Ski-runs in the High Alps

by F. F. Roget

As a long and wide avenue, the glacier stretched itself out before the runners, and out of sight. Grey mists, rising from Italy, hung loosely over the southern rim of the glacier. But when near the upper end, at an altitude of 3,000 m. or thereabouts, the mist melted away and the sun reappeared. Three passes had to be crossed on that day in order to reach the Bertol hut by night. At that time of year those passes were nothing more than slightly marked elevations in the snow-fields. The first opens between Petit Mt. Collon and Becca d’Oren. This pass, as yet nameless, and which it will be convenient to call here Pass 3,300 m., affords a much more direct route than the Col de Chermontane, or any other. Messrs. Helbling and Reichert had swerved away from the continuous snow-highway to the north. Messrs. Baujard and Ravanel had taken refuge from the crevasses upon the rock passes south of the Bouquetins range. In our case the choice was determined by the requirements of ski technique. From Pass 3,300, gentle downward and upward slopes led us on to the Col de l’Evêque (3,393 m.), which was reached at 2.30 in the afternoon.

In the direction of Italy the sky had remained dull. To the north the mountains shone (including the Bernese Oberland) in a blue sky, in which floated a few clouds. The glass on that day, as before, gave very fair readings. There was but little wind, and the cold was not sharp.

On that day I conversed much with Louis Theytaz. It was with me a set purpose that he should accompany us on this expedition, since I had read in the Alpine Ski Club Annual, and otherwise heard, of his High Alp runs with Mr. W. A. M. Moore and some of that gentleman’s friends. I wrote to Theytaz from Les Basses above Ste. Croix. He joined me at Martigny. He was what one would call “a nice, jolly chap.”

But was he in for bad luck? He had hardly placed his things in the net of our railway carriage, going to Orsières, when his climbing irons fell from the top of his rucksack upon his head, badly bruising his forehead with the prongs. I had engaged him to carry my own pack, as I had made up my mind that I was now old enough to have a personal attendant all to myself. My luggage was particularly valuable to the whole party, as it contained all the spirits I allowed them, namely, in two large flasks, the contents of four bottles of whisky, the proper allowance for six men during six days in January weather at a minimum altitude of 10,000 feet. Theytaz surprised me when, on arrival at the Valsorey hut, he violently threw my pack upside down upon the bed planks. The stopper of one of the flasks flew out, and then I had the pleasure of seeing the floor streaming with whisky. We got through to Zermatt very well on the contents of the other flask. But the head of an expedition so serious as this, when he has forbidden wine and limited spirits to the supply which is known to be in his possession only, does not like to see half of it spilt on the first stage of the journey by an act of sheer carelessness.

Anyhow, I viewed Louis Theytaz in the light of what I had read and heard in his favour. Knowing that he was again to accompany, within a fortnight of leaving me, Mr. Moore and friends to the Pigne d’Arolla, that mountain gained much interest in our sight, as, with the searching eyes of ski-runners, we examined its slopes dipping into the higher reaches of the Glacier d’Otemma. We photographed it a little later in the day in its eastern aspect. Seen from the south and west it presented the most attractive appearance. From the east, it would have been out of the question. What it might be from the north we could suspect from its ominous hang that way.

Recollecting that Messrs. Helbling and Reichert had struck the Glacier de Seilon from the west, I advised Theytaz either to lead his party down south to the Col de Chermontane, or to take them back the way they had come, and reach Arolla in the same manner as the eminent gentlemen whose route was on record. But I did not at the time attach any particular value to my opinion, having learnt from experience how much better things generally turn out in practice than they appear likely to do when considered by an over-prudent man in a pessimistic mood. Louis Theytaz was swallowed up by a crevasse on the Glacier de Seilon.

From the Col de l’Evêque to the Col de Collon the snow was hard for half a mile or so; but as soon as the northern slope of the latter was reached the snow resumed its excellent quality. Thus the three passes were crossed. Wide curves brought the party down the gentle slopes of the Glacier d’Arolla to the level marked 2,670 in the map. From that point we made towards the right bank of the glacier, and landed on the very steep slopes which rise between it and the Plan de Bertol. Some of the party removed their ski rather than run along the top of this ridge. When we were well above the Plan de Bertol we were careful not to dip into it, but turned in to the right, and this move brought us to the foot of the Glacier de Bertol, in which the six runners opened a fairly deep track while tacking with geometrical regularity in the direction of the Bertol hut. They gained about 25 metres in each tack. The moon lit up their march. In the higher reaches of the glacier the slope stiffened, but the snow remained excellent.

Let it be noted here that from one end to the other of the trip we were entirely spared hard and wind-beaten snows, except at the Col de Collon, as above specified, this being the result of the day’s delay in the Valsorey hut, during which it snowed so nicely. Moreover, the high-level route presents on its whole length a belt of comparatively low summits on the south side—low because the route is situated so high. This almost continuous parapet considerably interferes with the view upon Italy, but it is a protection from sun and wind, and no doubt assists in keeping the snow in good condition.

At seven o’clock in the evening the foot of the Rocher de Bertol was reached. The ski were hidden in a niche for the night. We climbed on foot, like dismounted dragoons, up the wall, the rocks of which form a kind of ladder. The rope which is permanently fixed there was available, though partly buried in snow. This hut, perched as an eagle’s nest above the glacier, looks as if the Neuchâtel section of the Swiss Alpine Club (to whom it belongs) had wished to underline with a stroke of humour the Swiss Alpine Club regulations, which say that, in the first instance, huts are intended for the accommodation of the sick and wounded. The door was blocked up with snow, but the windows gave quite comfortable access to the kitchen.

“On that evening,” says the newspaper already quoted, “the party became more confirmed than ever in Mr. Roget’s resolve to attempt the ascent of the Dent Blanche. The condition of the mountains and the weather seemed to justify his anticipations. In forming that bold plan Mr. Roget had taken his stand upon the successful experiences he had had before in his winter ascents of the Aiguille du Tour, the Aiguille du Chardonnet, the Grand Combin, the Finsteraarhorn, the Diablerets, the Wildhorn, the Wildstrubel, &c. It could not but be, he thought, that the Dent Blanche, like all the foregoing peaks, would present itself in January in such a good condition that its ascent by the south arête would be quite possible. It was Mr. Roget’s belief that the arête would show in its fissures but a thin layer of dry and powdery snow. He was convinced that the cornices would show a full development, with their faces to the east and south-east, but without any hem of snow on the west side of the arête, where the ascent is practically made. The slabs, he thought, would be entirely covered with ice, but this ice, in its turn, could not but be covered with an adhesive layer of old snow, with fresh snow on the top of it, and this, having fallen in comparatively mild weather, must have cemented itself on to the old snow, so as to form with it a reliable surface, at whatever angle a footing might have to be gained. After a spell of fine weather, the Dent Blanche could not be more difficult in winter than in summer. In fact, he thought the rocks had been shone upon by the sun till they were dry and free of snow, the couloirs had been swept clean by the wind or clothed in a firm crust. That the cornices might come down with a crash was evident, but this would be into the abysses on the east slope, which was immaterial. On the western slope the snow would be firmly enough attached to the ice to leave but little opportunity for the ice-axe to come into play.”