The north face of the Jungfrau.
“... an imposing edifice of glistening terraces of ice and snow....”
Facing page 52.
Max, Sturgess and I, after traversing the three summits of the Wetterhorn, left the Dossen hut on July 27 for Rosenlaui, and thence walked over the Great Scheidegg to Grindelwald where we arrived with barely an hour to spare before the last train of the day was due to leave for the Little Scheidegg. That hour was a crowded one. Boots required re-nailing and patching up, a stock of provisions sufficient for eight days had to be laid in, and all superfluous baggage bundled up and posted off to Zermatt, our next port of call in the valleys. We spread out into the village bazaar where, thanks to a good distribution of labour and unstinting use of what we were pleased to imagine was Swiss-German, we stirred up the kindly but stolid Grindelwald shopkeepers to unwonted activity and succeeded in arriving at the station just on time. The spectacle we presented—dissolving in perspiration, weighed down by bulging knapsacks, with climbing irons, cooking apparatus and ropes slung on anyhow, loaves of bread tucked under our arms—caused some merriment amongst the trippers who thronged the waiting train. However, we succeeded in finding room for ourselves and belongings and utilised the leisure afforded by the journey up to the Little Scheidegg in repacking stores in more convenient and comfortable fashion. We also made the acquaintance of the famous Swiss climber, the late Dr. Andreas Fischer who, with the two guides Hans Almer (son of Christian Almer, in his time the greatest of Swiss guides) and Ulrich Almer (son of Ulrich, Christian’s almost equally renowned brother), was, like us, bound for the Guggi hut. All three were extremely kind to us. We told Dr. Fischer that Max and I intended to climb the Jungfrau from the Guggi hut. Somewhat amazed and not a little concerned at this bold project on the part of two mere boys, he urged us to be careful. When we assured him, however, that we were fully aware of the toughness of the impending task and intended to spend at least one whole day in reconnoitring the way and cutting the necessary steps up as far as the Schneehorn, he saw that we meant business and returned our confidences by telling us of his own ambitious plans, from which it appeared that our roads would lie together as far as the Schneehorn. There, however, our ways would part, for it was his intention to cut up long and tremendously steep ice slopes to the then unascended north-east ridge of the Jungfrau and climb over that ridge to the summit.
In spite of the novelty of our surroundings and the wonderful aspect of the Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau as seen from this side, the walk from the Scheidegg over the Eiger Glacier to the hut was, for us with our heavy loads, far from being a pleasure. More lightly laden, Fischer and his guides soon outstripped us, and it was with a sigh of relief that, just before nightfall, we arrived at our destination.
The old Guggi hut, now almost disused, is one of the smallest in the Alps, measuring as it does in floor space only ten feet by twelve. In 1909 more than half that space was taken up by two tiers of straw-filled sleeping bunks, and what remained was largely exhausted by a tiny stove and rickety table. Within comfortable walking distance of the Eiger Glacier station of the Jungfrau railway, the hut is frequently visited by trippers, a section of the community noted in the Alps for the trail of disorder they leave behind them; and we arrived to find the Almers endeavouring to clear up the pigsty condition in which they had found our resting-place for the night. We lent a hand and, a semblance of tidiness once more restored, prepared a simple dinner and turned in to sleep. There was a rug for each man and one huge horse blanket which sufficed to cover us all, so we slept warmly.
Shortly after midnight the disturbing ring of my alarum watch drove us forth to inspect the weather. The night air was warm, and long streaks of fish-shaped clouds in the west threatened trouble. Fischer’s party required settled weather for their expedition, and as on the first day we only intended prospecting as far as the Schneehorn and could, therefore, afford to wait for an hour or two, all turned in again to sleep while waiting for the weather to show its hand. At 1 a.m. Max and I became impatient. Prospects were still doubtful, though for our purposes fair enough. The Almers could not make up their minds to start; but we, not so dependent upon the weather, decided to clear for action. Dr. Fischer now came forward with a plan which, even then, I realised was prompted by his anxiety for our safety and the liking which he had already formed for us. He suggested that we should join forces and go together as far as the rocks of the Schneehorn and bivouac there for the night. Next morning, weather permitting, we could then complete our climb, and he and his guides would carry on with their great task. We at once fell in with this generous proposal. Hans and Ulrich, hitherto obviously downhearted at the idea of a day’s idleness, now brightened up. One by one we crawled out of our bunks—the cramped space would not allow all to get up together—and while the cooks monopolised the interior, the rest of us busied ourselves outside the hut, groping for clothes in the darkness, seeking the more elusive garments with matches and generally completing our toilet under difficulties. Breakfast, coming so soon after a late supper, was but a shadow of a meal; and it was barely half-past one when, shod with climbing irons, we put on the rope and, bidding good-bye to Sturgess who intended returning to Grindelwald in the course of the day, stepped forth with lighted lanterns into the night.