After a hasty but enjoyable meal of chocolate, sardines, and tea, we set off on the return journey. The descent to the Col de Foggiale round the foot of Paglia Orba was most enjoyable in the evening sun, whose golden reflection shimmered in the distant gulfs of the coast. We passed the cornice on the col without jumping and managed, in spite of the soft snow, to glissade almost half-way down to the tent. We arrived back in camp about half an hour after sunset. The night was fine, though cold, but we slept well, for we had earned our sleep with a good hard day’s work.
April 12 was spent in recuperating from the effects of the previous day’s labours. In fact, during our whole stay in Corsica we were generally forced to sandwich our climbs with a generous number of off-days. Our food, consisting mainly of preserves brought out from Switzerland, certainly disagreed with one and all of us; by which it is not to be inferred that the quality of the food was at fault. It was the nature of the food that was wrong. Our dietary was totally lacking in fresh vegetables and, indeed, fresh food stuffs of any kind; an omission which probably explains our general state of unfitness.
During the night of April 12 to 13 a west wind set in and towards morning became so violent that the tent several times threatened to leave its moorings. The weather, however, was otherwise fine, so we decided to make an attempt at traversing the five peaks of the Cinque Fratri, the highest of which is about 6,500 feet. After numerous efforts to shake off a certain lethargy which gripped us all, we at length stumbled off in three detachments, at intervals of ten minutes. The aim of each detachment was to meet the other two in the gap to the south of the fifth and lowest Frater. This we eventually succeeded in doing, though each took a different route up. We roped in the col, Max being given the lead, an honour which he repaid by dropping a pot of honey and a loaf of bread on Bryn’s head and mine in the course of the ascent. The tie-strings of his knapsack had been too weak. From the gap we traversed round on to the east face of the peak and climbed directly upwards through the great chimney which runs down it from the summit. The climax of the ascent was provided by a somewhat narrow pitch in this chimney, where you encounter a bush of prickles, roll in them on your back, kick with one leg against each wall of the cleft and then swing out on to the exposed and very steep ridge on the right. This brings one to an easy slope of loose stones leading to the summit. Bryn and I, of course, went to sleep, leaving Maxwell to confide a slip of paper containing our names to the care of the newly-built cairn—a reprehensible form of vice to which in those days we were much addicted. Presently he stirred us up, driving fresh life and energy into us with the business end of his Anthanmatten ice-axe, and we obediently scrambled down to the gap between Fratri Nos. 5 and 4. Maxwell was again delegated to pull the two sleep-walkers up Frater No. 4. He chose the easier, direct way and energetically pulled us up a few steep cracks, slabs and chimneys, in the hope of rousing us. A vain hope, for, arrived on the summit, we immediately sought out a spot that was sheltered from the wind and were soon deep in slumber once more. All too quickly came another rude awakening at Max’s hands, and we again moved off. A few feet below the summit we were baulked at the edge of an overhanging wall. With some difficulty we contrived to fasten a coil of thin rope round a large block. Maxwell descended first and succeeded in climbing nearly all the way, though most of his verbal messages and directions were borne off by the wind, with the result that the rope was always slack when he wanted it taut and nearly always pulling him up again while he was climbing an easy bit. Then came my turn. I found the descent distinctly easy and pleasant, for, still half asleep, I allowed myself to hang free all the way, leaving the work of lowering me down to Bryn who found me rather heavy. After sending down his axe and rucksack, Bryn soon joined us, and we romped up the easy Frater No. 3. Passing another gap, Frater No. 2 speedily succumbed to our united attack.
The next gully, that between Fratri Nos. 2 and 1, and running down the south wall of the mountain, is most remarkable. Very narrow and steep, with deep, clean-cut walls, it should afford some first-rate climbing. The descent from Frater No. 1, the highest of these peaks, to the gap between it and Monte Albano provided another occasion for cutting off a loop from the spare rope and roping down. The wall here is very steep, and composed in the main of loose and treacherous rocks. I went down first and photographed the others struggling to descend, almost expecting to see them at any moment blown away with a piece of rock in each hand, so buffeted about were they by the gale.
Traversing round the southern base of Monte Albano, we struck some abominably slushy snow slopes through which we ploughed a way, finally stumbling through maquis and loose stones into the welcome haven of our camp. After a grand five-course dinner, we settled ourselves comfortably in the tent and talked over deeds and memories until, wearied out, we quietly dozed off.
Wednesday, April 14, was destined to be another lazy day. It was Maxwell’s turn to prepare breakfast, and in due course Bryn and I kicked him out of the tent. Unfortunately we neglected to hang on to his sleeping-bag, with the result that when we two began sleepily foraging for something to allay the pangs of hunger, we found our cook snugly asleep. With eating and sleeping, with roasting in the sun and cooling in the shade of the forest and in the icy waters of the Viro, time passed away pleasantly enough, but all too quickly. After such a glorious rest, we were ready and anxious to grapple with the hardest problem the mountains of Corsica could offer us. Owing to the ease with which we had been able to scramble over Capo Tafonato and the Cinque Fratri, we were beginning to despair of finding a really difficult climb and had reached a stage where we were ready to tackle any projected route, no matter how difficult it appeared from afar. In short, we were in need of proof that one could meet with a really tough job amongst the cliffs of Corsica’s mountains.
The Cinque Fratri from below the Col de Foggiale.