Five minutes later we stood below the entrance of the railway tunnel. This, it will be remembered, was separated from the snow upon which we now stood by a rocky wall some thirty feet high and unclimbable in its lower part. We shouted ourselves hoarse in an endeavour to attract the attention of workmen who might be in the tunnel, but all to no purpose. In the end we had to fall back upon self-help. Taking off the rope, we made a noose and then set to work to try and lasso a large iron pin which had been driven into the rock a few feet below the entrance of the tunnel. Cast after cast failed, each flung wide by the gusts of an erratic wind. A quarter of an hour at this game showed us that we had over-estimated our prowess with the lasso; but at last a throw succeeded. A twitch or two of the rope settled the noose firmly on the pin, and I then proceeded to try and haul myself up hand over hand; but the struggle in the avalanche had sapped my strength to such an extent that I failed miserably. Then Max tried, and after a desperate battle grasped the pin. As soon as he was up he hauled in the knapsacks, axes and skis. He next fastened one end of the rope to the pin while I tied the other about my waist. Then, with Max hauling with all his might, I struggled up. After a rest, we gathered together our belongings and walked up the tunnel towards the station. Even now, troubles were not at an end. The entrance to the station was barred by an iron grating. Outside was a bell with a polite invitation to ring. We accepted with all our hearts. But for nearly half an hour we stood there, shivering in the fierce, cold draught that swept up from the glacier world without. At last, just when we were beginning to despair of attracting anyone’s attention, a tunnelling foreman came and opened the gate. Noticing our plight at once, he led us to the engine house and tucked us in between two great compressed air cylinders belonging to the Ingersoll rock-drilling outfit. There we slept, warm and comfortable, until it was time to descend by one of the workmen’s trains. As night had fallen ere we arrived at the Eiger Glacier station, it was too late to continue our way to Grindelwald, but the engineer-in-chief once again proffered hospitality.

Next morning Max, who had suffered frost-bite in one heel, had difficulty in getting on his boots; but once this painful task was accomplished and our skis were strapped on, all went well. Three-quarters of an hour later we were mounting the slopes beyond the Lütschinen stream towards Grindelwald, the Eiger Hôtel and comfort.

FOOTNOTES:

[3] In connection with the wearing of the rope on glaciers, attention should be drawn to the fact that the so-called “middleman noose,” a knot which is warmly advocated in many quarters, must never be used. It is a slip-knot.

CHAPTER VII
ON SKIS IN THE BERNESE OBERLAND (continued)

In later years we visited many other parts of the Alps on skis; but it was not until the Easter of 1914 that we returned to the great glaciers of the Oberland. On April 9, I boarded the continental train at Charing Cross and, on the following day, joined my brother in Zürich, where he was completing his studies. My arrival being totally unexpected, I was indeed fortunate in finding him free from climbing plans and obligations. Next evening at eight o’clock we were in Wengen. After dinner, and having written a few letters informing relatives and friends that we were off for a week’s ski-ing mid the peaks of the Bernese Oberland, we put on skis and, at 10 p.m., left the Schönegg Hôtel. The moon shone brightly, and we strode up the buried railway track through a land of silver dominated by the great ghostly shapes of that wonderful Alpine trinity, the Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau. All shuttered up and deserted were the railway station and collection of hôtels at the Little Scheidegg—a forlorn colony of the dead. In the eerie magic of an hour past midnight, we should not have been astonished had a ghostly throng of perspiring trippers appeared from nowhere and begun that fight for seats of vantage on the train, which we had more than once witnessed during the bright sunny days of a summer season. Braving the possible presence of the supernatural, however, we paused here to indulge in the infinitely prosaic—a meal of dry bread and raw bacon fat, our favourite winter tit-bit!

Soon we were off again up the railway track. The snow throughout was safe and in perfect condition, and at 3 a.m. we reached the Eiger Glacier station. We saw the engineer on duty, who most kindly undertook to make the necessary arrangements for a special train to be at our disposal after breakfast. Unwilling to disturb others, we contented ourselves with a table each for bed and slept soundly until after sunrise. The train left just after eight. During the six years that had elapsed since our last visit, considerable progress had been made, and the tunnel completed up to the Jungfraujoch. The railway track, however, was not yet finished, and the walk from the train to the Joch was no easy matter, as the final section of the tunnel was still in the rough stage. Thanks to the kind offers of one of the tunnelling foremen who remembered us from the winter of 1908, we were provided with a warm meal at a trifling cost.

With the good wishes of all the staff, we stepped out of the tunnel at noon on the 12th and, descending carefully over a steep snow slope, crossed a small snow-choked bergschrund on to the Jungfrau Glacier. Here we put on skis and, leaving the heavy knapsacks to be picked up on the return journey, headed for the Mönchjoch. We wore the rope, though, at this time of the year and with the snow in its present condition, there was no difficulty in detecting the presence of crevasses or in sounding with the axe and accurately estimating the strength of snow bridges. The weather was sunny and windless, and, though the temperature in the shade was far below freezing, we gradually divested ourselves of coats and shirts and arrived in the lower Mönchjoch stripped to the waist, but fresh and aglow from the exertion. There we were accosted by the gentlest of breezes; sufficient, nevertheless, to persuade us to resume some of our discarded coverings. The skis, not needed for the time being, were left behind as we turned up the south-east ridge of the Mönch. The climb up the ridge was as easy as I have ever known it, so good were the conditions. Along the final, almost level section, we found the remains of old steps which we at first followed. Presently, however, we forsook them. According to our views, they went dangerously close to, and were sometimes even on, the overhanging portion of the immense cornice which adorns the crest of this part of the ridge. We preferred to keep well down on the steep slope to the left, though such a procedure did involve a little step-cutting. At 3 p.m. we paid our third visit to the summit of the Mönch. Filmy mists of the kind that the mountaineer usually associates with fair, settled weather floated up from the north and enveloped us almost immediately. Despite a fresh breeze from the south-west, they clung tenaciously about us, completely obscuring the view. For nearly an hour we waited for things to clear; but in vain. Too chilled to prolong our stay, we sought warmth in action and turned back towards the Mönchjoch. As we passed along the highest section of the ridge, I re-cut one or two of the steps. Suddenly I was startled by a crashing noise, followed by a thunderous roar, as almost the whole of the great cornice broke away for a distance of about a hundred yards in front and fifty yards behind us and fell down in a mighty avalanche towards the Eismeer. Where a moment previously the view to the left had been shut off by a steep snow wall, I now had an uninterrupted survey down the precipice, from the brink of which I was separated by a distance of only an inch or two. At first we were a little startled by the suddenness of the happening, but later regarded it as merely another demonstration of the fact that, if mountaineering is to be a safe pursuit, knowledge and the exercise of care are indispensable. Although much of the ridge along which we now had to pass was still heavily corniced, we had faith in the safety of the tracks we had left on ascending and, following these, made our way down to our skis. Strapping them on and coiling up the rope, we skimmed in a sheer riot of exhilaration down towards the Jungfraujoch, keeping as much as possible to our previous tracks. It being our intention to make the Concordia hut our home for the next few days, we recovered our knapsacks and, at 5 p.m., set off down the Jungfrau Glacier on the last lap of the day’s journey.

The run down the glacier was somewhat spoilt by the fact that the weight of our knapsacks rendered crevasse-dodging rather difficult unless the pace of travel was kept down by frequent braking. Far from easy to negotiate, too, were the occasional patches of snow, hard-crusted by the action of the fierce winds that from time to time sweep up this glacier in winter. It was, however, a wonderful evening. There was no cause for haste, so we halted frequently to ease our shoulders of the weight of the knapsacks and to point out to each other old friends amongst the surrounding peaks. We had last crossed the Concordia Platz in the summer of 1909. Then we had found it a vast, almost level expanse of glacier covered with an abominable slush of snow and water. But now it was in the grip of winter. We ambled and slid over a dry, powdery snow surface, the soft, fresh breezes of dusk playing about us and cooling the flush that exercise had called to our faces. A little, fairly steep slope lay between the edge of the glacier and the rocks on which the Concordia hut stands. I ski-ed down this slope and brought up with a Christiania swing; but not in time to prevent twisting my left ankle against a stone—a painful experience, though no bones were broken, and, beyond the throbbing pain, I seemed to suffer no inconvenience. We climbed up the almost snow-free rocks and, at 7.30 p.m., arrived in the hut. By this time there remained to us but faded memories of our last meal, and it was not until ten o’clock that our ravenous appetites were satisfied.