The following accounts of adventures on grass slopes, taken from The Alpine Journal, may serve to bear out the truth of Mr Dent’s remarks:
“On Monday, 31st August, Mr J. F. C. Devas, aged 26, accompanied by a friend, Mr A. G. Ferard, proceeded after lunch to take a stroll from the Riffel-Haus towards the Gorner Glacier by the Théodule path. Before reaching the glacier they returned, Mr Ferard by the ordinary route. Mr Devas, leaving the path to the left, attempted a short cut by climbing some wet and slippery rocks leading to a grass slope above. He reached a difficult place, immediately below the slope, beyond which he was unable to go. Mr Ferard made his way as speedily as possible to the grass slope and to within a few yards of his friend. While Mr Ferard was endeavouring to render assistance, Mr Devas, in trying to pull himself up, lost his footing and slid down about 70 feet to a ledge covered with turf, which it might have been hoped would have arrested his fall. Unfortunately, the impetus was sufficient to carry him over the ledge to a further distance of about 70 feet below. His friend hastened to the Riffel-Haus for assistance, and a number of guides and porters, accompanied by Mr Ferard and a French gentleman, hurried to the scene of the accident. Mr Devas, who had sustained a severe fracture of the skull, was brought back to the Riffel-Haus about 5 P.M., where he received the most unremitting care from M. Seiler’s staff of servants. He was unconscious from the moment of the accident till he died at noon of the following day.”
Another writer gives an account of an adventure on a grass slope which, happily, had a less serious ending. He also attempted to make a short cut.
“I entangled myself in an adventure which, as nearly as possible, ended in a catastrophe. Not caring to turn back, I followed a track past the châlets of Cavrera, in hope of being able to find a direct ascent over the steep lower ground that enclosed the head of the valley. It seemed as I advanced that among the ledges of rock and grass at the left-hand corner there would be access to the path above. A dubious and attenuated track which led me up in this direction after giving evidence of design in a few steps notched in the great gneiss slabs, vanished, leaving me to choose between the slabs which sloped up in front and a line of juniper bushes on the left of them. As the slabs at this spot could be walked upon, and higher up seemed to ease off again, I kept to the rocks without investigating the juniper belt. But walking exchanged itself for climbing, and I continued to ascend under the impression that I should shortly gain the inclination above. I came to a spot where I had to raise myself on to a small rounded knob of rock with a slight effort, there being no hand-hold above. From this vantage-ground I was able to repeat the process, still buoyed up with the belief that the easy part would be reached above, and to hoist myself on to the only remaining hold in the neighbourhood—a strong tuft of grass in a sort of half corner in the slabs—which supported one foot well, but one foot only. I now found I could go no further. The strata inclined downwards, so that the smooth and crackless slabs overlay one another like the slates on a house-roof, and there was no more hold for hand or foot apparent, while the slabs were far too steep for unsupported progression. The next discovery was a much more alarming one; I looked below, wondered why on earth I had come up such a place, and saw at a glance that I could not get down again. If I fell, moreover, it would not be by the line of my ascent, but down steeper rocks and to a lower depth. Generally in a dilemma in climbing there is a sort of instinctive feeling that an escape will be made at last, but now, for the first time, I was seized with a sentiment akin to despair. One chance only remained, and that was to take off my boots and stockings and try the slabs above.
“The stories of extraordinary predicaments in the Alps one is apt to receive with some incredulity. I never altogether accepted the tale of the chamois-hunter’s gashing his feet, and, needless to say, it did not occur to me to imitate him in this particular. For the rest, I can only promise the literal narration of circumstances as they presented themselves to me at the time. It is, indeed, sufficiently sensational without exaggeration. Well, it appeared at first impossible to take my boots off; I was facing the rocks with one toe on the turf, and the necessary manipulation could not be accomplished. What was to be done? This was, perhaps, the worst moment of the whole, as far as sensation went. However, by turning round, and planting my heel on the tuft and my back on the rock, I found myself in a secure and tolerably comfortable position. I now set to work and slung my boots separately round my neck as I took them off, pocketing the socks. All was done with deliberation; the laces were as usual untied with the button-hook in my cherished knife, and the latter was carefully returned to my pocket with the thought that if it went down it should be in my company. Meantime the necessary rigidity of position had to be preserved; there was only room in the turf for one heel, and for the point of my ice-axe, for which there was no other possible resting-place. Its preservation, indeed, that day was wonderful; at one time I felt a momentary temptation to throw it down in order to better the hold with the hand, but this would not bear a second thought.
“I now lost no time in placing myself on the slabs. I found that I dare not move on them in an upright position, and had to seek support with both hands. My condition was not an enviable one, and in no direction could an effort to proceed be made without danger. The situation was as follows: If I could manage to advance in front, I should, eventually, reach the more easily inclined slabs, on which I could walk; but then it was some way. If I could cross the much shorter interval (some 15 feet) to the right, I should reach a grass band below the rocks at the side; but then there intervened a broad, black, glistening streak, where waters oozed down and where to tread was fatal. Suddenly, without any warning, I found myself going down. I remember no slip, but rather that it was as if all hold gave way at once under the too potent force of gravity. Anyhow I was sliding down the rocks, and that helplessly I made, I believe, little or no attempt to obtain fresh hold; I simply remained rigid in the position in which I was, waiting for the fatal momentum to come which should dash me below. The instants passed, and at each I expected the momentum to begin. I felt quite a surprise when, instead, the sliding mass slowly pulled up and came to a stoppage. The scales of fate had been most delicately balanced, and a hair’s weight in the right one decided that this paper should be written. Had I floundered, like a non-swimmer out of his depth, I must have gone down; but the first moments of despondency past the opening for action had once for all brought with it that species of mechanical coolness which is the happy concomitant of so many forms of habitual physical occupation.
