A sérac.
“Two ladders tied together and laid across the chasm....”
Facing page 254.
For one whole delightful hour we dallied, basking in the warm sun; then, deeming it time to begin acrobatic operations, we returned to the col to have a good look at the famous Mummery crack with which the climb commences, and which is held to be the most difficult portion of the ascent. The crack lies on the Nantillons side of the ridge and is formed by a huge flake of rock which has become partially detached from the main mass of the mountain. It is about seventy feet high and almost vertical; indeed, in its lower part it appears even to overhang slightly. A spacious enough platform at the bottom provides a good jumping-off place. Leaving my camera and all other impedimenta behind in the col, I gained the platform and immediately set to work, while Max, perched on a slender, leaning spire jutting out of the col, belayed the rope. The crack was sufficiently deep to permit me to get my right arm into it beyond the elbow, and, though narrow, it was sufficiently wide to admit my right foot. Left arm and foot sought and found hold, though minute, on the rough crystalline texture of the outside surface of the flake. By twisting my right arm or turning my right boot, either could be wedged firmly into the fissure at will, and an absolutely reliable hold obtained. By adopting a method of progression similar to that of a caterpillar, that is, alternately bending and straightening myself, I rose quickly, passed beyond the lower overhanging portion, and about half-way up gained a small ledge on the flake which provided good standing room for the left foot. Thus far the climbing had been more a question of knack than a trial of strength, and I looked up at the second half of the crack expecting to see some hitherto hidden feature that would give serious trouble. If anything, however, it seemed easier than the part already overcome. Here and there a stone jammed tightly into the fissure promised perfect handhold. I rested for a few seconds, then resumed the attack. A little way above the ledge, both surfaces of the flake became very smooth, and for the first time I had to struggle really hard; but soon my right hand gripped the first of the chock-stones, and the remainder of the crack to within six feet of its top was easily negotiated. The final wall to the right was studded with plentiful handholds and soon I was standing on the crowning platform. The ascent of Mummery’s crack had taken me just over two and three-quarter minutes. While I held his rope, Max, with ice-axe and knapsack, now climbed over to the ledge at the foot of the crack. There he unroped and tied on the baggage, which I then hauled up to my perch. As soon as it was safely stowed away, I flung the end of the rope back to Max, whose turn had now come. He clambered up at an amazing pace without even pausing to rest at the half-way ledge, and was soon beside me on the broad platform, panting out a scathing criticism on those who dared to compare gymnastics on rock with the varied difficulties of snow and ice work.
From here onwards the climbing, though almost throughout difficult, never came up to the standard of that of the crack. Sometimes we climbed on one side of the ridge, sometimes on the other, and at times on the crest itself. Belays were in evidence everywhere, and the rock was uniformly good. Never did we meet with a single loose or unreliable hand- or foothold. After passing the bold pinnacle which is the northern summit of the aiguille, we arrived on the great platform which breaks away in the precipitous, unclimbable wall, called the Grand Diable, leading down to a deep gap in the ridge. Thanks to our plentiful supply of rope, this obstacle was easily overcome by resorting to the time-honoured dodge of roping down. From the gap, a level ledge known as the Route des Bicyclettes winds along the Mer de Glace face and enables one to circumvent the ensuing be-pinnacled portion of the ridge. After some further scrambling we stood at the foot of the final summit pinnacle. This, a great square-cut tower, capped by a huge, flat stone and seamed by a formidable-looking cleft, had been in full view before us ever since passing the northern summit, and we had already jumped to the conclusion that the way to the top led up this cleft. As the description of the summit crack given to us, a few days before, tallied more or less with the fearsome-looking thing to our left, we decided to disregard an obviously easy ledge running round to the Nantillons face. It is true that we had been told that the summit crack was much easier than Mummery’s, and we failed to see anything easy in the crack before us; also, as it hung right out over the terrific precipices running down to the Mer de Glace, one would be in a frightfully exposed position while climbing it. But appearances are never so deceptive as in the mountains, so I buttoned up my coat, made sure that the knot fastening the rope about my waist was well tied and started off. Max had good standing ground and could belay my rope securely. Once in the crack, the work began in earnest; a very real earnest indeed, as subsequent events proved. It was wider than Mummery’s crack, but not wide enough to allow me to get right inside it; with my left arm and shoulder and leg inside whilst right hand and boot scraped outside in search of hold, I slowly struggled and fought my way up. It was most exhausting work. Just below the summit I had to turn round and get my right shoulder and leg into the crack, and left leg and arm out; a change of position that was accomplished only after an almost desperate struggle which robbed me of breath and sapped my strength to such an extent that, when it came to swinging myself up over the flat, overhanging summit stone, I found myself unequal to the effort. I was powerless alike to retreat or advance. Max, however, who had never for a moment relaxed his attention to my movements, had noted my dilemma and, with a warning shout that he was coming, hastened to my assistance, armed with knapsack and ice-axe. With my left hand and my teeth I took in his rope as he climbed upwards. When his head was just below my feet, he stopped and jammed himself firmly into the fissure. With his head as a foothold and a prod from the axe, I received the extra ounce of steadying support that enabled me to complete the ascent and haul myself up to the safety of the flat table-like stone that is the distinguishing feature of the summit of the Grépon. As fast as my breathless state would permit, I pulled in the rope until it was taut between us; and a few minutes later, just before midday, Max was seated by my side.
We were both rather puzzled and not a little humbled. The fierce tussle which the last crack had demanded, had provided something of a shock. If this were the sort of thing that most climbers of the Grépon called by no means excessively difficult and certainly easier than Mummery’s crack, then it would have to be admitted that rock-climbing had, indeed, its points, and that we were sadly in need of practice. A little later, however, the mystery was solved. Going over to the Nantillons side of the summit platform, with a view to glancing at the way down to the Col des Nantillons, I discovered a perfectly straightforward crack of no great length which ended on the easy ledge that we had previously neglected to explore. There could be no doubt that we had taken the wrong way up the final summit pinnacle. Several months later, I learnt that this formidable crack was the famous Venetz crack, climbed but once before, and that in 1881, on the occasion of the first ascent of the mountain. To this day the only other ascent recorded was made in 1923 by a party led by Mr. G. S. Bower. That no more than three ascents have been made in the course of thirty-two years is testimony enough to what this crack offers.