The Ascent of the Matterhorn

by Edward Whymper

It would be almost an easier task to say what he has not done than to catalogue his achievements. Invariable success attends his arms; he leads his followers to victory, but not to death. I believe that no serious accident has ever befallen travellers in his charge. Like his friend Almer, he can be called a safe man. It is the highest praise that can be given to a first-rate guide.

MELCHIOR ANDEREGG IN 1864.

Early in the afternoon we found ourselves in the little inn at La Grave, on the great Lautaret road, a rickety, tumble-down sort of place, with nothing stable about it, as Moore wittily remarked, except the smell.[99] Melchior had gone, and had left [pg 139]behind a note which said, “I think the passage of the Brèche is possible, but that it will be very difficult.” His opinion coincided with ours, and we went to sleep, expecting to be afoot about eighteen or twenty hours on the morrow.

At 2.40 the next morning we left La Grave, in a few minutes crossed the Romanche, and at 4 A.M. got to the moraine of the eastern branch of the glacier that descends from the Brèche.[100] The rocks by which we intended to ascend were placed between the two branches of this glacier, and still looked smooth and unbroken. By 5 o’clock we were upon them, and saw that we had been deluded by them. No carpenter could have planned a more convenient staircase. They were not moutonnée, their smooth look from a distance was only owing to their singular firmness. [It was really quite a pleasure to scale such delightful rocks. We felt the stone held the boot so well, that, without making a positive effort to do so, it would be almost impossible to slip.] In an hour we had risen above the most crevassed portion of the glacier, and began to look for a way on to it. Just at the right place there was a patch of old snow at the side, and, instead of gaining the ice by desperate acrobatic feats, we passed from the rocks on to it as easily as one walks across a gangway. At half-past 6 we were on the centre of the glacier, and the inhabitants of La Grave turned out en masse into the road, and watched us with amazement as they witnessed the falsification of their confident predictions. Well might they stare, for our little caravan, looking to them like a train of flies on a wall, crept up and up, without hesitation and without a halt—lost to their sight one minute as it dived into a crevasse, then seen again clambering up the other side. The higher we rose the easier became the work, the angles lessened, and our pace increased. The snow remained shadowed, and we walked as easily as on a high road; and when (at 7.45) the summit of the Brèche was seen, we rushed at it as furiously [pg 140]as if it had been a breach in the wall of a fortress, carried the moat by a dash, with a push behind and a pull before, stormed the steep slope above, and at 8.50 stood in the little gap, 11,054 feet above the level of the sea. The Brèche was won. Well might they stare; five hours and a quarter had sufficed for 6500 feet of ascent.[101] We screamed triumphantly as they turned in to breakfast.

SCALE, THREE MILES TO AN INCH.

All mountaineers know how valuable it is to study beforehand an intended route over new ground from a height at some distance. None but blunderers fail to do so, if it is possible; and one cannot do so too thoroughly. As a rule, the closer one approaches underneath a summit, the more difficult it is to pick out a path with judgment. Inferior peaks seem unduly important, subordinate ridges are exalted, and slopes conceal points beyond; and if one blindly undertakes an ascent, without having acquired a tolerable notion of the relative importance of the parts, and of their positions to one another, it will be miraculous if great difficulties are not encountered.

But although the examination of an intended route from a height at a distance will tell one (who knows the meaning of the things he is looking at) a good deal, and will enable him to steer clear of many difficulties against which he might otherwise blindly run, it will seldom allow one to pronounce positively upon the practicability or impracticability of the whole of the route. No living man, for example, can pronounce positively from a distance [pg 141]in regard to rocks. Those just mentioned are an illustration of this. Three of the ablest and most experienced guides concurred in thinking that they would be found very difficult, and yet they presented no difficulty whatever. In truth, the sounder and less broken up are the rocks, the more impracticable do they usually look from a distance; while soft and easily rent rocks, which are often amongst the most difficult and perilous to climb, very frequently look from afar as if they might be traversed by a child.

It is possible to decide with greater certainty in regard to the practicability of glaciers. When one is seen to have few open crevasses (and this may be told from a great distance), then we know that it is possible to traverse it; but to what extent it, or a glacier that is much broken up by crevasses, will be troublesome, will depend upon the width and length of the crevasses, and upon the angles of the surface of the glacier itself. A glacier may be greatly crevassed, but the fissures may be so narrow that there is no occasion to deviate from a straight line when passing across them; or a glacier may have few open crevasses, and yet may be practically impassable on account of the steepness of the angles of its surface. Nominally, a man with an axe can go anywhere upon a glacier, but in practice it is found that to move freely upon ice one must have to deal only with small angles. It is thus necessary to know approximately the angles of the surfaces of a glacier before it is possible to determine whether it will afford easy travelling, or will be so difficult as to be (for all practical purposes) impassable. This cannot be told by looking at glaciers in full face from a distance; they must be seen in profile; and it is often desirable to examine them both from the front and in profile,—to do the first to study the direction of the crevasses, to note where they are most and least numerous; and the second to see whether its angles are moderate or great. Should they be very steep, it may be better to avoid them altogether, and to mount even by difficult rocks; but upon glaciers of gentle inclination, and with few open crevasses, better progress can always be made than upon the easiest rocks.