As evening drew on, we retired to the hut and made up a glowing fire, destined a few hours later to reduce us to that comatose state I have hinted at above. Perhaps the sluggish condition of mind and body which we experienced next morning was also in part owing to three out of the four members of the party having consumed six basins of very thick soup apiece and twelve large potatoes. The soup, of course, could not be wasted, though personally I would have rather lived on it for three days than have had to swallow it all in one.
After waking with some trouble, and consuming the above-mentioned soup, we tumbled out of the hut, floundered all in a heap down to the glacier, and began to go along it in a dreamy stagger, varied by a rude awakening, as, from time to time, one or another walked into a crevasse, rubbed his eyes, got out again, and proceeded on his way. Those great-great-great-great-etc.-grandfathers of ours were wise people to keep off glaciers in their generation. Think what choice language the modern mountaineer finds all ready to his tongue after he has walked for three hours up or down (if there is an up or a down) the Aar glacier, and then discovers that he is no farther. Imagine for an instant what that glacier must have been when it came to the piled-up moraine across the Haslithal near Meiringen. Next time you find yourself pacing the Aar glacier (I have no doubt that you vowed on the last occasion you never would again, but you surely will), think of what it was in the olden time, even when it reached only to the Grimsel, and be thankful that you climb in the nineteenth century.
At last, as we began to think that the Strahlegg Pass really was rather nearer than it had been some hours earlier, we halted and attempted to rouse each other. A warm wind swept up in our faces; our limbs were like lead, our minds in a condition of placid imbecility. But when, after some trouble, we dug a little cold water out of the glacier, the effect was magical, and emboldened by the sense of our returning faculties, we promptly decided to have breakfast under a great tower of ice which had rolled down from a glacier clinging to the slope above.
We were now equal to all emergencies, and ready to cope with the largest and most varied collection of loose stones I ever saw in my life. The Saddle (which we struck just beyond the drop referred to on page 5, vol. ii. of the second series of “Peaks, Passes, and Glaciers”—at least I should imagine that this gap is the one therein described) and the fine arête beyond were a welcome change from the “shocking state of disrepair” of the face. The entire ridge gives as good a scramble as any one fond of rock-climbing can wish for. Nowhere excessively difficult, it is always sensational, and the rocks are big and firm. Most of the time the party is right on the crest, and can glance straight down to the Lauteraar glacier on the one hand or to the Strahlegg on the other. The Lauteraarhorn is seldom taken; probably on account of the trouble of getting at it. People also seem to think that if they have been up the Schreckhorn, they have seen everything of interest in that direction. In this idea they are, in my opinion, quite mistaken. I have already referred to the view of the Schreckhorn and Finsteraarhorn as well as to that of the Lake of Thun to be obtained from the Lauteraarhorn, and I think that it is very much finer than anything one sees from the Wetterhorn, Jungfrau, or any other of the Oberland peaks with which I am acquainted.
After an hour spent on the summit, we reluctantly began the descent, and at 4 P.M. were on the Strahlegg, while at 5.30, just as the peaks around began to glow with the rosy hues of sunset, we were nearly off the Zasenberg. From here one enters on the preserves of the Interlaken “tripper,” so I will abruptly close.
In the next chapter I will give the last of my experiences at my favourite time of year, and talk to you about two old friends—not, alas! with new faces.
FOOTNOTES:
[6] I am aware that the Alpine Journal (vol. xiii. p. 113) states that Herr Munz was killed by falling snow, not ice, which fell from the rocks. I talked to the brothers Boss, and also to several of the guides on the subject, and they all affirmed that it was ice from the little hanging glacier. Which explanation of the disaster is correct, I am, of course, unable to say. One of the guides, Meyer, succumbed to his injuries the day after the accident.
[7] In September 1891, Ulrich Kaufmann was struck on the knee, and bowled over, by a block of falling ice at this same spot.