From a point on the Peuteret ridge about 1,200 feet below the summit of Mont Blanc.
“A traverse of about thirty yards across the steep western flank of the Peuteret ridge....”
Facing page 244.
It now looked as if rocks could be followed practically all the way to the summit—a relief for which we were duly thankful, having had quite enough of snow. There was some difference of opinion as to the best line of ascent up these rocks; but, on the whole, there seems to have been little in our respective choices, for Adolf and Courtauld, whose route converged with that of our party from time to time, always succeeded in maintaining a lead of one or more rope’s lengths. The climbing was difficult, and throughout extreme caution was necessary, on account of the unreliability of the rock. Occasionally, a belt of almost vertical red rock of a fair degree of firmness would crop up, but even this was invariably crowned with the rotten, dark brown variety. Nevertheless, we climbed quickly, for while still six hundred feet below Mont Blanc de Courmayeur, swirling mists practically obliterated all view of our surroundings, and it was evident that, if we were not soon to find ourselves in a critical situation, every minute gained was precious. The rocks came to an end about a hundred feet below the summit of Mont Blanc de Courmayeur, and only a slope covered with the usual pernicious snow lay between us and safety. Adolf, trusting more to his climbing irons and to gentle treatment of the snow than to his ice-axe, climbed rapidly up to immediately beneath the cornice, cut himself a good step, and with a few powerful strokes hewed a channel through which he was speedily followed by Courtauld. While we were putting the finishing touches to the donning of extra clothing, in preparation for the cold weather up aloft, Adolf’s stentorian voice shouted down a cheery “Come along!” Looking up, I could just barely make out his well-muffled-up head framed in the notch in the cornice. Then he disappeared.
At 1.15 p.m. we, in turn, stepped through the cornice on to Mont Blanc de Courmayeur, to be greeted by a high and chilly wind. Adolf and Courtauld were already out of sight, though they were certainly not far away, for the jingling of their axes against the rocks of a gendarme close by was audible above the sound of the gale. The mist was so thick that we could not see each other at rope’s length. Adolf’s tracks led off along the crest of the ridge towards Mont Blanc. Having painful memories from last year, however, of what this ridge could be like in stormy weather, I forsook his tracks and plunged down on to the Trélatête side, in the hopes of there finding more shelter from the icy blast. In view of Oliver’s axeless condition this involved step-cutting; but, on looking back after having cut about twenty steps, I saw him coming along as nonchalantly as if he were on a London pavement, so immediately gave up further cutting and relied upon climbing irons alone. In this way we skirted round the bases of three or four rocky outcrops and regained the ridge at about its lowest point between Mont Blanc and Mont Blanc de Courmayeur.
A little farther on we found the other two, who were inclined to mistake a small snowy hump for the summit of Mont Blanc. To avoid the wind, we now crossed over on to the Brenva side of the ridge and, traversing diagonally upwards, found tracks leading up from the Mur de la Côte. These were followed to the summit where we arrived at 1.45 p.m., having been eight and three-quarter hours under way from our bivouac.
The state of the weather precluded descending by either the Rochers or the Dôme route, and we contented ourselves with going down directly to Chamonix. Being the only member of the party with first-hand knowledge of the Grands Mulets route, I was deputed to show the way. The descent was uneventful, except for Oliver’s spraining his ankle, and for the fact that my pigheadedness in refusing to follow the tracks brought us out to the Pierre à l’Échelle, which route, I have since learnt, has been recently discarded in favour of the Montagne de la Côte.
This narrative would be incomplete were it brought to a close without expressing my admiration for the professional members of the party. Adolf and I were not unknown to each other, for twelve years ago, on a stormy September day, we had stood together on the summit of the Lyskamm. Since then he has joined that select coterie of first-class guides whose number can be counted on one’s fingers. He has climbed Mont Blanc by nearly every conceivable route and thus knows the mountain better than any other living guide. I need say little of his prowess either on ice or on rock; he is first-rate on both. Last, but not least, he is an excellent companion, ever eager to be doing, and ready to put every ounce of energy into any problem upon which he embarks. Alfred, who was serving only the second season of his apprenticeship, is fast following in his brother’s footsteps. He too will, sooner or later, become a first-class guide. Four Courmayeur porters accompanied us up to the Col Supérieur du Fresnay. They carried heavy loads, but through all the trying situations that arose, they preserved their good humour and determination. Their conduct was admirable.