The last scramble was easy except in one place, where the rocks failed to give foothold for a few yards, and steps had to be cut between them and the ice. An accident might easily happen here with careless guides; but, as one steady man can ensure the safety of a party, the spot can hardly be called dangerous.
The mountain culminates in a double peak; the furthest point is a broken tooth of bare granite. The gap between this and the snow-crest is narrow and not deep, and a convenient crack supplies a way to the highest crag. On it we found traces of a stoneman built probably by Messrs. S. Taylor and Montgomery who made the first ascent in 1865.
This peak, if less favourably placed than the Adamello, commands a noble view. In the east deep forested glens, fertile valleys and green ridges crowned by ruddy crags contrast with the eternal snow-fields which stretch away for miles towards the west. From the Carè Alto, as from an outpost, the genius of winter may look down on the country he has lost since the great ice-epoch, on the trenches through which his rivers flowed, on the hills they rounded, and see even, far off in the haze, the mounds which he erected as monuments of his widest power, the huge terminal moraines of Somma and Solferino. Behind him lies his last refuge, the great granite castle from whose summit his forces cannot be dislodged even by the summer sun of Lombardy.
Across this fastness we intended to make our way. For the next six hours we steadily pursued a westward course over the snow-fields. Now we wandered at the foot of Monte Folletto[51] amongst snow-caves huge enough to puzzle for a moment even the herd of chamois whose gambols we had interrupted. Then we passed through a narrow gap, the Passo di Cavento, on each side of which the grey and red pinnacles shot up in a fantastic fence, while at their base a great ditch waited the unwary mountaineer. Beyond it we found another snow-reservoir, almost as flat as a cricket-field, feeding the ice-streams of Val di Fum and the Lobbia Glacier. A broad gap, the Passo della Lobbia Alta, let us through to another basin, that of the Mandron Glacier, where we crossed the track to the Adamello. At its further extremity—it is about three miles broad—we saw before us the fifth ridge, the last which divided us from Val d'Avio.[52]
As we approached the pass a family group of three chamois were seen moving before us on the snow. Presently a gun was fired from among the rocks of the Corni del Confine, and a solitary hunter sprang forward. The shot had missed, and the chamois, whom we had been unconsciously driving, raced past us. One of them was quite young, and it was touching to see how the two parents not only would move no faster than the pace of their child, but placed themselves on either side of it, as if purposely sheltering it from danger. My condolences with the sportsman were not very heartfelt.
A steep gully, an easy glacier, a pathless hillside, helped us quickly down to the first châlet in Val d'Avio. A few yards beyond it the valley is broken by a lofty cliff. At the foot of a steep zigzag beside the thundering waters we entered one of the level platforms common in this group. Its smooth expanse of meadow was alive with cows and goats, now collected for the night round the herdsmen's huts. Two torrents—one the grey child of the glaciers, the other clear and spring-born—rushed down upon us in splendid cascades. In the background the Adamello raised its icy horn.
Immediately below the alp lies a large lake. The scene somewhat resembles the Lac de Gaube, but the features of the landscape are more savage, bolder, and on a larger scale. The lake itself, however, is unfortunately of the ordinary murky-grey colour of Swiss glacier water.
Beyond the platform of the lake the glen falls with extraordinary rapidity, and a very stony path, mainly on the left bank, leads down past a succession of waterfalls, any one of which in another country might become famous.
The lower level of the valley is devastated by the torrent. For Ponte di Legno it is best to cross its stony bed and follow a cart-track joining the Tonale road a little below Pontagna. When we entered the high-road night overtook us, and we walked the three uphill kilomètres to Ponte di Legno at our fastest pace, killing distance and fatigue with the present pleasure of rapid motion.