Above the Snow Line: Mountaineering Sketches Between 1870 and 1880

The critical tendency

Most travellers hear with a slight feeling of relief, on arriving at their destination and inquiring what there is to be seen, that there is nothing in particular, and the sub-Alpine walker has this charm perpetually with him. His expedition cannot fail, for it does not aim at any particular object on the attainment of which it depends whether he considers himself successful or not. These sub-Alpine walks and rambles form the background, the setting, the frame, and the surrounding of the more sharply defined and more memorable high expeditions. Perhaps these are but the sentiments of advancing mountaineering age; certainly they may be heard most often from those who have reached that period of life when they no longer pay heed to wrinkles in their trousers, when they are somewhat exacting in the matter of club dinners, and when they object strongly to receiving assistance from younger folk in putting on their overcoats. Howbeit, as we may recall the statement made in the “Delectus,” —

Neque semper arcum

Tendit Apollo,

even so does the mountaineer occasionally relax his muscles, and find pleasure in the Alpine midlands. Moreover, the writer feels that the perpetual breathing of rarefied air may be apt to induce too great a strain on his readers, and recollects that a piano always tuned to concert pitch is not so harmonious an instrument as one occasionally unstrung; so some relief is at times necessary. Contrast, inasmuch as nature provides it on every hand, we may be sure is a thing for which man has an instinctive craving; and to my mind, at least, a picture in which rich colouring is introduced, and where the result of the blending is harmonious, is more satisfactory than the work which appeals by what I believe artists would call “tone.” The principle applies rather widely. We may have observed that young ladies of prepossessing appearance love to be accompanied by dogs of repulsive mien. The costermonger, again, if possessed, as he always is, of a hoarse voice, is not completely equipped unless provided with a boy companion capable of sending forth in alternate measure the shrillest cries which the human larynx is capable of emitting. Thus may the pair better vaunt their wares, compel attention, and attract notice. The same objects, at any rate the latter two, influence an author, and not only in all cases, it would seem, when he is actually engaged in writing. So our expeditions, now to be described, may be looked upon as material for contrast, and may be skipped if thought fit – at any rate by purchasers – without risk of wounding the writer’s feelings.

The “High Level Route”

Some years ago we were travelling over that district of the Alps which to the true lover of mountain scenery can never become hackneyed – that is, the stretch of glacier land between Chamouni and Zermatt, first made known by Messrs. Foster, Jacomb, Winkfield, and others, and known to mountaineers as the “high-level route.” We had reached Monvoisin, then, possibly still, one of the cosiest and most comfortable little inns to be found among the mountains. An immense variety of first-rate glacier passes of moderate difficulty lie between this Val de Bagne and the Arolla valley; the Col de la Serpentine, the Col Gétroz, the Col de Breney, the Col Chermontane, and others, all of high interest and varied scenery, tempt the walker according to his powers. We selected on this occasion the Col du Mont Rouge, having a design on the bold little peak towering just above the Col, and known as the Ruinette. This peak, it may be at once mentioned, was ascended for the first time in 1865 by Mr. Edward Whymper, a mountaineer who has never ceased happily to add to his spoils and trophies since in all parts of the globe, and who, unlike most of the clan, has kept in the front rank from the day he first climbed an Alpine slope.

A prescription for ill-humour

We arrived soaked through, and with deplorably short tempers, at the hotel at Monvoisin. Now tobacco has been vaunted as a palliative to persons in this emotional state. Liquid remedies, described by the vulgar-minded as “a drop of something short,” or, more tersely, “a wet,” have been recommended as tending to induce a healthier state of mind. But there is one specific remedy which never fails, and to this by tacit consent we at once resorted.

Even as one touch of nature has been stated, on reliable authority, to make the whole world kin, so may one touch of a lucifer match, if discreetly applied beneath well-seasoned logs, induce even in the most irritable and wearied individual a change of feeling and a calm contentment. As the logs crackled and spluttered, hissing like angry cats, so did the prescription purge away, if not the evil humours, at any rate the ill-humour engendered by sore feet and damp raiment, till it vanished with the smoke up the chimney. As a matter of actual fact, however, it ought to be stated that the greater part of the smoke at first made its way into the room. Before long, assisted by a passable dinner, which acts on such conditions of mind as do the remedies known to the learned in medicine as “derivatives,” we waxed monstrous merry. We laughed heartily at our own jokes, and with almost equal fervour at those of other people – a very creditable state of feeling, as any who have associated much with facetiously disposed folk will be ready to acknowledge. As the evening wore on, and the fire burnt lower, we became more silent and thoughtful, watching the pale blue and green tongues of flame licking round the charred logs. There is a pleasure, too, in this state. No one felt disposed to break the charm of thoughtfulness in the company by throwing on fresh fuel. The fire had done its work, had helped matters on, had left things a little better than it found them – an epitome of a good and useful life. The embers fell together at last, throwing up but a few short-lived sparks; nothing remained but the recollection of what had been once so bright, and a heap of ashes – a fit emblem; for one of the party who was the life and soul of the expedition can never again join in body with us in the Alps, or revisit those Alpine midlands he loved so keenly. We rose from our seats and threw back the curtains from the window. The mists had vanished, and with them all doubt and all uncertainty, while the stream of light from the full moon seemed a promise of peace and rest from elsewhere.

A meditation on grass slopes

At an early period of a walk there is always the greatest objection to putting forth exertion, the result of which has almost immediately to be undone. That man is indeed robust, and possessed of three times the ordinary amount of brass, if he fails not to find it distasteful to walk up a hill at the end of an expedition, or down one at the commencement. The drawback to the commanding position of the hotel at Monvoisin lies in the fact that it is absolutely necessary to descend the hill to begin with, which always seems a sinful waste of energy, seeing that the grass slopes opposite, which are steep, have immediately afterwards to be climbed. The natural grass steps looked inviting, but in the language of the Portuguese dialogue book we found them all either “too long or much short.” One ascent over a grass slope is very much like another, and description in detail would be as wearisome as the slopes themselves often prove. Yet it is worthy of notice that there is an art to be acquired even in climbing grass slopes. We had more than one opportunity on the present occasion of seeing that persons look supremely ridiculous if they stumble about, and we noticed also that, like a bowler when he has delivered a long hop to the off for the third time in one over, the stumbler invariably inspects the nails in his boots, a proceeding which deceives no one. It is quite easy to judge of a man’s real mountaineering capacity by the way in which he attacks a steep grass slope. The unskilful person, who fancies himself perfectly at home amongst the intricacies of an ice-fall, will often candidly admit that he never can walk with well-balanced equilibrium on grass, a form of vegetable which, it might be thought in many instances of self-sufficient mountaineers, would naturally suit them. There is often real danger in such places, and not infrequently the wise man will demand the use of the rope, especially when there are any tired members among the party. There is no better way of learning how to preserve a proper balance on a slope than by practising on declivities of moderate steepness, and it is astonishing to find how often those who think they have little to learn, or, still worse, believe that there is nothing to learn, will find themselves in difficulties on a mountain-side, and forced to realise that they have got themselves into a rather humiliating position. We may have seen before now, all of us, distinguished cragsmen to whom an ascent of the Weisshorn or Matterhorn was but a mere stroll, utterly pounded in botanical expeditions after Edelweiss, and compelled to regain a position of security by very ungraceful sprawls, or, worse still, have to resort to the unpardonable alternative of asking for assistance. It is on such places that the skill born of constant practice is best shown in the peasant as contrasted with the amateur; but the latter could easily acquire the art, were he not, as a rule, too high and mighty to do so. It is a great point, too, if the expedition is to be thoroughly enjoyed, to transport one’s self over the earlier part of the day’s climb with the least possible amount of exertion. The art possibly resembles that which, I am told, is acquired by those of ill-regulated minds, whom the force of circumstances and the interests of society compel to exercise themselves for a certain number of hours daily in that form of unproductive labour exemplified in the machine known as the treadmill. No doubt the very ardent mountaineer might find that facilities would be accorded to him during such time as he cannot visit the Alps of practising this art in the manner indicated.

The agile person’s vagaries

Before long, the smooth unbroken snow slope leading up to the Col du Mont Rouge, glistening like a sheet of amber-coloured satin in the light of early dawn, came into sight. One of the party, who had complained throughout of the slow pace at which he had been going, and who was already far ahead, now went through a singular performance. Conceiving that he would stimulate us to greater exertion by displaying his own agility, he suddenly shot forth, as an arrow from the bow, and ran at great speed on to the snow slope. But he had misjudged the hardness of the snow. It fell out, therefore, that after two or three curious flounders his limbs suddenly shot out to all points of the compass. A desperate effort to recall his members under control resulted only in his suddenly coiling up into a little round ball, like a spider in a state of nervousness, and in that shape descending with considerable momentum, and not a few bumps, down the slope over some knobby stones and on to a fortunately placed little grass ledge. When we joined him a few minutes later, he observed unblushingly that he had found a capital place for breakfast. So have I seen a skater, after performing a few exercises of a somewhat violent nature, resembling the dances performed by nigger minstrels wearing excessively long boots, suddenly sit down and instantly adjust a perfectly correctly applied strap. On resuming our journey the agile member was firmly secured with a rope, for fear, as we told him, that he should become possessed with a sudden idea to hunt for a suitable place for luncheon by resorting to his previous tactics. Somewhat crestfallen, he took a place in the rear of the caravan, and condescended to make use of the little notches scraped out by the leader in the hard snow.

Ascent of the Ruinette

A few minutes later the full sunlight of early morning burst upon us, and produced, as it always does on such occasions, a feeling of supreme contempt for those slothful individuals who had not got up as early as we had. This moment of exhilaration is often the very best of a whole expedition, and is apt to lead, I know not why, to an ebullition of feeling, which usually takes the form of horse-play and practical joking. A series of gentle slopes led us up to the Col. Our ascent took us gradually round the base of the Ruinette, and we cast anxious glances to our right to see if any practicable line of rocks could be made out. The mountain is tolerably steep from this side, but the rocks are broken and were bare of snow. On the summit of the Col the party divided, the agile person and some of the others deciding that they would go straight on to Arolla, while Burgener and I bespoke the services of the porter, and made straight for the long buttress of rock running down almost directly to the Col on the north-west face of the mountain. Half an hour’s complicated scrambling resulted in our attaining a little level plateau of rock on the ridge. As we looked down on to the great snow-field from which the Gétroz glacier takes its origin, we perceived, far away, the forms of our companions looking like a flight of driven grouse about a quarter of a minute after the sportsman has missed them with both barrels. No doubt they were enjoying themselves thoroughly, but from our point of view the sight of some four or five individuals walking along at ten-foot intervals with bowed heads and plodding gait did not suggest any very consummate pleasure. Rejoicing, therefore, that they were making nice tracks for us to follow later in the day, we turned again to the rocks above. Following always the ridge, we clambered straight up, and found opportunities for very pretty gymnastics (that is, from our own point of view) on this part of the mountain. Our object was to select rocks that would give good practice in climbing, rather than to pick out the easiest possible line, and as a result we got into more than one difficult place, difficult enough at any rate to demand much conversation on the part of the guides. In about three hours from the Col we found ourselves looking over the arête on to the southern side of the mountain with a very compact and varied view in all directions. Close by, the long ridge of the Serpentine formed a fine foreground, and a wide expanse of glacier district made up a tolerably wild panorama. A few minutes’ climbing along the crest landed us above a deep notch filled in with soft snow. Into this we plunged, and in another minute or two stood on the summit of the Ruinette. So far as we knew at the time, the mountain had not previously been ascended from the northern side, and, indeed, the peak does not appear to be visited nearly so often as it deserves. Following for the most part the same line as that taken during the ascent, we regained, in about a couple of hours, the Col. Here we hunted diligently, seeking what we might devour, and feeling sure that our friends would have left us something as a reward for our energy. It transpired, however, subsequently, that the agile person’s exertions had provoked in him such an appetite that there was little if anything to leave, so we followed the tracks laid out in the snow, noticing with some concern that one member of the previous party had sunk at every step some eighteen inches deeper into the soft compound than anybody else. By the marks on the snow we perceived, also, that he had trailed his axe along by his side, a sure sign of weariness. By sunset we had gained the Pas de Chévres, and ran gaily down the gentle slope towards the hotel. A little distance from the building we came so suddenly upon a manly form, outstretched, like a stranded star-fish, on a mossy bank, that we almost leaped upon his stomach. Yet he moved not, and was apparently wrapped in slumber. We stopped and crept cautiously up to survey him more closely. It was the agile person.

2. A Little Maiden

Saas in the olden days

In the old days of mountaineering, Saas was a place more often talked about than visited. The beauty of the scenery around was indeed unquestionable, the number of expeditions of every degree of difficulty seemed almost without limit, first-rate guides could be obtained with ease, and yet there was never any difficulty in finding quarters in the hotels. In ascending the main valley from Visp the great stream of travellers divided at Stalden into a large stream that made its way to Zermatt and a little rivulet that meandered along the much finer valley towards Saas and the Mattmark. It thus fell out that, notwithstanding a small body of indefatigable mountaineers had explored the higher peaks and passes on both sides of the valley with tolerable completeness, there was left a considerable number of smaller expeditions capable of providing good amusement for the climber desirous of acquiring fame or of exploring the less known districts. In these days, when the soaring ambition of mountaineers has led them to climb heights far greater than any found in the Alps, an account of an expedition of an unimportant peak may seem out of place. Indeed, its details were so devoid of sensational incident that the recital may be dull; but, as will appear directly, that is not the writer’s fault; at any rate, he ventures to give it, for the same reason that invariably prompts youthful authors to write unnecessary books; that is, as they say in their preface, to supply a want long felt – a want, it may be stated, usually felt in their own pockets and nowhere else.

With every respect to the older generation of mountaineers, they are much to blame in one matter. The stock of Alpine jokes is scanty; indeed, a well-read author can get them all, with a little arrangement, into the compass of one short description of a day in the mountains. Again, the number of Alpine subjects lending themselves to facetiousness is but small. The supply has been proved beyond question entirely inadequate to meet the demand, but former writers have recklessly drawn on this limited stock and entirely exhausted the topics, if not the readers. Some allowance may therefore be made when the position is considered, and it is realised that the writer is endeavouring to patch together a fabric with materials almost too threadbare for use, and that he is compelled wholly to pass by such attractive topics as the early start and consequent ill-temper, the dirty porter, the bergschrund, the use of tobacco, or the flea. The last-mentioned beast is in fact now universally prohibited from intrusion into polite Alpine literature; he has had his day. But why? he has surely some right to the place. An eminent French composer6 has written a ballad in his honour; but though, as old Hans Andersen wrote, he was much thought of at one time, and occupied a high position, seeing that he was in the habit of mixing with the human race, and might even have royal blood in his veins, yet he is now deposed. I cannot forbear from paying a last tribute to the memory of a departing, though formerly constant, companion. To find oneself obliged to cut the acquaintance of a friend whom I have fed with my own hand must give rise to some qualms.

Unfortunately, too, the older writings are too well known of many to be dished up again in altered form, like a Sunday dinner in the suburbs; so that even the most common form of originality, videlicet, forgetfulness of the source from which you are borrowing, is forbidden. Plagiarism is a crime that seldom is allowed to pass undetected. There are many people in this world possessed of such a small amount of originality themselves, that they spend their whole time in searching for the want of that quality in others. The human inhabitants of the ark, unless they made the most of their unexampled opportunities for the study of natural history, must have become desperately bored with each other, and no doubt, when set free, said all the good things, each in their own independent nucleus of commencing society, which they had heard while immured. On the whole, it is fortunate for writers that the period known as the dark ages came to pass; it allowed those who commenced their career on this side of the hiatus to make, on the old lines, a perfectly fresh start.

A curious omission

Perhaps no country in the world has had the minute topography of its uninhabited districts so thoroughly worked out as Switzerland. Beyond question the orography is more accurately given than anywhere else; in this respect, indeed, no other country can compare with it. It might seem, even to those who have studied the matter, almost impossible to find any corner of the Alps that has not been described; and the discovery that a few superficial square yards of Swiss territory, arranged on an incline, had not been discussed in detail came upon the writer with somewhat of a shock. It was clearly somebody’s duty to rectify the omission and fill the gap; whether the expedition was of importance from any point of view, or whether any one in the wide world had the smallest desire to read a description of it, was a matter of no moment whatever. There was a vacuum, and it was a thing abhorrent. The mountain, to which reference is made above, lies east of Saas, and is known to such of the inhabitants as have any knowledge of geography as the Portienhorn. Substantially this peak is the highest point of a long rocky ridge running north and south, and called the Portien Grat.

The chef’s masterpiece

One fine evening we sat outside the inn at Saas just before dinner, seriously discussing the prospect of climbing this mountain. The guides were of opinion that we ought to sleep out, and surmised that the rocks might be found much more difficult than they looked. With some reluctance on our part their views were allowed to prevail on the point, and they started off in triumph, promising to return and report when all the necessary preparations for starting should be completed, while we went in to prepare ourselves for the next day by an early dinner. The inn in those days was somewhat rude, and the cuisine was not remarkable save for the extraordinary faculty possessed by the chef for cooking anything that happened to come in his way, and reducing it all to the same level of tastelessness. On the present occasion, however, stimulated, no doubt, by certain critical rebukes, he had determined to surpass himself. Towards the end of the repast, as we sat chewing some little wooden toothpicks, which were found to have more flavour than anything else placed on the table, we heard the chef cross the yard and go into a certain little outhouse. A few minutes later a subtle and delicate aroma made its way into the apartment, leading us, after a few interrogative sniffs, to get up and close the window. Gradually the savour became more pronounced, and one of the party gave expression to his opinion that there was now satisfactory proof of the accuracy of his constant statement that the drains were out of order. Gradually intensifying, the savour assumed the decided character of a smell, and we looked out of window to see in which direction the cemetery lay. Stronger and stronger grew the perception as steps came mounting up the stairs; the door opened, and all doubt was set at rest as the chef entered, bearing proudly a large cheese. In a moment, to his dismay, he was left undisputed master of the apartment.

An evicted family

We left Saas equipped as for a serious expedition. A stout rustic, who was the most preternaturally ugly man I ever saw, led the way; he had a very large mouth and an odd-shaped face, so that he resembled a frog with a skewer wedged across inside his cheeks. On his back he bore a bag full of very spiky straw, which the guides said was a mattress. In about an hour’s time we arrived at a carelessly built chalet on the Almagel Alp, of which the outside was repulsive and the inside revolting. But the experienced mountaineer, on such occasions, is not easily put out, and exhibits very little astonishment at anything he may see, and none at anything that he may smell. The hut consisted of a single apartment, furnished with a fireplace and a bed. The fireplace was situated in the centre of the room; the couch was separated by a dilapidated hoarding from a shed tenanted by a cow of insatiable appetite – indeed, it may have been originally designed as a manger. The bed, which accommodated apparently the family of the tenant, was found on actual measurement to be forty-eight inches in length and twenty in width; nevertheless the two guides packed themselves into it, adopting in their recumbent position the theory that if you keep your head and your feet warm you are all right. By the flickering gleams of firelight it could be perceived through the smoke that these were the only portions of their frames actually in the bed owing to its excessive shortness; but guides share, with babies in perambulators, a happy faculty of being able to sleep peacefully whatever be the position of their heads. The dispossessed family of the tenant would not submit, notwithstanding strong remarks, to summary eviction, and watched our proceedings with much interest. It was pointed out to them that curiosity was a vicious quality, that it had been defined as looking over other people’s affairs and overlooking one’s own, and that, on the whole, they had better retire, which they did reluctantly, to a little shed in which was a large copper pot with other cheese-making accessories. Apparently they spent the night in scouring the copper pot.