“Another time I crossed the Vignemale alone, en col, under conditions which made this expedition the pleasantest of my souvenirs. A furious storm was raging. Enveloped in the morning in a dense fog, annoyed in the steep couloirs of the Cerbillonas by vultures which swept over me like avalanches, just grazing me with their long wings, assailed during three hours by hailstones of such size that they bruised and stunned me, deafened by thunder, and so electrified that I was hissing and crepitating, I notwithstanding reached the summit at half-past four in the evening, amidst incessant detonations. In descending the glacier I got lost in a labyrinth of crevasses, and while balancing myself on an ice-wave I nearly dropped my ice-axe. As a climax, night came on as black as ink, and I had to grope and feel my way down the endless valley of Ossoue. It was eleven o’clock at night when I reached Gavarnie, almost starved and quite exhausted, but having lived the crowning day of my life.”

Here is indeed Mark Tapley in the flesh!

Captain E. Clayton relates in The Alpine Journal an adventure that nearly cost him his life.

“On 17th August last I left the Hochjoch Haus with Gabriel Spechtenhauser with the intention of ascending the Weisskugel at the head of the Oetzthal. The weather for the past week had been very changeable, but when we started at 3 A.M. it was fine and starlight. A German gentleman with two guides and two others with two guides started at the same time. As long as the aid of a lantern was desirable we kept together, but as it grew light Gabriel and I gradually drew ahead. As day broke clouds began to gather, and when we halted for breakfast at 6.10 A.M. they hung so heavy on the Weisskugel that after breakfast, instead of going straight on, we diverged to the top of the rocks leading down towards Kurzras, with the intention of waiting a short time to see what the weather would do, and if it did not mend, of going down to Kurzras, where a friend was awaiting me.

“At these rocks we were overtaken by the single German gentleman with his guides, who had outstripped the other party. Before long the weather seemed to improve, the clouds on the Weisskugel got lighter, the sky seemed bright to the north, and we thought that very soon everything would be quite clear. The German quickly made a fresh start, but Gabriel and I waited to finish our pipes. However, we soon passed the other party, and, passing over a minor summit, where we left the rope, reached the real summit at 8.30 A.M. We had heard one or two peals of thunder on the way, but none appeared very close, and they seemed to be getting more distant. The summit was still in cloud, but it did not seem thick, and I thought it would soon blow away. But almost directly we reached the top it began to hail, and we went down a few steps on the rocky ridge that falls towards the Langtauferer Glacier, to be somewhat sheltered.

“Here I remember handing Gabriel my map to put in his pocket to keep dry, and knew nothing more till I woke to the consciousness that he was lifting me up from where I was lying on the rocks, some 20 feet, I suppose, lower than the point where we had been standing. I was bleeding from a cut on the head, and my right arm was very painful, and turned out afterwards to be broken. Gabriel said that he had been knocked down also, but not rendered insensible, and, falling on his hands towards the upward slope, was not hurt. He also said that he was to a certain extent conscious of there having been a sudden glare and explosion, but I knew nothing of it. The German and his two guides, who at the time were just below the first summit, but not within sight of us, were so alarmed at the lightning and thunder, that they turned at once and never stopped till they reached Kurzras. The other party, who had not got beyond the rocks where we halted during the ascent, waited there for us, and Joseph Spechtenhauser, one of their guides, came to meet us and see if we wanted assistance. However, I was quite myself when I came to, which was directly Gabriel lifted me up, and the mountain is so easy that my disabled arm was of little consequence. I did not notice any more thunder or lightning after the flash that knocked us down, and the day cleared up to a lovely one. I have every reason to be pleased with Gabriel’s kindness and attention to me without regard to himself, and very much regret that my accident prevented me from carrying out any of the other expeditions which I had promised myself the pleasure of making in his company.”

One of the most exciting accounts of an adventure in the Alps is Mr Tuckett’s description of “A Race for Life,”[11] on the Eiger. Hardly less stirring is a paper in The Alpine Journal by the same famous climber, from which he most kindly allows me to give a long quotation, telling of a narrow escape during one of the most appalling thunderstorms that could be experienced. The party were making the ascent of the Roche Melon, a peak 11,593 feet high not far from the Mont Cenis. The weather was unsettled, and grew worse as they mounted.

“Proceeding very cautiously through the whirling wreaths of vapour lest we should suddenly drop over upon Italy and hurt it—or ourselves—we struck up the ‘final incline’—as an American companion of mine once dubbed the cone of Vesuvius as we looked down upon it from its rim—and at 11.15 stood beside the ruins of the signal and enjoyed a very magnificent view of nothing in particular. As we had plenty of time at our disposal—three and a half hours sufficing for the descent to Susa—and the wind was keen and damp, our first proceeding was to search for the chapel, which we knew must be quite close to the summit of the peak; and, about 30 feet lower down, on the southern side, which was entirely free from snow, we came upon a tight little wooden building, some 6 or 7 feet long and high by 5 broad, very carefully constructed, with flat bands of thin iron on the outside covering the lines of junction of the planks, so as effectually to keep out both wind and moisture. Opposite the door, which we found carefully bolted, was a wooden shelf against the wall serving as an altar, on which stood a small bronze statuette of the Virgin, whilst on either hand hung the usual curious medley of votive paintings, engravings, crosses, tapers etc., not to mention certain pious scribblings. Taking great care to disturb nothing, we arranged a loose board and our packs on the rather damp floor so as to form a seat, and waited for the clouds to disperse and disclose the superb panorama that we knew should here be visible.

“Here I may be allowed to mention that a chapel, said to have been originally excavated in the rock, and subsequently buried under ice or snow, was here dedicated to the Virgin by a crusader of Asti, Boniface by name, of the house of Rovero, in fulfilment of a vow made whilst a captive in the hands of the Saracens. More recently the present wooden structure has taken its place, and every year, on 5th August, pilgrims resort to it in considerable numbers. Lower down on the Susa side is a much more substantial structure, at a height of 9396 feet, called the Cà d’Asti, in allusion to the circumstances of its foundation. The last is a solidly, not to say massively, constructed circular edifice of stone and mortar, some 15 or 16 feet in diameter, and perhaps rather more in height, with a vaulted roof of solid masonry covered externally with tiles, and surmounted by an iron cross. Seen from below, it stands out boldly on a mass of crags which conceal the actual summit of the Roche Melon, and close by are some low sheds, which appear ordinarily to serve as shelter for flocks of sheep browsing on the grassy slopes around, but on the night preceding the festa of 5th August, furnish sleeping quarters for the assembled pilgrims, who attend mass in the adjoining chapel, if the weather, as frequently happens, does not permit of its being celebrated on the summit of the mountain, in what is probably the most elevated shrine in Europe.

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