In prospecting rock routes we have more to help us; for rock, unlike snow, does not change its skin, and when it hides itself, under ice or snow or water or glaze, the change from the black Ethiopian is obvious and calculable. We have also preliminary information, if not in books yet in the outlines of the mountains themselves, as to what is the character of the particular rock before us. Every climber, if he can assume the presence of limestone or granite or dolomite, sandstone, trap, chalk, or a few other of the elementary and lay classifications, has a clear picture in his own mind of the kind of climbing and of rock holds that he may expect.
Faces.
The slopes of the hills will tell him in general; good glasses will tell him more of his particular route or of local modifications in the characteristics:—such as how the rock is weathering; in which direction the strata are dipping; and what is the fashion of the jointing. Putting this information and his knowledge of the type of rock together, he will know upon which side to attack his peak.
For instance, if the strata dip through the peak, the aspect of the mountain upon which the upper ends of the strata emerge will give him holds sloped upwards to his advantage. This side, with its retroussé ledges, will also hold fresh snow longest after a fall, and at such a time afford him a further chance of locating the lie of traverse and shelf. If the main cleavages, again, are vertical, he will select the most weathered face, where the jointing will give him platform and shelf. If they are in the main horizontal, he has to seek the side that presents the most sequent line of weathering rifts or fractures, in order to connect up the natural horizontal ledges.
Just as a sunny day is of most help in prospecting an unknown snow climb, so is the day after a snowfall invaluable for the examination of rock routes. I owe several fine new rock climbs to snowfalls. Not only does the lodging snow indicate particular ledges and their intervals in detail, but it discovers to the eye general connecting lines of traverse or slope, which may be too interrupted or too foreshortened to be perceptible upon a distant inspection of the bare and broken rock face. Under snow the main lines of rock structure leap into sight.
By a convenient law of rock formation, the little apes the great. Thus, if we can discover the general inclination of traverses across a face, however large in scale, broken or interrupted their lines may be, it is safe to assume that the small details which make up these lines, the ledges, etc., will be reproducing the same fashion of structure in little. Where there are big terraces, there will be small ledges copying their form and direction. If there are big visible gaps, giant slabs, or terraces interrupted and continuing at a higher level as a result of uneven upheaval, in the same or similar places, although too small to be visible, the climber has to look out for exposed passages on slabs, or he will have to search for cracks to connect up his interrupted ledges.
It is all but impossible to inspect a distant climb with sufficient minuteness to be absolutely certain that a fifteen-foot wall or a broken ledge may not stop all progress at some point. Very rarely we can say, “It is impossible;” occasionally we can say, “It will go for certain;” but generally we have to leave some portion to the ‘round the corner’ chance. In such case we can reason with advantage from the big to the small, interpreting the main features of a face or ridge into terms of detail suitable for our lesser needs, and justifying it by our experience of similar rock.
Fortunately, rocks generally prove us right. They seldom cheat us, by a petty exception, of the fruits of general conclusions which we have based upon observation of their principal tendencies. On the contrary, we are constantly helped by kindly accidents and flaws, where we might expect no mercy. The Grépon traverse is a delightful instance of unreasonable progress just made possible by a series of, apparently, gorgeous accidents. The flukes are so brilliant and so timely that the layman cheerfully assumes them to be a rule in attacking similar Aiguilles; and he is rarely disappointed. When the expected and the unexpected alike fail us, on such rock we can still count upon a kindly roughness of surface and upon homely methods of friction to join up connections which structure and luck would have, for once, denied to us.
In reconnoitring all rock faces, especially for new routes, we are alert about the matter of falling stones. On boldly sculptured faces the edges of the ribs will be the safest line. On faces of shallow relief or much interrupted modelling, we may assume that nothing but the angle or our fortune will secure us against cross-fire. We used to be told that we should avoid stones by selecting aspects where the up-lie of strata emerged in sky-ward and stone-catching ledges. But personally, I have been seldom so badly bombarded as upon the Zermatt face of the Matterhorn, where every schoolboy knows what happens to the strata. If the rock is known to be good rock, or if we can design a route which by reason of its angle or its salience on the face should be safe, we may chance a few exposed connecting links. But if the rock is notoriously bad, or the disconnections in the safe route look to be numerous, and this especially if they occur high up where the sun will have had long time to act before we reach them, we must not risk the attempt. Years ago our party turned back from completing the ascent of the Furggen ridge of the Matterhorn on the ground of risk from stone fall. Later it was climbed; and the story of the success might be read as a commentary on the mountaineering value of the virtue of renunciation.
Ridges.