No time was lost in preparing for the descent, as there was every evidence of the head of the Charpoua Glacier being much exposed to falling stones. My desire that Max, armed with an axe, should bring up the rear of the party was waived in deference to the wishes of our companion who assured us that he could hold both of us should occasion arise. The small, hastily-hewn steps of the morning had become partially effaced by the sun, and a considerable amount of work was required to renew them sufficiently well to afford secure footing. Max followed me, but after a few steps felt so insecure without an axe that he turned round and warned the last man on the rope to be prepared for a slip at any moment. Just as I was engaged in cutting a very large and deep step which would serve as a belay, I heard a shout from behind and, instinctively guessing that a slip had occurred, quickly braced myself as firmly as possible against the slope, with the pick end of my axe pressed well home against the ice. The jerk came, but it was only a mild one, and the strain was easily withstood. Thinking that the trouble had now been averted, I was about to look round, when a second and savage tug came which almost dragged me out of my steps. This is what had happened: Whilst I was engaged in cutting the large step, our companion had left the firm footing provided by the level floor of the bergschrund to make his way down towards Max. Max had then slipped, and the other had not only failed to hold him but was in his turn pulled out of his steps. The first pull on the rope was due to the checking of Max’s slip; the second, and far worse jerk was caused by our companion’s slip down the steep, icy slope for a distance of nearly a hundred feet before being held up by the rope. Incidentally, he also lost his grip upon his axe; fortunately, it slid down towards Max, who had the presence of mind to seize it. Thanks to this useful effort, the return of the errant members of the party to their steps was speedily effected. At half-past nine we were back at the hut and spent the remainder of the day in a series of repasts and sun baths on the great, rough, warm slabs near by.
Towards sunset a French climber and two agreeable Chamonix guides arrived. Their intention was to traverse the Dru, starting with the little Dru first. The leading guide was inclined to be anxious about the condition of the bergschrund, but was quite relieved on hearing that we had left a stake embedded in the upper lip, which would enable them to rope down over the hindrance without difficulty. We also came to an agreement whereby axes were exchanged, they undertaking to leave our axes at the foot of the rocks of the little Dru, and we to leave theirs at the bergschrund on the way up to the big Dru. Thanks to this excellent arrangement, we were able to carry out this long rock climb without being encumbered by axes.
Photo T. G. B. Forster.
Where next?
Facing page 272.
On September 3, 1911, at 4 a.m., we roped and left the hut. I led, carrying a spare eighty-foot rope; Max followed, and our companion brought up the rear, Max and I both being firm believers in what is still often considered to be a heresy, namely, that on climbs of this sort the “unknown” element of the party should always be the last on the ascent, on the principle that it is easier for the dog to wag the tail than vice versa. Shortly after 5.30 a.m. the upper lip of the bergschrund was tackled and easily ascended by means of our fixed rope. While the process of cutting steps up the short, steep, final slope towards the rocks was going on, Max coiled up this rope and strapped it on to his knapsack. This brought the sum total of the party’s available rope up to two hundred and eighty feet. On arriving at the top of the slope, the problem confronted us as to how to gain a footing on the rocks, for a deep, unbridged chasm separated the snow from the latter. Finally, I was let down about twenty-five feet into the cavernous depths below, and by a pendulum process was able to swing across and obtain a somewhat precarious footing on the smooth rock. Climbing with no little difficulty up the ice-worn slabs until about thirty feet above the others, I found secure standing ground on a spacious platform. The others did not trouble to repeat these roundabout tactics, but swung straight across on the rope held by me and soon joined me on my perch. A few yards more of rather difficult climbing led to steep, but broken and easy rocks, over which rapid progress was made. Near by on the left, was the somewhat slabby couloir which leads down from the col situated immediately to the north of the Dru. None of the party had anything more than a very vague idea of the best route to be followed, beyond believing that it was unnecessary actually to reach this col before traversing to the left on to the rocks of the peak proper. We kept, therefore, a sharp look-out for the first possibility of crossing the couloir and taking to the rocks on the other side.
About two hundred feet below the col such an opportunity presented itself. We climbed across the couloir without much difficulty, and gained a narrow ledge leading round under an overhanging buttress towards the foot of a steep slab. The appearance of the latter was sufficiently forbidding to cause one to hesitate and wonder whether this could be, after all, the right way; but, as any further prospecting would have entailed loss of time, we decided to carry on in the hope that things might improve higher up. As a matter of fact, although it was not until almost a hundred feet of rope had been run out that safe standing ground was found, the ascent of the slab was by no means very difficult, even if somewhat sensational. Thence easy scrambling led to a broad and well-defined ledge, which seemed to run without break from the col to a point almost directly under the summit of the Dru. We followed this ledge without meeting with any set back. At one point it is interrupted by a deep cleft where we found a frayed rope, by means of which one could swing from one side to the other. This is evidently the spot known as “La Pendule.” The cleft can be crossed without overwhelming difficulty in several places by the ordinary methods of climbing, but there is no doubt that swinging across by means of the fixed rope does save time. The process, also, is quite an amusing one. At a short distance beyond “La Pendule” the ledge narrowed down, but at the same time the rocks towering above on our right became more and more broken and were furrowed by a series of chimneys leading in the direction of the summit ridge. Bearing up to the right, we came across an old wooden ladder, possibly a relic of Dent’s first ascent. Soon afterwards, on doubling back a few yards in the direction of the col, we arrived at the foot of a long and wicked-looking chimney, several steps of which appeared to overhang. A closer acquaintance with this obstacle, however, was reassuring. The chimney was long, and did overhang, but there was such a profusion of holds in the warm, firm rock that the ascent almost resembled the scaling of a ladder. Above the chimney, an easy scramble over huge, rough boulders and broken rocks led on to the ridge. On being rejoined by Max, I unroped and walked up over the ridge towards the two enormous rocky teeth which form the summit of the big Dru. An attempt to gain the summit of the higher tooth from the north failed, but, by traversing slightly downwards to the left, I reached the foot of a short gully leading up into the gap between the teeth. A few steps from this gap placed me on the summit at 10 a.m. The others soon joined me and ensconced themselves on the lower tooth, more room being available there than on my perch.