A careful glance at the west ridge of the Bifertenstock sufficed to show that the only really crucial sections were the first and last buttresses. But these two steps, the first rising out of the pass and the last leading on to the final easy summit ridge, were so awe-inspiring and immense that they seemed fashioned only for Titans. The first, in particular, looked absolutely impregnable, and, had the usual everyday conception of the sporting element been present, there is no doubt that the betting would have been largely in favour of the Bifertenstock’s west ridge remaining inviolate. But we were both too old hands at the game to be dismissed by mere appearances, and returned to the Bifertenlücke to prepare for a closer examination of the initial difficulty. Back at the spot where the knapsacks were dumped, we settled down to a meal and a smoke; and then, as the rock was limestone, upon which nails can get but little grip, we replaced our boots by rope-soled canvas shoes and roped on at each end of one of the two one-hundred-foot climbing ropes. Leaving almost all our kit behind, we moved up to the attack, Forster armed with the second rope and my camera and I with a piton.[5] While still only a short distance along the narrow but not very steep ridge from the Bifertenlücke, we found ourselves at the foot of the obstacle, a smooth, perpendicular, at times even overhanging, corner of rock about one hundred and sixty feet in height. Further progress along the crest of the ridge was out of the question. To the right, smooth, vertical slabs crowned by an overhang and utterly devoid of hand- or foothold, completely excluded any possibility of climbing on that side. But in the wall on our left lay the semblance of a chance. It was very steep, indeed beetling in places; but the rock was not so pitilessly smooth as elsewhere, and it looked sufficiently broken to afford some hand- and foothold. The route would lead us on to the face of the giddy precipice that falls away to the Biferten Glacier over three thousand feet below; but it was the one possible line of ascent. Forster placed himself securely at the foot of the great step and, well-braced to hold me in the event of a slip, paid out my rope inch by inch whilst I made my way leftwards along a narrow, sloping, terribly exposed ledge.
After working along the ledge for about thirty feet, I saw above me an ill-defined, shallow chimney which, though overhanging towards the top, might have afforded some possibility of climbing directly upwards; but to attempt it seemed likely to prove such a desperate venture that I decided to keep to the route across the precipice in the hope of finding a better way up. This further search failed in its object, and there remained nothing but to go back and try conclusions with the chimney. First I returned to where Forster was standing, then, making sure that my shoelaces were tightly tied and the ends well tucked away, and that the rope about my chest was not so tight as to interfere with freedom of movement, I returned to the ledge and at 10 a.m. began to grapple with the chimney. Handholds and footholds proved to be of the minutest, and the rock was unreliable. Every hold had to be carefully tested before use. Inch by inch, painfully slowly and exerting every effort of which I was capable, I gained in height. The upper, overhanging portion of the chimney required an almost desperate struggle before it yielded, but I was at last able to grasp a large and firm handhold and drag myself on to a platform at the top. This platform was none too commodious; about a foot wide and no more than eighteen inches long, it sloped slightly downwards and afforded room for only one man. Nevertheless, it gave me an opportunity to stand and rest while I nerved myself for the next pitch. A little to the left, a fairly clean-cut chimney commenced, which led up towards and ended underneath a gigantic, protruding tooth. I thought, however, that it might be possible to avoid the overhang by leaving the chimney about half-way up and, by traversing over some slabs to the right, gain the crest of the ridge of the great buttress at a point where it was climbable. So I set out to put my idea to the test, but had not gone far up the chimney before the weight of the rope between myself and Forster, who was now a good thirty feet below and as much to one side, threatened to destroy my balance. Returning to the platform, I took in the rope while Forster climbed up towards me. At the very moment when he grasped the good handhold and was ready to pull himself on to the platform, I vacated it and recommenced work on the chimney. We were now in a situation which should rarely, if ever, occur in mountain climbing. A slip on the part of either would have involved the fall of both. There was no projecting piece of rock within reach over which to belay the rope, neither did the platform on which he stood afford sufficiently good footing to enable Forster to hold me in the event of an ill-judged movement or false step on my part. Climbing the chimney which was already taxing my powers to the full, I should have been powerless to arrest a slip on my companion’s part. No matter who fell first, he would drag the other after him. Fully realising the precariousness of the position, we climbed on, determined not to slip, and exercising all the care and skill at our command.
On drawing level with the slabs across which I had thought to reach the ridge, they looked so forbidding that, situated as we were, the risk of embarking upon them without the safeguard of a belay appeared too great. So I proceeded farther up the chimney until my way was blocked by the overhang at the top. Jamming myself securely in the now narrower and deeper cleft, I took the piton from my pocket and with the help of a stone hammered it well into a little fissure seaming the smooth rock wall on my left. Then I unroped, passed the end of the rope through the ring of the piton and tied myself on once more. It was a lengthy process, for I had only one hand to spare for the work, but well worth the trouble, as it put an end to the unpleasant situation in which we had found ourselves ever since Forster had come up to the platform. The piton was firm, and it would now be an easy matter for either of us to hold the other in the event of a slip. After retreating half-way down the chimney, I worked out across the slabs to the right. They by no means belied their appearance and afforded most difficult climbing. But as the rope passed from me up to the piton and then down to Forster, any tendency to slip could be immediately and easily checked. Once across the treacherous slabs, a quick scramble up firm and easy rocks landed me on a spacious platform on the very crest of the ridge. Glancing upwards, I saw that, in so far as the rest of the buttress was concerned, all serious difficulties were over.
Forster now prepared to join me. Climbing up to the piton, he unroped, withdrew his end of the rope from the ring and tied himself on again. He then descended the upper half of the chimney, carefully negotiated the slabs and climbed swiftly up to me. Together on the roomy ledge, we yelled ourselves hoarse in giving vent to our hitherto pent-up feelings and in anticipating the triumph of which we now felt assured. It was half-past noon; so exigent had been the ascent that we had taken two and a half hours to accomplish this small section. We had, however, made up our minds to push on the reconnaissance as far as the top of the buttress; so, after regaining our breath, we set to to tackle what remained of it.
The crest of the ridge once again became too smooth and precipitous, but close to it, on the right, a feasible route could be detected. It led up steep slabs to the foot of a crack which debouched on the very summit of the buttress. The rope was all paid out before I had gained the crack, and Forster had to make his way up towards me. But I had good standing ground on a fairly wide ledge and could hold his rope securely. He was about fifteen feet below me and just about to wrestle with the hardest part of the ascent when, in an effort to improve my footing the better to cope with a slip, I felt the greater part of the ledge, which I had hitherto looked upon as solid with the mountain, break away from under my feet, and a great mass of rock slithered down the slabs, aiming with deadly accuracy at Forster. Powerless to move out of its way, he received a glancing blow which inflicted a deep scalp wound and all but stunned him. Swept out of his holds by the impact, he was left hanging helpless in mid-air. By all that is merciful, however, sufficient had remained of the ledge to leave me with just enough footing to withstand the strain on the rope and hold Forster up. Blood was spurting freely from the wound in his head, the extent of the injury was unknown, and no time was to be lost in getting to a place of safety, where it would be possible to staunch the flow. Staggered though he was and dripping with blood, Forster still had his wits about him. As I held his rope taut, he climbed up to me and took his stand on what was left of the ledge, while I made my way up to the foot of the crack and, with all possible haste, gained the broad level platform at the top of the buttress. There he rejoined me. Inspection revealed the reassuring fact that the extent of his injuries was limited to the scalp wound, which, however, still bled freely. By means of a few sheets of paper kept firmly in position underneath a knitted silken cap, the flow was eventually stopped. Except in its purely physical result, the little drama had not adversely affected either of us. Indeed, if there had previously been any doubt as to the final conquest of the west ridge of the Bifertenstock, there could be none now. The rough handling had got our blood up, and we felt the ridge was doomed. For the present we had fulfilled the object with which we had set out, namely the reconnaissance of the first great obstacle, and it behoved us to return to the Bifertenlücke where we had deposited our kits. We did not, however, hasten our retreat; for Forster was weakened through loss of blood, and, that he might recover his strength as far as possible, we rested on top of the buttress for over an hour. Building a cairn, smoking and chatting the while, the time flew past merrily enough, and at 2 p.m. we turned to face the problem of the descent.
Exercising the greatest possible care, all went well as far as the platform whence it was necessary to traverse out across the slabs leading to the chimney near which the piton was fixed. It was obvious that the last man down could neither venture across these slabs nor descend the final, shallow chimney below without the steadying help of a rope from above. Held firmly on the rope by me, Forster moved out across the slabs and climbed up to the piton, where he unroped, threaded his rope through the ring of the piton, re-roped, and then descended right down on to the lowest ledge and over to the good standing ground on the ridge at the foot of the buttress. There he again unroped and tied the spare rope on to the end of the one passing through the piton to me. It was now my turn to go down. I crossed the slabs with due care, but, thanks to the assistance of the improvised belay, the rest of the descent was a simple matter, and in a few minutes I had rejoined my companion. I untied myself, and, by hauling on the spare, the climbing rope was pulled down through the ring of the piton and recovered. A little later, in the Bifertenlücke, my camera had made a faithful record of Forster’s blood-bespattered condition. Our sensational entry into the Ponteglias hut was witnessed only by the too friendly sheep that haunt the surrounding grassy slopes.
On the following day the weather broke and snow fell. But we cared little, and time passed pleasantly in the preparation and consumption of oft-repeated meals. On September 8, the weather was once more fine, but the desire to be up and doing had to be curbed until the sun should melt the fresh snow that lay on the Bifertenstock, and yet another day was spent in cooking and eating, and in frustrating the effects of over-indulgence with spasmodic bouts of step-cutting practice on the snout of the Ponteglias Glacier. Towards evening we packed the rucksacks and made everything ready for an early start on the morrow.
“... a faithful record of Forster’s blood-bespattered condition.”