Much snow had fallen during the late bad weather, and as we reposed upon the top of our pass (which was about 11,650 feet above the level of the sea, and 600 feet above the Col du Géant), we saw that the descent of the rocks which intervened between us and the Glacier de Triolet would require some caution, for the sun’s rays poured down directly upon them, and the snow slipped away every now and then from ledge to ledge just as if it had been water,—in cascades not large enough to be imposing, but sufficient to knock us over if we got in their way. This little bit of cliff consequently took a longer time than it should have done, for when we heard the indescribable swishing, hissing sound which announced a coming fall, we of necessity huddled under the lee of the rocks until the snow ceased to shoot over us.
We got to the level of the Glacier de Triolet without misadventure, then steered for its left bank to avoid the upper of its two formidable ice-falls, and after descending the requisite distance by some old snow lying between the glacier and the cliffs which border [pg 257]it, crossed directly to the right bank over the level ice between the two ice-falls.[200] The right bank was gained without any trouble, and we found there numerous beds of hard snow (avalanche débris) down which we could run or glissade as fast as we liked.
Glissading is a very pleasant employment when it is accomplished successfully, and I have never seen a place where it can be more safely indulged in than the snowy valley on the right bank of the Glacier de Triolet. In my dreams I glissade delightfully, but in practice I find that somehow the snow will not behave properly, and that my alpenstock will get between my legs. Then my legs go where my head should be, and I see the sky revolving at a rapid pace; the snow rises up and smites me, and runs away; and when it is at last overtaken it suddenly stops, and we come into violent collision. Those who are with me say that I tumble head over heels, and there may be some truth in what they say. Streaks of ice are apt to make the heels shoot away, and stray stones cause one to pitch headlong down. Somehow these things always seem to come in the way, so it is as well to glissade only when there is something soft to tumble into.[201]
Near the termination of the glacier we could not avoid traversing a portion of its abominable moraine, but at 1.30 P.M. we were [pg 258]clear of it, and threw ourselves upon some springy turf conscious that our day’s work was over. An hour afterwards we resumed the march, crossed the Doire torrent by a bridge a little below Gruetta, and at five o’clock entered Courmayeur, having occupied somewhat less than ten hours on the way. Mr. Girdlestone’s party came in, I believe, about four hours afterwards, so there was no doubt that we made a shorter pass than the Col du Géant; and I believe we discovered a quicker way of getting from Chamounix to Courmayeur, or vice versa, than will be found elsewhere, so long as the chain of Mont Blanc remains in its present condition.[202]
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE RUINETTE—THE MATTERHORN.
“In almost every art, experience is worth more than precepts.”
Quintilian.