Facing page 136.
At 5 a.m. on September 9, we left the comfort of the hut and in little more than two hours had gained the Bifertenlücke. Then, exchanging the heavy mountain boots for rope-soled shoes, we commenced the attack upon the west ridge in real earnest. Leaving my knapsack and ice-axe with Forster at the foot of the great buttress, I worked out along the ledge, climbed up the shallow chimney and, gaining the little platform, paused to rest after my exertions. Then, being now familiar with the position of every handhold in the next chimney, I climbed quickly up to the piton, threaded the rope through the ring and crossed over the slabs lower down to the broad ledge on the right. As soon as I had firmly established myself, Forster unroped. Drawing the rope free from the piton, I flung it down to him so that he might tie on to it our knapsacks and axes; the latter were necessary, for it was our intention to traverse the mountain, descending by the south ridge and the Frisallücke. The goods were soon pulled up to my level and removed, and once more the coils of rope swished through the air to Forster, who again tied himself on and was soon up beside me. From here onwards, past the scene of the accident to the foot of the last great buttress, all was plain sailing. Five intermediate steps or buttresses had to be surmounted. One yielded to a frontal attack; the others were turned without great difficulty either on their right or left. Twice we had to take to steep snow, a change of footgear being necessary on both occasions. At length we stood on the ridge at the foot of the last buttress, the most formidable barrier remaining between us and success. The ridge itself and the wall to the left both overhung to such an extent that they defied attack. To the right, however, the rocks were less steep and more broken up, and for about one hundred feet we made our way across them under the great wall of the step. On attempting to strike upwards, however, we found that we had misjudged the gradient, and after a stern struggle I recoiled defeated. We then continued our traverse still further to the right across a series of smooth, precipitous slabs where, for the second time on this ridge, in spite of the great length of rope at our disposal, the utter absence of belays or suitable standing grounds forced us into a situation in which the protection afforded by the rope was nil, and a slip on the part of one of us would have involved the destruction of both. Each knowing that where one could climb the other could follow, and both confident that neither would slip, we did not dream of retreat. But had we been at the mercy of a companion who was clumsy and frequently in need of assistance, even at this advanced stage where we were so near our goal, we would have broken off the climb. Why, one may ask, not dispense with the rope altogether in such a situation where it is little more than a dangerous encumbrance? My reply is a simple statement of fact, from which each may draw his own inferences. I would prefer not to climb with the man who advocates such a policy.
Safely over the slabs, we came to the foot of a very steep, shallow gully leading to a great snow cornice on the ridge above the buttress. With much difficulty we climbed the first hundred feet and reached a broad, almost level shelf barely fifty feet below the cornice. A huge lump of the latter had fallen away, leaving a gap that gave easy access to the ridge. Between us and the gap lay a stretch of easy, broken rocks, so, once more changing footgear and donning mountain boots, we scrambled up and at last stepped out through the cornice back on to the ridge.
A north breeze, cool and bracing, met us. The snow under foot sparkled in the brilliant noonday light. The neighbouring peaks stood up bold and sharp in the clear atmosphere. The sun flooded all with warmth. It was good to be alive. A last, half-whimsical glance at the little St. Fridolin’s hut, a tiny brown speck at the foot of the great four-thousand-foot wall, and we turned our steps along the snow-crested ridge towards the summit. Chipping a step here and there where the cornice forced us out on to the steep north flank, we mounted speedily. One more clamber over a pitch of easy, broken rocks and the fight was over. At 2 p.m. we stood atop of the Bifertenstock.
FOOTNOTES:
[4] Those interested in the exploits of Placidus à Spescha would do well to consult the articles contributed to the Alpine Journal by Dr. H. Dübi and Mr. D. W. Freshfield. Mr. Freshfield, the greatest living British mountaineering explorer, was one of the pioneers of climbing in the range of the Tödi.
[5] A stout iron pin or nail provided with a ring at one end.
CHAPTER X
MONTE ROSA
Upon a bright summer’s morning in 1911, we[6] lay on the warm rocks of the Monte Moro, gazing spell-bound at the avalanche-swept slopes of the greatest precipice in the Alps—the east face of Monte Rosa. Max saw chances of a grand climb and thought some of the bergschrunds looked bad; then, turning his attention to more personal matters, proceeded to indulge in a rigid foot inspection. Obexer could not contain his enthusiasm and greeted each avalanche, as it swept down the Marinelli Couloir, with merry song and derisive yells. Case “guessed you’d have to hustle some in the Rockies to go one better” and, curling up comfortably on a warm slab, went to sleep.