The short cut—roping down.
Facing page 48.
The way to the Mitteljoch, the depression on the ridge between the Mittelhorn and the Rosenhorn, was now clear. A few easy rocks followed by soft snow slopes brought us to the foot of a great rock pinnacle or gendarme. This was easily avoided by skirting round its base on the north side, keeping as high as possible in the steep snow slopes below its rocky flank. Before midday, we arrived at the foot of the north-west ridge of the Rosenhorn and began climbing over the array of bold, red-brown rock teeth that form its crown. For nearly two hours, keeping well to the crest of the ridge, we scrambled merrily over gendarme after gendarme, finding the rock good and reliable on the whole, with little danger of foot- or handholds breaking away. Sturgess was feeling rather tired and occasionally required help. One extra long and steep crack taxed his powers to the utmost. A pull on the rope from above, however, and a push from below enabled him to drag himself on to the almost level platform at the top of the pinnacle, where for several minutes he lay and gasped like a fish out of water. Shortly after one o’clock the difficulties were over, and, seeing in front of us nothing more than an easy scramble to the summit, we settled down to a rest and a meal.
The cold wind to which we had hitherto been exposed had dropped, and the sun beat warmly down upon us from an almost cloudless sky. Presently I became assailed with doubts as to whether the highest point visible were really the summit or merely masking a loftier eminence farther along the ridge. To settle the question, I unroped and set off alone. An hour’s easy clamber brought me to the point in question, to discover to my intense satisfaction that it actually was the summit of the Rosenhorn. I shouted the good news down to the others who were already making their way up towards me. At the same moment I found that my knapsack had been left behind at our resting-place. As Max and Sturgess had both overlooked it, I hurried down past them, retrieved my property and, climbing back in all haste, overtook them just below the top. At 3 p.m. all three stood on the summit. Sturgess immediately set about finding a comfortable couch for himself on a smooth, horizontal slab where he dozed while Max and I got busy with the cooker. An hour sped by quickly enough to the pleasant accompaniment of the munching of stout sandwiches washed down by copious draughts of hot tea.
Meanwhile the weather was changing for the worse. A south wind had sprung up; great, woolly cumulus clouds had gathered on the horizon and were rolling over towards us. It was evident that a thunderstorm was imminent. So at four o’clock we packed up, re-roped and moved off along the south-west ridge over which the mountain is usually climbed. Relieving Sturgess of his knapsack, we climbed over a rocky point which is almost as high as the summit itself, and were soon making our way down over the easy rocks to the snow slopes leading to the Rosenegg. Curving round to the left, we then ploughed our way across the Wetterkessel in the direction of the Dossenhorn. The noonday sun had softened the snow, and at every step one sank almost to the knees in slush. Coming as it did at the end of a long day, the making of the track was toilsome in the extreme, and Max and I took the lead in turns. Sturgess, however, showed such hopeful signs of recovering his energies that we finally decided to regain the hut by climbing over the Dossenhorn instead of only crossing the Sattel. By so doing, one more summit would be added to the three already bagged—an important consideration in our early mountaineering days. The decision involved a slight change in route. Making for the Renfenjoch, the depression at the foot of the Dossenhorn, we struggled up through the soft, wet snow and at last gained the rocks of the south ridge of the mountain. Thence to the summit was an uneventful climb over good firm rock. We lost no time on the top. There was no view to be seen, for thick mists swirled round us and it began to sleet. Soon Max was swallowed up in fog as I paid out his rope while he descended the steep rocks in the direction of the hut. When he had called out that he had found good, firm standing ground, Sturgess followed, while by a steady hold on his rope I checked any tendency on his part to gain too much momentum. Soon after leaving the summit the electricity of the highly-charged atmosphere surrounding us began to discharge itself slowly through our axes and the sodden rope, making a noise like the tearing of linen. Fearing the possibility of a more violent lightning-like discharge, we moved out on to the western flank of the ridge and hurried along with the greatest speed compatible with safety. We encountered no further difficulties and at length, at 7 p.m., after an absence of over seventeen hours, regained the Dossen hut, but not before we had been drenched to the skin by a torrential downpour of rain that had superseded the sleet.
Our gallant beginner showed naturally great fatigue, but we rubbed him until he was warm again and rolled him up in blankets. Max and I then prepared a hot meal and changed our sodden clothing as far as the presence of a party of ladies, who with their guides were bent on climbing the Dossenhorn on the morrow, would permit. Good food followed by a night’s rest worked wonders for Sturgess who soon recovered from the effects of his hardships. He was a stout fellow, keen, uncomplaining and always ready to do his best, and had indeed acquitted himself splendidly on this, his first great mountain climb.
CHAPTER IV
THE JUNGFRAU
A glance at the map of the Bernese Oberland will show that a straight line drawn in a north-easterly direction from the Breithorn to the Eiger will pass through, or close to, the Grosshorn, Mittaghorn, Ebnefluh, Jungfrau and Mönch. The ridge connecting these great peaks forms a lofty watershed flanked on the south by gently-rising glacier slopes and on the north by precipitous ice-clad cliffs and icefalls. Almost every route, therefore, leading from the north across this great connecting ridge constitutes an arduous ice-climb followed by a comparatively easy descent on the south side. Small wonder, then, that the guides of the Oberland, who live in close proximity to such a wonderful training ground, excel all others in the art of snow and ice mountaineering.
The ascent of the north face of the Jungfrau is reputed to be one of the finest ice expeditions in the Alps and, as such, attracted the boyish attention of my brother and me, incited as we were even in the earliest days of our climbing career by the picture of Himalayan adventure that hovered in the background of our minds. In the event of the picture coming to life, ice work, we felt sure, would stand us in better stead than mere agility on rock, and it was, therefore, our endeavour to perfect ourselves as far as possible in the more serious side of mountaineering, that is, in the intricacies of snow and ice-craft. The north face of the Jungfrau presents itself to the eye as an imposing edifice built up of glistening, greenish-white terraces of ice and snow of such purity that it were almost desecration to set human foot upon them. To the mountaineer, who is perhaps actuated less by poetic imagination than by the virile desire to pit his puny strength against a much stronger force, these great terraces become but the stepping-stones on the road to the summit. In number they are five—the upper reaches of the Guggi Glacier, the Kühlauenen Glacier, the Giessenmulde, the Silbermulde and the Hochfirn—forming a wonderful spiral staircase, as it were, betwixt earth and heaven. No better field could be found in which to test our skill and improve our knowledge; and it was this ambitious climb that figured next to the Wetterhorn in our programme for the summer of 1909.