Where there is no track, the last man on the rope should carry the radium compass and correct the direction, as in mist. Even without a compass he is the better able to keep a line, guided by the rope ahead.
A leader measuring the remainder of a climb against the coming of darkness must recollect that snow retains light very late—in summer, in fact, it rarely becomes quite dark. But the snowless lower slopes, which he will reach last, will be far darker. He must not be deceived, therefore, by the apparent amount of light still illuminating the higher snows, into taking things easily.
A party frankly benighted, if it has only a short distance to descend over ground known to be safe, supposing that a right route, not difficult to find, can be followed, does best to rope up. This has the merit of keeping the party together and in line, and confines the disturbances of falling over rocks and into holes to the person of the responsible leader.
If he gets benighted on higher ground, as in the Alps, or sees that he must necessarily become so, the leader should look about for a good bivouac before the light fails; not press on to the last and then take the chance of hurriedly finding a suitable shelter or ledge.
Whenever there is no short or easy descent in near prospect, and night is at hand, it is always wiser to sit out for the few hours of darkness than to let impatience risk the chance of a sprained ankle or broken leg.
In selecting a rock for a bivouac in doubtful weather, he has to remember that unless the roof is absolutely concave, rain will trickle in and across the roof and make trouble even far within the shelter; also, that in sleeping on rock or sand or turf it is more important to comfort to secure a hole for the hip-bone than a pillow for the head of his charges.
Where only a ledge is available, the members of a party should rope together, to prevent anyone wandering away or slipping off in sleep. Song promotes warmth, and preserves harmony—in a sense.
A Last Task.
Of the management of the guides during the tour something is said in a later section. If he has employed them, the leader’s last task of management, one of regretful but presumably proud memory, will be to write up the guides’ books. His fashion of entry is governed by no tradition; which makes these books the more entertaining and varied reading during dim days in the huts. But if he does not wish to blush in later years over his early paragons and phrases, and desires to make the notice, as it should be, of some service to other leaders, he may be guided by one or two common-sense principles.
A mountaineer of experience, when he looks at a guide’s book before engaging him, looks first for the signatures he knows, then at the opinions about the guide which they underwrite, and makes his allowance for the opinions according to his knowledge of the mountaineering equation of the owners of the names. Secondly, he looks at what the man has done, both with the names he knows and with the names he does not know. The opinions of those whom he does not know he reads merely in relation to the actual climbs which the man is stated to have done with them. Thus, when we are writing, since our name is likely to be known but to few, especially among climbers of other races, it is of importance first to state clearly what the man has done with us, and under what conditions, of weather, party, etc.; more particularly, to state if he has ‘led,’ and what, or if he has come as second guide or porter. Then, for the benefit of our own race, who will know how to interpret the ‘atmosphere’ of an English testimonial even though they do not know our name, we may add an opinion of the man, written very carefully so as to be read in relation to that which we have stated he has done with us. For instance, if we have included several big snow climbs among our list, and then write our opinion that the man is a ‘brilliant rock climber,’ those who can read testimonials will know what to conclude about his icemanship. If we wish to guard against such a conclusion being drawn, and yet have had no opportunity of forming a clear opinion, we should add something conventional, such as that the man ‘had no opportunity to lead on snow,’ or that ‘the climbs must speak for themselves:—the conditions were perfect.’ At the end of a list of fine ascents to say only that a man is ‘willing,’ leaves us in the dark as to how far he took any real part. To say that he is ‘enterprising’ gives a clearer idea of his initiative. If the conditions of any climbs on the list are stated to have been trying, and the opinion adds that he is ‘safe and good-tempered,’ we have learned something positive to go upon. These are small instances. The comments should only be made with definite regard to what we have seen and what we state to have been executed in our employment. Unrelated generalities are valueless. Similarly, we must confine our appreciations to what our experience enables us to say with authority. It is better for this reason to refer our estimate to an absolute standard of merit, such as other mountaineers will understand, than to indulge our friendship by writing a character that means nothing to the initiated, and may get the man a place of responsibility with the uninitiated for which he is not fit. Our first duty is to other mountaineers. To say a man is a ‘first-class rock climber,’ if we feel ourselves competent to pronounce so much, is a definite classification; but to say he is a ‘first-rate rock climber’ is to err into the meaningless weakness of superlatives. To say he is a ‘fine iceman’ gives the guide the benefit of an authoritative reference to an accepted standard; but to say ‘there is no finer iceman in the Alps’ risks the calling of our own experience in question by those to whom our qualifications for making such a statement are unknown, and does the guide little good.