The making of a mountaineer

by George Ingle Finch

It was now about 4.30 p.m., and much valuable time had been lost through this somewhat sensational variation of the descent. It was still far from easy, even on the ridge, to survey the further line of descent for any distance ahead. I therefore took off the rope and went on to prospect, leaving the others to follow. Several times I got on to the wrong track, but being alone and, therefore, climbing more rapidly, was able to rectify such errors before the other two arrived. Lower down, an impasse in the ridge, in the shape of a bold gendarme followed by a clean and almost vertical cliff, held me up until Max’s arrival. The best means of circumventing the obstacle appeared to lie in the descent of a vertical chimney which bore a close resemblance to Mummery’s crack on the Grépon. It led to a platform on the northern side of the ridge. We fixed a double rope, and I proceeded down. A large chock-stone was jammed in about half-way down the chimney, but as there was no real necessity for making use of it as a hold, and as it could be easily avoided, I did not attempt to dislodge it, preferring to let sleeping dogs lie. I sent up word to the other two, however, to leave it alone lest it should prove to be dangerously loose. On arriving on the platform, I let go the doubled rope and, while the second man was preparing to descend, cast round for further means of escape. The only available route led along a narrow, sloping ledge running towards the ridge from a point about four feet below the edge of the platform on which I stood. With the greatest care, most emphatically urged upon me by the sheerness and depth of the precipices below, I lowered myself on to the ledge, still retaining a grip in the numerous small cracks with which the platform was fissured. By taking a couple of steps and leaning well outwards, it was possible to see round and beyond an intervening corner of rock towards easy, though exposed, ground over which the ridge could be regained. Before climbing farther, I looked up towards Max to give him this information. Our companion was nearly half-way down the chimney and almost level with the chock-stone. I was just repeating my warning not to make use of this possibly insecure hold, when it came hurtling down through space and, crashing on to the ledge, broke into two pieces. One of them, in bounding out over the precipice, narrowly missed my head, but the other was more perfect in its aim and dealt me a clean, knock-out blow on the chest. The shock caused me to lose hold with my left foot and hand. By means of the kind of effort that one is able to exert when it comes to making a bid for life, I was otherwise able to retain my balance. I struggled on to the platform and lay there absolutely winded, totally unable to answer any inquiries.

The rest of the route down the ridge promised to be less complicated. Our companion descended first, whilst I, still sorrowing over bruised ribs, was tied in the middle of the rope and tenderly nursed off the platform and round the ledge. Our original order of march was, however, pour cause, soon reverted to. But the day’s troubles were nearly over. An opportunity of descending from the ridge towards the Charpoua Glacier revealed itself, and, scrambling over huge glacier-worn slabs broken up by numerous ledges and chimneys, we presently arrived at the point, a few feet above the ice, where the other party had left our axes.

Of the French climbers we could as yet see nothing, but surmised that they must by now be somewhere in the neighbourhood of the bergschrund at the head of the Charpoua Glacier. While we were speculating as to their exact whereabouts, a tremendous avalanche of stones plunged down from the direction of the Pic sans Nom, swept the rocks immediately above the bergschrund, and crashed over this and the upper slopes of the Charpoua Glacier towards the icefall below which we stood. So great was the volume and impetus of this avalanche, that for some moments we expected to see the stones fall even beyond our standpoint. Having the gravest fears as to the safety of the other party, we gave vent to a series of hefty yells, and were finally reassured by a faint reply coming from the rocks just above those over which the avalanche had swept. In continuation of their good fortune, this party later on found that our axes and the stake of wood, that we had driven into the snow above the bergschrund, had not been touched by any of the falling stones, though several had gone very near.

The sun had set, and, as we were without a lantern, there was no time to be lost in crossing the glacier. The unfriendly, threatening aspect of the séracs, below which we threaded our way between numerous blocks of ice and crevasses, also urged the necessity for speed. Once on the far side of the glacier, the danger from falling ice was past, and a brief ascent over a diminutive bergschrund and gentle snow slope led on to the summit of the hump that separates the two tongues of the Charpoua Glacier, and upon which, somewhat lower down, stands the Charpoua hut. Shortly after 7 p.m., we entered the welcome refuge.

The other party rolled up soon after 8 p.m. Lured on towards the Montanvert by visions of civilised luxury and comfort, they hardly found time to gulp down the cups of tea we proffered. But the visions proved false, for the local knowledge and lanterns of the guides fizzled out in the midst of the maze of crevasses of the Mer de Glace, and it was not until daybreak that they entered the Montanvert.

We, on the other hand, slept soundly, and in the fresh hours of morning strolled over to the Montanvert, where we arrived in good time for lunch.

As a climb, the traverse of the Dru is magnificent. Unlike the Grépon or the Requin, the Aiguille du Dru is every inch a mountain. The rock varies from bad to good; to get to the rock, good ice work is called for; and the route-finding is far from simple. Though essentially regarded only as a rock-climb, it is really an all-round, first-class expedition.

CHAPTER XIX
TOWARDS MOUNT EVEREST

“To make a determined effort, with every available resource, to reach the summit” were the instructions with which the 1922 Mount Everest expedition left England. The personnel was as follows:—

Brigadier-General the Hon. C. G. Bruce, C.B., M.V.O.,commander-in-chief;
Lieut.-Colonel E. L. Strutt, D.S.O., second-in-command;
Dr. T. G. Longstaff, M.D., chief medical officer and naturalist;
Dr. A. W. Wakefield, medical officer;
Captain J. G. Bruce, M.C. (a cousin of General Bruce), Mr. Crawford, I.C.S., and Captain Morris,	}	transport officers; and
Captain J. B. Noel, official photographer and kinematographer.