Early next morning, dense mists surrounded the hut, and snow was falling fast. At 9 a.m. we looked out, to find the snow had ceased and the mists were being blown away by a fierce north-easter. But we dallied until the weather became more certain, and at a quarter to eleven set off for the Fiescherhorn. To climb the Fiescherhorn, it was necessary to gain the upper level of the Ewigschneefeld above its great icefall. By keeping to the left bank of the latter, we succeeded in finding a passage without having to remove our skis; but by the time the glacier above had been gained, the weather had taken a turn for the worse, and in the end we had to content ourselves with climbing the Walcherhorn (12,155 ft.). Skis were kept on right up to the summit. No view rewarded our labours. Mists clung about us, and a cold wind hastened our retreat. Through the clouds, keeping to our former tracks, we ran down to the head of the icefall. Then came five wonderfully exciting minutes as, in and out of crevasses and séracs, we twisted and turned and sped, without a halt, out on to the unbroken slopes below the icefall and down to the Concordia Platz, to reach home in time for four o’clock tea.
We voted the next day to be one of rest. The strain of manœuvring through the icefall of the Ewigschneefeld had caused my ankle to swell up again, and Max was suffering from a cough which made him declare he felt ready for a coffin. It was beautifully clear weather when we rose from our sleeping bunks at one o’clock, and the rest of the day was spent sitting in the sun in front of the hut, Max wrapped up in layers of blankets in an attempt to sweat out his cold, while I, between meal times, endeavoured to allay the inflammation of my ankle with frequent applications of bandages soaked in ice-cold water.
On April 17, we were up before daybreak and left the hut at seven o’clock, bound for the Jungfrau. Once again a bright sun shone from a cloudless sky and a dead calm reigned. So warm was it that our progress was a most moderate one and punctuated by many rests. At one o’clock we gained the large bergschrund immediately under the Rotthal Sattel and there left the skis. Fifty minutes later, having mounted for the most part in perfect snow and having found it necessary to cut only a few steps, we were on the summit of the Jungfrau (13,668 ft.). It was our fifth visit to the Queen of the Oberland; she had always received us well, but never so kindly as on this late winter afternoon of cloudless sky and total absence of wind. Much though we would have preferred to dally, our stay had to be cut short; for a deficiency in certain articles of provisions rendered necessary a visit to the Jungfraujoch on the way back. Threading a way down on to the glacier and then mounting a steep little snow slope, we arrived, in due course, at the tunnel of the Jungfraujoch station where we loaded up fresh supplies, not forgetting wax for the skis which were no longer slipping as freely as they should. After re-waxing them, we sped down to the edge of the Concordia Platz in ten short minutes. The temptation to loaf there in the sun proved irresistible, and it was not until six o’clock that we arrived back in our little winter home.
It was our plan to tackle the Grüneckhorn and the Gross Grünhorn on the following day; a more ambitious undertaking than any we had attempted this season. The weather was doubtful when we looked out just before sunrise. A south wind was driving rolling banks of mist up the Aletsch Glacier, and cloud caps, omens of evil weather, had settled on the summits of all the greater mountains. By eight o’clock no improvement had taken place, so we decided to shift our abode and cross the Grünhornlücke to the Finsteraarhorn hut. An hour later, just as we were preparing to leave, the north wind at last seemed on the point of gaining the ascendancy over the south, and the weather took a distinct turn for the better. We straightway made up our minds to adhere to our original plan. With a rope slung over Max’s shoulder, and a camera and a few provisions in my pockets, we ski-ed up towards the prominent gap in the south-west ridge of the Grüneckhorn. Before reaching it, the badly crevassed nature of the glacier and the icy condition of the snow forced us to leave the skis. We put on the rope and kicked a way up in snow that was so hard and good that we never sank in to more than ankle-depth. From the gap onwards, we followed a delightful ice ridge which forced us to a free use of the ice-axe in cutting steps. Knowing that there was not much time to spare, we worked with a will and, shortly after one o’clock, gained the summit of the Grüneckhorn (12,500 ft.). The climb from here along the snow-free rock ridge to the summit of the Gross Grünhorn was child’s play. The weather was perfect; and no cold wind whipped our faces. We might almost have been climbing on a fine summer’s day, so warm were the rocks, and so good the climbing conditions. We sat on the top of the Gross Grünhorn (13,278 ft.) till well after three. The view from this summit is almost unique. One is so closed in on all sides by great peaks that, no matter where the eye roves, it rests on nothing save rock and ice and perpetual snow. No green valleys suggesting the homes of human folk are there to offer a contrast to the sterner majesty of nature.
Within three-quarters of an hour of leaving the summit, we were back on the Grüneckhorn, and there conceived the idea of descending by the hitherto unclimbed south face, a tremendously steep snow slope through which rocks jutted out here and there. The wonderful condition of the snow tempted us to this decision. Under less favourable circumstances, indeed, such a venture might well have led to trouble. Facing inwards towards the steep snow, we kicked our way downwards step by step, surely but quickly, and crossed the bergschrund at the foot of the slope without the slightest difficulty. Twenty minutes after leaving the summit, we were back at our skis and a quarter of an hour later had entered the hut.
According to programme, we were due at the Finsteraarhorn hut on Sunday the 19th. The barometer had fallen so low, however, and the weather had become so threatening, that we entertained scant hopes of being able to carry our projects into effect. We waited till midday, but no improvement took place; so we packed up to return home via the Lötschenlücke and the Lötschberg railway. Steering by map and compass, we crossed the Concordia Platz and mounted the main Aletsch Glacier through thick mists and gently-falling snow. At four o’clock we left the Lötschenlücke, having paused at the Egon von Steiger hut, close to the pass, for lunch. In a few minutes we had run down below the cloud level. From the ski-ing point of view, the snow was bad, possessing almost throughout a hard, thick, frozen crust which made it difficult for one to exert proper control over the skis. The strap of one of Max’s bindings, cut by the crusted snow, gave way, and replacing it by a spare was no easy matter, for the narrow little slit in the ski, through which the spare had to be threaded, was partly blocked with ice. Lower down the snow was deep and wet and of such a consistency that we seemed to be running through treacle.
Just before reaching the little village of Blatten in the Lötschen Valley, we took off the skis and trudged down the long path to Goppenstein where we caught the train for Zürich, little thinking that we were turning our backs on the mountains and all that they meant to us for the next five years.
There is much to be said for winter mountaineering. In summer, if one wishes to climb the Jungfrau or any other similar mountain, the ascent of which involves a lengthy walk on snow-covered glaciers, one must start very early, well before daybreak; otherwise, the sun will have softened the snow so much that the ascent, and still more the descent, will be most laborious. On skis and in winter, this nightmare of a long and wearisome trudge in soft snow hardly exists. The return from a climb, especially, is a simple and almost effortless affair. Again, fewer people by far climb in the winter season, and, if one so wishes, one’s solitude need not be disturbed. Throughout this glorious week in the Oberland we had had the huts and the mountains all to ourselves.
CHAPTER VIII
A WINTER’S NIGHT ON THE TÖDI
By Maxwell B. I. Finch