The value of mountaineering
From the purely athletic point of view, then, the mountaineering experience which has been gained almost exclusively in the Alps may, by a still further development in the future, enable the climber so to develop the art that he may reach the highest elevation on this world’s crust; and he may do this without running undue risk. Cui bono? it may be asked; and it is nearly as hard to answer the question as it is to explain to the supine and unaspiring person the good that may be expected to accrue to humanity by [pg 316]reaching the North Pole; yet the latter project, albeit to some it seems like a struggle of man against physical forces which make or mar worlds, is one that is held to be right and proper to be followed. At the least an observer, even of limited powers, may reasonably be expected, supposing he accomplished such a feat as the ascent of Mount Everest, to bring back results of equal scientific value with the arctic traveller, while the purely geographical information he should gain would have fiftyfold greater practical value. The art and science of mountaineering has been learned and developed in the Alps, and the acquirement of this learning has been a pleasure to many. If the holiday nature of mountaineering should in the future be somewhat dropped, and if a few of those who follow should take up the more serious side, and make what has been a pastime into a profession (and why should not some do so? That which is worth doing at all is worth developing to the utmost possible limit), good will come, unless it be argued that there is no gain in extending geographical knowledge; and no advantage in rectifying surveys and rendering them as accurate as possible. As has been remarked by Mr. Douglas Freshfield, the advantage of including in survey parties, such as are still engaged on our Indian frontier, the services of some who have made mountaineering a branch to be learnt in their profession, would be very distinct. Work done in the Alps [pg 317]would, in this direction, perhaps, bear the best fruit and reap the highest practical value which it might be hoped to attain. The value would be real. The search after truth, whether it be in the fields of natural science, of geography, or its to-be-adopted sister orography, can never fail to be right and good and beneficial. Enthusiasm all this! you say. Granted freely. Without some enthusiasm and energy the world would cease to turn, and the retarding section of mankind would be triumphant, save that they would be too languid to realise the victory of their principles.
But still, if properly qualified men are to be forthcoming to meet such a want, which undoubtedly seems to exist, the old training-ground must not be deserted; the playground of Europe must be regarded in relation to serious work in the same light that the playing-fields of Eton were regarded by one who was somewhat of an authority. The Great Duke’s remark is too well known to need quotation. English folk may find it hard to hold their own against their near relations in athletic pursuits, such as cricket and sculling, but in mountaineering they undoubtedly lead, and will continue to do so. In one phase indeed of the pursuit their supremacy is menaced. In the matter of recognising the practical value to be obtained from mountaineering in surveying and the like, they are already behind other countries. The roll of honorary [pg 318]members of the Alpine Club comprises a list of men, most of whom have utilised their mountaineering experience to good purpose in advancing scientific exploration. In this department it is to be hoped that we shall not suffer ourselves to be outstripped, nor allow a store of valuable and laboriously acquired experience to remain wasted. The threatening cloud may pass off; the future of Alpine mountaineering may not prove to be so gloomy as it sometimes seems to the writer in danger of gradually becoming. The depression is, possibly, only temporary, and a natural consequence of reaction; and the zigzagging line on the chart, though it may never perhaps rise again to the point it once marked, yet may keep well at the normal—better, perhaps, at such a level than at fever heat. The old cry that we know so well on the mountains, that meets always with a ready thrill of response, may acquire a wider significance, and men will be found to answer to the familiar call of “Vorwärts, immer vorwärts!”
After all, a century hence the mountaineering centres of to-day will perhaps still attract as they do now. It may be possible to get to Chamouni without submitting to the elaborately devised discomfort of the present Channel passage, and without the terrors of asphyxiation in the carriages of the Chemin de Fer du Nord. Surely the charm of the mountains must always draw men to the Alps, even though the glaciers [pg 319]may have shrunk up and sunk down, though places like Arolla and the Grimsel may have become thriving towns, or radical changes such as a drainage system at Chamouni have been instituted. If the glaciers do shrink, there will be all the more scope for the rock climber and the more opportunity of perfecting an art which has already been so much developed.
An Alpine Rip van Winkle
A Rip van Winkle of our day, waking up in that epoch of the future, would for certain find much that was unaltered. The same types of humanity would be around him. Conceive this somnolent hero of fiction, clad in a felt wideawake that had once been white, in knickerbockers and Norfolk jacket, of which the seams had at one time held together, supporting his bent frame and creaking joints on a staff with rusted spike and pick. He descends laboriously from a vehicle that had jolted impartially generations before him (for the carriages of the valley are as little liable to wear out, in the eyes of their proprietors, as the “wonderful one-hoss shay”). He finds himself on a summer evening by the Hôtel de Ville at Chamouni, and facing the newly erected Opera-house. He looks with wondering eyes around. A youth (great-great-great-great-grandson of Jacques Balmat) approaches and waits respectfully by his side, ready to furnish information.
“Why these flags and these rejoicings?” the old man asks.
“To celebrate the tercentenary of the first ascent of Mont Blanc,” the boy answers.
The veteran gazes around, shading his eyes with his shrivelled hand. The travellers come in. First a triumphal procession of successful and intrepid mountaineers. Banners wave, cannon go off—or more probably miss fire—bouquets are displayed, champagne and compliments are poured out; both the latter expressions of congratulation equally gassy, and both about equally genuine.
“Who are these?” the old man inquires.