CHRISTIAN ALMER.[193]
Before recrossing the chain to Courmayeur, we ascended the Aiguille Verte. In company with Mr. Reilly I inspected this mountain from every direction in 1864, and came to the conclusion that an ascent could more easily be made from the south than upon any other side. We set out upon the 28th from Chamounix to attack it, minus Croz, and plus a porter (of whom I will speak more particularly presently), leaving our comrade very downcast at having to kick his heels in idleness, whilst we were about to scale the most celebrated of his native Aiguilles.
Our course led us over the old Mer de Glace—the glacier made famous by De Saussure and Forbes. The heat of the day was [pg 249]over, but the little rills and rivulets were still flowing along the surface of the ice: cutting deep troughs where the gradients were small; leaving ripple-marks where the water was with more difficulty confined to one channel; and falling over the precipitous walls of the great crevasses, sometimes in bounding cascades, and sometimes in diffused streams, which marked the perpendicular faces with graceful sinuosities.[194] As night came on, their music died away, the rivulets dwindled down to rills; the rills ceased to murmur, and the sparkling drops, caught by the hand of frost, were bound to the ice, coating it with an enamelled film which lasted until the sun struck the glacier once more.
ON THE MER DE GLACE.
We camped on the Couvercle (7800) under a great rock, and at 3.15 the next morning started for our aiguille, leaving the porter in charge of the tent and of the food. Two hours’ walking over crisp snow brought us up more than 4000 feet, and within about 1600 feet of the summit. From no other direction can it be approached so closely with equal facility. Thence the mountain steepens. After his late severe piece of ice-work, Almer had a natural inclination for rocks; but the lower rocks of the final peak of the Verte were not inviting, and he went on and on, looking for a way up them, until we arrived in front of a great snow couloir that led from the Glacier de Talèfre right up to the crest of the ridge connecting the summit of the Verte with the mountain called Les Droites. This was the route which I intended to be taken; but Almer pointed out that the gully narrowed at the lower part, and that, if stones fell, we should stand some chance of getting our heads broken; and so we went on still more to the east of the summit, to another and smaller couloir which ran up side by side with the great one. At 5.30 we crossed the schrund which protected the final peak, and, a few minutes afterwards, saw the summit and the whole of the intervening route. “Oh! Aiguille Verte,” said my guide, stopping as he said it, “you are dead, you are dead;” which, being translated into plain English, meant that he was cock-sure we should make its ascent.
Almer is a quiet man at all times. When climbing he is taciturn—and this is one of his great merits. A garrulous man is always a nuisance, and upon the mountain-side he may be a danger, for actual climbing requires a man’s whole attention. Added to this, talkative men are hindrances; they are usually thirsty, and a thirsty man is a drag.
Guide-books recommend mountain-walkers to suck pebbles, to prevent their throats from becoming parched. There is not much goodness to be got out of the pebbles; but you cannot suck them and keep the mouth open at the same time, and hence the throat does not become dry. It answers just as well to keep the mouth [pg 251]shut, without any pebbles inside,—indeed, I think, better; for if you have occasion to open your mouth, you can do so without swallowing any pebbles.[195] As a rule, amateurs, and particularly novices, will not keep their mouths shut. They attempt to “force the pace,” they go faster than they can go without being compelled to open their mouths to breathe, they pant, their throats and tongues become parched, they drink and perspire copiously, and, becoming exhausted, declare that the dryness of the air, or the rarefaction of the air (everything is laid upon the air), is in fault. On several accounts, therefore, a mountain-climber does well to hold his tongue when he is at his work.
At the top of the small gully we crossed over the intervening rocks into the large one, and followed it so long as it was filled with snow. At last ice replaced snow, and we turned over to the rocks upon its left. Charming rocks they were; granitic in texture,[196] gritty, holding the nails well. At 9.45 we parted from them, and completed the ascent by a little ridge of snow which descended in the direction of the Aiguille du Moine. At 10.15 we stood on the summit (13,540), and devoured our bread and cheese with a good appetite.