On difficult ascents or ridges, in a party of three or less, each moves singly. In a party of four, once the leader is up, number three may bring up number four while the leader is bringing up number two.
On steep ascents of moderate difficulty, in a party of three, if the second man is really sound and the stances allow of his managing two ropes, one running out and one running in, he may bring up the third man while the leader is still climbing. But the leader must be aware that he is doing so. In a party of four, on such ascents, the second and fourth man can always be climbing simultaneously. This double movement saves much time on long climbs.
On descents the same rules hold, in the reverse order.
For a strong party a possible variant may be mentioned. If the last man is sound, and feels himself secure, he can let numbers two and three descend to the full length of their ropes, both climbing at the same time. Number two starts as soon as number three has run out his rope, and so he enables number three to descend another length without pause. The last man then descends to number two, moving alone. On his arrival the other two start simultaneously again. If number three, however, is not dependable enough to move entirely without protection from number two, it is sounder for number two to remain at anchor while number three descends; but the last man meanwhile descends to number two. In this case the last man and number three climb simultaneously, while number two remains at anchor between them, and descends alone.
On either system a third of the time is saved. But all such accelerations must depend upon the relative difficulty of the several sections which each in turn is descending. If the lowest man wishes to be secured over a section, he must say so; and then number two must not descend simultaneously with him. If number two has found the passage of some section hard, he will need to give his full attention to the last man while he is descending it; and he must not then allow the lowest man to be descending at the same time as the last man.
The Duty of the First Man.
The leader on the rope may be the manager of the party; but he should be, on any climb of difficulty, the best climber. His business is to get up rocks capably, and to get his party up. He is responsible for getting them out of their difficulties, and also for not taking them into them. He must know what the men behind him can do, as much as what he himself can do, on any given day. He sets the pace, selects the stances and directs the movements throughout the climb. He must be able to concentrate absolutely upon his task. He must be competent to distinguish between difficulty and danger, and to observe the differences between our two sorts of danger—between the objective perils of falling stones, storm, etc., and the subjective dangers which form a nimbus of potential risk surrounding every point of difficulty, contracting or enlarging according to the capacity of each climber dealing with the difficult point. To excel, he must be certain of knowing his normal standard and his standard of the day; be steel against spasms of mistrust, that consume strength even more than nerve; be resolute in advance, as resolute timely to retreat.
Most leaders have their personal tricks when ‘all out.’ Some are Olympian and impassive; some talk to themselves; some like to lull a hostile pitch into security by loudly protesting its hopelessness, with half a hope of catching it unawares; some like to hum or whistle; others have a tune or phrase running in their heads—most of us know the comfort of working our muscles to the accompaniment of some rhythm, audible or imaginary. Consciously or not, every leader draws upon the pooled confidence of the men behind him. In return he owes it to them to cherish the confidence so far as he can. He should avoid sharing his doubts over some difficult place with his friends unnecessarily. They cannot help him, and he will only undermine their confidence. He should never make demonstrations which may alarm those of the party who cannot see their true origin, or be of any use if they could. If he has a well-tried second, who knows too much about him to mind, he may let off steam to him. A little mystery and silence are rather a good fault in a first man; men do not want to be over-enlightened before their turn comes. But with a silent leader we are dependent upon a good second man to keep the party informed as to what is really happening. It is very depressing to be kept shivering on holds, and not even know whether the pitch is ‘going,’ or is even going to ‘go.’
A leader’s solitary battle with natural forces is so personal and isolated that it is harder for him to remember always what a heavy responsibility he carries for the whole party. No man but the leader ever knows what were the risks he ran or how near his shaves may have been. He is induced to forget them by the relieved admiration of those who have followed him on the rope, only too delighted to get up. Very few will be ill-mannered enough afterwards to recall their real feelings as they watched him take a rash chance, or tell him they thought him a silly ass. The leader has greater privileges, greater freedom and greater responsibilities than any other man of a party. To deserve them, he must never cease to study for others, never fear to decide for himself. In the words of a very great mountaineer, it is “that detachment of mind, commonly called courage, which, combined with high powers, alone makes the great leader.”
The Duty of the Second Man.