Sounding a snowbridge.
Facing page 86.
This is the first and last time that I have seen a man fall into a crevasse in winter. It is not an experience to be repeated lightly; it had been by no means an easy task for two of us to get our comrade out, and had he been unequal to assisting us and not the capable and ready-witted mountaineer that he is, the task might well have been an insuperable one. Mountaineers to-day seem somewhat inclined to under-rate the dangers of falling into a crevasse. In summer, except perhaps immediately after heavy falls of fresh snow, it should be possible for a party to avoid this danger altogether. But in winter, the greatest care and experience, combined with keenness of vision, are necessary to steer clear of making the acquaintance of the interior of a crevasse—an acquaintance which may, if one is fortunate, be merely unpleasant, but is likely to result in very grave danger indeed.[3]
After Tauern had shaken his clothes as free from snow as possible and put on his skis, we set off once more. Meeting with no further adventure, we reached the slopes above the hut. Here we left our skis, planting them upright in the snow, and then plunged down thigh-deep to the hut. It was just on nightfall. Being mid-winter, it was not surprising that the thermometer inside the hut registered 42° F. of frost. But there was a compensating abundance of wood and blankets. Like most of the Swiss Alpine Club huts, the Bergli is soundly built with a view, inter alia, to conservation of heat in its interior; and it was not long after lighting the fire, upon which we placed pans full of snow to procure water for cooking purposes, that a pleasant, comforting warmth was suffused throughout the little building. In those days Max and I rather fancied ourselves as cooks. But Tauern, whose mountain experience was greater than ours, had stocked his knapsack with such a supply of well-chosen dainties, forming a marked contrast to our own stodgy and unromantic though filling and nourishing food, that there was nothing for it but to come off our pedestals and act as mere assistants. That evening we enjoyed a wonderful dinner of many courses. As it was the first really square meal we had indulged in since leaving Grindelwald, our appetites came well up to scratch. At peace with ourselves and the world, we presently turned in to sleep. Being alone in the hut, the supply of blankets was in excess of our needs; each man slept on three spread on the straw of the bunks and covered himself with half a dozen more. With the exception of boots and coats, we slept in our out-door clothes. The warmth inside the hut lasted until well past midnight; but long before daybreak, in spite of our many coverings, the cold disturbed our slumbers, and at five o’clock we were glad to throw back the blankets, all frosted where the moisture from our breath had condensed and frozen upon them, and get up and light the fire. After breakfast we thawed our boots against the stove, and put them and puttees on. Still inside the hut, we roped and shortly after sunrise set off towards the lower Mönchjoch.
It was laborious work forcing our way up towards the skis, for the snow was as soft as ever. The day was gloriously fine; the sky was cloudless; strange, cold, yellowish-green near the horizon, but deepening to a pale, hard blue overhead. Most of the peaks about us were already bathed in the warm light of the sun, but we ourselves were still in the shade. Presently we reached the spot where we had left our skis. Snow ploughing was at an end; with these useful things on our feet we no longer sank deeply into the snow and, forging a zig-zag track, soon arrived at the lower Mönchjoch and into the sunshine—a pleasant relief after the cold shadow. The bergschrund below the lower Mönchjoch was choked with masses of snow, and we ski-ed down over it and across a short slope on to the plateau of the Ewigschneefeld, stirring up merry clouds of snow dust in our wake. We had planned to cross the upper Mönchjoch and climb the Jungfrau. But from the lower Mönchjoch, the presence of fish-shaped clouds behind the Jungfrau and a fresh and gusty west wind gave warning of a possible change in the weather. However, we shuffled over the Ewigschneefeld, deciding to wait until arriving at the upper Mönchjoch before coming to a definite decision as to further movements. But no improvement in the weather outlook took place; on the contrary, things had taken a distinct turn for the worse, and the wind was occasionally strong enough to prove troublesome by whirling up streamers of snow dust in our faces. To try the Jungfrau under these conditions would have been unwise; so we decided to content ourselves with climbing the Mönch. From the upper Mönchjoch, the most convenient line of ascent to the summit lies over the south-east ridge. Using skis as far as possible, we mounted until we reached a point on the ridge where the wind had swept the rocks free from snow. These were perfectly easy; so gentle was the slope that it was not even necessary to use one’s hands. Beyond was a snow ridge, the steeper portion of which was quite simple, though the final part needed some care in negotiating. It was covered by an immense snow cornice, overhanging on the right, and, in order to avoid walking on it and incurring the risk of its breaking away, we had to keep well down to the left where the presence of ice occasionally necessitated the cutting of steps. Shortly after half-past ten we gained the spacious, snow-capped summit of the Mönch. A little way down on the north side, we found complete shelter from the wind which had now veered round and was blowing from the south. We sat for a whole hour, feeling none too warm perhaps, but revelling in the wonderful view spread out at our feet. A dense, moving sea of cloud, which rose to an altitude of seven or eight thousand feet, blotted out the plains; and here and there midst the softly-foaming billows, snow-capped summits, like little islands, thrust their gleaming heads.
On turning to make our way down again, we found that the wind had risen and was whipping up into our faces great streamers of snow from summit and from ridge. The stinging sensation of the wind-driven snow spicules as they struck the unprotected skin was painful if also exhilarating, and, retracing our steps as fast as we could, we eagerly sought the comparative shelter of the upper Mönchjoch. The descent was without incident, and, after regaining our skis, we sped back with all haste over the lower Mönchjoch towards the Bergli hut. Above the hut we espied two strange pairs of skis planted upright in the snow. No tracks, however, were visible; the wind-blown snow had levelled them out. We arrived at the hut at 1.30 p.m., an hour and a half after leaving the summit of the Mönch; and stepping into the pleasant shelter, were greeted by Tauern’s friends who had come to keep their tryst with him.
In view of the almost certain approach of bad weather, Max and I now made the mistake of not continuing our descent to the Eismeer. The others had ample provisions to tide them over an enforced stay in the hut, but our own stores were sufficient for only one, or at the most two, more meals. Loth to leave the pleasant companionship of the others and the warm, hospitable shelter of the hut, we decided to remain for the night and go down to the Eismeer on the following morning.
During the night snow fell heavily. Next day, after a belated breakfast, Max and I, in spite of the fresh snow and the fact that the weather, though quiet, was still uncertain, decided to set out. Everything was obscured in mist. Tauern, more aware of the danger of our plans than we, did his utmost to dissuade us. The thought, however, that our remaining in the hut would spoil his and his companions’ climbing programme, through unexpected depletion of their supplies, settled the matter. Max and I put on the rope and, with the others’ wishes for good luck, set off. The struggle up through the soft, deep snow to our skis, left sticking some two hundred feet above the hut, was most laborious. Less troublesome was the long traverse towards the head of the icefall, close under the cliffs of the Eiger. I doubt, however, if either of us realised the great danger we were incurring here. Owing to the recent snow fall, it was doubly difficult to detect the presence of crevasses, and, though we made use of every precaution then known to us, I have no doubt that it was sheer good luck that saw us across more than one snow bridge in safety. Had either broken well through into a crevasse, it is most unlikely that the other, unaided, could have pulled him out. But fortune was with us. Notwithstanding dense mists, wind, and lashing snow dust, we kept in the right direction, and when hard under the cliffs of the Eiger, of the proximity of which the reflected sound of a shout gave adequate indication, we turned down through the icefall. Struggling along through the deep snow had resulted in our underclothing getting wet, and we began to feel the cold. To add to our discomfort, the descent of particularly steep pitches necessitated the removal of our skis, and the continual taking off and refastening of these became a trying task for the fingers. However, things went passably well despite minor troubles, and we had almost reached the safe ground below the icefall when I felt a tremendous wind sweep down upon me from above. Next moment, almost before I had become aware of what was happening, I was choking for breath in the dense snow dust of an avalanche falling down upon us from the cliffs of the Eiger. Max was about a hundred feet behind me at the full length of the rope and, as luck would have it, clear of the falling stream of dust. He could see me disappear as the thick snow cloud enveloped me. The snow fell until I was buried to above my head, and, just as I thought I would be stifled, the avalanche mercifully ceased. By keeping my hands above me and moving them as if I were swimming, I had left a sort of funnel through which I could get some air. Fortunately the snow dust had not packed firmly, and after herculean efforts I succeeded in twisting my feet loose from my buried skis and, helped by Max’s pull on the rope, was able to free myself from the unpleasant situation. As my skis were absolutely indispensable for the completion of the descent, we had to set about recovering them; but it was not until we had grovelled for nearly an hour in the floury snow that they were found.