one view. After a long and weary descent we came at last near the bottom, where this valley, and two others almost at the same point, fell into the main valley of the Aar, and I could look at the same moment up four deep and wild mountain valleys. Then skirting along the side of the mountain, we soon descended to Meyringen, deep in the main valley of the Aar, with two fine cascades behind it, and another very fine one, the cascade of the Reichenbach, on the opposite side of the valley. Glad enough was I when we reached the door of the humble auberge, and great was the havoc I made with the eatables which the kind landlady provided in abundance and of excellent quality. I sat down on a sofa in my chamber to read a little, but fell asleep instantly; slept until eleven, then took my bed and slept until half past seven in the morning.

I can say, with Sancho Panza, “Blest be the man who first invented sleep.” In the evening, what with my great fatigue and blistered feet, I supposed I should be scarcely able to move the next day, and that traveling on foot would be impossible. But I awoke perfectly restored, my limbs supple and my feet much better than I had anticipated; my guide made his appearance while I was at breakfast; said that it would take three days to make the excursion over the Great Scheideck to Grindelwald, then over the Lesser to the Wengern Alp, to Lauterbrunnen, and back to Meyringen by Interlaken and the Lake of Brienz. I insisted that it should be done in two, with the aid of a char from Brienz, at the end of the second day. Leaving my knapsack here, and taking a few things in our pockets, we set out at half past nine; stopped on our way to see the falls of the Reichenbach, where the stream of the valley we were climbing makes the descent of 2,000 feet in a succession of leaps; the longest forms the celebrated falls,—very fine. Farther above numerous waterfalls are seen dangling from the perpendicular sides of the narrow valley; one, remarkably high and slender, is called the Seilbach (rope-fall). Ascended through beautiful mountain pastures, dotted with châlets; the peak of the Wetterhorn in full view directly before us, a sharp pyramid, one side dark rock, the other pure white snow. The body of the mountain was still hidden by the Wellhorn, the first of the chain of high Bernese Alps we were approaching (9,500 feet); then the Engelhörner (angel’s-peaks) and high up between these, we had a fine distant view of the most beautiful glacier in Switzerland, the Rosenlaui, celebrated above all others for the purity of its untarnished white surface, and the clear azure of its depths and caverns. Stopped at a little inn, which is occupied only through the summer; got an excellent little dinner at half past eleven, charges moderate; visited another waterfall, and then walked half an hour out of our way to the foot of the Rosenlaui glacier, which descends to only 4,200 feet above the level of the sea; found a party there, two gentlemen and lady, the latter carried in a chair; admired the pure white surface, entered a little way into one of the crevices, looked down into the deep azure chasms; returning, viewed the awful gorge through which the stream from the glaciers makes its way, at least 500 feet deep, and only four or five feet wide, the water rushing and boiling and roaring in the bottom like mad. Threw down a big stone, and heard it crashing against the sides and shattered to atoms. Continued up the Scheideck, close along the broad and vast perpendicular side of the Wetterhorn; finally reached the summit of the pass (6,040 feet), and enjoyed the magnificent view of the mountains down the valley of the Grindelwald. The Wetterhorn (peak of tempests) rises, one vast precipice of alpine limestone, its base extending from Grindelwald on the one side almost to Rosenlaui on the other, and so near us that it seemed easy for a strong man to throw a stone against it, though it is really more than a mile off; its summit is 11,450 feet above the sea; this precipice consequently forms a wall about 6,000 feet in height. Next to this is the Mettenberg (perhaps 10,000 feet); and next, the great Eiger (giant, 12,220 feet), presenting its long thin edge, like the blade of a hatchet turned up into the air; while back of the Mettenberg appears the pointed cone of the Schreckhorn (the peak of terror, 12,500 feet). The vast space between these peaks is filled by an immense glacier, here and there interrupted, which under various names extends from Rosenlaui and Grindelwald almost to the Grimsel, and to Brieg in the Valais. The increasing supply of ice and the refrigeration of such an immense quantity forces branches down the valleys far below the level of perpetual snow, particularly these at Grindelwald, the lowest known; the base of the lowermost being little more than 3,000 feet above sea-level. I descended rapidly, looked down upon the two glaciers just mentioned, reached the little hamlet of Grindelwald in the bottom of the valley, close at the feet of these vast mountains, and a little above the foot of the lower glacier, which is so close that it seems almost possible to throw a stone to it; but I believe it is a mile off; reached here at five o’clock (twenty-one miles), having walked very deliberately. It is now just at sunset; the day has been warm; but now it is very cold, and I am shivering too much to hold my pen; besides, it is time for supper, and I want another view of the mountains. Adieu....

Villeneuve, 4th July, 1839.... Being unexpectedly detained here for a few hours, almost at the close of my Swiss pilgrimage, I resume my pen, which I have had no time to use for some time past, and must bring up my journal in a hurried way to the present. Since I broke off I have seen more than half the wonders of Switzerland. I can only now tell you where I have been from day to day; but I shall have much to give you viva voce some of the evenings of the rapidly approaching autumn. Stayed at Grindelwald Thursday night (a week ago); watched the clouds striking against the Wetterhorn and the Eiger and rolling down its sides; terribly cold. Friday, 28th, rose at four; started at five, in fine walking trim, after paying an exorbitant bill for very indifferent fare; was very confident that the guide paid nothing, and therefore suspected a connivance between him and the aubergiste to put all on my shoulders,—one of the evils of a guide; they are worse than useless on all the usual routes, indeed anywhere, except in ascending very high mountains and crossing glaciers; felt a little inclined to punish my guide, and therefore set off at a swinging pace and took him up the Little Scheideck much more rapidly than he ever went before. I buttoned up my coat and pretended not to be making any effort at all, while the poor fellow stripped off first his coat, then his waistcoat, the perspiration running off his face; until finally he pronounced it impossible to keep near me, and lagged far behind. At length I took pity on him and walked slower, but we crossed the Scheideck and reached the Wengern Alp, a journey of four hours and a half, in a little less than three....

From the crest of the Little Scheideck (6,300 feet) I got my first near view of the remainder of the high Bernese Alps,—the Mönch (12,660 feet), the Jungfrau (12,670 feet) (I have been giving you the height all along in French feet, as they are put down in Keller; in English feet the numbers will be considerably higher), with the two white peaks, the Silberhörner (silver-peaks), which belong to it.

Still beyond, though not quite so lofty, were the Grosshorn, the Breithorn, etc. The point where I stood commanded nearly the whole view, from the Engelhörner, Wetterhorn, a glimpse of the Schreckhorn, the Mettenberg, Eiger, Mönch, and Jungfrau, as I stood just in the mid-distance; an unsurpassed view it is. As I descended the other side to the Wengern Alp I lost those more to the east, but came still nearer to the Jungfrau....

At the Jungfrau hotel, a mere châlet on the side of the Wengern Alp, we were close under that magnificent mountain, separated only by a narrow gorge, and elevated just enough to have the most perfect view from base to summit. We had heard the day previous the crash and roar of falling avalanches on the other side of the Wetterhorn, and I was very anxious to see one; before long I saw two, one of them a pretty good one, come tumbling and roaring down the Jungfrau. Soon a thick cloud came and enveloped these mountains, so that I departed earlier than I should have done; it threatened to rain; and we descended into the valley of Lauterbrunnen, which is very deep and narrow, and had on the way a fine view of the valley and the mountains and glaciers that close its upper extremity. Saw the celebrated fall of the Staubbach, and was disappointed in it....

Walked rapidly down the valley of Lauterbrunnen to the lake of Brienz, turning aside so as not to pass through Interlaken, which is a little British colony; took a boat to the opposite end of the lake (eight miles); had a heavy shower and much wind; saw the falls of Giessbach from the lake, seven very fine cascades one above the other. Landed at Brienz; took a char up to Meyringen again, looking at the beautiful waterfalls from each side of the valley, now very full from the rains. Arrived at my own lodgings at five o’clock, having accomplished in the twelve hours fifty miles, of which thirty-two were traveled on foot.

Saturday, 29th, rose in good condition, breakfasted, and parted with my thoroughly Swiss landlady at five o’clock; went up the vale of Hassli, one of the finest in Switzerland, for the Grimsel, perhaps the wildest and grandest pass across the Alps. It is a footpath, or at best a bridle-path. I set out alone, with my knapsack on my back. Ascended a considerable distance when the clouds sunk lower and it began to rain, though I had the satisfaction to see down the valley that the sun was shining at Meyringen. Passed the last little village (Guttannen), a lonely place; above, the scenery grew to the very height of gloomy grandeur: immense blackened granitic mountains, clothed at the base with black stunted firs, above all naked tremendous rocks and peaks; between, just room enough for the river to tumble along, forming here and there a cataract. The view was heightened much, I doubt not, by the clouds and storm, so entirely in character with the scenery. I never before enjoyed a lonely rainy walk so much.