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diff --git a/old/67729-0.txt b/old/67729-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7ca0189..0000000 --- a/old/67729-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,25907 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Mountain Craft, by Geoffrey Winthrop -Young - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Mountain Craft - -Editor: Geoffrey Winthrop Young - -Release Date: March 28, 2022 [eBook #67729] - -Language: English - -Produced by: ellinora and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/American - Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOUNTAIN CRAFT *** - - - - - - MOUNTAIN CRAFT - - [Illustration: THE ALPS [SYDNEY SPENCER] - - - - - MOUNTAIN CRAFT - - EDITED BY - - GEOFFREY WINTHROP YOUNG - - - WITH 28 ILLUSTRATIONS - - - NEW YORK - CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS - 1920 - - - - - TO - - THE MEMORY OF - - GALLANT COMRADES IN THE MOUNTAINS - - FRANK BERGNE - GUY BUTLIN - C. K. CARFRAE - FOSTER CUNLIFFE - G. T. EWEN - E. N. FINLAY - R. W. FLETCHER - W. G. FLETCHER - H. O. GIBSON - EDMUND HARTLEY - S. W. HERFORD - TERENCE HICKMAN - TREVENEN HUXLEY - H. O. JONES - MURIEL GWENDOLEN JONES - E. L. JULIAN - HORAS KENNEDY - F. M. LEVI - JOSEF LOCHMATTER - FRANK LUCAS - SIDNEY McDOUGALL - NIGEL MADAN - KENNETH MOORSOM - L. E. NOON - L. OPPENHEIMER - HUGH POPE - KENNETH POWELL - PAUL PREUSS - J. E. RAPHAEL - C. J. REID - C. DONALD ROBERTSON - JACK SANDERS - H. JONES-SABIN - LAURENCE SLINGSBY - MORRIS SLINGSBY - FRANK SPARROW - WILBERT SPENCER - THOBY STEPHEN - LOUIS THEYTAZ - H. W. THOMAS - J. M. ARCHER THOMSON - ERIK TODD - KENNETH TRAYES - GEORGINA MARY TUKE - HARRY WALKER - CHARLES WERNER - C. A. WORDSWORTH - C. S. WORTHINGTON - LAWRENCE C. H. YOUNG - - - - -PREFACE - - -This book is for mountaineers; and a mountaineer is not only one who -climbs mountains, but anyone who likes to walk, read, or think about -them. - -I do not myself attach much value to mountaineering handbooks: an -open-air pursuit can only be learned by practical attempt and from good -example. I used to read them for the fun of surprising some hero of -my youth as he strained his imagination to squeeze a grave principle -out of a random holiday memory, and for the sympathetic pleasure of -reconstructing for myself the real day of irresponsible adventure the -recollection of which was bringing a thrill of forbidden joy to his -mind before he composed his face to inflict it upon me in the form of -an edifying three-line precept. I can read them now no more than I can -read the ‘climbing accident’ type of fiction popular with magazines, -which used to provide a less sensitive digestion with some acrid food -for mirth. On the other hand I would still set myself to learn Chinese, -if that would enable me the better to understand one more record of -genuine mountain adventure or discover some unfamiliar attitude of the -human mind towards the mountains and their symbolism. - -I do not expect other mountaineers to read, or to refrain from reading, -these opinions in a different spirit. Mountaineering, like other arts, -has suffered much, for all its youth, from the limitations imposed by -hasty tradition and by doctrine prematurely crystallized; and, as in -other crafts, if ever a period comes that shall find the traditional -rules too rigid to admit of a wholesome influx of new and original -conception, mountaineering will cease to deserve the name of an art or -craft, and become at best an ‘organized game.’ - -But the opinions as they stand may yet serve a limited purpose. Some -men are born climbers. They will learn little about climbing from -precepts. At the same time many of the finest climbers fall short of -our ideal of safe method because they have never concerned themselves -with the possible existence of any fundamental principles governing -the various unrelated movements in which they delight; and so it comes -that, though they may do nine things, by instinct, right, they do -the tenth, by habit, wrong. For these climbers I am not without hope -that the statement, made I believe here for the first time, of the -principles which underlie all correct climbing motions, and which have -been steadily emerging during fifty years of practical mountaineering, -may not be entirely useless. If they find that nine spokes of their -practice lead back to my hub, and the tenth does not, they may learn -how to correct the tenth. If, on the contrary, they find that only one -leads back to it, and nine radiate elsewhither, well then, no doubt -they will decide that I am wrong. - -But whatever we may be as climbers, no one of us is a born mountaineer. -Mountaineering, in its wider aspects, can only be learned by -experiment; and even the natural climber may be able to get some -guidance from the collective expression of other men’s mountaineering -experience. - -Many efficient climbers, again, never bother themselves at all with -mountaineering as a craft. They simply take its pleasures, and leave -its responsibilities to guides or to chance. Mountaineering will -profit, if they can be led to discover something of all that they are -missing. - -More of us are, in a sense, specialists; interested in one department -alone, and neglectful or ignorant of the rest. For such of us there -is some benefit in surveying, if only superficially, the immense field -that a man must set himself to traverse who aspires to lead a party -safely. - -Yet another group, with whom I have a particular sympathy, who belong -to the class of ‘made’ climbers rather than to that of ‘natural’ -climbers, may often find that they have stuck fast at a certain point -in their technique and are abandoning the prospect of improving -further. Experience encourages the hope that they may be able, after -learning something of the essential principles of method, to recast or -amplify their own methods, so as to make further progress on sounder -lines. Or they will discover that a man may be useful to a party as -an expert in one of the less common but no less important branches of -mountaineering craft. Their inferiority in a single department--for -instance, rock climbing, in which excellence is often overrated as -compared with other equally valuable qualifications--will then be seen -in better proportion. - -And those who are not climbers, but who are interested in or perhaps -even resentful of the fascination which mountains exercise, may -discover, if they have the patience, that mountaineering as it is -now practised is no simple outlet for an athletic impulse, and no -selfish indulgence in a game which has the demerit of risking lives -often of notable value; but that it is a genuine craft, as well as -a genuine enthusiasm; an education alike in self-development and in -self-subordination; a discipline of character, of infinite variety in -its demands and in its reactions upon strength, endurance, nerve, will, -and temper, upon powers of organization as upon powers of dealing with -men; a test of personality for which no preparation may be considered -excessive, and a science for whose mastery the study of all our active -years is barely sufficient. Of its rewards, in health, self-knowledge, -æsthetic pleasure, and incomparable adventure, it is not the place to -speak in a book of practical counsel. - -For the opinions on technical points, and their elaboration in -theory, I must be held alone responsible. Where the multiplication -or repetition of detail may appear tedious, it has been inserted for -the better illustration of some underlying principle, or to provide -the more material for the future settlement of some point still under -discussion among mountaineers. Those who disagree with the methods -recommended may still make use of the advice, much as I should do in -their case, treating it as yet another statement of an individual -point of view, such as may at least act as a serviceable standard of -comparison for their own practice. - -Our object will be gained if the suggestions are found to provide -a basis for more general discussion and thought, an available -condensation of a good deal of theory floating and partially formulated -among modern mountaineers of experience, and something of a book of -reference and reminder for those who may not have known, or cared to -admit, that there was so much about which they ought to form an opinion. - - * * * * * - -In the innovation of giving a prominent position to considerations of -personal management and leadership there has been a special purpose. -For reasons not difficult to assign, most manuals dealing with the -practice of active pursuits have been in the habit of ignoring the -dominant influence that is exerted upon all combined action by the -psychological factor, and the extent to which changing conditions -of mood and humour, and the more stable divergences between the -individual temperaments of men acting in association, must contribute -to success or failure. The accentuation of the human problem, as it -presents itself in mountaineering, has therefore been intentional. In -mountains, where personality counts before everything, men are forced -back upon their elemental selves; they become very different beings -from their drawing-room semblances, and unless they allow for this -in the adjustment of their relations on the hills, they can achieve -only the mediocrity of performance, the barrenness in results, or the -complete break-down which are the common fate of all ill-constituted -parties, for exploration, for mountaineering, for warfare, or for any -other active adventure that depends for its success upon effective -combination. - - * * * * * - -Mountaineering, in its modern development, involves a large number of -matters for arrangement which cannot be classed under the headings of -technique or of specific equipment for climbing; such as methods of -travel, care of health, choice of districts in less-known countries, -special routes of access, and details of topography and equipment -peculiar to any particular district chosen. Most of these vary in -detail in the different ranges. - -It has, therefore, seemed most convenient to deal with the special -conditions which characterize a number of the regions now most -frequently visited in separate chapters, each chapter devoted to one of -the great ranges. These chapters have been undertaken by experts who -will be recognized as speaking with authority by mountaineers of every -school and nationality. Their intention is to give just the amount of -practical information which we all need, and which we find it so hard -to procure, when we are in process of making up our minds what region -we will visit; and to add sufficient indication of where we may find -all the more particular information which we shall require when once we -have decided upon our region. - -Captain Farrar’s suggestions on Mountain Equipment, Mr. Arnold Lunn’s -on Equipment and Method for Mountaineering on Ski, Dr. Wollaston’s on -the Care of Health, and Mr. Sydney Spencer’s on Photography, apply, -generally speaking, to all mountaineering regions and to all organized -expeditions. To Captain Farrar’s advice the suggestions on Outfit made -in the regional chapters are complementary, dictated by the special -conditions of the district or of the season. - -Besides that which is owing to innumerable contributors to discussions -which have extended over many years and exercised a variety of -languages, I have to acknowledge a very special debt of gratitude -to Mr. H. V. Reade, C.B., for his helpful suggestions and careful -revision; to Captain Farrar, D.S.O., for constant encouragement and -a characteristically kindly criticism; to Mr. Oscar Eckenstein, -for having most generously placed at my disposal the notes of much -accumulated experience and illuminating inductive theory, and for -having provided me with information and reminder in several of the -less-known branches of mountaineering; and to Mr. Sydney Spencer, Mr. -Charles Mead, and Professor Norman Collie, F.R.S., for a group of -illustrations, which may be found to lighten the practical detail of -the text and serve as reminders of the beauty, the mystery, and the -strangeness of the mountain world into which--safely and superficially -or masterfully and understandingly, according to the degree of our -preparation--the study of mountain craft purposes to enable us to -penetrate. - - _June 1914_ - - * * * * * - -Six years ago these papers were sent in for publication. For my own -share in them I made the decision, then, with some reluctance. In -mountaineering there is always something new to learn, and they might -all too soon need correction or amplification. - -But the chance of battle which delayed their appearance has, in the -event, confirmed the resolution. My colleagues have brought their -regional contributions up to date: I have added the substance of the -notes jotted down during my last climbs in July 1914; and I can now -let the opinions go with much less hesitation, since from the annual -demonstration of their deficiencies by their most obstinate critic they -must, in future, be exempt. - - G. W. Y. - - _June 1920_ - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAP. PAGE - - I. MANAGEMENT AND LEADERSHIP 1 - - By the EDITOR - - Management in anticipation--physical - well-being--food--thirst--smoking--ailments--bathing--young - folk--preventable humours--boredom--over-excitement. Leadership in - action--the collective confidence--keeping touch--temper--abnormal - moods--reaction--disappointment--over-confidence--hysteria--vertigo - --the effect of height. Social composition of the party. Walking - manners--some notes on hill-walking. Choice of district. Incidental - duties--hut usages--consideration--some night notes--a last task. - Weather--clouds--wind--signs in general--habit of the - season--persistence. Training--the framework--the organs--will and - nerves--nerve--height and reach. Pace--adjustment of - time--benightment--weight handicaps--continuous - going--combination-halts--the maximum rhythm. - - II. EQUIPMENT FOR THE ALPS 80 - - By J. P. FARRAR - - Equipment--boots--clothes--some alternatives (G. W. Y.)--costume - for women (Miss BRONWEN JONES). Outfit--sack--axe--rope--knots - --necessaries--bivouac--tent, etc. - - III. GUIDED AND GUIDELESS MOUNTAINEERING 101 - - By the EDITOR - - Old-time errors--the guide of the chronicles--the guide as he is--the - amateur as he may be--the composite mountaineer--the guide as - mountaineer--the amateur as mountaineer--the question for the - leader--the social consideration--the technical - compensation--examples--the expert--the tourist--the beginner--the - moderate mountaineer--summary--a supreme example. Management of - guides--guide nature--the right footing--before the ascent--on the - mountain--fine shades--the terms of the association--the rare - crisis--the reward. - - IV. ROCK CLIMBING 138 - - By the EDITOR - - A theory of the development--balance climbing--the individual - standard--solitary climbing--initial practice--the use of the - foot--hard soles--soft soles--foothold--anticipation--the ankle--the - knee--the hand--cling holds--push and press holds--in cracks--on - slabs--chimney climbing--rib riding--wet rock--glazed rock--summary. - Unsound rock--semi-detached--detached--moraine and scree. Unusual - rock--in quarries--along sea cliffs--on freaks. Climbing - down--positions--facing outward--facing sideways--facing inward--down - chimneys or cracks--the rope in continuous descent--the doubled - rope--brakes--springing the rope--the long rope. Pegs and aids. - The axe on rocks--carriage--the extra hand--the Manx leg. - - V. CLIMBING IN COMBINATION 209 - - By the EDITOR - - Collective rhythm--imitation--the rope while moving together--to - the man in front--from the man behind--while moving - singly--following and leading--stances--with belays--without - belays--holding the rope--the order on the rope--on ascents - and descents--on traverses--the order of merit--the order with - beginners--the order of moving--the duties of first man--of - second man--backing up metaphysically--backing up physically--of - third man--more about the rope during climbing--with - stones--during halts--coiling--suitable lengths--funicula. - - VI. CORRECTIVE METHOD 256 - - By the EDITOR - - Human fallibility--warning--easing--checking on traverses--the - case of the end man--the measure of courage--the second - man’s action--after a fall--accidents. Mountain perversity--falling - stones--snow slides--ice fragments--evil weather. - - VII. ICE AND SNOW CRAFT 279 - - By the EDITOR - - The age for glaciers. Ice craft--the nature of ice--ice-claws--cutting - steps--using steps--the rope on ice--glacier work--snow-covered - glacier. Snow craft--some characteristics and counter-moves--snow - travail--snow slopes--the rope and axe--bergschrund and - bridge--cornices--snow in couloirs--snow at home--confusing - weather--the sense of direction. Glissading--on - ice--positions--arrests. On snow--positions--steering--jumping--brakes - --sitting--stone-tests--the rope--some variations--alternate - glissading--face inward--plunging-on claws. On other - grounds--on scree--in winter gullies--on grass and heather. - - VIII. RECONNOITRING 370 - - By the EDITOR - - Things seen--snow surface condition--angle on snow--snow cornices--wind - and snow signs--ice--couloirs--rock--faces--ridges--slabs--rocks - in Britain. The Half-seen. The Unseen. - - IX. MOUNTAINEERING ON SKI 397 - - By ARNOLD LUNN - - Technique--equipment. The alpine calendar. Snow craft. Winter - snow--powder snow--the effect of wind on powder snow--the effect of - sun on powder snow--summary of winter snow. Spring snow. The effect of - Föhn and thaw--Föhn in winter--Föhn in spring. Summer snow. Snow - avalanches. Classification of avalanches. Summer snow avalanches. - Tactics on avalanche ground. The High Alps in winter--weather - conditions--the approaches to the High Alps--snow conditions in the - High Alps--rock ridges and ice slopes. Glaciers in winter--ski-ing on - a rope. The High Alps in spring--March--April--May--June. The spring - time-table. Summer and autumn ski-ing. Summer ski. - - X. MOUNTAIN PHOTOGRAPHY 471 - - By SYDNEY SPENCER - - Camera and apparatus--the choice of subject--colour - photography--stereoscopic photography. - - XI. MOUNTAINEERING IN TROPICAL COUNTRIES 479 - - By A. F. R. WOLLASTON - - Health and remedies. Equipment--food--canteen--clothing--furniture - --tents. Management--loads and packing--trade goods, natives, - etc.--carriers--camps, and things in general. - - XII. MOUNTAINEERING IN THE ARCTIC (SPITSBERGEN) 497 - - By Sir W. MARTIN CONWAY - - Modes of access--plans of campaign--from the coast--into the - interior--exceptional phenomena--summary, cost, etc. - - XIII. THE CAUCASUS 506 - - By HAROLD RAEBURN - - Topography--literature--routes of access--modes of - travel--centres--equipment--organization--maps--expense. - - XIV. THE MOUNTAINS OF CORSICA 517 - - By GEORGE FINCH - - Season--equipment--centres, access, and topography--nature - of the climbing. - - XV. THE HIMALAYA 522 - - By T. G. LONGSTAFF - - General considerations--configuration--conditions--conduct of the - campaign--season. Chief districts--Eastern Himalaya--Sikkim--Nepal - --Kumaon and Garhwal--Tehri Garhwal--Simla Hill States--Kashmir and - Karakoram--Hindu Khush, etc. Personal matters--expense--outfit--food - --the high camp outfit--clothing--instruments. - - XVI. THE MOUNTAINS OF NORWAY 536 - - By W. CECIL SLINGSBY - - Guide-books and literature--season--routes of access, travel, - etc.--expense--equipment--guides--topography--local conditions. - - XVII. THE SOUTHERN ALPS OF NEW ZEALAND 548 - - By MALCOLM ROSS - - Routes of access--local conditions, guides, etc.--topography--flora - and fauna--glaciers. - - XVIII. THE PYRENEES 556 - - By CLAUDE ELLIOTT - - Topography--centres--guides--maps--huts and - inns--equipment--expense--literature. - - XIX. THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS 572 - - By A. L. MUMM - - Topography--the C.P.R. district--the Selkirks--guides and - equipment--the Northern Selkirks--the Purcell range--some minor - ranges--the main chain from Laggan to Jasper--the groups east of the - main chain--the main chain north of the G.T.P.--modes of - travel--outfit--season--the annual camps--access, cost, etc. - - INDEX 593 - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - THE ALPS _Frontispiece_ - - From a Photograph by SYDNEY SPENCER - - FACING PAGES - - KNOTS FOR USE IN ALPINE ROPES 92, 94, 96, 98 - - From Photographs by O. ECKENSTEIN - - ROCK AND ICE 280 - - From a Photograph by SYDNEY SPENCER - - MOUNTAIN ARCHITECTURE 370 - - From a Photograph by C. F. MEADE - - SNOW WAYS 398 - - From a Photograph by JEAN GABERELL, Thalwil - - THE HIMALAYA 522 - - From a Photograph by C. F. MEADE - - NORWEGIAN PEAKS 536 - - From a Photograph by NORMAN COLLIE - - - IN THE TEXT - - PAGE - - TRICOUNI BOOT-NAILS 83 - - ICE-AXE 92 - - DIAGRAMS SHOWING SLOPES 426 - - SKETCH-MAP OF PART OF CIS AND TRANS-CAUCASIA 507 - - SKETCH-MAP OF THE PYRENEES 558 - - - - -MOUNTAIN CRAFT - - - - -CHAPTER I - -MANAGEMENT AND LEADERSHIP - - -A party consists usually of from two to four climbers, exclusive of -guides. A larger number inevitably divides into two or more units -for mountaineering purposes. The management devolves upon the most -experienced mountaineer. His selection as leader, in this sense, is -more often than not tacit and unexpressed, especially among British -climbers. - -Over-management is fatal to the effective co-operation of a party; -and a formal selection of a leader[1], or a precise insistence upon -the performance of particular duties by individual members, may only -disturb the pleasant relationship of friends on a climbing holiday. -If a man is not felt to be qualified as leader by personality and -experience, no vote will make him so. - -Large or democratic parties, of equal inexperience, can carry out very -delightful sub-alpine wanderings without leadership. If they attempt -serious mountaineering, it is usually at the cost to their friends of -sleepless nights and of expensive search parties. - -Among men of equal experience, equally able to grasp a situation and -to co-operate without words of command, the duties of leadership -are slight and their operation never obtrusive. Experience teaches -them to accept, as a matter of convenience, the management of their -daily routine by some one of their number, and to acknowledge, as -a matter of security and of economy of time, the leadership of the -most expert in the incidents of the climbing day. In a pursuit so -exacting as mountaineering, charged with the unexpected and dependent -upon continuous harmony of action for its ordinary progress, some such -voluntary subordination is essential. The leader may be only the focus -of the collective opinion of an experienced party: like the conductor -of an orchestra he may not be equally competent to play all the -instruments he directs; but if there is no one to whom to look for the -word, in mountaineering as in music the time is lost and the harmony -vanishes for easy and for difficult passages alike. - -In parties of unequal experience the leader’s responsibility -is greater, and his direction has to be the more formally and -unquestioningly accepted. A child has to learn to take his elders’ -‘yes’ or ‘no’ as final in the crisis of some new experience: there -is often no time to give him reasons, and his experience would -be insufficient to enable him to convert them into the immediate -action required. But it is more difficult for a man, possibly with a -brilliant record behind him upon British rocks, to accept a decision -unquestioningly, especially if he has been accustomed in moments of -crisis to depend upon his own skill or judgment. To delay, however, -or to argue is as fatal as to disobey. The leader may be wrong, but -his error will probably be on the side of over-caution, since he -will be consciously directing for a party that has not yet learned -to work together. To prove him wrong, by the successful issue of our -disobedience or disagreement, is as destructive of the future harmony -and activity of the party as to prove him right, by its ill-success, -may be to the actual safety of the party at the moment. A good-tempered -party of beginners, with a mild leader, may continue to climb together -on these undefined terms, but there will be hesitation and consultation -where there should be decisive action; it will never grow fit for any -serious expedition. A leader of greater experience or shorter temper -will clear matters up at once. He will know that though his judgment -may not be infallible, the fact that it may be questioned at a moment -of crisis must be dangerous. A mountaineering party has to establish -a habit of friendly discipline. Most young men when first taken out -to the Alps have had experience of this discipline in other pursuits; -but in moments of excitement the national spirit of independence, or -the instinct of self-preservation, is apt to assert itself, and these -moments, if they occur before the party is welded into a climbing -unit, may be fatal to its constitution. A wise leader will insist on a -reasonable discipline or suggest a dissolution as the lesser evil. - -If it is the duty of the young mountaineer to learn to accept a -constitutional authority for the good of his party, it is that of the -leader or manager to see that it is used only for the good of the -party, and to make it personally the less obvious, the more it grows to -be accepted in understanding. - -An early alpine tradition, historically traceable to the isolated and -responsible position of the first guideless parties, who had to face -the dangers of the mountains, still unfamiliar, and the army of their -hostile critics as if going forth against an enemy, made the leader -an absolute autocrat, the commander of a forlorn hope. Many leaders -of this type were frankly bullies, ordering their friends for their -good like old-time schoolmasters. Occasionally, when one man was -marked out by experience or personality, the results were effective in -climbing. But the tyranny would not now be considered tolerable, and -under modern conditions it would constitute bad leadership. Knowledge -of the craft is far more widely spread, and the climbing attempted is -of a standard that demands an equal share of responsible work from us -all. It is now recognized that the strength of a party lies in its -collective capacity, not in its leader as one outstanding exponent. But -the tradition still survives, and some oppressed parties will still -awaken in the casual climber a wonder at the large amount of hectoring -they will endure from their leader compared with the little which his -methods enable them to achieve. - - -MANAGEMENT IN ANTICIPATION - -Three things only are necessary for the salvation of a mountaineering -holiday: good health, good fellowship and good climbing. These three -conditions are mutually contributory and interdependent; and the last, -the declared object of the association, is only attainable when the -other two are secure. - -It goes without saying that a good leader must be able to design and -direct an ascent so far as the actual climbing is concerned; but he -will discount beforehand half his chances of successful performance -unless he has learned how to bring his party on to the glacier, at four -in the morning, fit in health and on good terms with themselves and one -another. - -[Sidenote: Physical Well-being.] - -Fortunately, in dealing with healthy men, special attention to the -first condition of health is confined to the first two or three days of -a tour. After these are safely passed, air and exercise and increasing -general fitness take over medical charge and deal summarily with the -beginnings of any lesser or local ailments. - -There is no need to bother overmuch about the party before the tour -commences. Of course men, for their own sakes, will come as fit as -they can. Attention to the diet and, if it can be got, some regular -exercise in the open air--walking, running or tennis--may be suggested; -but I have never seen any particular benefit accrue from exercising -particular sets of climbing muscles. I return to this elsewhere; and I -would only make one exception here, for a leader’s attention. Some men, -especially as they get on in years, are liable to cramp in the trunk -muscles from the fatigue of general climbing, and in the hands after -severe rock-work. In these cases it is well worth while recommending -anticipatory ‘local’ exercises for the hand and forearm and for the -walls of the trunk, to keep the muscles supple and ‘long.’ Dancing, -skipping, fencing and wood-chopping are all worth mentioning to men who -cannot get into the open air. And, above all, the morning cold bath! - -The first few days of the tour, however, are vital. Mountaineers are -sound men, and have usually only two weak points, the feet and the -stomach. New boots or overwork attack the first; unaccustomed food, -changing atmospheric pressures, and revolutionary hours of sleep, food -and exercise upset the second. For the feet precautionary measures -are the safest. In ordinary life we accept their constant service -unconsciously, and it requires an effort to give our own and, even -more, other men’s feet the additional attention they require on the -first few days of any tour. To see that the boots fit, on the second -day even more than on the first; to make sure that one or even two -extra pairs of socks are put on if any boot has become stretched after -wetting; to discover if there is any beginning of rub or blister, and -to check it by boracic powder or other ointment in the sock at once, -even if this means a halt in the middle of a climb; to suggest bracing -with cold water in the evenings or whenever opportunity offers; in the -case of anyone whose skin is tender, to double these precautions: these -are some of the first duties of management. - -Internal chill is a constant risk during the first few days of exposure -to unaccustomed changes of temperature. Damp clothes next to the skin -are principally to be avoided. A spare vest, flannel shirt or ‘woolly’ -should always be taken in the sack, for a change at hut or bivouac, -even if the other clothes have to be worn wet or slept in. In a hut -it is preferable to take the wet clothes off and to sleep rolled in a -blanket, even though that may be also damp. During the day it is unwise -to sit on damp or cold rocks. A coil of rope may be used as a seat, or -a useful habit is to carry a small square of waterproof, in which the -spare shirt can also be wrapped. When nearing the ‘gîte’ or hut, it is -well to reverse the usual practice, and go slow for the last twenty -minutes, so that the perspiration may dry gradually from the body while -in motion, and not after it is at rest. By the fire in the evening, -during the snooze on the summit, and especially in an enforced bivouac, -the stomach is the vital point to protect. In case we get benighted, -any spare clothes, or even paper, should be wrapped round the stomach. -The coat should be taken off and fastened round the shoulders outside -the arms, so as to concentrate all the body’s warmth within it. The -feet can be put in a rucksack. If possible, the boots should be kept -on, to avoid their freezing hard. If they have to come off so as to -save the feet from frost-bite, they should be sat upon, to keep them -soft. Wind is another enemy to guard against while resting during the -day or sleeping out, and a light wind-cloak is a sound protection.[2] - -On returning to the hotel, a hot bath, if procurable, or a hot -sponge-down, should always be taken; it not only clears the pores and -supples the muscles, but it restores the normal circulation and removes -congestion, due to great exertion and changing temperatures, which -often produces a general feeling of discomfort, especially in the head. - -[Sidenote: Food.] - -Care in the choice of food, discouragement of the inclination to starve -during the day and to overeat in the evenings, insistence upon a -regimen to get the subconscious stomach working by its new time-table, -and, in case of failure, the employment of the simple domestic remedies -at once and in time, these are all indispensable during the first -days. But their observance cannot be left without prompting to the -individual discretion. Especially is this the case in looking after -young mountaineers, who are unacquainted with the treacherous dealings -of odd meals and broken sleep at high altitudes. - -In the matter of the choice of food the leader has to overcome the -repugnance natural after a satisfying evening meal to attend himself to -all the rather messy details of provisioning for the next day. - -No guide or hotel-keeper can be trusted to do this. During the first -days of hard exercise the average man will eat but little solid food, -and turns from meats and tins such as hotels love to load into the -sacks. He has to be tempted with sweet-stuffs, jams (the small tins -are irresistible), chocolate, and meat-essences and eggs for support. -The disposition to eat little during the effort of the first days, and -to eat largely in the reaction of the evenings, has to be countermined -by the offer, at not infrequent intervals, of pleasant luxuries that -go down easily. It is old-fashioned and entirely wrong, especially -with young people, to give them only what used to be termed wholesome, -nourishing food. In healthy open-air conditions the body knows what it -wants, and the palate interprets the desire. Food that is not palatable -or eaten with pleasure is of little benefit, and cloying sugar -compounds, the best muscle fuel, become again surprisingly attractive. - -After the new regimen has become a habit the air and the exercise will -make almost any food welcome, and at any time; but even then the secret -of vigour is still plenty of sweet-stuffs. One of the small matters -that contribute almost absurdly to maintaining the good spirits even -of a trained party is the production at suitable or surprising moments -of small indulgences--chocolate, raisins, preserved fruit, honey or -sweet-meats. They weigh little, but the body’s appreciation of and -response to differences of food is exceedingly fine when it is making -great exertions, and their immediate effect upon muscle and spirit is -as rapid as that of stimulants in ordinary life. A whole summer tour -in a bad season of soft snow has been lightened by a large bag of -acid drops reappearing each day at weary moments with a new delight. -In the plains I am myself a small and careless eater. But among my -mountaineering memories days of fierce sun-glare on interminable white -passes still remain rosy with the recollection of ‘a raspberry-jam -snow’ or golden with the cool glow of a tin of yellow plums scooped up -with ice-splinters. - -Good management will consider no such detail of provisioning too small -for attention. And it is not sufficient to order: each bag or packet -should be opened, to see that the order has been fully executed, before -the sacks are packed. - -[Sidenote: Thirst.] - -Thirst is another difficulty at the beginning of a tour. To a -large extent such thirst is merely feverish; it is impossible of -satisfaction, and to indulge it swamps and upsets the human machinery. -Some resolute men, to avoid the delicious temptation, train themselves -not to drink at all during the day; and then make it up in the evening. -But a certain amount of liquid is as essential, in action, as a certain -amount of food, and the moderate habit has to be acquired by practice. -The exact amount necessary, as distinguished from acceptable, varies -with the individual. The merely feverish thirst of the first day can be -dodged by letting water run through the mouth, swallowing, as a special -indulgence, only a mouthful or so. Sucking a prune-stone, or even a -pebble, keeps the saliva flowing and is a consolation on hot snowy -tramps. To the same end, of prolonging the pleasant assuaging process, -devices such as sipping water slowly from a pearl-shell or cup cool to -the eye, chewing orange peel, sucking a lemon or tea or wine slowly -through lumps of sugar, or crushing a handful of snow till it becomes -an ice-pear in the hand and then sucking the end of it, are all worth -remembering. - -Meat-fed men do not require strong stimulants. A little wine in the -water, chilled by snow, is often pleasanter to the taste than water -alone. Mountain water has often a flat flavour of cold stones, or -recalls the flask or pouch in which it has been carried. Wine removes -this suspicion. Spirits should be kept for a last resource, for cases -of injury or collapse, and then used only if the head is not affected. -Their stimulus, under the conditions of climbing, is too evanescent -to be of any service; the reaction is almost immediate, and the -resulting condition worse than before. Cold tea and cold coffee are -popular beverages: or the juice of many lemons can be carried in a -small aluminium flask, to mix with the chosen blend. Sugar lessens the -quenching power. If sugar cannot be dispensed with, a lemon squeezed -into the tea restores its effect upon the saliva-ducts of the mouth. -Snow, crushed ice or water can be added as the supply diminishes. - -The danger of drinking snow water is, in my view, a superstition -disproved by experience. Its supposed ill effects are usually to be -traced to the amount of cold liquid actually consumed rather than to -its character. - -Some men prefer to take their liquid in the form of snow sprinkled over -any food they eat. This is an excellent way of making food of all kinds -palatable in the early stages of a tour, while the disinclination for -solid food lasts. - -A device that never fails to entice even the youngest mountaineer past -the clogged-up ‘can’t eat’ phase of early training, is to make a small -hollow in the snow, empty a jam-tin into it, and mix the jam with loose -snow into a fruit ice. In colour, flavour and immediate effect it is -one of the few undisputed additions that the ingenuity of man has been -able to make to the charms of the mountains. - -A good manager should never fail to remark a man who is constantly -stopping to drink at passing streams. Spartan example in abstinence -will do much to check him, but if this fails, he must use his wits -to substitute one of the devices mentioned, so as to save the man’s -interior without injuring his feelings by direct comment. - -[Sidenote: Smoking.] - -Smoking I believe to be a question for personal decision. I have -never found the moderate indulgence in pipes or cigars affect wind or -training in the slightest degree during the hardest days. The rule that -halts should be few and short ensures moderation; for smoking during -actual climbing is all but impossible. One famous mountaineer prefers -to light a pipe before any particularly hard problem, but experiment -suggests that the art is not worth learning. It is uncomfortable for -the lungs and costly in pipe-stems. A pipe makes a good temporary -substitute for food, drink or sleep. It comforts many cold moments of -waiting and makes a soothing counsellor in difficulties. Ability to -smoke, and consequently to sustain his part in the effortless silence -which characterizes the true comradeship of mountaineering, should be -among the qualifications of any climbing companion. - -[Sidenote: Ailments.] - -A manager’s functions are precautionary rather than corrective. It is -well that he should know something of medical treatment and of first -aid. But advice under these headings is best obtained from the many -good handbooks. From them he will learn how to use the contents of the -pocket medical and surgical cases without which no party should ever -attempt to climb. - -Without trespassing upon their special province, there are yet certain -practical observations and precautions which a manager should make and -take as part of his routine. - -The readiness or unreadiness for food, and the disposition to drink -or abstain between halts, are useful indications of the extent to -which a party is coming into condition, and a leader must observe -them and take them into account in his choice and conduct of the next -climb. The desire to drink early in the morning is a sure sign that -a man is slightly ‘feverish,’ or that he has not slept well, and his -condition must be mentally noted. A sudden inclination to sleep at -odd moments usually means that the nerves are exhausted by some shock -or by over-long strain. The desire to sleep should be indulged, and a -condition of lower vitality must be temporarily allowed for. The slight -trembling of the knee in the tension of climbing that often recurs at -the beginning of a tour is, of course, only a purely muscular sign that -the leg muscles are out of training. It will pass in the first few -days, but it cannot afford to be entirely neglected. While he is liable -to it no man should be allowed to lead a difficult passage. Many men -suffer at first from violent headaches above a certain height, often -with giddiness and an inclination to ‘mountain’ sickness. This occurs -more particularly on snow; usually it passes off after the first few -days, as the changes of altitude become customary. In these cases, -during the initial period, constant supervision is needed in the matter -of food, of bodily regimen, and above all of pace. Easy going is the -best precautionary treatment. Wet handkerchiefs round the head, and -bending forward whilst walking, so as to ease the heart’s action, often -afford partial relief; to cough, or hold the breath, gives a momentary -respite. Rests are of little use, and often increase the pain. The -attack should cease at the particular lower level which suits the -individual circulation. If it persists, a hot bath will cure it for the -night. - -Half the sickness that so often spoils climbing or camping parties -during the first few days is due to an interrupted or irregular habit -of the body, such as is imposed by the new topsy-turvy time-table and -the unfavouring conditions of living. A leader must let no reserve -stand in his way, especially with young climbers, in warning against -this risk or in securing its immediate correction. - -Frost-bite is an insidious enemy: it attacks young people of weak -circulation without any warning of pain and at very short notice. -Inexperience treats it as just a passing numbness and not worth -mentioning. I have known only one hour’s walking over cold autumn snow, -on the way up to a hut in the evening, to take all life out of a hand; -and it took us another hour’s hard rubbing to restore the circulation. -There should always be spare gloves and socks in all of the sacks; and, -until he knows his men, a manager should insist upon instant notice of -a finger or toe that has ‘no feeling in it.’ Immediate and continued -friction with snow or brandy is the remedy; but it must be applied at -once. The limb affected should be lifted and kept up. Fires and warm -rooms should be avoided. When fingers or toes have once been, if only -partially, touched, they are more liable to a return. Extra socks and -gloves should then always be worn. A mitten, with or without a glove, -is of comfort where the climbing is too difficult to permit of the use -of ‘fingerless’ snow-gloves. - -Cold is not only a danger as it produces local chills or frost-bite, -it also has an immediate deleterious effect upon the general climbing -power and confidence. Wind, in this respect also, is the greatest -enemy of the climber. The muscles generate their own warmth, which is -the body’s energy; but once they get chilled from outside by wind or -cold, they lose a great part of their power. A cold limb should at once -be rubbed; and, as a precaution, clothes should always err on the side -of being too thick rather than too light. The human body can endure -great windless cold, but little cold wind. With the chilling of the -muscles the nerve and will-power diminish also. For the reactions of -cold, local and general, a leader must be always on the watch. - -The sun has three dangers for inexperience. Snow-blindness rarely -gives warning. It is often only painfully realized on the following -day. Therefore until a man knows the power of his eyes he should use -precaution and put on coloured or smoked glasses when he sees the first -flash from the prisms on glacier or snow-field. But on rock coloured -glasses are a great nuisance, where they are rarely needed however -strong the glare. Again, in traversing snow-covered glacier such -glasses are frequently an interruption to the observation of hidden -crevasses. Further, experience suggests that as many as a quarter of -those now climbing really require no protection at all. For others it -would be sufficient to have their eyes blackened round with burnt cork. -For others again it would be enough protection to wear clear glasses -over eyes so blackened. Experiment alone will find our individual -equation, and, unfortunately, the experiment may often be trying. But -it is one well worth making, on suitable occasions, for the sake of the -permanent gain if we find that glasses can be dispensed with. If a man -who finds he needs glasses has forgotten or lost them, a mask should -be made of any piece of paper, with the smallest possible slits for -the eyes. He should also blacken round his eyes with cork. If only a -single glass is broken, a paper or card, with a minute hole, should be -inserted in the empty frame. - -Sun-blistering is as permanent and excruciating in its consequences as -it is gradual in its attack. It may be produced by the direct sun-rays; -more severely by light reflected from snow or water or diffused through -thick mist; less severely by wind and reflected light from rock or -road. Grease is generally useless as protection; colour salves, as -elsewhere recommended, are the only preventive. It is to be noted that -the facets of the face most exposed to the reflection from the snow, -the underside of the nose, the lips and the cheeks, are usually given -an insufficient allowance. Bathing in cold water is deadly, especially -to the lips, once the skin has scorched. One compensation for the -loss of our complexion with advancing years is the lessening of our -susceptibility to this infliction. - -Sunstroke in a mild form is constantly mistaken for mountain sickness, -for “poisoning at the hotel,” and so on. The surest precaution is -to wear a loose handkerchief hanging from the hat, to protect the -neck. The coat-collar can also be turned up. It is excellent, on all -sun-glaring days, to make a habit of filling the hollow in the crown -of the hat with snow, and, when it melts and trickles refreshingly -down, of renewing the snow. Until men have got accustomed to being -alternately baked and frozen three times a day, they have to be -reminded of these and similar small precautions. In the event of slight -sun-touches, ice or wet cloths, shade, light food, and no alcohol -are the local treatment. Plenty of moisture outside and inside is -essential, and, as for all other ailments, rest. - -[Sidenote: Bathing.] - -Bathing in lake or stream, or even in glacier pools, is one of the -most perfect rewards of mountaineering effort. In the very early -morning or at a night-start it is not advisable, as it checks the -necessary business of getting the bodily machinery working; nor is -it often desired at these hours. During the day, the inclination at -great heights fortunately appears to diminish, coincident with the -disappearance of the opportunities to indulge it. When the human -machine is centring all its powers on the continuance of a single -exceptional effort, it has an instinctive shrinking from submitting -itself to processes, however delightful, that will interfere with this -concentration. Rest is a necessary interruption and must be suffered, -but short exposures of the body to hot sunlight upon cold rocks, or -in colder water, in most cases do us more harm by producing a general -relaxation than they benefit us by their momentary refreshment. But -when the main effort of the day is past, and the body has no fear -of calling out its last reserves, the bathe on the descent is an -indescribable delight and refreshment. We may have still some way -to go, but to perform this we shall have, in any case, to summon up -our energies afresh; and at such natural moments of interruption the -bracing impetus of a bathe will help to regulate our circulation anew -and to store mind and nerves with new energy for the new commencement. -We climb for pleasure; and when body and mind are working in harmony -the pleasures our mind suggests are generally the remedies or -relaxations our body needs. If no water is to be found, to get rid of -the stuffiness of alpine clothes, and to give all the skin surfaces -a bath of air and sunlight, is only one degree less pleasant or -stimulating than a bathe in water itself. Caution at the same time is -necessary in encouraging men, and especially young people, of whose -circulation or heart we may have doubts, to risk the intensely cold -shock of glacier water upon baked and sun-congested surfaces. It is -perhaps worth remembering that the risk of actual chill is greater -during the process of drying in cold air or wind after a bathe (always -a lengthy process in the towel-less Alps) than during the bathe itself. -It is unpleasant for the time, but far warmer in feel and after effect, -to put on clothes without waiting to get dry. - -Minute attention to such details of provisioning, health, and regimen -can be relaxed as a party of men comes into training and begins to know -its business, but it should never be entirely discontinued. One day’s -carelessness in revising the food, or the disregard of a cold toe, a -blister, or a ‘bad night,’ may at any time upset the plans of a whole -tour. - -[Sidenote: Young Folk.] - -In the management of boys and girls below twenty-two or so, it is -impossible to exercise too much care. Boys especially, whose activity -depends upon the impulse of their interest and rarely settles to -an automatic rhythm, may ‘shut up’ with startling suddenness, both -mentally and physically. Nor can our observation tell us for certain -beforehand when they are really beginning to draw upon their reserves -of vitality, or when they are only getting bored. They have no -conception of economy in their movement, so long as the impulse of -excitement lasts. As the interest of a climb diminishes, on the evening -tramp or the prolonged snow slope, their mental vivacity may die down, -and with it ends their energy. At such times, if they have not been -allowed actually to exhaust their physical strength, they will revive -as rapidly in response to a new mental stimulus, of talk, or sight, -or varied exertion. In their case it is the mind that calls for first -attention and first aid. - -Girls move less on springs and more by rhythm. Their activity is less -reflective of external stimulus, and less dependent upon mental impulse -for its continuance. They have not the boy’s natural armour of nervous -sensibility against overwork. It is, therefore, more possible in their -case to watch the degree of positive physical fatigue in outward signs, -and to anticipate more exactly the moment of exhaustion by suitable -measures. Though their endurance is on the whole greater than that of -boys, or at least fluctuates less in proportion to the amount of mental -distraction or interest present in the physical effort, the effects -of over-fatigue are more lasting. With both boys and girls, the only -safe precaution is to allow very broad margins of time and distance, to -select climbs which both in difficulty and length shall be well within -the powers of young growing bodies, and above all not to be induced by -the suppleness of youth or its momentary enthusiasm to make exceptions -‘just this once’ to sound general rules. - -[Sidenote: Preventable Humours.] - -The influence of the mind upon the body has its special concern for -mountaineering management. An athletic body, if it be nervously -constituted, may be as susceptible of fatigue after two hours’ -walking on a dull road as after twelve hours on an exciting ascent. -Mental distraction is as important as change of movement for the easy -performance of sustained physical effort. Mountaineering owes for -this reason to its infinite variety of motion and interest a record -of feats of sheer endurance such as no other human pursuit or sport -has excelled. But not all mountaineers are conscious of their debt to -this peculiar virtue of the hills, or allow sufficiently for its full -enjoyment in making their plans. Far more than any muscular strength or -even physical fitness, will-power is the dominant force in maintaining -normal energy and in subduing abnormal _accidiæ_, to which reference is -made later. The leader is most efficient who can best protect his party -against influences that irritate the nerves and so interfere with the -power or desire to bring the will into play. Men bored, men irritated, -men disappointed, men overwrought, without pleasure in retrospect or -prospect to refresh them, lose the wish to throw off their mood. It -is against the causes of boredom, the effects of exaltation or of -disappointment, that the leader has to take his precautions. If, in -spite of him, the moods are created, he must be ready, in anticipation, -to provide some remedy of distraction that can release the will from -the oppression of the nerves and associate it in the effort to master -the mood. External distractions are the most effective. The alarm -of fire has been known to banish rheumatism or paralysis; the sound -of an avalanche electrifies a twisted ankle into painless activity; -the sight of the hotel round the corner cures exhaustion like a cold -douche; an ingenious conversational opening will carry a limping -band over unconscious miles of extra effort. Anything that for the -moment can release the consciousness from its over-mastering nervous -affection, nervous in effect however physical in origin, enables the -will to recover control of the muscles. These external provocations -excite states of anger, interest or alarm wholly different in character -and effect from passive states of irritation and obstinacy which are -produced by the reaction from an internal consciousness of fatigue. A -leader will welcome them, in fact, as antidotes to their apparently -kindred humours. - -[Sidenote: Boredom.] - -It may be assumed that a modern leader will not make the elementary, -although traditional, blunder of taking beginners or young people or -women for their first expedition upon the weariness of snow trudges, -such as the traditional first tour up the Zermatt Breithorn. But even -with an expert party he has to remember that boredom is one of his -chief enemies. Monotonous snow slopes, long moraines before dawn, long -zigzags on the path when the excitement of the day is over, make an -undue call upon the will, such as suggests fatigue to the mind before -the muscles are really exhausted. They are part of the day’s work, but -they put a strain upon the temper of an untrained party that is more -wisely avoided. - -With the same danger in view, a leader, while he insists on early -starts, should not give his party too much to do before daylight. Men -without guides lose endless time, energy, and, worse still, temper and -tone in losing their way and their footing on the preliminary paths and -glaciers in the dark. It is better to start an hour later, and recover -half of it from the easier, surer going of daylight progress. But best -of all for a guideless party is to reach the inn, hut or bivouac in -sufficient time the evening before to allow them to make thoroughly -sure of their next morning’s dark exit from the mazy streets and -fields, or of the easy route on to and through the nearer glacier. Men -are irritable enough in the dark, and if they cannot get going at once -to a sure rhythm on a certain route, their harmony of movement and mood -may be impaired for half or all of a day. Of the means of meeting the -special boredom peculiar to snow tramps, something is said under Snow -Craft.[3] - -[Sidenote: Over-excitement.] - -During the early days of a tour, on the other hand, there is always -the contrary possibility to guard against, that the mere excitement -and novel sensation of meeting difficulty may urge men beyond their -strength and conceal from them that the limit of their endurance is -already crossed. When the nervous tension is over, physical exhaustion -sets in very suddenly. The situation is awkward to deal with; but -physical crises are definite and yield to definite remedies. The -sympathy and efforts of the whole party are at once concentrated upon -the victim. Fatigue is lost sight of in the greater common need and the -supreme effort for which it calls. The individual may suffer, but the -tone of the party, if anything, profits. The leader may take comfort -in this thought, and also in the fact that even if a climb turns out -unforeseenly sensational, it has none the less to be carried through, -and that there is some cause for his gratitude if undue excitement will -help to sustain a weaker member of his party over the serious part of -the day, even at the expense of an off-day on the morrow. - -The effects of fatigue from mental suggestion or boredom upon temper, -will and, ultimately, energy are less preventable. They tend to divide -a party socially and to make them irritable, carelessly reckless, or -obstinately languid. Mental tonics, distractions and talk are less -easily administered than helping hands. But a leader, whatever his -own state, has to pull himself together to anticipate or to meet the -occasion, and use all his tact to distract attention and create a new -interest in anything but the individual consciousness of fatigue. - - -LEADERSHIP IN ACTION - -The manager as leader has a special responsibility to himself. He is -the stroke of the party. Like a good stroke, while exerting himself to -the utmost, he has always to keep some strength, nervous and physical, -in reserve, to meet a sudden emergency or to vitalize unexpectedly -depressing hours of dull return. As a duty to the party he should -save himself by making use of the stronger members, should there be -any, to take something of his share of the more laborious and less -vital labour. A party which knows his value as reserve and management -will save him, for instance, some part of his portion in the work of -carrying, of leading in soft snow, or of easy step-cutting. They too -must recognize he has always to keep something in reserve for a crisis. - -[Sidenote: The Collective Confidence.] - -At the same time, no matter what the crisis or his private doubts, he -must never appear, if he can possibly help it, to have called out his -last reserves, or to be feeling any diminished confidence in his own -ability, or in that of his party, to force a successful issue. He must, -too, avoid mystery. Nothing is more nerve-trying in critical moments, -to men whose experience cannot measure the extent of a crisis, than -tense silence or too obvious self-control on the part of those who can. -It is better, if the situation is genuinely serious, to bring it down -to a human level by blowing off a few words of violent commonplace -expletive, than to leave it in that daunting remoteness of gravity for -which words are inadequate. The more crucial the occasion, the more -does the nerve of the party centre in the leader. Their confidence -in his confidence is a more important asset than their confidence in -his skill. The combined ability of a party, each one confident in the -others and relieved of individual responsibility by his sense of the -general confidence, goes further towards success in the solution of -difficulties or the repulse of danger than the brilliant independent -success which any one individual in it could achieve by reliance on -his single skill and nerve. - -For this confidence the leader is the focus, and an important decision, -such as the resolve to advance or retreat in a given crisis, should be -guided by his estimate of the amount of confident capacity represented -by the party at the moment, and not merely by his opinion as to his own -power to force the passage as an individual. - -If he decides to turn back on a climb, he should take the odium of -the decision without fear of later criticism. He knew or felt what -the collective ability of the party was at the time in relation to -the effort demanded, and it is unimportant what an individual may -afterwards think might have been his own chances of overcoming the -particular difficulty “had he been allowed to try.” If he continues the -climb, with the same consciousness advising him, it must be his object -to better the chances of success by stimulating the existing confidence -into that cheerful humour in which men do their skill most justice. - -[Sidenote: Keeping Touch.] - -To keep in touch with every one of a party of friends, so as to -continue aware of the way in which their minds and their bodies are -being affected by the circumstances, is not easy. On severe climbs it -is all but impossible to prevent the rear men, separated by lengths of -rope and interruptions of difficult ground, from remaining in ignorance -of what is being done in front, or of what is guiding the choice of -problems which they are expected in their turn to surmount. For this -reason it is helpful to break the habit of silence which falls upon -men dealing with serious work,--and which, like the inclination to -whisper in a dark room, seems to have behind it some primitive feeling -of fear of provoking further attention from unseen but very present -forces,--and talk down the rope occasionally, passing question and -answer up and down, and cheering the tail with a renewed feeling of -unity and confidence drawn from the confidence of the leader. With the -same object in view, wherever the climb allows it, the party should be -allowed to collect for a moment and forget in talk the depression or -doubt inevitable to solitude, before the leaders start again. - -Guides are great offenders in this respect. They have no conception of -the extra force given by a single united consciousness to a party, of -the means to keep in touch with it, or of the help they themselves may -draw from it. They climb absorbedly ahead lost in the sense of their -own responsibility. Consequently they often turn back, from a doubt -of their party or a lack of confidence to carry a climb through on -their single responsibility, on occasions where a good amateur leader, -with or without guides, can feel himself justified in proceeding. He -is in a position to take the even chance of a turn of weather, of the -possibility of a return at a later and more unpleasant stage, of the -crossing of an exposed couloir or the ascent of a snow or ice slope -down which there may be no safe return, because he is confident in his -knowledge of the condition of his party, of their concerted action -and reserves of strength and cheerfulness, and feels that these are -sufficient to carry them over the possible chances of worse weather -or more trying conditions, and to lead them through a longer day to a -later descent even by another line. - -He has to earn his right to his more confident decision in thus -matching his men against the mountain by supplementing his single -mountaineering experience and instinct firstly by his precautionary -care for their condition and humour, and secondly by his ability to -keep in close touch with their collective capacity at any and every -moment. His reward will be their increasing confidence in themselves, -in him, and in their united strength, and the increasing power which -this brings with it. - -[Sidenote: Temper.] - -A mountaineering party, when in action, is dependent for its -good-humoured and hearty co-operation on more than the external -interests of the climbs, however well selected beforehand and -sustained, on more even than its good health and food, however well -cared for. It has to be welded into a fine instrument: its temper is -its strength; and its temper has to be kept at just the right heat. Hot -words on occasions will do it little harm. Men in a state of primitive -well-being are apt to become elemental in temper. A sudden crisis sets -off a shower of sparks of language. These do no harm. No experienced -man looks upon them as personally directed, or remembers them when -the crisis is past. What has really to be guarded against is the -effect of monotony in any form, even the irritating repetition of some -small unconscious personal trick. Slight resentments become magnified -grotesquely during the long hours of silent effort, especially of -monotonous effort, on snow, glaciers or path. Any ordinary mountaineer -will probably remember occasions when some trifling habit of a good -friend, some unintentional or momentary lack of consideration, has -taken advantage of the dull ending of a strenuous day to come back -upon him irresistibly, and fill him unaccountably with sullen growing -resentment. He may realize its foolishness, but, like the similar -insistence of the refrain of some silly comic song, it becomes part -of the mechanical movement in which his whole being is for the time -absorbed. - -If he has been fortunate enough to escape such an attack himself, he -must at times have been aware of the dangerous electricity accumulating -in some one or other of the members of a tired party. It is the -commonest symptom of fatigue. A manager has to look out for this. Its -consciousness will disappear with the sight of the hotel door, and be -secretly regretted on the morrow, but in the meantime he has to prevent -the unforgettable being said. Silence is his chief enemy. It is useless -to try and tempt tired men, usually tramping in single file, into -agreeable conversation, unless some happy accident of the way rests -the mind with a new distraction, but he has to seize any desperate -occasion for casual remarks. It does not signify what he chatters, -provided he is not inappropriately cheerful, and shows himself at least -to be completely and seemingly idiotically unconscious of any strain -in the situation. Even if he draws the discharge of temper on himself, -he has averted all serious danger. Song is the best outlet since it -fits in with the mechanical movement while it withdraws attention from -it; but song can only be employed when the ground allows of the feet -moving in accord. If he himself is one of the two between whom one -of these smouldering irritations is getting ominously overcharged in -the silence, he has a harder task. But he will have his reward if he -can sacrifice his own humour to his sense of responsibility. There is -nothing more refreshing to an irritated man who has succeeded, at last, -in forcing himself to make a suitably casual and unconscious remark, -than to watch the visible efforts of his friend, suddenly deprived of -his sure conviction that the resentment was mutually conscious, to pull -himself hurriedly together and answer in the lighter key. Both men are -so fully aware that their savage humour is ungrounded and absurd, that -neither wishes to appear to be left alone in his folly. - -Temper is the one permanent peril to all climbing parties, and it -is never allowed for sufficiently, or openly treated in its true -character as a largely physical phenomenon. Men who have to live long -together at great heights, as in the Himalaya, or in great solitudes, -as at sea, know that its outbreaks are practically uncontrollable, -and many an expedition has failed on its account alone. It is best -to treat it frankly as a necessary contingency, and to take the only -two precautions possible: the one, to make sure that the men know one -another well enough to accept each other’s abusive outbursts as a -sick mood, to be answered in like manner, if they will, but not to be -remembered; and the other, to impress on them that it is the keen edge -of silent resentment or sarcasm that leaves permanent scars, and that -blunt abuse or invective, obviously uncontrolled, clears the air like -an electric storm, and can be safely countered by retort as noisy and -superficial. - -It is superfluous, no doubt, to make these suggestions for what may -be called the social conduct of a climbing tour. But friends, because -they are good friends, are apt to reckon too little with the severe -strain put upon comradeship by the circumstances of their mountain -association. Personality is tried by the realities of mountaineering in -deadly earnest: your good comrade in the hills is a very different man -from your pleasant neighbour at the mountaineering dinner. And just as -there is no comradeship that can grow so intimate or lasting as that of -men who have climbed long together, and faced death, storm, fatigue, -success and failure in company, so there is no compact which should be -entered upon, with more precaution, or protected with more sedulous -care in the trifles of its daily routine. - -Unless it be to men whom he is definitely initiating into the pursuit, -a leader should not give advice or make direct suggestions; in fact, -the less he fusses or appears to be consciously setting the tone, the -better. There is nobody so tiresome, in daily contact, as some one who -is constantly being cheerful or tactful or managing. Example is the -leader’s medium for correction, in humour as in action. - -He must see to it that no loophole is left for discord, in small -arrangements as in small talk. For this reason it is helpful to let -each man look after some department: one to see to the ropes, another -to the drinks, and so on; but it is a mistake ever to remind a man -of his duty to the party. Management is the leader’s business in the -end; and he should see to any omission himself rather than suggest -forgetfulness by a criticism. Similarly, as an instance, in dealing -with a foreign language, with a new hotel or with a new guide, the -negotiation should be entrusted to one alone. He may be chaffed -afterwards, but not interrupted at the time. It is feeble in effect -and rather humiliating to see, as one often does, two or more sedate -Englishmen effusively answering a head waiter in chorus, or treating -any remark that has to be made in a foreign language, say to the guide, -as an occasion for a collective assertion of individual capacity to -speak with tongues and of equal right to use them in giving orders. -Again, as a small instance of what I mean, there should be no question -of comparing the weights of respective sacks before a climb. It is -assumed that each man will carry what he can. If a man is a poor -carrier and intentionally lightens his personal luggage, it is a -blunder on all counts to ask him to carry more than he offers to take -of the common provisions. It may seriously handicap him, and will -certainly hurt his feelings. As an exception, however, since it is no -reflection on his comradeship, a man who is found to be constantly -carrying more than his share may be checked for his own physical good. -There are a few men who by development and disposition are unhappy -unless heavily weighted. They may be indulged, especially with the -charge of the agreeable extra luxuries. - -Once he has got his party started, fit and fed, and with no failure -or dispute in arrangement or humour that may give room for later -discomfort or irritation, the manager has to be especially on the watch -for the different effects on his men of the hours before dawn and of -the hours of evening return. The habit of talking before sunrise -should be tacitly discouraged. Most men are inclined to surliness in -the early dark hours, which will disappear with the sun and improved -circulation. Silence at this period is fraught with no dangers which -the beginning of active climbing will not remove. During these early -hours mind and nerves and muscles have got to rediscover their -harmonious working for the exertions of the day. Their process of -adjustment should not, therefore, be distracted. - -In the morning mechanical action and the automatic reflexes have to be -re-established, and the mind has to be induced to co-operate. In the -evening, as has been shown, when mechanical action tends to degenerate -into monotony, and muscular and nervous fatigue become master of the -mind, an exactly contrary line of action in management is necessary, -and the mind has to be helped to escape from the infection and to -reassert its independence by intentional distraction. - -[Sidenote: Abnormal Moods.] - -But there are certain abnormal states, unforeseen but inevitable -effects of the direct action of mountain incident upon nerve, -harmony and energy, which on occasion must be met, and which should -therefore be mentioned. Apart from preventable physical exhaustion, -and the languor and ill-humour produced by boredom, there are several -conditions of mind which may evilly affect the power of a party, and -for varying lengths of time. - -[Sidenote: Reaction.] - -On the first splendid glow of success, when the difficult ascent has -ended triumphantly on the summit, there follows a phase of complete -relaxation, of surrender to the simple realization of rest and physical -enjoyment. It is a period of indescribable sensations, of imagination -run riot, and of will and self-control alike in abeyance. - -When the subsequent descent is begun it is at first, for many men, -a matter of real difficulty to recover complete control of their -machinery, and for the leader to reconstitute the different individuals -into a single working unit. For a time the pace must be diminished, and -the care redoubled. Precautions, of remonstrance and doubled ropes and -moving singly, none of them possibly necessary in the same place with -the party in working order must be put into force, until the normal -condition is regained. The assumption that the state of mind makes no -difference, and that a party can descend as securely the final slopes -that it raced up light-heartedly in the bracing moment of success, is -all too commonly made, and only too frequently regretted. - -[Sidenote: Disappointment.] - -If success has its short following period of danger, disappointment has -a longer and more insidious effect. However necessary or admittedly -correct the decision to turn back may have been, the disappointment -works afterwards, often unconsciously, upon each individual, as he -realizes his wasted effort and envisages his fatigue, with now no -excitement or bracing of hope to counteract it. So come discouragement, -and careless treading, and a resentful attitude towards precautions and -manœuvres which no longer have any triumphant object as their excuse. -Any weakness in condition or humour will grow doubly apparent at such a -time; and as the disappointment is equally present in all minds, it is -impossible to pretend unconsciousness of it, and often vain to attempt -to raise the atmosphere by a counterfeit of cheerfulness. Mental and -social tonics are for the time alike useless. The condition has to be -accepted as an indisputable lowering of tone, which in its effects will -prejudice the physical capacity of the party in many subtle ways. Since -in this one case he cannot check the evil influence at its source in -the mind, the leader must employ every concrete mountaineering device -to prevent its endangering the actual safety. He must bring out all -his reserves of spirit and technique to keep the party concentrated -on the momentary details of their descent, and redouble his own -activities in order to anticipate or correct any slip or mistake that -the lowered tone may induce. On such occasions he can look himself for -no relaxation of effort or release from anxiety until the rope is off -at last and the safe path regained, no matter how little conscious his -party may like to show themselves individually of any depreciation in -their skill or good-will. - -[Sidenote: Over-confidence.] - -Equally difficult to deal with, and far more frequent in its -appearance, is the state of mind to which most mountaineers are -subject--and guides also--who have accomplished a great climb -successfully and are retracing the comparatively easy passages of the -lower ridges, glaciers and tracks. Conscious of their successful -performance, confident in their skill and unwearied muscles, -intoxicated by air and effort and fortune, they are unaware of -fatigue, and the easier ground lulls their judgment into a condition -of fatalistic confidence, almost of exaltation. Danger, obvious and -immediate, has become familiar, and has been safely avoided; they can -neglect its threat when it is not so present. They jump the bergschrund -rather than look for the bridge; they chance the unseen rock foothold -rather than lose time in using the doubled rope; they glissade the -loose snow slope and scorn its possible avalanche; the rope hampers -them, it is taken off; and recklessly self-reliant, a reliance that -success has fooled them into thinking justified, they rush the risks of -hidden crevasses on the glacier, of false steps or loose stones on the -easy ridges, with an abandon that it will make them shudder the next -day to recall. Even the lower zigzag path to the valley is a danger -in such a condition of mind. Safe as Rotten Row for the sure foot, -it has a dozen times proved a fatal trap for the stumble of fatigue -or the careless swing of over-confidence. Few men can look back on a -long mountaineering record without remembering some such evenings of -mountain madness; and while they blush (let us hope) even in memory -at their folly, they may wish they had had some cool leader to call -them, grumbling, to their senses. For while reaction and disappointment -reflect at once upon the vitality, lowering the tone and, like a flat -liquor, offering little chance of reanimation, over-confidence is -an effervescence, an overflow of spirits, which can be more easily -regulated by apt manipulation. The leader must take control, sharply -and steadily. He has little to fear from the effect of his interference -upon a party in such spirits; any resentment will be temporary, and -his own labour, of repressing and directing a surplus of energy, will -be far less than in the cases where, as has been shown, he may have to -provide a stimulus or even a substitute for its absence. - -There is an insidious danger common to all these mental states. As one -of a party working together, a leader must remember that he himself is -subject to infection from a collective mood. He may consider that his -confident action on occasion is entirely individual and calculated; or, -again, he may be certain that his resolution to retreat represents -only his own unbiased judgment; and in either case he may be puzzled -later to account for an obvious error. He must learn to allow for his -‘atmospheric’ error, the unconscious perversion of his saner judgment -by some collective mood of his party. The risk is very subtle. A leader -has no defence against it except to keep its possibility constantly -in mind. He must acquire the habit of challenging, mentally, his own -opinions of the moment, and of confronting them, detachedly, with the -sternest of mountain precepts and rules of thumb. The habit will stand -him in good stead in moments of more dangerous decision, of excitement, -and, therefore of more probable collective infection. It will at -least check him from joining, even in his most ecstatic moments, in -an unroped glacier stampede or in a ‘go-as-you-please’ skelter down a -buttress; it may save him some of the lasting regrets of the leader who -afterwards recognizes that he has turned back prematurely; and it will -certainly protect him on many long tramps from that curious infection, -hours of united, unreasoning mountain gloom. - -[Sidenote: Hysteria.] - -From a fourth state, actual hysteria or hill-shock, a leader is -presumably exempt. It occurs more frequently among mountains than -anywhere else off the battlefield, since their conditions may put -an excessive strain upon unaccustomed nerves. Old climbers are -inoculated against most of its risks. If a type of danger has once been -experienced, on any subsequent recurrence, even faintly resembling -it in character, the consciousness flashes out at once to meet it, -in all its possible reactions; the mind takes control of the nerve -communications and blocks the way against any evil effects resulting -from the sudden shock to the subconscious nervous system. Only an -entirely unfamiliar form of danger or an unduly prolonged strain -can rout the presence of mind of a tried climber. But it is well to -remember that every man has his ‘cracking point,’ and that this is -sooner reached in the case of an uneducated guide, however experienced, -than in the person of an expert amateur, whose imagination will widen -his experience. - -It may originate in three ways. Firstly, from exhaustion, irritating -brain and nerves until self-control is lost and any slight shock may -cause the hysteria to break out, either in the usual violent symptoms, -or, more intimidating because less anticipated, in silent tears. -Exhaustion, not fear, is the basis. If it has not been possible to -anticipate the crisis by precautionary rest or distraction, immediate -inaction and quiet reassurance, without remonstrance or contradiction, -are the best assistance to recovery. - -Or, secondly, it may result from sudden shock, the realization of -completely unexpected danger in a placid moment before the mind has -time to assert its control over its own group of spinal nerves. This -is the moment of panic which is the terror of all who have the charge -of collections of human beings, in a theatre or on shipboard. If -the shock can be anticipated by even the briefest of introductions, -if a collective instantaneous realization of the danger can only be -prevented by any method of more gradual communication of the news, -half the risk of panic ensuing is gone. For if only the mind has the -chance to realize the meaning of the news before the physical shock -to the group of subconscious nerves has time to react, it takes -command; and the man begins to act, and even to overact, for his own -benefit if for no wider audience, in accordance with his conception of -suitable gentlemanly behaviour under the circumstances. In climbing, -indeed, there is often no time for such a gradual introduction. But in -climbing, wherever danger is not cumulative, and therefore gradual, in -its approach, the peril is over and past almost as soon as the shock is -felt: for instance, the rock has fallen--and missed the party; the slip -has occurred--and not pulled them down. So much the leader has in his -favour in meeting its after-effects of fear. The crisis being over, it -is best, if possible, to pretend to ignore its existence altogether, -and to find some reason for a halt and for continued inattention until -the nerves have had time to settle down. If this fails, the incident -should be cheerfully recalled and discussed until its idea has become -familiar, and so harmless. It is useful to remember that no individual -panic, and for that matter no form of extreme emotion, can long -survive the bland disregard of its existence by some one else in the -same circumstances. But if a repetition of the peril still threatens, -as might be the case after a rock or snow avalanche, and therefore -immediate movement is desirable, the orders for action should be sharp -and decided, but quite impersonal: they should neglect any individual -more particularly affected, and apparently be addressed to the whole -party. Personal attention only tends to increase the self-consciousness -and the self-pity which, in the frightened man, will be militating -against the recovery of his self-command. - -The third and most difficult manifestation, that of hysterical -obstinacy, may be the outcome of a long-continued state of nervousness -or of, often, groundless fear, accumulating and indulged by -self-compassion until it gets beyond control. The hysteria takes -the form of a refusal to move up or down, and, without any violent -symptoms, remains impervious to reason or direct remonstrance. A halt, -and a deliberate disregard, emphasized by general talk about some -unrelated matter, will often result in a gradual loosening of the -tension, mental and muscular, and the beginnings of unwilling movement. -Once the rigidity is past, the rope and quick and not too gentle -impulse will do the rest. But if the situation does not allow of even -so much delay, stronger measures are necessary. I have seen a guide use -a startling slap on the cheek in an extreme case with good effect; or a -jerk on the rope, that forces the victim to scramble to recover his own -footing, may break the spell. In any case, if the leader is unfortunate -enough to suffer such inconvenience with a beginner, he will be wise -not to risk the like chance on a mountain a second time, in both their -interests. - -[Sidenote: Vertigo.] - -What is called giddiness, the paralysing effect of sheer height, -suddenly revealed, sometimes produces unexpectedly a similar condition -of immobility. Fortunately, in this case it is not accompanied by the -same objection to being moved into security by others. - -Habit also will remove the inclination, sometimes felt on the edges of -sheer walls or cliffs, to ‘throw oneself over.’ This is another of the -symptoms of slight vertigo. In spite of its frequent and sensational -appearance in narrative, the inclination would seem invariably to -confine itself to remaining merely an inclination. - -Giddiness, the inclination to fall and the impulse to throw oneself -over, is the result of the inability of the eye at the moment to -obtain an assurance that the body is upright or in balance. When a -child is learning to walk it tumbles all over the place. Then it learns -to fix some point on a level with its eye, and it can retain its -balance in walking just so long as it can keep its eyes moving towards -this point more or less on a level plane. Gradually it learns to get -the same assurance from some distant point on the floor ahead: its eye -has been educated to reason from a diagonal as much as from a level -glance; and the ‘semicircular canal’ has been taught to interpret the -message, and convert it into automatic balance. As it moves forward it -shifts the point ahead, unconsciously obtaining that the third side -of the triangle thus formed by its glance shall always demonstrate -that the other two sides, the line of the floor and the vertical line -through its own centre of gravity, are forming an approximate right -angle. Still later it learns to apply the same principle to uphill -or downhill gradients, where the line of gravity makes, not a right -angle, but an acute or obtuse angle with the visible surface. That -is, it learns to take the constant line of its own centre of gravity -as the base-line of its triangle and not the fickle flooring; and it -still keeps in balance in movement by measuring the third side with its -eye, in order to be assured that whatever angle its body in balance is -making with the ground, be it uphill and acute, or downhill and obtuse, -shall remain the same during its next movement. - -Even as men we cannot be sure that we are upright, that is, in -balance--for our muscles permit us a few degrees of sway either way -from our line of gravity--unless we are somehow in contact with the -visible surface at two successive points in the line of direction in -which we are moving, be the contact maintained by the touch of our -second foot, by the hand, or by the glance of our eye. Shut your eyes, -stand on one foot, and you will have proof of this. Men accustomed only -to walking on the level make a habit of selecting the rest-point for -their eye some distance ahead. Consequently, when they find themselves -on a steep hillside, where the fall of the ground below makes a wider -angle with their line of gravity than their eye has been trained to -estimate, their glance wanders helplessly, they lose their assurance of -balance, and they become ‘giddy’ or feel that they ‘must’ fall over. -But habit will correct this. The climber soon learns to shorten his -glance, to accept a reduced distance between his two requisite points -of contact. The few inches of visible surface near his feet, be it only -the edge of a rock ledge or the curve of a snow wall, projected against -nothingness, will serve him, with practice, as sufficient rest-point -for his eye, and give him the assurance that his body is upright and -his balance secure. - -Wherever, in climbing, the angle of the surface is so steep that even -these few inches of margin for the eye’s reassurance are lacking,--for -instance, on a precipitous rock wall with only minute stances, or on -an almost vertical ice slope,--then, by the nature of the case, the -climber can use his hands; and from this second point of contact, -through his fingers, the climber gets an even more concrete assurance -of his balance than from the judgment of his eye. There are cases, -however, where the hands cannot or should not be used, and where the -eye is so far confused that it must divide its responsibility for -the second point of contact with some other agent; and for this we -learn to use the second foot. Take the case of traversing along the -summit of a narrow rock ridge, or across a knife-edge of ice. The -hands are useless, and the eyes, unable to remain focused upon the -narrow edge, wander away into the depths. The inexpert man will get -giddy, and will only save himself, on the rock, by crawling across on -hands and knees, thus forcing from his hands the assurance that his -eyes refuse; while on the ice he will get giddy and--not get across -at all. But the expert can step across either, rapidly and securely. -In the first place he learns to focus his eyes undeviatingly upon the -thin edge ahead, or upon some fixed point on the same line with it -beyond; and in the second place he learns, since an expert’s eye is -human and embraces a large field, to divide its balancing duty with -his second foot. This foot, advanced in the direction of progress, -provides a second rest-point for the assurance of balance quite good -enough to complement the eye. He strides out rapidly, so as to shorten -the doubtful interval while this foot is in the air, and for assurance -in this doubtful interval he trusts again to his fixed glance. A -blind-folded tight-rope walker balances on the same principle, only he -obtains his assurance from two points of contact even nearer together, -from one foot only just in advance of the other, or even from one foot -alone, the two requisite points being then represented by his toe and -his heel. Loose-wire walkers, who apparently deprive themselves of all -fixed points for their estimate, substitute the pole or the parasol in -their hands. This their trained sense continues to adjust at such an -inclination to the shifting but relatively fixed point of their feet as -may always give their hand a second relatively fixed point of judgment -by which they can estimate the angle that then body is making, at any -instant of rest or motion, with the line of gravity; and its leverage -enables them to correct this angle whenever hand plus foot give warning -that the body has so far departed from the line as to be entering upon -the ‘forbidden degrees.’ - -The normal mountaineer, however, need never expect to have to do with -less than two stable points of judgment, for foot and hand or eye, and -these at least a few inches apart. It is entirely incorrect, therefore, -for anyone to assume that, because he feels ‘giddy’ looking down from -the top of a wall, he is disqualified from high mountaineering. Some -degree of giddiness would be excusable in any mountaineer, however -expert, who might be asked to look down off the edge of a sheer wall, -where there was no handhold, no room to shift a foot forward or -backward, and which was too vertical to afford any rest-point below for -the eye. If he were asked to walk along the wall, he would probably do -it cheerfully. In mountaineering, also, we may count upon handholds -when the eye is obstructed or the assurance of a second foot denied -us. We need only train our sense of balance to assure us of security -upon a basis of narrowly spaced but still quite natural points of -judgment. And in the process of learning we shall find that we lose all -inclination to giddiness. - -[Sidenote: The Effect of Height.] - -There remains one state, of whose nature and origin we at present know -very little. It is generally called the ‘psychological’ effect of -height; which it almost certainly is not. It has none of the bodily -symptoms of mountain sickness; and I know no remedy for it, mental or -physical. It is simply that certain men above certain heights appear -to lose some portion of their nervous energy. Training or habit seem -powerless to restore it. They become incapable of moving with the -certainty or rhythm which are theirs at lower levels. You can watch -the effects in tentative, slower movements, a visible effort in -balancing, clumsiness with the rope, insecurity in steps, sometimes -a vagueness or absence of mind, as if the vitality were running low. -And yet the men will be most vigorous and competent mountaineers up -to their limit of height. Liability to suffer from it appears to -depend on no question of physique or of probabilities. As its result -many fine climbers on lower hills never achieve marked success in the -Alps, and many fine alpinists, including most guides, are failures, -relatively, in the Himalaya. If we were to go high enough, we should -probably find that every man has his limit of height, above which no -training or habit would enable him to climb with his normal vigour or -efficiency. But what concerns a leader in the Alps, or an explorer in -higher ranges, is to discover which of his party is subject to it, -and at what heights, and make his dispositions accordingly if he is -planning an expedition or series of expeditions which will exceed this -limit. Otherwise, just at those heights and in those situations where -the greatest individual skill is called for and the least attention can -be spared to others, he will find that the symptoms will begin to put -in an unwelcome appearance. The mountaineer himself is rarely aware of -his weakness; he probably explains it to himself as a touch of passing -mountain sickness. It is only when he, or more probably his leader, -notices that it recurs at the same height and that the symptoms are -not physical or mental, but affect the mysterious half-way region that -we must call ‘nervous,’ that the true cause suggests itself. A leader -must watch every new member of his party, and if he finds that he has -such a height limit, he must not take him above it, if the ascent is -severe, or he must be prepared to give him much increased attention and -shepherding until the limit is repassed on the descent. - - -SOCIAL COMPOSITION OF THE PARTY - -The social and psychological conditions that regulate the relations -of any collection of human beings associated for a common effort or -pursuit are seldom taken sufficiently into account. The interaction of -individual temperaments in mountaineering and the reactions of common -mood under the stress of elemental conditions or of great physical -effort have, in consequence, seldom been allowed for in anticipatory -organization or made a matter for previous agreement, or for the -acceptance of precautionary control. When the crises have arisen, it -has been often, consequently, too late for remedy or for the exclusion -of the dissonant elements. This must be my excuse for sketching -these superficial classifications of nervous and mental states that -are as positive in their influence upon the success or harmony of -a mountaineering holiday as the possession or lack of a developed -trapezius major or a sound digestion. Explorers of experience sometimes -recognize the importance of choosing men for temper and temperament as -much as for physique, and make their arrangements with this in view, in -practice if not in their printed records. Mountaineering is done under -much the same conditions; but its temporary, holiday character leads us -generally, as we sit at home in the comfort of pleasant prospect, to -overlook in our arrangements the almost primitive conditions of temper, -health and fierce struggle under which we shall be living during our -mountain association. - -A mountaineer, in the composition and management of his party, cannot -afford to neglect the action of health and condition upon temper, -or of temperament and mood upon achievement. He must select men, -therefore, not by their promise of the plains, but by what he knows or -concludes will be their conduct under the harder test of the heights. -If he has to take anyone on chance, he must be on the watch from the -first, and, if he finds he has made a mistake, content himself with a -less ambitious programme. In big mountaineering no man has more than -a momentary margin. In less exacting work no man has a continuous -margin of will-power, nerve and temper, to say nothing of skill, for -more than himself and one other. Every party of more than two should -contain two men of tried nerve--that is, of an experience that has -learned to control the effects of shock or of fatigue upon the nerves. -Every party, for its own peace, should contain one expert rock climber -and one reliable iceman. A good second-man, or ‘backer-up,’ and a -weight-carrier are invaluable assets. These parts may, of course, be -doubled in a single individual. The ability to heal, or cook, or -sing may be allowed to outweigh some minor defects--but not temper, -clumsiness or a sluggish vitality. - -A manager has also to remember that that party earns the best success -which works with the most collective good-humour and good-will. With -the object of maintaining the genial atmosphere that best resists local -disturbances, mental or physical, one member of a party of three or -four may well be either younger or less experienced than the rest. -Rowing eights in training have discovered the merits of a mascot or -protégé, whom the rest can look after and laugh with or at. No party of -men or women can quarrel if there are children (not belonging to them) -of their number. One considerably younger member of a party, or one -younger in the sense that he or she is a novice to the work, and in so -far is a child, gives the climbing group the pleasant sense of centring -round some one as a common care. He is a permanent distraction. In -moments of excitement, pleasure or fatigue, every member of such a -party unconsciously puts himself first into the new-comer’s attitude of -mind, and speculates how the sensation will present itself to him. The -process provides our individual consciousness with an external interest -that diverts us from the oppression of absorption in ourselves. - -In a holiday party of four, which is the best number for serious -guideless climbing, enabling the break into the ideal pairs for rock -climbing, and the safer combination for glaciers, one member may well -be an ‘infant’ or beginner of this sort; but if such an element is -included the ‘breaking’ must be confined to very safe passages. In -a party of three, provided that two are thorough experts, and one -of these possibly a first-class guide, and provided that no severe -climbing is contemplated, maleficent psychic influences may be combated -by the inclusion of our less responsible third. If serious work is in -prospect, the third must be at least strong and efficient; in fact, in -parties of less than four, considerations of skill or experience must -always take precedence of purely social qualifications. In a party -of two, for rock climbing, both must be, primarily, expert, and our -social selection must be confined to this class. For glacier work any -party of two, even though, socially, they speak with the tongues of -angels, must always be unsound. The popularity of the party of two -as a rock climbing combination compels us continually to reconsider -its suitability under new aspects. As a social companionship the -association of two friends, equally expert, is ideal. The association -of two friends, one of them less expert but equally competent to share -in the responsibility for a joint decision, is quite defensible. But -it must be remembered that any external feeling strong enough to -interfere with the complete concentration of a leader upon his climbing -reduces the efficiency of his normal standard and still more of his -standard of the day. His feeling of a particular responsibility for -an individual, other than his general responsibility to a party, may -act as a dangerous distraction. A man, therefore, who climbs alone -with a novice, a younger person or a pupil, towards whom he is in -a position of personal trust, handicaps himself to an extent that -should forbid him to attempt any but absolutely safe and elementary -climbing. The usual risks, even of merely external chance, which -he may take lightly for himself or for a second companion of equal -discretion, he may not take for his charge; and the cheerful consent of -an inexperienced comrade to ‘share’ in taking such a chance cannot be -considered as relieving the single expert of any part of his exclusive -responsibility. If he has the sense of it constantly in mind, the -feeling turns to anxiety in moments of crisis, and interferes with his -coolness of judgment and with the nervous harmony upon which his skill -depends; at more ordinary times its presence materially biases his -ordinary mental and physical climbing habit. If, on the other hand, he -undertakes such a charge, and then does not keep it in mind in all his -decisions and actions, no one will consider him to have been a happy -choice for the responsibility entrusted to him. - -Where the sense of responsibility is further complicated by an -emotional relationship its debilitating effect is increased. It -is a commonplace of all active undertakings that relationship is -irreconcilable with cool command and undisturbed performance. -Similarly, a father climbing alone with his child or children, -a husband climbing with his wife, cannot preserve the nervous -concentration or the emotional detachment indispensable for an -unsupported leader. Whatever their normal ability as mountaineers, in -such a companionship both their discretion and their execution must be -subject to a hundred distracting influences. The disturbance, even the -danger, of an emotional state in a member of a party has already been -indicated. In these cases, however, it is the leader, whose business it -should be to correct, who is the man affected; and, further, in a party -of two so constituted, where the leader alone is morally or by nature -responsible, no other can compensate for his abnormality or qualify the -effects of his state or of his action. In my view no mountaineer should -ever climb alone with anyone less competent for whom he must be held -responsible either by relationship or by delegated authority; unless -the climbing is so short and so safe that he can be sure of always -safeguarding his charge against the ill consequence of any and every -form of ‘accident’ however remote or unlikely. Practically this means -that, except for simple ‘bouldering’ or elementary, separate ‘pitch’ -climbs, without the addition of a second fully competent mountaineer -all parties of this description are unsound. - -In larger parties it is wise to give full value to social -considerations in selecting the members, since we can always secure, -by addition or subtraction, that any element of weakness introduced -by relationship or private responsibility is balanced by a greater -proportion of mountaineering skill. But for combinations of two our -first business is to make absolutely certain that each man is equally -competent, in his own and his friend’s eyes even more than in the eyes -of the world, to take his full share of _responsibility_. We may then, -if we will, treat the separate contributions of skill as a collective -whole, and not quarrel with an expert who takes a less expert -companion, provided he be competent and responsible, if by so doing he -secures a wider field for his social choice. - - -WALKING MANNERS - -There are several points of what may be termed walking manners, common -to all types of long mountain walking and not only to climbing, whose -observance contributes a great deal to the individual peace of mind -during the early and late hours of a long alpine day. Men when they -are off the rope, or who have never been on a rope, almost universally -neglect them, and are blind to the cumulative effect upon a tired -companion’s temper or upon their own humour. Every one thinks he can -walk, and most men never bother to discover why the excellent companion -of the Sunday afternoon ramble proved a failure on a long walking tour. - -The first point of manners for the man in control is that of pace. Most -climbers suffer from the weakness of increasing the pace the moment -they take the lead on a path, slope or glacier. This is trying to -the party, consciously or not, and wasteful. A manager should either -block the way himself, or, if he is behind, keep consistently to what -he considers the right tempo. It is better he should be thought to be -getting old or lazy than that the party should be rushed inopportunely. - -A second and frequent failing is the ‘half step’ trick. Some fifty per -cent. of fast walkers, whenever they walk abreast on road or path or -hill, persistently keep half a stride in front, their shoulder just -clear of their companion. It may be due to some half-formed feeling -of satisfaction in setting the pace and having a margin to turn round -and talk from. Its effect is that the friend is perpetually straining -to catch up, and the pace thus steadily accelerates till both are -practically racing. Then one gives up, and both lag, until the game -starts again. The habit is often unconscious, but it is extraordinarily -irritating on a long tramp, or to a tired companion. - -A third breach of manners, all too common, is passing ahead in the line -of march. Over most broken country, glacier, snow or rough hillsides, -men naturally fall into single file. Cattle tracks or man tracks -are rarely wide enough for two abreast, and if it is a question of -selecting a line, it saves reduplication of the effort to leave the -task to one and to drop in behind him. There are few inexperienced -walkers who do not take advantage of the slightest error in the choice -of route on the first man’s part, to break off and pass him on the -shorter line. In doing so, they take the responsibility of taking all -the rest who follow off the line also. On an ordinary hill walk, when -the going is all free and easy, this is excusable,--no one is compelled -to follow another longer than suits him; as also in the case when the -first man is obviously mistaken, and to cut his line is a distinct -saving of effort for those who follow. But, done as by one of a line -of men either tired or with a big day before them, where one has been -taking the extra burden of route-selecting for the rest, it is a -serious breach of mountain manners. The gain is probably only a yard or -two, and the front man may justly resent having been left the labour of -choosing the route at a hundred points, only to have advantage taken -of his single doubtful choice in order to displace him. He either -runs ahead to regain his place, and the rhythm of the party is broken -in a silly competition none the less irritating that it is rarely -acknowledged in words, or he plods behind with a slight sense of injury. - -A more debatable occasion, where the same point comes into prominence, -is on the ascent of steep slopes or open hillsides. An experienced -front man will probably take these on a zigzag. To a less experienced -walker, and to all beginners of energy and leg muscle, it is generally -a temptation to cut the zigzags on the direct line, and so pass ahead. -This is bad walking, but there is the more excuse for it in that on -such slopes men rarely do follow each other exactly, and most of the -party will probably be preferring each to take his zigzag at the most -comfortable angle to himself. The best rule of manners to remember is -that, while every man is free to choose any line and pace he likes on -such places, yet, if one man has been definitely leading and choosing -the line, the others ought to drop into their places in the line behind -him again so soon as the single-file formation is resumed. It is more -politic to be considered a well-mannered tramp than to assert one’s -powers as a limber hill-rusher. - -Another blunder, from which many a good walker is not free, is the -inclination to hurry the pace if the line or short-cut he has chosen -takes the party for a while over worse ground, or proves, for other -reasons, not to have been the best route. His almost unconscious -acceleration is due to some impulse to get back quickly and unnoticed -to good going, and so to slur over the mistake, or the momentary -disagreeability of the route for which he is responsible, as much to -himself as to those who follow. It is a trick to notice and avoid. It -forces the rhythm and pace over just the ground where it should, if -anything, be eased. Men who walk much with parties which are afflicted -with the ‘racing’ or ‘passing’ manias, are particularly liable, from a -sort of nervous self-defence, to develop this failing also. - -A leader must not walk carelessly or break the rhythm of step -arbitrarily. The man who forces a plodding following to change feet -unexpectedly does not know his business. Again, when walking in single -file, or any way but comfortably abreast, men inexpert in acting as -guides do not realize that although the man in front can hear all -that is said behind him, yet that, unless he turns his head over his -shoulder and throws his words out, he himself is inaudible down the -line behind him. As the remarks from the leader on a long tramp, and -when men are tired, have usually some direct bearing on the way, -those behind him crowd up to hear; they break step, and are often put -irritably on the strain. The complaint of many a young mountaineer, -that his elder companion will never answer at all while walking, -usually finds its explanation in the fact that the young man’s energy -carries him ahead, and as his remarks are addressed to the scenery, -his companion prefers consistent silence and inattention to the strain -of trying to hear, or to the irritation to himself and his friend of -continually repeating, “What d’you say?” These matters may seem too -slight to mention, but neglect of their observance brings many a party -home with some member or other out of harmony and unappreciative of the -sunset. - -In the grumpy morning start or during the evening tired return it is -for such details that the manager has to be most on the look out. -He should, if possible, set the pace himself, and keep it without -questioning or remark to what he judges to be the best pace of the -laggard of the day. He should never let himself be pressed by some -one at his heels, race ahead, or allow others to do so, except for -some specified and universally beneficial reason (such as ordering -tea ahead!), merely because the difficulties seem to be over and the -way plain for the stronger members of his party. There is no pleasure -in being left behind; it provokes a tired man and generally makes him -obstinately slower. - -It used to be said, and by the best authorities, that with a tired -or tramping party it is essential to keep the pace always the same, -or they will lose the rhythm that alone can keep them going. This -is a mistake. In the first place, variations in pace are a rest in -themselves, provided that the actual effort put into each step does not -vary. In the second place, it is definitely more fatiguing to be held -back to a fixed pace on a sudden downhill gradient; and it is vexatious -to pass from a long uphill grind on to a level stretch without the -relief of a ‘swing out.’ Similarly, it is futile to change from a level -to an uphill gradient and attempt to keep a party to the same rate. -The mistaken teaching has been due to a confusion between actual rate -of movement over the ground and the amount of effort required for each -step. - -Rhythm is essential to ensure good tramping, and to minimize fatigue. -To secure rhythm the amount of effort put into each step, and not -necessarily the pace, should be kept constant. Thus, in changing from -uphill to level ground, the pace can be pleasantly quickened and the -step lengthened, without any increase of effort in the stride or any -change of rhythm. A longer stride is often a positive relief. In -changing from level to uphill the length of the step shortens, since -a lifting step is always more fatiguing, and the pace should be taken -more slowly, though the output of effort is kept the same. On a change -to a downhill gradient it is possible to change to a longer stride, or -even a run, without altering the rhythm or increasing the amount of -effort exacted of the muscles or of the lungs. - -In resuming, after a halt, a frequent error is to start too fast. -Young climbers, like young giants refreshed with wind, rush off at top -pace. The re-start should always be slow--if anything slower than the -average pace before the halt. Gradually, as the circulation and organs -begin to readjust themselves to their work, the previous pace can be -recovered. But a halt is definitely making reparation for the past, not -accumulating a margin to waste in the immediate future. - -When the energy of the party is running out, it is better to avoid -halts altogether. To break the rhythm in such case and relax the -mechanism is to make the resumption each time more difficult and the -recovery of an equal rate afterwards very improbable. - -To lead and choose the line is definitely more fatiguing than to -follow. To save strength and maintain pace, during a long day, the -leader ought to be changed at regular intervals. This is too rarely -done. - -[Sidenote: Some Notes on Hill Walking.] - -There are one or two further points connected with walking up or down -hill which are matters of method rather than of manners, but which in -so far as they affect the individual comfort react upon the peace of a -party. - -In walking uphill, the foot should always be placed so that the heel -rests on the ground. It is a beginner’s mistake to rush a hill and -spring from the toes alone. If the flex of the ankle is stiff--men vary -much in this respect--and the gradient is too steep to allow the heel -to drop, look out for any little stone or excrescence, however small, -to set it upon. If the path is very steep, and without stones, it is -more comfortable to set the foot slightly sideways, so that the heel -gets some support. This is often particularly useful at the turns of -the interminable zigzags on alpine paths, where the track is apt to -swoop up steeply round the bend. If the foot is thus placed slightly -aslant at every turn, it is ready to advance at once after the bend in -the direction of the new zag. A very slight economy, you may say: but -multiply it by several thousand zags in a day! - -Always take the outside and easiest line round such curves in ascending -tracks. - -The secret of all long grinds uphill is to set, and maintain, a regular -pace that becomes rhythmic from the first. The moment you get behind -a good hill walker, you will see the difference between his regular, -restrained swing, more of the whole body than the leg, and the uneven -jumping step, that seems each time to be a separate balancing effort, -of the inexperienced walker. - -Do not take long steps uphill, or lift the foot high. Raise it by -slightly swaying the body across the firm leg and let the loose -foot swing forward with its own weight. A good hill walker, of the -‘tireless’ variety, always moves with a slight balance or sway. - -Always ‘accept a slip.’ That is, if the foot slips back on a loose -surface, do not tire the muscles by a convulsive effort to stop it and -to keep your balance. Let the foot go till it stops of itself as the -topple of your weight, out of balance, comes upon it; and then swing -from that point with the other foot. - -The effort you put into each step should be kept the same, whatever the -change in the angle of the surface. - -If you are leading and doubtful of your pace, try to sing. So long as -you can sing or whistle two lines without panting or effort, you are -keeping within your measure. - -On a zigzag uphill, do not take the apparent short-cuts. They are made -by men descending, and only waste strength and spoil rhythm. - -On an open hillside, zigzag as if on a path, starting at the angle -which lets you comfortably get the heels down. For a step or two, if -there is no room to zag, you can walk with only the one heel down, and -the other foot springing from the toe; but not for more. - -If circumstances make it imperative to go fast, lean well forward over -the feet, and as it were ‘tumble up’ the slope. This eases the work of -the heart. If you have to race, and legs and breath begin to give out, -make the hands do their share, and unashamedly pull the knees up to the -stride by the breeches. You can thus keep a long uphill stride at a -fast pace going long after the leg muscles, unaided, would have given -out. - -In descending take the shortest cuts you like. There are two weak -points to look to: one the toes, and the other the muscles of the back, -which do most of the balancing. The toes are protected by well-fitting -boots and a well-placed foot. The back muscles are best indulged -by letting the shoulders go loose, as you do when jog-trotting on -horseback. This eases the effort of balance and the amount of holding -back and taut that the muscles have to perform. It also diminishes the -jar. - -Except for grown men, of exceptionally strong ankles and knees, it is -best not to plunge ‘all-out’ downhill, leaping straight-legged from -heel to heel. The legs should be kept under control, and the feet -pointed down and kept well under the body. The knees should be bent, -tense, but not rigid; they will serve to take up all the jar, and act -as springs. The step resembles a dancing pace, with a bent knee. - -Do not be shy of using the arms and hands, on trees, rocks or scrub, to -ease in any way the effort of balance and the leg-strain during rapid -descents. An ankle or sinew once wrenched is permanently weakened. - -Long, hard road-tramping, with the leg swung straight, is not a good -preparation for climbing. It jolts and stiffens the muscles, and fixes -them in certain stereotyped movements. Good climbing guides are rarely -good or fast road walkers. A long trudge often breaks them down and -renders them unfit temporarily for severe climbing. - -Standing about on the feet while the arms are being exercised merely -tires the legs, and does not strengthen them. Many guides, who work -hard at wood-chopping or in quarries during the winter, find their legs -are all to pieces when the season begins. The knees are especially -sensitive in this respect. - -A climber’s leg machinery is a delicate engine of educated springs and -fine interactions. It can do a rough-and-tumble better than most, at -need, but it should be guarded for its special and exacting work, and -not battered or shaken out of gear unnecessarily. - -Hill walking exercises and develops all the movements of foot, ankle, -knee and trunk which we use in balance-climbing on rock or snow. It -is the best training for the fine and precise motions that we need to -educate. There is no doubt of the soundness of a man’s climbing if he -is seen to be a light and tireless hill walker. He may not necessarily -be brilliant on rocks, but what he does he will do in good style. - -If we wish to interest our young folk in climbing, the surest way is -to let them walk and run loose by themselves upon the hills in early -years. Rocks will meet them naturally, and if they are going to climb, -they will begin to climb them naturally as they occur, with the feet -and with the balance they have practised on their hill walks. To take -them to rocks too early, as to a gymnasium, is to spoil their taste and -deprive them of the chance of developing a personal enthusiasm and a -natural style. Every good mountaineer must rediscover the hills and the -passion for climbing them as of himself. - - -CHOICE OF DISTRICT - -One consideration remains for the leader, if it has not been already -decided by the preferences of his party--that of the district he will -choose for the season. A few general principles may help to guide his -choice. - -The tour may be either concentric, with ascents made from one or from -a succession of centres, or eccentric, in which case the party will -be moving forward and carrying its own luggage. The first is the more -luxurious, the second the more attractive, holiday. The choice depends -upon the character of the party and upon the weather of the season. - -With beginners, in a good season, it is more instructive and -independent to move along a range, crossing passes and taking only -the climbs that come. The same progressive type of tour is the best -to follow in a really bad season, when the big peaks are out of the -question, for the time at least, and when there may yet be a delightful -holiday spent in wandering among the lower Alps below the cloud-level. -Even for those who may be ambitious of big peaks, this is a better -alternative than sitting cooped up with other murmurers waiting for the -impossible in high hotels. - -On the other hand, in good but uncertain weather, if the party is -desirous of big climbs, and has to economize its time, it is better to -move by express routes from centre to centre, and to strike for the big -peaks without loss of days, when the good weather comes, and while it -lasts. - -In more doubtful weather, when the days are playing at ‘alternates’ -but the peaks are still possible on fair days, and when consequently -we are not forced down to the pleasures of low rambling, it is well -to climb still from centres, and from the hotel itself. If, indeed, -the party is aiming at a special peak, it should occupy the nearest -hut, and provision it as a centre, ready to start on the first clear -morning. But if, as is wiser in a bad season, it is wishful to take -anything that offers, it is even better to stay at the central hotel -below--since peaks enclosing a valley are often differently affected -by different kinds of weather--and the party is then in a position to -set out at once for whichever mass first becomes feasible. It can start -overnight, and so avoid the hut altogether. The fatigue and romance of -an all-night tramp are less prejudicial to the chances of a successful -climb on the following day than the depression of a dull and stiff -morning start after a comfortless night. - -On the other hand, there is no more memorable experience than to -sleep out in the open air during a spell of settled weather, with -the stars for company and the first stir of wind before dawn as a -strange awakening. The man who wishes to taste the full pleasure of a -mountaineering day should sleep out whenever he can the night before, -and he should lie far enough from his companions to be able to feel -himself alone. - -Possibly the pleasantest holiday of all is obtained by a combination -of the concentric and eccentric methods, according as weather and -inclination direct. To wander forward independent of times and plans, -and to make pauses when we wish for more prolonged assaults upon peaks -that tempt us, is a twofold delight. But it postulates leisure. - -At home it is natural to base our calculations upon an estimate of a -climb every day. Only when we are faced with the facts on the spot, the -distances, portages and weather, do we recognize that we are lucky if -we can make two or three good climbs a week. We must allow two days for -each big climb, and leave a margin for the off-days. Younger heads or -less experienced legs must be taught this last doctrine for their own -good. The more practised will more easily recall that contrast is the -essence of enjoyment, and that the days of hard going on ice and heated -rocks are only fully realized and remembered if they are relieved by -occasional lapses into tranquil lounging in the grassy valleys, amid -the cool temptations of lemon-ices and clinking teetotal glasses. - -If the party, having settled its general plan, has no preference for -any particular district, it may be guided, in the Alps, by a few broad -distinctions as between the best known districts. - -The Oberland offers the best opportunities for snow and ice work of -almost all kinds. For this reason the Oberland is often the best choice -in a moderately fine or uncertain summer when the snow has stayed late. -The snow slopes of the gentler Oberland peaks are climbable when the -big ridges of the Pennines or the Mont Blanc region are still closed -to us by snow cloaks and cornices. On the other hand, in a bad summer -the weather is usually at its worst in the Oberland, and the long snow -wades may become intolerable, unless we are prepared to snatch a winter -tour from a bad summer month by traversing the Oberland, with its high -connecting glaciers and summits of easier angle, on ski. - -Again, the comparative easiness of the ascents and the training they -offer on ice and snow suggest the Oberland as a good choice for an -introductory tour with beginners, and as an equally good choice for the -preliminary week’s training in any later season. There is no better -introduction, or reintroduction, to alpine work than practice on the -ice of the Aletsch glacier, varied by ascents of the snow and small -rock peaks in the vicinity. - -The Pennines offer finer individual peaks, with greater names, and -they are more specially adapted for those who prefer concentric -mountaineering, with bigger single efforts and the company of their -kind. Their variety of type and aspect makes them suitable for -selection in ‘alternating’ weather. Often when other regions are closed -up, and when even its neighbours are shrouded, personal idiosyncrasies -will keep some single Pennine peak open for quick, comfortable ascent. -The merit of the Pennines is their mixed general climbing. They have -fewer great ice and snow climbs to offer than the Oberland or Mont -Blanc, and their rock is inferior to the Aiguilles. - -The Pennines of the west, more especially the Val d’Evoléna, have the -pleasant characteristic of offering short, condensed and possible -climbs in bad seasons, when the bigger peaks are unapproachable, and -when the Oberland may be indulging its habit of making bad weather -worse. They, too, are an excellent introduction to mountaineering; but -their miniature attractions have a somewhat dangerous fascination for -British climbers, whom they are apt to hold spellbound even in good -seasons, and withdraw from hardier and greater enterprise. - -In a fair summer, the Chamonix Aiguilles are the flame-points on the -crown of great rock climbing. For length, and as a test of skill, they -have no equal in Europe. They also include some magnificent snow and -ice ascents. But it is their rock that marks them out as supreme. As a -consequence, many British climbers make the mistake of going to them -too soon, before they are equal to their demands. It is better to keep -them as a great reward for labour when our developed mountaineering -technique can enable us not only to overcome, but to enjoy the infinite -variety of problems, and when we can feel not only participators in an -ascent, but masters of ourselves and of the difficulties throughout -their exceeding length. I have seen more than one of the most noted -performers on British rocks and from the eastern Dolomites, men who -could frolic up the Grépon crack, forced, from pure muscular fatigue, -to ask for the rope before the Grépon summit was reached, and only -rediscover the pleasure of the ascent of the Dru a full day after their -return from the traverse. - -To men who can get all that they want of difficult rock in our own -islands, the Dolomites of the Eastern Alps present fewer attractions in -sunny seasons. Their greater distance is a disability, and they offer -small snow and ice practice. But in bad seasons they are an admirable -last resort, and an escape to their warm, dry and coloured levels, or -rather heights, may send many a party, disappointed elsewhere by ill -weather of its alpine season, home in good health and firm muscle. - -The great southern wall of the Alps, from Courmayeur to Macugnaga and -farther, offers the greatest combined ice and rock mountaineering -on the largest and most formidable scale. For those who know its -secrets there is also the attraction of many smaller ascents, with -the incomparable views as background. But it is not a region for bad -weather, or for any but very competent parties. - -Early in the season the Southern Alps, from Savoy and Cogne almost -down to the Mediterranean, make an exquisite wandering-ground, all too -little visited. In May and June we can often enjoy among them flowers, -clear climbing and free wandering, long before their big northern -brothers have shaken off their winter coats of snow and storm. They -retain much of the undiscovered charm of the great Alps in earlier -days, and a variety of beauty that can challenge comparison with the -impressiveness of greater heights. - -I have intentionally avoided mentioning those secluded and particular -districts which it must be the fortune of all faithful mountaineers to -discover for themselves, and where every enterprising party may gain -the reward of its independence and experience in the certainty that -it has found, at last and alone, the one perfect region, perfectly -contrived, for all purposes of climbing and enjoyment. - - -INCIDENTAL DUTIES - -[Sidenote: Hut Usages.] - -Launched in his chosen region, and with his chosen comrades, the -management of a leader has to observe, beyond his primary duty to his -own party, one or two usages of an extraneous or incidental character. - -If he is using huts, in the Alps or elsewhere, he should acquaint -himself with the rules, written or not, of hut usage. Most will suggest -themselves. To tidy up and leave everything in better order than he -usually finds it. If other parties are in the hut, to keep the axes -from cumbering the ground, and confine the wet clothes and wet boots to -harmless corners. To arrange provisions and the rest the night before, -so as to diminish the general confusion in starting by at least the -quiet exit of his own party. To disturb sleepers as little as their -customary assumption, that they are the only tired men who may, or -will, ever use the hut again, will generally allow. Not to break open a -hut or use any part of it for firewood except in desperate need; and to -pay somewhere, or somehow, for any inevitable or accidental damage. - -There is a further duty, which he owes to the position of his own -party and to that of others also occupying the huts. If his party -are merely guests, they are dependent upon the courtesy of other -inhabitants for any treatment they receive more cordial in character -than the sufferance usually extended to uninvited guests. But if, -as every mountaineer in his chosen region should do, they have made -themselves members of the local organization, he should insist, without -demonstration, for the sake of sound hut tradition as well as for the -improvement in the morals and manners of the other occupants (supposing -they show themselves disobliging), upon the relations being those of -courteous equality. As between his own and other amateur parties this -insistence will rarely be needed; for the tradition of comradeship -among amateur climbers of all nations has seldom to be recalled by -remonstrance. But as between his own guides and other guides, or other -guides and his own guideless party, the footing sometimes calls for a -prompt clearing away of the stones. Local guides are apt to take any -advantage of a foreign or younger guide who appears. As is elsewhere -described, the mental attitude of a guide in hut or hotel becomes -generally that of the servant or dependent of his employer. He is no -longer the free man on the hills, who will be himself the first to -resent any incursion on the rights of his party. Once in the hut the -amateur, in his turn, becomes responsible for looking after his guide. -A guide’s hut manners prevent him making any fuss, even though his own -party’s interests are suffering; as, for instance, when he is deprived -of his precedence at the cooking-stove, or is left an unfair share of -the collective washing-up. Like a swan on a new reach of a river, the -young or stranger guide is very shy. He will often let himself be put -upon by some parochial swaggerer or bullied by a lazy senior of his own -valley. It is in our own interests, and the interests of the future, to -protect him. - -Apart from the local or obstreperous guide, the worst offenders against -hut manners are not the guideless parties, who are usually anxious to -do as they would be done by, but the chance ‘professors,’ and other -cunning folk, who have discovered that alpine huts provide free summer -lodging for themselves and their families, or the erratic solitary -wanderers and grouped holiday trippers, who have never learned mountain -manners. With these types decided action, or the decided appearance of -passion, is sometimes the only course. - -It is only courteous to use the hut books which are provided for -entries; even though the sight of our own names and objectives in other -company may offend our British habit of climbing hauteur, to which -we ourselves give the titular rank of modesty. The information has a -sentimental interest; it is required by the maintainers of the hut, -and, further, it may be of real service if anything untoward happens -and it becomes necessary to follow the traces of our party. - -[Sidenote: Consideration.] - -Outside the huts we have a duty also to the fragile paths, which lead -us to the glacier or the hut. They are easily depreciated by careless -use, especially in wet weather, by breaking away the edges, kicking -down boulders, slithering down inclines, etc. - -Beyond the paths and the huts, there is a first law not to spoil the -mountains: to leave no traces of meals on the summits or hillsides. -Whoever discovers a portable contrivance for atomizing old bottles will -confer an incalculable benefit upon conscientious mountaineers. - -There is also an obligation not to spoil the mountains for others by -heedless manners. This means not merely not to throw or kick stones -on to other parties, or to pass them without their consent, which are -matters that are regulated by positive mountaineering tradition, but -also not to treat them ‘negatively’ when we meet them on the hills, as -if we were all passers-by in the City at the luncheon-hour. I can call -to mind still the annihilating stare of a lady whom I met on the top of -the Weisshorn, because I ventured to remark about the weather without -waiting for the introduction which there was no third party present in -the vast panorama to perform; and again, two sterling Britons passing -on a track in the highlands of Arcadia without greeting, because it -transpired they did not feel that their slight degree of acquaintance -was sufficient to cover a general conversation in which two other -members of their parties, not similarly acquainted, would have had to -be included! These are somewhat fine shades to preserve under primitive -conditions, and foreigners are apt to misunderstand their respectable -origin. It is better, on the whole, to be thought a cheerful idiot by -our own countrymen if we hail their distant appearance on the chance -of their belonging to a more sociable nationality, than to earn the -reputation of racial surliness by allowing our shyness of what our -own party may think to prevent us replying to the shouts of strangers -of possibly more Gallic temperament. It costs little effort to make -a cheerful remark to another party on the hills when we meet or pass -them, and it saves an awkward restraint on both sides if we are fated -to meet them afterwards again, in a hut or somewhere where we have -to be together in harmony. In other countries we may safely imitate -more demonstrative ways without loss of self-respect. A courteous -manner and a ready explanation will take the edge of offence off many -a decided course of mountaineering action, that may run us for a while -beside or across the way of other human beings. It might even be better -if we could introduce into our chance encounters on our own hills -something more of a superficial cordiality, so as to acquire the habit -of conveying to strangers less obscurely the undoubted fellowship we -feel with all other pilgrims of the mountains. - -Of course every leader must acquaint himself with the code of rescue -signals now recognized in the mountains, by waving or flashing or -shouting. But he should further consider it as more than discourteous -to refrain from replying to any shout directed at himself or his -party. It is impossible for him to know by instinct what is merely the -salute of high spirits and what may express some more urgent need. -Similarly, if one member of a party gets separated from the rest, and -is out of sight, it is not sufficient for him merely to guide himself -back secretly by their shouts; he should reply to each of their calls, -and so indicate that he is approaching. It is oddly irritating to -keep shouting for an unseen man, realizing that his silence may mean -that he is getting more and more astray, and then see him walk round -the next rock, reproving by his silent proximity both our growing -anxiety and our clamorous waste of breath. Our co-Britons will never -shout unnecessarily, and we should reply each time, and leave the -interpretation to them. - -[Sidenote: Some Night Notes.] - -In using paths or tracks at night, if a light cannot be procured, it -is worth while remembering that the instinct of the feet is often a -better guide than the straining of the eyes to see. The feet, left -to themselves, will balance naturally along the track, much as the -original makers of the natural paths found it expedient to balance -over the same ground. They will be able to keep the track better of -themselves than if they are driven forward by an ill-balanced body -along an ill-seen line. A leader following a track by daylight may -often wonder in advance at small wanderings which seem to the eye -unaccountable; but as soon as the body in balance reaches the spot, it -follows their sequence quite naturally. Left to themselves, the feet -and body will do much the same in the dark, and keep surprisingly well -upon a track that is not arbitrarily interrupted. - -In following a lamp, unless the leader holds it himself, his best place -is not that immediately behind the lamp-bearer, which the selfish will -press for. Detail and dim outline ahead are better seen from farther -back in the line, where the actual glare of the lamp is hidden and -the light is diffused over the way. The eye soon accustoms itself to -half-light, but not to the dazzle of a flame. - -(To procure light for a lamp, fire or pipe, especially in a wind, a -familiar method may not be universally known. Part of the stern of a -wax match should be unravelled and a few strands wound loosely round -the head, so as to catch the first flare. To light a wood fire, in camp -or hut, without paper, the wood should be shaved thinly upwards towards -one end of a stick. The shavings should not be completely detached, but -left curling up at the end like the flower on a stalk. Lit at this end, -the stick easily burns and the fire follows.) - -A compass and watch with radium points are always useful for all night -hours or hut intervals. - -If a path or track is lost in the dark, especially on snow-covered -ground, the party should rope up at the full length of the rope, and -make casts round the end man, who waits at a fixed point ’till it is, -or may be, recovered. The motionless man at the fixed point acts as -pointer for the original direction, and will prevent the complete loss -of orientation in the circle of search. - -In the dark on a track the increased risk from the axe-points before -and behind us, as well as from our own, must be kept in mind, and extra -intervals maintained. - -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. - -[Sidenote: 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. - -We are all inclined to think that our first good guide, or the man who -has brought us well through a difficult situation, must be the finest -fellow in the Alps; and in the moments of generous after-enthusiasm we -are in a hurry to say so with an emphasis that we hope will convince -a cold-blooded later reader that he is at least a very fine fellow. -We produce the same effect better by stating exactly what he did, and -our opinion of this rather than of him, leaving it to other leaders to -draw their own conclusions about the man himself. We avoid then for -the guide the peril of that natural revulsion towards an attitude of -antagonistic criticism into which all northern humanity is prone to -lapse in the presence of other people’s enthusiasm, and for ourselves -the tolerant smile of the time and guide worn mountaineer. - -When we read in a guide’s book, returning like an echo from the -records we wrote in our own earlier and romantic days, that ‘there -is no greater rock climber in the present generation, a born iceman, -an intuitive route-finder, a delightful companion and an unrivalled -cook,’ we turn on hastily to another reference, with yet a half-sigh of -good cheer and thankfulness for the assurance that one more very young -climber has started wholeheartedly on our pleasant mountain ways. - - -WEATHER - -There is one variable which belongs to the mountaineering rather than -to the human division of the problems with which management has to -deal. The weather is the background, foreground and middle distance of -all big mountaineering. A change can upset the nicest adjustment of -a climb to the strength of a party or to the length of a day. Every -climber keeps one eye on this irresponsible neutral, which may at any -time turn the scale of the campaign against him. - -As a result, no mountaineer will endure, and no leader can afford, -not to be thought a good weather prophet, even though the reputation -be confined to his own mind. In reality, so unaccountable are changes -in the hills, any fame acquired for infallibility must be the result -of a large share of good fortune. The happy confidence in his own -forecasts, that every leader owes it to his party to display, can only -be based upon a few broad considerations, and upon bluff. No previous -appearance of a mountain sky can be taken as sure ground for certain -prophecy. A particular wind or ‘sign’ may mean totally different -weather in two adjacent valleys; or the whole doctrine of the winds may -be unaccountably reversed in an exceptional season. In the Alps, for -instance, a north wind usually means clear, brisk, settled weather; -a west wind, the continuance of unsettled weather; a south wind, a -succession of storms that come and pass. But the seasons from 1909 to -1912 will provide instances of the north wind blowing continuously -through alternate days of excessive and moderating rain and snow, -and of the south and west winds attending an unbroken season of hot -sunshine. - -A leader, therefore, besides his groundwork of elementary knowledge, -has to make himself acquainted with local signs of wind and weather in -every season and in any new district; with such details, for instance, -as that in the Zermatt valley “the weather comes from the west,” or -that in Courmayeur we watch the south and west and do not bother -with anything north of the range. Further, that in the Oberland a -north-west wind brings storm, but a north-east wind brings clearing -weather; that bad weather follows closely on a wind blowing over Col -Theodule and round the west of the Matterhorn, but that a wind over Col -du Lion and round the Matterhorn to the east is a fair-weather sign. -He has to discover the relation which the prevailing wind bears to the -weather conditions of a particular season or month. The one thing he -can count upon is the habit that weather establishes in the Alps during -two summers out of three of remaining one thing or the other for a -continued period, once it has started, and of returning to this ‘habit -of the season’ whenever there are not evident signs that it means to -recommence or continue a spell of change. - -The scientific study of weather, and its prediction by the barometer -and thermometer, are matters for a whole book, and the authoritative -textbooks are available. Instruments larger than of pocket size are -something of an encumbrance to a climbing party, although I have -always made an exception in favour of the pocket aneroid, because of -the excellent humour with which it blesses its possessor whenever its -statements and those of the atmosphere or the map happen to coincide. -I limit myself here to recalling briefly some of the visible, ordinary -and less esoteric ‘signs’ which have proved of common use in my own -experience, more especially in the Alps. - -[Sidenote: Clouds.] - -Clouds form our principal sign. It is important to remember that -clouds, while they continue to retain their original form, whatever -that may be, will inflict no rain on us. It is their changes, when they -alter, that we watch, and we predict rain or not according to their -character during and after the changes. - -We distinguish between the upper strata of clouds, whose character and -direction are important as giving us the eventual direction of the wind -and the more permanent character of the weather, and the lower strata, -which have only a meaning for the day or hour, and are not prophetic. - -In general, clouds in the east alone are a fair sign; clouds in the -west, especially dark clouds, mean rain soon. - -High-travelling cirrus clouds portend rain. In the Alps, where the -winds are our real prophets, a distinction is introduced: cirrus, -high and fast on a south or south-west wind, has its usual meaning; -but cirrus on a north, east or south-east wind may accompany or, more -rarely, precede good weather. Castellated cirrus is always a bad sign, -and, where the horizon can be seen, the appearance of cirrus in bands -lengthening up towards the zenith (cirro-stratus) is an unwelcome -event. Dappled cirrus, the so-called ‘roses’ of the south and the -‘sheep flocks’ of the north, implies a change of wind and weather. As -the presence of high cirrus, upon which the change of wind can produce -the dappling, usually means, in the mountains, that uncertain or bad -weather has been preceding the change, the dappling is most often, and -with justice, taken as a good sign. If, however, the weather has been -dull, with merely clouds of heat, and the wind has been good before, -the change portended will be probably for the worse. - -Cumulus clouds, when they tower rapidly, and more especially when they -‘topple over,’ or show a tendency to do so, are signals of a change to -rain. A sure method of observing cumulus is to watch some small portion -of the cloud for a space of time. If it grows larger, the sign is a -change for worse weather; if it ravels out and disappears on the warm -air round it, the sign is for good, and the cloud can be disregarded. - -Stratus, the long stratified bands of cloud at any height, means bad -weather, and the tendency of cirrus or cumulus to stratify is ominous. - -The edges of clouds tell us much of their import: harmless if they are -filmy and ravel out on the warmer air; suspicious if they are hard, -heavily outlined or charged. - -An approaching rain-cloud in action is recognizable by the vertical -or slanting lines in the air below it, or by the ‘torn lace’ on the -lower edge. A hail-cloud shows heavier lines. A snow-cloud carries -fuller, harder marginal protuberances, and may be lighter in tone. -Heavy cumulus of this cumbrous sort may often surprise strong sunlight -by a sudden snow-break. Usually we go by temperature and height in -predicting if a ‘wet’ cloud will break in rain or snow. - -High ‘mare’s-tails’ betray wind, and predict rain according to their -direction. - -‘Fish’ clouds pointing east and west usually mean foul weather; -pointing north and south, fair weather. - -Black wisps of cloud before sunrise, especially in a clear sky, mean -early rain. Lighter-toned wisps at this hour have no signification. But -if the lower edges of cloud-films are charged and dark, looking like -ink which has run down into the borders of blotting-paper, we look out -for rain. - -Long fingers of cloud radiating from a peak portend storm, particularly -if any one of them betrays the typical thunder-curve. Thunder on a peak -means snow, so we must look out for a cold and electric day. - -Thunder-clouds are easily distinguishable. Their form is always -similar. The duplicated outline in the masses of cloud above and below, -the connecting darker neck between, and the leaf-like and invariable -curve of strength where the neck runs out into the profile line of the -upper mass, are sufficiently distinctive. A little further observation -will enable their lines of system and the probable direction of their -movement to be located. The lower mass of cloud may, in cases, be -absent, but the truncated ‘neck’ and the leaf-like ‘curve’ will always -enable us to identify them. - -[Sidenote: Wind.] - -Even more than the clouds, once we have discovered the habit of the -year and the local signs, the winds are our firm basis for forecast. -The north wind in the Alps is usually for good, though in a bad -season of habit it may, if long continued, bring snow. The south wind -is always fraught with suspicion, until it justifies it. It brings -a succession of storms, but leaves fine intervals. The west wind, -if continuous, means the continuance of unsettled weather, with an -inclination to preserve whatever may be the habit of the year. It is -perhaps the most forcible and trying of winds to encounter on the -ridges exposed to it. The east wind is infrequent and rarely long -continued. Its portent is favourable. The south-west wind means rain -to follow. A change from north to north-west threatens rain. A change -from south-west to north-west--generally a wind on its way to becoming -a north wind--means a change for the better in bad seasons. South-east, -and especially north-east, winds share the good qualities and projects -of the east wind. - -The current of the Föhn is recognizable by its accompanying oppression -of warm-parched, or in cases of warm-moist, atmosphere, and by its -depressing effect upon our spirits. It is a harbinger of evil of all -kinds. Its own forerunners are often a massing of heavy-bordered clouds -accompanied by a threatening vividness in all visible coloration. The -Föhn is said to be able to infect, or more probably alternate with, -any wind from any quarter; but we know of it in summer usually in the -south or south-west winds. In the south it is ‘dry,’ in the south-west -it is ‘wet,’ Föhn. Its presence ruins the best-directioned wind; it -underthaws the snow dangerously and spoils our tempers inexplicably. - -Sudden gusts and round-the-compass winds are of ill omen. As between -cross-currents of wind, at different levels, the higher alone is worth -attention. Valley currents, particularly those off glaciers, are only -misleading. - -The simple sky signs, familiar not only in mountains, give us further -assistance. - -[Sidenote: Signs in General.] - -A red sunrise is bad; a red sunset good. Sunrise on a grey sky means a -fair day; sunset on a grey or pale yellow sky means a rainy day, on a -bright yellow sky a windy day. - -A ‘high dawn,’ the sun showing first over a vapour belt, is an ill -sign; a ‘low dawn,’ the sun leaping from the horizon, a good sign. - -If the distant sky at dawn, especially to the west, is low and dark, -there will be breaking weather by noon. - -A dark blue sky tells of wind, and probably rain to follow; a light -blue sky is of fair weather. - -All over bright or gaudy colours at sunrise or sunset, and all hard -outlines, foretell rain and wind. Delicate colours, well-blended tones -and filmy cloud edges are fine-weather prophets. - -Rings round the sun or moon, and vivid twinkling stars in the later -night, are bad signs. Clear nights of cold, and calm and quiet stars -before dawn, are good. - -Heavy dews and the falling of the wind at sunset are good signs. - -The clearness and nearness of distant hills, except just after rain, is -a bad sign; but here we may distinguish between a clear landscape when -we face towards the sun, which is an ill sign, and a clear landscape -as we stand with our back to the sun, which is quite usually a fair -sign. - -Ascending mists on hillsides are bad. Mists in valleys at evening, -clouds lifting at sunset, and hilltops smoking their pipe of evening -peace, are good. - -Warm airs as we pass up the lower alps or through the pinewoods mean us -well; but warm nights on the height and in the hut, or the sickly puffs -of warm breath that meet us from the large crevasses as we start up the -glacier before dawn, are omens of ill weather. - -Early rain, ‘rain before seven,’ has no serious meaning; it rarely -lasts. - -Early white mists should never frighten us from starting, but we must -judge them by feel, texture and direction of movement. An early ominous -mist has a different quality, and lies differently from a simple mist -of the hour. - -During the day feeling or instinct is still our principal guide as -to the durable character of changes or of threats of changes. More -especially we go by the feeling of the wind. With a good wind, local -clouds may be disregarded. The eye learns to distinguish between the -heavy leaden-edged look of an increasing mist, and the peculiar silvery -wet aspect, markedly round its edges, of a mist that is in process of -absorption in warm atmosphere. - -One of the most beautiful, and baleful, warnings in the Alps is the -view out and across a golden sea of clouds washing up out of Italy or -from the south. They often signify the Föhn. So long as the wind blows -off the mountains, they will be kept below for the day; but once they -begin to make breaches in the walls and surge over the battlements, a -bad afternoon or morrow is in prospect. The change from their golden, -fairy-like distant greeting to their wet, cold and gloomy embrace makes -us reluctant to recall that they are really the same clouds we admired -those hours before. - -On large peaks there may be severe local storms even while the sky in -general remains undisturbed. Rock peaks, for example the Matterhorn, -are conspicuous offenders. A small blister of dark, steady cloud may -imply a raging storm on the face below it. Not only at the moment, but -as it affects the later condition of the mountain, the occurrence of -these storms has to be reckoned with. - -From a spell of covered or of broken weather we look for a clearing -snowfall as our deliverance; and the more confidently if the wind has -continued throughout to blow from a good quarter, north or east. If the -fall is followed by clear days and three cold nights, we shall find our -high ridges in perfect condition again. If the weather continues broken -and therefore warmer, the snow will at least not have made things -worse; it will have thawed rapidly. It is also worth remembering that -in warmer, broken weather what has fallen as snow at one level may have -been only rain at another, even at a higher, and the moment the clouds -clear we shall, be able to profit by the calculation. I have known the -same storm to have fallen as rain in the valley, snow on the slopes, -and rain again on the high ridges. - -[Sidenote: Habit of the Season.] - -The habit of the season is always the first matter of study on -returning to the hills. In a habitually fine season, it is safe to go -up to a hut even on a bad day, on the fair chance of a fine recovery -on the morrow. For the same reason, in a habitually bad season, it is -too late to wait for the fine day, and then go up to the hut or out to -the camp. A leader who braves the ridicule of the hotel and the gloom -of the glass, and takes his party up to the hut, with hope undiminished -by failure, on bad days in uncertain seasons, will catch each short -break as it comes, and get a record of climbs that will shock his -valley advisers. He must base his choice, as between the bad days, -upon his observation of the habit that is governing the vagaries of -the season. A very common feature, in unfavourable alpine months, is -the alternations of possible and impossible weather occurring almost -every day--a wet day, followed by a fine morning; a breaking afternoon, -and again a wet day. It is thus most important to “get the alternate -right,” and to correct the order of his going, if to ascend to the hut -on each first fine day proves disappointing. In a recent so-called -‘bad’ season a party ascended thirteen peaks in three weeks, by getting -their ‘alternates’ right at the start, while most parties got only four -or five expeditions in the same time. Occasionally the alternate is one -fine day, or fine half-day, in every three. To meet this habit, or to -discover the order of the alternates in the first place, it is sound -to take up two full days’ provisions to the hut, and to wait there for -a day, if the first day fails to change. A fine morning will suffice -for most climbs suitable for uncertain weather, and a party who have -had courage, and faced the mist, and enjoyed the empty hut at night and -a long fair morning’s climb, will often be granted the extra pleasure -of meeting the usual crowd swarming up to the hut in the afternoon, -attended by every sign of the regular return of clouds and rain. - -[Sidenote: Persistence.] - -The real principle is to keep on trying in unchancy seasons, and -back up the effort by whatever weather instinct or opportunity of -observation we may enjoy. In valleys continuously cloud-covered -observation becomes uncertain; often the weather may be already clear -at higher levels while it lurks in mist in the valleys. Instinct as -much as judgment must then tell us if we may chance a start, on the -probability that the cloud is really thin and the summits in sun. An -attempt is always worth while if the party is getting depressed by -a succession of days of idle cloud in the hotel. Chance often helps -our predictions. The occasions when instinct or a momentary sight -of the higher and important clouds has given the impulse, added to -the occasions when a bold face has been assumed, in spite of a low -blanket of mist round the hut or hotel, and a start has been ordered -on the chance at the best of clear weather above and at the worst of a -bracing tramp up and back, all taken together have made many a lasting -reputation for miraculous weather wisdom. Some of the most enduring -mountain memories are of days thus retrieved from weeks of ill weather, -and spent upon sunny peaks projecting, with only a few isolated and -lofty companions, from the seas of cloud that covered all the valleys -and lower heights, and with them most of our less fortunate fellows. - -Until we possess local weather knowledge, and have rather more to -go upon than bluff, a climb should never be actually started in -threatening weather, still less persisted in against bad weather; which -is a different thing from insisting upon going up to the hut or to the -base of the peak on the chance of a change. - -Snow, and continued rain, which may mean snow at higher levels, must -be accepted as definite bars to starting at all. - -Cloud, however, is less justifiably used as an excuse for delay in -leaving a warm hut on a dull morning. The personal bias in prediction -must be allowed for before dawn. Guides, who are too often treated -as infallible prophets, are as susceptible as amateurs, at this hour -especially, to specious promptings from the spirit of comfortable -inaction. They are apt to delay a start hour after hour, in a hut or -camp, for the mist-bank to clear and the day to show its hand; and this -with entire unreason. If the weather is going to clear at all, it will -do so at the earlier hour at higher levels; and it is common sense not -to lose valuable time. The sooner we go up the sooner shall we meet the -sun, or find out that it is not there for the day. - -Even a stay in a hut is more tolerable than confinement in an hotel. -For this reason, and to save the time and patience spent upon going up -and down from the hut, as well as to be on the spot to catch the right -day, it is often pleasanter to stay up at the hut, and send down a -porter each day for provisions. We are then ready when the change comes -in uncertain seasons. - -Snowfall, however, with its hopeless prospect and unpleasing chilly -presence, will suffice to send us down without question. Continued snow -will send us yet further; unless we can arm ourselves with the short -summer ski. In that case we may still refuse to admit defeat, and mint -golden days out of the ashes of a heartless season. - -I am speaking here only of weather in the Alps. In more distant -and less hospitable ranges, where the base camp and the rescue of -civilization are more remote, the same persistent course cannot be -maintained in face of continued bad or changeable weather. In small -climbing, as in Britain, we need not regard weather at all. It enforces -all the observation it deserves by the definite limits which wet or -snowy rocks put upon the degree of difficulty which it is safe or -comfortable for us to attempt, and by the temporary discomforts and -restrictions that wind or snow inflict upon our daily expeditions. - - -TRAINING - -[Sidenote: The Framework.] - -If any layman in anatomy has ever kept his fingers on trunk or sides -while walking down or up hill, he will have been astonished at the -amount of work that is done by groups of muscles wholly remote from -the calves or thighs upon whose development he has proudly relied. -Suppleness and an even development of hardened muscle all over the body -are what tell in climbing, not local bulges. Most men are designed by -nature to develop most spring, suppleness and strength at a point of -general muscular development which will never earn their portraits a -place beside the corrugated limbs of the gentlemen on the hoardings. -Of course a naturally big-muscled man must remain big-muscled. But it -is the quality of the muscle that counts. Whatever there is, large or -small, it has to be spun into fine silk. Any effort to develop unduly -some group of muscles, in arm or leg, will even prejudice the ease -with which a man can recover in training the harmonious control of his -machinery at its best, and the artificial muscle is apt to degenerate -into fat when he goes out of training. A man, evenly developed -according to his potential strength, even when he goes out of training -has little difficulty in preserving a level, if lower, plane of general -fitness and suppleness; and when the time comes for winding up or for -relaxing, his condition moves evenly and easily up or down, and he is -ready, in a few days if he is young, in rather more as time goes on, to -climb again at his best. - -To keep in moderate training out of season, any regular exercise in -the open air is sufficient which exercises different parts of the -apparatus of the body in their relation to one another, and which holds -the attention. Monotonous repetitions of particular muscular movements -are of little service. They bore the mind and weary the nerves; and it -is the interworking of his nerves, muscles and will that a climber has -to train. If he is prevented by circumstances from getting open air -exercise, he may find fencing the most effective, concentrated and -lasting indoor practice which he can fit conveniently into his working -day. An hour’s hard fencing with both hands, comprising exercises, free -play and a cold douche to finish, uses every muscle and connection of -the body to the full, but risks no local strain. For in fencing every -movement must be supple and yet controlled; the whole system is kept -concentrated, and at full tension, upon movements minute, quick and -fine. The training in rapid adjustments and lightning reactions is -invaluable to the climber, and its unboisterous character makes it -possible of continuance without prejudice well into old age. - -If he can face them, dancing and skipping are admirable exercises to -the same end. Tree climbing, or even haystack climbing, where possible, -are also fine climbing practice. Swimming and sculling exercise organs -and muscles smoothly and develop them evenly. Swimming has no equal -as an exercise for growing strength. It runs no risk of violent local -strain, and it cannot be continued beyond the point of wholesome -fatigue. In all its varieties and attendant circumstances it combines -more educative merits than any other form of open air sport. - -My own view is that the development of special groups of muscles -is best left for the climbing days themselves to effect. ‘Morning -exercises,’ before the cold bath, are excellent to get the circulation -right, and better than nothing for climbers whose day allows them no -more wholesome outdoor activity. Among special exercises I should put -first those that strengthen the forearm and fingers, for ‘gripping’; -those that build up the muscles of the trunk, which have the greatest -share of work to do in climbing; those that train the body to balance -easily up and down on one leg, for balance; and those (if there are -any but wood chopping) which prepare the shoulders and trunk for the -movement of step cutting. But the working in easy combination of -groups of muscles is what the climber aims at. Excessive exercise -of independent groups is apt to militate against quick muscular -interaction. It is well, therefore, to make movements in combinations, -and constantly to vary them. This helps to keep the attention -concentrated. So does a looking-glass. Boredom invalidates the whole -effort. Each movement should represent a separate effort of the will. - -[Sidenote: The Organs.] - -For a climber the lungs and heart must be the chief care. The action -of walking uphill, the lifting of foot and arm continuously and with -effort, make a sustained extra demand upon these organs especially. In -climbing they have to supply the fuel consumed in muscular effort, and -to throw off the poisonous residue, in greater quantity than in normal -action, and at an increased pace. The effects of the extra effort, -shortness of breath, fatigue, exhaustion, even, in cases, suffocation, -are symptoms of the failure of the heart and lungs, in varying degrees, -to maintain the equilibrium between the supply and discharge of fuel. -The muscle cells and the lungs are being starved of their substance, -and the acids are accumulating too rapidly to be naturally got rid of. -The heart is consequently enfeebled, the lungs get choked, and the -exhaustion increases progressively. The severe muscular strain of a -difficult rock feat is in this way doubly exhausting. The local tension -is consuming the muscle cells at an abnormal rate, and therefore -putting an excessive demand upon the heart and lungs to keep them -supplied; and at the same time the contraction of all the great muscles -of the trunk, involved in the local effort, is compressing the great -organs from outside, and thus impeding their action in producing the -increased supply required. Hence the ‘panting’ of an untrained climber -after any severe rock passage, however short the effort. - -Now, both heart and lungs can learn by practice to perform their normal -functions at more than double their normal rate, and yet to maintain -the equilibrium in the supply and discharge of fuel such as is needed -to allow them to continue their free action. - -Hence a climber is concerned to accustom his heart to accelerate, -without enfeebling its action and thus diminishing the amount of fuel -which each pulsation is supplying. Also, so to exercise his lungs that -a number of breathing sacks, not usually employed, may be ready and -accustomed for easy use whenever the extra call may be put upon them. -By practice a number of dormant lung sacks, as well as those in normal -use, may be actually increased in elasticity and volume, so that the -lungs as a whole will be prepared to receive a far greater quantity of -‘breath,’ whenever that may be required for a greater effort. - -The training for the heart is a regular and increasing graduation of -effort, developed in healthful exercises such as walking, running, -swimming, wood chopping, etc., and practised until even a violent or -long-sustained effort can be made without panting or discomfort. - -The training for ‘breath’ is deep breathing; from the bottom of the -lungs, and through the nose as much as through the mouth; practised -either in the course of natural open air exercise, or, almost as -effectively, by slow inhalation and exhalation, for a few moments each -day, in the best air obtainable. To increase the capacity of the lungs -is to increase the chest measurement, that healthful vanity which -mountaineering, above all exercises, flatters. Contrary to our ideas -as boys, this is effected from the inside, by breathing, and not from -the outside, by arm exercises, etc. ‘Chest’ exercises, indeed, help -to make supple the ligaments of the outside framework, and so permit -of a greater elasticity in the breathing cells within. Otherwise they -are only of use in so far as they demand, or are accompanied by, deep -breathing. - -[Sidenote: Will and Nerves.] - -A climber has also to remember the very active share that his will -power must take in difficult or prolonged mountaineering. He depends -upon his will to supply to a large extent the impulse, physical and -moral, when nerves and muscles begin to show signs of unwilling -service. Among some of the greatest of mountaineers, will has to a -notable extent supplied the place of physique. They have climbed -on their ‘vitality,’ as we say; on the success of their will in -maintaining the impulse to movement long after the muscles have -protested their inability to continue the rate of consumption of energy. - -The impulses of the will are communicated physically. Their -transmission exhausts nerve-fibre as materially as muscular action. -As the muscles tire, the messages from the will quicken and increase. -The nerve transmitters get irritated, and finally revolt. As a result, -we have the frequent mountaineering symptoms of ennui, irritation, -conscious fatigue and, in extreme cases, of complete nervous incapacity -to resolve upon making another step. But the nerves call for a truce -before the muscles are actually exhausted. The muscles, male fashion, -invariably protect themselves by retaining some reserve of energy, if -only a way can be found of exacting it. Some new interest or excitement -may do this; the messages are then switched on to other nerve-lines, -the congestion of monotony is relieved, and the will resumes control of -the communications, to the extent of obtaining whole hours of further -effort from the striking muscles. - -But training offers us a surer way of postponing or avoiding these -strikes. The body is animated in two fashions from the spinal nerves: -by the messages that pass through the brain--I speak as a layman--and -by those which serve that mysterious but autocratic regent of our -habits, the ‘subconsciousness.’ Under the latter are grouped all our -automatic actions, and the more actions we can qualify for admission -to its extremely select group of well-ordered subjects, the fewer -sequences of orders will the dictator-brain have to promulgate on -their account, and the less congested will be the nerve-lines of -communications. Walking, for instance, is, with most people, a -subconscious action. Once the impulse to step out has been given, the -legs will continue to walk automatically so long as the look or feel of -the familiar smooth surface continues to suggest the familiar reflex. A -change of surface may disturb and therefore make the effort conscious; -otherwise the walking can be maintained without fatigue for a much -longer time than the same group of muscles could have held out had they -been performing some unfamiliar action, and therefore been under the -direction of conscious impulses. - -The human frame, in attaching itself at two, three or four points -to any ordinary surface, is capable of only a limited number of -positions. Holds upon rock or ice, suitable for use, not unnaturally -recur frequently in similar groupings upon the same type of surface. -Consequently, there are whole series of positions of the body and -limbs which are constantly repeating themselves in climbing. The more -of these subconscious associations which a climber can succeed, by -practice, in establishing, as between familiar sequences of holds and -automatic adjustments of his motions to their requirements, the fewer -calls will he have to make upon nerves and will, and the greater, -therefore, will be his endurance. It is largely on this account that -a climber, as he gets experience, finds that he can climb with always -decreasing effort. It is for this reason also that long, continuous -rock ridges, with oft-recurring situations, form the best initial -training for young mountaineers and the best annual reintroduction for -their elders. - -A climber who can get away, if only for a day or so, at frequent -intervals, to rocks small or big behind his house or on convenient -hills, secures the best training for his balance, his nerves and -his muscles, not by attempting extravagant gymnastic problems, but -by practising, and always adding to, the number of his sequences of -familiar climbing movements. He must learn to perform these with such -facility that, finally, their execution becomes subconscious. On a -long climb ten out of every twelve situations will be familiar to -experience. Suitable training will enable him to meet these ten with -the right motions, without conscious effort, automatically. The nerves -and the will-power are thus economically kept in reserve for the -remaining two. - -[Sidenote: Nerve.] - -Many of us take a day or two at the beginning of the season to get -back our ‘nerve.’ We boggle at a bold reach, or feel inclined to -crawl where we know we should stride. This is not due to any fine new -sensitiveness to mountain danger, acquired during our civilized sojourn -in the plains; it has nothing to do with vertigo or effect of height. -It is simply lack of condition. By inaction we have allowed sets of -automatic motions to become unfamiliar. The will has, therefore, to -take charge, and does so tentatively, like a professor of metaphysics -left in charge of a class of elementary school-children. The nerve -communications are sluggish from disuse; the muscles are out of -control, and distrustful of what the arbitrary will may ask of them. We -become ‘nervous,’ and potter. This can all be avoided by reasonable and -light practice. Regular exercise of the heart, the lungs, the muscles -and the nerve-lines of communications, with occasional repetitions of -our groups of familiar subconscious motions, will maintain a general -level of fitness even out of training. If the machinery is kept working -smoothly, we can soon get it going at high pressure again, and can -return to top condition without any local strikes or nerve signals. -The final tuning up to meet the call of the mountain holiday will then -proceed easily, of itself, in action. For a man whose system is set, -and who practises a consistent habit of living, the amount of actual -exercise required during the intervals to preserve his elasticity is -usually small, and tends to diminish. This is one of the compensations -of advancing years. - -[Sidenote: Height and Reach.] - -No man by any pleasing afterthought can add to his height; although by -suppling his shoulders and lengthening by exercise his trunk muscles -he can extend his apparent upward reach. The stride of the tall man -before us over soft snow; the long-armed man’s careless caress of a -salvation hold well beyond our reach; the inimitable and perpetual -rhythm maintained by the Agile Gibbon of the Zoological Gardens, on the -security of his four whiplash limbs,--these are natural advantages, -whose injustice we may challenge but not compete with. Their regretful -contemplation suggests, however, the possible usefulness of a warning, -and some consolations. - -A man of great reach, whose span from toe to upstretched finger -approaches or exceeds eight feet, has one undoubted advantage on -difficult rocks, where holds are rare and precious. If his legs are -long enough to allow him to sit across the smooth sheer walls of a -chimney or to straddle it on small footholds, he has yet another. But -he must expect to suffer from the drawbacks incidental to height. A -tall man may be weak in the body muscles, with less suppleness and ease -of balance, or, if he is muscularly developed all over, his weight is -apt to increase with time out of all proportion to the suspensory power -of his fingers on small holds. If he is tall, slight and sinewy, his -strength of arm and hand is rarely proportionate to his greater weight, -or equal to the greater expenditure on leverage which height requires -of arms in balance climbing. If he is tall, muscular and heavy, this -weakness pursues him in the same ratio. If chimneys are narrow, he -is too long to ‘bridge’ them securely; if the holds are tricky and -slight, he finds greater difficulty and effort in ‘folding up’ so as -to use them, and in keeping his centre of balance well in and above -his feet. It is a consolation for a short or slight man that great -experts in climbing are to be found among men of every build, with a -preponderance in favour of those of medium height and of sinewy and -supple rather than of big muscular development. The outside feats of -rock climbing, the abnormal climbs made by a few men in recent years, -undoubtedly require abnormal strength of finger and arm, not seldom -accompanied by great size of hand. But these men have also possessed -an equal development of strength and rhythm in body and leg; their -all-round design has been abnormal. When, as in one or two cases, their -exceptional physical development has been assisted by great height -or great reach, without loss to rhythm or balance or to the sterling -quality of supple sinews, the perfection of the climbing machine has -been attained. - -For the normal climber to imitate the performance of these men is to -incur a proportion of danger, the measure of the interval between their -abnormal reach and power and his own, expressed in terms of all too -distant or too indefinite rock holds, such as no sane man has the right -to risk from any emulative or competitive feeling. - -Every climber has to recognize that there is an absolute upper limit -to that which it is physically possible for a body of his design, when -developed to its utmost, to perform. If he concentrates upon an even -and efficient training of his own measure of power, and climbs always -well within his confident capacity, he will have the gratification, as -time goes on, of finding that his improving knowledge of himself, added -to his increasing experience, enables him, little by little, to reduce -the margin between his own achievements and the humanly impossible. - -By a pleasing accident in rock structure, rock is either utterly -impossible, smooth or stratified at gigantic intervals, or its -cleavages and intrusions, and consequently its holds, occur at -intervals within the average man’s reach. While a tall man has, -therefore, a greater choice of holds, qualified in his case by a -greater effort in using them, a shorter man has only to perfect his -skill, and to profit by his lightness and balance, to be able to keep -level with him in performance on all normal rock. Again I except -the superman climbs, which are climbs made by exceptional men upon -exceptional accidents in rock structure. - -As a further compensation, peculiar to advancing years, a lightly -built man who lives healthily finds less difficulty in recovering -a condition of hard training and in keeping up his standard of -achievement. Failure in wind or increase in weight may make the -process of recovery longer each year by a few days, but he has not the -handicap to contend with which threatens the big or heavily muscled -man, who requires constant and intensive exercise to check the local -degenerations which increase with time. - -Climbing is one of the few exercises that can be continued well into -what used to be deemed old age. Trained nerve, tough sinew, supple -muscle, experience in adjustments, in balance, in foresight and in -economy of strength, compensate for the loss of youth, for its fire -and spring. An old climber of the balance school can mountaineer in -the front rank until the last, and, by a happy compensation which no -other interest enjoys, when the deterioration of the body finally -begins and the natural powers fail, the desire for the fiercer emotions -of difficult climbing contentedly diminishes. In their place the -inexhaustible mountains discover a whole range of subtler sensations; -returning for our feet the echo of lost rhythmic movements perfected -by complacent memory, and using even the shadows of our sunset years -to throw into relief treasures both of human and picturesque interest, -which were unnoticed or hurried over in the daylit enthusiasm of -athletic youth. - - -PACE - -Pace is a matter of vital importance in mountaineering of any -magnitude. Unfortunately, guide-books of recent years, by recording -the ‘best times’ taken on ascents for future guidance, have given -a certain amount of encouragement to racing for records and so to -competitive climbing. A confusion has thus been produced between pace -and racing in the minds of many sound mountaineers. The mere mention of -the word ‘pace’ provokes them to a protest against record-breaking. A -natural, but equally dangerous, reaction has followed, which condemns -consideration of ‘times’ altogether, and advocates “idling on the -great ridges” as the peculiar joy of the guideless or the true-hearted -mountaineer. - -[Sidenote: Adjustment of Time.] - -Pace does not mean racing. It means the adjustment of the length of the -climb to the length of the day, and the adjustment of the progress of -the of climber to the length of the climb. A certain amount of ground -must be covered in all great ascents, and there are only certain hours -of daylight in which to cover it. No mountaineer is competent who -cannot relate in advance the measure of daylight at his disposal to the -measure of the distance to be traversed, and keep to that measure in -action. Only the men who know how to save time upon this calculation -have it to spend upon hours of luxurious rest and interval. There is -nothing more fatal to pleasure or to safety than to realize, perhaps -too late, that the race with darkness and benightment has begun. Those -who are loudest in the valley in their protest against climbing by the -watch are the most often challenged or beaten by night in this, the -most dangerous form of racing. - -[Sidenote: Benightment.] - -Getting benighted is not a pleasure, and it is rarely necessary. -It has been given a false halo of romance by the practice and the -picturesque descriptions of a number of guideless mountaineers, who -first render it inevitable by attempting what is beyond them, or by -carrying great weights, and then seek to convince themselves and the -world that the consequent night out on a lofty ledge or glacier forms -an essential and agreeable part of mountaineering. It is neither. On -a rare occasion it may be unavoidable, as the result of unforeseen -circumstances, bad weather or altered conditions coming on too late -to allow of the proper alternative, which is to turn back in time. If -benightment is frequently incurred, it is a sign of some grave defect -in mountaineering judgment. As a habit it is folly. - -By daylight the climber has the hundred chances of activity, warmth and -sight in his favour. At night he is the passive and blinded recipient -of any evil chance that storm, cold, wind, illness or accident may -bring him. To be on a mountain unprepared at night is to increase the -percentage of danger incalculably; and stars, sunrise and sunset can be -enjoyed without its unaccountable risk. - -Most European mountains are of a height to be climbed, with a -reasonable calculation of pace, in a single day. When they are beyond -this range, huts are to be found, or a bivouac can be contrived. The -night out by intention at the beginning of an ascent has more than the -romantic pleasure, because none of the dangerous discomfort, of the -night out by miscalculation at its end. This reasonable anticipation -presupposes a precise estimate in advance of the pace required, as well -as of the length of the climb. Such an estimate does not mean fixing -such and such hours for so much of the ridge, and so much time for -every halt, which is slavery; but it implies a general preconsideration -of what ground must be covered and within what general divisions of -time certain fixed points should be reached in order to allow of a safe -return by daylight. - -Pace is the regulation of the progress, and of the halts, of the party -in relation to these general fixed points. - -[Sidenote: Weight Handicaps.] - -To carry unnecessarily heavy loads as a precaution against cold or -hunger in case of benightment--a very common custom--is to increase -the actual probability of the event by further checking the rate of -progress. It is better to go as light as possible, with the minimum -of portable protection sufficient to preserve life in case of -ill-fortune, and to concentrate all the energy upon a timely conquest -of difficulty, such as will ensure a return before night. The muscles, -not unduly weighted, must see to it that there is always a margin of -time in hand upon the estimate, to allow for unforeseen checks. - -With regard to this there is another common error. Those who confuse -pace with racing, picture a party rushing breathlessly over easy and -difficult alike, and panting at their rest-points watch in hand. As a -reaction from the picture, they themselves make the long, easy passages -that constitute the major part of most ascents the occasion for a -relenting rather than a quickening of pace; with the result that they -have no margin of time for the unforeseen or the unexpectedly difficult -passages. - -A party that does good times takes each passage at the maximum pace -consistent with comfort, allowing for its degree of difficulty. It has -consequently always time in hand to allow of leisurely exploration, -when found expedient, and of a more careful overcoming of the real -problems when they occur. - -[Sidenote: Continuous Going.] - -Pace means the continuous progress of a party over the whole length of -a climb, allowing reasonable variations for more complicated passages -or for halts. It will be found that a party that does good times rarely -hurries. It is, after all, human, and it dislikes being pressed. Nor -has it any need to be. An experienced party starts slowly--more slowly, -usually, than less expert climbers. It knows that pace to be good must -be effortless, and must become mechanical, and that the muscles must -be given time to get warm and work up to their automatic rhythm. Once -this rhythm is attained it will, for the sake of good progress, avoid -alike both hurrying and frequent halting. To hurry will interfere with -the bodily functions, and react upon heart and lungs and will; and to -halt will disturb the rhythm and chill the muscles. It will aim at -continuous steady going, and save its seconds and minutes over ground -of easy movement, ready to spend time freely again so as to economize -effort on more difficult passages. - -[Sidenote: Combination.] - -Combination is the secret of saving seconds. Consider for a moment the -case of a roped party that has not learned the secret of pace, and is -moving all together on easy rock. Inattentive to a common rate, one man -lags, one goes unevenly, there is constant check or turning round to -talk, each with its break of continuity of rhythm. On a three hours’ -traverse of broken ridge half an hour will have been lost only in -disentangling the rope on such interrupted, uneven going. The leader, -at the end, will be vexed at the shorter time given in the guide-book, -and expostulate, with justice, “Why, I was hurrying all the time!” - -Or again, watch a party of average amateurs moving one at a time on -steep rock. The first man reaches his ledge, preens his plumes for -a second or two in the sun of his success, possibly discusses it in -detail with his second man below, looks round for a hold or belay, -takes a position, alters it, and shouts, “Come along.” The second -calls, “Are you all right?” The first man is disturbed, readjusts -his body, gets back to the old position, and says “Yes,” or “Half a -moment.” Thirty seconds or more will be gone before the second man can -start. He reaches the ledge, does not take note of the first man’s -position for holding before it is surrendered to him, and has to -rediscover it anew, all with the same delay; and another half-minute is -gone. If this performance is repeated, as it will be, several hundred -times in the day, by one or more of a party, two invaluable hours at -least will have dropped completely out of the allowance of time for -the climb! The party will remember that they did their actual climbing -fast; on their return they will look up the better ‘times’ of the book, -and abuse their predecessors for ‘racing,’ for ‘dangerous pace,’ etc., -whereas the only difference has been that their predecessors saved, -while they wasted, innumerable, all-important, intervening seconds. - -[Sidenote: Halts.] - -Continuous progress is the essence of pace. While a party is in motion, -the effort should be directed at keeping the pace constant, not at -hurrying it. There will then be larger margins for completer rests at -the proper halting times and places. Time can also be saved during -halts. It is a great mistake to hurry men over their food; a due -allowance of time should be made both for food and rest. But the time -of rest should be used for resting. Too much of it is usually lost, and -more than intended is often taken, in standing about at the beginning -of a halt, or by slackness at the end: one man has misplaced his axe; -another finds out for the first time that his puttie wants rewinding; -and so on. Once the time allowed for the halt is over, the packing and -restart should be brisk and immediate. Rest intervals are assuredly a -part of the day’s measure, but dawdling at their edges is time lost -from the climbing hours, not time added to the resting. - -[Sidenote: The Maximum Rhythm.] - -Moving slowly is not less effort than moving reasonably fast. The -muscles in movement generate their own warmth, which is the body’s -energy. Muscles when in training can consume and create their own -energy at more than their normal rate without more effort. The maximum -pace for a man is the highest rate of effort at which his system will -carry on its functions without demanding direct impulses of will -from the brain, and without generating more waste matter than it can -naturally consume and discharge. Each man has his maximum rhythm, -which varies according to his condition. Up to this maximum he can -climb, when in training, without feeling increased fatigue. Above it, -his system will soon feel symptoms of exhaustion; below it, he gets -no profit from the relaxation, and even suffers some prejudice to his -energy in the loss of a sustained rhythm. - -The pace of a party is the maximum rhythm of its weakest member. - -A good mountaineering party moving continuously and in combination in -the common time of its comfortable maximum rhythm will gain steadily on -a less experienced rope, although it may allow itself longer definite -intervals of “idling on the great peaks,” and spend even more moments -on its difficult passages. The margin in time which it will save -will serve, on a well-calculated day, to see the party of sustained -pace down to easy going before darkness. The one party will be home -to dinner; the other may be still struggling at midnight with the -quadrupling of difficulties night brings in its train, or sitting out -and relieving its feelings by accusing the former party of ‘racing.’ - -Gradual beginning, gradual acceleration and uninterrupted moving on -a steady top-gear of comfortable pace keep a party fresh, and leave -it free to appreciate the beauty of the day or of the climb. Its mind -is relieved of care as to a timely return, and it can enjoy a margin -of leisure, when it pleases, in pleasant exploration, in essaying -experimental routes or in the meditation that mimics slumber. - -The real freedom to rest, to idle and to enjoy themselves where and -when they will, is only for those who have the measure of their day -well in hand, and who know that their collective pace, their maximum -rhythm of comfort, before it can rise to a rate of disagreeable effort, -has a point or two of pressure still to spare, to recover lost ground -or to meet emergency. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] Except where it is expressly stated, or is plain from -the context, that the word ‘leader’ refers to the ‘first man’ on the -rope, it is used of the most experienced mountaineer of a party, the -one who exercises the functions of manager in matters of organization -or arrangement and of leader or director in the actual business of -climbing. - -[2] See “Equipment,” pp. 82 and 86. - -[3] See “Snow Craft,” p. 332. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -EQUIPMENT FOR THE ALPS - -BY J. P. FARRAR - - -EQUIPMENT - -Too much attention cannot be paid to the question of equipment. The -careful mountaineer must always be prepared to face bad weather and -the possibility of an involuntary bivouac when the exposure maybe very -severe. At the same time, his outfit must be as light and simple as -possible. My recommendations are based on the experience of a great -many years’ active service in mountaineering, during which I have had -to face most of the contingencies which the pursuit involves. - -[Sidenote: Boots.] - -Boots should be made of very stout cowhide, _unlined_, worked to the -softness of thick buckskin. The back and sides should be in one piece -(‘navvy back’) and of rather thinner hide, and as soft as buckskin -gloves. The front part must, above all things, not be tight over the -big toe-joint which needs plenty of play, or over the toes, i.e. there -must be plenty of _height_ (i.e. like a modified ski-boot) as well as -width for the toes. The test is, that one must be able to move one’s -toes readily--in fact, crumple them up inside the boot. - -The boots must fit tightly over the instep, so as to prevent the foot -jamming forward when descending. The eyelet holes should be close -together, not more than half an inch centre to centre, the first and -last ones being put close to the ends of the lacing. The tongue of -thin, soft leather must be sewn to the sides. - -For many years I have had the uppers of my boots made very short--just -over the ankles like a rather high shoe (four inches from the top of -the heel to the upper edge). They leave the foot very free, lighten the -boot, and, when properly fitting and of soft leather, lace up tightly -and prevent any snow or stones getting into the boot, thus dispensing -entirely with putties or gaiters except on big, cold snow-mountains. - -The soles should be not over ⅝-inch thick, and the same thickness in -the waist. They should not project, but must give width enough for a -full tread. The heels should be not more than one inch thick, made long -and _rather projecting_, so as to give a firm, wide tread. They must be -sewn--not pegged--to the sole. Fatal accidents have occurred through -the heel tearing away from the sole. Attention must be paid to the -inner sole or floor of the boot, the edges of which must be bevelled -off or they will damage the sole of the foot. A loose sole of cork or -felt should be worn inside the boot. - -I dispense with toecaps, or have a very short one just covering the -ends of the toes, as I have never found a bootmaker who could put on a -toecap of the regular length without contracting the end of the boot -and compressing the toes in a dangerous manner. - -The ordinary bootmaker knows nothing about an alpine boot, which -is very different from a shooting boot. The fault of Swiss-made -mountain boots is that the leather is very hard and the boots much -too cumbersome and heavy. A guide’s equipment is the very last to be -imitated. - -The measurements for boots should be taken standing evenly on both -feet and over the mountain sock and stocking intended to be worn. The -boots must not press uncomfortably at any point even when quite new. -They need not permit of the inner sole being worn for the first time or -two of using, but must after then permit of _lacing up quite tightly_. -No hesitation must be permitted in rejecting boots that do not fit -perfectly well, as damaged feet may lay a man up and cause his party -delay and loss. - -Of course, a mountain boot should be broken in beforehand. - -A good pair of London-made boots will cost, pre-war, from £2, 10s. to -£3, and are worth the money. The fit and make of boots is of the utmost -importance. Boots tight in the toes cost one of my companions the loss -from frost-bite of the toes of both feet. - -_Never let your boots out of your possession._ Boots burnt in the -drying caused severe frost-bite to a very well-known alpine climber and -Himalayan explorer. - -An _unlined_ boot such as described will dry very quickly if stuffed -with dry paper, hay, straw or oats--changed at intervals--and only -requires a little castor-oil rubbed in before each expedition to render -it quite supple and able to turn a lot of water. Boots should never be -dried by a fire nor put in a hot sun for more than a very few minutes. -The _unlined_ boot is also more porous, so that the foot has less -tendency to get hot and damp and subsequently cold. - -In a hut, boots should always be stuffed as described, and this is -even more important in a planned as well as an impromptu bivouac, as -otherwise they freeze hard in a bent or twisted shape, and are very -awkward to get on. A pair of light cloth slippers may be carried, or a -pair of very light shoes for walking on occasion. - -[Sidenote: Nailing Boots.] - -Do not use too many nails. The so-called wing-nails overlapping each -other all round the soles are absurd, and wear perfectly smooth. About -six wing-nails kept in position by flanking hobnails as described may -be used for the toes. - -Wrought-iron cube-headed nails with long shafts, obtainable in the -alpine centres, set all round the edge of the soles ¾-inch centre to -centre, including the waists, and clenched through, do all right. About -seven or eight nails placed at suitable intervals are enough for the -tread part of the soles. - -The front edge of the heel should have about six nails set close -together, as it takes a lot of strain downhill; the others can be -placed as on the sole-edges. One nail is enough for the centre of the -heel. - -Several patent nails have been introduced, among which the so-called -=U.H.U.= Stollen, which are screwed on, are very efficient, but require -some attention to see that the screws do not work loose. I have used -them for years with satisfaction. They are obtainable from Max Seib, -Karlsruhe. - -An even better nail appears to be the lately invented Tricouni nail -obtainable from W. Stern, 40 Brazennose Street, Manchester, illustrated -opposite. The notched pattern (Model D), price now 11s. per 100, are -best. They must be set _as close to the edge_ of the sole as possible, -with intervals of ¾-inch to 1 inch, and continued right up to the -heel. They must, of course, not be driven in the sewing of the boot. -Along and close up to the front edge of the heel should be set four of -the nails _broadside_ on, the two outer ones reinforced close behind -by two nails _endwise_ and with three others round the heel at equal -intervals. Tricouni nails can be used for the tread of the soles, or -almost preferably half a dozen wrought-iron hobnails suitably spaced. -Tricouni nails are specially hardened, and are said to retain their -sharpness till quite worn out. The plates, no doubt, protect the sole -somewhat. They certainly give a firmer stand than any ordinary nail, -besides saving considerable weight.[4] A few small hobnails may be set -in the waist of the boot. - -[Illustration] - -[Sidenote: Stockings.] - -A short sock of Norwegian natural wool--thick and coarse--and -_perfectly easy_, especially over the toes, should be worn. They are -obtainable at the alpine centres, and also at Lockwoods, 42 Jermyn -Street, S.W., being used for ski-boots. Over this should be worn a long -woollen stocking of stout, rough wool. The feet must be big enough to -fit _comfortably_ over the inner sock _without contracting the toes in -the least_. They should be long enough to come 4 to 6 inches above the -knee in case of an impromptu bivouac or very cold weather. Continental -climbers wear ‘Wadenstutzen,’ i.e. stockings without feet. With these -only spare socks need be carried. - -Buy socks and stockings big enough, as they shrink. - -The double sock and stocking and inner sole are meant not only for -warmth, but also to save the foot from damage ensuing from long days on -rocks and rough paths. - -Remember your whole journey may be spoilt, and your own and your -companions’ time and money wasted by damaged feet. - -[Sidenote: Gaiters.] - -Gaiters are not really needed except for long snow expeditions. Putties -are, however, often worn even for an ordinary climb; since they tend -to stop the circulation they must be used with caution in very cold -weather. If for big snow mountains, the pattern with spat keeps the -foot warmer, and can be kept tight on the boot by a bit of stout -string passing under the instep. This is easily replaced when worn. -If an ordinary puttie is worn, it is best, in order to prevent the -end slipping loose on the greasy upper of the boot, to have a large -size of hook (‘hook-and-eye’ pattern) sewn to the end of the puttie. -This can be hooked into the lacing of the boot at the start of the -winding. A good gaiter is the old-fashioned buttoned gaiter to come -well down nearly to the toes, made fairly loose of _unlined_ loden, -kept in position by bits of stout string attached to leather lugs sewn -_outside_ the lower edges of the gaiters, on each side, the string -passing under the waist, and brought over to tie on the spat, which is -thus kept in place and prevents any snow working up. Such gaiters are -warm, light and effective. - -[Sidenote: Clothes.] - -The coat should be of stout tweed. I use a specially made ‘Double -Twist’ Scotch Cheviot, treated with alum, which renders it showerproof. - -The coat must button up tight round the throat to exclude driving snow. -The sleeves must be made with gussets like shirt sleeves, so that one -can lift one’s arms without stirring the body of the coat. This is very -important when climbing rocks and step-cutting. A belt to the coat is a -nuisance. - -_No lining whatever_, except a bit of woollen lining to protect -the _outside_ of the arm from shoulder to elbow--not even padding -or stiffening pieces. Four outside pockets, _all unlined_, and all -made with flaps and buttons. Two large inside pockets with flaps and -buttons. The pockets should be rather larger at the bottom than at the -opening. If safe pockets are desired, to protect watch or glasses on -severe rock-climbing, small pockets with flaps should be placed inside -and high up, almost under each armpit. - -The coat should be made double thickness of cloth on the front, and -should be perfectly loose everywhere. - -The buttons should be closer together than usual, so as to keep out -driving snow. - -The lower pockets should be set high enough, so that when full they do -not catch in the groin when mounting steep slopes. The sleeves must -have a second button to button tight round the wrist in storm. - -Such a coat, if taken off now and again and shaken, will stand quite a -little rain, and will in any case be lighter and _dry far quicker than -a lined coat_. Pin half a dozen stout safety pins under the collar. - -Waistcoat should be of the same cloth throughout, _including the -back_--_unlined throughout_--made rather longer than the ordinary -waistcoat, especially at back--no back strap--four pockets outside with -flap and button--all unlined--one inside pocket with flap and button -for letter-case. Collar to button close up. - -Knickerbockers of the same cloth, made very long in the seat so that -they do not catch at the knee when mounting steep slopes--waistband to -be unlined--two outside hip-pockets with flap and buttons besides the -ordinary pockets--to be made wide at the knees, but the width to be on -the outside of the knee, as if on the inside the crampons are apt to -catch. The riding-breeches pattern is no good, as the knees get wet -much quicker and remain wet longer. - -I myself have my knickerbockers made wide enough to turn right up over -the knees, being kept there by safety pins; one walks thus bare-kneed -with great ease and comfort. - -The seat and knees may be made double by means of patches. Pin half a -dozen stout safety pins in the waistband. - -[Sidenote: Hat.] - -The best hat is a grey or buff stout felt (unlined) ‘smasher’ -hat--medium width brim and with a felt Jäger lining-band instead of the -usual leather one. If too thin, the brim flaps about in the wind and -needs pinning back with a safety pin. Fit a ‘sweat-band’ of oiled silk -under the lining band, to prevent the hat getting stained with sweat. -The cow-boy pattern with stiff brims does not do, as it is apt to get -knocked off by contact with rocks, and one cannot sleep in it. Carry -some sort of light cap. - -[Sidenote: Shirt, etc.] - -The ‘K’ or ‘KK’ Jaeger shirts answer well. Their short ‘G’ pants also -answer well. No undervest should be worn. - -_Remember, if you do not want to feel cold, avoid getting hot._ - -The proper place for the coat, except in very cold weather or on -difficult work, is over the shoulders or in the sack, the sleeves being -tucked through the shoulder straps. Even when starting very early do -not pile on clothes. - -[Sidenote: Extra Clothes.] - -Carry a light woollen sweater and a very light woollen muffler, about -one foot wide and six feet long at least. In very cold weather, or if -sleeping out, pass this tight twice _round the stomach_ and fasten with -safety pins. Carry two or three large silk handkerchiefs. The coat, -sweater and a silk handkerchief will protect the throat enough. - -_Keep your stomach warm, as it furnishes the heat to the rest._ - -Carry a light waterproof cape. They are obtainable at Fritsch & Co., -Zurich, made of Japanese silk--cost about 30s., weight about a ½ lb. -They save one the annoyance of getting wet going up to a hut or bivouac -or in the valley, and are useful in the case of an impromptu bivouac, -as they keep off the wind. They cannot, of course, be well used when -climbing. - -Carry a light woollen helmet or _passe-montagne_ to come right over the -head and neck, with opening for eyes, nose and mouth. - -Carry, _without fail_, an extra pair of stockings a bit thinner, since -weight counts, than your heavy climbing stockings, but strong enough -to use in an emergency or to change if benighted. And it is also very -desirable to carry a light spare shirt on long-exposed expeditions. - -Carry two pairs of gloves made of coarse, thick wool, without separate -fingers and amply large. They should also be long enough to cover the -wrist of the sleeve. Short gloves are useless. Pin each pair together -with a safety pin. Carry one pair at the bottom of the sack, the other -pair in the outside pocket of the sack. A pair of mittens is useful. - - * * * * * - -Captain Farrar allows me to insert some suggestions on an alternative -dress suitable for men sensitive to sudden changes of temperature. - -[Sidenote: Some Alternatives (by G.W.Y.).] - -THE COAT.--Unlined except for the lining on the outside of the arms, -before mentioned, and a single strip of loose Jaeger fabric, stitched -only at the upper edge and ends, across the shoulders. I prefer also -a lighter material, very close woven, for both coat and breeches. -Heavy friezes, as often worn, absorb wet and admit wind as the fabric -slackens with wear. - -[Sidenote: For the Alps.] - -So-called ‘tropical’ and ‘waterproof’ materials dissolve like paper on -rough rock work. The collar turns down well away from the neck, and, -when needed, buttons in front with a flap which is sewn on to the coat, -under the collar, along its _lower edge_, so that when buttoned up to -the two sides of the collar the flap leaves no hole where snow or wind -can enter. - -THE BREECHES.--Trousers, such as used to be worn, had the advantage -of leaving the knee free; but they are uncomfortable with putties and -clumsy at the ankle. Best of all leg-gear, in some respects, are the -‘shorts,’ as worn by the Tyrolese; but these leave the knee unprotected -for rocks or against bad weather. I prefer a compromise: the breeches -made loose to the knee, as above described, but the leg of the breech -below the knee carried on and down, in the same material and shaped -to the calf, low enough to be easily covered at the end by a sock. To -allow passage to the foot, the extension opens down the _inside_ of -the calf, and is secured there by a row of four small press springs. -Buttons or buckles at the knees are always breaking on rocks, and can -be painful. Lacing is better, but apt to be too tight. One set of -these small press springs, in spite of warnings, has lasted me for -five years, without a single one coming open or losing its strength. -They are, of course, well protected, as placed on the inside against -the ‘give’ of the calf. The advantage of such long breeches is that -they do not, like the usual type, constrict the knee or calf, and they -do not, like trousers, drag over it, since the weight of the leg is -partly carried by shaping and by the support of the sock. They are worn -with socks and not stockings. This both economizes carrying and avoids -the clumsy ‘gump’ where a puttie is twisted at its upper end over the -stocking top. With two pairs of socks worn, one holding the end of -the breech leg and one turned down over the boot, the climber need -only put on the puttie for deep snow, or to protect the shin on sharp -rocks. In contact with rough surfaces the cloth leg is, of course, more -durable than any woollen stocking. They should be made ample between -the legs, and the seam stitched strongly and far up the front, closing -with a flap or fob, as in riding-breeches. For snow, wind and wear -this is a better protection than the usual single row of buttons. Two -buckle-straps above the seat behind, the lower set rather far down -and kept the tighter, enable one, if the breeches are well cut, to do -without braces or belt. At the same time, they avoid constricting the -waist or lower part of the lungs, as the line of tension, or close-fit, -hangs thus round the outside of the hip-bone, and the waistband can be -left quite loose. - -UNDERWEAR.--I prefer, as an alternative to a shirt, two or three very -light silky-woollen ‘Shetlands,’ opening down the front and sitting -close to the body all the way. One at least should come right down -to the thighs. The lowest, a zephyr or almost silk-web, with short -sleeves; the second, an ordinary warm light Shetland, with longer -sleeves over the elbow; the third, thicker, of looser fabric, with no -sleeves. These can be thrown open, put on or taken off, one or more, in -a few seconds, as the temperature varies. They dry at once, in wind or -sun, or from the heat of the body, and are at once warmer, drier and -less oppressive wear than a full absorbent shirt. I wear no waistcoat. -A silk scarf is pleasant to the feel, and protective against sun or -cold. I find the best and cheapest to be a yard and a half of silk -motor veiling. This dries at once, and can be used for any purpose, -from a sling to a turban or dressing-gown. - -[Sidenote: For Rock Climbing in Britain.] - -Corduroy or close-woven frieze provides the best wear. Coat and -breeches should be _unlined_. The knees can be strengthened by a double -thickness or by buckskin. In the latter case ordinary ‘strapping’ will -do, set over and not inside the knee. It is well to have removable -oilskin bags for some of the pockets, to keep food, etc., dry in rain, -or, at need, to sit upon. - -A sweater worn, as is often done, without a coat is a mistake. It -catches on rocks, absorbs mist and rain, admits wind, and has no -pockets. Experience teaches that the wet or windy cold of British hills -can be far more trying than the dry cold of alpine days. - -Boots may be lighter and more lightly nailed than for the Alps. For -this see “Rock Climbing,” p. 154. As they are liable to get over-wet -on British hills, and over-dried and warped in British kitchens, it is -well to have a pair of very light aluminium toe-trees, adjusted to the -size of the boot, which can be inserted the moment the boots are taken -off in the evening. These serve to keep the shape. - -Rubber or rope soled boots or shoes are now considered almost -indispensable: made of light canvas, to go in a pocket. - -Putties are superfluous; a light leather anklet, or a couple of feet -cut off an old puttie and twisted round the boot-top, sufficiently -prevents the entrance of small scree. For wear in snow, and this -applies also to the winter snow of the Alps, it is a good device to -have a narrow band of strong, soft material sewn on round the top of -the boot, which laces up, close round the ankle, in a line with the -bootlacing. This is adequate protection for all but prolonged snow wear. - -A good British head-wear is a strong tam-o’-shanter. It is better wind -and rain protection, and cooler, than a cap, and leaves the forehead -freer than a felt hat. Best of all is no head-gear at all. - -For those whose hands suffer from cold on wet rocks, or who, like -myself, have once had their fingers frost-touched, some sort of gloves -are necessary. In rock climbing, gloves, and still more fingerless -‘gubs,’ destroy the touch and grip. I find the best compromise to be -strong woollen finger-mittens, with fingers extending as far as the -first joint. Some climbers profess to get comfort from warming their -fingers (and thawing out their rock holds) with the small pocket -Japanese ‘Instra.’ - -It is well to have everything _marked_, or of distinctive colouring. In -Britain, the orgies of the ‘drying-room’ are a daily trial to temper -and time. - -It is well also to remember that, in all mountaineering, we are to -form the foreground of our companions’ holiday views of great scenery, -and that it is our duty not to inflict a larger proportion of the -incongruous or ugly upon their daily outlook than is required by the -first condition of our own comfort and protection. - - * * * * * - -Women have learnt by experience that convention must give way to common -sense in the matter of costume. - -[Sidenote: Costume for Women (by Miss Bronwen Jones).] - -For alpine work, clothing should be entirely woollen; the suit, -comprising coat, breeches and skirt, of light weight and colour, -and--this is essential--wind-proof. For British climbing, gaberdine or -cord can be substituted for wool, as, here, protection against rain is -of more importance than protection against wind. The coat should be -shaped like a man’s jacket, furnished with an adjustable collar, storm -sleeves, and an ample supply of pockets, closed by flaps. It should be -of such a length as to reach within eight inches of the knee. - -The skirt is still often looked upon as a necessity in the Alps, but -it is discarded early in an ascent. It should therefore be of a soft -and light material, so as to be easily carried in a rucksack. It should -stop at least ten inches from the ground, and be not more than two -yards wide. - -The breeches should be as close-fitting as those of a man, as -over-fullness is apt to be a hindrance on rocks. They should also be -laced rather than buttoned at the knee, buttons being a source of -discomfort when kneeling. - -A sweater is generally preferred to a blouse for wear under the coat, -as it is loose-fitting, warmer and does not impede the movements of the -arms. - -The most suitable hat is made of either grey or white soft felt, wide -enough to provide a shade from the sun. A stiff brim should be avoided -on account of the discomfort caused by its coming into contact with the -rope. Hatpins should obviously be replaced by an elastic. - -It is not advisable to wear gloves for rock climbing, as they lessen -the sense of touch. Woollen gloves, with no divisions for the fingers, -are recommended for wear on snow or when stationary. - -A silk scarf, tied tightly over the hat, has been found a great boon -during high winds in the Alps. - -Boots, stockings, etc., are the same as those advised for men. - -In order to avoid great subsequent discomfort, the face and neck -should be carefully protected against sunburn. For this purpose an -even layer of some good colour salve is most effective. Failing this, -a layer of lanoline covered with toilet powder has proved a fairly -good substitute. A small pocket-mirror should be carried for use -when applying the mixture, so that one can see that no place is left -uncovered. Should the face become sunburnt it should be bathed in very -hot water and then covered with grease. - - -OUTFIT - -BY J.P. FARRAR - -Even the beginner had better accustom himself to carry a sack, which -may contain his gloves, sweater, etc. - -[Sidenote: Rucksack.] - -A good size is 21 inches wide and 21 inches deep, the bottom and -side walls 4 inches wide, as this gives a flatter sack. Two outside -pockets with flap and button--the carrying straps of woollen webbing -1½ inch wide--the whole made of waterproof sailcloth with a flap. A -good pattern is supplied by Alpine outfitters such as Fritsch & Co. -of Zurich, who issue elaborate catalogues of alpine equipment. The -Continental dealers supply a very light frame which goes between the -back and the sack, thus preventing the back getting hot. The best -I know is the “Touristenfreund Rucksackstütze,” No. 20, 3½ marks, -supplied by Fritsch. The Norwegians make a novel kind of sack, the -weight of which is carried partly by the hips. - -[Sidenote: Ice-axe.] - -The best ice-axes I know are made by Schenk in Grindelwald (difficult -to get delivery). The same pattern is also made by Fritz Jörg, -Zweilütschinen, near Interlaken, from whom I have had several good -axes. It is necessary, however, to specify the pattern, as he makes -several. Sizes are as follows: - - Length of adze-side of head from centre of - handle 5” (12 cms.) - - Length of pick-side of head from centre - of handle 7” (18 cms.) - - Width of blade of adze 2½” (6 cms.) - - Depth of socket of head (to give weight) 2” (5 cms.) - - Length of side irons of head from lower - edge of socket 7” to 8” (about 20 cms.) - Side Irons should be fastened to the stock - by 3 copper rivets, not screws.[5] - - Length of ferrule of axe handle 2½” (6 cms.) - - Length of point of axe handle 2” (5 cms.) - The point must not be sharp, and if longer - than stated, may tear one’s clothes when - cutting. The point and ferrule made in - one piece are very objectionable, as they - allow the point no play if caught. - - Length of stock or handle, including point 39” (1 m.) - This is a good average length for general - purposes. Longer axes offer no advantages, - and are awkward. I use a - 36-inch axe, which is very handy, but - it is short for cutting downhill. - - Diameter of handle immediately under - socket of axehead 1⅛” by 1⅜”, say 30 by 35 mm. - - Diameter of handle immediately above - ferrule 1-1/16” by 1-5/16”, say 27 by 33 mm. - - These sizes give strength enough. If exceeded, - they fill the grasp of an ordinary - hand so that, as is often needed, - nothing else can be gripped. If the - lower end is thinner it will cramp the - hand when cutting. - The axe should balance at about 9 inches - from the top. - -An axe as described weighs 3 lb., and will be equal to any work usually -met with on a mountain expedition. If the balance and the curves of the -head come out well, it will cut ice clean and without any recoiling jar -to the arms. Notches on the underside of the head of the axe, often -seen in shop axes, are very objectionable. - -[Illustration] - -Mr. Eckenstein has designed an ice axe differing radically from the -normal type, to be used in conjunction with his crampons. It is -34 inches long over all, and has a much smaller head. The few who -have used it in conjunction with the special crampons claim for the -combination advantages in difficult ice. The subject has been treated -by Dr. J. Jacot Guillarmod in an elaborate paper with scale drawings -and many sketches in the _Jahrbuch des S. A. C._, vol. xlv. pp. 344-53, -and undoubtedly deserves the closest attention.[6] - -This axe, and crampons, are made by A. Hupfauf, Einsiedeln, -Switzerland. - -[Illustration: FIG. 1.--THUMB KNOT. CORRECT] - -[Illustration: FIG. 2.--INCORRECT] - -[Illustration: FIG. 3.--FIGURE OF 8 KNOT. CORRECT] - -[Illustration: FIG. 4.--FIGURE OF 8 TIE. CORRECT] - -[Sidenote: Axe Sling.] - -When climbing rocks the axe has often to be slung on the arm. A good -sling for rocks only is made of lamp wick joined to form a circle of 25 -inches. This is carried in the pocket, and is easily put on and off. -The fixed hemp sling, so often seen, gets wet and cut if any steps have -to be cut. - -The best combined sling, invented by Mr. V. Fynn, and supplied by -Fritsch & Co., Zurich, consists of a leather loop attached to a brass -ring running on the axe handle between the head and a stop. This sling -serves for rock work like an ordinary sling, and, in addition, is -looped round the wrist when step-cutting, thus preventing the loss of -the axe, which to a party of climbers engaged in difficult work might -be a source of danger. I always use it. - -[Sidenote: Rope.] - -The greatest attention must be paid to ropes, as fatalities due to the -breakage of these have been very numerous. - -I was, in consequence, induced to institute some very careful inquiries -into the question of the most suitable ropes for alpine work, and some -very exhaustive tests were thereupon made of various ropes by Mr. O. -Eckenstein, which have been confirmed by subsequent tests made by Swiss -climbers. The result was the evolution of a flax rope, which, in point -of ultimate tensile strength and extension (i.e. elasticity), surpasses -considerably any other rope, weight for weight. - -The following table gives the ascertained results of the two best ropes -tested: - - - +---------+--------+--------+---------------+--------+---------------+ - | | | | Ultimate | | Work required | - | | | | tensile | | to break test | - | | | | strength, | Exten- | length of 5 | - | | | | in | sion, | feet, in | - | |Circum- | Weight | pounds. |measured| foot-pounds. | - | Make. |ference,|per 100 +-----+---------+ on test+-----+---------+ - | | in |feet, in| |Relative,| length | |Relative,| - | | inches.|pounds. |Abso-|for rope | of 5 |Abso-|for rope | - | | | |lute.| of | feet, |lute.| of | - | | | | |standard | per | |standard | - | | | | | weight. | cent. | | weight.| - +---------+--------+--------+-----+---------+--------+-----+---------+ - |No. 1.-- | | | | | | | | - | English,| | | | | | | | - | Flax | 1·4 | 4·375 |1904 | 2176 | 16·3 | 451 | 515 | - |No. 2.-- | | | | | | | | - | English,| | | | | | | | - | Manila | 1·4 | 4·65 |1792 | 1927 | 12·3 |331·5| 356 | - |No. 3.-- | | | | | | | | - | No. 1, | | | | | | | | - | worn | 1·4 | 4·69 |1456 | 1552 | 13·2 | 288 | 307 | - +---------+--------+--------+-----+---------+--------+-----+---------+ - -The No. 1 rope is manufactured by Frost Brothers Ltd., 342 Commercial -Road, London, E., and is known as Frost’s left-hand alpine rope, 1¼ -inch. - -It is beautifully flexible to handle and knot, and after the first -wetting shows no tendency to kink. I do not know much of its wearing -capacities--in this respect it is probably excelled by the harder -Manila ropes. For the haulage of duffers where the rope is constantly -dragged against rocks, no doubt a much heavier rope of Manila or -possibly wire would be preferable. The Frost rope now described is -designed for the use of trained mountaineers. All that I demand and all -that ought to be demanded of an alpine rope is that it shall not show -undue wear during a single season. - -I never use for a _second_ season a rope on which life may depend when -a new one can be obtained for a few shillings. Even when a rope shows -no appreciable wear, it may have been subjected to some sudden severe -strain which has robbed it of a portion of its virtue. I go so far as -to say that used ropes ought _not_ to be given away to guides who will -go on using them for an indefinite time. - -The No. 3 rope in the table was a Frost rope used by the late Mr. H. -O. Jones for one season. The decline in its resisting power is marked, -although it is still a fairly strong rope. - -[Sidenote: Knots.] - -With respect to knots for use in alpine ropes, Mr. Eckenstein was -again good enough to investigate the question, and the accompanying -illustrations have been prepared from photographs taken under his -instructions. They are all applicable to a _left-hand rope_. - -[Illustration: FIG. 5.--SINGLE FISHERMAN’S BEND. CORRECT] - -[Illustration: FIG. 6--INCORRECT] - -[Illustration: FIG. 7.--INCORRECT] - -[Illustration: FIG. 8.--BOWLINE AND OVERHAND KNOT. CORRECT] - -The following is an extract from his covering letter to me: - - “A laid rope usually consists of three strands twisted together. Each - strand thus forms a helix. The strands are ‘laid’ together to form - the rope, and the way in which they are laid together is called the - ‘lay.’ Now if we begin to tie a knot, we similarly ‘lay’ together, - two ropes, and each rope then forms a portion of a helix. The general - rule is this: if the strands of the rope used form right-hand helices - (as is the case with the old Alpine Club rope), then in that part - of the knot which is subjected to the greatest strain (I use the - word ‘strain’ in its popular sense) the two ropes must each form a - left-hand helix. Conversely, if we use a rope the strands of which - form left-hand helices (as is the case with the new Frost rope), then - in that part of the knot which is subjected to the greatest strain - the two ropes must each form a right-hand helix. [See also my paper, - “Knots with the Lay,” in the _Climbers’ Club Journal_, vol. xi., No. - 44, p. 144, June 1909.] - - “The annexed figures include three classes of knots: simple or - elementary knots; knots for uniting two ropes; loop knots. All are - shown tied with left-hand rope. The correct way of tying the knots is - shown in each case, as well as some incorrect ways. Each knot is shown - open, before it is drawn taut. - - “The single fisherman’s bend, shown in Fig. 7, is excellent for - uniting two ropes of similar size for temporary purposes, as it can - readily be undone. Hence it has a tendency to work loose in course of - time, and if it is necessary to unite two ropes of similar size for - longer periods, it is better to use the figure of 8 tie, also known as - the Flemish tie, shown in Fig. 4. This, though somewhat complicated, - is strong and reliable and has no tendency to work loose. - - “As regards making a loop in the middle of a rope, no entirely - satisfactory knot has yet been devised. The ‘middleman noose,’ shown - in the 1892 Alpine Club Report of the Special Committee on Equipment - for Mountaineers (p. 4), has the fatal disadvantage that under certain - conditions, when a pull is applied in a certain direction, it acts - as a true noose--that is, as a slip or running knot. The best middle - loop at present known is the open-handed loop, which is free from this - disadvantage, and which is shown in Fig. 14. - - “For an end loop, the bowline, shown in Fig. 11, is excellent. The - loose end should be secured by a half-hitch (see 1892 Report, p. 4), - or by an overhand knot; the latter, shown in Fig. 12, is preferable. - - “Finally, a bowline on a bight, the most important ‘first aid’ knot - for transporting an injured person, is shown in Fig. 16.” - -Messrs. Kirkaldy made in my presence some interesting tests of knots, -with the following results: - - Middleman Knot. Strength relative to rope. - Manila rope 44 per cent. - Flax rope 50 per cent. - - Single bowline Knot. Strength relative to rope. - Manila rope 55 per cent. - Flax rope 59 per cent. - -This again shows that a knot reduces the efficiency of a flax rope less -than that of the Manila rope. - -_New ropes should not be wetted or stretched before use_, but the kinks -should be carefully worked out by hand. And a wet rope must be dried -_in the shade_. - -The best length of rope for a party of three is 100 to 120 feet. It is -a good plan on long, snow-covered glacier expeditions to carry a spare -50-foot rope, and on some difficult rock climbs a long spare rope is -necessary. This can be of a lighter kind, about 1 inch circumference. -Beale, 194 Shaftesbury Avenue, London, supplies a Manila alpine line -very suitable for such a purpose. - -[Sidenote: Pitons.] - -Pitons are occasionally necessary for difficult rock climbs.[7] They -are spikes of Swedish iron ½-inch in diameter and about 6 to 9 inches -long, turned over to form a loop at one end, through which the rope can -be passed, and drawn at the other to a wedge-shaped edge so as to allow -of driving into a crevice of rock. - -[Sidenote: Kletterschuhe.] - -Kletterschuhe are much used in the Dolomites, and it has lately been -shown that they can be used with advantage not only on dry rocks but -also in great climbs like the Ecrins and the Ailefroide. A good kind is -the so-called Sexten pattern, the soles of which are built up of layers -of cloth. - -[Sidenote: Crampons.] - -Crampons add security, and are very useful in saving step-cutting on -great ice climbs; but otherwise, especially on journeys, are scarcely -worth carrying. - -Mr. Eckenstein has designed a very effective kind, the only drawback -being their weight (about 3 lb. the pair). A useful crampon is the -so-called Allgäuer model, 8-spiked, weight about 1⅝ lb. per pair. A. -Hupfauf of Einsiedeln, Switzerland, is a reliable maker (also of -ice-axes if pattern is sent). The crampons should have a hemp strap -with branches sewn on to the two pairs of back rings and buckling over -the instep, and a separate toe-strap sewn on to the front pair of rings -and buckling over the fore-foot. This strap must not be buckled tight, -as hemp shrinks when damp, and pressure might cause frost-bite. - -[Illustration: FIG. 9.--BOWLINE. CORRECT] - -[Illustration: FIG. 10.--INCORRECT] - -[Illustration: FIG. 11.--INCORRECT] - -[Illustration: FIG. 12.--INCORRECT] - -This form of fastening (as on the old wooden skate) cramps the foot -less, and is much more quickly adjusted than a single long cross-over -strap. The crampon requires careful fitting to the sole of the boot (a -stiff cardboard template of each sole should be sent to the maker of -the crampon), and when nailing the boots, gaps should be left for the -limbs of the crampons. - -In using crampons care must be taken to keep the feet apart and not -lift them more than necessary, as serious accidents have occurred -through the spikes catching in the stockings or even knickerbockers. - -Crampons are not for use on rocks, except possibly when iced, but they -are particularly necessary on steep grass mountains, like the Höfats. - -[Sidenote: Spectacles and Grease.] - -Both spectacles and grease are very necessary on glacier expeditions. -The spectacles can either be smoked glasses or, better still, the new -green-yellow glasses. I prefer 1½ inch convexo-concave glasses in -strong steel or horn frames without any wire netting. - -The best grease for the face which I know is the Pomade Sèchehaye; but -there are other similar preparations which rightly depend upon colour -for their effectiveness. Lanoline is too thin. Blackening the face and -all round the eyes with burnt cork is also an efficient remedy against -sunburn, and suffices in the case of loss or breakage of spectacles. Or -a mask of paper, with eye-slits, can be made. - -[Sidenote: Field-glass.] - -A Zeiss 8-power _monocular_ prismatic glass weighs about a ½ lb., and -can be carried in the pocket without any case for instant use. - -The binocular glasses are too cumbersome. - -This glass can also be used for sweeping terrain for chamois, but for -detailed work a 30-power aluminium telescope is better. - -Less effective, but lighter to carry, and sufficient for most alpine -prospecting, is the pocket telescope, made by Messrs. Ross, for -sporting purposes. It is about 4 inches in length, and weighs only a -few ounces. - -[Sidenote: Aneroid and Compass.] - -Good mountain aneroids, graduated to 5000 metres, are made by Casella, -London, and by Usteri-Reinacher, Zurich. Even on an ordinary expedition -they are interesting, and can be useful to elucidate one’s position in -thick weather. - -_A compass must always be carried._ Hughes, 59 Fenchurch Street, E.C., -make an excellent liquid-filler compass which renders the needle very -steady. - -[Sidenote: Maps.] - -The best map of the district must always be carried with the party. - -[Sidenote: Water-bottle and Drinking-cup.] - -I have for many years used bottles made of Para rubber with wide -(1¼-inch) mouth and screw stopper. Contents 1 litre, weight 6 ounces, -price 6½ marks (H. Schwaiger, Munich). If cured for a few days with -weak white wine and water or coffee they do not impart any taste to -contents, even if left in for a couple of days. When empty, they take -next to no room. - -The full bottle must, of course, be perched on top of the other things -in the sack. - -Guides prefer a tin or aluminium receptacle to hold two or three -litres, and the goatskin bottles usual in Dauphiné are also very -practical. As a drinking-cup I know nothing better than the ¼-litre -oval aluminium mug of the Federal troops. - -Carry an aluminium dessertspoon. - -[Sidenote: Lantern.] - -Several patterns of folding lantern are made. Schwaiger supplies one in -aluminium (Alpenvereins), weight 6 ounces, price 6¼ marks. - -[Sidenote: Cooking Apparatus.] - -I have never carried cooking apparatus, as cooking on an expedition -takes far too long and is a needless luxury. A good one is the -Ideal-Kocher in aluminium supplied by Schwaiger and others, size 1 -litre, 6 marks; 2 litres, 8 marks. They are useful for guideless -climbers in crowded huts. - -It is not at all a bad plan to carry an aluminium saucepan with lid -(about 1 quart), which will often enable one to cook in a crowded -hut without waiting one’s turn. For a bivouac, a couple of aluminium -saucepans fitting into each other save carrying heavy cooking pots. - -[Illustration: FIG. 13.--OPEN-HANDED IKOP. CORRECT] - -[Illustration: FIG. 14.--INCORRECT] - -[Illustration: FIG. 15.--BOWLINE ON A BIGHT. CORRECT] - -[Illustration: FIG. 16.--INCORRECT] - -[Sidenote: Outfit for Bivouac.] - -The best sleeping sack I know is made of thin Willesden canvas lined -with opossum. The sack should be made to button all round--not sewn. -A suitable size is 6 feet 6 inches long and 2 feet 6 inches wide when -done up. Opossum fur is, however, now expensive, and a very efficient -lining is eiderdown made up in thin merino covering. W. Ratcliff, -saddler, Olney, Bucks, can supply a good sack, made with straps to -roll up, cost £3 to £4, according to the weight of down used (price -pre-war). A light silk sack is made by Heal & Sons, Tottenham Court -Road, cost £2, 10s., but requires a waterproof sheet. - -For putting under the hip, a square rubber air-cushion about 2 feet -square is very desirable. - -A tent is rarely necessary for a bivouac for one night, as if the -weather were bad enough to need a tent, the conditions next day would -not permit a big climb. The Mummery silk tents are well spoken of. A -light tent of the Mummery pattern, tested and improved upon by Dr. -Longstaff in the Himalayas, and with further improvements by Mr. Young, -is made by Messrs. Piggott, Bishopsgate Street Without. The Cottage -tent of the Amateur Camping Club, London (address, 4 New Union Street, -E.C.; sub., 5s. per annum), is very light, roomy and strong. Their -catalogue is well worth study. - -For extended expeditions I have used a tent made of Egyptian flax, -so-called silk. A good size is 9 by 6 by 6 feet to ridge, or better, 12 -by 8 by 6 feet to ridge, unless the country is too mountainous. It only -needs two poles, which can in some countries be improvised on the spot; -or the ridge cord can be tied to trees or other obstacles, and poles -dispensed with. These tents are quite waterproof and stand weather -well, whilst they are very light.[8] - -One’s endurance and enterprise are not improved by sleeping on the -ground, even on spruce, night after night. The X Compactum bed is a -good portable bed, folds up to 3 feet by 5 inches by 5 inches, weight -20 lb., cost 24s. 6d. This, with a sleeping sack, a couple of Hudson -Bay No. 4 red blankets, a waterproof sheet 7 feet by 5 feet and a hair -pillow, make a good sleeping outfit for a main camp. - -[Sidenote: Medicine.] - -For alpine purposes I find chlorodyne, Cockle’s pills, a couple of -bandages and a roll of ½-inch American plaster very useful to carry in -the sack.[9] - -Small and very light pocket-cases, suitable for mountaineering purposes -(one of medical and the other of surgical remedies), are now supplied -by Messrs. Burroughs & Wellcome. - -These notes cover the _special_ requirements of the mountaineer in the -Alps, and I have not thought it necessary to enumerate the many small -things which he needs anyhow, and of which he is the best judge. - - _Note._--All prices are pre-war except where stated. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[4] Cf. an article by O. Eckenstein in the _Climbers’ Club -Journal_, 1914. - -[5] See article in the _Climbers’ Club Journal_, 1912, p. 147. - -[6] See also pp. 206, 292. - -[7] See “Pegs and Aids,” p. 200. - -[8] See also “The Himalaya” and “Mountaineering in the Tropics.” - -[9] For further medical outfit, see “Mountaineering in the Tropics.” - - - - -CHAPTER III - -GUIDED AND GUIDELESS MOUNTAINEERING - - -The question of climbing with or without guides is one of traditional -importance. But the long controversy has proceeded without taking -into account the change in modern conditions; and the terms ‘guided’ -and ‘guideless’ are still used with a signification that now bears -little relation to actual circumstance. Consequently the discussion -for mountaineers has become profitless, for it is based upon definite -misconceptions. - -[Sidenote: Old-time Errors.] - -The great public, or that part of it which has reached the point of -accepting mountaineering as a legitimate background for sensational -magazine stories, cherishes one fixed idea on the subject of -climbing--that the guide is a providence who knows and shows and goes -the one sacred and impeccable ‘path’ which every genuine mountain -possesses: to go without him is to tempt destruction deliberately; -something like ejecting the engine-driver, starting the lever and -retiring to smoke in a first-class carriage. The importance of the -error is that its persistence permits it to dominate the minds of a -large number of men who ‘do mountains’ every year from the hotels. -To them, mountaineering means only the traditional route up in -the traditional way; and tradition demands the surrender of their -intelligence and personal inclinations for a day to the unimaginative -tyranny of any two chance peasants between whom they are advised to -suspend the exercise of their own finer faculties and the direction of -their very differently constituted frames. Their ambition is laudable, -but they are in no sense mountaineers, and they may never become so, -any more than those who cross the Channel in a steamboat are qualifying -as sailors. But they form a considerable portion of those who go among -the mountains, and include a large number of those who give the public -their experiences. In so far their patronage contributes to confirm and -perpetuate the long-lived error. - -Among a large number, also, of climbers proper the error, though -different in kind, is as constant. The magnificent school of foreign -rock climbers which has of late years grown up in the regions of lesser -peaks north, east and south of the Alps, and which, with some notable -exceptions, has little conception of what independent mountaineering on -the great peaks means, accepts the performance and narration of these -tourists in the big Alps as typical of ‘guided climbing,’ and very -justly condemns it for its obvious lack of many of the features which -constitute the pleasure or merit of their own mountaineering. In so far -as they accept the popular and mistaken classification into guided and -guideless, these climbers help in continuing it. Our equally brilliant -school of British rock climbers, recognizing the absurdity of taking -guides on the short climbs of Scotland or the Lakes or Wales, often -adopts the same attitude. Only by slow experience, and in individual -cases, when they meet the problems and actual conditions of real -mountaineering in the great Western Alps, do they learn the magnitude -of the traditional fallacy. There is, therefore, excuse for the Press -and the lay public. - -[Sidenote: The Guide of the Chronicles.] - -There is yet further justification to be found for them in the only -literature accessible to them--the famous alpine classics, and -the original relationship of amateur and guide therein set forth. -We mountaineers owe so much to these early explorers and to their -inspiring records, which first set our feet on the mountain way and -which remain our most cherished and revered companions, that it is an -ungrateful task to have to forsake them for a moment in the interests -of veracity and of our modern mountain craft. But many of these notable -pioneers, or at least those whose personality is most permanent in -literature, were not mountaineers in the technical sense in which -we understand the word to-day. Mountaineering, as an art, has made -immense strides among amateurs and professionals alike since their -time, due largely to the force of their original impulse. What was true -of their time is no longer true; and while their writing will remain -the source of every climber’s inspiration until mountaineering may be -forgotten in the passion for winter sports and aviation, it is not in -the best interests of the sport that their pronouncements should be -considered as absolutely or, even on technical points, as relatively -true of modern conditions. They were undoubtedly fortunate in their -guides. When they were not, we do not hear of it, or only in a passing -sentence. The amateurs were themselves few in number, and the most -enterprising naturally attracted to themselves the few considerable -personalities among a race of as yet unspoiled mountain peasants and -hunters. They found them companions, men of intelligence, manners and -courage. The knowledge of mountaineering conditions was in its infancy, -and the peasant was accustomed from childhood to such knowledge as -existed. Relatively to the present day he was better physically -equipped than his employer, who was primarily an explorer or a walking -enthusiast. He was therefore not undeserving of the implicit confidence -placed in his judgment and skill. - -[Sidenote: The Guide as he is.] - -Conditions have changed. Guides have no longer the opportunity of -travelling up and down the Alps to secure the same wide basis of -experience. Only a few of them are taken beyond their own valleys; -and when they are, they are associated in most cases with local -experts, who relieve them of the necessity of exerting their brains -to discover the new conditions. Only in very rare cases among their -multiple employers do they ever get the same opportunity of long -contact with more active or educated intelligences, such as could -react upon their own appreciation of their own mountain problems. -The organized conditions for tourist life in the Alps, the separate -quarters in hotel and hut, the rapid succession of engagements with -men of different nationalities and divergent types, and their own -guide-schools, inculcating precise codes of manners to use with -‘Herren,’ forbid the old freedom of intercourse. The best and most -travelled of guides has a different manner on the mountain and in the -hotel. There is no authority so absolute as that of the hotel-keeper -in a small democratic Swiss community in all that affects the tourist -traffic. And the ideas of an average hotel-keeper as to the nature -of tourists and as to the proper behaviour towards them on the part -at least of his, the hotel-keeper’s, dependents or inferiors are not -unlike those of a head waiter in a city restaurant. The tradition that -the guide is a professional servant has become engrained. The stoutest -of mountaineering democrats has to accept its restrictions, once off -the mountains, if only to save his guide’s discomfort. And the average -guide on his side, dealing every summer with succeeding varieties of -incapable amateurs often ignorant of his language, and accustomed to -the passive acceptance of his service to hoist them up conventional -peaks, has grown up in a traditional atmosphere of aloofness and of -courteous disregard for his employers as mountaineers in his own -professional sense. A collective professional attitude has established -itself of which the early days knew little or nothing; the most -independent of guides, however well he may know his employer’s capacity -by experience, cannot but find the utmost difficulty in discarding -tradition and associating himself with the amateur’s judgment if it -happens to conflict with local hear-say or with the view of some -inferior professional using the familiar patois. And just in so far -as a collective opinion, in theatre or crowd or guild, is inferior to -the individual judgment of the majority of intelligent individuals -who compose it, and echoes, as if unanimously, the more blatant voice -of the more vulgar elements, in so far is the capacity, even of good -individual guides of the present day, inferior to that of their -predecessors in matters requiring the exercise of wider intelligence -upon unforeseen problems or new conditions. Just in so far, also, are -guides hampered by their body of tradition and prejudice from profiting -by their contact with more educated minds, or from learning to apply -new principles to the special circumstances of their profession. With -the formalizing, even in details, of the route up every regular peak, -the stimulus of romance and adventure has gone for them far more than -for the amateur. The new generation finds its only outlet in the autumn -chamois-hunting, if at all. Its mountaineering is just business. - -There are some rare and notable exceptions--perhaps as many in -actual number as formed the chosen band of guides who led the early -mountaineers in their pleasant comradeship of triumph--but they are -attached in almost all cases for each season to affectionate and -jealous employers, and for the general mass of climbers there exists -only a general mass of guides of the limited and professional cast of -mind. In continuance of early pioneering tradition some great amateurs -of the old school still maintain that the guide’s word should be law in -all tactical and even strategical decisions. These are the fortunate -men, whose knowledge and reputation can command the services of the -surviving body of exceptions. If they were not so fortunate, they would -have to reconsider their view, or they would, at the present date, see -more of hotels than of huts, of pastures than of peaks. - -[Sidenote: The Amateur as he may be.] - -If guides have, as a whole, not progressed in the responsible and -sympathetic qualities essential for management, amateurs have improved -out of all proportion. Mountain craft, the mastery of the laws that -govern ice and rock and of their application, has become an exact -science, and the educated intelligence, under right guidance, is able -in a season or so to enter upon a whole inheritance of knowledge, of -detail and principle, which it took decades of tentative experiment to -discover. In the matter of purely technical skill also, of physical -performance, of balance, the use of the feet, of the axe, the rope -and the eyes, the phenomenon common to all sports has made itself -evident: each new generation of climbers appears to inherit, almost -as an instinct and without visible or conscious study, a greater -adaptability, an easier apprehension, as it were, of the necessary and -improving physical adjustments which had to be laboriously acquired by -the previous generation. Consequently the good amateur now brings to -the partnership a mountaineering qualification unimagined fifty years -ago, possessed of an accumulated knowledge of all varying and recorded -conditions and of a transmitted instinct for the novel athletic -requirements. - -In stating this, I do not wish for a moment to be thought to undervalue -either the spirit or the skill of the few great early guideless -parties who first broke loose from the growing oppression of the -professional guiding traditions. They had to face a hostile criticism -of whose intensity we have now little conception. In the then condition -of mountaineering knowledge their independent action, undertaken -deliberately in the best interest of mountaineering as a great pursuit, -postulated a resolute courage and a readiness for responsibility that -proved to be as well justified by their record of performance as it -remains deserving of our wholehearted admiration. The relations of -amateur and guide would probably in any case have followed the same -line of development. But these pioneers did more than anticipate. They -first taught the amateur that it was safe for him, if he wished, to -prosecute the craft for himself, and that he possessed advantages that -could make him, if he followed them up independently, all but the equal -of the best guides. - -A guide is, in fact, only a ‘guide’ in the sense that he belongs to a -professional class. The name can no longer be used to imply an inherent -supremacy in all fields of mountaineering. Similarly an amateur -possesses an inheritance and opportunities which make it possible for -him to make himself as good as a guide in many, and better than a guide -in several, important qualifications. - -[Sidenote: The Composite Mountaineer.] - -The title mountaineer can no longer be confined to the man of the -mountains. It connotes the perfect mastery of a difficult craft to -which guide and amateur alike aspire. This mountain science consists -of several departments of equal importance, in some of which the -amateur, in others the guide, starts with an initial advantage. In -relation to its absolute acquisition there are bad professionals and -medium professionals, and bad amateurs and moderate amateurs, according -to their personal and not their class values. If they develop their -experience and skill at an even rate, either will retain his initial -advantage over the other according as the degree of difficulty or -the special character of the climbing gives the greater opportunity -to the special qualities of the one or of the other. Ultimately, -in the highest flights of mountaineering, a point of difficulty is -reached which calls for the highest degree of efficiency in all -the departments; and since human endurance is limited and economy -is essential for emergencies, the ideal combination for swift and -secure progress in these ultimate expeditions is to be found in the -association of the qualities of the guide and the amateur, each -supremely qualified in his own department. - -[Sidenote: The Guide as Mountaineer.] - -A good guide is acclimatized, accustomed from his youth to the food, -heights and discomforts of sleep. The necessary muscles have been -hardened by years of practice. No average amateur, coming out for a few -weeks each year and unaccustomed to manual labour, whatever his skill -or talent, can hope to compare with him in endurance and consistent -pace, be it in step-cutting for long hours on an ice slope or in -facing struggle after struggle on an exhausting rock climb. The guide -is inured to snowstorms and cold winds, and his fingers can usually -outlast an amateur’s in clearing out and clinging to snowy holds or -iced rocks. He possesses thus more powerful reserves against unexpected -bad weather or against unforeseen difficulty or exertion continued for -an undue length of time. He has also another advantage. Amateurs who -attempt big climbs are accustomed only to climb with safe companions. -They have had, therefore, little practice in dealing with unexpected -slips in easy places. Even if they have trained their observation and -protective movement by leading beginners on British rock climbs, the -duration of the attention demanded has been short, and they have known -where to be on their guard, and with whom. But in the Alps the larger -part of the day is spent in traversing comparatively easy ground well -within the power of the party, but where the height and position may -always convert an inattentive stumble into a fatal accident. A guide -has been accustomed to looking after the unaccountable vagaries of -beginners and incompetents over long days on easy and difficult ground -alike. In his association even with a strong party this survives as -an instinct. He is not caught napping by the misstep into which even -fine amateurs or other guides in his party may be entrapped at the -end of a long day by fatigue, wind, darkness or over-confidence. A -good guide has, thus, special initial qualities which make him a sort -of insurance policy in certain very important respects. His gifts -reduce the percentage of accidental risk present on every climb, and -his consistency of pace and endurance ensures a larger margin of time -for emergencies. He can also carry more. He brings to the partnership -physique, endurance, professional technique and watchfulness, and a -local instinct for time or weather. His opinion in his own sphere is -invaluable; it has generally the additional weight of freedom from the -enticements of romance and enthusiasm. The amateur in control should -give it every consideration; but it does not relieve him of his own -responsibility. A first-class workman may make a very bad managing -director. - -[Sidenote: The Amateur as Mountaineer.] - -On his side the good amateur has antecedents and opportunities, such -as the guide cannot possess, for developing his initial advantages in -his own peculiar department. He has, or ought to have the superiority -of the educated mind over the uneducated, of the liberal intelligence -over the narrow, of contact with men, of reading, of the chance of -learning principle and precedent from books and men instead of from -small experience, and of the application of imagination and a trained -mind to the acquisition of all the details of mountain craft. He can -learn how to judge of the individual capacity of his amateur party and -of their condition on the day. He can estimate the guide’s ability -in his own line, by comparison, better than the guide can himself, -and from knowledge of his character he can judge of the value of the -guide’s opinion on technical points. In an important decision as to -advance or retreat he is, consequently, in a better position to weigh -the value of the party against the resistance of the mountain. In all -that may be called the human department of mountaineering, the judgment -and management of the men, the application of wider experience, of -accepted general principles, of imagination and reasoning powers to -the solution of particular problems, the good amateur is, _or can be_, -the good guide’s superior. He has also the advantage of being able to -make up rapidly, by means of reading, imitation and the progressive -adaptability already mentioned, much of his inferiority to the guide -in pure technique. In route finding and local knowledge he can run the -guide close by availing himself of previous records, of maps (always -a mystery to most guides), of local information, of the tracks or -presence of other parties, and of the admirable climbers’ guide-books -of all nations. - -It is in fact no longer possible to designate climbing done under these -conditions by amateurs of this class as ‘guideless’ climbing in the -sense that climbing fifty years ago was entitled ‘guideless’ and looked -upon as unjustifiable. It is therefore easily to be understood that -a large number of modern mountaineers, conscious of the amount of the -field that their own qualifications and those of their party can cover, -prefer to be free from any professional check upon their enjoyment of -the mountains. - -[Sidenote: The Question for the Leader.] - -If good leaders know the power of their companions, where they fall -short of those of a guide and how they can be supplemented, and if -they choose climbs within those powers so far as is personally or -climatically calculable, they have a right to decide whether the -balance of pleasure and efficiency is on the side of using or of not -using professional assistance, with its merits and demerits. There is -an immense area in mountaineering where the special superiority of a -guide in the directions I have indicated has no opportunity of making -itself apparent. For the majority of difficult rock peaks, which are -by nature short, for the ordinary route finding up big mountains, -for the endless variety of climbing on passes and in regions of the -lesser ranges, a first-rate amateur can make himself as effective as -a first-rate guide. He can climb exhausting rocks as brilliantly, -provided it is not for as long; he can cut steps on the steepest ice -only a little less fast, for a sufficient number of hours; he can be -as watchful on all but the most fatiguing expeditions. If the leader -and party are efficient and know and observe their limitations, no -mountaineer in more than name will now criticize them for going without -‘guides,’ even if the occasional accident, against which no knowledge -is security, may in the course of time select their ‘guideless’ party -for its undiscriminating attack. A mountaineer who has qualified -himself as a good leader of a party as well as a sound climber has -earned the right to weigh the social disadvantage of taking a guide -against the technical strengthening his presence will contribute, in -relation to the character of the climbing he intends to undertake, and -to make his own decision. - -[Sidenote: The Social Consideration.] - -The technical advantage of taking a guide has been explained; the -social objection may be shortly stated. There is an inherent restraint -upon the feeling of independence and holiday fun among a party of -friends in the presence of some one of foreign speech and of different -habits of thought and body; above all, of one who climbs with them for -pay and not for their common pleasure. The association is intimate in -climbing, and the atmosphere is inevitably affected, and the spirits -checked, if any one of the party is not in key with the rest, does not -use their shibboleths or is unable to laugh with their jokes. When -a party consists of more than one amateur, and often in the case of -only one, etiquette usually insists upon a second guide being taken. -If there is a second guide, a division into two camps is formed--one -felt if not expressed--which no geniality or linguistic ability can -dissolve. The second professional is nearly always, by the nature of -the case, an inferior, more bound by his caste and with less interest -in, because less responsibility for, the success of the party. He will -generally voice valley prejudices and professional doctrines which are -enemies to enterprise and individual achievement, and he will form -a sort of unreasoning counterpoise to any effect that less hampered -amateur opinions might otherwise have upon the views of the first -guide. Situations are thus created whose solution demands more tact and -attention than a man on holiday feels disposed to devote to his sport. -The possibility of their occurrence forces him to put a constraint -upon himself, in view of contingencies, which is antagonistic to the -complete comradeship of mountaineering. He cannot, as the leader of -such a party, merge his identity, and therefore his authority, in the -pleasant fluctuations of the common mood. The association of guides -also throws upon him many small additional details of daily management, -if he is going to get the best use out of them and keep them in -good temper. His attention to health, food, personal variations and -humour has to embrace a whole new and foreign group of traditions and -idiosyncrasies of which he has small experience. He has not only to -attend to these, but also to bring them into harmonious co-operation -during all the incidents of the day with the preferences, conditions -and peculiarities of his amateur members, and with their--to the -guides--incomprehensible ideals of adventure and fun. Other things -being equal, a leader who knows that his party is competent should be -free, on the ground of the extra call their presence puts upon his -management, to decide to do without guides. - -[Sidenote: The Technical Compensation.] - -But if he is not sure of himself, or if his party is unequal or -inexperienced, he has no right to risk the possibility of disaster -to his party and the certainty of premature grey hairs for himself -by omitting to take a good guide on this social ground alone. And -supposing him to be a man of conscience and competence, and not a -reckless ‘kraxler’ of no mountaineering claims, he will not allow his -decision to take a guide to be influenced by any fear that the credit -of his party will be diminished in any competent mountaineer’s eyes by -the fact that a prejudiced or a thoughtless modern virtuosity might -jeer at it as ‘guided.’ - -[Sidenote: Examples.] - -[Sidenote: The Expert.] - -In proportion as the collective efficiency of the amateur element -is less, the necessity of taking a guide on the technical grounds -described is emphasized. The good amateur, if he is alone in the Alps -with one beginner or with two beginners, should certainly always take -a guide. If he has one beginner and a man of second-rate skill or -experience, he should in most cases take a guide; but something then -depends upon the nature of the climbing he has in view. Similarly, if -he is alone with a second-rate amateur, he should take a guide for -glacier work and for all ‘mixed’ climbing, unless it be of a character -to be well within the second amateur’s powers as well as within his -own. If he is aiming only at what may be called ‘one-man climbs,’ -such as short, difficult rock peaks, his own skill may be considered -adequate for the safe mastery of the difficulties, and the second -man need only be responsible and capable of following without undue -exertion to both. But in this case he must remember that he is making -no allowance for accident, injury or the unforeseen. - -In all cases the first-class amateur remains the leader or manager of -any party. He is always supreme in his own department of management; -and the fact that the unequal or doubtful competence of his party, -technically speaking, or the difficulty of the climb in prospect, may -make it advisable to take a guide, and may render the party during the -day more dependent upon the guide’s single contribution than would -be the case in a party of more equal technical skill, should only be -considered to give the guide a rather larger share in the general -responsibility. The fact that a guide is taken does not justify the -leader in throwing the whole responsibility upon him or in allowing his -party to do so; and in the event of any unfortunate issue it will be no -defence for his surrender of his proper functions in the eyes of good -mountaineers that he is able to plead that he was technically ‘guided.’ - -On the descending scale of climbing competence, when parties are in -question which contain no first-class amateur, a guide is, of course, -essential; and in this case his supremacy in skill, accompanied by any -proportion of managing ability which he has acquired,--and which will -naturally be greater than that of such inexperienced amateurs,--entitle -him to all the control, and consequently to much of the responsibility -which in former days used to be considered his alone in every -department of mountaineering. - -Such parties may be of three kinds: moderate mountaineers of some -experience, who by choice confine themselves to modest climbs and wish -to do them with the utmost security and the least personal exertion; -beginners, who have still to learn all their business; and those -tourists already mentioned, who merely wish to ‘do a mountain.’ - -[Sidenote: The Tourist.] - -To take the last first, that of the tourists (and there are many of -them), whose ambition it is to be taken up a big peak with a big name, -without concerning themselves with learning anything of the craft. In -such cases they do well to tie themselves between the strongest and -most highly recommended peasants they can secure and leave everything -to them. After the experience they will either desire to become -mountaineers, when they will join the class of beginners, or they will -desist. I should be the last to depreciate any manifestation of the -spirit that has brought us all to the hills, but in this chrysalis -condition their performance is not titularly mountaineering, and--it -is bad for the guides! An occasion comes back to mind--an ascent of -the Matterhorn on one of the two days upon which it was climbable -in a bad season. Nine members of a far-western gymnastic club chose -the same day for the one ascent of their lives. Each was led on a -short rope by a more or less competent peasant. They climbed with -a magnificent output of muscle. On reaching the summit, with its -incomparable view and terrific memories, they looked neither down nor -round, but joined hands in a circle facing inwards, and gave nine -fearful and prolonged college yells. The bear-leaders, each gravely -holding his separate radiating rope, stood contemplating them in a -silent outer circle. The simple ceremony accomplished, each guide -gave a solemn twitch to his spoke, or rather to his rope. The hub of -the universe obediently dissolved itself, and the descent began. One -wonders what passed through the guides’ minds. If any of these men -had been killed on the descent,--and it was a miracle in view of the -condition of the mountain and of the way they climbed that they all -escaped, with nothing worse than a night out on the rocks for seven -of the couples,--popular censure would have spared their memories: -they were not guideless. Whereas, if any one of our experienced and -cautious guideless party had been hit by one of the countless stones -with which the athletes converted the mountain side for long hours into -an active volcano, there would have followed the inevitable outcry -over “reckless guideless climbing”; not only from Press and public but -even, I fear, from some of the guardians of ancient mountaineering -tradition in our climbing associations. To the chance of this absurdity -does the perpetuation of the outworn distinction between ‘guided’ and -‘guideless’ condemn any modern mountaineer of enterprise. - -[Sidenote: The Beginner.] - -Beginners call for more careful consideration, though they may be the -least likely to be tolerant of advice. For I include among beginners -not only those who have had no experience of adverse alpine conditions, -but also all prophets who are in the habit of asserting that alpine -mountaineering only differs from crag climbing in degree, as well as -all climbers who, because their modern balance technique has proved -sufficient to carry them through a season or so of standard expeditions -in fair weather, consider themselves fully qualified to exercise all -the discretionary functions of management and leadership without first -learning them. Men are all beginners who have never discovered what a -lot there is that they do not know. There are men climbing in the Alps -to-day who, finding that their first guide was inferior to themselves -in pure cragsmanship, have dispensed with guides altogether; and a very -slow progress in mountain craft and in achievement has been the result. -There are also mountaineers, and good ones, whose competence appeared -to justify them in doing without guides from the start, but whose -brilliant performances are still marred by mountaineering errors which -a more thorough grounding would have eliminated in time. Where the -preparation has been deficient, management and leadership must remain -voyages of unnecessarily slow discovery. - -For beginners or ought-to-have-been beginners of these sorts I can -only hope that the awakening may be as harmless, if not as prompt, as -mine was in like case. Looking back from the summit of our second peak -in our first season, I remarked to my single companion: “Look where -that fool of a fox has run up our ridge all along the edge of the -snow-cornice! And yet they say that animals----” And then I realized, -with an amused horror that has never been forgotten, that we were -looking at our own ascending tracks! Well; on the descent we found -that, though we _had_ ascended without a thought for cornices, we were -equally in error on the summit in thinking we saw a cornice to the -ridge over which our tracks passed! The next season we were content -to take guides. So will any sage beginner in the Alps or other great -range, if he is not fortunate enough, and few are, to be introduced to -the science between two first-rate alpine amateurs. - -If he is well advised, he will choose his first trainer as much for his -knowledge of management--that is, his experience of amateurs, his power -of estimating their potentiality and of encouraging their interest--as -for his skill. Good second-class local guides in small centres, in -contact with moderate but faithful local patrons, have often had more -opportunities in this respect than more brilliant experts at large -centres in constant engagement with changing employers. He should -follow his trainer implicitly, note what he does and how he does it, -and accept his judgments; but he should watch him persistently, and -discover upon what he bases his actions or directions. Few peasants -will be able to help him much by explanation. They act on instinct or -experience; the reasons they may be induced to give are less likely -to be correct than the conclusions which an intelligent amateur can -draw for himself. They are also easily daunted. For this reason the -amateur, even if he thinks he knows better on occasion, should hold -his tongue. His object is to learn all he can, not to choke the -possibly adulterated springs of wisdom. He will soon acquire a mass of -small precedents, and out of them he will evolve a number of general -principles such as will enable him to take an increasing share in the -management of his climbs. A very small amount of principle, acquired -and intelligently applied, will prove often of even more service than -the local guide’s instinct, which, unless he be a really first-class -man, is apt to prove faulty under novel conditions of weather or of the -unforeseen. - -During his novitiate he should keep off the big exacting ascents, -where he will have little leisure to observe, and where the amount he -can learn of the reasons for following accepted lines, for avoiding -others and so on, is small compared to the mere physical exertion that -is called for. He should confine himself to the less known regions -where some route finding is necessary, and to the glaciers and near -rock ridges, where points of technique can be studied in repetition -and variety, and beginnings and endings and alternatives of route and -all the other matters common to small and big peaks alike--and vital -to his education--are to be found in far greater numbers in proportion -to the ground that an active man can cover in the day. One helpful -variety he should allow himself during his study under a single guide -in a home region. He should take an occasional tour of two days or -so to climb a big peak in a different valley. This is a rapid way to -acquire experience of all that guides can teach. It will be advisable -to take on a second and really good guide from the new district to help -the permanent trainer, who will generally have been, if he works in a -less important centre, a man of second-rate technical, and of intensive -rather than wide, guiding experience. The contrast in their styles -will be worth watching; and the expense is in any case less than that -of engaging two regular guides for a longer period--an alternative -which, if he climbs in his first season from a popular centre, he will -be unable to avoid. In his second season he may, if he wish, attempt -some guideless expeditions, in a suitable region, with friends of equal -or greater competence. But he should not allow this or any subsequent -season in his early experience to pass without spending at least some -period under a good guide or a first-rate amateur. He has so much to -learn that he should not try to rediscover it all for himself. A genius -who devotes years to rediscovering the first propositions of Euclid -merely wastes time. - -[Sidenote: The Moderate Mountaineer.] - -The last case is that of mountaineers of some standing, who either -on account of marriage, or of years and a comfortable habit, or from -the philosophical attitude of mind which succeeds the enthusiasm of -youth and smiles at its ambitions while it still enjoys a measured -indulgence in its pleasures, prefer to be relieved of any kind of -responsibility. These men take guides as a matter of course, and leave -to them from choice the management even in those departments which -their own experience would entitle them to direct. Their interest -in mountaineering is a personal one, as an occasion for healthful -exercise, for air and refreshing views. They pursue it for its -distraction from other more worldly interests, not simply for its own -sake. They are not concerned with its higher developments as a fine -art, and as much from a modest appreciation of their own powers as -from a deliberate depreciation of its possibilities, they renounce -on their own behalf all the further opportunities which it offers -for self-discovery and self-training, in the management of men and -the progressive mastery of physical difficulty. The attitude has our -sympathy. Those whose graver appreciation of the mountains, whose less -tutored spirit of romance and adventure impel them to accept labour, -responsibility, hardship, danger and sorrow as integral parts of their -mountain service, and as a high discipline for body and spirit such -as no other outlet from the enervating oppression of civilized life -now affords, will recognize in this gentler manifestation of their own -impulse a grateful proof of the fascination which mountaineering can -still exercise upon every variety of civilized brain and character, -upon men of finer intellect, wider opportunities for usefulness, and -perhaps more balanced temperament than their own. - -This considerable and often distinguished body needs no advice -with regard to the conduct of its guided climbing; but it may not -be superfluous to remind it of an obligation which it owes to -mountaineering as an institution. If only because of their number -and their more frequent meetings in centres--for the minority of -wholehearted devotees are generally isolated, and guideless parties -are independent and migratory by choice--these somewhat temperate -mountaineers form the central body of alpine opinion. Whatever their -desire to make their climbing merely a personal pleasure trip and to -avoid the more strenuous currents, yet in so far as they use many -guides and make with them the large majority of the guided ascents made -in any year, they must be held responsible for the training of the -guides, mentally and morally, while in their pay. They are assisting -to create a considerable amount of abstract alpine doctrine both for -the present and the future, and are establishing many more particular -conventions affecting the attitude of guides towards amateurs, and -of amateurs towards guides, and of the public towards both. But the -attitude of mind in which they prefer to approach the pursuit makes -them too often neglectful of the charge and of the lasting effect of -their participation. Some from mere passive acceptance of the treatment -as part of the game, others with an amused inward detachment, encourage -young guides and old guides alike to manage every moment and movement -of their day; satisfied that they themselves are getting all the profit -in health and safety which is their limited holiday object. They are -like genial uncles who join in a game and submit with an interior -smile to the hectoring of their nephews, retiring when they please to -make criticisms for their own and their neighbours’ amusement in the -pavilion. But in mountaineering the rigour of the game is essential -to its good conduct. A guide indulged is a guide spoiled. An amateur -indolently criticized may mean a position permanently falsified. -Our small public opinion is not easily corrected. From the start, a -right reputation is as essential for our social influence with the -guides as it is vital for our mutual climbing safety. In the Alps -we have a large number of professionals whose living depends upon -their maintaining a satisfying relationship with their employers, and -a small number of amateurs whose pleasure in their holiday depends -upon maintaining a suitable influence with their guides. The balance -is difficult to preserve, and there is no room for dilettantism. -Irresponsible handling of guides may in any decade result in a mass of -amateurs speeding, by preference, guideless and insecurely uphill in a -mountain sense, and in a mass of vocationless guides speeding surely -downhill in a financial sense. - -[Sidenote: Summary.] - -A first-rate amateur, therefore, will take guides without hesitation, -whenever he considers the powers of his friends too weak in general for -absolute safety on the technical side, or the particular climbs they -desire on occasion to attempt too exacting for their normal collective -efficiency. His own concern with guides is to learn how to manage them -and to get the best use out of their special qualifications. - -Responsible, but less expert mountaineers, who wish to be independent, -will nevertheless take first-rate guides for the same reason on -occasions when their experience advises them of the advantage of their -particular services to the party. They have to learn how to reconcile -the retention of their own proper share of management with the greater -share of responsibility in all departments which in this case falls to -the first-rate guide. - -Mountaineers who wish to be free of all responsibility will take guides -because they choose to. They have to learn how not to spoil them, and -how to prevent the example of their own voluntary surrender of their -heritage from biasing their own and the public view of such of their -contemporaries as may attempt to enjoy a different form of independence. - -Novices will take guides as soon as they have discovered that there is -anything they themselves do not know. They have to learn from guides -all they can, so as to earn the right to do without them later if they -desire. - -Tourists, or experimentalists, intent to ‘do a mountain,’ will take -guides. - -It will be seen that the question of taking guides is no longer to -be decided on the traditional single issue, whether the guide is -‘better’ than the amateur. The question has now two aspects, even as -‘leadership’ has now developed two main divisions. - -In the earliest stages of amateur accomplishment, while the beginner -has no qualifications, the guide is taken because he is technically -better qualified and has also, by local knowledge, instinct, etc., a -larger proportion of the qualities necessary for management. The guide -enjoys in this case his historic position of single responsibility. - -In the second stage, where the climber may be only a novice in the -alpine sense, the guide may possibly be technically inferior to his -employer as a rock climber, a pace maker and so on; but in the absence -of the amateur’s alpine experience the guide deserves to retain his -‘leadership’ when his qualifications in both mountaineering fields are -considered together. - -As we move up the scale of experience, and the amateur is found to -have developed more and more his initial advantages in the qualities -necessary for management, the decision to employ or not to employ a -guide depends more and more upon how far it may be thought advisable -to supplement the technique of the party. Again, in proportion as the -amateur and his party continue to remedy their technical inferiority, -while they improve their experience in management, _pari passu_ the -need of a guide, in either department, diminishes. If he is employed, -however, his general responsibility is proportionately decreased. - -In these later stages the relation of guide and employer is one of -expert with expert, and the guide’s position, if he is employed at -all, corresponds to that of a professional in a team, who is selected -for some individual qualification which he is able to supply. It would -be as ludicrous nowadays to rate the performances of such climbing -combinations as praiseworthy or censurable, according as they were -‘guided’ or ‘guideless,’ in the old sense of the term, as it would be -for us to assume that any cricket team which contained a professional -must be _ipso facto_ captained by him, or to refuse our recognition to -any team which did not contain professionals among its members. - -When, therefore, we are considering the case of a party of finished -amateurs, men who are first rate in both divisions of mountain craft, -as climbers and as leaders in management, and who have no need of -guides as a technical complement, we must be prepared to concede that -for them there is now no rule. The matter becomes purely a question of -personal preference and of personal discretion in the choice of the -climb. - -[Sidenote: A Supreme Example.] - -I have left to the last the consideration of the one exceptional case -where, for want of sufficient material as a basis for judgment, no -clear crystal of modern mountaineering opinion has had opportunity -to fashion itself, and where the old debate as between ‘guided’ and -‘guideless’ still survives with something of its old vivacity. This -is the case of the highest flights possible in mountaineering, the -ascent of the limited number of really great ridges and faces in -the Alps and in less explored ranges. These climbs provide the most -magnificent exercise of strength, endurance, nerve and spirit, all -acting in harmony and all at their utmost tension, that human daring -or ingenuity has yet discovered or invented. If they do not represent -the limit of possible human achievement, they represent the limit of -achievement possible with security in a single day of human effort. -They are the ambition of every wholehearted mountaineer, but they fall -to the lot of only the few. Many of them are seldom repeated; on others -the conditions vary greatly between the rare ascents. Even among the -fortunate few who succeed, it will be still fewer who can honestly -say that they remained sufficiently masters of themselves and of the -situation throughout the long day of extraordinary effort, sufficiently -in command of muscle and nerve to meet all the physical demands -unassisted and with a critical judgment, sufficiently conscious of all -the tactical, human and technical manœuvres by which the success was -finally won, to be able to recover from memory a detached opinion as to -the relative difficulty of the climb, or to be able to estimate fairly -their own ability to repeat the day ‘unguided’ in all its problems -for leadership as well as in its tests of pure skill and endurance. -It is a common failing among even the best of mountaineers to forget -how much they have been ‘morally’ assisted by their company, or how -little they may have personally contributed to the actual carrying -through of a great climb, in the afterglow of its success. The more we -allow for the unusual physical and emotional reaction of these great -ascents, the less security we feel in applying standards of common -judgment to the opinions and narratives of their few conquerors. The -body of ordinary expert mountaineering opinion is of little assistance. -Mountaineers whose experience is limited to normal ascents, or who -may even have ‘done’ some of these greater climbs between two expert -professionals with their bodies and their judgments equally in a -condition of suspense, are only a few degrees better qualified than -the climbing public to judge of the combination of human faculties -required for leadership and management in their secure conquest. We -are forced, therefore, to take as our basis for comparison in forming -our opinion the few records of such supreme ascents as have been -performed by both guided and guideless parties. If, then, we examine -these dispassionately, and allow for the golden spectacles of a natural -exaltation, the greater where it is the less professional and the more -personal, we may decide that the sum of purely dangerous incident, of -benightments, races with darkness, breakages of cornice, etc., which -they narrate, adds up to the disadvantage of the guideless ascents. The -proportion of danger incurred is the one absolute standard by which all -mountaineering can be judged. Between danger and difficulty there is a -clear line of demarcation, which shifts according to our ability, but -which is always perceptible. In doing without guides, these gallant -parties, from their own accounts, while they triumphed equally over -the difficulties, skirted more closely and more continuously along the -border-line of danger. - -Reason would bring us to the same conclusion. When we are estimating -the limit of what is humanly safe in mountaineering, we are considering -not what is securely possible for a single individual, a comparatively -low standard, but that which it may be possible for an ideal -combination of mountaineering qualities to achieve in one day. Up to -the present time we find in certain of the best of the guides the -highest development yet attained in one of the two groups of necessary -qualifications; in certain of the best of the amateurs we find the -highest development in the other. Until guides are enabled to enjoy -all the advantages of the amateur’s education and mental training -while they still retain their own natural conditions of life, or until -amateurs can live the lives of guides and yet remain all that wider -circumstance and opportunity assist to make them as amateurs, the -finest mountaineering combination will and must still remain that of -the associated group-qualities of guide and amateur, each group in its -highest degree of individual development. - -If a small but concrete proof were needed that neither the combination -of the best of guides alone nor of the best of amateurs alone -represents the most efficient type of mountaineering machine, it might -be found in the history of the conquest of a number of great alpine -climbs, which for years defeated alike good guides in association and -good amateurs in association, but finally yielded in almost all cases -to the combination of good guides and good amateurs. - -But it is dangerous to dogmatize. When we are talking of exceptional -ascents we are dealing with exceptional men; and if we say that for -the safe performance of these exceptional ascents the best amateur -parties will be strengthened by the addition of the best of guides, -it is with the knowledge that amateur climbing has made extraordinary -strides of recent years, and that in any season the conjunction of -two or more hitherto unimagined amateur stars may yet further raise -the recognized limits of the safely possible in guideless climbing. -In such case, the time-honoured discussion as to what degree of -difficulty makes a guide indispensable to an expert amateur party, in -order to minimize its dangers, with all its heartburnings and rash -intrusions, will be removed into an even more remote sphere than the -already rarefied atmosphere of exceptional climbs in which alone it is -still permissible. The matter may then be for super-mountaineers to -debate. The discussion is now, in all but these extreme cases, dead. -Sentiment or ignorance may still return to the old war-cries ‘guided’ -and ‘guideless,’ used with the old significance, in fireside journals; -in safe print moonshine may yet confuse the climbing ways which troops -of stars have illuminated; but in the mountains new developments have -established new doctrine, and a mountaineer is safe from criticism -worthy of the name if he regulates his practice according to modern -interpretation. - - -THE MANAGEMENT OF GUIDES - -If or when a leader decides to take guides, he has to know how to -manage them. I have already said that he is not now entitled merely to -engage the best guides available, and then leave all the direction and -responsibility to them. Few modern guides expect or deserve this. His -abdication will be followed by starts on wrong days, amazing meals, -more visits to huts than mountains, unaccountable retreats, and final -disgust with guides altogether. His party, at the close, will have -attained no harmony and have lived divided into two camps. The amateur -members will have been the least considered; they will either have been -dry-nursed or oppressed. The surrender of their leader’s functions to -the guides will have left them with no authoritative channel through -which to secure their proper share of responsibility and independence. -They will have become discontented and adopted the conventional -language of the lower criticism, abusing the guides for their tobacco, -their peaty clothes, their drinking and want of enterprise; much as is -still set forth in accredited climbing books of the ‘picture-me-then!’ -class. The guides for their part, undirected and uninspired, will -have fallen back upon their professional traditions and caution, -meeting the unsympathetic atmosphere, which they do not understand, -with taciturnity, aggravating interference or childish assertiveness. -The whole blame will have lain with the leader. Just for a handful of -silver he left them, renouncing his entire responsibilities because one -or two of his party were to receive certain shillings in return for -their skilled companionship. The party has had no leader, no focus for -authority and opinion, and it could attain no success. - -[Sidenote: Guide Nature.] - -A guide is as much a human being as any amateur in the party. If it -is necessary for the manager to have constant care of the health and -_morale_ of his friends, it is doubly so in the case of his guides. The -_average_ guide is a peasant, with the limitations that frame peasant -virtues. His guiding motive is the struggle for existence under hard -conditions. His winters are spent in wood chopping, hard work and -keeping warm, with cards, wine and village gossip for distraction. -His public is preponderatingly masculine: in many mountain villages -the proportion of boys to girls is five to three. His winter society -consists of a fluctuating population, crudely packed for the cold -months, and dispersed in parasitic occupations during the summer; it -has therefore not even a parochial sense of responsibility in the -creation of its prejudices. All talk circulates round ‘francs.’ His -short summer season is a succession of conflicts with varying degrees -of incompetence, in a business in which his conscious superiority -is seldom challenged. It is impressed upon him that his most paying -accomplishments are an obliging manner and a smattering of spoken -tongues. He has small occasion to measure himself against other men or -get an idea of his own personal value, because the world comes to him -in its most artificial form, and plays him only at his own game with a -fantastic handicap. He is a child, with a precocious development on a -special line which gives him his one standard for manhood in general. -Outside his valley he has to fear the antagonism, even the petty -violence, of any local trade union; inside it he has all a schoolboy’s -fear of outraging some point of rigid local etiquette. There is no -more of William Tell and the edelweiss post card in the material life -of a Swiss valley than there is of Robin Hood and Merrie England in -an agricultural village. If the guide turns back on an ascent, after -hearing some incomprehensible patois from a fellow-villager the evening -before in a hut, or if he refrains from bullying a surly official on -our behalf, on whose good offices he may be dependent, or if he shows -no active sympathy in our condemnation of a recalcitrant porter, -who may be his wife’s cousin, we have no right to expect anything -different. If after a gorgeous sunset and a romantic ascent he still -cares more for our francs than our fellowship, it is perfectly natural. -We should look for nothing else, if we had not fashioned our typical -guide in youth from the narrative of the great literary pioneers, who -still found here and there a sympathetic village unspoiled by hotels -and tourists, or a natural son of the hills whose responsive courtesy -could reflect, if it did not comprehend, the symbolical attributes, -born of the realization of romantic success and physical well-being, -with which the imagination of the contented employer invested his -guide’s leadership. We too find a few such men. But we recognize them -as exceptions, or as beings who visit us in their full splendour only -in the roseate hours of reminiscence following on a great climb. - -The guide as we know him is hill-born, hill-bred,--that is, a child, -with a child’s capacity for becoming much what we make him,--a -companion, a valet or a machine,--and with a child’s suspicion and -shyness, which he hides under an appearance of professional reserve or -a formal politeness. - -[Sidenote: The Right Footing.] - -A leader must not be content with either the polite manner or the -professional aloofness. He must first get to know his man thoroughly, -watch his reactions on a climb, and notice his weak and strong points, -where he is confident from knowledge and where he is merely bluffing. -From his movements or silences he will soon be able to deduce more than -from his speech. He should avoid direct opposition or discussion during -the actual climbing. The guide is as sensitive and as inarticulate -as any other uneducated handicraftsman on points that touch his -professional skill or caste pride, and ill-timed interference will -drive him to the polite manner for his protection. It is a mistake, -also, to allow the relationship to become too personal, to expect a -guide to act as valet or to perform small menial services in bivouac -or hotel. There are many offices which a guide performs as part of his -business,--cooking and carrying and the care of the party’s comfort as -a whole. But when an amateur has been indebted to his guide for putting -on his putties in peace-time, it is impossible for him to resent -being treated as equally dependent when the crises of battle take -place. The relationship cannot be changed in a moment, much less in a -crucial moment. The footing established in the valley, in the hut or -on the long tramp, will remain the footing on the mountain side. Small -hardships and small comforts have to be shared equally, that there may -be an equal sharing of the big responsibilities of the campaign and in -the decisions that go to meet difficulty or danger. - -Start with your guide on a right footing, so that he sees that you -recognize your duties towards him as much as his towards you. See that -he gets decent food in the hotels; some head-waiters, portly with that -authority which a tourist traffic inevitably confers, never learn -to handle a guide as anything but a servant in your employment and -something less in their own; but the guide is generally too loyal or -too aloof in spirit to tell you so. Let him have what wine he desires: -he will have to carry it himself. No good guide drinks to excess, -some not at all. But fine-drawn men, not regularly nourished on meat, -will frankly admit that failing such reserves the extra stimulus is -occasionally really needed if some feat calling upon all their strength -or endurance has to be carried through. A well-trained body, under -primitive conditions, knows by instinct what particular nourishment it -needs, and responds to its stimulus with startling suddenness. A good -guide, on serious work, will never take more than nature tells him -is required, whatever your opinion of that amount may be. Of course -if he is a regular or irregular sipper in idle moments it is best to -get rid of him. Be careful that he has not too much to carry; when -there are several of a party, and each adds some trifle of personal -luggage without knowing that the others may have done the same, the -load often gets far beyond what the leader intended in selecting -the provisions. His own food--he generally prefers his own of its -kind--should be unrolled and seen to with the other packages. Sleepy -hotel-porters, under the heading of “provisions for guide,” are apt to -stuff in mosaics of strange meats; and again the guide is too polite to -tell you: it is not manners to worry the gentlemen. This is just the -distinction which on all accounts you have got to break down. Consider -his comfort as that of any other member of the party during the day, -without seeming to fuss or to be condescending. It is hopeless to try -and make him ‘one of yourselves’; he has his own pride, and would shrug -his shoulders over premature familiarity. But quiet consideration will -gradually convert the relations into a pleasant mutual understanding. -Take his sack as well as your own if he is leading and you judge -the extra weight is taxing him unduly. Take your turn at leading in -deep, soft snow. This is the only task of sheer endurance in which I -believe good amateurs can outlast good guides. Look after his getting -his food and a proper place to sleep in, unobtrusively, when you get -down from a big climb to new quarters, no matter how tired you are. -It is in your own interest for the morrow. If possible, laugh him out -of the common trick of dropping behind and making a sort of tail to -your triumph as you return into the village or meet another party. He -is taught that this is good manners and will please your touristship; -but it is really insulting to both, if a man has been your companion -or leader during a great climb of united effort, to accept this mock -tribute to your poor dignity when there is no longer any chance of -going a step wrong. The transparent imposition impresses nobody you -meet, and least of all yourself or him. In the valley let the guide -see that, as between yourselves, you consider that the fellowship -remains unaltered, that you do not barter your right to be treated as -his equal as a mountaineer for the sake of posturing as his ‘Herr.’ -At the same time accept, for the sake of his comfort and his opinion -of your tact, the outward appearance of differentiation which his -training has taught him to consider consistent with his position and -yours in this valley and hotel life. You will soon find out what you -can or cannot do. You cannot traditionally invite him to dinner at the -same table with other strangers in a large hotel, but he will join -you for coffee at your separate table. Let him pay for you as you go. -The confidence will make him feel of the party, and has the advantage -of getting you large reductions through his local knowledge! Once he -recognizes you as a human being and you have found the way through -the crust of his professional suspicion and local upbringing, you -will know him to be very human also, with a temperament as easy as a -child’s to understand and as difficult as a child’s to manage; loyal, -sympathetic, often sensitive, and naturally honest. He enters more into -your aspirations than he ventures to show. Without sentiment, without -sharing your thoughts or being able to exchange a word about all the -varied interests that make up your own different outlook, without even -understanding your motives, you may yet, if you are fortunate, find -him a man who will become your close friend, with whom you can share -silence and danger and sorrow in a community of feeling that needs -no speech. In contact with elemental realities, it is the essential -personalities, not their different decorations of race or education, -that count and that make contact. - -Anyone who has followed me so far will probably be yawning, and asking, -“Is this really all necessary in order to enjoy a mountain holiday?” -It is not. If you want to follow a hunt, you have only to learn to -stick on; if your object is to cross the Atlantic, you can do it in a -liner; if you want just to do mountains, you can engage guides, behave -like a gentleman, and you will have got your desire. But if you ever -wish to realize the incomparably greater pleasures of hunting your -own pack or sailing your own boat, you will have to set about it in a -different fashion. Ask a platoon-leader or good company-officer what -proportion of time he gave to the study and training of his men before -an offensive. And then be assured that mountaineering is a pursuit in -which, just as there is no limit to the ascending scale of pleasures -which it offers, æsthetic and physical, so also there is no end to -the progressive study and preparation it demands from those who would -follow its higher walks. - -The better a man knows his child-guide, the more he will know how to -manage him, so as to get the best out of his mountaineering precocity. -The happiest arrangement is no doubt to keep a careful eye open, during -your preliminary years of training under the first professional, so -as to mark down any enterprising young guides or porters. The young -guide need not yet be an expert; it is for the amateur to give him the -opportunity for developing his technical skill in their seasons of -progressive climbing, while _pari passu_ the amateur is establishing -his own position in the partnership and perfecting himself in his own -department. - -The companionship of amateur and guide as friends is the ideal -combination for great mountaineering wherever the ground permits of it. -So soon as a second professional is added the amateur is in a minority; -and no matter how close his personal association with his first guide, -the professional comradeship, recalling the atmosphere of youth, may -always override his influence for the day. A single amateur, therefore -when he finds it necessary to take on extra help for a season or -for some expedition, will do well to choose some young man, the most -athletic possible, who has his name to make and is still only thinly -crusted with professional tradition. His inexperience may keep him at -least silent in the discussion of important decisions. - -[Sidenote: Before the Ascent.] - -The principles of management are the same, whether the amateur is alone -or with friends, and whether the guides are old friends or comparative -strangers taken on for the season or even the day. Your concern is -primarily with the guide’s state of mind, so that he may make the -best use of his skill. If your object is merely an ordinary ascent, -it is still important that the leading guide should be kept in the -right mood, both because of the greater contribution to the social -pleasure of your party if things go rightly, and because, if checks of -weather or of circumstance arise, as they always may, you have then -neglected nothing that can contribute to a successful continuance of -your climb. If your intention is something beyond the ordinary, your -task of preparation is more difficult. For the greater the technical -difficulties of a climb, the larger must be the technical expert’s (or -guide’s) share in deciding whether they can or cannot be overcome. -The idea of the ascent has generally first to be made the guide’s -own by subtle suggestion at convenient moments. If you have got him -up out of the valley in good health and spirits, you have still the -danger of the hut to meet, where the patois of local guides, should -your plan leak out, will affect his next day’s humour fatally, even -if it does not turn you back at once. In view of this danger it is -sometimes best to treat your attempt as an ‘exploration’ only, until -you are safely off on to the lower glaciers, otherwise you may find, -when you wake in the hut, that the ‘wrong rope’ has been brought or -‘the weather’ is miraculously portentous. A mountaineer may hear these -and similar whispered euphuisms, which are the preliminary to retreat, -passing between a ‘prompted’ guide and his expostulating employer any -night in any full hut. He will not feel it his business to intervene -on behalf of another employer unless he is very sure of his ground. -After all, the guide may have good reason to mistrust his employer’s -competence, and have chosen this polite way of saving his life or -comfort in anticipation. But the leader will be wise if he takes -good note of the machinations, and of all their meanings, for his own -protection in like case. Of course this kind of excuse may, in cases, -be dictated by actual cowardice and not only by hut talk. My disregard -of this possibility lost me one of the finest climbs I have planned. -After all the gambits of hut excuses, ‘weather’ and ‘rope,’ had been -countered, and we were actually on the mountain, my single guide, of -fine reputation and great name, at the first sight of our formidable -final ridge developed a ‘sprained wrist.’ It was a forlorn hope, which -put an end to our association, and proved the downward turning-point in -a promising career. - -I must instance one other weakness that comes into special prominence -in the bivouac or hut under the influence of other guides or of those -fluctuations in mood to which the peasant is very subject in the -prospect of some formidable climb. Very few guides know anything about -‘weather’ except a few local signs. But they will make use of their -supposed instinctive knowledge to the utmost if they feel lazy in the -morning or nervous of the undertaking. Possibly the ‘head-shaking’ is -half genuine, as a guide has a child’s fear of two things chiefly: a -cloud and a falling stone. But the leader must not be imposed upon, and -must use his own judgment about starting. I remember once in a bivouac, -literally under a huge stone, beside the Mer de Glace, twice sending -out quite a decent guide to see if his ‘cloud-bank’ was thinning. On -the third occasion, when I asked if there were really no stars visible, -he murmured drowsily, “Only two now,” and snuggled down to sleep again. -It is unnecessary to add that the guide and the party were wafted out -of the gîte on the wind of the unspoken and ate their breakfast on the -run. - -I recall these instances only to emphasize the necessity of a close -observation of character, so that flaws may be discovered in time, -as well as the weak points shielded past the times of contact with -external influences. - -[Sidenote: On the Mountain.] - -Once the climb is begun the task of shepherding is simpler; there -are only the effects of untoward or premature mountain incident upon -mood to guard against. But even so, occasionally, the effect of other -parties on the same climb may have to be reckoned with. Their presence -often extends the debilitating effect of ‘hut’ promptings to the -mountain side. If the feeblest of several parties on a mountain turns -back, it requires a serious effort to prevent panic, and the fear of -later valley criticism, from inducing a general retreat. To relieve -your guide of this chance you may have to make it very audibly apparent -to the other parties that it is you, and not he, who are insisting upon -the advance. - -Similarly, a guided party ahead of you, which may happen to take even -an obviously wrong route, will exercise a paralysing attraction upon -your leading guide’s mind. It is overpowering if the two guides are -acquainted. Once on a famous ridge of the greatest of Swiss peaks, -when the guide of the party ahead of us chose the traditional but, on -the day, the more dangerous of two lines, I had to say firmly that I -should retreat rather than take the risk, before my own admirable guide -could shake off the spell and consent to try the demonstrably better -alternative route. Incidentally I may add that we had the satisfaction -of sitting and watching from a secure ledge the sensational struggles -of the other party for fully half an hour before they caught us up -again. On the other hand, if the party ahead is led by a ‘foreigner’ -or enemy guide, you may have to look out for the repellent effect upon -your own guide, who will be only too ready to break off on any freakish -alternative line which may give him the chance of cutting out his rival -in front. - -These cases illustrate a particular danger; but as a rule once the -climbing commences the good guide is best left as much as possible -to his free devices. Your authority must encourage the idea that in -tactics the technical expert’s responsibility becomes greater, and that -in details the leading guide conducts the operations without question -or dissent. - -[Sidenote: Fine Shades.] - -If he has been judiciously nursed on to his mountain, a good leading -guide will be equal, unaided, to all ordinary situations and to -exceptional ones according to his ability. But if your climb proves -to belong throughout to the exceptional class, you must remain on the -watch, ready to employ in time those fine shades of management to -which alone nerves and muscles working near their limit respond. A -good first man on the rope, guide or amateur, is always an emotional -subject, though his self-control may conceal his inward fluctuations. -The leading guide’s mood in the early morning hours of climbing will -frequently be clouded by his sense of the serious work before him and -the threat of responsibility it shadows for him. If difficult problems -present themselves before he has warmed to his work, as they are apt -to do on a severe climb, or before he has realized the support of the -harmonious working of the party behind him, his mood will exaggerate -their difficulty and the discouraging prospect of a long day of such -problems. If you can then lift him over the crucial point without risk -to your party, your pains and study will have been well justified. You -must not give direct orders. A guide who will hurl himself against -anything because he is told to, against his judgment, is a bad guide, -or at least one whose temper and discretion are spoiled for the day. -Nor must you abuse the power of indirect suggestion which your study of -your man will have given you. A guide’s instinct on technical points -is an invaluable asset, and it may be harmed if it is tampered with -tactlessly. You must first make up your own mind whether his objection -to proceed is really based on genuine instinct or is only the outcome -of a depressed and cumulative mood. And here your knowledge of the -man and your observation of his condition before the crisis will help -you even more than your examination of the obstacle which is checking -him. Once you have decided that his objection is only due to mood, it -is your business to bring him into the right key again; to make him -feel that, while you realize the seriousness of the problem, yet your -judgment, unbiased by the infection of gloom, is cheerfully confident -that his skill can surmount it. Undue cheerfulness or obviously -pretended confidence will defeat your object by merely making him think -that you are out of touch with the situation or unaware of the gravity -of the decision. Both words and tone, therefore, need very delicate -choosing. The clouds must be given both time and a constant gentle -impulse to clear off. Once the black hour is past, as it passes with -most men as they warm to their work, the point comes, sooner or later, -when every good guide catches fire. The amateur can then relax much -of his attention even on a severe climb, enjoy the fun and attend -to the lighter problems of mere climbing. A day comes back to mind, -the occasion of a first ascent of the snow slopes of a famous peak, -when weather and evening company had alike contributed to oppress -the wayward spirits of a peasant guide. Every form of inducement, -‘exploration,’ ‘a nearer view for the next day,’ had had to be employed -in turn in order to coax a gloomy morning progress up the glacier, -over the bergschrund and up the initial ridges. And then suddenly, and -fully a third of the way up the ascent, a Napoleonic attitude with -outstretched arm appeared in silhouette against the snow wall above -us. We heard a cheerful shout, “Who follows me to-day will reach the -summit!” And we knew that all need for nursing on our part had ended -for the day. - -Remember that however well things are going, unforeseen circumstances -may always upset humour, and that you must be always looking out for -its effects. You have to bring your party up, for each round with the -unforeseen, at the top of its climbing form. A guide in the lead must -be relieved of all anxiety about the performance of the rest of the -party; his judgment of the succeeding problems must be kept clear of -bias from extraneous considerations. He must feel that the whole party -is in tune behind him, and is confident in him, or he will not be free -to put out his best powers. - -Mood or circumstance may, however, on occasion prove too much for -your management, and then you need not hesitate to take over the lead -yourself for a while. It is well for this, and for many other reasons, -to have accustomed your guides to the idea of your leading. When this -extreme course is taken, it should be done quietly and, if possible, -under pretext of trying some alternative line of your own. So soon as -the guide’s humour readjusts itself, as it will all the quicker for -watching your mistakes, the lead can be as quietly surrendered again. -I remember a new ascent we made upon a formidable rock peak. Our -excellent guides, overawed by the terrific threat of the sections far -above us, tried prematurely to prove the whole climb impossible, by -taking a fancy line early in the day which obviously led to a hopeless -impasse. As it is the huntsman’s privilege and duty, when scent is -overrun, to make the cast and lift the pack on to the right line again, -we exercised it from the tail-end of the rope. Our ultimate success -helped us to a mutual forgetfulness of the incident. - -[Sidenote: The Terms of the Association.] - -If you are climbing alone with a guide, of course either goes first -as may be convenient at the moment. This should be taken for granted. -Whether the your party contains guides or not, you should always insist -on taking your share of leading and encourage other amateurs to take -theirs. It is good for your climbing to do so, it is far the best -fun, and it promotes a proper footing with the guides. A guide has no -prescriptive right to the pleasantest place. Only where the climbing is -difficult, or danger is involved, the best man must lead; and this may -mean more usually the guide. It is a mistake for an amateur, however -brilliant, to let himself appear to be competing with a guide on his -own ground. The guide will always be politely admiring of brilliance, -but he is really only concerned to know that an amateur climbs safely, -and equally safely all the day. The common good is better served by -your appearing to take his superiority in the technical field for -granted, and confining your attention to deserving the command you -intend to exercise in the field of general responsibility. It is a -sign that you are beginning to take your proper position, in your own -sphere, when your guides cease to assure you that you are climbing, -like a ‘chamois’ or a ‘devil.’ But a young mountaineer is apt to feel -injured that guides take so much longer in learning to pay him the -first _real_ compliment, the admission by their acts and not their -speech that he has learned to go ‘safely.’ I remember in early days -bitterly resenting being coddled on a short rope down an ice slope by -two guides with whom I had just been sharing a sensational day, during -at least four hours of which, if I had slipped, no effort of theirs -could have saved the party. A guide, until he is trained by a good -manager, never unlearns the most deep-rooted tradition of his caste. -For him all amateurs alike remain _the_ amateur, that is, a thing to -be watched over, so long as the mountain remains a mountain, that is, -a thing up which the guide leads. For years after he has forgotten -to bother about his amateur on difficult places, where he has other -things to think about, a return to familiar ground will recall to him -the familiar tradition, and he will begin again to coddle his employer -exasperatingly. And for seasons after he has unlearned this habit, -a guide will continue to prefer the ‘backing up,’ in a bad place, of -a second-rate professional to that of the best amateurs in the Alps. -Perhaps this is natural; the two natives can calculate on each other’s -actions and reactions more closely their co-operation must always be -more instinctive and consequently more reassuring to one another. - -An amateur must be content first to study the trade-winds of -mountaineering, and then gradually try his wings on the more -complicated cross-currents of its direction. Once he is qualified for -his duties as manager, his old guides by habit, and any new guides -by instinct or discovery, will soon concede him his full authority. -With this as his fulcrum he will find it, in due time, easy to secure -that both he and other amateurs of his party shall be left free to do -their own share of the climbing on their own climbing merits, and only -receive assistance (or what is intended for it) when they ask for it. -When these terms are established it is happier for the party, and far -happier as a permanent teaching for the guides. I was puzzled once -to read in a hut book a notice that for the third year in succession -the same gentleman had been forced to turn back by ‘wind’ at the same -point of an easy ascent, although the book showed that on the same day -other climbs on the mountain had gone well. Then we remarked that he -had employed the same two guides on each occasion. They were earning -their money, apparently, without undue exertion or interference in a -permanent engagement. Possibly they may even have discovered that there -is a humorous value in repetition! A few years later I heard of them -as men of ‘unmanageable stiff-neckedness,’ and out of employment. But -climbers will know of countless instances; and we must all have seen -the village street tragedies of once famous guides drifting downward -to chance engagements, trading on their names, irascible with their -few patrons, still efficient, but spoiled, arrogant and accomplishing -nothing. - -[Sidenote: The Rare Crisis.] - -No matter how well the guide’s temperament is analysed and his moods -managed, every guide’s nervous system has a snapping point, when -self-control may be momentarily lost. As I have said when speaking of -amateurs, to some it comes sooner, to others later; but to the best -guides, as to men of little or less education, it will come sooner -than to the best amateurs. The crisis is a disagreeable one, and very -rare. A thunderstorm, with its dangers that cannot be met by any -skill, may produce it; a sudden fall of rocks or ice where they had -no right to fall; or the shock of a realization of imminent peril. -It will be always the unexpected. The amateur is then happy who has -never weakened his influence by making mistakes outside his province -or by exhibitions of his own temper or lack of self-control. If he has -never given himself away under pressure of shock or disappointment or -fatigue, then the greater the crisis the more effective will be his -personal intervention. A few sharp words, startling but not angry, -will prove with all good guides sufficient restorative. I have had -occasion even to pay off an hysterical shouting guide on a mountain -side before his frenzy,--the result of an uncontrolled temper and -sudden panic,--yielding then to the fear of a solitary descent, died -down sufficiently to make it safe to take him on the rope again. He -was a bad guide, and dismissed on that account. But for the case of a -good guide who has been tried too highly, the momentary correction will -suffice, and the incident should not afterwards be recalled. I know of -no other occasion which should justifiably tempt us into sharp speech -or the exhibition of direct authority during an actual climb. The -secret of maintaining control is never to appear to claim it. - -[Sidenote: The Reward.] - -In effect, an amateur is free now to take or not to take guides in -accordance with circumstances and not with tradition. If he engages -them, except as a beginner, it must be on the terms of mountaineer -with mountaineer and not tourist with professional. He should get to -know them as human beings, make friends of them if he keeps them, and -treat them with the same tact as his other friends. In addition he -has to give them the increased study and supervision which primitive -temperaments, unknown antecedents, probable prejudices and possible -personal value to his party deserve. His reward will be to find -that his guided party remains free from many of the anxieties and -disappointments with which other guided and guideless parties have -to put up. He will find that the modern guide, if he has little of -the demigod of last-century tradition, has the potentialities of any -wholesome, hill-bred human being. He will also, if he has deserved -it, discover that the better a man, guide or amateur, becomes as a -mountaineer, the closer he grows as a companion; until a point is -reached, in the fellowship of great ascents, when the distinction -altogether disappears. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -ROCK CLIMBING - - -Rocks are the framework of mountains. Rock climbing is a joyous -method of getting up attractive mountains by attractive ways. But it -is possible to be a rock climber without becoming a mountaineer. It -is possible to earn a reputation by leading climbs upon some special -type of rock without becoming even a good rock climber. The good rock -climber is the man who moves equably, speedily and safely up or down -sound and unsound rock, of every description and of any degree of -difficulty that is within his physical powers. - -A man who knows rocks and their structure and can climb them with -understanding is potentially a good mountaineer. He has opportunities -now of perfecting his craft which did not exist for his predecessors. -Each succeeding climbing generation can enter without effort or loss of -time upon an inheritance of skill and knowledge that its predecessors -won with tentative effort and slow discovery. During the last -twenty-five years the standard of difficulty that can be accomplished -with ease and safety by a rock climber of ability has gone up some -25 per cent. To this rapid advance the literature published on the -subject has contributed. The majority of climbs have now been charted -and described; their difficulties can be allowed for. The mystery and -uncertainty of new discovery affecting the mind, and the novelty of new -adjustments imposed upon the body are alike eliminated as complications -from the fair field of achievement. The climber goes out to meet -purely objective difficulties, with his mind informed and expectant -and his body trained and anticipating. The novice, or the expert in a -district new to him, guided by his reading, can economize his nerve and -muscle for the more difficult passages, and, finding them the easier -for this restraint, can pass on to always more exacting attempts with -pleasurable assurance. - -The presence in the hills of an increasing number of men who climb -well and confidently has had even more effect than the publication of -books and periodicals. Directed by advice, and by what is still more -effective, by imitation, the beginner is no longer in danger of getting -into habits of false positions and of false judgment, whether of the -angles or of the character of rock holds. He grows up in an atmosphere -where these matters are common knowledge, and he learns almost -unconsciously. - -[Sidenote: The Theory of the Development.] - -Rock climbing in our modern sense is a young craft. The early -mountaineers were drawn to the hills primarily by the attraction of -exploration. Their principal interest was to find the best route to -the summits. The snow slopes, to which the peasants and hunters who -led the early ascents had been for generations accustomed, presented -the natural means. Where snow failed and angles grew steeper they took -to the ice walls and ice couloirs, since to their developing snow -technique ice presented a more familiar alternative than rock. Steep, -bare rocks were incidentally negotiated, but not from choice. The -steeper, snowless rock peaks which offered no royal snow routes were -thus naturally left to the last, and when the succeeding generation -wished to find new outlet for the satisfaction of its own desire for -discovery, it had to invent a new rock technique to solve the new -problems. - -The history has been the same in every form of sport or of adventure -which has had the movements of the body and their perfecting in -skill as basis. The passion for the sport that the many may possess -engenders in the few who are better physically or nervously gifted a -desire to heighten and prolong the sensation and to exercise their -improving skill upon always more difficult variations. To the love of -wandering in the mountains, shared by all mountaineers, is added the -enduring pleasure to any healthy man of finding occasion for a higher -self-realization, a more vital physical consciousness. - -The evolution has been continuous; the generations, of course, -overlap, and the different phases of mountain enthusiasm can still -find their several satisfaction. For the explorer there are still the -untrodden ranges. For those with means and time sufficient to indulge -their love of climbing among the great Alps, the old snow ways of the -mountains still remain sufficient in number and in sensation. But for -the ever-increasing number of men whom circumstances limited to the -lesser hills of our own islands or to the lower alpine ranges, the -grass and snow ways began to prove too unexciting as their novelty -became exhausted, and the rock peaks and the sheer rock faces of the -Lake Fells, Skye or the Dolomites offered a new temptation. Rock -surface, unlike snow, proved to be almost infinite in its variety -and inexhaustible in its offer of novel routes. Consequently the -development of difficult rock climbing in snowless regions like our -own proceeded at a pace somewhat out of proportion to the leisurely -progress of the art among the British frequenters of the greater -Alps. Even among the guides it was only the few, fired by emulation -or educated by their employers, who maintained a rate of improvement -at all commensurate with that which was taking place in the average -standard of amateur home rock climbing; I am speaking here purely -of _difficulty_ and primarily of ascents. In the art of continuous -climbing, and of climbing down, the comparison, as will appear later, -was not equally to the home climber’s advantage. - -The principal agent in the change has been the study of the -possibilities of balance in motion, and the training successively of -the foot, the hand and the eye to secure a complete rhythmic movement -of the body while climbing. The primitive belief, if we may make a -deduction from the practice and recitals of early mountaineers, was -that the body could not be balanced with safety unless the width of the -foot had firm standing. Snow was found to satisfy this condition once -the study of snow craft had taught guides and amateurs how to fashion -a level tread, no matter what the angle of the snow slope. When the -period of the great ice climbs followed, in the historical order of -exploration, it became merely a question of discovering how to fashion -a corresponding security of step in ice. When the new impulse developed -for the undertaking of routes upon the rock peaks, a similar breadth -and comfort of tread were at first looked for. Consequently the rock -ascents of former days were limited in number and character by this -condition. Of the hands little account was taken. A walking balance -was the only rhythm recognized. We might almost call this the ‘walking -epoch.’ But the new generation, inheriting an always improving mountain -craft, with a new goal in view, could not long remain at this point. -The problem of finding sound routes up the rock angles of unexplored -peaks and faces had to be faced. - -The great gullies or rifts in the rock walls offered the first natural -lines of temptation. The shelter of their enclosing walls promised a -comfortable reassurance to nerve, and even more to the eye, as yet -unaccustomed, as I have shown elsewhere, to the direct view into -empty space, above, below and on either side, without its customary -rest-point for the assurance of balance. So began what may be called -the ‘gully epoch,’ a cul-de-sac which for a decade shut in, with a -few exceptions, all the efforts of our rock climbers. Since the level -tread could rarely be obtained in these gullies, body, shoulders -and arms were all brought into the service, in order that the feet -might still be able to jam against the requisite breadth of foothold, -even though in such places tilted at an angle. At angles where these -sloping footholds failed, the stemming of the shoulders and knees -between the vertical rock walls on either side was discovered to be -a means of bridging gaps on the climb that would before have passed -for insurmountable. The substitute of this rough friction and purely -muscular effort for the walking balance of the exploring age exercised -for a time a restricting influence, although the freer use it made -of the body in general prepared the way for a better tradition. -Climbers got up steeper cliffs by their new methods at the sacrifice -of their education as mountaineers. By specializing on a convenient -accident of mountain architecture, one which cramped their outlook -and left them little opportunity for achieving rhythm or perfecting -balance, they even unlearned something of the general mountaineering -knowledge which had been acquired by the wider, milder practice of -their predecessors. It was this departure, with its somewhat clamorous -record, that introduced the period of widest separation between the -old school of classical alpine mountaineers and the commencing school -of island rock climbers, and which brought upon the latter the blast -of, not unmerited, ‘grease-polarized’ criticism, that still whispers -spasmodically and archaically. It deepened the rift that during this -epoch the greater number of first ascents of the cliffs in England and -Wales were made by means of those enticing gullies. For the classical -mountaineers, trained in the Alps, when they took an occasional holiday -in the Lakes or Skye, looked chiefly for the class of climbing which -most closely recalled the varied types of ridges to whose structure -they had been accustomed in Switzerland. Their successors, the Fell -climbers, lacking their alpine training, yielded to the temptation -of unexplored gullies, and for years enclosed our home climbing in -these uncomfortable channels. Wales, with less potent climbers, -followed the example. But Wales, with fewer gullies wherein to win -fame, would appear to have been the quarter where the first bid was -made for freedom. Almost simultaneously a similar change of view was -taking place among the rock peaks of the Eastern Alps. Gullies are the -natural lines for the descent of stones, water and snow rather than -for the ascent of human beings. Of their nature ‘faults’ in the sound -structure of the cliffs, intrusions of softer rock whose weakness water -has discovered, their surviving walls present an undue proportion of -unsound rock. These objections, combined with the gradual exhaustion -of their temptation as new ascents, eventually forced our climbers to -escape from their sunless recesses and to adjust their methods to less -restricting requirements. - -The first impulse came from a few individuals whose exceptional -physical advantages led to their discovery that they could trust to -their fingers as securely as to the full tread of their feet or the jam -of their bodies. The discovery enabled them to attempt places where -there were no containing walls to be relied upon as support for the -body if the feet failed--problems such as wide-angled corners and even -what would now be called slab climbs. Finger and hand holds in their -turn became everything; footwork was neglected. To some exponents the -feet were useful only as auxiliaries, scraped downward indiscriminately -upon the rocks to give some extra propulsion. It was the epoch of -‘grip’-climbing. Its merit, apart from fine individual achievements, -was that, in its turn, it set the succeeding generation free to trust -itself more confidently on to the open ribs and exposed rock faces. -Bare slabs which had hardly been looked at were then found to be -covered with firm holds, upon which the toe or the side of the boot -could stand as firmly and advance far more rapidly; while hands and -eyes were free to assist them to an extent unknown before. The balance -of the body in continuous motion above the feet was, as it were, -rediscovered, and an upright position became again possible. The hands -returned to their proper function of aids to the balance, and the feet, -climbing in natural positions, became again of principal importance. -With the discovery that the underlying principle of all climbing -movement is rhythm,--a rhythm of the whole body and not only of the -legs, as in walking,--and that the basis of such rhythm is balance, and -not grip or stride or struggle, rock craft moved into its proper place -in the forefront of mountaineering qualifications. - -Such in rough outline is the history of the last eighty years of -climbing technique. We must allow for much overlapping of the epochs in -so short a period, and for many notable individual exceptions; but in -the main this summary represents where we were and where we are, and -what happened on the way. - -In classifying the stages of our climbing progress into epochs or -compartments, I am doing no injustice to the achievements of the past. -A chronicler must always face the dilemma whether to say that the great -man by his example produces the general change of practice in the next -generation, or whether to class him as the conspicuous anticipatory -ripple of a general current of coming change. Very young climbers -may be often only human in their criticisms of their contemporaries -and in their faint patronage of the collective past; for no really -enthusiastic mountain-lover ever in his heart believes that anyone -else has ever owned the hills and discovered climbing quite in the -sense that he has. But every climber who is on the way to becoming a -permanent mountaineer is a keen student of mountain history, and the -services rendered to the world’s mountaineering by the conservation of -a body of central alpine tradition are never likely to be underrated. -A good house rises higher than its foundations, but it rests upon -them. The men who first ventured on the discouraging angles of buttress -and gully and cleared the grass and earth from small holds performed -greater feats technical and moral than the most outside variations -which may remain to be done on the same rocks by their present-day -successors. They had everything against them, even the atmosphere of -their generation. They not only led the way to the steep rocks; they -started the assault upon degrees and varieties of difficulty that -forced upon their successors the cultivation of the superior technique -which they now enjoy. The mountaineering world has a tenacious memory; -we cherish the names and exploits of the heroic age; the feet of our -gods were solidly shod, and we will admit no clay to be visible about -them but that which was honourably collected in their stout tramping. - -[Sidenote: Balance Climbing.] - -The change in style from epoch to epoch was a considerable one, and it -has not been brought to perfection in several climbing generations. -To acquire a balance rhythm in motion the whole body has to learn a -habit of continuous simultaneous adjustments. Both feet and hands must -develop a very fine sensitiveness of touch, so as to inform us not only -of the exact amount of security each is contributing at the moment, but -also--a different matter--of the value of their leverage for initiating -a fresh movement upwards. According to these messages the balance is -continuously adjusted, so as to relieve or compensate any extremity -that may require it. The feet need only a sufficiency of hold to carry -the weight of the body at whatever angle it is being held in balance by -the hands. The hands need only that amount of hold which will enable -them to keep the body balanced while the weight is being thrust upward -by the feet. The feet learn to move inevitably on to holds no longer -seen, but previously selected by the eye. Simultaneously, the eyes are -already occupied in choosing the next holds for hand and feet, guided -in their choice not only by the compensating quality of the hold which -the balance at the instant may demand for one or other of the four -extremities, but also by the direction in which the next movement can -most securely be made. A system of continuous compensations, partly -drawn from the rhythmic balance of the moving body, partly from a -corrective choice of succeeding holds, means a great saving of effort -for the feet and hands. - -The walking rhythm, of the first period, called for large, flat holds, -and therefore for long strides between them. Between each hold the -centre of gravity was thus forced out insecurely. The hands, when used, -had the extra labour of dragging the weight inward against the outward -thrust of the legs. The effort and the insecurity set a low limit to -the angle of rock which could be conveniently ascended. The grip habit, -of the middle period, demanded for its assurance sharp-edged cling -holds, such as would enable the whole lifting movement to be executed -by the hands alone. The body in suspension was thus wrenched inwards -continuously, and sight and balance were interrupted. Rhythm on either -method became impossible. On the other hand, a foot climber who climbs -by balance or compensation appears to creep easily and continuously up -the most severe slabs on an even line. His moving foot rarely lifts -above the knee of his stationary leg, for he has his balance first -to consider, and as he only needs small footholds at any angle to -sustain it, he can find them at shorter intervals in greater abundance. -His hands feel the almost imperceptible rugosities of surface with -sensitive fingers, that press as often as they cling. His body moves -upward, swinging out or in on a curve of balance with astonishing -freedom, as the messages from hand, eye and feet are collated and -complied with. - -A man in sound condition, with his nerves and muscles trained, can -acquire this mastery of balance in motion far more easily than would -appear when it is thus set out. His body, at rest, instinctively -assumes the right balance for a given position. He has only to train -his eye to select holds ahead which will allow of a sequence of -harmonic positions; to train his instinct to imagine beforehand what -these positions will be; and to train his body to move from each one -of these positions to the next, in balance and with an ordered and -unbroken rhythm. - -In this ladder of modern technique the first rungs of easier progress -have been the relief to the hands and feet. A further step has been -the relief to the knee, and incidentally to the clothes that cover -it. It is now rare to see a good climber return even from a week of -conflict with that most destructive of all rock, the Chamonix granite, -in the tatters of tradition. In Wales, succeeding Mrs. Owens need no -longer “mend them with stuff of various colours”: the dark returns for -decency’s sake to Zermatt or Wasdale are adventures of the past. Even -the style of clothes has something altered with the style of climbing. -Practised climbers wear in all lighter materials, chosen for wind and -water purposes more than for an armadillo-like power of resisting -friction. The change in the knee is most significant. The armour -plating of thicknesses has tended to disappear. The knee is usually -innocent of patches and often left, in Tyrolese fashion, uncovered. The -change is due to our change in style. While the foot still demanded -broad holds, necessarily found at longer intervals, for its balance, -the knee was constantly in requisition for an intermediate push up. -While grip climbing obtained, the knee was more useful than the foot -to jam with or to scrape downward against the rocks. It was also -recommended for use in mountaineering manuals as a relief to those long -strides and arm-pulls! Now the foot works for both. The knee is kept in -reserve for cracks and rococo mantelpieces, in interrupted climbing, or -for a friction hold on spaces of smooth slab to raise the body the few -inches necessary to reach new handhold. Since the knee is useless even -on such occasions unless it adheres firmly, the breeches should not get -dragged or torn. In continuous climbing it only serves us for light -balancing touches, when the hands are needed elsewhere. - -Yet another step has been the setting free of the eyes to perform -their proper functions of balancing and of selecting. This release has -been the main factor in confirming the rapid improvement in modern -technique. During the walking era, and still more during the gully and -grip eras, the climber had generally to take what his hands, unaided -by his eyes, found for him. A climber by balance or compensation keeps -his head well away from the rock, at the maximum distance permitted by -the necessity of keeping his body in balance above his moving feet. -His eye is almost uninterruptedly free to trace out his general line -above, to choose immediate holds and to exercise, even as he moves, -a comfortable and leisurely discretion. He can see what he is doing -all the time. To take one instance. On very steep rock that which has -passed below the level of the knee is often already out of sight. A -man who climbs convulsively, with his nose against the rock, has often -missed the sight of some minute ledge to right or left of his line -which alone offers a foothold from which his hands can reach above the -next bare slab. Even if he afterwards finds it by the grope of his -foot, it is too late for his eyes to estimate its security or shape. -Similarly, he is unable to keep continuous watch ahead, and may often -lose sight of a line of holds already marked from below; or he may -overlook altogether some other easier line of holds which could have -been reached by a timely divergence to right or left. Thus his chances -of accomplishing a difficult climb are incalculably diminished. - -And yet another step has been the economy in nervous and physical -output. Rock climbs can now be repeated by the average modern climber -with only about half the effort they cost their first conquerors, who -did them by force of heart and muscle. They can keep, consequently, -more strength in reserve. The interrupted continuity of our earlier -struggle step and grip hold involved a disturbance of the balance and -a break in the continuity of mental concentration. The recovery from -every such movement put an extra strain upon both muscle and nerve. In -the re-start after each ‘jam’ position, with its absolute arrest of -rhythm of all kinds, the disturbance was even greater. Severe climbing -of the modern standard demands controlled, continuous movements, so -that the body’s adjustments may continue automatically, and that there -may be no interruption in the co-operation of nerve and eye and brain. - -The beginner must expect to find that balance climbing does not come to -him as a first instinct. Swinging from the hands to every hold which -may be visible, and struggling and jamming with the rest of the body -anyhow, so as to secure safety and impetus, are the primitive movements -proper to self-preservation and common to all muscular animals like men -and monkeys. Much muscular instinct has to be unlearned to overcome -this instinct, which is the reason that athletes who have accustomed -themselves to reliance upon particular groups of muscles are generally -bad climbers. But there is no more cramping fault than to yield to the -muscular temptation, and to cling or jam when it is not absolutely -essential to safety. - -The rule holds good for easy or hard rock, sound or unsound. The sense -of balance in motion has to be acquired, or, at the beginning of each -climbing holiday, recovered. The lines of communication between toe and -finger and eye, with the brain as clearing-station, have to be opened -up or reopened. The ability to compensate, by the balance of the body, -between hand and foot hold, and to relate the process to the task of -selecting holds in anticipation with the eyes, has to be acquired or -regained. Movement has to become rhythmic, and not convulsive. - -The sense of comfort or ease in performing individual movements is the -test of the degree of balance and rhythm acquired. The consciousness -of comfort in continuous climbing movement is the assurance of a -developed style. Easy rock ridges, of sufficient length, provide the -best commencing practice. On them alone can practice rapid enough or -continuous enough be obtained to convert what in the commencement -must be separate efforts, each executed by a conscious effort of the -will, into unconscious rhythmic movement as the habit of the body. The -adjustment of the poise of the body and the judgment of the adjustment -next required must become instinctive, otherwise an unexpected attitude -forced upon us by the exigencies of the holds may upset the sense of -comfort; and with the comfort goes the style; and with the style goes -the security. The feeling of confidence is our test. - -[Sidenote: The Individual Standard.] - -If, and this happens to the most expert when out of training, a feeling -of discomfort or mistrust intrudes, even for a flash, we are climbing -beyond our standard. There is no error more fatal than the assumption -that because we have once done a particular climb or perfected our -skill to a particular rhythm, we can always and at once climb up to -that standard again or recover our normal rhythm. - -It must be repeated that the standard of difficult rock climbing has -now been forced up to a point that practically represents the limit -of human possibility. If we may assume that there is a minimum of -handhold or foothold to which fingers or toes however powerful or -prehensile can cling, and that there is a maximum angle above which -human strength cannot force its way up rocks by friction alone, that -minimum and maximum have now been attained. Men of abnormal physique, -confidence and endurance have of recent years perfected their -individual rhythm of skill to the point of being able to ascend without -discomfort or violent effort rock climbs that present the maximum angle -with the minimum of holds. Beyond that point lies, not danger, which -for ordinary climbers begins some degrees earlier, but impossibility. - -It is folly for beginners or for ordinary climbers, as it would be -folly for these men themselves when they were out of practice, to -attempt such climbs out of mere courage or conscious fitness, or -because they have heard that they are frequently done. What one man has -done in climbing every man cannot do. In many cases the final conquest -of these particular climbs has been due to some accident of abnormal -reach or other development such as no skill could acquire, superimposed -upon a perfection of normal style. If the climbs seem to be repeated -frequently, it is because, though the parties may be numerous and -various, the leaders of those parties remain few and the same--men -drawn from the small group of the super-climbers. - -Again, ability to climb rocks of the modern exacting standard is even -as much a matter of mental fitness as of bodily fitness, of continuity -in nervous control as of physique. An instant’s failure of will or -confidence, an instant’s interruption in the nerve communications, -due to fatigue or over-tension, will disturb the delicate adjustments -of balance as fatally as a broken leg. Several of the most serious -accidents of recent years have been undoubtedly due to momentary -suspensions of consciousness, breaks in the nerve communications, -produced by over-exertion of the nerves as much as of the muscles. -Before nerve and sinew are alike fit and in training they can establish -no rhythmic co-operation with one another or with the brain. And in -this condition they are all alike liable to error in estimating the -amount of effort or of compensation they can justly expect from each -other. - -The pleasant custom of association among climbers has its drawbacks -in this respect. Climbers are gregarious, if exclusive. They tend to -form eclectic associations in certain centres at certain times. They -re-form into different parties under the same leaders. Consequently -a number of men may begin and climb for years without arriving at an -idea of what they are individually worth, or of what would be their -normal standard if left to themselves. They may do a number of the -severest ascents and discuss them with an equal confidence, and yet -remain ignorant of what progress they have made in their own standard -of performance or in nerve control. A climbing party pools its ability -and its confidence. The longer and closer its association, the less are -its individuals conscious of how much they contribute and how much they -draw from the collective power. A weak climber may climb on some such -rope with satisfaction to himself and no obvious personal inferiority, -while he is drawing all the time on the common stock contributed by his -more capable associates. A leader similarly, well backed up by a good -party, may get into the way of deceiving himself badly as to the extent -to which his secure performance really derives from them. Instances are -not wanting of the trap this may become. A weak or moderate climber -thinks he can lead a moderate party up a climb which he may have done -comfortably several times with his usual strong party of friends. -Alone, he gets into serious difficulties. A good leader, over-confident -from the habit of always feeling a sound party behind him, may attempt -a difficult or familiar climb with too large a proportion of novices on -his rope. The amount of ability pooled by the party behind him will no -longer provide a margin of safety against accidents. The slip of one -will involve others, and his individual contribution of skill cannot be -sufficient to check the disaster. - -No man is fit to lead on easy rocks until he knows exactly his own -unaided _normal_ standard. No man is fit to lead on difficult rocks -until he can gauge not only his normal standard, but also, accurately, -his _standard of the day_. The second is as important as the first, but -it is almost universally disregarded in practice. - -To lead rock climbs of the modern high standard of difficulty demands -a high degree of initiative, imagination and nervous force, added to -a suitable physique. First-rate leaders are, therefore, in a large -majority men of highly strung nervous temperament; they are ‘built -on wires.’ To have become great leaders they must have learned to -dominate their wires completely. For such men, unusually aware of their -normal standard, it is all the more difficult to consider or allow for -accidental fluctuations in their physical or nervous condition of the -day. But a particular climb may find even them either out of condition -or suffering from an off-day. The off-day feeling, arising from -countless causes, is one from which all mountaineers suffer; the more -frequently, the more nervous their temperament, and therefore the more -frequently in the case of this type of leader. If they disregard its -presence or attempt to overtighten their wires to resist it, they run -serious risks. The good climber must find compensation in the knowledge -that the more he perfects his technique and rhythm of comfort, the less -variation will he find in his normal standard; and the better he knows -his normal standard, the less difficulty will he find in determining -the fluctuations in his standard of the day. - -The climber then must, from the first, learn to estimate his own -performance irrespective of the contribution made to it by the rest of -his party. - -[Sidenote: Solitary Climbing.] - -To secure this self-knowledge he need not climb alone. Solitary -climbing has its own delights: of independence of movement and of -remoteness from the whims of others; of a more intimate appreciation -of beauties of sight and sound and incident, and of a sense of almost -personal identification with the forces of nature, in their visible -activity of movement and growth as in their passive compliance of line, -colour and form with laws of slower change. The mystical moments in -mountaineering, which are the source of its fascination for men of -intellect and imagination, are found more easily in solitude. But these -moments are to be experienced almost equally in solitary rambling or -walking, and although their intensity is increased by the rhythm of -climbing, the rhythm of mind and nerve and muscle working at the same -high tension to the same deep tune, yet this superlative indulgence -is only excusable for the supremely expert. To climb alone a man must -know his own measure; he must be confident that he can allow for his -standard of the day; he must restrict his ambition to climbing of a -class well below the utmost he could manage with a good rope behind -him; he must allow something more for the nervous effect of solitude; -and he must remember that all rock climbing is subject to a large -number of pure accidents,--a strained sinew, a falling stone, or a -breaking hold,--whose effects can be corrected or at least minimized -by a united party, but any one of which may prove fatal to a solitary -climber. If he is confident that he can make all these allowances, he -may go alone on rock if he so desires. The question of what further -limits he ought to observe out of regard for the apprehensions of -others, his own circumstances or his relatively greater value in some -other sphere, is a matter for private or domestic decision, and is not -for the consideration of mountaineering opinion. - -As concrete instances of the degree of difference that should be made, -I take a few examples from rock climbs familiar to British climbers. -A man who could lead the Grépon or the Dru (so far as their rocks -are concerned) would be justified on his skill, if he kept all the -conditions, in attempting all but the most severe Lake or Welsh climbs -single-handed. A man whose limit in leading a rope was the rocks of -the Géant or the Moine, or who found the Réquin fatiguing, could only -safely undertake alone easy rock climbs, the orthodox ridges in Skye, -the moderate Napes ridges, the buttresses of Tryfan and so on. Any -man who found comfort in the presence of the rope, even behind him, -on such ridges and buttresses as these last, should never attempt, -when he is alone, more than the scrambling incidental to mountain -walking. Finished experts must discover their own personal code of -differentiation. They have only to keep in mind the distinction between -difficulty and danger, as climbers know it, and to remember that to the -solitary climber _every_ difficulty may be dangerous in result. I say -nothing here about solitary climbing on snow or ice. - -Beginners do not come under any of the categories which permit of -solitary effort. - -[Sidenote: Initial Practice.] - -The introduction to climbing customarily inflicted upon novices is -practice upon single rocks, low cliffs, quarries and erratic boulders, -with or without the aid of a rope held from above. This ‘bouldering,’ -or problem climbing, may serve to discover a talent or encourage -an inclination, but it is of little use as commencing practice. The -scrambles are short. They give no opportunity for a groundwork in -rhythm or for balance in motion. If they are easy, they are done at -once on the head or the heels, and no one the better. If they are more -difficult, muscle can either manage them,--a bad error to commence -with,--or, if muscle fails, the ground close below or the rope close -above deprives failure and success alike of any training for the nerve -or moral for the memory. Their real value is only for the expert, -who has learned to treat every rock with the same respect, be it of -five feet or of five hundred feet. They make fine riders upon special -propositions, of toe or finger joint, once we have mastered the general -principles; but beginners get more benefit from easy, continuous -exercises on the simple rules--and ridges. - -This practice is best begun as a member of a roped party of about equal -capacity, and under the direction of a leader who will only allow the -rope to be used as a protection, and not as a method of traction. The -climber is then to a large extent insured against the consequences of -his early blunders, which will give him some necessary confidence; he -will get some profit from watching other methods, and he can devote -himself to working out his own style. Imitation, conscious or not, will -give him right position, and the collective movement will infect him -with the beginnings of rhythm. - -[Sidenote: The Use of the Foot.] - -[Sidenote: Hard Soles.] - -In balance climbing, footwork must be placed first. For footwork on -rock the right footgear with the right sole is all-important. If -we wear a nailed boot, it should be as light as is consistent with -strength and the weight of the climber--that is, of the lightest alpine -pattern.[10] Large men often like the heavy iron-clad boot for the -impetus it gives to a longer swing on levels or downhill. But this is -no recommendation in ascending rocks, where the weight of the boot -alone, since it has to be lifted and swung an indefinite number of -thousand times a day, is a wasteful drain upon the leg muscles. At the -same time the boot must be strong enough to protect the foot against -bruise or jar on all kinds of rugged surface, and the soles thick -enough to be firm, otherwise in climbing with the toe or the side of -the boot there is unfair strain upon the finer fabric of the foot. -The welt, for rock work more especially, should not project, as this -increases the strain upon foot and leg in toe and side-foot climbing. A -heavy welted boot or one with stiff leather uppers crushes the foot and -interferes with its delicate sense of touch. - -The method of nailing the boots is important.[11] Rock climbers pursue -different fancies of their own: some prefer a double line of small -nails close to the edge, for a better stance on small ledges; some -dislike the edge or wing nails, and prefer a single row of small sharp -heads; and so on; but the chief thing for rock is to make sure that -the edge-nails, whatever they be, are set well apart, so as to give a -rough catching edge between each nail against a pull either way. On the -toe this separation is not so imperative, and they can be set closer -together for mutual protection and for a division of the strain, which, -in their case, will chiefly be on the back of the nail and not on its -sides. To edge the boot with overlapping nails, which may become a -smooth bar, is ineffective, and even more likely to produce a slip on -rock than if the sole were left altogether unprotected. One good rough -nail rightly driven in and rightly placed is quite enough to ensure a -perfectly safe stance under a well-balanced body; and on much modern -slab climbing one nail-hold is all that is sought or obtained. The -neater the action the fewer the nails needed. - -[Sidenote: Soft Soles.] - -For a number of rock surfaces a soft sole serves better than a nailed -boot. It permits of a sharper flex of the ankle, and restores to the -foot much of the sensitive and prehensile quality of the hand. Its more -flexible surface will cling to or over excrescences and flat planes -upon which a boot could find little or no support. It enables the foot -to be thrust toe-forward into narrower horizontal cracks or pockets, -and toe-downward, for leverage, behind flakes split vertically. It is -more secure upon steep, smooth slabs, in back-and-toe chimney climbing -and upon delicate traverses. Its lightness and close fit give greater -elasticity to the movements of the leg and greater exactitude to the -placing of the foot. On the other hand, it has not the grip in the -smooth angle of a vertical crack or corner that a hard sole has; in -side-foot or toe climbing on narrow ledges of sheer rock it strains the -foot unduly; it is treacherous on greasy or glazed rock, and absolutely -useless on snow, ice, sharp rubble or in greater mountaineering. From -my own experience I should say that there are few steep places that the -_ordinary_ rock climber meets where a nailed boot cannot be used as -securely as a soft sole, but that there are many where the soft sole -is more comfortable and reassuring. We have, of recent years, imitated -Dolomite climbers more generally in their use upon abrupt crags, and -when we have finally got over our prejudice against carrying extra -footgear with us and bothering to put it on, there will be as wide a -popularity for the soft sole, discreetly used, upon rock as the claw -has at last begun to enjoy upon ice. - -According to the texture and condition of the rock, soft soles of raw -hide, thin leather, woollen cloth, canvas, flat or ribbed rubber, rope, -and even the soles of bare feet of a naturally leathery quality, are -all and each declared to be the best possible wear. It is impossible -to assign them geographically and geologically in detail, and I doubt -if anyone will carry with him all the types on the chance of using one -quite correctly. The average rock climber, even though he knows the -truth that on some rock boots with hard nails, and on others boots with -soft nails, give the better grip, shows himself still discouragingly -reluctant to carry even these two pairs with him in our own islands. I -myself preferred a light rubber sole on dry difficult rock, and a rope -or cloth sole on wet rough rock (not greasy), whenever the difficulty -made it distinctly safer than a nailed boot. Rubber is less durable -than rope, but it remains more evenly prehensile. The rope sole, -recently used with great effect even in the greater Alps, gets hard -and, still worse, hardens in patches that give a fickle tread. - -For prolonged wear a soft-soled canvas boot is more comfortable than -the traditional shoe. - -Many rock climbers wear very thick stockings or several pairs of -socks.[12] Their protection to the foot is greater than that of weighty -or rigid boot leather, and, according as feet and boots vary in size -from day to day, they allow of a corresponding addition or subtraction. -But for pure rock work their thickness should never be allowed to -interfere with the sense of touch in the toes. Any constriction round -the ankle, by the boot, or round the knee, by the breeches, is for the -same reason to be avoided. To check the circulation or to cramp a sinew -or muscle is to interrupt the telegraphic messages upon which balance -and safety depend. - -[Sidenote: Foothold.] - -The feet in all climbing should be placed lightly, and the swing of -the leg kept under control. To aim the foot, as many do, from the -thigh and knee, bang it in, and then leave it to settle itself on the -hold, is to jar the foot and fatigue the leg. The movement should be -precisely directed from start to finish, and no sinew slackened until -the other foot has taken charge. In continuous climbing the position -of the foot on the new foothold should be chosen with a view to its -supporting the balance during the next movement up or down, and the -foot must be placed exactly as the eye designed. If not, the balance -will not rise true on the lift, and there will be a flurried hand cling -and a clumsy foot shuffle until the right foot position is found. Small -inexactitudes mean clumsiness and waste of power. - -Good skating calls for the same precise adjustment of the feet in -anticipation of the next movement of the body. But the closest parallel -is to be found in good dancing. The motion of foot and leg in both -dancing and continuous climbing is free yet under control, rhythmical -and balanced to the appearance of ease, but precise; ready for the -new position required for fresh movement, and yet keeping the body -in balance during the momentary transference of weight. In both, the -actual contact of the feet with the surface is always light. In either, -a heavy or loose tread not only breaks the rhythm, so that the balance -has to be recovered by an effort, but it destroys the sensitiveness of -touch, and delays for a perceptible moment the beginning of the next -movement. Dancing is, in fact, an excellent preparation for climbing. -Good climbers are, or can be, nearly always good dancers. The account -often given in joke of a fine climber that he ‘literally danced down -the rocks’ is a truthful picture. A good dancer has to adjust the -continuous motion of his feet and body over an even surface to the -swift and varied rhythm of music. A good climber has only to keep true -to his own rhythm; but he has the more difficult task of adjusting -his continuous movement to the varied angles, checks and impulses of -uneven rock holds. The more difficult the rock, the slower must be his -rhythm; but slow or fast, each motion must remain equally exact and -finished. The more precise he renders each movement, the safer will be -his progress and the more polished will appear to be his style. All -false positions, sudden convulsions or recoveries that will break the -continuity of movement, have therefore to be avoided. In ascending upon -a vertical line it is, for instance, obviously better to take footholds -slightly to the right and left with either foot rather than immediately -below the body. The knee thus turned sideways can be flexed without -thrusting out the centre of gravity and interrupting the continuity. -Again, as between two footholds that may offer, the one large and -reassuring in promise but inconveniently placed, the other less -comforting but at a happier interval, the latter is to be selected. The -first would be sound, but would need two interrupted movements and a -readjustment between them; the second will fit in with our continuous -movement and be secure enough to reach and to leave again. Rock holds -are not required for a permanent residence. The foot, the toe and the -side nail are not looking for snug berths with a pension, but only -for such security of tenure as will permit them to promote the career -easily from one balanced movement to the next. - -[Sidenote: Anticipation.] - -Upon very steep rock, holds rarely occur in the convenient, ladder-like -sequence that allows of a continuous lifting of the body in the same -position and line. Each succeeding set of hand and foot holds may here -require a new attitude for purposes of balance. For this interrupted -type of climbing, however, it is just as important to remember that it -is too late to begin to twist the body into the new position required -by the new holds when already those holds have been reached. A climber -who makes this mistake gets no help even from his slower rhythm, and -looks to be spasmodic and insecure. All the more here a good climber -should look beforehand what his new attitude will have to be on the -new holds, and, like a skater, he should move his body into the new -position while he is in the act of passing from the one set of holds to -the other. In the case of an awkward step it is even admissible for him -to go up and down to it, tentatively, before committing himself to it, -in order to make certain that he will arrive upon the hold in the right -position. He has then no need to readjust his feet or hands when the -movement is complete and the next begins. - -This fine point in style is invaluable to master; anticipation saves -energy and assures safety on long or difficult rock climbs. The sinuous -progress of the expert on an ‘interrupted’ passage is effortless as -compared with the jerks and quick contortions of a less finished -climber on the same place; and on long, easier climbs, where all are -moving together, he is always the sooner ready to meet at any second -the failure in his own case of a single hold, or to give the immediate -check to the rope which shall correct a slip behind him. Even if he is -in mid-movement when the call comes, in an instant of time his feet and -hands can lock his balance into the new position already half attained, -or they will bring him back with nicety to his last firm holds. - -[Sidenote: The Ankle.] - -In the mastery of balance climbing the ankle plays a very important -part. So that the body may progress smoothly when the feet are -clinging only to small or very inclined holds, the ankle must be -strong enough and supple enough to support the weight at rest or in -motion, no matter at what angle it may be bent, forward or backward -or sideways. The extent to which the ankle can be flexed varies with -the individual. Extreme in babyhood, the flexibility can be preserved -by early and suitable exercise. Once it is lost, and the foot ‘set,’ -it is very difficult to recover or increase it in later life. Those -whose ankles will only flex city-wise may only envy the ease with which -mountaineering peasants walk straight up steep inclines, getting their -heels down each step, or coastal fisher-folk hurry safely on flat soles -along slippery sea slabs at impossible angles. If your ankle won’t bend -so far, it won’t. But what can be and has to be acquired is suppleness -and strength in the ankle, whatever its flex, so that it will hold -as securely when bent to the full as when straight, and will relate -through its changing but steely arch the balance movement of the body -above to the unshifting cling of the foot below. Like skating, ski-ing -or crabbing on claws, walking securely with a flexed ankle has to be -learnt by practice; and the first essential is confidence. Balance -boldly on slabs. If you lean inwards, or seek support with the hand, -you will never improve your ankle work. Such practice on ice with claws -and practice on slabs with shoes or nails are mutually helpful. It -is excellent exercise for the ankle and foot to practise doing ridge -or slab climbs of progressive steepness without using the hands at -all. The flex of the ankle, the bow of the leg and balancing power of -the trunk muscles working together, can learn to do a great deal for -which we are ordinarily too ready to use the hands. By educating ankle -and foot to work alone we keep the hands in reserve for increasingly -difficult passages. Often the ‘prop’ of a bent ankle above a side-foot -hold gives us the second point of contact with the rock which is all -that our balance requires. I have known of climbers whose standard -improved markedly owing to a hand injury or arm wound. Compelled to -develop their ankle and foot work, by the time the arm recovered they -had learned a better ‘balanced’ style, and the fresh help of the hand -came in as so much more gain in power. Careful hill walking or rock -climbing in a light shoe is better training for the ankle and balance -than walking in a heavy boot. The heavy boot restricts the flex and -weakens the ankle by always supporting it. On all but rock surface it -compels the surface to its service. On rock its rigidity and good side -nails generally save us the trouble of flexing the ankle at all. In a -light shoe the foot and ankle have to adjust themselves to the surface, -and bend and adhere at any angle the hillside or the sloping rock may -dictate. The ankle gets strengthened and suppled. Be it noted that the -going must be ‘careful’; an unprotected ankle until it gets trained is -easily turned or wrenched. - -[Sidenote: The Knee.] - -As I have said, the knee is not now so often used in good balanced -climbing. Nine times out of ten when we use a kneehold it is from -pure laziness, and eight times out of ten we immediately repent it, -because it is quite three times as difficult and six times as painful -to start again off a kneehold as off a foothold. Of course on stiff -‘mantelpiece’ work or in cracks we may have to use it, together with -all other convenient projections of our frame. And, on occasion, in -continuous climbing, if the hands are occupied with the management of -the rope, and the foothold is too high to reach with sound balance, the -knee can be used on a suitable hold as a quick half-way thrust between -distant footholds. This avoids breaking our rhythm by an overlong reach -up with the foot, or interrupting the party by dropping the rope in -order to take hold with the hands. - -Some men, and nearly all women, when they use the knee incline it -inward across the front of the body, so as to place it on a hold with -its point or outside surface in the direct line of ascent. This leads -to a very constricted attitude. The lower foot cannot be brought up -below in support to any hold on the direct line, and, after the lift, -a pull on the rope or a violent effort will be necessary to recover -the balance or get started off the knee again. The knee should be -inclined outward away from the body, and should use a hold with its -inside surface, to the right or left of the direct line of ascent. The -spring off knee and shin from such a hold lifts the weight lightly in -the direct line, with the body continuously close to the rock, and the -lower foot can be brought up easily to a supporting hold in the direct -line below the body, so as to relieve the knee. (Try the positions on -the edge of a table or on a step-ladder, and the difference becomes -clear.) - -On very smooth slabs, when foothold fails, the knees and shins can -be used to relieve by their friction a pull-up on the hands. If we -are wearing shoes this is a rare case, as a soft sole can cling -anywhere (and more safely) that a knee can. Such a friction-cling need -necessarily be only for a short distance,--about the stretch of a man’s -reach,--since the boot, as soon as it has reached it, will be able to -use anything that has before been sufficient for the fingers to hold -on by. There is only the one exception--the problem of a vertical or -sharply inclined slab, offering us only a smooth narrow crack or a -smooth sloping outside edge. The crack or edge may be good enough for -the fingers, but too smooth or steep for a sideways boot toehold. In -this case the whole outside surface of thigh, knee and leg come into -play to give friction-holds on the slab, while the hands are shifted -upwards in the crack or up along the edge. (The positions can be tried -on a heavy door or gate, set on one corner and inclined steeply in the -angle of a wall. For the one case the door must be sun-cracked!) - -[Sidenote: The Hand.] - -The hands and arms have to learn less than the legs. They are less -important for anything but purely gymnastic climbing; they have -more inherited instinct for their work; they are under the constant -direction of the eye, and therefore do not need the same training in -automatic movements to carry out anticipatory judgments. - -The hands are always auxiliary to the feet and to the adjustment of the -body. Their power only misleads into a bad style if they are used to -the neglect of other parts of the machine. In continuous climbing they -complement the lifting movement and assist the balance. Their service -is for impulse, adhesion, occasionally for traction, but never, if -avoidable, for suspension at rest. Footwork, not handwork, is the basis -of balance climbing. - -[Sidenote: Cling Holds.] - -In steep climbing, where they come more into play, instinct directs -them how to cling. But in taking finger-holds, especially for pulls, -it must be remembered the hand is as fine a piece of machinery as -the foot, and less protected. It can be easily cut or bruised, or -the tips rendered callous so that they lose their sense of touch. A -well-used hand after a few days on rough rock gets if anything more -sensitive; the fingers become ‘violin tipped’ with a certain prickle -of sensitiveness. A hold should be grasped like a nettle, firmly and -almost finickingly, so that the skin does not shift afterwards or drag. -It is always a bad sign if the climber finds cuts on the insides of his -hands. They have no business there. The sharpest of holds, if rightly -gripped, can be used for the lift of the weight without puncturing -the skin. Abrasions on back or side of the hand, or on the inside of -the wrist and forearm, are another matter. They almost inevitably -follow upon the action of arm-levering and on the taking of press and -push holds (afterwards described). Incidentally, also, frequent knee -and shin scrapes and bruises are the signals of clumsy footwork and -scrambling methods. - -As a complement to the ordinary cling holds, when the fingers cling -over an edge or knob and hold the weight in suspense, balance climbing -based upon footwork enables us to make use of a whole group of -invaluable ‘under’-holds. In these the hand, gripping palm upwards -under a down-turned edge or point, is getting security and propulsion -by pulling the body inwards against the upward thrust of the balance -from the feet. The value of these holds depends upon our practice in -balance climbing, which enables us to ‘compensate’ as between our hand -and foot hold and to maintain a careful counterpoise of the hand-pull -against the foot-thrust. We can use them with effect anywhere between -the level of our eyes and our waist, according to our strength, and our -ability to use them adds immensely to our ease in climbing vertical or -overhanging rock. A cling ‘over’-hold on such rock pulls us inward, and -adds blindness and body friction to the other forces working against -us. A cling ‘under’-hold keeps body and eyes free at the length of our -arms, bent or straight according to our convenience. Granite is rich in -such fashion of hold, and on rough, catchy aiguille climbs many of us -would use them by preference before the more obvious over-holds. - -Cognate with the under-holds are ‘side’-holds, where the edge or point -of rock projects and is grasped sideways. The principle of their use -is the same as for the under-hold, except that the hand is turned -sideways. Their commonest occasion is in the ascent of cracks, when -the outward side-pull of the hand against the inside edge of the crack -is set against the upward thrust from our foothold or knee-jam in the -crack below, and our balance technique is occupied in compensating -between them. - -In cases both hands may be pulling against opposite sides of such a -crack, and the compensation will then have to be made between the two -arm-pulls instead of between the single arm-pull and the foot-thrust. -To make any upward progress on such holds without any help from -foothold or body friction calls for immense arm and finger power; but -in connection with a foot-thrust or knee-jam the opposing side-pulls -are often of use. A square-cut or rounded edge, without any projection, -is sufficient to give good side-holding. - -[Sidenote: Push and Press Holds.] - -Instinct will tell us how to hang on to over-holds and pull up at the -length of the arms. Practice in balance and footwork will teach us how -to avail ourselves of the varieties of the more accommodating under -and side cling holds. But the balance climber has to learn, for the -yet greater convenience of his eye, the ease of his balance and the -economy of his arm-power, to take his handholds as low as possible, -and in co-operation with, not in opposition to, his foot-thrusts. He -soon discovers that ‘push’ and ‘press’ holds are more powerful and -accommodate themselves better to continuous upward progress in balance -than any form of cling holds. I use ‘push’ of a direct upward thrust -of the arm from a horizontal or inclined ledge or hold, and ‘press’ of -a lateral or diagonal thrust against a vertical or inclined side-wall. -(The first can be tried on any secure mantelpiece; the second, not so -well, in any narrow passage.) The arm, for push holds, is used after -the fashion of a leg; the hands are pushed, palm downward, on ledges -at a height that will allow of the weight, with often the impulse of -a spring or foot-thrust, being lifted on the straightening arms. The -arms for this movement possess much of the strength and the ease in -balancing usually attributed only to the legs. To lift the weight on -a direct push is easier for many than to raise it by a long-arm pull. -On push holds the weight of the body keeps the hands firmly in place; -and a hold by thrusting friction, even if it be only on a rounded or -sloping ledge, calls for less effort than to keep the same weight in -suspension from the crook of a muscular finger round an ideal hold at -the stretch of the arm. The strongest position for push holds is that -with the fingers turned inward, the palms downwards, in front of the -body, at a level anywhere between the waist and neck, according to the -individual power of spring from the feet. But push holds outside the -body are also useful; the fingers are then turned outwards, palms down. -Either of these positions secures the help of the twisting arms as -levers for retaining the balance during the upward movement. - -Upon slabs or on rounded holds at awkward angles a very useful hand -device is the combination of the push and cling holds. The wrist or -forearm rests along or over some protuberance so as to secure a -downward push hold, while the fingers are turned to cling across some -edge of this hold and keep the arm from slipping off it. The arm would -slip off the push hold but for the anchor of the fingers; the fingers -would slip out of their awkward cling hold but for the friction anchor -of the arm. Thus by a delicate compensation between the forearm pushing -and the fingers clinging we obtain one sound combination hold out of -two separately insecure holds. Ledges are more frequently rounded or -inclined against us than square and convenient. The reinforcement of an -arm push hold by a finger cling, or the giving of a right direction to -a finger cling by the friction anchor of wrist or forearm, is therefore -of constant service and deserving of all practice. - -In press holds the flat of the hands is thrust sideways against a -smooth surface of vertical or steep rock, which may be the retaining -wall of a chimney, or a projecting leaf or corner. It is a help if -the outer edge of the hand can rest against any seemingly valueless -excrescence. With the hand so held the elbow has only to be lifted, -and the arm becomes a lever, thrusting the balance inward, secured by, -and itself securing, the friction of the hand. Two hands so pressed -against any sloping surfaces can lift the whole weight. Pressed against -vertical surfaces--the inside walls of cracks, for instance, too narrow -to admit the body--they are sufficient to retain the balance, while -the feet find any slight hold, or even only friction holds, to supply -propulsion. How good the foothold must be to complement such handholds -is a matter of practice in compensations. - -Push and press holds with the hands, combined with the twist and -leverage of the arms, in combinations innumerable, are the refinements -of exceptionally difficult climbing. Their merit is the saving of -muscular effort and the substitution for it of the mechanism of -balance. Their use has inevitably grown out of the new fashion of -footwork developed in balance climbing, grounded on the recognition -that the more extended the body and the wider apart feet and hands are -fixed, the less is the power and the greater is the effort of single -movement, and therefore the greater the interruption to continuous -rhythm. To keep the balance steady, the eyesight free and the rhythm -constant, footholds and handholds must be taken at convenient -distances well within the compass of the reach. - -[Sidenote: In Cracks.] - -In difficult crack climbing the extent to which pressure, the jamming -of a leg, the touch of a calf or knee, or the twisting of a hand or -forearm can be used to ease the muscular strain must be learned by -practice. A fist or finger may be hooked in a smooth rift, or a foot -slanted into a crack, with only friction attachment, and a slight twist -to arm or leg converts either into a secure lever for lifting the -weight. The clenching of the fist or the tightening of the muscles of a -jammed forearm, or even the inflation of the chest, may at need serve -the same purpose. The inexpert eye might see little difference between -such movements and those of gripping or clinging. As a matter of fact, -the difference is maintained even here. Where a grip climber aims at -rest-points of pendent security, and struggles between them by muscular -pulls, the balance climber is primarily concerned to keep freedom and -continuity of movement. He is using the balance of the body, if only -for fractions of a second, to relieve the direct weight on his arms -or the indirect strain on his legs. His arms and legs are levers in -converting proportionately slight muscular efforts into big continuous -movements, making friction and the mere weight of the balancing body -do a large share of the work. Consequently, to the expert eye, his -body is seen to ascend on a line slightly farther out from the rock -than the grip climber in the same place, and in a different sequence -of attitudes. He will be avoiding at all costs the grip climber’s -temptation to be too secure, to fix himself in attitudes or on holds -from which he will have to emerge by direct muscular pulls. In corners -or chimneys he will use a set of slighter and less attractive holds, -if they exist, farther out, so as to keep his body free from friction -against the rock. If such a set of holds is lacking altogether, he will -be employing press holds with the hands, lever holds with arm or leg, -twisted pressure-thrusts from his foot and ankle against one wall to -his knee against the other--any device that will relieve him of direct -pulls and will leave his body free to help him at any second with some -balance adjustment. For, once the body is really jammed up against the -rock or in a crack, arms and legs are usually working only against -one another or against the friction of shoulders or thighs, and the -mechanism can merely struggle and exhaust itself. - -[Sidenote: On Slabs.] - -Similarly upon slabs he will be selecting holds, not according to their -size and obviousness, but according as they are arranged well within -his comfortable span. He avoids at all costs getting ‘spread-eagled.’ -The surest safeguard against getting stuck is to select the holds -beforehand, and then be certain that your feet and hands use them as -you designed. Let nothing tempt you to alter your plan once you are -moving. This is the hardest lesson to learn. If you have any eye at -all, your alteration will never be for the better. Whenever, as must -occur in awkward places, your sight of the holds is interrupted, -keep your head and stick coolly to your recollection. Many climbers -get slightly flurried once they are ‘blind.’ They forget their plan, -even the existence perhaps of the one hold that made the passage seem -possible in anticipation. They revert to struggling and arm-clinging. -Their agitation often takes the form of a combative recklessness. They -feel they will fight it out with the holds they have got rather than -descend and recover the safer line they planned. This liability to -flurry may take years to master. Most of us have suffered from it; and -notably in those attractive holes under chockstones or overhangs--holes -so irresistibly tempting to thrust one’s head and shoulders into, but -from which, blinded and out of balance, it is extremely trying to -emerge. Notably, again, on those steep problem-slabs, where a single -tempting hold has spread-eagled us helplessly and left us wondering how -long the single nail will support us. - -The only protection is foresight, a steady adherence to plan, and the -resolution always to climb as far out as possible from the rock. - -If the hands are allowed to pull the nose into the rock we are easily -pounded. The protection is footwork and the flexible ankle. It is the -business of the ankle to bend and stay bent at whatever angle may -keep our body in safe balance and away from the rock, and to transmit -our weight to the foot at just the right angle to hold it firm on its -sloping stance. The farther out from the rock we can keep the weight, -the steeper the apparent angle of foothold which it is safe to use. -On steep slabs a very flexible ankle will often let the foot rest -flat, getting an overlapping or friction hold on several rugosities -of surface with its whole sole where a less practised ankle or a -stiff-sided boot must trust to the less secure catch of a side-nail on -one such roughness. Quiet movement is essential; to leave a slight hold -hurriedly is as dangerous as to arrive on it clumsily. If you have to -use a knee or hip or forearm as a friction hold, set it as gently and -relieve it as lightly as if it were a single finger. - -[Sidenote: Chimney Climbing.] - -Chimney climbing is another occasion for too alluring rest positions -and for tempting but over-close contacts. By a ‘chimney’ we usually -mean a rift that will admit the body, as contrasted with a ‘crack’ -which will not. The method of ascending between the vertical or steeply -sloping walls of chimneys, wherein holds for ordinary foot and hand -work are lacking, is usually called ‘back and knee’; more correctly -it should be named ‘back and foot,’ as the knee need rarely be used. -The position is with the back against one wall and the feet against -the other, the legs bent or straight according to the width, and the -thrust of the spine and shoulders providing the security. Here again -the proper object is continuous movement, and such attitudes as may -assist towards it. The temptation for the safety climber is to sit -across the chimney, with the legs straight and almost at right angles -to the body. The body is then wedged; it sinks slightly inside the -clothes, which are fast to the rock by friction, and, while it is quite -secure, presents also the utmost resistance to any upward impulse. The -right position for the feet against the opposite wall is slightly below -the body, as low as will allow of an easy upward impulse being given -to the body without risk of the feet slipping. The hands and arms are -stretched downward, past the body, with the arms bent and the palms -flat against the rock behind. For movement upward, one foot is brought -across from the opposite wall and thrust with the flat sole against -the rock close under the body. The friction of the foot then allows -the bent knee to be partially straightened, and the body raised. While -it rises, and the shoulders thus come clear of the rock, the thrust of -the arms and hands backward against the rock takes the place of the -jam with the shoulders, and so keeps the foot against the opposite -wall in its place. So soon as the lift is completed and the back is at -rest against the rock again, the under foot that has been used is shot -across to a higher position against the opposite wall, the hands move -up, and the other leg comes across, to act as spring in its turn. The -body is thus really ascending, poised, between the shifting pressures -of the arms and feet, and is only taking instants of rest against the -rock to allow them to take new positions. It is entirely wrong, but -very usual, to walk up the opposite wall with the feet, and wriggle the -shoulders up the near rock in accord. This is wasteful of clothes and -of energy, and not so secure in its actual movement. For, on the right -method, if the foot against the opposite wall shows an inclination to -slip as the shoulders rise, the arms can thrust away from their wall -and so apply extra pressure to keep the foot in place, even while they -are still pushing the body upward; whereas, on the wrong method, the -back has no such elastic margin; it cannot push across and downwards -while it is itself moving up. In all such feats the more freedom that -can be kept for movement, even at the cost of adopting more exposed -positions and of bridging ourselves across intimidatingly wider angles, -the greater in reality is the safety. - -In narrow chimneys, too smooth for foot or hand hold and too narrow -to allow of secure bridging with the back against the one wall, it is -possible to move up with the feet pressed flat against the two walls, -one on each side: one with the toe pointing up in front of us, the -other with the toe down below us; the body is kept upright in the -middle on the spring of the bent knees and supported by the pressure -of the hands, placed like the feet one against each wall. In this -fashion we can ‘rock’ up satisfactorily. But the method is only safe to -practise with soft soles, and it is of course very strenuous. - -Wherever possible we prefer to keep outside a chimney, or corner, -altogether, and use our feet up the edges of its retaining walls. If -we are forced inside, we adopt any sets of holds for our feet up the -opposing walls, however wide a split they mean for the legs and however -fearsome the depth may look between our feet, before we resort to the -cramping, waterworn recess and the slower method of ‘back and foot.’ -Balance climbers return, as it were, to the gully epoch only under -protest and where footholds fail. - -[Sidenote: Rib Riding.] - -In clambering up sharp noses, flakes or ribs, where bodily contact with -the rock is enforced, the same principle of keeping far out and aiming -at continuous movement again holds good. To sit close astride, and claw -up the rock by means of the thighs, elbows and hands, is customary, -and seemingly safe; but the really safer method, because it admits of -uninterrupted progress, is to keep the body away, and to grip with the -sole and flexed ankle, or with the knees and sides of the feet, on -either side of the rib, or to lock one leg diagonally across the edge -so that the foot and knee press against its opposing facets. Meanwhile -the hands, holding opposite ways, grip across the edge above. In such -a position the body can sink at any instant, for rest, into contact -with the rock, and can rise again from the feet, knees or shin without -effort. It is useful to remember that when the friction of loosely -clothed parts of the body is solely relied upon for hold (as when we -are clinging close with thighs and body to a rib), the body always -sinks slightly inside the clothes, and has so much the more difficulty -in restarting a fresh movement. - -[Sidenote: Wet Rock.] - -It must be added that when rocks are wet, friction cannot be relied -upon, and at the same time the security of foot and hand hold is -greatly diminished. Wet rocks may mean slimy rocks, and always mean -cold rocks. Cold soon chills the muscles, lessens the sense of touch, -and notably impairs both the confidence and the power to climb. On a -wet day it is well to carry some spare dry gloves. If, then, we have to -make some particularly awkward balance or lift, and the fingers are wet -and cold, a fresh glove will give us a few holds of better friction, -until it, too, gets wet. In the Alps wet rocks mean glazed rocks, and -we avoid them. In our own hills we accept wet rocks as part of the day, -but we treat them with an extra degree of respect. Men in soft soles, -on dry, hot rock in sunshine, can climb with complete and hilarious -security places that rain and wind make it foolish to attempt. For -most men the standard of possibility varies as much as 40 per cent. -This is never sufficiently allowed for in youth. Fired by emulation, -young climbers arrive in rain where their rivals have passed on sun-dry -holds. “A rock is a rock; and, by George, it must go!” is their motto; -and if their fortune is better than their knowledge, they accomplish a -climb which substitutes a danger happily escaped for every difficulty -reasonably mastered by their predecessors. - -On the other hand, to accustom ourselves to find our rock climbs, -and to climb their wet rocks under all conditions of weather, is -necessary training. Provided we allow for the difference in permissible -attempt, we risk little, in our small-scale home climbing, by -persisting against moderately uncomfortable circumstances. We are -the better able to endure them when they surprise us on more serious -alpine expeditions. A little adverse circumstance restores much of -their original difficulty and adventure to many fine mountaineering -climbs too apt to be neglected by modern specialists because of -their straightforwardness under sunny conditions. A man who can work -cheerfully up an old-fashioned British rock climb against rain and wet -holds is a sounder climber than the expert who will only do the supreme -‘inventions,’ and those only in fair weather for fear of spoiling his -record. In this country the finest rock climbs, both scenically and as -mountaineering training, are not the most difficult; rather than that -they should be neglected, we should seek them and climb them on the wet -days. - -[Sidenote: Glazed Rock.] - -Glazed rock is its own prophet and policeman. In the summer Alps -we need only expect to find it after a snowfall, or where snow -commanding rock may have been melted, run down and refrozen. It makes -an unexpected and more dangerous appearance when a sudden fall of -temperature freezes the mist, fine rain or thawing snow after its fall -or as it falls on to the rocks, while we may be actually on them. I -know of no more treacherous move in the mountain game or one which -calls for more cautious, laborious and ingenious countermoving. - -In Britain, as I have said elsewhere, we have to beware of it almost -as much, in the winter and early spring months. It may follow a silver -thaw, a cold fog or a mist on a change of wind. By starting our -climbing early upon hoar-frosted rocks or fresh snow we may create our -own glaze by hand and foot pressure. On really bad film-glaze nothing -is sure for hand or foot hold; but a glove or soft sole (not rubber) -has a better chance of ‘freezing on’ than a boot or cold finger. A -thick sock, pulled over the boot, will help, or we _may_ take off our -boots and climb in the safer stockings. - -On steep glazing rock, and upon wet rock if its surface grows greasy -with the moisture, continuous climbing becomes immediately interrupted -climbing. We have to consider the chances of a hold failing or -breaking or of a man slipping as increased some tenfold. We must take -precautions as for unsound rock and protect ourselves with anchors, -belays and the like. However easy the rock may normally be, glaze or -grease introduces a new element of ‘danger,’ and the transparent threat -forces us, if we are wise, to treat any moderate climb with the respect -due to serious difficulty. - -[Sidenote: Summary.] - -I have only selected for description a few conspicuous features of -ordinary rock surface, which might illustrate the underlying principles -of a good rock climbing style. Their detail is negligible except as -illustration. Climbing situations are infinitely various, and men -vary as whimsically in their personal adjustments. Long before he has -reached the point of leading difficult passages, the climber will have -got his own obstinate idea of how to apply the principles in detail to -particular rock features. - -For the benefit of the less instructed I would only repeat that rock -climbing is best learned upon long and varied passages, away from the -staccato allurements of boulders, trick climbs and belays. Style is -the mastery of rhythmic movement, movement continuously secure and -continuously effortless over every modulation of hold during a long -day. When a climber can traverse a long ridge of average difficulties -safely and quickly, stepping the edge by balance or dropping on either -side as he goes and using balance holds with either hand, without check -to his party, he is already a safe climber and on the way to be a sound -mountaineer. If he proceeds to follow the craft into some of its more -ingenious departures, it will only mean a more elaborate application of -the same principles that he has already learned to practise: to trust -to his feet; to make use of his ankles; to tread lightly and precisely; -to keep the hands low; to choose holds in advance and stick to them; -to move well out from the rock; to rely on balance rather than muscle; -to make continuous, supple and eventually graceful movement his ideal; -not to rest satisfied until he has acquired rhythm; and lastly, never -to get flurried. - - -UNSOUND ROCK - - -While a climber is still only concerned with perfecting his own -adjustments in relation to rock requirements, he will be unconsciously -collecting a great deal of practical information about different -types of rock. If he is of a curious habit, he will be led on to some -superficial study of petrology or geology. But even if he have no -memory for names or imaginative grasp of æons, he cannot help gradually -amassing a quantity of empirical knowledge as to what kinds of holds -to expect if a rock looks so and so in outline, whether to reckon -upon finding chimneys or traverses or flakes if its main lines of -cleavage or fracture are such and such, and what to allow for in detail -according to his distant observation of the general structure and -weathering. The discovery of the name of a prevalent rock will tell him -what kind of climbing to prepare himself for in a particular district, -or the sight of it when he gets there will guide him in the selection -and management of his climbs. He may never have been able to master the -difference between Tertiary and Secondary, any more than remember the -order of the Popes of Rome, and yet have qualified himself insensibly -for that most fascinating form of speculative discussion, the designing -of new routes in known or unknown districts. On a lower but still more -useful plane he will have learned to judge from its general appearance -whether rock is sound or unsound, and from its closer aspect where to -expect unsound intrusions upon good rock. - -The increased information now available about our hills enables us to -avoid rock faces of uncomfortable notoriety and to attack eccentric -types with precaution. A large number of climbs, even whole mountain -walls, that used to be popular on account of the attraction of their -weathered angles, are now left for the same reason almost unvisited. -But unsound rock cannot always be eluded, and a climber has to be ready -to deal with short bands or intrusions of inferior rock on any climb -which he does not personally know, and on many to which he returns for -love of their sounder sections. Fortunately, according to the nature -of rock, these intrusions are rarer and shorter on steeper rock, and -any more considerable section will provide its own alleviation in -a relenting angle, where the softer surface has disintegrated more -rapidly than its firmer surroundings. This may, of course, mean an -overhang, to the climber’s disadvantage. If not, it will at least -offer him an easier angle for advance over its unattractive trespass. -On unsound rock every merit that characterizes finished climbing by -balance, or compensation, is emphasized. A novice should never be -allowed to lead. A grip climber is a danger on the rope and a suicidal -choice as leader. - -[Sidenote: Semi-detached.] - -On bad rock every hold is an object of suspicion, since almost all -the holds will be liable to fail under one or another direction of -pull. The obviously bad hold, the hold that comes away at the first -touch, anyone will reject. But our object on unsound rock is to get -over it; and for that purpose to use its holds for what they are worth -rather than to start casting them down in an attitude of righteous -indignation--and insecurity. With a caressing hand the good climber -discovers what pull the hold is likely to be good for, and his judgment -telling him the direction and amount of pull that his next movement -will demand from it, he will avoid loosening it beforehand by any -test not necessary for this movement. The grip climber, therefore, -who puts half a dozen directions of strain upon each handhold in any -one lifting movement, will make no progress at all on unsound holds. -If he does not test them beforehand, in the end he will fall. If he -tests them properly in all the directions that his lift will demand, -he will remove most of the holds before he can use them. The balance -climber, who has practised putting only that direction of strain upon -a hold which his own next movement and the hold’s security agree upon, -is in less of a quandary. For, except in the case of fragments which -are already detached, and clearly ready to fall, nearly every surface -accident which is still in attachment to the main rock will stand -light additional strain in at least one direction. This, of course, -varies according to the stratification of the rock and its fractures. -As an instance, on a steep face the ordinary lines of fracture may -be vertical and horizontal to the discoverable inclination of the -strata. If the ‘hold’ is already detached from the rock on both these -lines, and only resting on a support, it is useless. If, however, the -excrescence is fractured at its base, horizontally, but attached to -the rock behind, vertically, it will be good for a straight outward -pull. It can also be tested, but it cannot otherwise be trusted, for -a downward or diagonal pull. If it is detached from the rock behind, -vertically, but still part of the rock below it, horizontally, it is -sound for a direct downward pull, but not for any outward or cross -strain. If the strata strike diagonally, and the cleavages correspond, -_mutatis mutandis_, the same rules apply for the different directions -of pull, permissible or not, upon their holds. - -A climber has not only to make sure what direction of strain he may -safely put upon a hold, but to keep this direction of pull or thrust -constant all through his upward or downward movement, irrespective of -the changing position of his body in relation to the hold. - -The vital importance of climbing by compensating balances becomes then -apparent. A climber who has trained his mechanism to the habit of -translating the support of any hold that any one of his extremities -engages, by means of the balance of his body, into movement in any -direction he requires, has little difficulty in keeping the strain he -puts upon a single hand or foot hold constant in direction. He can -do so even while he is using its support to lift his weight through -a succession of angles past and over the hold. It is, in fact, the -process that he has had to learn for his ordinary ‘sound’ climbing, -if he has become a balance climber of precision or pace. A clumsy -climber, or one who depends on grip normally, is helpless when faced -with handholds of this ‘one-direction’ kind. He may discover by test -how he ought to use them, but the moment the lifting or lowering -movement begins the habit of his mechanism will reassert itself, and he -will change the direction of his pull as his body nears or passes the -hold. Even if he maintains the direction by an effort of will at the -moment, his body will not have been trained to carry out the mechanical -conversions with sufficient power to overcome the pure difficulty of -many a passage, altogether apart from its insecurity. He will be forced -to fall back upon muscle or grip to finish his movement, and the hold -may break. - -A grip climber who normally neglects footwork is in even worse case -on unsound rock, when he has to use, or test, such ‘one-direction’ -holds with his feet. On unsound rock good footwork is, if anything, -more important than good handwork. Only exactly the same strain may -be applied by the less sensitive feet, when they take the place of -the hands on the hold. Since the downward thrust of a foot can only -be slightly modified in direction, this limitation must be remembered -in selecting and testing a hold by the hand. Otherwise it may not be -sound for the later and different requirements of the foot. Foothold -is always the danger-point on unsound rock; and this constitutes the -peculiar demerit of such rock for ‘climbing down,’ when the foot alone -must test and lead. A climber, especially when he is descending, must -never trust to his feet alone, but protect them by at least one tested -handhold. A good rule to remember in all very exacting climbing is that -never less than three extremities should have hold. On unsound rock the -better rule is, never less than four. The dangerous moment comes when -one hand or foot is in process of testing or shifting to a new hold. -The movement must be made without jerk; the weight must be distributed -between the other points according to their merit; and the direction of -the pull, as tested and found secure on each hold, must be remembered. -Hence our motion over unsound holds may be properly described as -creeping. Every attachment must be light but tenacious, and one -tentacle is only released when the others are secure. On insecure rock -we are no longer concerned to keep the body as far out as possible. -Our object is secure, not free, movement. Consequently, we move with -the body as close in to the rock as is consistent with sight and its -freedom from catching. If, then, one hold does break, there is less -outward pull upon the others, and the body can sink instantaneously -against the rock and help to sustain us by its friction. - -[Sidenote: Detached.] - -Small, loose fragments should be thrown well out from the cliff, or -tucked away discreetly on ledges that need not be used. Large, loose -fragments are best left _in situ_, and the word passed down the line -of their presence, until the last man, if he likes, may remove them. -Often a block or large stone, which is detached from the parent rock -both behind and through its base, may yet afford very sound foothold -for a good foot climber, supposing it is seen to be resting on a -level and sufficient ledge. The same may be the case with pinnacles -or splinters, partially fractured or jammed in cracks. Tested and -tactfully used, they are often stable for a steady thrust or pull in -one direction at least; but much depends upon the nature of their -bedding. - -Rock on walls and ridges facing south, in the Alps or at home, must -be suspected of detached leanings, until its family connections are -demonstrated by investigation. Holds which have been covered by -verdure or subjected to the action of moisture in any form have to be -judiciously proved. Rocks projecting from ice or snow--those pleasant -oases towards which we steer with such relief to ease our step-cutting -or snow-wading--must always be approached as unsound rock. If, on -occasion, they prove our suspicions wrong, they have only proved -themselves an exception to a melancholy rule. - -Except on frequented routes, it is never safe to assume the security -of big detached blocks, poised on ridges or choked in gullies, unless -their fashion of support is absolutely demonstrable. They should be -left to the last man to test. From all accounts rash leaders who -neglected this precaution have escaped more often and more miraculously -than their intelligence, at least, deserved. A leader, if he has any -doubt, should avoid touching such blocks altogether. If, for all his -caution, a block gives unaccountably, he must hang on to it for all he -knows, until the men below have got what shelter they can. Nor must he -forget the rope. If the block catches the rope in falling, the danger -is as great as if it strikes one of the party. - -Apart from these and other permanent idiosyncrasies, most normally -sound rock surface will be found to have its times and places of -weathering or weakness. We have to learn to recognize the symptoms, -forgetting our prejudices in favour of old and trusted rock types, and -treat their intrusion with all the delicacy and consideration of tread -and touch which we owe to the small infirmities of tried friends. - -In so far as they are, or were, rock, moraine and scree may be called -unsound. - -[Sidenote: Moraine and Scree.] - -The occasional stone on a steep glacier is a find for a foothold; -but the stones that coat the ice-core of moraine slopes are merely -treacherous. If we have to traverse a few steps on such a slope, it is -best to knock the stone out and tread in its ice-socket. - -The summit edges of moraines often offer passable going, especially -if previous parties have knocked off the final blocks. Their side -walls, whether of stone or of stone and mud conglomerate, are the least -scalable and most exasperating inclines in the mountain world. They are -often even too hard to make steps in, and it is fatal to attempt short -cuts upon them. - -In traversing along scree slopes, if the scree is small, the one thing -to remember is to ‘accept the slip’; to place the foot lightly and -let it slip till it stops; not to make convulsive efforts to recover -it, or to keep the foot up to the same line of traverse. If the foot -slips too far on steep scree, lean inward on the axe or stick, which -is held point inward across the body. To ‘rush’ scree on anything but -the downgrade is merely to waste energy and time. In ascending or -traversing take short steps; tread always for a particular stone, and -do not brown the mass of stones vaguely with a loose foot. - -In travelling up or along big scree or moraine, balance and a sustained -rhythm are the thing to aim at. On flat-stone moraine, step for the -middle of the stone; on round or cornered stones, ‘dance’ from one -upper edge to the next. Rather than break the rhythm, if no good hold, -or possibly only an insecure-looking block, presents itself for the -next foot, slacken the knee and put no weight on the leg while you are -using the loose block; skimmer over it with the dropped leg of a horse -at a big bank, and trust to the next step to bring you up again. If you -balance lightly and move fast, a moving foothold is all but as good as -a fixed one. - -On moraine the axe is always our third leg of balance. On long -moraines, or in traversing up or across scree slopes, it saves labour -in the task of choosing stones to follow close behind another man, and -let the swing of his feet draw yours mechanically on to the footholds -he has used. - -To descend light scree is one of the chief rewards of a long climbing -day: to descend big scree one of its worst penances. The method falls -more properly under the section devoted to Glissading. - - -UNUSUAL ROCK - -Unsound rock is counterchecked by an intensification of sound method. -To unusual rock we retort by an extension of our usual method. It would -exaggerate its importance to discuss its varieties in greater detail -than has seemed sufficient in the case of normal rock. A few instances -will serve to show that our principles remain, for all rock, unaltered. - -Slate has an insidious surface. The exposed edges, or spillikins, of -strata may always break under a pull, unless they have allowed us to -grasp a sufficiency of thickness. But slate has a worse trick. In -chimney climbing, if we are using the usually safe and gentle hold of -a thrust with the flat foot, or a press or push hold with the hand, -against even a wide, smooth surface, the upper skin may crack locally -at an uncertain distance from the point of pressure and allow foot or -hand to shoot into space; and this always, unless the thrust is applied -exactly at right angles to the lie of the strata. Our only safeguard is -to extend to push and press holds on slate our practice with pull holds -in general, and keep the direction of the pressure constant through all -our lifting movement. - -Quartz ledges and bands, which are the grateful solutions of many of -our cliff problems, are treacherous. Quartz brittles off, in crystals -or in masses, in unexpected directions. We cannot test it adequately -until our full weight comes upon it; when it may be too late. And so -we never step on to projecting quartz, or scale the vertical face of a -seam, unless we have hand or foot hold upon good rock above or below -it. Happily, quartz seams are usually narrow. We prefer soft-soled -shoes, which will distribute the pressure over the uneven facets. -Boot-nails snap the projecting crystals or slide on the flat facets, -especially after rain. The fingers similarly must take general holds, -and not trust to salient prisms. The direction of the growth of the -crystals can guide us in applying our pressures. A seam lying back at -a steep angle sometimes leaves good rock holds along its edges, where -quartz and rock have weathered at an unequal rate. A seam at a gentle -angle as often provides a delightful traverse of escape. - -Soft sandstone, which in quarries and elsewhere is frequently used -as a practice ground, has its own fashion of soft crumbling and its -own body of hardened adherents. Its outlines are recognizable, and -in mountain masses we avoid it altogether. But those who attempt it -locally must remember that it is peculiarly deceptive for footwork. Its -ledges dissolve under a stiff boot. Sand shoes, or still better, boots, -are the only wear. Beginners should look for lines of ascent where -the subjacent heaps are still uncarted and propitious in the event of -failure. Old sandstone, when it emerges, is firmer for the feet but -offers little handhold, and makes very fatiguing climbing. - -Chalk, and the methods of dealing with it, form a study by themselves. -Chalk climbing provides the missing link between rock and ice -technique. Those who frequent its cliffs use big claws and ice -methods, and pronounce it to be an unrivalled training for ice work. -Its occasional hard surface and its abundant projecting flints, whose -security is in inverse ratio to their graspability, have to be treated -with the measures of precaution proper to unsound rock. - -Marble builds peaks of imposing outline, but its edges are not -constructed with an eye to good foot climbing. Its surfaces, where -exposed, slope against us; its slipperiness dictates the use of soft -soles; while the rubble with which it is cumbered makes soft soles -comfortless. It has appeared to me more often dangerous than difficult. - -Old lava is as tiresome as quartz, and less often available as a last -resource. Desperately hard for the feet, it yet snaps out in diamond -cubes and litters with wrenching rubble its already jarring surface. I -know of no sound climbs upon it. - -Gritstone has its own devotees and a growing literature. Its climbs and -their mosaic perils have all the charm of a well-executed miniature. - -Limestone, as the layman uses the term, is deceitful, and offers -ridiculously little good climbing in proportion to the amount of it -that protrudes plausibly from the surface of Europe. One of the closest -escapes I have experienced was from a spontaneous fall of limestone -rock on a venerable and bland-looking western cliff. In the form of -‘dolomite’ it offers very agreeable sharp-edged dwarf-climbs even -in our islands, and it is to be regretted we have so little of good -stature. - -[Sidenote: In Quarries.] - -Scrambling in home quarries, on chalk, gravel, blue-stone,--all kinds -of rock,--is excellent practice. The surfaces are, however, raw and -untempered by time, and the crude fractures and ledges by which we -climb are made by man and survive by no natural law of the fittest. -No experience of rock structure can therefore suffice to allow of -calculation upon their security. Each hold must be separately tested -before use. The risk is generally out of all proportion to the height. -A rope from above should be used on any passage of doubt. - -[Sidenote: Along Sea Cliffs.] - -Sea cliffs have many votaries. It is perhaps ungrateful to class them -as unusual rock, but their unfamiliar conditions, their wave-polished -and often undercut bases, their summits artificially sculptured and -constantly strained and fractured afresh by the fall of the cliff -below, exclude them from a normal category. Their charm lies in their -variety of rock, revealed in forms pensive, brooding, surprised, -jovial or defiant, upon headland, island and stack. There are few more -exhilarating scrambles than the granite outcrops of Cornwall, set -in green seas, surf-spray and sunlight. The upper end of the coast -of Sutherlandshire alone provides eight or nine different varieties -of rock, and therefore of ascents. The whole island of Sark can be -circumambulated at about the mid-height of its cliffs. - -Traverses are the peculiar property of sea cliffs, which are often -awkward or impossible of approach from their base for more direct -ascent. Whole days, in fact if it were desirable a whole holiday -lifetime of delightfully varied traversing at different levels may -be had along the cliffs, high or low, of the west coasts of Scotland -and of its islands, of Ireland, of England, and of parts of Wales. -The north coast of Ireland has attractive sections alternating in -this instance with pinnacles and scarps of decadent blends. Usually -the return from such traverses can be made in the evening up a gully, -by which we resume, if we wish, on the morrow. As a last resource in -difficulties there is always the sea for a header of escape. - -Rubber soles are the best wear; or, for some varieties, raw soft hide -with the hair on, as worn in the west of Ireland; but rubber is, of -course, treacherous on wet or weedy tidal rocks. This fact should be -remembered in our stimulating races with the waves for the foot of a -promising crack. - -During the novitiate even hardy heads must beware of the intimidating, -often vertiginous, effect produced by the constant movement of water -below the feet. Both the sound and the motion are found to react almost -unconsciously upon toughened climbing nerves. - -The cliffs of the east coast of England consist too often of subsiding -clay and water, or of a hard pebbly conglomerate; but they provide at -least unusual climbing. - -A good earth glissade can occasionally be found down their rifts; -and every section affords opportunity for a cautious scramble or an -ingenious trick route. On the harder earth and pebble mixtures there -is sometimes occasion for step-cutting practice. The cliff edges -frequently overhang, and present all the dangers of unseen cornices if -approached from above, and more than their difficulties if reached from -below. - -Boots are best on these east cliffs. Vertigo is unknown, since the -waves are all too rarely in close proximity to the cliffs! - -Ireland, on the east, is more fortunate; it possesses some fine firm -stacks and cliffs. Parts also of the east cliffs of Scotland are -excellent. - -[Sidenote: On Freaks.] - -Some regions are rich in incidental pillars, pinnacles, stacks, -needles, pins, fingers, boulders, erratics (‘off-comduns’), -Wellington’s Noses, Grey Ladies, Devil’s domestic utensils, or their -fantastic like. It is difficult to connect the records of their -(periodic) first conquests with any general principles except those -forming the groundwork of a local literary reputation. A long rope over -the summit would seem to be the preliminary to many such a climb, and -statuesque photography its culmination. But between these extremes a -peripatetic climber can find many joyous and gentle passages, where he -may even remain anonymous if he goes armed only with such sound method -as the type of rock suggests, and shod with soft soles. One experienced -companion would be found of more service than many onlookers; and a -tradition of classical mountaineering demands that the rope between two -men should not pass over the summit before either has started. To save -time, once, when we were crossing a series of smooth needles two of us -agreed to climb continuously, in the hope that if the man descending -on the far side of one needle slipped (as was the more probable) the -man on its near side would be assisted to the summit more quickly by -the rope; and so no impulse would be wasted. Unhappily, it was the rear -man, ascending, who slipped, and at a moment when, owing to the length -of the rope, the front man was already himself ascending the next -needle. Neither, at all events, was left long in suspense. - -Bouldering is the pleasantest of off-day distractions; but too many -men allow themselves to spend the time on the merely difficult. Its -use should be for safe exercises on rules of style. When you can climb -an easy block without your hands, or balance up a wall with such light -finger-hold that a friend can pass his hand under yours, or have -discovered how to solve a shelf climb by a push hold and a twisting -arm-lever, you have made a fair test that will be of future use. To -wrestle up pure difficulty, such as you would not attempt in exposed -higher climbing, by dint of muscle and strenuosity, proves nothing and -does no good; it only reduces the restful value of the off-day. Our -object on such unusual rock should be to extract from it the soundest -practice for our usual method. - - -CLIMBING DOWN - -It is more difficult to climb down than to climb up. So long as the -majority of rock climbers continued to grip and struggle, they could -find no pleasure in descending. The characters of our hills abetted the -neglect. The labour of the day went in finding the steep climb and then -forcing a way up it; there remained for the evening too great a choice -of easy slopes to run down. Even in the Alps the habit followed the -early rock climber; he was too ready to choose a peak “which would give -plenty of sport on the ascent, and an easy snow-route down.” During our -gully and grip epochs, when this self-imposed limitation was almost -universal, rock climbing reached its furthest point of divergence from -real mountaineering. The development of balance climbing perforce -broke down the tradition. Climbing down had to be learned when really -big mountaineering was attempted. Where mountains have no easy ways -down, it is as important to be able to descend as to ascend. On new or -difficult climbs the method and time-calculation for a return in case -of failure call for more forethought than the ascent itself. - -But beyond this, climbing down was discovered to have its own pleasure -as motion. A good climber in training, and descending upon rock that -gives continuous hold, enjoys a sense of swift restrained rhythm, and a -rushing thrill through his own extremities, that has something of the -pleasure of flying and a pleasure from quick light contacts that even -flying does not possess. His hands and feet appear to adhere almost -accidentally underneath him, like the spokes of a revolving rimless -wheel. They move across a sound hold with his change of balance rather -than check him at each contact. His eye has selected a whole succession -of small holds ahead, or rather afoot. He balances down them as a -complementary sequence. He does not ask of every hold that it should -become the basis for a fresh beginning. ‘Touch and pass’ as contrasted -with ‘grip and hang’ perhaps sums up the method. - -Of course each hold must in itself be adequate to check and direct the -passage of the body, otherwise momentum is acquired, and the method -might be defined with justice as only a fine fashion of falling. The -check is distributed over a series of holds, each of which serves only -to retard the downward movement just sufficiently to direct it, with -no acquired impetus, on to the next hold. The holds on such a passage -complement one another. Each is used transiently but safely, because -the action of the next is anticipated. The definite arrest-points of -course occur, but they are selected by the eye at longer convenient -intervals. - -To read rock holds and their balance values ahead in this fashion -requires a more practised eye and judgment than were needed merely -to decide on the reliability of the next grip hold. It was this art -of the longer glance, the practice of descending as a regulated -movement rather than as a succession of stances and rests, which rock -climbers neglected, and still too largely neglect. The shortness of -our island climbs, as our young climbers increased in numbers and in -ambition, drove them to the discovery of a rapid progression of more -and more difficult variations. These climbs could not be ascended -‘continuously.’ The art of continuous up-climbing was almost forgotten, -and with it disappeared any idea that continuous down-climbing need -even be practised. The strenuous up-climb exhausted our interest -in a particular series of problems; the prospect of a similarly -‘interrupted’ descent of the same places seemed rather boring; in fact, -we preferred to run down an easy way, and begin upon a new ascent of -new problems. Climbing down joined climbing continuously, up or down, -in a limbo, from which it had to be desperately rescued when we went to -the Alps or to regions of longer climbs. - -Some years ago, on perceiving that the neglect was spoiling the style -and achievement of climber after climber of the British school who came -out to the Alps, I ventured to publish something of a protest. Happily -this made a few important converts. And now it would appear that the -evil spell is broken. No good cragsman would nowadays seem to be happy -until he has done his fine rock climb both ways; a few are beginning -to specialize upon descents. The admirable practice of traversing or -‘girdling’ great cliffs, which involves the ascent and descent of the -steepest sections of many difficult climbs, has finally placed climbing -up and climbing down on a footing of mountaineering equality. It may be -said that this result was inevitable once balance climbing had come to -its own. Once the eye and the body were set free from their confining -and convulsive habit, it could not be long before hands and feet opened -up the new ways of pleasure in moving downwards and sideways as readily -as upward. - -We have made a great step in advance: we practise climbing down as an -art in Britain, but we have still a long way to go in developing our -practice of ‘continuous’ climbing, down even more than up. I have seen -the start of many of our finest island rock climbers in the Alps, men -whose feats on difficult rock still stand unsurpassed, and I have never -seen one who, when he came out, was even the equal of a good average -guide in continuous going on moderate or steep rock, especially in -descending. These men quickly recognized their defect when they saw the -styles contrasted, and set themselves to correct it. But others, who -have gone guideless and never enjoyed the opportunity of comparison, -have continued even in the Alps their interrupted method and, -consequently, have achieved a degree of performance in no way equal to -their real standard of climbing ability. A very illuminating instance -was that of one of the greatest of our rock pioneers, whose style was -as finished and deliberate as his enterprise was remarkable. After many -years of climbing in our islands, with an unrivalled record, and of -climbing guideless in the Alps, with practically nothing to show for -it, he spent one season, later in life, with a fast first-class guide. -As a result he, admittedly, changed his whole habit, and subsequently -climbed with an accomplished continuity that without diminishing his -security multiplied his amount of performance three and four fold. - -Climbing down requires more practice than climbing up, because the -mechanism of the body is contrived more conveniently for upward -movement, and because we have eyes in our head and not in our toes or -heels. The eye has to learn to select its holds from awkward angles. -The hands and feet have to learn accurately to follow the eye’s choice, -in movements mechanically more difficult to execute. Consequently -in descending the inclination to grip and hang becomes even stronger -than in ascending, and until the right attitudes become instinctive it -requires some resolution to force the body steadily outward until it is -in balance over its footholds and is not depending from the hands. - -Once the natural impediments are mastered the gain to pace and to -security which we obtain from our balance and foot method soon makes -even the memory of our desire to cling strange. The muscular strain -is less. We are free to use the friction of the body, in any part, to -regulate the pace or suggest direction. The body descends naturally on -to firm positions on the feet, and stands ready without readjustment of -balance or holds to give any assistance required to the man below on -the rope. - -It is on continuous descending, and on the management of the rope this -involves, that the improvement in our method has had most effect. -The principle of descent in balance is to keep face outwards or face -sideways as long as possible. In such positions our eye commands both -the whole rope and the rock almost continuously, and we can decide at -any instant whether we should proceed, or pause, or tauten the rope on -the man below. - -It is almost startling to see a first-class mountaineer come down steep -rock, as last man, in a series of well-timed rushes, while he still -protects the continuous descent of his less expert front-men. He never -allows the rope to slacken. He keeps the safety check while the man in -front is moving; but in any intervals his lightning rushes make up the -necessary ground. - -In descending, a slight tension of the rope is sufficient to check a -weak climber, whereas in going up he would have required a hard pull; -and a light guide or a quick amateur, judging his moments well, can -‘anchor’ and secure the safe descent of a whole rope of heavy-weights -below him, and yet never check their progress while he interpolates his -own flights of descent. - -[Sidenote: Positions.] - -In descending, so long as is conveniently possible, and practice alone -discovers how much longer the position is tenable than appears to us at -first, the face should be kept turned outward. - -So soon as the outward position becomes insecure, that is, when -nothing but holds for the heels present themselves and the balance is -felt to be thrust out by the steepness of the rock beyond the feet, -thus throwing a clinging strain upon the hands, the body should be -turned sideways to the rock. - -Only as a last extremity, on perpendicular or overhanging rock where -the eye is no longer of use to find footholds, should the face be -turned in to the rock, in the position most natural for ascending. - -[Sidenote: Facing Outward.] - -In the face-outward position the action of the feet remains still that -of the balance step. For easy movement footholds should be selected, -if the choice offers, outside, to right and left of the vertical -descending line, rather than directly below the body. The legs are -used as tense springs to break the jar. In fact, the motion is that of -‘dancing down.’ The heels are little used; the toes and sides of the -feet take the holds, much as in ascending. The hands have to find their -hang holds or pressure holds at the level of the thighs or knees. For -the hang holds the knuckles are turned backwards, on either side of -the body, and the fingers grip the rock much as in ascending. For the -pressure holds the heels of the hands are pressed downward on to the -ledges, close to the sides, and rest in the position of a reversed push -hold. It should be remembered that this last fashion of hold, always -the most tempting in starting a descending movement, becomes useless -and even dangerous because of the outward thrust of the arm, so soon -as the waist has sunk below the level of the hands. For this reason, -before lowering down on this hold we must make sure that the reach for -the leg to the next foothold will be short. - -In the face-outward position the hands can be relieved of much of their -effort in holding by the backward or sideways pressures of the calf, of -the back of the thigh, or even of the elbow or shoulder, against the -rock. A twist of the firm knee in a convenient angle of the rock, or a -sidelong ‘steady’ with the heel of the firm foot against the back or -side of its rock hold, gives us often balance enough to allow the other -foot to descend without using the hands at all. This is what is really -happening in the ‘rushing’ movements alluded to above. The expert is -using any and every part of him, from ankle to elbow or shoulder, for -friction and balance touches while his feet descend; and consequently -he has both hands free to tighten or pull in the rope as he goes, even -in mid step. The eyes, since they can see uninterruptedly, guide the -feet accurately. Elbows, legs, thighs, etc., by judicious touches help -out the balance and relieve the hands to a large extent for other work. - -[Sidenote: Facing Sideways.] - -The sideways position, which is admirably adapted for balanced -climbing, is still all too seldom practised. Climbers instinctively -turn face inward the instant the holds get small or the rocks steep. -But to turn sideways is safer, because the eye can see both holds -and rope, and the body is in a good position to adjust itself for -anchoring; it is better suited to the normal lie of holds, because -holds rarely occur in vertical sequence on rock, and a diagonal descent -is often possible where direct descent is interrupted; and it is more -in balance. For in the sideways position the single hand employed -takes the natural hold, such as it is accustomed to use in ascending: -either a cling hold, or even more often a lower push hold reinforced -by an inward curving of the arm towards the rock as a lever. The outer -hand is left free to manage the rope or to use the axe. The feet fall -naturally into position on the ledges, with the side of the foot, and -not merely the toe, on the hold. The flex of the knee and thigh works -parallel to the face of the rock; and neither the bending of the knee, -as happens while descending face inward, nor the curve of the flank, -as in descending face outward, can get in the way of an easy lowering -of the body above the firm foot. The climber also, as he leans out to -the full length of one arm, is far more free to prospect his descent -in advance. Lastly, while actually more comfortably balanced, a man -so descending is in a better discretionary position to adopt any -alternative attitude, face inward or outward, by a half turn on the -foot, according as his larger range of vision advises. - -In traversing the big ridges or crossing the great rock faces of the -Alps a large proportion of the climbing must be done in this sideways -attitude. Economy of effort, ease of balance, and the carriage of rope -and axe in a free hand demand it. The technique is one that it is -essential to master, and once acquired it will be found to become the -normal position for pace and comfort in descending. - -[Sidenote: Facing Inward.] - -It is the exception when the conditions make it imperative to turn the -body face inward. The occasions are the descent of vertical or rounded -convex surfaces, of overhanging ‘cave pitches’ and the like, where the -holds do not permit of an upright or balanced position, and where the -legs have to be swung in underneath and out of sight in order to find -the next holds for the feet. - -Here, if it is more than the question of a step or so, there can be -no question of the whole party moving together. The rope is therefore -dropped from the hand, since both hands will be needed to lower the -whole weight during the movement. As soon as the feet can find hold, -the balance should be readjusted upon them, and the eyes set free to -look round again and prospect. Even though it may appear to be more -comfortable and safe to continue in a jammed or face inward position -after it ceases to be absolutely indispensable, the inclination should -be resisted. The longer the duration of the face inward descent, the -longer must continue the interruption to the advance of the whole rope. - -It is one of the principal objections to this position, which is -individually safe enough, that it necessitates an interruption and -break of rhythm for the party. Climbers, from an instinct of safety, -turn into it too frequently, and continue it too long, in places where -a sideways descent if the problem be a slab, or a face outward straddle -if it be a steep chimney, would be the correcter and quicker method. -It is not only retarding in its effect on the rope, it is always slow -in actual performance. Men move into it ponderously and reluctantly -if they have been face outwards before. They continue in it slowly, -because they cannot see and are using clinging methods; and a natural -reluctance to take the slight risk of turning round again before they -have reached a large ‘turning’ stance makes them keep the position -usually longer than the difficulties demand. Meanwhile the whole party -waits. - -If a man is a practised sideways climber he can turn into this face -inward attitude when necessary, and out again the moment he finds -balance foothold, with a minimum of check to the rope. From a sideways -position he has only got to bring round his other hand, and he is ready -to climb face inward for as long as he has estimated will be needed. - -[Sidenote: Down Chimneys or Cracks.] - -In jamming down chimneys or cracks the face outward or sideways -positions are always to be preferred. The eye, free to select, can -generally find footholds close or far out on the side-walls, which -would be invisible to the face inward position. If these holds fail, -the jam with outstretched arms, or knee or thigh or shoulder against -the containing walls, is still always safer for a man in the outward -and sideways attitudes, unless he be on an absolute overhang. At the -same time, since his hands are free in descending sideways or outwards, -he can still manage the rope even in his moments of descent, and so -save any check to the progress of the party. Whereas in the face inward -position the hands are useless except for holds. I have seen a guide -serpentining down a crack of this sort, face outward, by the pressure -of his shoulders and thighs against the walls alone. The fact that he -was free to watch the party even while he moved down enabled him to -anticipate the slip of a climber below; and he took the whole pull -upon one quick outward pressure of his knees and arms against the side -walls. An average climber, with the slightest of holds for his feet, in -this attitude can hold practically any usual weight. It is a question -of balance and judgment. - -[Sidenote: The Rope in Continuous Descent.] - -To secure the safety of the party on the descent a right position -will do much. A man who climbs face outward or face sideways is ready -mechanically to take a very considerable and sudden strain. But a right -use of the rope over the accidents of the rock will enable him to do -still more. On steep or unsound rock we are always on guard against the -unexpected slip or the breaking hold. Therefore, while on the rope, -we note at every step how we are placed to take a jerk. If we are all -moving together down steep rock we note, as we pass, every corner or -point round which we could with a single motion of the hand throw the -rope as an ‘anchor’ in case a man below us slipped. If we are all -moving quickly, and therefore presumably a safe party, we need not -do more than note them. But if the party is weak, or we are moving -interruptedly, then, no matter how easy our own sector, we should not -only note but use points suitable for the anchor. - -It must be remembered that such anchoring on a descent is designed to -assure the balance of the stationary man, in case of a sudden jerk; -and only indirectly to support the man descending below. The actual -pull of a slip, if it comes, should be taken up on the arm, but never -directly on the rock anchorage. It is useful for every one to practise -this cursive anchoring on any descent which is too steep to allow of -the party moving really rapidly together. There will be time then to -swing the rope over and off the points as we pass them, without check. -Once the trick is acquired, the eye will go on instinctively always -selecting the anchors, but the actual movements we can discontinue. -Habit will at once make the movements actual again wherever -expedient,--on all descents of medium difficulty, or on easy descents -where a slip might have dangerous consequences, such as the edge of a -lofty ridge, or an easy gallery above a sheer wall. - -[Sidenote: The Doubled Rope.] - -It is a sound general rule that a climber has never been justified -in going on up where he finds that he cannot get down without fixing -a rope. Now that good cragsmen consider nothing mastered unless it -has been climbed both ways, the occasions for the fixed rope are or -should be rare. But there are exceptions, and in such cases we use the -‘doubled rope.’ - -The first would be the case of a party descending by a line which they -have not previously ascended, or which has never been ascended or -descended at all--a not infrequent experience in making new traverses -of peaks. In this case a doubled rope may be the only method of -descending a holdless passage. But when he employs it in such places -a climber is again taking a serious responsibility, supposing that -he judges it to be a place which he could not reascend. He must be -certain from observation that the rest of the descent will go below, -or he will be cutting off his retreat unjustifiably. If he cannot make -sufficiently certain, the doubled rope should be left behind so that -the reascent may be possible if a return becomes necessary. - -The second exception is the change that is often produced by a change -of weather. A fall of snow, or an ice-glazing on the rocks, may make a -descent both difficult and dangerous where the ascent on dry rocks was -sound. In this case constant use of the doubled rope may be the only -chance of ensuring a safe descent. Such changes are not infrequent in -the British Isles as well as in the Alps, and they are the most trying -occasions in a mountaineer’s experience. A picnic ascent of an easy -buttress may be, and has been in Wales, turned by a light shower of -rain, freezing immediately into a coat of verglas on the rocks, into a -dangerous duel of descent against darkness and difficulty; and a joyous -frolic up the walls of an aiguille above the Mer de Glace, owing to a -hailstorm that coated the rocks with freezing particles, has become a -prolonged wrestle with fate, demanding painful hours where the ascent -took minutes, and necessitating the descent of almost every foot of -the thousand-metre wall by each man in turn on the ‘long rope’ or the -‘doubled rope.’ - -The third exception is when it is necessary for the last man to save -time in a race with darkness. Then, after letting the rest down, he -follows on the ‘double’ as fast as he can. - -And the last is the rare case when it is expressly intended to force -the descent of a passage which has defeated all attempts to ascend. In -such case we use all the help that we need for safety. - -The double rope can be used in these cases of difficulty or haste to -assist the descent of every member of a party. Usually it is only to -protect the last man. - -The method of using the ‘double’ is to lay the rope round any point -or knob which prevents it slipping off under an outward and downward -strain, and from which it can be conveniently released by pull or flick -from below. If such a generally comfortable point is not discoverable, -a length of the rope should be cut off and knotted into a secure sling, -which is wound in a triple coil round any excrescence good enough to -hold it permanently secure. The triple coil cannot break under the -friction, and allows the rope to play through more easily. The rope to -be used is then passed through the sling. - -Some climbers carry ready-made slings; others favour iron rings, which -they slip on to the slings, and then pass the rope through the ring. -The rope runs more easily, but I have never liked the practice. A ring -can never be carried of sufficient size to use on more than a single -thickness of rope, to say nothing of a safe triple sling. And not only -is the single sling more likely to snap under the rub of the hard ring -as we descend than under the more springy pull of another rope passed -through it, but if left it is more likely to be a danger to the next -party descending. Guides are always ready to use a finished-looking -piece of mechanism, like a ring on a loop, without testing it fully, -where they would be suspicious of a mere weathered sling of rope. The -metal reassures just where it should warn them; for the ring, where it -touches, will have rusted into and eaten the rope strands. The same -point comes up under the heading of Pegs and Aids. - -It must always be remembered that the use of the sling or ring involves -unroping, which the ‘double’ on a good belay does not; and in so far it -uses more time. - -For short descents the last man can use the slack of the rope between -himself and the next man as a double, provided he sees that, when -doubled, it will allow him to descend as far as his next stance, and -there leave him slack enough to flick it off the belay. - -He should always use the double as a fixed rope, that is, it should -never be paid out to him round the belay, as he descends, by the man -below; nor should he ever attempt to pay it out to himself as he -descends on the double. Either attempt will certainly fray the rope -round the belay, possibly jam it, and probably jerk it off the belay. - -For any considerable height it is better to use a spare doubled rope. -In this case the last man can at once see if the two ends of the double -reach to the next stance below. If no spare rope is available, the next -man below may have to unrope, in order to leave the last man enough to -double and descend upon. - -If the descent is of exceptional difficulty, e.g. an overhang, a spare -rope should always be used. The second, or climbing, rope round the -last man’s waist is then held by the man below, as a protection in case -the effort of clinging to the double exhausts the last man’s hands; or, -still better, it also can be laid over the belay and paid out to him, -lightly, as he descends. As it will then be sliding upon the fixed -rope, and there will be no strain upon it, it will be the less likely -to jam on the belay, fray or jump off. - -To descend on the double the last man grasps both ropes in his hands -immediately below the belay, drawing them taut before he starts to -see that the belay is rightly arranged for the strain. He descends, -using what footholds he can on the rock, or, failing them, by frankly -swarming down. If he is unroped from his party, and using the only -rope as a double, a protection in case of a slip is to tie both ends -of the doubled rope to his own waist before descending. The arms in -such descending should be kept bent. The most trying point is just -before he reaches the stance, where the double ropes are resting on the -ledge and are no longer kept taut by their own weight in suspension. -If the climber is using one of the leg brakes below described, its -tension will still keep the ropes taut for his hands. If not, and he is -descending by hands alone, finding what foothold he can upon the rocks, -he should get the man below to pull on the ends of the two ropes and -keep them taut till he is down. If he is descending first of the party, -and therefore there is no one below, a convenient device to the same -end is to sling his sack down on the end of the ropes and leave it just -suspended. - -[Sidenote: Brakes]. - -Gloves protect the hands; but long descents are often too great a -strain for amateur fingers, and the chance of their slipping or -cramping cannot be risked. In this case one of the following leg brakes -should be used. Experienced climbers always use them where footholds -fail, for however short a distance. - -_The Foot Brake._--This is the commonest device in gymnasium -rope-climbing. The body is turned sideways to the rock, the double -rope inside it. The twin ropes are caught up under the sole of the -inside boot and out over the instep of the outside boot. The boot edges -are clenched upon the ropes between them, and the amount of friction -over the boots resulting allows the weight, with small effort of boot -clenching, to slip in easy control down the ropes. The body is kept -upright by the hands grasping the rope above. - -_The Thigh Brake._--This is the most frequently used in the Alps, as -rock descents are seldom entirely vertical or overhanging, and a sudden -extrusion of rock under the feet when using the foot brake upsets the -balance; whereas with the thigh brake the body can lie sideways against -a projecting or convex curve of rock, and slide down the boss, swinging -to the perpendicular again where it ends, without effort at balancing. -The right method is to turn sideways to the rock, slightly raise the -_outside_ thigh, pass the double rope under it high up between the -legs, and grip the farther lengths of rope so passed with the outside -hand, palm upwards. The inside hand grasps the tightened ropes above, -with bent arm, at about the level of the head. The outside hand, by -lowering or lifting the slack lengths below or above the level of the -raised thigh, diminishes or increases the friction of the rope round -the thigh, and so controls the pace. If a complete rest is needed, the -outside hand merely brings up its double rope to join that held by the -inside hand, and a very light clasp of the two hands together on the -four ropes so united, aided by the almost total arrest of the rope -passing under the thigh, easily stops the descent. It is a mistake, but -a frequent one, to start the rope round the _inside_ thigh. Round the -outside thigh is safer and more comfortable; and it leaves the inside -leg free to use any foothold that turns up. - -The same fashion of brake can be used under the foot instead of under -the outside raised thigh. But this necessitates holding the leg very -rigid, and makes it more difficult to balance. Nor does the rope run as -smoothly under the boot as under the thigh. - -_The Body Brake._--This brake, which has several variants, need -practically never be used. The amount of friction introduced demands -of a climber almost more effort to push his way down the rope in -constricting jerks than he would use in swarming down it without a -brake at all. The simplest form is to pass the double rope under both -thighs slightly bent, back, across and in front of the body, and out, -round and behind the shoulders, to the control of the outside hand. - -_The Chair._--As I am dealing with these devices, a note upon this -may not be out of place. Except for an injured man it can rarely be -required in descending; although I have, on occasion, employed it for a -beginner who could not be trusted to manage any form of brake that left -anything to his discretion. But it may be found of use in excessively -difficult passages of ascent, where the leader has only got through -with great difficulty and where the possibility of a less brilliant -member of his following having to be hauled up clear on the rope and -remain suspended for a perceptible time makes it necessary to find -some sort of attachment that will not suffocate him. Men vary in their -resistance, but no man can hang clear, on a rope tied round his chest, -for more than two minutes without partial suffocation and considerable -pain. In ascending, both hands are needed for climbing, and no form of -the usual descending brake is therefore suitable. The chair is formed -by making two easy loops for the thighs opposite one another on the -rope, secured by a sound central knot (triple bowline). Through these -loops the climber passes his legs, as through breeches. If he then -straightens his thighs, he can sit in easy balance in the loops; but -as security against falling out backwards he should knot a scarf or -cord round his body and make it fast to the main rope in front of him. -In this chair he is perfectly free to climb and use his hands and feet -so long as they help him; and when he slips off, he swings comfortably -clear in his loops. He has only to remember to keep his body and thighs -straight, so as not to sag backwards and downwards out of the slings. -The men above do the rest. The chair is much used by bird’s-nesting -cliff climbers, who desire to keep their hands free, and who may have -to remain suspended for long periods. - -[Sidenote: Springing the Rope.] - -After the last man is down on the double rope comes the crucial moment, -when the rope has to be run or ‘sprung’ off the belay from below. -Nothing is more irritating, or of more frequent occurrence, than to -find that the double rope, after running a certain distance round the -belay, has stuck, and that a laborious and often hazardous reascent, -trusting to its partial attachment, is necessary in order to release -it. If the belay has been well chosen, or the sling well fixed, it -ought to run without difficulty. To pull it off without hitch it is -essential first to see that there is no knot in it, especially at the -running end, where the fatal knot beloved of guides and many amateurs, -for purposes of their waist-noose, generally lurks as a permanent -threat. - -The rope should be pulled round the belay slowly but continuously at -first; any re-start implies a dangerous jerk that may entangle the -loose end as it jumps about. The last ten feet are the danger, for the -short, swinging loose end may at any second jam or catch round the taut -rope in its dance. To break any slight friction or hitch, and give the -end of the rope a springing release from its belay, these last few feet -should be rushed with a sharp continuous pull by two or more of the -party, who must then look out for their heads! - -If there is not sufficient rope to allow of its being used as a double -rope down the whole descent required to the next stance, it is possible -to attach a ring to one end, and, putting the end with the ring round -the belay, to pass the hanging rope through the ring, making a sort of -running noose. The rope is then used as a single, not a double, fixed -rope for descent. To loosen it afterwards, it is necessary at the start -to tie an equal length of light cord to the ring. This is pulled from -below, dragging the ring downwards and the rope after it round the -belay. I have never liked the method, and never seen it work properly. -It incurs all the disadvantages of the rope jamming, and of the single -sling breaking, and gives only a single thickness of slight alpine rope -to climb down. It is very rare that a climber cannot reach some sort -of a stance by using all the rope he has, as a double, even if he has -no spare rope. If he has, for security, to let the rest of the party -down farther to some larger platform on the whole rope used as a ‘long -rope,’ as last man he can usually find some half-way stance sufficient -to let him pull the ‘double’ down after him. He can then refix it, or, -failing a belay, descend the rest of the passage without the double, -first roping on again to the men below, and directed and helped by -their advice as to his holds. - -[Sidenote: The Long Rope.] - -It infrequently happens on big descents that weather conditions, giant -slabs or deciduous holds make it necessary for a party while descending -to move down greater distances, in order to find safe stances, than -their allowances of rope will permit. Sometimes each member of the -party will have to be lowered a hundred feet or more, not once, but -several times in succession. This does not necessarily imply that no -holds are to be found over all this distance, or that the individuals -are not able to climb much of it unaided. But once unroping has become -necessary, and the time it takes is lost in any case, it is quicker and -safer to let each man down the full length of the whole rope at once, -so as to reach some really secure stance where he can stay unroped in -safety while the next descends. The whole object, then, should be to -save as much time as possible. The best way is for two men to remain -in charge of the rope above, one directing and lowering, the other -anchoring and paying out. Neither of them need necessarily be attached -to the rope, provided it is well secured. The moment the man below -reaches safety he should untie, without losing a second. Meanwhile, the -next man to come can already have tied on to the other loose end above, -and be beginning his descent. While one man above holds him the other -pulls up the loosened rope from the man who has finished descending. -If the rope is long enough, and the men prompt and not ‘loose stone -kickers,’ two men, at sufficient intervals, can be descending at the -one time, on either end of the rope; while the two ropes are managed, -one for each of them, by the lowerer and by the anchor man above. - -(In descending easy rocks with two beginners or weak climbers, a -variant on the same method serves excellently to save time. The expert -ties himself on to the rope between them, and lets them both descend, -at intervals, ahead of him. He holds both their ropes meanwhile, and he -follows himself when they reach security. The same economical method -can be used in ascending easy rocks with a like party.) - -The last man, when the party has used the ‘long rope’ and the rocks -baffle even _his_ skill in employing short, crafty ‘doubles,’ does -best, if he has a good second, to keep him close to him when their turn -comes to descend. He lets the second down to the nearest place he can -stand at all, and uses a double or a shuffle down to him, helped by -his directions or arms. Two good men thus weaving spells together, and -keeping the cauldron bubbling, can shepherd one another down passages -of toil and trouble where a last man would require constant ‘doubles’ -to help him, but would conjure them in vain alone; and where the rest -may have had to submit to the full witch-dance of a descent upon the -long rope. - - - - -PEGS AND AIDS - - -Artificial aids have never been popular with us. If a climber does not -feel safe in descending, he ought to practise on rock which he can -climb, not spoil rock which he cannot with blacksmith’s leavings. If a -security greater than rock can afford him remains his object, it would -be more consistent to fix up a ladder or windlass at once. I am told -that a delightful contrivance--a pulley or block--has been advertised, -which enables the climber to haul himself up or down without effort. As -to how we may fix the pulley to draw ourselves up, or unfasten it after -we have descended, we have clearly only to adopt the method followed by -Baron Munchausen when he descended from the moon on a short rope--and -the thing is done! - -For those who cannot climb down in Britain there is always an easy way -round. The only two pegs I can recall having seen in our hills were -left by two foreigners, and were not needed. - -In big mountaineering there may be more excuse. A descent may have -really become more difficult, even unsafe, owing to the coming on of -darkness or the glazing of rocks. - -In such case, pegs to hammer in and anchor to are a remedy for -our failures, our failure to carry on, to adjust the climb to the -day-length, or to watch the weather. Their use then is corrective, not -auxiliary. My party has taken pegs three times in all, as a precaution, -and used one once (on a new descent where the precise ‘impossible’ -passage had been previously located). Pegs taken for this purpose -should be short and sharp, and sheathed for carriage in pocket or sack. -They should be made with a ring or eye to pass the rope through. They -are smitten in and out as convenience and the rock dictate. - -Pegs should never be left as memorials. Prongs and rings poked -permanently into popular routes are more harmful than helpful. The -mountaineer will not need them, and they may mislead him, as they -usually follow the best lowering rather than the best climbing -line. Where fixed irons are placed with fixed ropes attached, as on -the Matterhorn or the Dent du Géant, they spoil the climber and the -climbing alike. They attract feckless folks on to the peaks, and -torment them with the rock-barrages of pantechnicon parties or the -stonier sharp-shooting of daft solitary scramblers. - -On the rock peaks of the Eastern Alps, however, the peculiar character -of the climbing has created a different tradition. Already a large -literature has grown up on the subject of mechanical contrivances for -descents. Pitons and ring-pegs and slings are taken and used to an -extent that almost relieves a climber of the need of considering his -descent at all. A practice which is sanctioned by many fine cragsmen -who have developed their methods to suit their own type of rock, and -not ours, must be respected in its own territory. But just as among our -own countrymen the over-use of the rope and of belays has contributed -towards a diminution in individual responsibility and to an increase -in ill-chosen associations, so also the opinion suggests itself that -the over-use of pegs and other contrivances by our colleagues abroad -has led to a recklessness in leading and a disregard of what we mean -by collective safety and power, which have proved even more fatal in -result than our own error. Recently among the best continental experts -there have been indications of a change of doctrine. They are finding, -as we did, that the neglect of the art of _climbing_ down is a definite -bar to achieving success in greater mountaineering. - -There would be no purpose in discussing the technicalities of a -practice so little likely to be popular with us. - -In ascending, a peg is no protection to a leader, although its -insertion may tempt him perilously to go beyond what he should. His -second man, 50 to 60 feet below him, can give him as much ‘safety’ with -the rope as a rigid peg 10 to 20 feet down. If he has room to drive in -a number of shorter-distance pegs, there should certainly be room for -him to have up his second man. If he has got to run out more than the -50 to 60 feet before he can get a stance, it is useless to waste time -driving in a peg; no rope light enough to run out in this way could be -trusted to stand the jerk of a fall of any height upon a rigid bar or -ring. - -On long horizontal or diagonal traverses on very steep rock, pegs may -have a purpose, as a moral support to the leader; although, if he is -free to hammer in pegs and loop ropes, it would probably be better for -him to get on with his leading and get it over. On such a traverse also -a peg may serve to carry the rope, and relieve the waist of some of the -drag from the lengthening run-out. - -A peg is really only ‘sound,’ in our sense, for ascending or -traversing, if the rope over it is being ‘played’ by a human being. -Then it may become an extra anchor or belay where natural belays may -be lacking; it can secure a second man while he is looking after the -leader’s rope, and enable him to protect the party below against the -consequences of the fall of the leader above. The occasions are so -rare when a little ingenuity cannot find or contrive a better stance -and anchor out of the natural features than out of a driven peg, that -pegs are seldom worth taking on this chance, except for some known -difficulty. - -Any man who feels when he looks at a passage that he wants more -protection behind him than the character of the rock allows his second -man to give him, should not attempt the passage at all. If he decides -to take the risk, he should do so only on his own account, and unrope -from his party. He can send the rope down afterwards, or, in the case -of a traverse, leave them one loose end to hold. As a protection to the -party it is even better to unrope than to drive in pegs to carry the -lengthening rope; and as a protection to more than the _morale_ of the -leader the peg is futile on such passages. - -The times when it is justifiable to use pegs on a descent are the -same as I have already mentioned in dealing with rope doubles: the -intentional descent of that which has not or cannot be ascended, the -retreats in worse conditions, or over glazed rock, and the races -against time. The first is a praiseworthy exercise in gymnastics, for -which rings, bars and poles may be taken and used according to taste; -the last two allow of pegs or any other precautionary means we may -have with us being used that may prevent defeat or miscalculation from -becoming disaster. - -I can imagine no other cases where a climber should not feel that he -is confessing to incapacity or some misjudgment if he has to fall -back upon pegs and aids to help him to come down what he, or some -other man, has ascended. After one such experience, any conscientious -climber would now set himself to practise climbing down, until he had -remedied a very serious defect in his qualification to rank as a good -mountaineer. - -So long as a man depends upon his own hands and feet and his knowledge -of the rock, he remains master of the situation. He has four chances -always in his favour. Whereas, if he is swinging loose from an inserted -artificial peg, he has only one chance; and that one neither so much -under his physical control as his own fingers and toes, nor even as -calculable in its efficiency as a natural rock-borne belay. - - - - -THE AXE ON ROCKS - - -[Sidenote: Its Carriage.] - -The axe is only less useful on rocks than on ice and snow. It is at -once a long third leg and a third claw hand of honourable service. Its -correct carriage in walking is important, and must become instinctive. -Guides carry it, and it is the best position, over the hollow of the -elbow, like a gun, with the head under the shoulder, and so turned that -the curve of the pick adheres upward along the shoulder-blade and only -the balanced weight of the shaft rests across the forearm. The only -absolute rule is that, whether carried in hand or over or under the -shoulder, the axe should always be held with the spike end of the shaft -pointing forward. Nothing betrays the beginner or the badly instructed -climber so fatally as an axe swung with the head to the front and the -spike out behind. Habit should be trained so as to avoid this false -position as instinctively as that of carrying a gun with the muzzle -pointing directly to the rear. - -Much walking, and all climbing, in the Alps is done in single file. -Even the chance that one of the file may in carelessness swing -up his axe into the wrong position, on path or easy ridge, is a -perpetual threat to the eyes and teeth of anyone following him, and -its possibility, in the person of one ill-trained companion, is an -irritation for the whole party to contemplate. It is one of the -slight jeopardies to harmony which a leader is justified in directly -correcting. - -It is best for actual climbing on easy rocks to carry the axe on a -wide, soft sling on the wrist. If then both hands are needed for holds, -it can be safely dropped for the moment on to the sling, and jerked -back again, cup-and-ball fashion, into the hand, without interruption -or the waste of even an arm movement. - -If a steeper, and short, passage occurs where the arm must be entirely -free, and the axe on the wrist-sling would hamper movement, the sling -can be thrust right up on to the shoulder. The axe then hangs behind -the body and well out of the way of both arm and leg motions. - -On rocks, whenever and wherever practicable, the axe should be carried -in the hand. The machinations of an axe under control can be allowed -for; but an axe swinging free from wrist, shoulder or back is a devil -of stumbling and catching unchained. For this reason, the device, -employed by most guides on long difficult passages or chimneys where -the hands and shoulders must be kept free, of wearing a string loop -attached to sack or rope, through which they pass the axe, is not -sound. The axe is out of sight, loose and out of control. It is better -to shove it through the loop of rope round the waist, where it is -kept fairly rigid and its position can be allowed for. With a single -movement it can be pulled to either side or behind, as convenience -dictates. - -It is useful to practise carrying the axe on British rock climbs, -in order to acquire the instinct of its proper carriage for later -indispensable service in the Alps. The alpine climber is never without -his axe; and when he looks ahead at a rock section to select his holds, -he subconsciously decides at the same time how he must carry his axe; -in the left or the right hand, according as to which will be the outer -or free hand; on the wrist, if it be only for a step or two; slung on -his shoulder, for a longer passage; or thrust through his waist-rope on -the left, right or behind, for a chimney or severe struggle. - -If the rock problem is of great severity or length, it saves time -in the end to tie all the axes on to a rope, and to send them up -separately. So sent, they should be tied with a clove-hitch, not at the -end of the rope, but so as to leave sufficient rope hanging below to -guide them and prevent their catching. This also applies to sending up -the sacks. - -An axe of some ingenuity has lately been designed for use by a leader -on difficult rock. This will take in half. On severe passages both -halves can be packed into the sack for the time, or if the crack -contains ice in places where there is no room to manipulate a long axe, -the head half can be retained in the hand or in the waist-noose, and be -conveniently used to make nicks in the ice or to serve as a claw-hand -in minute cracks. It has stood some severe testing, but time has still -to show if the convenience of the shortening is secured at too great -a sacrifice of strength in the shaft to make the axe sound for long or -heavy step-cutting. - -The short axes popular with those modern climbers who rely exclusively -upon their ice-claws, have a habit in rock climbing of working out of -the waist-noose or sling and disappearing down the cliff at crucial -moments. They are also of no use as the invaluable third leg on easy -rock or in descending. - -When halts are made it is important to see that the axes are put in -safety, where they cannot be dislodged by forgetful movements. A -climber without his axe is like a lion-hunter without his rifle--and no -tree to climb. - -[Sidenote: As an Extra Hand.] - -In ascending rocks the axe comes into use as a long claw-hand, where -snow, ice, grass or heather covers the ledges and hides the holds. The -pick can then either be driven in as a handhold--in which case it is -important to remember that the axe must be held rigid in the position -in which it is first driven in, whatever the subsequent alterations in -the direction of the pull upon it--or it can be used to clear out the -obstruction. - -On bare rock, if the pick is driven into a crack and the shaft set -firm against the rock below, the head can provide a useful handhold or -foothold; it can be further secured if it is held in this position by -a man below. As a pull handhold, with the pick hooked over an edge, in -ascending rocks, it should be used with caution. The direction of the -pull upon a handhold always tends to change, as the weight is raised -near or past it; and an axehold can rarely be found of a kind to resist -the outward or slanting strain as a climber raises himself. One or -two guides in the Alps have perfected a remarkable trick that may be -mentioned. When a vertical or sloping crack in a slab gets too small -even to admit a finger, and all other holds are lacking, they force the -point of the pick into the crack above their heads, and give a slight -outward and upward twist to the shaft with the wrist, so that the point -of the pick and its square edges are jammed slantwise and upwards in -the crack. Holding the shaft rigid in this position, they then raise -their weight by sheer strength inside the bent arm which holds the -shaft, at the same time using whatever friction-holds they can find -for their feet to help them. A second’s catlike clinging of the feet -and of their free hand to the rock gives them just time to thrust the -pick farther up the crack and twist it firmly in again. The feat is one -that demands exceptional strength and skill, and it is only employed in -circumstances from which the best amateur would retire without choice. -But it is worth practising, if only to be held in reserve as a relief -or extra security, when, on rocks less naturally desperate, a crack or -a slab proves unexpectedly iced or nasty. - -I have occasionally seen an axe-head made use of in the fashion of -a ‘peg.’ Where a belay point was lacking, a climber has jammed his -axe-pick in a crack, and anchored or belayed the rope over it. I never -came upon such a contrivance without a distinct feeling of relief that, -in once again avoiding ‘coming upon the rope,’ I had once again shirked -being the first to make trial of the doubtful efficacy of this sort of -belay. - -In well-chosen spots, the familiar ledges or terraces where slopes of -deep heather or grass cover the rock and leave no sure stance, the -axe can also be used for belaying. The spike should then be driven in -deeply, the shaft sloping away from the pull, and the rope be passed -low down round its base, getting some extra friction upon the grass -or heather immediately round the shaft. But these belays should be -employed with discretion. - -[Sidenote: As a Manx Leg.] - -In traversing the crests of long ridges, with their constant rise -and fall, and in descending easy or moderate rocks, the axe, well -handled, is an invaluable telescopic third leg. The spike of the shaft -reached forward or downward to some cranny or lower step beyond the -reach of the foot, preserves the balance in free walking or during -a long downward step. Its practised use enables the body to balance -continuously and rhythmically in a walking upright attitude over broken -crests or down angles and high steps of rock that would otherwise -demand a constant effort of balance and much help from handholds. - -Even in the hands of a beginner it prevents him from crawling where -he should be learning to walk in the rhythm of balance. In so far as -it makes for upright movement it is the first instructor in balance -climbing on easy ridges and descents. - -In descending sideways to the rock, the axe-head, short held on the -ledges, can give relief to the continued drag on the hands. Or again, -if either hand is occupied with the rope, the spike of the axe thrust -down to a lower edge with the free hand gives balance for the next -awkward descending step, and avoids the check to the rope that the -search for handhold, and the turn of the body to use it, would produce. - -In traversing or descending easy faces or ridges, the axe, held -straight across the body with the spike towards the rock, can give just -those touches which the balance in easy movement from time to time -demands, especially when there is loose rubble on the passing footholds -or their angle slopes inconveniently. - -In dancing down or across loose scree or moraine, that last test of -rhythmical leg movement, which becomes a step-dance of delight or a -slow, unhappy crawl according as it is rightly or wrongly performed, -the axe held in the same position makes at any moment, with a passing -touch, a third leg for balance. But it is wrong and retarding to make a -perpetual tripod with it, and to lose the rhythm of balanced movement -by continually leaning upon it. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[10] See on Boots, “Equipment,” p. 80. - -[11] See on Nailing, “Equipment,” p. 82. - -[12] See “Equipment,” p. 83. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -CLIMBING IN COMBINATION - - -In no craft or sport is combination so vital as in climbing. The -brilliant individual run or single score is impossible. The members of -a party are combined for life or death. Their achievement is that of -their united efficiency. Their progress depends upon their success in -realizing complete harmony of thought and movement. The rope is their -nervous link. There are few things more pleasing to watch than the -co-operation of a good rope on a stiff rock climb. To the untutored -eye the party may all appear to be doing different things--some -pausing, some turning, some climbing. Only the expert may discover the -continuity of motion passing from one end to the other of the rope -through the separate actions of each climber. Like the progress of -a snake, seen in a slow cinema film, the sinuous connection is only -apparent to the eye that can read in each apparently stationary phase -its relation to the phase which precedes and follows it. - -[Sidenote: Collective Rhythm.] - -To climb as an individual, each man has to learn how he can most safely -and economically manage his muscles, his will and his nerves, and how -to accommodate his personal rhythm to the accidents of rock structure. -To climb in a party, he has to adjust this to the collective rhythm of -whatever men he climbs with. He has not only to get up rocks, he has -to do so as part of a machine. If all the party is moving together, he -has to watch the hands and feet of the man in front, so as to lose no -time in renewed searching for his own holds; to see that the rope in -front does not catch or lie about, but take it up in loose, neat coils -in his hand, and let it out again as required; to keep his distances, -so as not to hurry or jerk the men in front or behind him; to carry -his axe and generally a loose coil of rope; and at the same time to -climb securely himself, with a view to having to meet at any moment an -unexpected slip by some one else. If the party is moving singly, he has -to see exactly where the man in front goes; to watch his position on -the next stance above, so as to adopt at once the right attitude for -belaying or holding the man below when he himself reaches the stance -in his turn, and to pull in the rope of the man behind as he comes up, -while seeing that the rope of the man in front runs out without hitch. - -Climbing on the rope falls naturally into two divisions of technique, -alternating in their employment according to the difficulty of the rock -traversed and the ability of the party: that of all moving together, -or ‘continuous climbing,’ on easy and moderately difficult rock; and -that of moving singly, ‘interrupted’ or ‘one at a time,’ on difficult -rock; in the latter case the man above will always be stationary and -‘anchoring’ the rope for the succeeding climber. This distinction is -made throughout in discussing the different uses of the rope. - -The mastery of continuous movement on the rope is the more important; -it is the finer art, and the better foundation for big mountaineering. -But it has become too much the fashion with our climbers to ignore its -importance, and to treat, and therefore to train their following to -treat, each section of rock as an individual ‘problem.’ - -The necessity of learning how to move singly is forced upon us in any -case by the sectional character of most of our difficult British rock -climbs, which are apt to divide themselves into separate ‘pitches.’ -Unfortunately, the effect has gone deeper. Not only do we practise -moving singly almost to the exclusion of collective continuous -climbing, but we allow the interrupted method to destroy the rhythm and -pace that properly form part of good ‘one-at-a-time’ climbing. Such -sectional climbing establishes a habit which is bad for the individual -style and disastrous in big mountaineering. - -A mountaineer on a rope has to learn to feel that he is charged with a -portion of a united personality represented by the rope. In proportion -as he himself is secure or not, at any moment when others are less -well placed, he carries a greater or lesser share of this collective -responsibility. If all are moving together, his own movements are of -importance to the party in so far as they coincide with the collective -rhythm and contribute to the pool of safety against accidents. If the -party is moving singly, at the moments when he himself is actually -climbing he is free to look after himself alone, but the instant he has -ceased to move he has a double measure of security to assure for those -starting to move above or below him. This is his contribution to the -combined safety of the party. His contribution to the collective pace -is that he should climb as quickly as is consistent with safe progress -and not as slowly as his own comfort might desire. - -Slack habits on short English climbs prevent a party ever finding its -rhythm, or even discovering its value as a combination. A good party -acquires a fine collective momentum from the impulse transmitted by the -sharp ending of one climber’s effort to the immediate start of the next -man. There is as attainable a rhythm in ‘interrupted’ climbing as in -continuous climbing. When a party can move singly or together, slow or -fast, and yet retain its collective rhythm, it will have bridged the -gap between the severe problem-climb that may have seemed to it the -limit of individual performance, and the great alpine expedition which -may pile fifty such problems into a day without coming to the end of -the greater collective power of a roped party. - -[Sidenote: Imitation.] - -A climber’s first task on a rope is to learn to watch the man in front. -This must become a second nature. It should be sufficient that one man -has found the right holds; it is a waste of time and a bad break of -rhythm if all, or even one other man following, finds it necessary to -look for them again. On continuous climbing, pace cannot be achieved -without this subconscious imitation. On difficult ‘one-at-a-time’ -climbing, to fail to start or to follow with the correct hand or foot -often means failure to follow at all where another has easily led. -There is nothing lowering in imitation. Big climbing is not competitive -puzzle-work. The man behind is in any case handicapped by the rope, -and by his extra share of responsibility in guarding his leader. He -owes it to the party not to waste time in working out the leader’s job -for himself over again. This habit of observation may become quite -unconscious. As a personal instance, I once traversed the Matterhorn -with a well-known guide as companion. In descending, I was occupied -subconsciously in choosing holds and consciously in examining a -prospected route on the distant Dent d’Hérens. We were unroped, and the -guide was some distance in front. I have no recollection of noticing -him. After a time I found myself constantly adjusting my line so as to -take holds always with the same hand. I remarked the fact gradually, -because I became conscious that it was not always the obvious or most -convenient adjustment. In an instant the explanation flashed across me. -The guide climbed admirably, but an accident some years before had left -him only one hand to climb with. Unconsciously, or as a third mental -operation, I had been noting his adjustments and imitating them without -being even aware that I saw him. - -A criticism very frequently made, especially of a man untrained in -combined climbing, is: “You can’t depend on him; he takes different -holds:--I never feel sure with him on the rope behind.” If the man -moving in front knows what holds the next man is using he knows where -he will be encountering a difficulty or a loose hold, and he is already -half prepared in case of his help being needed. If, on the other -hand, he knows only that a new set are being discovered, he has to be -constantly turning round and waiting, and uncertainty is added to his -necessary watchfulness. The criticism applies, primarily, to climbing -on rock of a certain difficulty, where there will be only one ‘best’ -line of holds to use. On easy rock greater liberty is permissible. At -the same time a distinction must be drawn between the duty of noting -the holds, and their fashion of use by the man in front, and the -duty of using them in precisely similar fashion. On very difficult -rock passages a man of different physique may, from lack of reach or -a divergence in proportions, find it necessary to employ different -adjustments. None the less will he profit by having noted the holds his -front man used, and, in most cases, by imitating his actual fashion of -using them. On such passages of course the party will be moving singly. -The front man will therefore in any case be on his guard, and no extra -risk or loss of time is involved in the enforced departure from his -method. - -If the party is moving one at a time, it is easier to notice the exact -holds taken by one’s predecessor, but it is also easier in this case to -forget them again in the excitement of watching his further progress. -Therefore, in moving singly, the effort of noticing has to be more -directly conscious. - -If we are moving together, conscious observation is assisted, and in -part supplied, by the continuous action of the body, as it adjusts its -poise of its own accord not to one hold, but to a sequence of holds. -If a man is swinging along to the same rhythm as his leader, his body -automatically makes use of the same holds as the leader has found to -suit his balancing progress. - -But if we are moving one at a time, each man has to watch the holds. We -have to notice not only what holds the leader tried and rejected,--as -these will be the obviously convenient holds whose temptation must be -resisted if his example is to be of service,--but what were the actual -holds and movements by which he finally conquered. For the sake of -those following it is important to imitate these as closely as we can. -It is astonishing how many good climbers fail to notice even, say, such -an important point as the fact that the leader turned round so as to -face the opposite wall of a crack at a particular point; and how many -more can give no account of what holds they themselves used, even the -moment afterwards. It is a sign of a poor mountaineer if he has to call -out to his front man for guidance: “Did you go to the right here?” -or “What do I do now?” It is generally impossible to direct him from -above, however well the leader may remember the holds, especially if he -is standing back, as he should be, in order to hold the rope. All the -necessary guidance should have been noted during the front man’s ascent. - -[Sidenote: The Rope while Moving Together.] - -Apart from acquiring this faculty of imitation, the climber has to -learn how to manage the rope. It might be maintained that, on places -where all the party are able to move together, the rope is not needed. -But in big mountaineering the easy and the hard passages alternate -so frequently that the constant taking off and on, the coiling and -uncoiling of the rope, would involve great loss of time. There is also, -even on easy rock, always the possibility of a slip or of a breaking -hold to be considered, even with a first-rate party. Often there may -be danger when there is little or no difficulty. And since good men can -hold almost anywhere, even while moving, if one of them does slip, the -rope protects him against any worse consequences. - -[Sidenote: The Rope to the Man in Front.] - -In continuous climbing, with a good party, each man, unless he be the -leader, is primarily concerned with the section of rope in front of -him. It is best to keep this always a little slack, and to gather up -one coil or two coils in the outside hand. These loops can either be -retained while the hand is used for holding on, or they can be dropped -for the second if the full grip of both hands is needed. But your -first concern is not to jerk the man in front; it is only of minor -importance to get up comfortably yourself. For the jerk on your friend -will be unexpected, and therefore disturbing, if not upsetting; whereas -inconvenient holds for yourself, or the extra effort required to keep -the rope clear, you can foresee, and therefore discount. To break your -own rhythm under these circumstances, in order to avoid breaking that -of the man in front, does less injury to the collective movement. It -is often better, for the same end, to take an awkward touch-hold, with -elbow or knee, rather than to lose time in dropping the coils so as to -free your hand. If the coils have to be dropped, the time can yet be -saved and the rhythm remain unbroken, if you quicken up for a step or -two and close in on the man in front. The loose coil in the hand of the -man behind you will leave you this margin. When you drop your coil, see -that it falls into a position in which it will not be likely to hitch -and from which it can be caught up again at once. - -The arm, with the hand, has above all things to learn the mechanical -swing which frees, frees, frees the rope in front of you, before, -after, and even during each step, at whatever inconvenience to -yourself. It is something of the motion of cracking a whip slowly, -upwards or sideways according to the lie of the rock. The art of the -swing, from all positions, can only come with practice. - -Fortunately for us, the business of watching the rope combines -conveniently with that of watching the movements and holds of the man -ahead, and does not withdraw our eye from its first duty. Meanwhile, -for our own holds we must trust to the hastiest of passing glances, and -depend for the rest on our imitation of our front man. To this extent -combined climbing makes a further demand upon the ability to take holds -previously marked, unaided at the moment by sight; an art which the -feet and hands have had to learn in acquiring balance method. - -[Sidenote: The Rope from the Man Behind.] - -With the man behind, in continuous climbing, we are less concerned. -If he is of equal strength, he can be left to himself. Yet we have to -remember where the checks of difficulty or bad holds occurred that -broke our own rhythm, and we must allow for them in turn by slackening -our pace slightly when instinct tells us that the man following is -approaching these check-points. If a party is moving well in tune, -we shall know without looking round when the next man will probably -be checking or when he will be forced to drop his coils of rope for -better hold. We shall therefore be prepared for a check, or even a jerk -to our rope should a blunder occur. If the man behind is distinctly -less expert, some allowance in pace and attention has to be made at -such times; and it is as well, without necessarily stopping or turning -round, to feel backwards with one hand, and discover if the rope is -advancing freely. The hand can even take up a coil or so of the rope -behind, and hold it together with the coils it holds of the rope -in front. We then have some margin of rope to let go in case it is -checked from behind on such expected places. A weaker man behind may be -expected to check where his predecessor passed without pause; and to -take up a loop or so of his rope, bringing it taut in the act, keeps us -in touch with his movements, and ready to help him if needed, without -forcing us to take our eyes off our leader or our attention off our own -progress. If the man behind is a novice, it is best always to adopt -this plan, and leave him free to use his hands, while we ourselves hold -the loose coils which normally would be his care. This throws a double -task on the middle man, who thus has two ropes to manage; but a good -centre will be able to keep all his eyes for his leader and yet discern -all he needs to know about the progress of his rear man from the feel -of the rope. - -[Sidenote: The Rope while Moving Singly.] - -In steep climbing, where the party moves one at a time, the rope is -used for direct protection and not merely as a precautionary link. -The rope is for safety; it is not for assistance. Above all, there -is no magic in its use. It does not or cannot level up the powers of -an unequal party to the standard of its best members. In so far as -members of a rope find it necessary to have recourse to it as direct -aid, they are drawing upon the reserve of strength and security which -the party pools, and thus diminishing the margin which is required -for their feats in the lead by the more expert members. They are -depriving the party of its rhythm, and the leader of the sense of a -safe collective capacity behind him, which is the impetus that makes -for his success. This warning is not unneeded at the present time. It -has become the custom for a group of first-class leaders to conduct -various assortments of less capable climbers up the most difficult -climbs in our islands. For them it is only a friendly effort. The -climbs are short; the reserve of a good leader is sufficient for such -‘one-man’ climbs, which are climbed ‘one at a time.’ But the harm for -the individuals who follow may be great. They are depriving themselves -of any chance to develop their own balance and confidence. They are -confusing their judgment as to their own unaided capacity, and are -spoiling their taste by sensations they cannot digest. They may be -getting into careless habits of trusting to the rope as an auxiliary -engine whenever their wind or power fails. When these methods and -ill-assorted companionships are transferred to the Alps, the results -are lamentable. With difficulties magnified a hundredfold in length, -upon climbs which can only be expected to yield in a whole day to -the attack of combined efficiency, and with far longer hours of easy -climbing to face, of a kind to demand the utmost individual precision -for its timely passage, such methods make impossible demands upon -the margin of power and security that the ablest of leaders has over -for the common ‘pool’ of his party. There follow late returns, and -exhaustion, and ill-temper, and nights out, if no worse. In this -respect British climbing may be the very reverse of a preparation for -the Alps. The rope can be abused until it becomes a danger. - -There is no harm in taking an occasional pull from the man above; some -rock passages are more difficult for certain types of figure, others -for others. The hour and the weather may on occasion make it better not -to waste the time of the party. But any man who has habitually to give -‘trunk calls’ is climbing with a leader and on a class of climb beyond -his capacity. He is delaying the party and injuring his own climbing -permanently. If it is only practice he lacks, he should insist upon -better opportunity for real practice and a slower pace. If this does -not relieve him from the necessity of ‘rope-riding,’ he will do himself -more good by working for a period on easier rock with a humbler rope. -If, on the other hand, he finds that as his technique improves he can -manage unaided all that his leader sets him, he should insist on being -given his share of leading. - -[Sidenote: Following and Leading.] - -This will be the more necessary if he begins to find himself in doubt -whether he could lead places over which he knows he can follow capably. -He has clearly then been neglecting a most important side of his -climbing education, his self-knowledge and confidence. It is a fact -that any moderate climber who has not sacrificed his own sound training -and the education of his nerve to the exactions of too rapid a party, -climbs twenty per cent better, when he is leading, than he ever does -when he is following. There have been plenty of cases of men who for -years remained average climbers behind some dominating leader, and who, -when placed by some chance reluctantly in the lead, suddenly developed -powers beyond all expectation, and retained them. They had merely -to add self-knowledge and confidence to their technically thorough -training. - -Conversely, it is a fact that a man who has been accustomed only to -lead climbs some twenty per cent worse when he has on occasion to -follow. The habit of imitation, the instinct for rope management, -and the necessity of taking and not setting the rhythm are all novel -to him. To this defect in education is in part due the disappointing -performances of some excellent rock climbers when they first -mountaineer in the Alps. Men always accustomed to lead at home never -climb at their best behind a guide. And men who have always followed -have never acquired confidence or self-dependence sufficient to meet -new circumstances happily. For these reasons every habitual leader -should accustom himself to follow at home; he will be far more -efficient when he starts to learn his business behind professionals -in the Alps, or when, with a guideless party, he has to alter the -order, and follow himself, as is sometimes necessary for greater -safety. Again, every one upon whom circumstances force the position of -generally following, either on British rocks or in the Alps, should -insist upon his share of leading where he feels that it is within his -physical powers. - -[Sidenote: Stances.] - -The extent to which the rope is now used as a general assistance or -as a decoration on easy passages is apt to contribute to a neglect of -the study of positions proper to its secure use in places where its -protection is really needed. It is as vital for a leader to know what -character of stance he requires in order to bring up his following -safely, as to get up a passage himself. Many old climbers are frankly -inept in their choice of stance and of attitude upon it. It would seem -simple enough for a man to think out from what direction a pull will -come upon him, and how he can best place his body to meet it. But many -minds can never get beyond the sense of a comfortable attitude of -body at the moment, and quail before the further step of considering -how that attitude is suited to a pull from a particular direction. -It brings a shudder to remember occasions when we have arrived at a -platform after a severe struggle and found our anchor man carefully -jammed in a position that could not have resisted the faintest pull -from the only important direction! And behind the possible doubt in -many a man’s mind, so placed, seems always to be the dangerous feeling: -“Anyhow, it’s only for a moment, and old So-and-so won’t slip.” Perhaps -So-and-so half-way up calls out, “Can you give me a little pull?” -For So-and-so has been climbing probably with something of the same -sort of feeling: “I’ll have a shot; and anyhow, there’s always old -Such-and-such up there with the rope!” At the call comes further doubt -above, and even that ominous “Wait a second!” while the upper man -hastily tries to alter his position. This is as common an event as it -is unpardonable. - -The ‘Wait a second’ man may be a perilous goose; but even he is -not so bad as the ‘All right! come along!’ man in like situation. A -leader--and I am not writing without knowing of instances--who under -any circumstances of excitement or difficulty says he is all right to -hold when he knows or even suspects that he is not, and who allows his -next man to enter on a doubtful passage on this false understanding, -is guilty of constructive manslaughter, only partially redeemed by the -possibility that it may be also constructive suicide. - -A climber has to think out exactly how the pull on the rope will come, -and what hold he has about him to help him to meet it. Our object is -to stay in balance on the feet as long as possible, so as to be able -to pivot on our legs and meet the strains, if and as they come. To sit -down is an all too vulgar error. On steep sloping ledges where we stay -the heels against rock or herbage, or astride of a ridge, or jammed -in a crack or chimney, we may have to sit down; but our position is -weak. We are out of balance and out of the true line of the rope, which -almost of necessity will be fraying over some edge, interrupting our -information as to how the invisible man below us is getting on, and not -improbably loosening stones on to him. - -Whenever the stance permits we stand in free balance on the feet, with -our outside or firm leg in line with the pull of the moving rope. The -body inclines inward, ready to take the pull, if it comes, down the -thrust of our rigid leg. If the ledge is narrow, we rest against the -rock with shoulder or our inside knee, but still keep a free poise of -the body to meet any slight alterations in the direction of strain. If -the ledge is too narrow to allow us to lean back and so take the strain -down through our leg to the rock, or if the stance does not even allow -of balancing without handholds, then we must look out for a belay or -anchor, any knob or split corner of rock, round which to pass the rope -as extra security. - -[Sidenote: With Belays.] - -We make the distinction between an ‘anchor,’ the loop of inactive rope -with which a stationary climber secures himself to a rock point, in -order to protect himself and the rest of the party while somebody else -is climbing, and a ‘belay,’ which is the rock-and-rope attachment by -which the active rope of a moving man is protected while it is running -out or being pulled in. - -We distinguish again between a ‘direct belay,’ where the rope in action -connects directly on to or round rock, and an ‘indirect belay,’ where -some form of human spring is interposed between the active rope and the -solid rock. - -The _anchor_ should not be made with a section of the rope momentarily -in action. The man on the stance takes a loop of the inactive rope -between himself and the next stationary climber and puts it over a -point. He can either hold it there looped, or secure it by putting on a -second coil, which will confirm it by friction. An anchor is not much -good unless it is quite close to or vertically above us. The farther -off it is, the more open it becomes to all our objections to a direct -belay. Its object is to assure the balance of a stationary climber -while he is managing the rope of a moving climber, and safeguard the -rest of the party in case of the fall of both. The same point of rock -may have to serve for both anchor and belay, but their affixing should -be quite independent. If a leader, wearing necessarily only the one -rope, the active rope to his second man, wishes to secure an anchor, he -must divide his anchor loop from that portion of his active rope which -he is using to belay his second man by very secure friction coils round -the rock. If there is no place for both anchor and belay, the anchor -must be sacrificed, and the belay then made as indirect as ingenuity -can devise. - -The _direct belay_ is unsound to protect a _leader_. If the rope is -playing round rock, it may at any second jerk him, a fatal fault. If -he falls with a long rope out, the rope will, or ought to, break, when -the jerk comes directly upon a solid point, and very often a point -with sharp edges. If he falls on a short rope, similarly attached -directly to rock, the chance of its snapping is only slightly less. -For a long rope may take up much jerk in its elastic spring, but a -short rope cannot. This should be more widely known. Many leaders think -they will be safe in trying a risky passage if they can find a direct -belaying-point which only leaves a short run-out. They either use it -like a ‘peg,’ passing the rope behind it and taking out enough slack -to let them do the passage, or they bring up their second men on to -bad stances to hold the rope over it. Neither course lessens the risks -of the direct belay. Some preventable accidents have been due to this -dangerous misconception. - -An exception would appear to be the case of the leader ‘threading the -rope,’ behind a jammed stone, in order to protect himself in attempting -a bad bit from a stance not good enough for him to bring his second up -to. This ‘threading’ is only sound if, firstly, the run-out above it is -only to be for a few feet; and, secondly, if the rope will _run_ freely -behind the stone so that the second man below can play it and turn it -into an _indirect_ belay, to some extent, in case of a slip. Otherwise -threading is really only a brittle reed of moral reassurance for a -leader who is uncertain about his standard of the day. - -As a protection to a man _following_ us up rock the direct belay is -almost equally unsound. To drag the moving rope round rock frays -it, and runs the risk of there being a hitch or some slack rope to -complicate matters if he slips or needs a pull. Few knobs can be -trusted to retain a travelling rope unless the hands keep it in -position. A rope dragged round a point, also, rolls against the lay -of the strands, and may roll up and off a rounded knob unexpectedly. -Again, a rope may play easily round a splinter while it is loose, but -when a strain comes upon it it will jam in the crack behind, and the -sudden stopping of the ‘give’ in the rope pinches and may snap it. In -one-at-a-time climbing it should rarely be necessary to take a direct -belay to protect a man following. It is our business not to use a -stance unless we can render its belay in some way indirect. Only in -continuous climbing do we content ourselves sometimes with cursory -direct belays, generally in descending. Then they are simply a passing -precaution, not a definite protection; and they are sound because the -easy character of the climbing will permit us, at need, instantly -to convert them into indirect belays or anchors. Otherwise direct -belays are more often used in laziness or ignorance than from any dire -climbing necessity. - -For the _indirect belay_ we loop the active rope of the man climbing -round a convenient point, and then make it our business to interpose -our hands, arms, legs, shoulders, or any part of us which may prevent a -jerk of his rope from coming uninterruptedly on to the solid rock. If -we have fair room to balance, we play the rope entirely free with our -arms and the spring of our body, using only an anchor to the rock if -we need it. If we have not room, and especially if we are protecting a -leader, whose fall would jerk us off most positions of free balance, we -put the rope over the point and play it round with both hands, ready to -grip and spring it upon our arms if a jerk comes. Or we pass the active -rope round our forearm or over the thigh or across the shoulder, on its -way to the belay-point. - -It often happens that the rope does not play easily round the belay -as we pass it from one hand to the other. We may have to free it and -run a coil through quickly, or alter its lie round the belay. These -shifts should never be made except when the man protected by the rope -is momentarily at rest. Similarly we may have to take it off the belay -for a second, to let it run out quickly enough for a rapid leader, who -above all things must not be jerked. For these adjustments it is better -to keep always a small margin of slack in the rope, which we continue -to take up in the hands as they play the rope round the belay, until -a suitable moment comes for making the readjustment we intend. This -margin also leaves us a loose curl through which to twist wrist or arm, -as an extra spring, in case of a fall on the rope. - -As an extra precaution we may insert glove or cap or even earth between -the rope and the knob, if we think it may reduce the friction or ease -the passage. - -We may not always be satisfied that we have rendered our belay -classically indirect, but we can always prevent its being crudely -direct. Our eye must learn to take instinctive offence at the sight of -any active rope running direct from a moving man to a rigid rock. - -[Sidenote: Without Belays.] - -Belays and handholds are almost synonymous, for there is very little -handhold which ingenuity cannot convert into some form of extra -security for the rope. Where handholds fail us, belays fail us, and -we have to fall back for our securing of the rope upon balance and -the mechanics of our bodies. The nature of the stance suggests the -position. The strongest holding attitude is that of the body turned -somewhat sideways to the direction of the expected pull, and inclined -slightly inwards over the inner bent leg; thus the strain is taken down -the outer rigid leg to the rock. This leg is planted firmly on the -foot, and sloped in the same line as the rope from the man ascending -below us, or, alternatively, in the line which the rope from the man -above us may be expected to take, supposing he were to fall. The -sideways turn enables us to make a spring of the body; which we bend -or straighten over the bent inner leg and behind our rigid leg, as we -pull in or check the rope, without risk of being pulled off our stance. -Whereas, if we face squarely outward, we cannot get _behind_ both our -legs, to pull, without sitting down; and any forward bend of the body, -to meet a pull, risks the balance and the foothold. - -We use any roughness of the surface as extra purchase for the outer, -firm foot. Two such small holds, if only for the side-nails of the -boots, give sufficient purchase, under a body in balance, to lift the -whole weight of a heavy companion, or, less certainly, to check a -considerable weight falling from above. - -Sometimes it is best to bend the inner leg until the knee rests against -the wall behind. If the rock above us projects, or is so steep that we -cannot lean in behind our firm leg, the stance is not sound without -some belay. But it is at times possible, if the stance is broad and the -slope of the projection above allows it, to kneel on the inside knee, -and belay the rope over the outside knee with both hands. A man with -powerful legs can make this a secure spring for the rope. The centre -of gravity is so low in this position that a heavy jerk from below can -safely be taken. But it is useless, of course, without other hold, as a -belay against a fall from above. - -No stance is sound without a belay or anchor where we feel we need -handhold for our balance, or where we feel we shall need it to resist -the pull of a rope, from below or above as the case may be. No man, -dependent upon handhold himself, is safe enough to secure the rope for -another climber. He must either be able to convert his handhold into an -anchor for himself or into some form of indirect belay for the climber, -or else he must seek another stance. - -The more we learn of the mechanics of climbing, the more we incline to -use only _free stances_ if we wish to assist or protect a man _below_; -and free stances reinforced by _anchors_ on the inactive rope to -protect a leader _above_; and the less and less we get to like even -indirect belays, for either, on the active rope. For a man below, it -is of more assistance that we should be able to give him the immediate -pull or steady with his active rope which a free stance or body belay -allows us to do, and which will prevent him slipping at all, than that, -when for lack of this instantaneous touch he has slipped, his active -rope should be rock-belayed, and should be thus more stonily certain of -stopping him in his further fall. For a leader above us, it is of more -service that we should associate ourselves with his action, keep a free -stance or a body or arm belay on his active rope, and, if he falls, be -free to interpose all our human mechanism to ease the jar, than that -we should seek to diminish our responsibility and risk, and increase -his danger, by entrusting his active rope to the perilous rigidity of -a rock belay. We must, indeed, always take an anchor for a leader on -the inactive rope, if we can; because this strengthens our position in -functioning as his human spring, and protects the rest of the party in -case of our failure to save him by our interposition. And we should -take it for a man below, on severe rock, whenever our free stance is -not secure enough to safeguard ourselves and, consequently, those above -us. - -But the very human inclination which assails our novitiate upon all -rock that tries our strength or imposes upon our nerves, to shove off -our responsibility on to any rock point that presents itself, and to -jam the active rope round it, regardless as to whether our position -will allow us to interpose any effective human spring upon it in case -of a slip, below or above us, must be sternly resisted and unlearned. -Unless we can be certain that we can keep the belay an indirect one -_when the pull comes upon the rope_, and not only while we are daintily -handling its slack, we must not take the belay. If we cannot substitute -for it a free stance or an anchor on the inactive rope, we must reject -such a stance altogether, and move to another. - -In my experience, the better the mountaineer, the more boldly he throws -in his lot with the action and security of the man at the moment -climbing above or below him; that is, the more he associates his human -mechanism, either as impulse or as check, directly with the active -rope; and uses the rock, for anchor or indirect belay, as a protection -behind him for the inactive rope and the rest of the party. Between -good climbers the rope serves as a telegraph wire. So long as it runs -free we can receive our call for help or reassurance and return our -instantaneous touch or impulse down it with a response that is almost -anticipation. Any rock interposition interrupts the one and delays the -other. The rescue of rock should be held in ready reserve to reinforce -us with an anchor or with an indirect belay, after our human spring has -performed its function and has at least absorbed most of the stock. - -[Sidenote: Holding the Rope.] - -Climbing rope is as a rule too thin to be conveniently held or pulled -with a heavy weight at the end, except by men of abnormal grip or -specially developed hands. Many men, therefore, when taking position -for holding on a stance, anchored or not, give the rope one or two -half-twists round the forearm. This is convenient, but not without risk. - -The most comfortable position, on a free or anchored stance, is to pass -the rope round the body just above the hips, gripping it on either -side in front with the two hands, and passing it along from one to the -other hand as required. The best hand-grip is to turn the palms of the -hands upward, and to lay the rope between the first fingers and thumbs -of each hand. If the outside arm is then turned slightly outward, palm -up, and the body, as it stands sideways to the pull of the rope, is -inclined inwards, thrusting against the outer firm foot, the body, the -outer firm leg and the outer arm will all be approximately in line with -the direction of the pull. The utmost use is thus being made of the -spring-pulley of arm and body, with no energy wasted round corners. -The inside hand pulls in or lets out the rope round the body. The -spring, up or down, of the body from the waist is ready at any moment -to help in absorbing the jerk of a pull from above, or in giving the -steady ‘little pull’ that prevents the jerk coming at all from the -approaching man below. The rope passing round the body and the forearm -gives a surprising amount of resistance in friction; more so, owing -to the elastic surface it embraces, than is given by a rigid belay. -With its aid, if the feet are firm and the balance good, we can take a -man’s weight on one arm alone, and leave the other hand free to hold -the loop-anchor, or pass the loose coils round the belay or round our -body as they come in. Naturally we can resist a far greater strain -on the rope round our hips, and immediately above and behind our firm -leg, than our balance could support if the pull came higher, upon our -arms and shoulders. It is sounder for this reason, when we use the body -belay, always to pass the rope round both hips and out under the arm, -and not bring it out, as is usually done, over our inside shoulder. The -pull is sometimes, but not often, vertical enough to make this last -a sound position. The same rule applies even more strongly if we are -forced to stand facing outward. - -Sometimes, when there is no room to balance for the body belay, and -we find no rock belay or anchor low enough to allow of our using our -arms as effective springs on the rope, we have to be content with high -handholds or an anchor-point well above us. In such a case we can often -interpose our shoulder as a spring. While we hold the anchor on the -point above us with the one hand, with the other we pull a foot or so -of the active rope down across our inner shoulder and upstretched arm, -springing the rope, as it were, across the bow of arm and shoulder. We -thus convert the high anchor into an indirect belay. - -A very common position upon steep rock, where our stance is too narrow -to allow of turning sideways or of belaying the rope round the body -balanced above the firm outer leg, is to turn face inward, and pass the -rope round some belay-point from one hand to the other. The only way to -make this sound, that is, to prevent the rope in case of a slip coming -upon the rock as upon a direct belay--since the grip of one hand on the -active rope must be insufficient to act as an effective spring,--is to -give the rope one twist round the forearm of the hand behind the belay. -With the rope half twisted round the free hand, which is drawing the -rope out in front of the belay, we can apply, as between the tug of the -arm behind and the ‘give’ of the hand in front, an efficient spring. -With such a hold we must wait for the pauses of the man climbing to -pull in the rope round our belay. To pull it in while he is actually -climbing deprives us of any chance of applying the hand-spring in time. - -I have noticed, in confirmation of what I have said before, that the -more freely balanced and adroit a climber becomes, the less often he -appears to find it necessary to use this sort of quasi-sound stance. -On the same ledge where the average man would turn face inward for his -rock belay, the expert will find some good leg-thrust for a sideways -body belay, and will use the rock point for an anchor-loop to protect a -man above, or often only as an extra balance hold for his inside hand -if he has to resist a pull from a man below. - -[Sidenote: The Order on the Rope.] - -To get the order on the rope right is as important a duty as to get -men in their right places on the battlefield or the polo-ground. Every -man should take his share of leading on suitable rock if he is ever to -improve or discover himself; but on difficult or unsound rock, or on -new climbs, the best climber should always lead and come down last. -Tossing for the lead is folly. On easier rock, if the order is not -dictated by capacity or by fair alternations, climbing is too gracious -a sport for its precedence to be settled by chuck-penny rather than -by courtesy. The accepted manager, in cases of doubt, must decide. A -mountaineer who either from amiability or from incapacity to gauge -a climb and his friend’s power allows a less expert climber to lead -or descend last on a climb which he knows or suspects would test his -own strength, is gravely at fault. Some men, however, seem incapable -of remembering how much effort a climb cost them. They have done an -exposed climb themselves. With the pride that apes humility they let -some enthusiast, their inferior, have his way and lead it the next -time, confident in their own skill, or the fallacious doctrine of the -belay, to find a remedy in the last resort. But difficult climbs are -full of passages where the second man cannot really protect his leader -or last man. The leader falls, and the rope, if it does not break, -only serves to support an injured or nervously shaken man. Whether the -results are serious or slight, the error is equally great, and the -expert of the party is to blame. - -[Sidenote: The Order on Direct Ascents and Descents.] - -In parties of equal merit, of any number, the order is unimportant, -except that, as stated, on difficult passages, up or down, the most -experienced leads up and comes down last. - -In efficient parties of four, or of any even number, on easy and -moderate rock, it is best to rope in parties of two, ascending or -descending. - -In parties of three of unequal merit, the weakest man goes up last and -comes down first,--with two exceptions of which I speak later under the -Order with Beginners. - -In parties of four of unequal merit, on easy and moderate ascents, -where the leader is good enough to require no special protection, we -may distribute the skill, and put a weak man behind the leader, the -second best man third, and the weakest man at the end. The leader and -the second string can then each look after one tiro. This is especially -advisable on ascents or descents where the rocks allow of all moving -together. The accidental slip of each weaker brother can be quickly -corrected if he climbs below a good man; whereas, if the two weak men -are put at the tail, the slip becomes cumulatively perilous to the -party. - -On really easy ascents and descents with a party of this size and -character, the alternative is admissible of breaking into parties of -two, each of the two more expert taking one of the weaker men on his -rope. - -On ascents of a medium class, where movement may, however, have -incidentally to be one at a time, the order of the tail in a party of -this constitution is less important. On harder sections the watchful -eye of a stationary man above will always be on the motions of each -climber in turn, and a slip can be checked at once. But if the novices -have not even mastered the art of holding from a stance, two ought not -to be placed next to one another, even for this moving one at a time. -But strong men, even as novices, will always be able to learn the art -of stance-taking before that of continuous moving. - -On really difficult rock, or on new ascents or descents, the leader -must always be backed up and secured by the next best climber of the -party. On such climbs as many as two weaker men should never be taken -in a party of four. Behind two good men one novice may justifiably be -trailed at the end of the rope. - -Parties of five or more, which are cumbrous for stiff climbs, can take -novices, in the proportion of two to five or three to six, if they feel -so disposed. - -On climbs where long traverses are anticipated, either along ridges of -moderate difficulty or diagonally up or down faces, the best man still -goes up first and comes down last. - -[Sidenote: The Order For Traversing on Faces and Ridges.] - -In a party of fairly equal strength, the second best should still come -next to the leader, if it is anticipated that the major part of the -climb will be upward or downward and not on horizontal traverses. On -difficult diagonal traverses, upward or downward, it is still of first -importance that the leader or last man should be well secured. - -With the same party on horizontal traverses the same order should be -followed. - -But if one member of a party of three is distinctly weaker, and the -amount of horizontal traversing expected along a ridge or across a -face is considerable,--enough to involve a greater risk to the party -in leaving the inexpert man unprotected than in lessening the support -for the leader or last man,--the weaker man should be placed in the -middle of a rope of three. The second best man then traverses, in -ascending, last, and in descending, first. The weaker man is thus -protected at either end of his traverses and cannot slip far. Such an -irregular order, however, must depend upon the relative inferiority of -the weaker member, and on the amount of horizontal traversing expected. -Its withdrawal of support from the leader, in the case of a rope of -three, must be recognized as putting a lower limit upon the standard -of difficulty which he, thus less secured, may warrantably attempt in -ascending or descending. To put the weaker man in the middle deprives -both the first and last man of the confidence of each other’s sounder -protection. It destroys the collective efficiency, and leaves a party -of individuals, not a combination. Nevertheless, it is an order too -frequently adopted by climbers irrespective of the class of difficulty -expected, and even upon direct ascents and descents. It should only be -considered justifiable as a means of getting an inexperienced man over -particular horizontal passages; and on difficult climbs, if they are -undertaken with such a novice, the order should be changed back again, -even at the risk of loss of time, so soon as the horizontal passages -cease, or there is expectation of only a small proportion of them to -come. - -In a more equal party of three, however, where two are experts and the -third not a novice at climbing but only less expert in alpine route -finding, whose presence in the middle does not, therefore, weaken -the rope materially, it is advisable for the second best of the -experts to go in the lead in descending, or in traversing along and -down big ridges of no special difficulty. He is better able to find -the best line, and thus leaves the weakest of the three with no other -responsibility than to attend to his own going. This is a usual order -for a guided party in the Alps on long ridge work: the guide at the -tail, and the best amateur, or the porter as the case may be, in the -lead. The order again depends upon the comparative ease of the rock -work for the man descending last. - -In a party of four, similarly, if there are two weaker members, -these two may well be put in the centre for any period of difficult -horizontal traversing. The object is to avoid either weak climber -having to make a traverse of this sort at the end of the rope and so -only half protected. In this order a party of four may move only one at -a time, and the best and second best men must act as fixed anchors at -either end of the rope while the weaker men are successively moving. -On any such traverse, wherever the leader feels that all can move -together, which will not be possible unless the rock is easy enough to -allow of the weakest man traversing the passage unaided, the second -best man should again separate the two less expert, and so prevent -their association of inexperience and its cumulative effect in case of -a chance slip. On such a passage the leader or last man will not, by -the nature of the case, require the support of a good second, and he -will be able to spare full attention to the single novice placed behind -him or, in descending, in front of him, upon the rope. - -The same order may, on occasion, be adopted with similar party of four -on the long easy traverse or descent of big alpine ridges, when two -weaker climbers are efficient but not expert at route finding. It is -often adopted with guided parties: the guide at the tail, the porter or -the best of the amateurs in the lead, to choose the line, and the other -two free to look after themselves and one another. - -In a rope of four, for exacting horizontal traverses or for diagonal -lines up or down ridges or across faces of any difficulty, when three -men of the four are of almost equal merit and the fourth alone is -inferior, one of the three better men goes last, with the other two -in the lead, in ascending, and one of the three goes first, with the -other two at the tail, in descending. - -Where there is only one expert on the rope and two or three less secure -climbers behind him, diagonal or horizontal traverses of any difficulty -may never be attempted, unless the leader is prepared himself to hold -the rope and belay the advance of each of the others separately, and -in his turn, across every doubtful passage. No climber, however good, -can count on checking in time the fall of two others; and if one novice -slips on a rope so constituted, and the jerk comes first on another -inexperienced climber, it is too late to hope to be able to stop the -catastrophe. The neglect of this rule, one which it is difficult for a -man in the pride of strength and skill to observe, has been the cause -of some of the most melancholy of accidents. - -There is one variation in the order, only coming into question in big -alpine mountaineering, that must be mentioned separately. Occasionally -on the traverse of long level or gradually inclined alpine ridges, up -or down, where the technical difficulty of progress is not excessive, -but where, owing to serrated ridges, cornices, snow-covered towers, -etc., the risk of accident is greater than the difficulty, and the safe -and swift management of the rope is both intricate and important, it is -wiser for the most experienced climber of a party of three efficient -amateurs to go in the middle, and not in the lead. He can then manage -both ropes, and leave his less expert friends free to attend only to -their own holds and progress, while he has them both, as it were, -under his hand. As some compensation for the extra hindrance which the -management of the two ropes will put in the way of his own climbing, -he has the protection of the double support himself from either end. -This order will be found of service in saving time and in preventing -risk where, as often in amateur parties happens, the rope contains -one or more brilliant climbers, good enough to lead and to follow, -but still inexpert in the advanced technique of the rope. Variegated -alpine ridges of this broken, crested type are the final test of rope -management, and progress is often quicker and safer, for a party so -constituted, with the expert leader acting as pivot and anchor in the -centre. - -This sort of combination, one or two more experienced mountaineers -with one or two fine but still inexperienced climbers, is frequently -the party preferred by guideless British climbers in the Alps; and -it is therefore worth while adding here that the same order may be -soundly adopted, with such a party, not only on traverses of ridges, -but on big alpine ascents of length and severity. It is especially -important in such combinations for the accepted leader, like a good -stroke, to keep something in reserve. Assuming he knows his men to -be good cragsmen, he may consider himself free to put one of them in -the lead in ascending rocks, for part of the day at least, himself -retaining the discretionary power which is as well exercised from the -position of second man, and keeping his actual strength in reserve for -real emergencies or for situations calling for expert mountaineering -rather than for rock climbing technique. If his object is to train his -men, he is even better able to do so from this position. This forms no -exception to the rule that the best man should go first and last on new -ascents and descents, and on all climbs where the difficulty requires -an expert mountaineer, in the lead in ascending or at the tail in -descending. - -[Sidenote: The Order of Merit.] - -To be able to go first and get up difficult places, although a fine -quality and necessary where only rock climbing is in question, loses -its unique importance when large mountaineering expeditions in the -greater Alps come into consideration. It is the combined efficiency of -the party in this case that chiefly counts. Qualities of management, -ability to contribute the most to the combinations of the party, to -its reserve of power, confidence and cheerfulness, and so to increase -its continuous effectiveness, are the marks of the ‘leader’ in great -mountaineering. The better mountaineer may not be the better able to go -first up passages of excessive difficulty, and may, on occasions such -as I have mentioned, even operate more potently from the centre of the -rope. - -There have been cases of mountaineers who have seldom if ever led a big -climb, but to whose management, reserve power and cool judgment the -successes of their party, under whatever first man of the moment, have -been really due. One must not only see a rope in action, one must climb -with it, if one wishes to discover the actual ‘leading’ mountaineer of -the party, who is contributing most in a long day to the collective -efficiency and safety. - -For the same reason we are not in a position to assign individual -credit for the great mountaineering feats of the past, or to say of -a mountaineer, “He always had first-class guides; he never led; they -did his mountaineering for him;” or of an amateur, “He always led his -friends: his was the credit!” It may safely be accepted that on great -alpine climbs, if the party has succeeded, the success has not merely -been due to the guide or first man. On such climbs there are whole -hours of the day during which the slip or shortcoming of any single -climber may be fatal, and where the fact that even one man draws his -unfair share from the pool of efficiency can prevent any chance of -success. To the whole party belongs the credit for a great climb. Its -members alone can venture to say whose was the moving spirit, or what -was the order of merit. - -[Sidenote: The Order with Beginners.] - -Beginners may be either real novices, or only beginners in alpine -work, route finding and so on. A complete beginner is more bothered -by the management of the rope than anything else; therefore it is -better for our progress to let him come up last and go down first. -The exception is when we are descending by a route which is not easy -to find or retrace. We may then put the beginner one from the end, in -a party of four, with a route finder ahead and two sound men behind -him. In a party of three we may put him in the centre; but not when -the climbing is too stiff to justify our leaving to the last man all -the tasks, of coming down last, looking after the beginner, and seeing -that the beginner looks after the rope of the route finder. With such -a party, on such a descent, I have often preferred to put the best -mountaineer in the centre, behind the beginner, to coach him as to the -route and look after him, while the other expert descended on a short -rope behind, and looked after himself. Often he is more comfortable -if he unropes altogether. The justifiability of this inversion of -the order must depend upon a judgment at the time as to the relative -importance of protecting the last man or of finding the right route at -the right pace. If the rocks are really difficult, the beginner should -go first, and the expert behind must coach as to the route. Such an -occasion seems to me the only one that really offers a good case for -the continental practice of putting red paper under stones at suitable -points, to guide the descent. As a rule, a man ought to be able to -find the way down where he has gone up. It is an important part of a -beginner’s training to learn the habit of turning and noting the look -of passages from the reverse direction while he ascends. In all cases -of a descent where no previous ascent has been made, the permissibility -of any alteration in the usual order must depend upon our estimate of -the difficulty for the last man. If the rocks are severe, the ordinary -order must be preserved. - -A beginner is always greatly hampered by the rope on both sides of him; -and if we are making a big expedition where progress and good temper -are of more importance than a lesson in ‘middleman’ work, it is better, -when consistent with safe mountaineering, to arrange that he is either -on a rope of two, or at the free end of a rope. Again, be it in a large -or a small party, it is always well to put him, or her, definitely in -charge of some one, if not of the leader; who will precede him going -up and follow him down, whatever the other order on the rope may be; -acting as coach and general buffer. - -For the same purpose, in a rope of three on easy ascents, while one of -the two good climbers leads, the other is often better placed climbing -immediately behind the beginner, shepherding his or her feet, giving -shoulders, steadies, etc. - -In a rope of four, similarly, on easy or moderate ascents, we put one -of the three better climbers behind the beginner. The man looks after -his own rope, and is of more use in coaching, helping and succouring -the beginner than he would be as an extra reinforcement above. This is -the soundest method with women novices or children. It is not suitable -on really difficult rock; but then neither are women novices or -children. - -A single expert taking two such beginners up a very easy climb, more -especially if they are girls or boys, whose stances and holding-power -for each other cannot be depended upon, often does best to put himself -in the middle of a long rope. He ascends first and descends last, as -usual; but by this arrangement he can himself bring up or lower the -two beginners separately to or from each stance, with less confusion -of ropes. On very easy ridges, with a light following, if he ties -himself between them so as to leave the ropes of different lengths, he -can often save time by bringing up both beginners simultaneously, one -starting after and climbing below the other. - -An expert climbing with two such novices should always himself, before -attempting any passage not absolutely easy, see that the rope or ropes -to himself are anchored at the end close to his following, leaving free -for himself the full run-out of rope he will require. He should never -risk their security in case of his slip, or his own security while -climbing, by allowing the rope to be paid out as he goes by anyone -ignorant of its management or too weak to check his fall. - -On British climbs, such as may be, in their general difficulty, -permissible to attempt with beginners, there are sometimes passages, -say of slabs, which a novice weak in the arms finds he or she simply -cannot manage without being hoisted on the rope. No expert will make -one of a party of two with a beginner on any climb where he expects -such a passage, unless he is very sure of a good stance above it, from -which to haul, and of his own strength in relation to the weight of the -novice. - -In a party of three when such hauling has to be done, it saves the -strain on the rope, on the second man’s arms and on the novice’s -nerves, for the leader to wait with his second man on the stance above -each particular pitch until the novice has been hauled up. He can also -send down a second rope, and so divide the effort. If necessary, he -unties from his end of the rope, in order to have a second rope to send -down. If this is done quickly and efficiently, less time is lost than -if the second man has to do all the pulling alone and on his single -rope. - -In such cases we must see that the haulee uses his feet to scrape with -at least, and thrusts out from the rock with his hands. If he clings -with hands and body to the rock, the effort, for all parties, is -doubled by the friction. - -Frequently on such places it is only the matter of one arm-pull or so -at the start of a pitch that proves insuperable, especially for women. -If there is no third climber to propel the novice, it is then better -for the second man to wait on the stance below the pitch, to pass up -the rope to the leader above, and himself to give a knee and shoulder -as footholds up the difficult section. The actual haul will thus be -shorter; or its necessity may be avoided altogether. - -On exposed cliffs it is a mistake to leave the novice alone at the -end of a long rope if there are difficult problems to tackle, and -especially if these include any traverses. It is trying for the nerves -and not good for the style. If the party is not large enough to have -one climber always in attendance on the novice, the middle man should -give him or her his company as often as his first duty to the leader -will allow. - -If, upon easy rock, a novice is taking his lesson in leading, the best -climber should follow him on as short a rope as the rocks will allow. -But he must avoid bustling or flurrying him, and observe all the rules -of etiquette due to a leader. - -Any request from a beginner for a ‘little pull,’ or for putting on the -rope, must be always and at once complied with. Delay or reasoning may -be dangerous, and will in any case shake confidence. The rope is for -protection, nervous as much as physical. - -[Sidenote: The Order of Moving.] - -In ascending easy rock or in traversing easy ridges, all can be moving -together, if the strength of the party allows it. - -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. - -[Sidenote: 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.” - -[Sidenote: The Duty of the Second Man.] - -The qualities required for a good second man are all but as important -to a rope as those of the leader, and are more rarely found in their -perfection. A few ‘born’ leaders, who have learned their business by -long experience, are independent of actual help and advice; but all -leaders are, consciously or not, much influenced in their standard of -the day, by the feeling of the spirit or the experience that is backing -them immediately behind. A first man capable of rock work of the high -modern standard must possess a ‘temperament.’ He is often a man of -moods. The limit of physical possibility is so constantly approached -on rock, that only men capable of high nervous concentration, able -to call out their full strength and borrow again from their vitality -and will, can keep their standard of performance securely up to the -level demanded. In such performance the faintest doubt in the leader’s -mind of the confidence or capacity of the man behind, the merest -suspicion that his second man is not absolutely sure of his own stance -or confident in his, the first man’s, leading, may lower a sensitive -leader’s ability twenty or thirty per cent. The leader’s mind is -distracted; his concentration on the single effort is dissipated. -Even good, sound climbers, who take the important second place on the -rope without knowing its duties, may retreat day after day to the inn -speculating with their friends why their leader has so suddenly ‘gone -off’: quite unconscious that they themselves are alone responsible. The -leader himself may be, crossly, unaware of the reason. Not infrequently -in such cases, in a vexed reaction from constant turnings back, he -loses his better judgment and forces himself to attempt something -reckless the next time he goes out. This will do him no good; nor -will anything, until he changes his party or finds reason for better -confidence in his second man. - -[Sidenote: Backing up, metaphysically.] - -A great university stroke used to say that, give him a good ‘seven,’ -and he didn’t care how the rest of the boat was manned. Almost to the -same extent, a good second makes a rope. He should be strong, able to -give a shoulder, arm or hand, and to carry his leader’s sack as well -as his own. He must be a fine enough climber to be able to follow up -a step or two in the most awkward places, and thence to spare a hand -to rest the leader’s strength or give him a fresh start. He must be -equable in temper, optimistic, and, whatever his private thoughts, -never less than cheerful. Above all, he must have the knack of -transmitting his own feeling of confidence, so that the leader may feel -a comfortable current of reassurance coming from his second’s secure -stance to his own precarious advance. If his leader is of the highly -strung, nervous class from which many great leaders are drawn, he must -learn to gauge him exactly, know what form he is in, and decide whether -he is up to doing the particular problem, so far as his climbing powers -are concerned. If he decides he can, he must lay himself out to give -just the quiet encouragement that will put his leader in the right -state of mind to use his powers at their best. As to how he effects -this, much must depend on the personality of the leader. Many a leader -objects to being talked to. Conversation is generally waste of climbing -time. He may take council how to do a place beforehand, but once he -has started it will only disturb or distract him to hear advice or be -asked anxious questions. None the less he is often quickly aware of the -‘atmosphere’ behind him; and he becomes conscious, without words, if -his second’s attention wanders or if his confidence is wavering. - -For this reason it is bad form, as well as a sign of inattentive -mountaineering, for men to chatter to one another while the leader is -doing something that requires all his skill. Much of his individual -power is drawn from their sympathy, that should be then centred upon -him alone. And this applies not only to the climbing of the leader. It -is quite as bad form for him, when he is safely up, to exchange airy -jokes across the head of another climber in the throes of a passage. -A word or movement heard, or still worse, half heard, takes off the -climber’s attention and dissipates the concentration necessary for a -delicate balance or a supreme hoist. - -Some leaders like asking questions about their difficulties, to which -they expect answers, without any intention of attending to them. Others -let off steam by declaring that it ‘won’t go,’ or they’re ‘coming -down.’ Protest or argument will irritate them; what they are really -asking for, unconsciously, is the confidence note in the voice behind -them, the sense of a human sympathy that realizes their difficulty but -yet feels them equal to it. It helps them greatly to be assured, by -the tone more than by the words, of another expert’s complete belief -in their ability to proceed. The second man gives his leader not only -the support of his own faith: he is the funnel to the leader of the -united spirit, the mutual support, which are pooled by the party, and -upon which each draws again for his individual efforts. In his more -dangerous and isolated work the leader, who needs it most, is most -separated from its atmosphere, and it is the second man’s duty to keep -him in touch with it, to control, as it were, the signals and air-pipes -that keep the diver in touch with humanity and reassure him in his work. - -At the same time, the second man should relieve the leader in difficult -climbing, as far as possible, of all unnecessary physical labour: for -instance, avoid asking help for himself with the rope; relieve him of -pulling up the rest of the party; carry the sacks; and so on. He must -be able, at times, to manage the leader’s rope and that of the man -behind himself simultaneously. He has at such times to control the -movement of the party, and determine when it is proper for the next -man to start. He must decide where it is safe to let his leader run -out his rope, with no more attention than will suffice to prevent it -catching, and where, on the other hand, his rope will require every -attention. His rope, belay and stance technique must be as practised as -his judgment. If he decides that the passage is beyond the leader on -his standard of the day, he should take the responsibility of saying -so definitely, and share the vexatious responsibility of turning back. -If a leader has been ‘all out’ on a pitch and yet failed, his judgment -will be for the moment disturbed, and his decision as to whether he -will try again or turn may not be a considered one. But if he has -learned to trust his second, he will take his opinion in preference -to his own, even though he might be himself considered normally the -manager of the party. If it be to go forward, in spite of preceding -failure, then he will renew his attempt with redoubled confidence; if -it be to turn back, he will have the consolation of feeling that his -second man was in the best position to watch the original effort, and -was therefore better able to judge if a new attempt could succeed -under any circumstances. - -The second man has thus a most responsible position. While the leader -is converting himself into a motor engine to get the party up the -climb, the second man, even if he be not accepted as such already, -becomes the temporary manager or mind of the party, conscious of it -in all its mechanism, and not only of its dynamic leader. In severe -rock climbing so much of the leader’s energy and time is spent on the -physical struggle and in isolated situations, that the position of -second may become for hours together the really vital one on the rope. -His selection and education should be the first consideration for a -party of ambition or merit. - -[Sidenote: Backing up, physically.] - -In discussing the order on the rope, we said that on all exacting rock -the second man without exception backs up his leader, behind him going -up, in front of him going down. On easier passages he may either lead -the rope on a descent, or come between two weaker climbers on an ascent -or descent. - -The duties involved in backing up depend upon the situation. If the -passage of descent to be made is long and holdless, and the leader, -after letting the rest down, is unable to make use of the double rope, -his second should remain as close as possible to him. A good second, -from very sketchy stances, can often give just that touch of help -or direction which makes the last man’s descent less solitary and -precarious, and is of more use to him than much anchoring of his rope -upon remote platforms below. - -In ascending, again, by putting a hand or an axe under a leader’s heel -when his toe is not over-secure, a second can often give his leader -a security greater than his own may be at the moment. In fact, the -duty of the second man, if he judges the place will go at all, is to -sacrifice his own comfort and do anything that is not a definite risk -to help the leader to get up more safely. A touch to his balance or -foothold, judicious and opportune, is worth more as a protection than -nine coils round a billiard-table boulder would be to him after he has -slipped. - -But backing up is subject to certain restrictions; a second must -remember that he cannot do two things at once. If he helps with hand -or shoulder or head,--that is, in climbing parlance, if he selects to -identify himself with the active rope,--he has generally to sacrifice -much of his value as buffer or anchor-man between the leader and the -party. To be justified in so prejudicing his security as an anchor, he -must feel wholeheartedly certain that his leader will not fail. It is -often difficult to find a position of compromise, such as will allow -him really to help the leader and also to retain his protective anchor -for the party. He must be guided primarily by what he judges to be -best for the collective safety, and only secondly by what contributes -most to their success in getting up the climb. If he decides that no -backing up on his part can make certain the leader’s ascent, whilst it -sacrifices, in the attempt, his anchor in case of his fall, he must -stay by his secure anchorage, and to such extent diminish the leader’s -chance of success. But if he sees that his backing up can just make -the difference to the leader’s safe and certain ascent, he is free to -combine the claims of safety for the party and success for the leader, -and move decisively and promptly to the leader’s support. - -For a second man compromise, in such a choice, is always ineffective -and sometimes dangerous. As one small instance: partly with the idea -of doing both things, and partly from nervousness, many inexperienced -seconds cling as close to the rock as they can when they are giving -the leader a ‘shoulder,’ so as to remain more secure themselves. This -is wrong. The nearer his human support stays to the rock, the more -difficult is it for the leader to keep his balance as he stands upon -him. If his second man then rises, as is often required of him, so -as to give his leader an extra lift, as he stands on his shoulder or -his hand or his head, his nearness to the rock thrusts the leader’s -feet inward and his balance outward. The second man, when he gives a -‘shoulder,’ should aim at giving a really secure step on knee or hip -or shoulder or head (for a good second can make his body a regular -staircase, and painlessly, if he makes the right adjustments) as far -away from the rock as he can securely thrust himself, even to full -arm’s length. He is then in a position of some use; and should the -leader’s re-descent be necessary, he can sometimes let him pass down -inside, between himself and the rock. A good hold can be given, on a -firm stance, by making a stirrup of the locked hands for the leader’s -foot, and then straightening the back with a lift. - -The tightened muscles of the thigh, well above the knee, give a -painless foothold. The strong muscles at the junction of the neck, back -and shoulder of a stooping man, but not on the point or in the curve of -the shoulder, are good for a foothold. The hip-bone, provided that the -leg using it is pressed close against the ribs over the hip, makes a -useful foothold for a man descending from the shoulders. - -In making use of these anatomical holds, the climber must remember -never to shuffle or screw his boot once it is placed; otherwise the -human frame is good for far more use than its owner will usually -tolerate. I have had a guide of some weight, but of delicately managed -feet, walking from my shoulder to my head and back again for twenty -minutes, while he was trying to noose the lower pinnacle on the -Charmoz, without feeling any great discomfort. - -The second man should never give a leader so climbing any push or lift -that will come to him unexpectedly. It is not uncommon to see a second -man grasp a leader’s foot, as soon as it moves off his shoulder, and -shove it indiscriminately upward, regardless of the leader’s balance -or the holds he may be designing to use. The human ladder is only of -use in so far as the leader can calculate exactly upon its location -and function; it must remain for him as passive as any part of the -rock he is engaged with. He steps from the thigh, puts his knee on one -shoulder, and brings his other foot up on to the other shoulder; or -he clings up his second’s back, if the second is standing upright, by -knee pressure against his sides. Once he is up, he must know exactly -where he will be able to put knee or foot in returning. If he has to -descend from the rock on to his second again, he need barely use his -boot at all. The instant his toe has discovered the position of the -shoulder below, he can slide his leg down the back and let himself slip -down, and the friction of the two surfaces of clothes will regulate his -descent until his hands have reached the supporting shoulders. He must -cling as close as possible to his second’s body and bend inwards, so as -to relieve the outward strain upon his second’s balance, and he must -never let his descending weight pull upon him askew. - -The instant his leader is up and at rest, by the help of his impulses, -moral and physical, the second man should prepare to follow, and as -he approaches the leader’s stance he should notice exactly how he has -placed himself, so that when the leader moves out he can put himself -in the same position for holding. There should be no need for him to -have to ‘get comfortable.’ If the third man is required to come up -before the leader starts again, the second man should at once call, -“Come!” and not wait to be asked, “Are you all right?” These seconds -are, cumulatively, most valuable. In a good party the third man will be -ready to start the instant he gathers that the man above has taken his -stance. - -[Sidenote: The Duty of the Third Man.] - -In big alpine climbing, or on long mountaineering expeditions in -general, yet another group of duties comes into prominence which -cannot well be discharged by the leader and second man, who will have -sufficient to do in looking after their respective functions. These -create the position, for such climbing, of what may best be termed a -‘third man,’ though the party may consist of four or more, and the -duties may be subdivided. If the second man’s duties may be called -‘backing up,’ the third man’s are those of ‘following up.’ He must -be strong and able to carry, so that the spare rope and sacks of the -leaders in really serious situations can all be discharged on to his -shoulders without hesitation. He must be expert enough to manage a -belay for both his leaders, if the situation demands the second man -backing up the leader on an exposed passage, and be able to give them -at least the moral support of his sound anchoring of the rope. He -must have no false pride, and be prepared to get up himself as best -and quickest he can, using the rope to save time. He must be always -patient, ready to stand and shiver in his steps without complaint while -the difficulties are solved. He must take the inevitable loosened -stones, flying ice-chips and cleared-off snow incidental to his lower -position with a hardened heart and, if possible, on a hard head, with -no more than reasonable protest, and be able to see the humour of snow -melting down his neck with the cheerfulness that it will afterwards he -found to have caused to his friends. He must be prepared to go last, -behind any weaker member, if there be four or more men in the party, -and to look after him, following him up closely wherever he is able, -without expecting help himself or much attention to his own rope. He -must be good-tempered, ready to set the example of accepting decisions -to turn back without discussion and even without knowing their reasons, -and prepared in crises to remain quietly reassuring without bothering -his occupied friends with questions. His use is, directly, as a support -of strength and cheeriness to the leader and the second man if the -serious nature of the climbing demands their combined preoccupation, -and, indirectly, as an example of genial co-operation and ‘following -up’ to other members of the party. - -In a sense every member of the party should be a ‘third man’; but in -big undertakings it is of undoubted help to the leader and second to -have one man upon whom they can specially rely to look after the humour -of the rest in the trying times of waiting while they themselves are -working out the difficulties; to relieve them of the minor tasks of -carrying and directing; and to come up without pride or protest in -inconvenient ways, to inconvenient places, at convenient times. - -[Sidenote: More about the Rope during Climbing.] - -During all the intricate manœuvres incidental to combined climbing, the -watch on the rope may never be relaxed, and a few further hints as to -its management may be useful to leaders and followers alike. - -With a rope, as with a horse, anticipation is the secret. Once it -catches, or kinks, or entangles, the result is nightmare. Of its -control, when men are moving together, I have already spoken: the -perpetual glance, and flick, and swing, to keep it free, that must -become subconscious. - -In climbing singly on steep ascents, the rope, as it is drawn out by -the man climbing above, must be watched as well as held, and warning -must be given to him that it is running out at least four feet before -it is taut. This is a primary rule. To jerk the man climbing, by a -hitch, or to let the rope closure his advance without sufficient -warning, is an unpardonable fault. - -As we draw in the rope of a man ascending or descending to our stance, -it should be gathered in neat coils, near the belay if one is used. -Above all, it should be laid well out of the way--at the back or side -of the stance. In pulling in the rope we must always consider exactly -where the next man will come up and how he will stand; and lay his -coil, as it runs in, as well as the coil of the man ahead, which is -running out, where there is no chance that the rear man will be forced -to ‘cross’ either rope. If our hands are occupied with holding or with -the belay, so that we have no time to coil it down, the slack of the -rope should be flung evenly over the arm, or somewhere out of the way, -as it runs in. The moment the next man is up it should be passed to him -in its chance coils; or else, if it has coiled down neatly, it may be -left lying where it is. - -If a belay has been used, the end of the rope running in should be -taken off the belay as the next man reaches the stance, while the end -of the rope nearest our own waist is put over it, lying always in -the direction in which it will afterwards have to be paid out. These -operations have to become practically mechanical. The instant the next -man takes our place on the stance and imitates our last position, the -rope, rightly laid, should be ready to his hand. - -On severe climbs there is often not room for two men at the same time -on the same stance or platform. To avoid any awkward juggling on the -ledge, it is best for us, if we are holding, to move a step or two from -the belay, so soon as we see the next man has got a good handhold near -the stance that will bring him securely and immediately to the belay. -In this case it is essential for us to leave the ropes lying exactly -right, so that the next man may take position to protect himself, and -us, with the shortest possible interruption to the safe continuous -anchor of the rope. - -The man who is actually climbing is the man first to be considered. To -clear the way for him we must be prepared momentarily to sacrifice our -own comfort or solidity. This may seem a commonplace, but it requires -quite an effort of will. I have remarked even among good cragsmen that -seven times out of ten they wait too long on the stance, until the next -man is on the top of them, and ropes and legs are all in a muddle. But -when, with the object of leaving the next man room, we move out of his -way off a stance, we must take note exactly of what is going to be our -own line of advance when he is secure and we start the next section; -and we must avoid moving into any position which will mean repassing -and unsettling him, or even, as one sometimes sees done, climbing over -him. Apart from the risk to his and our own balance, we shall almost -inevitably entangle the rope by a switchback of this sort. - -In pulling in the rope of an ascending man, we should be mindful to -keep it just taut, but never tightened or tugged, unless he calls -for it. It requires some education of touch to distinguish between -the three. Guides are wretched judges in this respect. “Don’t pull!” -“Nicht ziehen!” “Ne tirez pas!” is the groan of protest that eddies -all the week round alpine centres. But the guide remains convinced -he merely had the rope ‘taut.’ All leaders who have never or seldom -practised going behind on the rope are apt to make the same mistake. -The complaint is constant. The difference between ‘taut,’ ‘tightened’ -and ‘tugged’ is best learnt from below. - -On the other hand, many climbers who have never led are equally -unconscious of the difference, and of how much they owe on occasion -to a discreetly handled rope. “You didn’t pull me there!” or, “I -did _that_ without the rope, anyway!” are the common forms. Only a -climber experienced in balance can honestly distinguish between the -constricting tug that takes his whole weight, the taut rope that is -only precautionary, and the delicate tightening that just serves to -keep his body in balance and so allows freedom to hand and foot to find -easy holds. The first is called “using the rope,” the second “without -using the rope,” and the last guileless but material aid to adjustment -is often euphemistically entitled “the moral support” of the rope. - -I must repeat that, however easy the place or good the climbers, a -man who calls for the rope, or a pull from the rope, should always be -helped at once. Inexperienced climbers are incurably prone to argue -that the rope is not really needed. Some accidents have been caused -in this way. The rope should be put on before rather than when it is -really wanted. - -The rope of a man descending to our stance, especially of a man -descending last, demands no discernment between subtler strains; but -it requires even more adroit handling. It must never be jerked or -tightened, which may pull him off his balance holds. If it appears -to be catching on intervening points, it must be loosened with the -lightest of flicks: a strong flick will run up the rope and jerk him -like the crack of a heavy whip. It must never be left loose to drag or -catch close to his feet, where it will get in the way of his foothold -or get round his feet or legs. If he has a long rope out, the weight -alone of the rope, if we hold it anything like taut from below, will -drag on him. It is best in such case to keep it sliding gently down the -rock towards us. As the climber moves down, a very slight motion of our -hand will just free it, without taking its weight off the rock. - -Our eye should never for an instant leave a man so descending to, -or ascending from, our stance, so that if he finds it necessary to -reascend or redescend a few inches in order to better his holds or -position for the next movement, we may at once be ready to relax or -take in the extra coil he requires or releases. If he is out of our -sight while descending towards us, we watch the rope, which tells us -as much as the sight of the man. If he is out of sight while ascending -above us, our feel of the rope as it tautens or slackens will tell us -almost as much as sight or speech. But a man ascending or descending -out of sight below us will have to tell us what he wants, if it is -anything more than the usual steady playing, out or in, of the taut -rope. - -If, as often happens in the case of a man who is just climbing up off -our stance, the rope, owing to his having tied his waist-knot in front, -or crossed the rope, makes a spiral round his leg, he should be warned -at once, and we must hold the rope ready to swing it from under his -foot as he raises it for the purpose. This sometimes also happens if a -man is descending quickly on to our stance. In neither case must the -rope be jerked or swung, to release it, without his knowledge or the -signal of his lifted foot. Similarly, if a man is starting to descend -from our stance, and has his rope knotted in front, as he turns face -inward the rope makes a spiral round his neck or arm. A warning, and a -light sway of the rope may prevent him from anticipating fate. - -In climbing with beginners it is always worth while seeing, before -they leave our stance, that the knot of their waist-loop is secure, -and pulled round well to the side, under the arm. For ascending, the -rope should run up straight from the knot, in front of the shoulder; -for descending, in front of or behind the shoulder, as balance and the -angle of the rock suggest. - -A very risky practice, common with beginners, is that of using the -active rope as a handhold in difficulties, to pull themselves up by. -Unless they can reach a balanced position in one pull, they are forced -then to keep hold of the rope for their balance, and to take yet a -second and higher hold upon it for their next movement. They are thus -accumulating a quantity of slack between their point of dependence -from the rope and its noose on their waist. And a slack rope is full -of dangers. If their grip fails, they fall all the length of the -slack, and the rope may break. If it does not, the man above will be -subjected to a most unfair jerk, of whose possibility he may be all the -time unconscious. In any case, the climber is depriving himself of the -steady help and protection of a rope, pulled in taut from above, on -just the passages where he has found himself least capable to cope with -the difficulties unaided. No climber should use the rope as handhold -without full warning to the man above, and without making certain that -he can in a single pull reach a balanced stance, where the rope can be -again drawn taut upon him. - -[Sidenote: With Stones.] - -To avoid sending down stones with the rope is a sure test of expert -climbing. A climber’s responsibility in this respect extends the whole -length of the rope between him and the companion whose progress he -is superintending. In the case of a man above us, we have a personal -interest in seeing that his rope does not drag over loose pebbles -or catch on disintegrating points. In that of the man below us, our -personal interest may be less, but it will be no less appreciated. It -must be remembered that the rope as it comes in taut will touch and -dislodge much that seemed out of its range when we selected its line -of pull-in. An inspection should be made to discover if there are any -pebbles lurking just over or on the edges over which it will pass. -These last are a special danger in couloirs or British gullies, which -consist largely of steep pitches surmounted by accumulations of loose -scree. It is often safer and more tempting to move up to the top of -these scree spits and not to anchor on the immediate lip of the pitch. -Great care has then to be taken to remove all loose stones from the -line of the rope; for the rope when taut will drag over the edge of -the pitch, and even apparently firmly embedded stones may work loose -under its friction when it is too late to move them into safety. - -If a rope length has been allowed to sag against the rock, it must not -be pulled in or jerked free hurriedly, unless we can see that there -is nothing it might loosen. Over surface visibly friable or pasturing -stray stones the rope must be kept from touching at all--a delicate -task in continuous going. - -When men are all moving together, and our hand, while seeking for its -holds, is also charged with loose coils and the task of freeing the -rope, it is often difficult to combine an attention to all the loose -stones that may be caught by the swinging coils with a simultaneous -precaution against possible loose stones under our feet or hands. Of -course we give warning if one gets loose in spite of our care. But I -must add that it is considered no valid excuse among mountaineers to -plead that a stone was dislodged by the rope. - -[Sidenote: During Halts.] - -The rope, during halts or interruptions, should never be left lying -about in a tangle. It may catch over points from which it will be -difficult to release it. I remember an occasion on an Aiguille when -it took a quarter of an hour to extract some loose lengths, which had -jammed in a deep cleft of the slab on which we were standing. - -Halts for lunch are full of dangers. Men begin to cross and recross -each other’s ropes, for matches or for conversation, and at the end -of the halt a maze presents itself which can only be solved by long, -impassioned moments of general untying and reroping. It is better for -the two end men to unrope for the halt, and leave their coils ready for -easy resumption. - -Two middle men can only get their rope twisted, not crossed. When a -middle man finds, as often happens, that the ropes going backward and -forward from his waist-knot have got twisted round one another and make -a bunch at his waist, he has only got to lift the upper of the two -ropes over his head and pass it under his feet the requisite number of -times, to clear it. Once, after an eighteen hour traverse of the Dent -Blanche by the Viereselgrat, we took a midnight halt on the glacier, -and on re-starting found the rope inextricably interwoven between the -five of us. The guides were tired, too tired to unrope, or to move -eurhythmically; and the next ten minutes of frenzied gyrations, with -the lanterns whirligigging round one another in the darkness among the -crevasses, will remain a picture as precious as its moral. - -[Sidenote: Coiling.] - -At the end of a climb the rope should be carefully coiled up, so that -the loops will run out without entanglement. To coil with the lay of -the strands avoids kinks. We never know when next the rope may be -needed in a hurry; and the unknotting evolutions, the passing of the -long ends, etc., are more irritating before a late start than a late -return. - -During coiling, the loops should be caught up in the hand, with the -lay, and laid against one another, but not allowed to cross. For most -men, especially if they prefer to carry the rope round their chest, the -most convenient length of coil is that made round the sole of the boot -and the knee. Some prefer coiling round the hand and the elbow. - -A convenient trick for finishing off such coils is to bind the loose -end once or twice round the whole mass of coils near one end, and -then thread it through the smaller of the loops into which the whole -coil is thus divided. The loose end, so threaded, makes a comfortable -shoulder-strap, by which the whole coil can be suspended over the back. -This method of fixing the end is less trouble to undo than the more -usual method--to twine both loose ends of the rope through and round -and round the finished coil in opposite directions, and knot them where -they meet. This forms a single firm hoop to hang over one shoulder. - -For this single hoop, however, a still better way to finish is to make -a half-hitch on the coil with one loose end, and then wind this one end -in a spiral round the coil in the same direction as that of the spiral -of the rope-strands. While winding this loose end, twist its strands -tight with the fingers. Their inclination to untwist will keep the -spirals clinging close round the coil. - -Yet another convenient and quick method of coiling the rope, suitable -for short intervals of disuse, is that of linking it in ‘chain knots’: -short loops are successively pulled through one another in a continuous -linking chain, and this is then swung over the shoulder. The rope -should only be left in chain-knots for short periods. - -The rope can be carried either as a hoop round the shoulders, or, more -conveniently, hung over the shoulder-straps, as a cushion between the -rucksack and the back. If it is wet or heavy, it is best to put it in -an empty sack, or to fix it, by means of string or its loose ends, -upright between the shoulders, like a rucksack. - -If the rope is new, and has got wet, it is well to uncoil it in the -evening and suspend it, neither strained nor taut, round the banisters -or looped along a wall. It is wrong to strain a wet rope, as many -climbers do. It stretches the twist and weakens the resilience which is -its strength. - -If a rope has kinked during a climb, or from being left wet in coil, -in order to clear the kinks it is not necessary to untwist them with -the hand. The rope need be only grasped some distance from its end with -one hand and swung round circularly in the direction opposed to the -twist of the kinks. They work themselves free, and the hand can then be -shifted farther up the rope, and repeat the swing for another section. - -The rope should never be dried in the sun or near a fire. - -The rope should be examined after every ascent, and at intervals -during the day, for bruises or frayed strands. A single frayed strand -justifies the cutting or rejecting of the rope. An old rope should -never be used. Guides are careless in this respect. - -[Sidenote: Suitable Lengths.] - -Some parties prefer to have their rope in lengths of 45 to 55 feet. -Each climber is roped separately, and the middle men thus wear two -waist-nooses. This method allows of rapid changes of order, of easy -separation into parties of two, and so on. For most rock climbing a -length of 60 feet is all that is required for the leader. A rope of 100 -to 120 feet is sufficient for three. For parties of four, one length -of 60 feet for the leader, and one of 90 to 100 feet for the rest, are -generally found correct. For parties of two, the length depends on -the character of the climb in prospect. But the leader requires more -initial allowance for absolute security, since it is awkward, with only -two men, for one to unrope in critical positions and give his leader -more as he requires it. In larger parties this is less risky. - -A run-out of 50 to 60 feet is usually accepted as the maximum which a -leader should allow himself, and most sound climbs on rock offer good -stances within or at this distance. A few exceptional climbs need 80 -or 100 feet; but their supposed number is constantly being reduced, as -later parties at their greater leisure discover adequate anchorages at -shorter intervals. At distances of 100 feet, or even less, the rope -ceases to be even a moral reassurance to the leader, and its drag alone -diminishes his security. If he has a following on such climbs who -cannot get up without the help of the rope, to carry it coiled, and let -it down when he reaches his remote platform, may be the safer course. - -[Sidenote: Funicula.] - -Our first lesson is to learn how to knot the waist-loop quickly, and -how to untie ourselves. Our second, to unravel expeditiously the -entanglements that invade the rope during the extra manœuvring which -the presence of inexperienced climbers entails. The best end-man -knot can be made with a single continuous movement of the hand. The -methods of roping and knotting are dealt with elsewhere; but we must -remember to re-examine waist-knots frequently, for ourselves and the -inexperienced. The noose sometimes slips down or becomes dangerously -loose amid the confused disarrangement of garments which stiff rocks -excite. Cases have occurred where men, slipping on rock or into a -crevasse, have all but fallen out of their careless waist-nooses, and -have remained suspended by one armpit. Theoretically we always rope -round the chest; but round a large chest or tapering ribs the rope will -not stay up, unless it is too tight to be comfortable. Consequently -many men, and all women, prefer to rope round the waist. Anyone who, -like myself, prefers to keep the rope up round the chest, will find a -convenient device is to pass the end of the rope, after tying the knot, -over one shoulder, and knot it lightly on to the noose again behind. -This prevents the weight of the rope, especially in the case of a -leader, from pulling down the noose round the false chest. - -If a climber has to make a jump while on the rope, he must give notice -first, and be sure that he has enough slack rope not to jerk his -friends or spoil his own jump. Beginners and boys are apt to jump in -unexpected places, and to forget that they have the rope on. - -On boulders and such-like problems, wherever height and difficulty -make the protection of a rope from above advisable, the climber should -be roped on properly. To dangle a loose cord past him, as is so often -done, is worse than useless. It tempts him to risky assays; and then, -if he slips, it is utterly impossible for him to save himself by -snatching at the rope. - -An unroped man who calls for the rope is generally unable to free -more than one hand to tie himself on. Therefore the loop, already -tied, should be sent down to him, which he can work under his armpits -_seriatim_. Failing a loop, he should twist the rope round his forearm; -but never trust to the grip of the hand alone. If he is within reach, -it is often easier to give him a hand than the rope. A hand-clasp is -not strong enough for a sheer lift. Each man should grasp the other’s -wrist; or they should crook and interlock their fingers. This last is a -very powerful hold. - -Every climber should know how to make the simple hitches for sending up -sacks or axes on the rope. An undue proportion of the wasted moments of -my own life have been spent in unravelling the labyrinthine ‘granny’ -knots with which well-meaning friends have plotted to protect the -ascents of their sacks. - -The ‘stirrup’ and other marabout rope-tricks may be studied in rescue -handbooks. The rope, as a support, precautionary, corrective or moral, -cannot be too minutely studied; but as a means of evasive traction, or -detached ætherial flight, it need not occupy the mundane climber. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -CORRECTIVE METHOD - - -Mountain craft has for its object to get us up and down mountains -without mistakes. All our training aims at reducing continually the -limits within which our mistakes might occur. But human beings are -fallible, and mountains are perverse. Mistakes will still be made; and -it is our business to learn how to remedy them, as well as how to avoid -them. Our corrective technique must seek to prevent mistakes developing -into disasters; and, a further step, guide us to a right conduct when -the disaster can no longer be prevented. - -Climbing accidents have a theatrical appeal, because of their dramatic -circumstance, and the world at large has an exaggerated notion of their -frequency. Compared with other active sports, in which the element of -danger is tacitly accepted as part of the fascination, climbing has a -singularly clear record. Aviation, hunting, sailing, football--their -toll of fatal accidents is accepted almost without comment. Only -in mountaineering does the sudden and spectacular suggestion of -annihilation make the isolated accident flare like innumerable stars in -the imaginative public eye. And yet of British mountaineers not one per -cent are killed climbing. - - -HUMAN FALLIBILITY - -Although fatal accidents are extremely rare, falls, slips and missteps -are common,--as common, and as a rule no more harmful than falls out -hunting or skating. There are falls from over-confidence, falls from -inexperience, and falls from pure accident in all active sports. It -lies with the experience and skill of the party to prevent such a -climbing fall being anything more than an interruption. It were better -avoided altogether: but climbers are not all perfect at their start, -and mountains may be perverse; and it is only sensible to recognize -that mistakes must occur in spite of all precaution, and to study how -to deal with their effects. - -A safe mountaineer climbs without stumble, but he is also always alert -to check some one else’s incipient slip. The management of the rope -has prevention of accident as its first object. But correction of the -consequences is its second. - -[Sidenote: Giving Warning.] - -When men are moving singly, up or down steep rock, a fall that can -injure should be impossible for anyone but the leader or last man. -If the ordinary precautions are observed, a slip of a few inches is -the most that can result. But although we may count upon each other’s -alertness, we must give the rope, and ourselves, every chance. If -we feel a hold giving or muscles failing, we must give warning at -once, and then hang on for just the extra second--nearly always -possible--which will allow our friend above to brace every muscle to -meet the direct pull, or to intrude his utmost ‘spring’ between the -rope and the belay. There exists a superstition that to fall silently -is to fall courageously. The man above is sure to hold--“that’s his -business”; whereas our own concern, in such extremity, lies only with -our own dignity. But even in falling we remain a member of the party, -and we have no right to indulge a personal gratification. And so a -quick ‘Look out!’ and the fraction of a second’s hang-on, which are -enough to secure the concentration not only of the anchor-man but of -all the rope, must be counted as our bounden duty. - -The same obligation holds good in the case of a party all moving -together along a ridge, or up or down an easy climb. If one man feels -his foothold or his balance going, he has always the instant’s time to -shout a warning before his weight can come on the rope. The man behind, -if there is one, will have had his eyes on him and will be ready; it is -the man in front, with his back turned, whom he has to consider. This -front man will, if he is climbing soundly, have been all along taking -holds with his margin of resistance in mind. He will also have been -noting, if not using in rapid passage, all the points for a possible -anchor of the rope. The instant’s warning will enable him to brace as -he stands, without looking round, or to fling the rope round a point -to support himself before the jerk comes. In such climbing the rope is -never quite taut between climbers, and there will be the run-out of the -length of rope slackened by the man falling to add to the interval of -time which his shout should have given for preparation. - -The last man on the rope, when all are moving together in ascent or -descent, has a special obligation to give this timely warning, since no -one has him in view. The instant he hears the warning or the scrape on -the rock, every man braces his muscles, and, if possible, anchors his -rope. A practised ear distinguishes at once between the ordinary clean -scrape of a climbing boot and the scuffled scrape of a slip, or the -snap of a breaking handhold. On a thoroughly united rope it sometimes -seems as if a premonition of the imminent slip must have reached a -good climber in front, even before the sound, some consciousness of an -interruption in the current of sympathetic action, so sure has been -the anticipation and swift the check. But a man who has himself passed -a passage has already a half-realized idea of the sort of trap it may -present, even if he himself evades it, and his quickened senses are the -sooner prepared for the nerve-thrill that precedes the actual warning -by as much as thought can out-distance sound. - -[Sidenote: Easing the Check.] - -If a climber has had no warning, or for other reasons cannot at once -brace into a secure position, he should let the rope slip through his -hand until he has had time to adjust his balance. This is one of the -occasions when gloves are a help. The first touch will tell him if -he can hold fast at once or must let the rope slip for the moment. -Very few falls on places where a party is able to move together are -absolutely clear, or come with the full jerk of the whole weight at the -start. This is especially the case on snow, where friction also checks -the pace. I have had on several occasions the man above or below me in -a steep snow or ice couloir fall out of a breaking step while we were -all descending together. On an occasion when the man below me slipped, -my first effort to check the rope told me that I was not firm enough. -A second or two were needed to allow myself and the man roped to me -above to get ‘planted.’ I partially checked the rope three times, and -had to let it go again at cost of hand and glove, before I felt the -rope from the man above tighten on my waist, and so knew that we were -ready to take the full jerk together, from our combined stances. The -intermediate checks had broken the impetus sufficiently to make the -final arrest easy. On another occasion in a steep couloir, when I was -descending first, the man above me slipped, and the last man on the -rope, then in mid-stride, was unable alone to check the slide at once. -He therefore let the rope rush through his hand until the sliding man -had spun down past me. Then, of course, my rope to him also came into -action, and, dividing the shock between us, we easily stopped the fall. - -On rock, as a rule, such gradual checks are impossible. Fortunately -upon rock, in proportion as the need for an immediate check is the -more imperative, firm stances, with sound rock hand and foot holds and -complementary anchors round rock points, are more present and instantly -serviceable. - -[Sidenote: Checking on Traverses.] - -The middle men on traverses are adequately protected, and need only be -checked in the usual manner. But if a leader or last man falls, before -or behind us, on a long traverse, it is not sufficient merely to hold -firmly or to hold the belay. If we remain stoutly inactive, he will -have enough rope out to fall far enough for injury before the rope can -tighten, and far enough to risk a snap in the rope when the full jerk -comes. The rope must be snatched in as he falls, round the belay or -loose in the hands. If the fall is from our own level, or from only -diagonally above us, we can tighten the rope at once, and this serves -to give a sideways tug to the man falling, which lessens the force of -the final jerk as he swings in below us. During a fall of fifty feet -from a traverse on our level, there may be time to race in a fifth of -the length before the jerk comes. On such traverses, except in a party -of two, there will be usually some one else on our own level, or near -it, who will share the shock with us by tightening his rope on our -waist. If the third man is near enough to help in actually holding the -loose rope, or in belaying it as it comes in, so much the better. We -are the freer ourselves to rush in as much of the flying slack as time -allows us. If he is not near enough to help, we must be prepared, as we -cannot pull in and secure the rope at the same time, to let the rope -tear out again when the jerk comes, tightening and relaxing it through -our hands until we are certain that our balance has survived the shock. -The action of the party of two in like circumstance is considered later. - -After the ‘fall’ of a man from above or on our level, or after the few -inches of downward movement, more properly termed a ‘decline,’ which -are all that a well-managed rope will permit to a man below us, it is -better to lower the man down to a good stance, rather than yield to a -universal inclination and attempt to haul him up over the ground he has -lost before he has recovered wind and nerve. It means less effort for -both. - -[Sidenote: The Case of the End Men.] - -A leader, or a last man down, does not fall. It is the first condition -of his hegemony that he must not. His fall from any height must -mean injury to himself, and may involve the whole party. In insular -climbing, where distances to hotels and rescue are small and easy -descents usually available, a man may, if he desires it, and his -second man allows it, take the chance of falling and hurting himself, -provided that his party is safely anchored. His injury then only -involves certain hours of delay and dangerous exposure for himself, -and such anxiety and fatigue to his friends as they may suffer in -finding help and in rescuing him. But in the Alps, to fall as a leader -is to fail lamentably and egregiously as a mountaineer. To fall, get -injured and survive in the Alps is more actually dangerous to the rest -of the party than to get killed. Its members must separate. One at -least must risk exposure and other objective dangers and stay with the -injured man. One, or two, if happily there are four in the party, must -face the peril of descent alone, probably late in the day, certainly -shaken by the accident, to seek help. The risks and difficulties of -mountaineering are increased tenfold for a lonely man, or for a party -returning thus shorthanded and unbalanced. More than once the partial -incapacitation of one climber has resulted in the death of one of the -friends who went to get help for him. - -In big mountains we may not take chances, not even the youngest of -us. Rock climbers who have learned how to take their risks only for -themselves on our own hills, with open eyes and in no rash spirit, and -think to take them also only for themselves when they go to the Alps, -are all too commonly blind to their very different conditions and the -far graver collective effects of an individual blunder. An injured man -in the Alps means a crippled party. Those uninjured are handicapped in -time, combination and nerve to meet the consequent race with darkness -or the chances of night, and frost, and crevasse, and avalanche; but -they are forced to take these risks in double measure, at double pace, -and with reduced strength, disregarding most of the usual precautions -on their own account, if they are to give their injured companion a -chance of timely rescue. - -[Sidenote: The Measure of Courage.] - -A leader or a last man in the Alps absolutely must not fall. We may -accept the fact that daring leaders will take risks, and that accidents -can happen, provided every leader is aware of the distinction between -the risks which no man may allow himself to take for his party even -with their consent, and the risks which he may take for himself alone, -but which his friends will be ill-advised if they allow him to incur. - -We cannot but be grateful for the spirit, though it is but human to -criticize the action, of men who find joy in a contest with forces -greater than themselves. Too often the profitable by-products of -successful courage are alone admitted as justifications for the spirit -in which adventure is undertaken. Deaths above the clouds or under -the water are taken as heroic incidents, excusable in the interests -of human progress. Deaths upon rock or under snow, inspired by the -like and often by an even more disinterested spirit of adventure, are -condemned as folly. Mountaineering must be judged by a spiritual, not -a utilitarian, standard. Courage, moral and physical, that has its -source in vigorous vitality and its goal in the extension of human -freedom, finds on the hills its hardiest school. It is a very wholesome -emulation that leads men, as their skill and power increase, to measure -them against ever-increasing natural difficulties. Our competition -with the mountains injures no other human competitor by our success. -Our conquest of them ends only in the conquest of ourselves. During -these last years by none has the sacrifice been made more willingly -than by our younger climbers. Their courage was that of the races from -which they sprang: to mountaineering they owed its discovery and its -training. We may not reproach it to the hills if the self-reliance -they teach leads, here or there, some high heart into danger, before -their harder lesson, of experience, has been learned. - -And having said this, I must repeat that a leader in the Alps or big -ranges, before he takes a chance, must make certain that the risk will -be confined to himself, supposing such certainty can ever be attained. -When he has made as certain of this as he can--he must not fall! - -[Sidenote: The Second Man’s Action.] - -But still, miscalculation is possible and accidents may occur. A hold -may have broken, and an end man, leading or last, has fallen. In the -case of a fall, the second man’s duty is to the party, and only in so -far as the greater includes the less, to the leader. The leader has -endangered the safety of the whole rope, which lay in his hands, by -risking a fall; the duty devolves upon the second man to counteract the -further consequences and to take up the leader’s duty to the collective -security of the rope. No leader who deserves the position will have -fallen on any but difficult rock, where the party are moving singly and -where they are properly secured. His second man will therefore have him -either well belayed, or be in a position calculated to meet the chance -of his fall. On steep upward or downward climbing he will rarely be -able to pull in much of the rope as it rushes past. If he is alone on -the stance, he cannot take the chance, as a man often can on a traverse -where he is well backed up, of doing anything that will risk the final -jerk catching him unprepared. If he, too, falls, it is seldom that -others of the party can arrest the twofold fall. His corrective action -is practically confined to doing all he can to spring the rope, with -arm, hand or body, so as to lessen the chance of its snapping. - -It is one of the more serious attractions of climbing two alone, that -the two men can divide all responsibility equally, and take their -chances happily together, without one of them ever being placed in the -painful position of choosing between two duties. In a party of two the -second’s duty is only to his leader. He shares in the decision to try -or not to try. If the attempt fails, and the leader falls, he holds him -or he falls with him. He can give himself wholeheartedly to his first -natural impulse, which is to associate himself entirely with the man -in danger. If it is the best chance for both, he will hold the belay, -and let the rope take its chance. But he is free to take a greater risk -for himself by attempting to rush in the rope or by hazarding more of -his direct intervention between the leader and the belay, if he thinks -that by so doing he can lessen the even greater danger to his leader -of the rope breaking. The decision, like all a second man’s decisions -about his duties, is difficult, and must be made like lightning; but in -a party of two it is at least not complicated by any hurried alteration -in the order of his duties, such as follows upon the fall of a leader -in a larger party. His first duty, in that case, is to the rest of the -party; the duty to the leader descending, with him, into second place. - -[Sidenote: After a Fall.] - -If a leader has once fallen, even if he is not physically injured, -he must be treated, for the time at least, as no longer in control. -The second, in consultation with the rest of the party, must decide -whether advance is still possible. No man’s judgment, nerve or temper -can be entirely unaffected by a fall, and even if the nerves appear -unshaken at the moment, a reaction follows later. Our object must be -to postpone this inevitable nervous reaction, both for the man and for -the party. If the leader is uninjured, action is the best restorative; -and I believe the wiser course often is to encourage him to resume the -lead, and so force himself to concentrate all his faculties upon his -immediate task, and on that alone. It requires some confidence to do -this; but if we know our leader, and have been justified in allowing -him to try the passage at all, it is best for him and best for us to -let him feel that our confidence is not diminished, and that he has -still a first duty, to bring his party through the difficulty. The -reaction will thus be postponed, at least as long as the necessity for -serious action continues, and may be put off altogether. - -If the leader is really nervously shaken, he will know it at once -himself. He must then be rested, and the second takes over the lead. -But the preservation of the _morale_ and good spirits of the party, -including the leader, must be the first consideration. There should be -no hint of criticism, even of words or tone, in any rearrangement which -is decided upon. The affair should be treated at the time lightly, as -an incident. If the leader has blundered through inexperience or a -real defect of judgment, or if the second has grounds to think that -he is off his day or has been taking unjustifiable risks without -consultation, reasons which would make it unwise to trust him for the -rest of a severe climb, it should be quietly assumed that he does not -wish to continue leading. Any moralizing or implied reproof will only -hinder the recovery of equanimity in the case of an old hand; and in -the case of a less experienced man, or of one leading on his trial, -criticism is better left for some more leisurely occasion. - -One coincident effect even of a slight accident may perhaps be -mentioned. A number of strong men, climbers among them, turn faint at -the sight of blood, especially, seemingly, in times of nervous strain. -They are often unaware of the tendency until the occasion arises. Even -if they foresee, they cannot overcome the attack; but they can give -warning. It has twice happened to me to see mountaineers of physique -and nerve faint in their steps, once on ice, once on snow, when a guide -had cut his hand in front. On the one occasion we had two minutes’ -warning, on the other none. - -[Sidenote: Accidents.] - -If a climber is injured by his fall, more severely than will allow of -his climbing unaided, surgical ministrations are the first necessity; -with these I am not dealing here. - -The subsequent action must depend on the place and people. If it is -possible for the party to convey him at least as far as some sheltered -place where help can easily reach him, this should be done at any risk. -The chief danger is collapse following on the shock, and his period of -cold and exposure must be shortened even at the hazard of increasing -the local injuries by moving him. - -On rock, if the party consists of four men, and one is strong, the -injured man should be slung on to his back by slings fixed round his -shoulders and thighs, and the rest of the party must assist the loaded -man with rope and hand. On easy rock men can act as the bearer’s -crutches, to take part of the weight. On steep rock where carrying is -practically impossible, especially if there are only two or three to -bring him down, he can be lowered over difficult places, suspended -in the triple-bowline chair or tied firmly and rigidly to the rope, -according as the injuries permit. If possible, two men should lower, -using ropes from different angles above, and one should guide from -below. If he is unconscious, his head should be supported by an extra -sling to the rope, with a coat as a cushion round which the extra sling -is passed. A broken leg should be bound with putties between ice-axes, -or to one ice-axe and then to the other leg. A broken arm should be -strapped with a puttie across the body. - -On steep snow or ice, where carrying is impracticable, it is best for -one man to convert himself into a sledge, to lie on the snow, take the -injured man in his arms, and let himself be lowered on the rope, in -steady stages, down the slope. - -As soon as the lower slopes are reached, one man should go off for -assistance (two, if possible, when glaciers are in question); and -meanwhile a stretcher can be made of cross-linked rope, or of boughs -or axes combined with rope. It is well to remember that carrying a -stretcher over rough ground is exhausting work, and not to spare men -in the rescue party. With a heavy man rapid shifts are necessary, and -twelve men have been found barely sufficient to bring down a heavy man -with a broken leg, in the dark, over some hours of broken ground. If -the ground is too steep for a stretcher, and too broken for lowering on -a slide, it is best to use a blanket or a web of rope; upon this the -man can be lowered sideways, stage by stage, the men on the under side -holding up their edge so as to keep the lie level. If the ground allows -of the stretcher being carried freely, but is still inclined, one or, -better, two men should act as a brake behind, pulling back on a rope -attached to the stretcher. During the descent, one man familiar with -the ground should be sent ahead to select the easiest line. A carriage -or car should be brought to the nearest point of the road or track. The -surgeon should have been already sent for by any available car or horse. - -If it is impracticable to get the man down until the rescue party -arrives, by reason of the difficulty of the climbing or the weakness -of the party, one man at least must stay with him, and the other, or -more happily two others, must make all speed consistent with caution -to get assistance. An injured man must never be left alone. If the -descent is severe, the two most capable should descend; and they must -remember that even more depends upon their getting down safely than -upon their getting down quickly, and resist the insidious recklessness -and ‘it-can’t-be-worse’ spirit that affect the nerves of all men at -such times. - -A code of signals, of shouts and lights, should be arranged, if not -already known. This is most important, and often forgotten. It is -wonderfully cheering to hear the human voice. Nothing serves better to -sustain the spirits and keep off dangerous lethargy or collapse than -the shouts which let the waiting men know that their friends are safely -down, and help assured, or which hearten them on the return long before -the rescue party can reach them. - -With the same object, if the rescue party cannot start at once, lights -should be flashed at night from some point in the valley visible to the -waiting men. A single match is visible for miles. - -The simplest code of call for help is six shouts or flashes in the -minute, followed by an interval of a minute’s silence. The reply, -signifying the call is heard and understood, is three shouts or flashes -in the minute, with a minute’s pause. But men do well to arrange, and -write down, a fuller code of communication before they divide on such -occasions. - -Rescue parties, of guides or local people, are often slow in getting -under way. If they find they cannot get a sufficiently strong party -together at once, the friends or, if possible, some good substitutes, -should form an express advance party, taking the few first necessaries -and making the best pace they can. Of even more effect than their -physical restoratives will be the moral reassurance they bring that -the real rescue party is under way. Waiting and uncertainty materially -lower the nervous resistance to injury or exposure. The men most -concerned should not leave the dispatch and direction of the main -rescue party to the professionals or the local people alone, who will -always claim it as their business and, more from ignorance than lack -of sympathy, often treat it as a function to be lingered over and -discussed in all its details. Not infrequently in the Alps the first -men to volunteer will be the idle and unemployed, and therefore the -least competent. The officious local man, who may be only concerned to -see his name in print and get credit and shillings, is particularly to -be guarded against. Unless some first-rate men can be at once secured, -or another amateur be found to take charge, one of the original party -must stay behind to take command himself, and send his friend, with the -best auxiliaries available, to conduct the first party of reassurance. - -It seems advisable to mention these details, as the natural inclination -of men who have been shaken by an accident and by anxiety is to -yield to well-meant pressure and leave the ‘speeding up’ of the -often dilatory rescue column to the local hotel-keeper or the first -discoverable guide; only concerned themselves, if they are fit, to -hasten back with reassurance to their waiting friends. But, of the two, -the first is the more urgent duty. - -In the event of death and not injury swift action is of less -importance. The mountaineer’s difficult task is then to get the rest -of his crippled party down safely. Peasants of all lands, accustomed -to the accidents of life and death, are insensitive to anything but -their familiar realism. Their help may be counted upon, but they cannot -be expected to show a very understanding sympathy. No later operation -should therefore be left to their charge without the supervision of one -of the party, or of a friend. The Press may be expected to become for -the time an extra burden; its curiosity is better eluded by carefully -worded anticipation than left to its own sensational inventiveness. -Violent death is savage in its reactions; and manners and taste, which -survive only as a thin glaze upon our semi-civilized communities, -evaporate at its first rumour. - -Although I have thought it right not to exclude entirely some -suggestion as to dealing with cases of serious or fatal accident, -forty-eight out of fifty mountaineers may, and do, finish their career -without ever being actively concerned in one. - - -MOUNTAIN PERVERSITY - -Besides the accidents which are produced by the classes of things -which at times go away from us, such as holds, balance, or our common -sense, there are other less evitable mishaps produced by the classes -of things which at times come at us--stone falls, snow slides, or -storms. Mountaineers are too sophisticated any longer to accept a naive -statement, that our mishap has been due to one of these causes, as a -complete exoneration. - -[Sidenote: Falling Stones.] - -Stones, indeed, form the most convincing excuse. Good mountaineers may -use all their discretion to avoid lines where stones fall, but the -casual stone, or the stone loosened by human agency, may yet overtake -them. - -A man hit by a stone falling from a height, even if he laughs it off, -has nearly always received a greater shock than he realizes. His nerves -will be vibrating for a time like strings, and we must be on the look -out, especially if we are in exposed places, until we are certain that -he is normal again. I have known a man grow faint ten minutes after a -stone had struck him and left no apparent mark; and I have seen a guide -slip half dazed from his steps a full minute after he had been hit by a -spinning stone not the size of a button, which did not even cut through -his hat. - -But even the peril of irresponsible stone falls can be caged within -narrower limits as our experience and our foresight increase. It is -itself a small department of our science of reconnoitring to learn how -to calculate their probability and recognize their signs. Couloirs and -gullies are obvious funnels upon which wandering stones concentrate. In -a snow or ice-backed couloir we must study the difference between the -ominous furrows made by stones or those made by water. In a rock gully -we have to look out not only for stones that may use it as a channel, -but for all that its weathering walls may contribute on their own -account, or that the changes of temperature, or even the disturbance -of our own passage, may dislodge from the balanced accumulations. The -surest signs are the absence or presence of stones on the glacier below -a couloir, or the grey scars or bruises made by the cannonading stones -on the rocks themselves. But these may only indicate stone fall at -certain hours of the day. Big grooves in steep precipices and hollows -between ribs, where stones may congregate, or featureless flat faces, -where they may wander unconfined at their own wild will, are alike -suspicious, and the bases of their cliffs must be inspected. Rock -faces, corrugated with very shallow ribs and hollows, are particularly -dangerous, as falling stones may ricochet unaccountably across the -ribs,--stones harder to foresee and to dodge than direct falls. The -edges of glaciers commanded by steep precipices are certain to be -stone-shelled. Precipices commanded by glaciers--that is, by the small -glaciers hanging high up on great peaks, which are often difficult to -locate from below--have also their fixed hours; as soon as the ice -feels the sun it begins to discharge its surface stones, and continues -until the evening. - -But without our own examination we need not condemn any face on general -grounds or from hearsay. A number of fine mountain walls in the Alps -have been unjustly condemned in their entirety for merely local -weaknesses. Others offer salient ribs or lines sheltered by accidents -of structure through the heart of suspected zones. Only inspection can -say. We may presume steep faces to be more safe than those of easier -inclination, because the rock should be sounder, and because chance -stones ought to fall outside us if they do fall. - -If we have been unfortunate in our reconnoitring, or if we have -deliberately tempted fortune too far upon a suspected route, we may -on occasion have to put our pride and our progress in our pocket and -be content to sit out under a grateful rock screen until evening or -shadow has chilled the vehemence of the stone barrage. It is better to -risk a night out than persist in tackling a bad line at a bad time. -An overhanging rock is a sure refuge. But we are also advised, if -ever we see that sunlight is increasing the hostile fire upon some -passage that we have to negotiate, to wait until a cloud has frozen up -the ammunition sources. As I have never yet lighted upon a stagnant -party while they were spending some portion of a climbing day in a -pensive examination of the sky for this purpose, I must conclude -either that clouds are as perverse as stone falls in the ill-timing of -their arrival, or that men are as perverse as both in their pigheaded -prosecution of a fair-weather programme. - -Besides their customary routes, which we avoid by experience or as the -result of examination, there are occasions both of place and time when -stones fall unaccountably. Stones of large mass will fall at night; -the melted snow freezes into the cracks, levers the stones from their -attachment, and their weight does the rest. Stones, of smaller size but -in larger profusion, will fall in the morning, as the sun again melts -the ice in the cracks, which has already detached these lighter stones -but kept them for the night frozen in position. During these morning -hours, therefore, stones must be looked for on rock faces where they -need not be expected during the rest of the day. - -During all the hours of hot sunlight, slopes of mixed rock and snow, -even of easy angle and harmless aspect, may become operative. Rock -extruding from ice is generally more disintegrated, and much of its -freshly exposed surface, temporarily cemented by frost, is liable -to discharge in sunshine. Any slope of ascent which drains a wide -stone-shed of such mixed character must be approached with caution. - -Again in hot seasons, after snowless winters, whole regions of -rock, gradually disintegrated under their normal covering of ice or -snow, become exposed; and in such seasons stones must be looked for -on the most respectable peaks. Impeccable cliffs, of traditional -mountaineering approach, will be cinctured at their base, and not only -there, by bands of discharging rock, remote from and disregarding the -time-honoured waste-shoots. - -Bad weather, rain, and especially wind, will start volleys in -unaccountable places at the most inconvenient times. After storm -or heavy rain, even secure lower paths may be raked by a dropping -fusillade. But such passing exuberances have also their comfortable -aspect. The bruises that surprise us by their appearance on sheer hard -crag, where no stone had any business to fall, or the intimidating -fragments on the glacier below our firm and promising rib, may be -merely such a single past morning’s effervescence or the excesses of a -solitary thunderstorm. - -Other surprise stones may be due to the passing of goats or chamois -above--a rare case in the Western Alps--or more frequently to the -presence of other parties. These are a very definite and constant -danger, especially on loose faces like the Matterhorn ascent from -Zermatt, where half a century of clumsy climbing seems only to have -augmented the supply of mountain ammunition available for daily use. -It can only be avoided by keeping off these routes, or by making sure -of starting first. If we succeed in so doing, we must remember our -mountain manners. On any route where stones are likely to fall, no -party, however expert, has the right to increase the risk for others -below by racing ahead. Unless our line takes us well out of range, we -must wait, in ascending or descending, before crossing any passages -where there is a prospect of our dislodging loose stones, until the -party below is temporarily sheltered or near enough to suffer small -damage from the event. We may expect the same consideration from our -forerunners, or make ourselves clamorously audible until we secure it. - -Stones loosened by the party upon itself, by rough grip climbing, by -sitting while descending, by a rope carelessly managed, and so on, are -matters for the correction of climbing technique, and cannot be rated, -either mentally or vocally and emphatically, as risks from external -causes. - -But there is still always the familiar terror of the single stealthy -stone, that shoots out for a solitary venture on the blandest of mixed -rock and ice climbs, sliding soundlessly or skipping venomously on a -sharp edge. It can only be countered by the warning of an alert leader -and by prompt dodging. - -The throwing of stones from the tops of peaks or cliffs is happily -confined, apart from a few classical recorded cases, to tourists in -our own islands. It is not done by mountaineers; and the method of -impressing its serious dangers upon the offenders may be left to the -emotional coefficient of the party imperilled to elaborate. - -If, in spite of all precautions, a falling stone, or a fall of stones, -threatens us, our position at the moment decides our action. In the -case of a rock avalanche, whose minatory sound is unmistakable, we -shall hear it before we see it; there is nothing to be done but to -crouch and get what cover the rock will afford, especially for the -head, without trying to locate it. If it is a single stone, or a few -stones, sight and not sound will be giving us the warning (unless -the risk is already past), and it is best to wait, with back or side -turned towards the stone, and watch over our shoulder. A stone falls -surprisingly slowly to the eye; its course can be followed, and dodged -most effectively at the last second, if it is not in any case aimed -to miss us. In dodging or taking cover from stones, the rope must not -be forgotten. It is little less serious for the rope to be caught -by a large stone falling than for one of the party. To run is often -more dangerous, for other reasons, than to stand still. Most guides -are terrified of falling stones. They are the one risk external and -unaccountable which they cannot train themselves to meet, because no -skill can foresee them. Some part of their allied dread of bad weather -is due to the increased risk of stones it brings: “A terrible sound -of stones cast down, or a running that could not be seen of skipping -beasts, ... or a rebounding echo from the hollow mountains, these -things made them swoon with fear.” The majority of guides will shout -and start skipping indiscriminately in panic. Men who do this must be -brought sharply to their senses. An effective, if possibly fallacious, -argument is to point out that a stone by falling on a particular line -has enormously reduced the chance that another will fall on the same -line again. - -This argument does not apply to the case of stones which converge from -wider areas above, to fall through a particular gully or couloir. A -mountaineer, if he finds himself in such a conduit, had certainly -better get out of it as quickly as may be safely possible. - -If it is absolutely necessary to cross a couloir where falling stones -may be expected, or heard, it is best for the party to cross singly, -unroped. But if crossing unroped involves a more immediate risk than -the chance of a stone striking, not more than two men should remain -on the same rope together. One man should cross the couloir alone, -with plenty of rope loose for a spring forward or backward to safety, -while the other anchors under shelter. If there are three men on the -rope, the two end men should cross first, each with plenty of rope; -the middle man follows last, with the same allowance. This reduces -the danger for the middle man. To be caught by stones in a couloir on -the middle of a rope held at both ends is to be trapped. There is no -time for the man at either end to release his rope, or, even were that -possible, to discover towards which side the middle man intends to -escape. - -On the whole, considering the amount of stones that fall in the Alps, -especially on frequented peaks, the amount of stones that are dislodged -by inexperienced climbers on one another on our own cliffs, and the -amount of recent stones that litter all mountain bases, and that must -have fallen some time, it is astonishing how few and how slight have -been the injuries they have caused. - -[Sidenote: Snow Slides.] - -Snow slides or avalanches are restricted in summer to more definite -danger-zones than are the errant stones. But when they come they are -less evitable and more overwhelming in action. Snow falls not only -according to the accident of its position, which is ascertainable, but -also according to the chance of its condition; and this is susceptible -to influences more numerous and more volatile than the comparatively -better delimited and more violent forces that produce the loosening and -fall of stones. - -Again, if we are forced to cross danger-areas of stones or snow, we -have the better chance in the case of stones. Each falling stone only -occupies in its fall a fraction of the area of danger, and may be -eluded; but every inch of snow in an area of avalanche risk is alike -pregnant with danger. It is no longer a question of artful dodging -individually, but of an escape in time by the whole party, possibly -over a considerable extent of slope, all of it equally treacherous. - -But snow makes these concessions to the skilful leader: its presence -can be located; its condition can be tested in advance. Experienced -reconnoitring beforehand may advise us to avoid a snow passage -altogether: precaution on the spot, a thorough testing of its holding -quality, gives us a second chance of eluding an unpleasing surprise. -But these safeguards are precautionary rather than corrective, and -belong properly to the province of prevention, that is of snow craft. - -Correction becomes needful when we have been deceived in our craft, -and find ourselves by error, or perhaps by chance, on a risky snow -passage. The snow threatens to slide or to avalanche, because it is -either powdery and superficially slithery, or water-logged, or crusted -and detached below, or bedded deceitfully upon ice. Now, to continue -to trough horizontally across suspicious snow is equivalent to sawing -through a high branch, on which you are seated, between yourself and -the trunk. We must turn vertically up, or down, or follow as steep a -diagonal as we may. We make steps as far as possible apart, and we -tread exactly and lightly in each other’s. If there is firmer snow -below, we drive the axe to the head at each step, and loop the rope. In -extreme cases we may turn face inward, as the toe is less disturbing -than the heel or side-boot. Or we may have to clear away the snow and -make steps in the ice below. All as our craft dictates. On positively -dangerous snow there is much to be said for unroping, should we have to -continue long in equal insecurity. The rope can be little protection; -concerted action once a slide starts is impossible, and if the slide -embraces the footing of all the party, the individual chances of -survival are greater without it. But while admitting that there is a -case for unroping, I have never known a party do it. - -If, in spite of all our discretion, the snow slide or avalanche starts, -any further chance of corrective action passes out of our hands with -the loss of our footing. A good deal has been written about what we -ought to do in an avalanche: cut the rope, adopt a swimming attitude, -roll sideways and so on. To anyone who has ever bathed in broken surf, -or felt the weight of even a thin film of snow sliding about his ankles -or on to his shoulders, all such nostrums will seem about as practical -as that delightful recommendation that we should all wear a red -appendage of trailing string, as a signal to those who search for us -in an avalanche. The vision of a line of sturdy mountaineers tripping -intricately across a snowfield like embarrassed macaws in pursuit -of each other’s scarlet tails may give us some pleasurable moments. -Possibly coloured air-balloons, to keep the string-tails floating -archly above our heads, might add to their picturesque efficacy. - -A man in an avalanche can only act by instinct; and he will -instinctively struggle. If he keeps, or ends, upon the surface, it -will be due to the shallowness of the slide or the depth of his -good fortune. It is well to remember that a man, by an accident of -compression, may live for some time although overwhelmed and out of -sight under the snow; the survivors therefore must take the risk of -further snow falling and attempt the rescue work at once. The chances -of survival will always be greater in a slide of powdery snow than in -one of wet snow. - -[Sidenote: Ice Fragments.] - -Ice falls in fashions more fathomable than snow, over more limited -areas and by more discoverable rules. We may find ourselves forced to -pass below _séracs_ on glaciers. A _sérac_ may fall; but _séracs_ are -very obvious as well as beautiful, and the really capable eye is at -fault if it cannot foretell when one is likely to fall, within an hour -or two, and hurry out of its track. Even if it is too far above us for -inspection, there is plenty to guide us in the condition of the ice -near us and in the feel of the atmosphere. _Séracs_ are usually safer -than they look; and it is wiser, if we find ourselves unwittingly under -fire, to glide out of it quietly and competently than to rush into the -real frying-pan of a panicky flight. If there is opportunity, we get -rid of the rope; a man on claws, without the rope, has a much better -chance of dodging the _sérac_ that topples. Heavy step-cutting just -below a poised column had better be avoided; but I am half sorry to -record that the hallowed myth that it is dangerous to talk or breathe -loudly on such passages is not borne out by latter-day _séracs_. I -have shouted very loudly and clearly into the ear of a number of very -promising ones--of course from safe positions on their shoulders, and -not, like Lauener, from their ‘dangerous’ heads--without eliciting even -a nod of response. - -Only one other case suggests itself where falling ice might be classed -as an external or objective risk; and that more because the extent of -its danger-zone is undiscoverable than because its position, or the -probability of its fall, is concealed from ordinary foresight. In a -snowy season, with alternates of melting sun and freezing wind, the day -comes when the rocks of a peak or ridge are armoured with ice plates -or ice spears. If we traverse unsuspectingly below such walls, an -hour’s sunlight may expose us, in the middle of our enjoyment of our -postponed fine day, to a raking and dangerous fire. The missiles may -come shooting over the edge of any innocent, black jut or buttress far -above us. The only course is to watch, and dodge, and make carefully -for open country. That what has fallen once cannot fall again in the -same place is even more true of these ice plates than of stones. For -our mischance, also, we may have to blame ourselves as much as the -mountain. Rocks in such a state generally betray some gleam of their -ice armour to a heedful examination, and as the chance of such a -condition occurring should have been suggested to us by the kind of -weather that produced it, we ought to have been able approximately to -locate the peril beforehand, and avoid its zone. - -[Sidenote: Evil Weather.] - -Thunderstorms or blizzards may produce direct catastrophe. Of a -blizzard we should have had premonitory signs; and if we are caught in -it, we must just fight through it, and we may not afterwards justly -blame the mountains. It is a foolish pride which thinks to show -hardihood by persisting wilfully, among big mountains, against the -threat or oncoming of evil weather. - -But thunderstorms may take us unawares; and then our only refuge is -retreat. Their chief menace lies along the edges of ridges and on -outstanding points. If a storm threatens, we must get off the ridges -and away from pinnacles as quickly as possible, even if it may mean -cutting down an ice slope. Sometimes our first warning may be an -electric shock, coming out of a dark and windless silence or through a -warm oppression of slow-falling and separate snow-flakes, and thrilling -us helplessly from heel to hair. If there is no other sign, and in the -heart of the worst storms there is no flash and no thunder, the singing -of our axes and the hissing crackle of the discharge from every point -of the ridge will give warning that it is well to go elsewhere. We are -generally advised to get rid of our axes. If we are on a big peak, this -will mean our seeking scanty shelter not very far below the ridge where -the storm caught us. Personally, I prefer to keep my axe, and use it to -climb well down one of the flanking walls. While we remain on the ridge -or near it, all points, including ourselves, are potential conductors, -and it is awkward to get far down without an axe. We once came on a -whole grove of axes abandoned on a summit. When we saw, later, the -angle and the condition of the snow slopes that this party had been -driven to descend without their axes, to escape from the storm, we -realized what frightening things men can do if they are only frightened -enough. - -Thunderstorms apart, the perils of bad weather are indirect, and give -us time to use precautionary rather than corrective skill. A very -strong wind may of course blow us right out of our steps. I have only -seen this actually happen once, to a light-limbed mountaineer, who -pitched very neatly on the ice steps ten feet lower down. Ordinarily -we cling on as we can, and evade the direct blast by moving on to the -other side of a ridge. Wind will also pelt us with stones and icicles -in unexpected places, or lacerate our faces with snow particles. But -its principal effect is usually upon men’s nerves, who get ‘rattled’ -and lose their collective rhythm. Continuous loud noise always -interrupts communications, and breeds flurry or confusion. It is worth -while taking shelter behind rocks, if only for a minute or two at -intervals, to steady the nerves again. - -Mist and fog can only harm us if our craft fails. We meet them by -compass and the sense of direction. Wind can make a gracious exception -to its usual offensiveness, and help us in mist. If we have noted its -direction, and have observed that it is a constant and not a gusty or -spinning wind, we can keep a straight course by keeping it always on -the same cheek. Again, when he is approaching the crest of a ridge or -a pass, what mountaineer has not had cause, in mist, or even in sun, -to welcome the little rushes or breaths of wind that tell him the edge -is near and assure him of his direction? After a weary plough up foggy -snow terraces or a harsh struggle on mist-wet rocks, these soughs seem -like the mountain, too, sighing with our relief, or like the end of our -travail surprising our mournful faces with a kindly but derisive ‘pooh!’ - -Earthquakes are natural perversities outside the sphere of ordinary -mountaineering prevision. Among mountains their danger is indirect -or subsequent. They injure a number of good rock routes, and after -a series of shocks we may expect some grievous deterioration in the -condition of rock pinnacles and faces. Large masses will have been -precariously loosened, and our ledges will be littered with poised -blocks and cranky rubble. The peaks affected may require markedly -cautious climbing for some seasons, until time and weather shall have -tidied down the surfaces again. Some years ago certain of the Chamonix -Aiguilles had to be left unvisited for a time on this account. As to -how we should meet the uproar of the eruptive moments, it is difficult -to suggest an approved method. A mountaineer of reputation relates -how an earthquake caught him on the precipitous north face of the Dent -du Géant; and how that proud pinnacle rocked so portentously that his -feet were flung free, and he only saved himself by swinging perilously, -like a pendulum, from his handholds. It is reassuring to feel that -such exceptional circumstance does generally select the exceptional -man, and that it invariably finds him inspired to deal with its crises -imaginatively. For upon such natural inspiration it would be difficult -to improve by devising any more formal code. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -ICE AND SNOW CRAFT - - -[Sidenote: The Age for Glaciers.] - -Rock is the framework of mountains, and for those who discover their -enthusiasm or train their activity among our western hills, rock craft -must always remain the basis of mountaineering. Many of us would not -be dissatisfied if the chances of time and leisure offered us no wider -field. For our performance, there is more than a lifetime could hope -even to examine between the precipices of our mounting uplands and -the descending cliffs of our long sea coasts; and for our æsthetic -pleasure, nature, through the medium of a soft and variable atmosphere, -shrouds the settled lines of our hills with a delicacy of interrupted -and changing colour, and a grave reticence of shadow, sun-break and -mist, that leave nothing incomplete for the fulfilment of that sense of -power and wonder whose realization gives something of the quality of -religion to our feeling for great mountains. These ancient hills are at -peace with their neighbours the fields, and rest tranquilly among them; -content to contribute with their waters and pasture to the fertility, -and with their mists and rocks and seclusion to the holiday pleasure of -the land which in youth they were wont to cumber with the fragments of -each fiery insurgence, or bury under the white burden of their glacial -defeats. - -In other lands, to modify the harshness and to order the exuberance of -younger ranges, whose ambition would yet challenge the stars, nature -has still to avail itself of the sterner and more primitive discipline -of ice and perpetual snow. With this veil, constant but always -renewing, it subdues the barrenness and the aggressive angularity -proper to their period of immaturity and change, and preserves for -them the aloofness that is at once the protection and the charm of -free-growing childhood. It is a mistake to think of the Alps or the -Himalaya as venerable because their heads are white: theirs are all the -irrepressible impulse, the uneven humour, the unconscious cruelty and -the overflowing vitality of froward but jolly children. - -A mountaineer may be satisfied to nurse his athletic infancy upon home -rocks, and he may be happy to pass the later years of his experience -among the more elusive impressions and more subtle romance of our old -and quiet hills. But in the storm years of his strength he should test -his powers, learn his craft and earn his triumphs in conflict with the -abrupt youth and warlike habit of great glacial ranges. - -Snow and ice are permanent upon the high hills, and consequently ice -and snow craft are essential departments of greater mountaineering. -To treat them as decorative adjuncts, cultivated by a certain set of -rather old-fashioned folk, or to say, as I have heard more than one -promising climber say in effect, “Rock is good enough for me: snow and -ice only mess it up; _I_ shan’t bother with that sort of Alp!” and then -rush off to the Dolomites as a relief from the Fells, is equivalent to -refusing to exchange the foil play of practice for the rapier play of -real contest with the best champions of the mountain realm: it means -the repudiation of the better half of mountain knowledge, and the -renunciation of almost all its rewards. - -The higher craft of mountaineering begins above the line of perpetual -snow. A rock climber who leaves his rocks at that level can never -discover even all that rocks may offer of difficulty and variety. -The refinements of climbing develop out of the modifications that -rock and ice and snow produce in one another. It is among the elastic -extensions, the frequent exceptions, which their combination imposes -upon our grammar rules for rock or snow, that the mountaineer is -evolved out of the climber. - -[Illustration: ROCK AND ICE [SYDNEY SPENCER] - -Our strong years are the years in which to learn the complete craft -of greater mountaineering. And it is also in these years, while the -senses are keen and the imagination undimmed, that the entries and -illustrations most worthy of assembling in our book of memory can be -collected from among the daring sights and hazardous incidents of -high mountaineering as from no other region of adventure. Never -to have broken too soon with sleep, and issued up on to the grey -coldness of night-frozen glaciers; never to have felt rather than seen -the loneliness of frosted grey peaks, oppressed with a sanctity of -reluctant seclusion; never to have endured the enchantment of solitary -space, an intimate but hostile fascination that is found elsewhere -only in the desert and among arctic silences; never to have almost -heard the strange expectancy that fills great snow fields before dawn -with questions never uttered and never answered, and whose insistence -is only veiled under a livelier and more visible remoteness at the -inquisitive approach of light; never to have watched the night widen -and the edges of the world draw closer round, as the peaks begin to -darken and the glaciers to pale, and the vague shadows of mystery and -of elusive presence shrink and harden into form and line and colour -with the nearing of sunrise; and, at the moment when the first rose -ray quickens the first high summit and day pours in about us, never to -have known the lassitude of odd illusion vanish and the summons to good -sunlit action thrill every fibre, from toe to finger-tip, with a rush -of human mastery in each stout blow of the axe and each fresh shock -of the driving heel;--never to have known something of only this one -hour of an alpine morning would have been to have missed the most vivid -moments of living, and to have deprived our working and our evening -hours of their most faithful comrade memories. - - - - -ICE CRAFT - - -For snow and ice as for rock we study primarily balance,--balance in -motion, and above joints flexed as well as straight. The elementary -movements and practice are identical. Rock is the substructure of -mountains, and ice and snow are its accretions. Similarly, rock -climbing is the groundwork of mountaineering technique; and for ice and -snow we employ the same principles, availing ourselves of the mechanism -of axe and claw and ski so as to render them equally applicable to new -conditions of surface and texture. - -For balance climbing, footwork is all-essential. On rock, only where -angle or unsound texture makes footwork alone insufficient, do we help -out with the hands. On ice or snow, only where angle or a texture too -soft or too hard denies our feet their assurance, do we supplement -them with ice-axe and ice-claw, or to a certain extent with ski. While -a man remains a grip climber, he will never make an iceman; and he -had better go back and learn first how to climb in balance on rocks, -rather than set himself the twofold task of learning balance and axe or -claw technique simultaneously and painfully on ice. Most of the early -mountaineers learned what footwork they knew upon ice first, and it -was therefore very natural that they should in their mountaineering -precepts give the larger share of space and attention to elementary -movements and exercises in stepping on ice and snow. These movements -are now learned more easily and perfectly on rock, sound and unsound, -and transferred, when we go to the Alps, to snow and ice, following a -more logical and certainly more safe order of study. In recent years I -have taken some of the very best of the new generation of ‘continuous’ -rock climbers for their first climbs in the Alps, and have found -that their balanced footwork took only a few hours to adapt itself -to snow or ice surfaces, skipping all the elementary stages hallowed -by tradition. Consequently they could start upon the more recondite -branches of ice and snow craft with a rapid assurance that left the -guides frankly interested. - -Largely because it was the only type of mountaineering that they really -studied as a craft, and consequently could fully enjoy when they -mastered it, ice and snow craft came to be considered by many of our -predecessors as the only true mountaineering, to the supersession of -all other branches. - -After the possibilities of rock surface began to be appreciated, and -while rock climbing was working through its successive and isolated -stages, the swing of the pendulum went all too far the other way. Ice -and snow came to be regarded by all except the old alpine school as -intrusions upon ascents, to be got over as best one could. Their study -was proportionately neglected by guides and amateurs alike, who chose -the ribs and rock faces for their routes, and were apt to be bothered -if they had to come off them. The lack of any advanced technique became -painfully apparent when mountaineering ambition progressed to the point -of attempting great new alpine ridges and faces, where a knowledge of -ice and snow craft is indispensable. Many a failure and even accident -revealed what a large lacuna our rock climbers had been nourishing in -their alpine understandings. - -During the development of balance climbing, whose basis is footwork -upon any angle and any kind of surface, the scale has been steadily -readjusting itself. Simultaneously with, or possibly as a result of, -the unification of our several climbing methods upon rock, ice and -snow into a single technique of balance, has come the new interest in -foot-attachments, the popularizing of the use of ice-claws and of ski. -While balance in climbing movement was still only rudimentary, it was -more comfortable to climb on a material like snow or ice, where the -human could make holds and steps of the shape and at the angle that -best suited his standing or his ‘walking’ balance. He preferred this to -making a series of awkward bodily adjustments in order to fit himself -on to existing accidents in the surface of rock. But as climbers -learned to master balance during any movement and in every attitude, -and to depend less and less upon the hand, they became naturally alive -to the advantage of adopting footgear which secured safer and more -continuous progress by adapting the feet to the surface, and saved -them the time and rhythm lost in stopping to alter the surface to suit -their feet. Hence the increase in our use of soft soles and scientific -nailing, on rock, and the perfecting of ice-claws, which allow our feet -to walk on ice at whatever angle we find it, and of ski, which make a -royal progress of the most voracious snow. - -A man who is a good continuous balance climber should be able, as I -have said, to transfer his footwork easily and quickly to snow and ice, -and to move safely upon moderate mountains, satisfactorily managing the -rope and cutting the occasional steps that such ascents demand. Here -many climbers stop learning, even among those who write books; and just -about here the real delights of icemanship and snow craft begin faintly -to suggest themselves. From this point on our rock technique cannot -help us, and may, if persisted in, merely embarrass and delay us. Ice -and snow, conjoined or apart, with all their significations of colour, -texture and angle, and in their local or ephemeral counter-changes, -form a study by themselves. As it is certain that we cannot do much -route inventing or advanced climbing upon rock without knowing -something of the different sorts of rock and their meanings, so is it -far more certain that in really big mountaineering no one will get far -or go secure whose knowledge of ice and snow is limited to the mere -physical ability to climb upon them. - -It is impossible to do more than suggest a few lines which training -might follow, in order to attain to a point of experience where the -specialized study can be begun. - -[Sidenote: The Nature of Ice.] - -To start with, it is as well to know something, sufficient for the -working purposes of practical summer mountaineering, as to the -different sorts of ice which we meet with in the mountains. There are -three principal varieties: - -Firstly, ‘_grainy ice_,’ or ‘_blue ice_’ as it is usually called from -its colour. This is formed chiefly from snow, by regelation. Nearly all -glacier ice is of this character; whence we also know it as ‘_glacier -ice_.’ It is glacier ice with which we have by far the most to do in -the Alps, and its successive stages have to become familiar to us as -names, and recognizable from their appearance, if we ever wish to -lead a party. In the first stage pressure makes the fallen grains of -snow cohere, and an opaque white mass is thus formed, a fine-grained -solid, containing a lot of imprisoned air. This stage is usually but -incorrectly named ‘_frozen snow_.’ Under the further action of pressure -these grains coalesce, by regelation, and larger grains are formed; -part of the entangled air escapes, the solid becomes coarse-grained -and less opaque and assumes a bluish tinge. This is called _névé_ -(or _firn_). Under the continuation of the process ultimately all -the imprisoned air escapes, the solid becomes transparent and very -coarse-grained, and its larger masses have a distinctive, blue colour. -This is called ‘_ice_.’ As the process is a continuous one, it is -impossible to draw a hard-and-fast line between the different stages, -or always to be sure of saying with certainty that our feet are on the -one or the other. - -Secondly, there is ‘_black ice_’; ice more or less continuous and -generally in layers, formed by the freezing of water. This is -comparatively rarely encountered in the Alps, or in mountains, but more -often in winter than in summer. Where it intrudes, it is very exacting, -as it calls for a different type of claw technique and a different sort -of blow with the axe. - -Thirdly, there is an intermediate, and intermediately attractive and -frequent, class of ice, produced by the infiltration of water with -snow, and by their subsequent freezing. This is called ‘_snow ice_.’ - -In route designing and in climbing we have to be able to recognize -these types and stages. Each has its own right method of treatment. But -grainy or glacier ice is the characteristic alpine ice, and most of the -suggestions made as to ice technique apply to ice of this description, -where it is not otherwise expressly stated. - -A large, dry glacier introduces us to almost every normal type of ice, -from hard blue to _firn_, and is the best practice ground for finding -our ice feet and transferring our rock balance to ice angles. A week’s -good practice devoted exclusively to ice craft on a glacier, under a -good mentor, will set our feet on the way of better icemanship than if -we trust for our training to the hours of sporadic ice work, generally -of some difficulty, which we may meet year after year, and muddle -through, on our big climbs. Few men are systematic enough to devote all -their first alpine enthusiasm to a restricted training of this kind; -but any man who hopes at some date to become a mountaineer should -begin early to give his ice some intensive study. Even a mountaineer -of experience has to allow for personal variations when he returns -each season. However well attuned he may keep his sense of touch on -rock by practice in Britain, he takes some days to recover the feel of -his feet on ice, and his ice nerve; very much as a skater or a skier -has to do each winter. Some of us make a habit, in theory at least, of -giving the first day of a tour to work of all sorts on a dry glacier; -the second day to some short climb, combining both rock and snow work; -the third, probably an off-day, to going up to a hut, and the fourth -to a big climb, which must embrace as much varied ice as possible. But -this is for resumptive practice in technique. It is not sufficient for -a commencing season, or for a grounding in common ice law. - -[Sidenote: Ice-Claws.] - -Any man who wishes to make big ascents is well advised if he begins -early to learn how to use ice-claws (or crampons). It is not that -we cannot climb without them, even as we could without nails in our -boots, but that we can learn to climb more securely, and go faster and -farther, with them. - -Claws have been used by individuals for something like a century, but -the conservatism of mountaineers long refused to recognize them as -more than an individual eccentricity. It found itself able to draw a -nice distinction between the ‘sporting’ character of the assistance -given by a number of long spikes separately and laboriously screwed and -unscrewed on the boot, and that of a similar number of spikes affixed -by a single simple mechanism. It was not until the guides finally -capitulated that the practice could grow at all general or that its -extra security could become recognized as workmanlike. Claws were -formerly assumed to be useless unless worn by every member of a party; -an assumption that prevented their use by many amateurs who failed to -carry their guides’ conviction with them. As a fact, even one expert -furnished with claws can do much to assist the security and lighten the -labour for his clawless party on difficult ice, by preceding them and -helping or protecting them with the rope. Let no amateur, therefore, -ever be discouraged from taking his own where he expects ice work. -He will always be the happier himself, and may on occasions be able -to point a prolonged moral to his party. Up to the present they have -still been looked upon as an experiment, and men have been apt to get -discouraged if they have taken them out once or twice and had no need -for them. Sometimes they have then dropped carrying them; found that -they could ‘get on all right without them’--as who cannot?--and so -begun to exaggerate the labour of their portage and minimize their use. -The habit has to be formed. It can become as natural to take them on a -big ascent as to carry the axe, spare rope and shoes upon a rock climb. - -I must premise, that claws postulate precise footwork. A slovenly habit -they cannot correct, and may only confirm. - -If we use claws neatly, we need no longer cut steps upon all the easier -angles of ice or hard snow. We can walk straight ahead, up, down or -along, without check for step-cutting or loss of rhythm. We can take -foothold just as is most convenient for our balance as we move. Thus a -good balance climber from the first moment gets all the advantage of -the footwork he has learned upon rock: the labour of ‘finding his feet’ -upon ice is reduced to a minimum. Again, claws increase our security, -if we step accurately, when we are moving upon angles where, for -reasons of steepness or other difficulty, steps may still have to be -cut. In using slippery steps they permit of a confidence of movement, -firm and continuous, similar to that which previous experience will -have taught us contributed most to our security upon rock. In so far -claws, even while we are learning, make for safer progress. - -Their fashion has been fully dealt with, under Equipment. As to the -character of claw which may be of greatest service, there exist -divergent schools of thought; and each finds justification for its -belief in the greater usefulness of its particular claw for some -particular type of ice work. - -In general, heavy claws are better for a heavy man, light for a -light. Ten-point claws are better than eight for a large foot, and -six-point claws are hardly worth their weight in carrying. A heavy -claw, with long, sharp points, which suffer in contact with rock, is -worth its extra weight if some big ice expedition is in prospect. At -the same time, a good climber can, if he is prepared for the extra -labour and for the more careful technique which their use requires, -accomplish with safety all the ice work to be found on normal climbs -with a lighter claw of slightly shorter points. This lighter, rougher -type will be more useful to him for mixed ice and rock climbing, as -he will be able to sacrifice its shorter and inevitably more blunted -points with less regret, while he can retain the claw over every kind -of surface. The necessity of constantly putting off and on the long, -sharp claws on mixed climbing, to avoid turning their points, has the -drawback of losing time, and, still more important, of changing the -action of the leg and the feel of the feet. Consequently the rhythm -of foot and leg has to adjust itself, after each change, to the new -character of surface and movement. Whereas the claw which can be worn -all day if the conditions demand it, regardless of rock or blunting -surface, and which can be thrown away or resharpened when it has -suffered sufficiently, while it may call for more skill and effort -for its secure use on long, steep passages of hard ice, possesses the -compensating advantage of keeping the action constant, without change -to the feel of the feet, to the rhythm, or to the greater or lesser -security of the tread. - -On the other hand, the finer, heavier claw, by which I mean the claw -of the Eckenstein pattern, has the merit of being the only claw at -the present time in which both the metal is rightly wrought and the -points are shaped and placed under the foot with any scientific regard -for their use. It is also the only type which it is safe to wear on -hard ‘black ice’; which, even if rarely, is occasionally found on big -summits in the Alps or on sunless northern faces. - -Of course the claw must be made exactly to fit the boot on which it is -used, and it must fasten and take off easily and securely. - -The theory of the use of the claw, with all the various positions of -the feet required, can only be dealt with in a monograph to itself, and -this has been already more than adequately done.[13] It is sufficient -for the commencing mountaineer to know that he has to learn how to -use claws, and that he cannot do so effectively without preliminary -practice. This practice should be on a glacier, and under direction; -no man really discovers what the claw will enable him to do until he -has seen what confidence and skill can accomplish in the conquest of -angle and of natural nerve revulsions. The movements are not entirely -natural or self-suggesting, more especially those of descending or of -traversing on very steep slopes. The masters of the art can walk, and -sustain weights, sideways or straight upon their feet, up to angles of -70 degrees or more. An ordinary climber can learn to move with comfort -on angles, of good surface, between 55 and 60 degrees. - -When we are on claws, the snow-shuffle and the normal forward swing -of the walking foot, heel and toe, have to be forgotten. The foot is -lifted rather higher, and is planted cleanly on the ice, without the -usual forward scrape. The high, clear lift of the foot must become -mechanical, otherwise the points will catch on boot or puttie, and a -nasty trip or fall may result. The downward pressure or thrust of the -foot varies in force according to the angle and the hardness of the -surface. To prevent the points working loose in the holes they make, -the foot has to be placed at once in the position and at the angle in -which it will have to sustain the weight of the body passing across -it. A balance climber who has mastered the tense, dancing action of -the foot as it is set upon a rock hold will have to learn little new, -except the habit of the higher lift and the more vertical plant. - -In ascending, our object is to keep the feet pointing forward and -straight as long as the angle will allow us to; only turning the -toes outward when we can no longer get the heels down. On most ice -it is sufficient if we get hold with two points of the claw alone; -and on a fair surface we can walk straight-foot up very steep angles, -trusting only to the two points on the toe. Up softer steep surfaces, -or literally precipitous angles, we adopt a crab or sideways walk. We -descend steep angles with the knees bent and the toes forced down. -The ankles have to, and soon do, acquire an increased suppleness and -strength, in claw practice. - -Perhaps the most difficult task for the beginner is to learn the art -of walking and balancing upon flexed ankles, while traversing across -steep faces. To strike all the points in neatly and strongly sideways, -and with a flexed ankle, so that the flat of the sole may meet the -surface cleanly and without a scrape, takes some practice; but slab -climbers, who have suppled their ankles by foot-clinging upon steep -rock angles, will find themselves a day or two’s frog-marching to the -good on ice. - -Practice alone will bring us confidence in the new adjustments, or -allow us to feel as securely in balance above a foot inclined at a -high angle, over a bent ankle or a curved leg, as upon a right-angled -hold of rock or ice. Once confidence has come, the sense of security -in the attachment of the claw to the ice enables a freedom of movement -astonishing at first to anyone accustomed only to the feel of the -ordinary boot-nails on ice steps. - -This additional and confident security, which the claw gives to our -foothold, almost eliminates the chances of what are wrongly termed -‘accidents’ on ice; the breaking foothold, the faultily placed foot, -or the slide of the sole on a bad surface as the transference of the -weight produces a change in the direction of the leg-thrust. We can -balance, therefore, on steep angles far more boldly, and keep our hands -free for better purpose. A strong party on claws, in a couloir of -uniform surface or on a sound ridge of mixed ice and rock climbing, is -often free to do without the rope at all, if it so pleases. The rope -is to guard against the results of ‘accidents’ to individual members; -and competent icemen, if they are released from the distraction of the -rope, and able to concentrate on their own good progress and safety, -have all the less temptation to commit ‘accidents.’ - -Once we have mastered the movements and become confident, we begin -to distinguish between varieties of ice, and to vary our claw craft -accordingly. For instance, in alpine ‘grainy’ ice there are three -ordinary varieties: hard, soft and rotten. ‘Rotten’ ice does not lie -in the Alps to more than the depth of an inch or two, though it is -found of a greater thickness in other continents; when we find it in -the Alps, we clear it away with the axe, to leave a firm tread for -the claw on the good ice below. Hard and soft grainy ice have their -several adjustments, whose differences have to be learned by practice. -Hard ice will usually be found lying at high angles, so steep that we -shall sometimes be unable to get more than the hold of a single claw -point. Experience alone can make us feel as safe upon the one talon as -we have learned to feel upon a single boot-nail on sound rock. For work -of this advanced character, for which the heavy, long-pronged claw is -better suited, the best practice can be found upon the big fall-ice -of dry glaciers. We soon discover, in such practice, that balance is -easier when we are confident to move fast, a resuscitated platitude; -and that, while moving, we are satisfied with a single point where the -whole ten would not have seemed superfluous, had we halted to admire -the panorama. But holds, on ice as on rock, are not intended to be held -in perpetuity. - -The claw is not only useful upon steep ice: on hard repellent snow it -spares us the penance of stamping or scraping steps. It is equally -reassuring to foothold and nerve on ice-lacquered rocks, or on broken -rock surfaces coated with wind-snow or glaze. In a bad season--that -is, a season during which snow has been frequently falling, and the -rocks are surpliced in various blends and qualities of snow, frozen and -refrozen--the claws are often retained for the whole day, and become -as natural to the feel of the feet as the more usual boot-nail. It -is sometimes even difficult to remember if they are on or off, until -they are removed, when the feet become as helpless as they do when -skates are first detached. In a snowstorm, for a descent, they should -always be put on; and even in clear weather and on good footing it -is an immense reassurance to the leader of a tired party ascending -or descending a couloir or slope of suspicious or ‘mixed’ surface, -if he can count upon the extra security that claws will give to the -deteriorating footwork of his party. - -Again, on those early, fasting, glacier crawls by lamplight, with which -most of us are familiar, when we are expected to balance, with cold -joints and often without the protection of the rope, along crevasses -and walls which may be easy enough by daylight but seem pulsing with -danger and dread in the darkness, claws come as a great safeguard; -their tactile value is a reassurance to eyes and to feet still leaden -with insufficient sleep and superabundant cold. - -The evening descent of a glacier, dry or partly snow-covered, with its -crevasse jumping, wearisome for tired legs, and its balance traversing -on ice too slippery for jaded feet or day-polished boot-nails, becomes -again a delight if it can be taken directly and at a rush, with the new -surety of foothold and the change of muscle movement that follow the -putting on of our claws. Straight and time-saving lines through glacier -falls can then be ventured, even with men dragging heavy sacks or heavy -legs, if they have once the new feel of dancing security under their -feet. - -It is worth while putting claws on even for the short but offensive -descent of the snout of a glacier. They crackle crisply down its -pebble-pimpled wrinkles and make light gliding of its glassy -declivities. - -A belated party returning crossly at night down the breakers of a -big glacier whose surface has thawed only to be refrozen later to a -polished, leg-racking ice-slide, will save temper and re-roping and -time if the men stop to put on their claws. Two midnight descents of -the Mer de Glace in this condition, without claws, are among the most -penetrating and undignified of my remembrances. - -On the steep sides of moraines, or on new snow lying on grass, claws, -if they happen to have been brought, save much back-sliding. On -slippery rock surfaces, such as snow-slimed slate and the like, I have -found light claws of constant use. - -Finally, we need not take off our claws, if they are light ones, for -every rock section of a climb where rock and ice are alternating. On -much easy soft rock they are of assistance; and even in steep climbing, -if once the novelty of the feel is mastered and the foot has got -accustomed to the precautionary tread that protects the points, claws -have often a positive value greater than the mere effort we save by not -removing them. - -To learn how to use claws, however, does not relieve us of the -necessity of learning how to make and to walk in ice steps. Nor -(although this is a matter of more personal opinion) do claws in my -view justify climbers on big expeditions in substituting the small -ice-axe recommended by some of the great authorities upon claws, and -only intended for making an occasional step or for holding on, for a -good step-cutting axe, which has also the potentiality of the third leg -on general climbing. - -In practice on dry glaciers it is both profitable and amusing to -experiment in manœuvring on exceptional angles, or in walking up -between the vertical walls of crevasses. Such practice is good for -confidence and for training, and it is even of use to discover how -comparatively easy claws make it to get out of crevasses, or similar -impasses, without relying on the rescue of the rope alone. A climber -on claws, for this reason, can take a measure of liberty in solitary -climbing that would be folly for a man without them to allow himself. -No doubt, if amateurs were able to keep constantly in practice, and -had not each season to stop climbing when they have barely reached -their best, they would learn to move with equal freedom on angles -of this character at great heights. But as a matter of experience -no holiday mountaineer can entirely acquire the same feeling of -confidence and security if his ice slopes are subtended by dangerous -mountain walls or are situated on exposed tracts. Fatigue, diverse -air-pressures and, above all, the psychological effect of height -contribute to handicap him in venturing on claws risks which he would -laugh at on a twenty-foot wall on a glacier. Consequently we find that -most mountaineers on very steep, hard ice at great heights prefer to -cut steps to aid their claws. In mountaineering on a big scale we -usually begin to feel this need when the angle of the ice approaches -anywhere near to our limit of average performance upon claws in -glacier practice. It is more our sensation than the angle of the ice -slope which forces step-cutting upon us. And there is yet another -common occasion for steps. On ice which is covered with snow, where -without claws we should clear away the snow and make a step in the -ice, it is of course similarly open to us to clear it away and step -simply with the claw on the exposed ice. But, as a matter of fact, it -is generally the practice in such case to make a nick for the claw. -Unless the nick is made, the mass of snow round the clearing prevents -the foot from being placed conveniently and from providing a sense of -security commensurate with the sensational situation. Thus to secure a -good reassuring claw hold we should have to clear away an additional -quantity of snow, and we may just as well make a nick-step at once. A -step in ice when claws are worn need only be a nick for a proportion of -the prongs. It takes less labour and art to fashion than a step for a -boot. - -Again, ice at great heights is occasionally covered with a rotting -coating, or crust, through which the prongs cannot reach to the good -surface below. Here clearing the rotten ice will in any case be -necessary, and, for the reason given above, it is more comfortable and -as quick to cut through it and make a step at once. - -Where, also, ice is really hard ‘black ice,’ it has an iron quality of -surface, through which the prongs have to be driven with real force; -and they make clean, hard holes from which we have the feeling they -might slip out, as if from smooth metal sockets. Without steps, at -steep angles, balance on such ice is a very delicate matter, as this is -a branch of claw technique in which the Alps give us little practice. -The nerve of most men will call for auxiliary steps. But whether steps -are made or not, on such ice the rope must always be retained. - -For the average man, therefore, it is still needful to know how to -fashion and how to walk in ice steps; both for use on the brief -intervals of ice and snow on climbs where the amount of difficult rock -and the small proportion of ice in prospect have suggested leaving the -claws behind, and for occasions, of which some have been mentioned, -that arise out of exceptional mountain or personal conditions. - -[Sidenote: Cutting Steps.] - -We have then to learn how to cut and use steps on ice, at high angles, -in awkward places, or when complicated by certain conditions. Claws -cover the rest of the ice field. - -A man who sets himself to learn how to cut steps well must begin by -practising on ice. Theory can only help him to avoid certain false -positions. A word from a mentor on the spot will save aching shoulders -and blistered hands, and be of far more use than many books. Book-lore -has rather hindered than helped us by some of the theory it has set -down. - -It is natural that amateurs who had the example of golfing and -other ‘arm-movement’ sports on free angles before them should have -been attracted by the idea of a step-cutting ‘swing.’ This has been -therefore recommended as a saving of strength and an ideal in style. -Possibly many climbers besides myself have formalized their style and -retarded their acquisition of ease and security by practising the -acrobatic feats of balance which an attempt to swing from the hips -in step cutting necessitates. On ice slopes of an easy angle, where -we need no longer cut steps at all if we use claws, the swing may be -graceful. But on steep ice the swing from the hips is irreconcilable -with a secure balance. The most we can attain to is an interrupted -swing or ‘follow-through’ with the shoulders alone, to ease our pure -armwork. It is not unlikely that the appearance of body movement which -this shoulder swing gives to the whole coat of a master iceman, as -seen from behind, misled early students of the art, who were following -in ice steps, into the belief that they were watching their ideal -swing from the hips. But such a swing on steep ice is impossible. The -step-cutter is balancing in many cases on one foot, supposing him to be -cutting steps at wide ‘mountaineering’ intervals, or on the downgrade; -at best he is on two feet set in the same straight line. He cannot, -therefore, risk any swinging movement which would disturb his balance -above his single base line or point. Let anyone try the hip swing -standing thus on a single foot, or on feet alined at a wide interval on -the ground, even without the complication of the narrow ice step or the -obstruction of the side wall. He will begin to doubt the advisability -of our classic swing. Nor may a step-cutter let his swing travel -inward with the axe on to the slope; because it is the essence of good -step-cutting that the axe shall stop with a jerk, releasing itself from -the ‘stick’ of the point in the ice while it jars loose the section of -ice that it has split. The hip swing, therefore, if we attempt it, must -be checked at both its ends; and very little space remains between the -two checks to get the swing going. The steeper the ice the shorter the -axe-strokes, and the less and less the opportunity of introducing the -swing. As a further difficulty, no one but a craftsman trained in the -workshops could swing the whole body so exactly as to strike with his -point within a fraction of an inch of the spot required. In chopping -wood, which is done with the feet spread, an amateur can achieve this; -but if he is balancing on feet alined, it is beyond the skill of most -experts to swing from the hips, strike absolutely true, and at the same -time remain in secure balance. - -Even the shorter shoulder swing, which we use on slopes of easier -angle, where we can get some support for our balance, when standing -on the outside foot, by pressing the inside foot or the inside knee -against the ice wall, becomes impracticable when we are standing, as we -must be for half our cutting time, on the inside foot, with the outside -foot in a line behind us or swinging free to our poise. On steeper -slopes, where we have no margin of balance for any outward swing and -no room to get a support for the inside foot against the ice, the -shoulder swing becomes impracticable even when we are cutting off the -outside foot. On such slopes we are only free to use the short play of -the arms, and cutting becomes simply accurate ‘chopping.’ Not only on -these steep angles of ice, but on all awkward passages where we are not -placed comfortably for free cutting, but where we have to aim our steps -at cramped angles with bent arms or with one hand alone, our cutting -can be no more than chopping from the elbow, or sometimes only from the -wrist. Since, for men who wear claws, these are the only passages on -which much step cutting should be really needed, the body and shoulder -swings may be safely dropped out of the category of desirable ideals. - -The characteristics of a good cutter are accuracy of aim in making -the stroke, with the right inclination of the pick and the right jerk -of the point; good balance upon both feet or on one foot; and an easy -but restrained arm movement, so that he can continue the strokes -with smooth precision for an indefinite time. A man who has acquired -these will naturally use any easing of the slope in his favour, or -any facilities it may offer him for better foot balance, to lighten -his armwork by means of a follow-through with his shoulder. But if a -mountaineer begins to learn with the idea that he has to ‘swing’ in -order to cut well, he will expend most of his energy upon easy angles -where claws make it unnecessary to cut steps at all, or in recovering -his balance and making very bad steps upon steeper slopes--for the -short spells that his strength and nerves will stand. - -A good step-cutter need not ‘swing,’ but he also may not ‘press.’ It is -mechanically obvious that if a man is not swinging, but has his stroke -under muscular control throughout its duration, he will gain nothing, -and merely fight against himself, if he tries to force the stroke or -‘press’ before he arrests his point with the final jerk. Once the -stroke is started, a good cutter lets the axe fall of its own weight; -that is, he follows the stroke through with only just the amount of -control needed to direct the point until its contact with the ice. - -Each man must discover his own fashion of sketching out a step. The -sequence and arrangement of his strokes will vary with the quality of -the ice and with his position for cutting. - -Every step should slope slightly inward. The angle of the tread is of -more importance than the size of the step. On steep ice the inside or -back wall just above the step should be cleared away, to allow the shin -room and to let the leg stand upright above the foot. - -The outside edge of the step should never be cleared entirely or -flattened. The ice dust or fragments, if not too large, should be left -there, to pack under the foot and give it a further prop inwards. A -good step looks like a rough notch before it has been used; but after -the first foot has passed over, it should have taken the shape and size -of the sole, and look like its mould. - -Large steps or ‘buckets,’ such as the guides provide as the beginner’s -joy, are useless to men who wear claws, and more dangerous than small -steps for those who do not. A large step has a large uneven, or a large -smooth floor, upon which the sole is apt to slip about as the weight is -transferred. Its suggestion of moral reassurance is a poor compensation -for a spoiled balance. - -A step should be small, just fitting the foot and gripping the side of -the boot; the back wall should just prop the ankle for better balance. -It should be comfortable to leave as well as comfortable to step on -to. An experienced step-cutter will always prefer to make small steps, -not because of the saving of time, but because, on all but exceptional -passages, the small, close step gives him a better basis of balance for -his next reach-out and cut. Large buckets only become necessary when -the angle of the ice wall is so steep that there is no room for the -shin and knee to stand upright above the foot. A big slice has then to -be cleared away above the step, and this generally involves enlarging -the size of the floor of the step, especially if the cutter is not -expert. - -A man has to learn to cut off either shoulder. He must also be able to -cut steps with either hand alone, in order to have his other hand free -to take handholds on the exceptionally difficult passages or traverses -where these are found necessary. To aim a step with one hand needs -practice. To keep a firm grip on the axe shaft, more especially as this -gets iced, makes it important to secure a shaft that is well balanced -and easily grasped. It may well have some protuberance or collar which -prevents the hand slipping. For the same reason the sling is a sound -precaution.[14] - -To cut handholds in ice calls for a very fine touch. The best that can -be usually formed is no more than a steadying nick, over the edge of -which the glove can be hooked. The hand shapes the edge of the nick -to the curve of the fingers by pressure, and in the process the glove -freezes slightly to the ice. The hand can rarely give more than a -balance hold on ice. Security and anchorage must be given by the feet. - -Similarly, the hand or rather axe hold that we make by driving in -the pick above us, in order to help us over a bad step, is usually -inadequate. The pull that comes on the shaft with our weight must -always be from a direction different to that in which we drove in the -point, and the strain will either loosen the point or lever out the -section of ice which the blow has in part detached. To drive in the -pick straight and not on a swinging arc, so that it may remain firm -at an angle to take the pull of our weight in transference, requires -a kind of arm stroke very difficult to make with sufficient force in -hard, steep ice. - -For men without claws the scrambling method, which some leaders risk to -save labour in cutting, of alternating one good ice step with a scratch -for the other foot, covered by an axe hold, can only be excused by rare -circumstance. It is far better to take the little extra time required -for making sound steps under both feet. Men on claws, however, are -better able to use handholds and pick holds in ice. Their feet are firm -so long as the angle and their nerve allow them to stand upright in -balance. All they require is a balance hold, to cover them in starting -the next movement; for so much assistance a hand nick or a driven pick -can well be trusted. - -The step for the foot which is passing inside and next to the ice slope -can, to save time, be made smaller than that for the outside foot. For -a good party, without claws, the step for the inside foot need only be -a nick for the side of the boot, provided always that it is inclined at -the right angle. To use such steps it is obviously important that the -whole party should follow with the same foot. For men with claws there -is no need to make this differentiation. Wherever steps are needed for -claws, they may all be made of the same small size--just a sufficient -nick to take the side points of either claw. - -In cutting on a diagonal uphill, for men without claws, it is better -to make the interval between the steps shorter when the rising step is -to be made from the inside foot on to the outside foot. In rising from -the outside foot on to the inside foot a longer stride can be made in -balance, and the interval between steps can be made longer. - -In cutting diagonally on the downgrade, the contrary is the case. In -dropping from the inside foot on to the outside foot a longer stretch -can comfortably be made than from the outside foot on to the inside -foot. - -In cutting horizontally, a longer stretch can be made from the outside -foot on to a step for the inside foot, than vice versa. Trifling -distinctions; but a good cutter who remembers them will save the inches -on his alternate steps; and many inches saved on long ice slopes mean a -number of steps spared and minutes, even hours, economized. - -For men without claws, or not very expert, it is better to make steps -too near together than too far apart. Safe progress is the best -progress. This applies especially to cutting downhill. Until a climber -is thoroughly practised in lowering his weight on the bending of a -single knee, he will always find one instant of delicate balance in a -descending stride; and the longer the interval between steps, the more -difficult the balance, until the point comes at which he is reduced to -axe scraping, or shuffling himself down the ice leaning against his -hand. When he finds either help necessary, the step cutter should be -given warning at once that the intervals are too long. - -Cutting on the downgrade is usually found more difficult than cutting -uphill. At the same time, the securing of the right fashion and -inclination of the step is even more important on the downgrade than -on the up, since the balance in taking a down-step is more difficult, -not only for the cutter but for his following. The steeper the angle -at which steps have to be made downhill, the more awkward becomes the -balance; until, in descending at a very steep angle, the cutting has -practically to be done with one hand. For this reason, on very steep -slopes it is better to cut short descending zigzags of an easier angle, -even in narrow couloirs where economy of time and labour would point to -a vertical ladder. - -Where there is no room for a descending or an ascending zigzag, it -is better not to attempt to make steps for the side-length of the -foot, but to descend or ascend face inward, cutting with one hand a -perpendicular ladder of ‘pigeon-holes,’ or steps shaped like small -church apses, to be used both by the boot-toes and the hands. For men -on claws a vertical ladder of nicks, for the fingers and the two front -points of the claw, is all that is needed. - -In cutting zigzags for men without claws, besides making allowance -for the different size and length of step and interval needed for the -inside and outside feet, the turning-step at the corner has to be made -of different size and shape. It should always be larger in size and -semicircular at the back, so that the climber can pivot round in it on -his toe, without hitch, until he faces the other way. It is well to -provide a good hand-nick or an obvious hold for the pick, conveniently -placed above the turning-step. - -Steps upon hard, overhanging ice, or upon ice near the perpendicular, -are practically impossible to make or use with any real security. -The chief difficulty is to make any sound hold for the hands, such -as may keep the body in balance above the feet. It is also generally -impracticable upon perpendicular or overhanging ice to cut away -sufficient ice in the slope at the back of the step to allow the leg -to stand erect above the foot, especially if the tread is slanted -downward and inward at a safe inclination. When _tours de force_ of -this character are performed, it is usually upon ice which has frozen -in ‘waterfall’ fashion, coat over coat, so that it becomes possible to -cut through one coat and get a downward handhold between the strata of -ice. Such holds, of course, cannot be reckoned upon as dependable for -more than a balance lift with the hand. Claws will help us for such -nice feats; but they are best only attempted on practice glaciers, or -where the rest of the party is soundly anchored. - -On high exposed ridges we have often to deal, in traversing across the -faces of towers, with a mixed coating of snow and ice, in reality a -snow cake in process of transformation into ice by infiltration. The -snow has to be cleared away, and enough ice hacked from the rock to -leave us on the lower sill of the gap, so formed, a sufficiently firm -and broad ice edge for a step. This is fine engraving for a leader: -if he cuts too roughly, the whole plate may flake off and leave him -smooth, vertical rock to traverse; and if he stops too soon, the flake -below may similarly peel away when his weight comes on the step formed -by its upper edge. - -On glacier ice, any rib, crack or flaw in the ice will naturally -suggest itself as the groundwork of, if not the substitute for, an ice -step. A stone on the ice, or the pocket which it leaves when cleared -away, makes generally an adequate toehold,--certainly a hold for the -point of a claw. - -In cutting across ice flakes, or along narrow bridges through _séracs_, -if the bridge is solid enough it is best to make side-foot nicks along -one side of the crest. If it is not solid enough and the steps have to -be made along the actual edge of crest, it is well to remember that the -fit, and especially the exact length of the step, are very important. -The boot sole slips about on the top of a flat ice surface, and a step -on a narrow crest which is made too short or too long for the boot -renders the balance precarious. If claws are worn, the steps will be -unnecessary, and the party will use the side or truncated crest of the -bridge according to its solidarity and their own convenience. - -On glaciers, the flaking ice that we meet with on the faces of big -_séracs_ demands great nicety of touch. The steps are difficult to -make, as it is difficult to check the fracture at the right point. They -are difficult to use, because our weight may continue the work, and the -whole flake surface below our feet may come away. Claws are of real -service, as they grip without starting a line of downward fracture. If -we are without them, a deep pick hold must be secured, driven through -into a deeper stratum of ice, to protect the precarious foothold on the -flake surface or edge. Large flakes that boom or sound hollow to the -axe are best left alone. - -On ‘crusted’ snow, snow that has melted and refrozen to an icy -surface, which is often too hard to permit of footholds being kicked, -steps are best made by a dragging stroke with one corner of the -adze-blade along the face of the snow. Any attempt to swing or to cut -with the pick will result in the point sticking at every stroke, and -thus in very slow progress. On very hard, sticky surfaces, where the -pick sticks monotonously and does not split the snow-ice, and where -the drag stroke of the adze-blade will not penetrate, the corner -of the adze should be struck lightly in, and the axe shaft levered -sharply in the direction away from the step-maker. This will burst -out a small cube of ice behind the blade. Two such blows and jerks -are generally enough to clear a sufficiently long step for a boot. On -softer, sticky surfaces a single well-aimed jerking blow of this sort, -made by a single motion of the one hand, followed by a sharp, driving -kick with the boot, usually forms steps rapidly enough to allow of -the maintenance of a slow walking rhythm. Of course, to a party on -claws, such surfaces, which cannot lie at very steep angles, present a -pleasant ballroom or billiard-table vista of indulgent promenade. - -[Sidenote: Using Steps.] - -We learn to use steps before we are, usually, allowed to make them. But -we cannot use them until they are made. Hence the order I have followed -here. - -To use steps rightly calls primarily for good balance. A man must learn -to walk in steps upright, merely resting his hand or axe point against -the ice as he moves up or down from one step to the other. If he leans -inward, or hangs on to axe or handhold, he becomes a danger to his -party. The steps are not cut for the angle which his foot then makes -with the ice; he may easily slip, and the faintest jerk of the rope -will snatch his foot from the step. A man upright and balanced on his -foothold at the right angle can take a considerable weight or jerk if -he has but a second’s warning. A man on claws has double this power. - -In using a step a climber has not only a duty to his own balance -movement, but to every following member of the party. He must use it -exactly as it is made, and leave it as he found it. The foot must -arrive neatly and leave cleanly. A fractional mistread leaves for -the next man an uncertain or blurred step, if it does not ruin its -security. There may be no overtreading, and no twisting or turning of -the foot on any step, except on the turning-steps which are designed -for that purpose. - -At the turning-step of a zigzag the climber twists round face inward -on his toes. If the step is only cut for one foot, he must only use it -with the one foot, pointing it in the direction in which the imprint -indicates that the leader used it. Otherwise he will spoil the step and -get the sequence of his feet wrong. - -On steep ice our main difficulty is to pass the inside foot from -behind to in front, between our outside foot on its step and the ice -wall. Beginners and bad icemen are inclined to avoid this difficulty -by shuffling from step to step with the outside foot always leading, -protecting each change of foot with an axe hold. This is dangerous -and ruinous to the steps. On the very rare passages where it may be -found necessary,--for instance, on the few feet of traverse across -the face of an ice-glazed rock wall, or across a vertical ice bulge -in a couloir, where passing the foot is impossible,--the leader will -have cut a continuous ledge, on which he intends the feet to be thus -shuffled and without risk. Otherwise the inside foot must always be -passed in front, whatever the difficulty; and the better a man balances -and the less he leans inward and clings to the slope, the easier -becomes the passing of the foot. Where the wall is so steep that to -pass the leg and hip-bone means really a movement out of balance, the -leader may be trusted to have made some handhold above, if only for his -own protection. - -On steep ice, men on claws have to be very careful in passing the -inside foot, so as not to catch the prongs in the puttie or fastenings -of the firm foot. On the other hand a man on claws, secured to the ice -by his prongs and not merely by the friction of his sole, can flex his -firm ankle far more freely outward and allow his inside foot room to -pass. - -In descending a very steep ice staircase, it is important not only -to follow with the proper feet but to notice how the leader used the -steps. Steps on a descending ladder are not infrequently cut with -the intention that the inside foot should be dropped _behind_ the -outside foot as we stand sideways on a slope, and not passed in front -of the standing outside foot and then dropped, as in the more usual -movement for easier angles of descent. Step cutters should remember -the device. It is not only easier, on occasion, to cut a step in this -fashion vertically below and not on a descending diagonal, but it is -mechanically an easier movement of descent, on a steep wall, to lower -the inside foot thus behind the standing foot than to pass it in front. - -On a diagonal descent, if the shorter legs of a following man find the -steps are made too far apart for his descending balance, and he has no -time to make fresh ones, he will sometimes find it safer to turn right -round and descend the steps backwards, turning his other cheek to the -wall. His outstretched toe can reach farther in this attitude. It is -not sound for more than a few steps, and not dignified; but dignity -must be sacrificed to security if the steps are already made and it is -too late to protest, and it is better to arrive cleanly with the toe -on a step, even the wrong way round, than to scrabble down insecurely, -leaning against the ice with thigh or hand. - -It is often asserted to be the business of the second man to ‘finish -off’ the leader’s steps and enlarge them. This has grown out of the -mistaken belief that large steps are safer than small, well-shaped -ones. The bettering may, on occasion, be done by deliberate arrangement -between two men. A return by the same route may be intended, when the -larger steps will endure better through the heat of the day. Or if -there are weaker icemen in the party it may save time to divide the -labour of making the specially good and numerous steps they need. -Otherwise the alteration is quite unjustifiable and improper. The best -cutter presumably is leading, and he will have made the step of the -right shape to start with. If it has been good enough for him to stand -upon and cut ahead from, up or down, it is good enough for the party -to follow upon. A second working-over of the step risks spoiling it. A -patched step is never as good as a clean step, cut just to the right -point and left raw for the kick of the foot to finish and to mould. If -he does not spoil it, a second man by re-cutting postpones his real -business, which is to emphasize the mould of the step still further -by the right planting of his foot. If he has time to spare from his -functions of anchoring the leader or the men behind, he can employ -his hands better elsewhere. He may make additional handholds for -balance on bad passages, or, by arrangement with the leader, introduce -intervening steps, to save the leader time and to favour a weaker -following. If he introduces steps, he must be careful not to upset -the sequence of feet for which the leader is cutting the main line of -steps. He may, also by arrangement, devote himself to breaking up and -dispersing any large fragments of ice left about the steps, though not, -of course, to clearing out the small stuff which is expressly left to -take the imprint of the foot. He thus incidentally relieves his party’s -bottled-up emotions by offering a fair target for the abuse from below -which follows such clearing up, but from which the leading step-cutter -must always be exempt. It is a graceful concession on a leading -step-cutter’s part if, when he is doing his own clearing as well as -cutting, he recollects that his following have heads as well as feet. - -Men following on claws, in steps, nicks, or only claw-tracks, are freer -to vary their sequence of feet or their fashion of using steps; the -good hold of the prongs is more than a substitute for the nice fit of -the correct foot to the mould of a step. But both for retention of -rhythm and for security it is better as a rule to follow the leader’s -tracks and save the time which must be spent in selecting new treads. -This applies more especially to exposed hard ice where the rope is -retained. Men moving without the rope may prefer to digress from the -actual treads and find unbroken holding surface for their own claws. -The leader’s general line should, however, be followed. - -[Sidenote: The Rope on Ice.] - -On ice, if the rope is retained, as it will be on exacting slopes by -all parties without claws and by many parties with claws, it is worn -in its normal fashion, with the waist-knot under the left shoulder and -on the side towards or away from the slope according to the direction -of the zigzag. One hand, generally the right, holds a short length of -slack, as a precaution against jerk and to leave a margin for a longer -or shorter stride in our own or our front man’s advance. The rope -should never be quite taut. If both hands are required for a moment, to -use the axe or to take a handhold, and the slack has for the time to -be dropped, we must regulate our distance carefully, step by step, from -the man in front, so that the rope to him continues to hang in an easy -curve, which will neither catch on the ice nor be jerked by an extra -length of stride on his part. We expect the same care from the man -behind us. - -On hard grainy ice it is useless to attempt to belay the rope with the -axe, as is possible on snow where the rope can be looped round the -driven shaft. Corrective measures must be left to the firm balance on a -good step or on fast claws, and to the spring that the arm, holding the -slack, may be able to give to the rope before the jerk of a man sliding -comes upon our waist. If a man slips, our natural inclination to lean -inwards towards the slope and get some clamp with the axe or hand must -at all costs be unlearned and avoided. Once the body is no longer in -balance, nor weighing upon the steps, the feet are easily snatched from -their hold. - -On soft grainy ice it is sometimes possible to make a belay by striking -in the pick at a sharp downward inclination above us, and looping the -rope round the pick and close to the ice. The shaft must then be held -rigid in its first position. Unless the footholds are exceptionally -bad, this anchor is not more secure than that given by good balance on -the feet alone. And men are very apt, when a friend slips, to throw -their own weight inward upon the shaft in a clutch of security, thus -pulling the shaft down and loosening the pick from the one angle at -which it could have been of any service as a belay. - -On zigzags it is of no use trying to keep at even distances on the -rope, no matter how even the pace. The intervals must alter as the men -pass to and fro on the bends. The rope has to be taken in, as slack -in the hand, and again paid out, as we cross below or above our front -man on zigzags ascending or descending. The turning-step is usually -made face inward in ascending and face outward in descending, though -occasionally it is safer to make it face inward on a descent also. The -face-inward turn has two advantages: one, that we make the turn on the -toes and not on the heels; and two, that if we are using a pick hold -at the turn or balancing with our axe touching the ice, we have not to -make either the change of hand on the shaft of a fixed axe, or the -awkward swirl round of the whole axe outside us and back again on to -the ice, which a face-outward turn demands. During either turn the rope -should be held high, and clear of the feet. - -Balance is always easier when moving in steps at a fair pace; and -steps of stationary comfort for turning or special anchoring, and -large enough for both feet, are only made at intervals, generally at -the end of the zag. Consequently it is not always best to follow step -for step with the step-cutter’s necessarily slower progress. If we do -so, we are constantly having to wait standing on one foot, or with -our legs straddled apart on two steps. It is better to pause in the -turning-steps and make up time on the series between them. For example, -the second man secures his leader from a turning-step, and can wait -until his rope is nearly out. He then follows more rapidly up or down -the staircase. He gathers up the rope as he goes if his leader is -still cutting, or, on worse passages, the leader takes it in as the -second ascends. His natural halts will be at the turning-step of a zag -or at his leader’s last anchor step. This method is of particular use -when, as often in a couloir, it is safer and more comfortable to make -our longer pauses under the rocks at the sides, and not all to move -harmonically in criss-cross up the centre. Men on claws may prefer -to be without the rope in such places; in this case they make their -advance when they please, and are free to halt on any more comfortable -nicks to allow for the leader’s slower advance. - -For continuous following up steps, the rope and axe are usually held -together in the outside hand, the inside hand being left free to take -balance touches against the ice or to take in the slack. For slower -movement, advancing one at a time, the axe is used for the touches or -for resting against the ice during the pause on each step; this saves -the chill to the fingers. The axe is at these times held across the -body with both hands, the outer of the two hands also holding the slack -of the rope. - -On very steep or otherwise dangerous ice we shall only be moving one at -a time. In this case the leader cuts a large anchor step to which he -brings up his second; and the halts will be made by the party only at -the recurring large steps. If the ice, and party, are sound enough for -continuous progress, we shall generally be pausing on steps made only -for the one foot: it is clearly of advantage, at such times, to have -the freedom which claws allow us--especially if we are unroped--to move -on until we have found a really comfortable nick to wait upon. - -On traverses or zigzags, unless we can reach a very good turning or -anchor step from which to pull in the rope of the man following, we do -better to divide our stance between two steps. Our feet are then well -planted to resist a pull coming diagonally or from straight behind us. -On a traverse, if we are facing forward, standing either on one or two -steps, it is best not to turn and watch the man following, which will -prejudice our balance, but to trust to the feel of the rope to tell us -what is happening. The rope on ice with its smooth movement is even a -surer telegraph than on rock. Moreover, in the event of a slip behind -us, we have not only the sound of the slide as warning, but the time -taken by a slide down ice, perceptibly longer than by a fall over rock, -gives us extra seconds to brace at our strongest. We are more prepared -to do this if we keep our body and head turned in the same direction as -our feet, than if we first turn round and then have to recover the best -holding position. - -[Sidenote: Glacier Work.] - -On glaciers, besides the task of making and using steps, there is the -more serious mountaineering business of finding the best route, up or -down, or even any route at all. The climber may or may not have been -able to help himself by preliminary reconnoitring. If not, and he finds -himself upon an unknown glacier, he has one or two general principles -to keep in mind. - -The shady side of the glacier--there is usually one more sheltered from -the sun--may offer the best chance of finding closed-up crevasses: or -of discovering bridges, connecting flakes, etc., such as may help him -through any system of open crevasses which extends right across the -glacier. - -On a curving glacier, the concave side may present to the eye -the steeper and more threatening waves of surface ice, since the -retardation will be greater on this side. Actually, the ice on this -concave side, of slower movement, will be less intricate and the -crevasses more contracted. Often the steep crests of ice will be -merely surface survivals of crevasses, and their bases will be merged -continuously in one another, forming broad glacier dimples easy to -negotiate. - -On the convex side, the ice crests of swifter movement may appear to -be more negotiable, but the crevasses will be open and deep; and on -this side there is always more possibility of finding a secondary -or tertiary system of edge-crevasses intruding upon the normal -side-system. These crevasses are produced by the friction of the -glacier against its containing walls, and, like other crevasses, by -the unevenness of the rock bed; but being on the convex curve and -unsubjected to compression they not only open but stay open. Most -edge-crevasses are usually much covered with moraine and stones, on -lower glacier, and by many treacherous forms of rotting snow on upper -glacier, and they are thoroughly unpleasant to work through. It is best -to avoid them by turning out towards the middle of the glacier, until -the side-rifts run out in harmless cracks. - -On a glacier of approximately straight descent the ordinary systems -of crevasses are three in number: these various marginal crevasses, -transverse crevasses, and crevasses running lengthways down the fall. - -The transverse crevasses are caused by the falls in the rock bed of the -descending glacier. They are best crossed on a direct line of ascent -or descent of the glacier. According as the glacier is humped in the -middle, or flat and even hollow, these crevasses will be found, in -the first case, less open nearer the sides of the glacier, and in the -second, less open towards the flat or concave centre. - -The third system, of lengthways crevasses, is due to the opening out -of the containing walls of rock, or to long ‘hog-back’ elevations in -the rock bed below, which thrust up the centre of the glacier. This is -the more dangerous system to negotiate. Crevasses, especially those -whose edges are concealed, must be approached, for crossing, at right -angles to their run. A party ascending or descending the glacier -lengthways will have constantly to be swinging its whole length on -the rope, wheeling until at least two of the party at a time will be -approaching the crevasse at right angles to its line and their former -line of march. So long as the glacier is clear of snow, the crossings -can be thus safely, if tiresomely, managed; but when the crevasses are -snow-covered, or where we meet lengthways and transverse crevasses -interlinked, it calls for fine icemanship to prevent sometimes all the -party finding themselves moving along the same line as the crevasse -they intend to cross, or even over its snow-covered length. - -Where a glacier, straight or crooked, has one of its sides unsupported -by a rock wall, and is therefore falling away at its own edge, or where -its marginal and transverse crevasses have joined hands, a disagreeable -system of curving crevasses must be expected. This is difficult to -prospect, and dangerous to unravel if it is under snow. To locate the -direction of a ‘scimitar’ crevasse at one point, and avoid it or cross -it correctly, does not protect us against its later loop of unexpected -trespass upon our route. The side of the falling away of a glacier -should as far as possible be avoided, in spite of the temptation of its -easier-looking surface ice. - -On large glaciers, where two systems of big crevasses, each equal and -still active, have met, we find the worst problem of all: that is, -separate ‘cubes’ or islands of ice with crevasses on all their four -sides. It leads only to disappointment to attempt to get through a big -system of this character. Fortunately it is generally recognizable -from a distance by its upstanding squared summits. For a space, also, -round the junction of any two glaciers these turbulent effects of -cross-pressure must be expected, and the area entered with caution. - -On high snow-covered glacier, the huge rotund depressions or mills -cannot be disregarded. But they can usually be skirted closely with -confidence. They are the result of strains that, fortunately, do not -create subsidiary or flanking clefts. They resemble mammoth ice sea -urchins, not glacial star-fish. - -On glaciers of rapidly changing angle and surface, a disagreeable -phenomenon is the formation of an upper crust of ice, or frozen snow, -over lesser depressions of the mill type. The crust gets separated from -the fall of the surface below it, and while it continues to present a -harmless appearance to all but very close inspection, it may surprise -a whole party by letting them down simultaneously into a sufficiently -startling hollow. The situation is generally more sensational than -serious. Similarly, in winter, pools are formed in glacier hollows and -frozen over. Then they are covered with snow, and the water drains from -under the crust. Thus ice-traps are formed very difficult to detect by -the eye, but which sound hollow under the testing tap of the axe point. -On covered glacier the axe may never rest idle. - -Glaciers in general, like rivers, alternate between distinct falls and -more level slopes of smooth shoot or broken rapid. The routes through -the smooth sections are easy to trace out from above, more difficult -from below. The falls are more difficult to unravel from above, on a -descent. In coming down large dry glaciers we can assume that a fall -rarely extends equally broken right across the glacier; and that there -will be a long bending eddy of smoother surface dallying close round -the edge of the more broken section, which may afford us a passage -through or round the rapids. On a small or steep glacier, where the -fall visibly occupies the whole breadth of the glacier, and there is -no eddy round it, it is useful first to discover if there may not be -a direct central line which appears to force through the fall a long -arrow-point of lazier, more level flow, such as we look for when we are -canoeing down rapids. Failing either of these, on a small steep glacier -the fall is often best skirted on the concave, or on the shadowed -side of the glacier. Only in rare years, of hot seasons following -mild winters, do alpine crevasses, or more often one great crevasse, -sometimes extend right across a narrow steep glacier, and offer no -through route, or bridge. As a last resort then it may be necessary to -take to the rocks at the side of the glacier and circumvent the fall. - -To get off a glacier at the right point in the evening, and also to -lose no time and patience when we turn down on to the big glaciers in -the early morning, it is our business to have noted beforehand from -above the lie of the crevasses, and the points where it will be best to -start crossing their trend. Many glaciers tempt us with long sloping -lines of good going where their crevasses slant inward and upward from -the margin. If we follow these without pre-examination, we either -find our entry carried out and across to where the systems meet and -produce difficult ice, or our exit balked of a landing-place. A few -resolute traverses of the side crevasses, based upon observation, will -often take us on to the master-diagonal, that launches us clear of the -central fall or lands us on our chosen marge. - -It will be seen that it is of value to train the eye to read a glacier -from above, and mark out the best route, before we descend upon it. -This inspection should be made not only of the glacier on to which -immediate descent is intended, but of all the glaciers commanded by the -ridges upon which we are climbing in a given season. The information -may be invaluable for a future day, and the practice will serve -conveniently to develop glacier prescience and glacier instinct. In -addition, we secure a general idea of the condition of the glaciers in -a particular season, or in a particular locality, which will assist by -analogy to the unravelling of other glaciers which we may have been -unable to prospect. A good iceman not only notes from afar, but retains -his recollection of the route he noted when he is actually on the -glacier and exposed to the constant temptation of following lines of -deceptive least resistance. A number of mountaineers learn to observe, -but few to remember; and fewer still will uphold memory against the -evidence of the moment. - -Conversely, it is valuable practical training to note, when we are on -a glacier, the character of its rock walls, and the points at which -the ice could be reached on a descent of the last rocks from the -surrounding peaks. The rock wall just above a glacier is like a sea -cliff, smoothed below, and presents a perpetual problem, of ascent -or descent. Long returns may often be avoided by our recollection of -inspections of a particular wall, or by deductions from our memory of -the fashion of rock finishes found on the local glaciers. - -Glaciers vary from year to year, and change slightly from week to week, -and even on familiar ground it is wise to keep ourselves up to date by -using all points of observation for the rediscovery of their annual or -local variations. - -With a few general principles as guide, the instinct that comes with -experience as our aid, and backed by the usual allowance of climbers’ -luck, there may be said to be scarcely a glacier, in the Alps at least, -which cannot be traversed by patience and skill in all but exceptional -seasons. An additional measure of precaution must of course be -conceded, if we are following a line after noon or after sunshine which -we could take on trust in the frozen hours before sunrise. And even -before sunrise, in negotiating steep glaciers, dry or snow-covered, a -very careful eye has to be kept upon the chance of ice avalanches or of -the fall of a _sérac_. For this risk is not confined to the afternoon -hours, when they are most likely to fall. A warm night, or frost, tepid -wind or rain, will put the last touch to the career of many vagabond -pinnacles depraved by the sun of previous days. - -Where we can command the distant glacier above us, it is not difficult -to mark the dangerous pinnacles and _séracs_, and to calculate their -direction of fall should they choose for it our moment of passage. -Otherwise, if we are launched in the morning, without prospect, into -the blind intricacies of a big ice fall, the traces of previous falls -must be our signals. They will be either scars, from which we draw -conclusions according to their appearance of age or newness, or, more -frequently, the remains themselves of a past fall, shattered fragments -of ice. From the surface of the blocks we know whether the fall was -recent or not. If the surface is blue and new in the morning, it has -been a recent or night fall, and another may be expected; the same if -it has only the rime of frost upon it. If the surface has melted at all -and been refrozen since the fall, it is the fall of the day before or -of still older date, and it need not be especially regarded in making -an early morning traverse. The differences are notable, and a practised -eye, backed by knowledge of the weather immediately preceding, can say -within a day or a night when the fall took place, and whether it was -a day or a night fall, and judge accordingly, with some probability -of correctness, when a similar fall may be expected. Again, if there -are traces of several falls of different dates, the passage is exposed -to the raking of more than one periodic _sérac_ mass, and it must be -avoided. If it is but a single old fall, of a complete _sérac_, which -no expert will have difficulty in discovering, it cannot fall again and -may be disregarded. - -After the sun has once risen, all commanding and large _séracs_, -even if there is no trace of previous falls, must become objects of -suspicion, if we have to pass below them. Their period of decline and -fall is proceeding, and its close cannot be calculated nearer than -within a few hours. - -But a skilled party, with claws and experience, need not be afraid -of adventuring on to a crossing of the wettest, bluest, and -nastiest-looking _séracs_, provided that they can work out a route of -safe footing and that the threatened zones are visible, and therefore -avoidable. So long as snow does not conceal the cleavages or muffle the -frailties, the difficulties of ice, as such, are a delight to master. -With a good axe, good claws and a good friend, to set one’s feet on the -crisp spring of morning ice and feel battle joined with the white, blue -and silver giants of a glacier fall, I know no excitement so sanely -joyous; and no sound so thrilling as the clean hollow smack of the axe -and the bell-like rustle of the falling ice-chips returning from the -deep crevasse; and yet again, no exultation more healthy than to look -back through the glittering labyrinth of turquoise and grey precipice, -of sapphire chasm, fretted spire, and lucent arch, flake and buttress, -and see the little serpent of our blurred blue steps, edged with the -tiny winking prisms of sunlit ice-dust, soaring, dipping, circling, -hazarding on its absurd adventure: surely a connected thread of very -happy human purpose, asserting its gay consequence triumphantly through -the heart of the wildest and most beautiful of the conflicts between -nature’s silent armies. - -[Sidenote: Snow-covered Glacier.] - -Higher glaciers, and the higher reaches of glaciers covered with snow, -are the most complex of all mountain problems, and their unravelling -is the final test of mountaineering. They demand for their duality -of difficulty the mastery of snow and ice technique in combination; -and for their associated risk a fourfold measure of precautionary -skill; for on them we expect to encounter the ordinary risks of snow -superimposed upon the hidden, and therefore magnified, possibilities -of danger on ice. The great icemen, those who can disregard a late -descent after a long day, and by memory, or by the ice instinct which -is the emanation of recollected experience, are able to lead a tired -party unerringly through the fantastic, often invisible entanglements -of a snow-covered glacier system, intensified by sunshine, their own -faculties unimpaired by darkness, fatigue or danger, are masters of the -craft; and they are few enough for us to give them ungrudgingly the -title of genius. - -The peculiar risks of snow glaciers force upon us a reconsideration of -the numbers proper for a party. - -Solitary climbing is never justifiable on any type of expedition which -involves either snow or ice; in fact anywhere where the increase -in the so-called objective risk makes it impossible to observe the -super-precautionary conditions which must always limit a lonely -climber’s performance,--as elsewhere enumerated.[15] An expert on -claws may pass a day alone on a dry glacier, with the knowledge that -he is taking some definite risk. But anyone who ventures alone on -snow-covered glacier, whatever his skill, is giving to everybody, -except himself, a proof that he lacks the most important part of a -mountaineer’s mental equipment. - -The question as it affects a single climber is simple. With the -consideration of the justifiability of a party of two venturing on -snow-covered glaciers, the complications begin. A party of two, I have -said elsewhere, if they are experts, is the ideal party for most rock -climbing. For most normal mountaineering which includes straightforward -ice work the addition of a third to a strong party adds little except -a moral security, and diminishes the complete harmony in rhythm and -pace. On clear ice slopes the additional protection is small. If, as -between two men, one has not been able to check the other’s fall, the -third man will very rarely be able to stop the slip of both the others. -On snow slopes, except to share the mechanical labour or in certain -exceptional cases, already mentioned, to participate in the corrective -anchoring, two good mountaineers should not need reinforcement. But on -snow-covered glacier, where hidden crevasses come into question, not -only are two insufficient but even three may find themselves hard put -to it if two of them have to pull out the third from a bad crevasse. - -Some mountaineers have maintained, and in print, that it is never -necessary to fall into crevasses; that in every case a man with good -eyesight, knowledge of glacier signs and unfailing observation (all -of which the leader of a party of two must possess for _any_ type of -climbing) can always distinguish their unseen presence and locate their -line. This view is nearer the truth than the large number of climbers -who have never learned or never cared to use and train their senses -would be prepared to admit. In nine cases out of ten the crevasse is -really perceptible. But there is the tenth case, with which all men who -climb must on occasion have to deal, where there has been no visible -sign, and where the crevasse is discovered too late or is only escaped -by accident. And further, there is also the supernumerary case when the -crevasse _is_ visible, but when its crossing must yet be risked, as the -milder of several critical alternatives, and the consequences accepted. - -As the matter must still be considered one for discussion, and it is of -real moment to clear the ground for a sounder tradition than at present -regulates our diverse doctrine and chameleon practice, I shall mention -a few instances of what I have called the tenth case. - -In a recent alpine season a mild winter and a long hot summer produced -conditions of snow sub-surface entirely unfamiliar. Crevasses had -opened below long-established snow slopes of unimpeachable aspect. -Their coverings had become tenuous and fragile, but until mid-August -the upper surface of old snow presented no appearance of subsidence -or change. No eyesight could have prevented the falls that resulted. -Such a state of snow cannot be unique, or confined to the Alps; and, -in fact, the same phenomena, in a less subtle form, may entrap less -experienced mountaineers almost any season--guides as well as guideless -amateurs. Moreover, even where the crevasse shadow would normally be -visible, failing light may trick the best eye, a level sun may dazzle, -or low mist may wipe out all sign; and then our expert may go through -as easily as another. Few even of the most experienced guides but have -suffered the experience. Some have been through; others have had their -following drop through where they had passed unsuspecting; yet others -have only averted the break by good luck or corrective gymnastics. - -Again, there is the case when the presence of the crevasse may be -visible or suspected, but where its breadth is undiscoverable.[16] -Or, again, where the bounds are discoverable, but where their -criss-crossing may elaborate new risks. Suppose us to be two grave men -making the descent of a hanging glacier. We find ourselves faced with -the alternatives of returning up the peak, of sitting out possibly in -deteriorating weather, or of taking the chance of unravelling one of -those glacier cross-systems of spouting volcanoes, where the ice is -heaped and beaten up into snow-covered vault and dome, and only the -tinkle below our feet warns us that we are walking over the brittle -cupola of some hidden St. Paul’s. One of us might be pardoned for -breaking through here: and how shall one other extricate him? - -A more frequent, ‘supernumerary’ case is that of the bergschrund, with -its single bridge which we have to cross to get at our peak at all, -or to get home before night. In the morning it may have been secure; -on our return its security, or the reverse, has to be rediscovered -_ambulando_. The experience is common enough, and few parties of two -will be able to plead not guilty to having at some time taken the -flying chance. - -In these and similar cases precautionary and corrective icemanship -can do much to reduce the risk for the party of two. But unless such -a party climbs so as never to cross snow-covered crevasses at all, -which is to postulate absurdity, some risk there must always be of -a break-through. And if that once occurs, for a party of two the -situation is ten times as serious as for any greater number. For if -the fact that a man may excusably fall through may be considered -established,--and I shall assume that it is, sufficiently at all -events for practical mountaineers,--it is only a question of further -fortune whether the crevasse is so shaped that one of the party of -only two can rescue himself or even be helped materially by the second -man. Several corrective devices have been suggested, such as wearing -two ropes, keeping a hand-loop ready near our hand on the rope, -etc.--devices which are now used in the confidence that they form a -genuine safeguard. The intention of the double rope is that if one man -falls through, the other will untie one rope from his waist, and fasten -it to his axe, which he will drive in securely as a belay. The man -below will then pull on this rope, and the man above on the rope still -attached to him; thus securing that the two men will each be pulling -separately to raise the one weight. The effectiveness of the double -rope so used, however, assumes that the crevasse is one with open walls -and clean firm edges, which will allow the second man first to anchor -the one rope round his axe, and then move up and stand close enough to -the edge to be able to pull in the second rope while his friend below -does acrobatics up the anchored rope. But these are not the crevasses -into which any observant leader of a party of two has any right to -fall. Good men, if they fall, are trapped by snow-covered crevasses -of indeterminate edges, or by the midway breaking of a visible but -treacherous bridge. In such crevasses the fallen man will be under -the projection of a lip of snow. He will be hanging free, probably -unable to do more than touch the walls with his axe. The man above will -have all he can do to hold on; he may not be able to find secure snow -within reach into which to drive his axe for the belay; and his hands -will rarely be sufficiently free to untie one waist rope, drive the -axe and fix the rope to it, so that he can move up and clear away the -overhang. The ropes will cut deeply into the snow lip with the weight; -and the friction hold of the snow in which the ropes are embedded will -militate against the effective pulling upon his rope by either man. If -the two ropes are, as usual, tied to the waist, the one will probably -have twisted round the other; both will be jammed in this position in -the snow cut, and neither man will be able to distinguish on which -rope he is supposed to pull. Even if they have been kept clear before, -the cutting through the snow will twist the ropes and jam them, so -that they cannot be used separately for pulling at all. The projecting -snow will interrupt communications and interfere with any simultaneous -action in pulling from above and below. Nor can the man below, -suspended in air, really do much to help. Tie a rope round your chest -and a bough; drop ten feet on it, and then try to pull yourself up it! -And a man in a crevasse is much worse situated for attempting juggling -feats. The constriction of the rope alone will soon make him helpless -and later unconscious. The shock, the imminent peril and the cold will -contribute to weaken him for the strenuous efforts required. Further, -if the rope is tied, as it usually is, under the arm, the knot will -work up under his shoulder and practically put one arm out of action. -All the strength of the arm will be required for merely forcing down -the knot and noose, so as to keep it under the arm-pit; the moment the -arms are lifted to attempt a pull, the knot will force itself up and -half-paralyse the one arm. - -It has been suggested, as a partial solution, that the two men should -not rope at the ends of the rope, but keep some feet of loose end wound -round the body. Then if one falls in he can, with luck helping him, -release this slack and make a foot or thigh noose on which the body can -rest while suspended, thus relieving the constriction of the chest. -Anything that _may_ help is worth trying, and I should certainly advise -the method as giving a small extra chance in a bad situation. But this -only deals with one of many difficulties. - -Experience has again and again shown me that the man below becomes -incapable of active co-operation, from cold and shock if not from -constriction, before the men above, however prompt and expert they -may be, can arrange and carry out any effective scheme of rescue. I -have known of difficult situations where even two men above proved -insufficient for the complex task of retaining firm fixed anchors, -clearing obstructions and pulling up. In any case no mechanical device -can be equivalent to the power of a third man, and two men can never be -as safe as three. - -Once this is conceded, we may admit that a number of good mountaineers -will probably continue to hold the view that two is the best number for -many sorts of climbing; and that therefore parties of two, starting out -with the best intentions, will occasionally find themselves compelled -by the necessity of avoiding even greater risk to hazard the crossing -of snow-covered crevasses or bridges of dubious stability. They should -certainly then put on a doubled or a second rope. One of the two -rope-lengths when tied should be longer than the other. This runs risks -of twisting and is a nuisance, but in case of a fall it secures that -the ropes are at once distinguishable, and it should be prearranged -that the man who has fallen should always do his pulling upon this -looser rope. The second man should have the end of the looser rope -attached, not to his waist, but to his axe shaft. Whenever the leader -crosses an obvious bridge or pauses to probe, the second man should -plant the axe, with the loose rope attached, at once in the snow, and -hold the other, tighter rope in his two hands, ready for emergencies. -It is clear that on this method some practical use is made of the -protection of the second rope. If the leader goes through, the second -man avoids all the enormous difficulty of untying one of two taut -ropes, of fixing it to his axe, and then anchoring it, with the whole -weight of the man below dragging on him. The weight is on the one taut -rope round his waist; he has only to drive in the axe with its slack -rope already attached, and the fixed anchor is ready for the man below -to start pulling upon, while he himself at once has his hands free to -pull on the taut rope. Again, if the rear man falls in--which of course -he has even less excuse for doing--this method has the advantage of -keeping the second rope already loose and distinguishable in his hand, -to cling to or climb upon, and also of saving his axe for him. This -double advantage is some remedy for the fact that the leader, who in -this case will be the man left above, will have both ropes still fixed -to his waist, as on the old faulty system. I do not suggest that the -leader also should have the second rope attached to his axe. He must -have his axe quite free. - -It might be well also to adopt the plan of the few feet of loose end -wound round the waist, to make a foot noose with, if the circumstances -and position allow. - -When the double rope is worn, the rear man should always carry the -spare rope. If the double ropes are then, as is quite possible, twisted -and jammed in the snow groove, he has yet a third chance of making free -and quick connection with his leader; and unless, as I have said, both -men can begin instantly to use their full strength upon distinct ropes, -there is small chance that one man can get another out of an undercut -crevasse. - -In place of tying the looser rope to their axe, some men prefer to -compromise, and make a fixed loop in the second rope near their waist, -through which, in case of the fall of a man in front, they can thrust -the axe into the snow, and so get a provisional anchor. This loop in -the rope close to the hand, to snatch at or thrust the axe through -in emergency, is also used by men in larger parties when linked by -the usual single rope. The method has many objections; and all the -material security it gives is quite as usefully and less objectionably -obtained from the coil or so of slack we are accustomed to grip in the -hand. - -In the case of a larger party, if a leader or last man does fall in, -the first care should be to drive an axe, or axes, securely into the -snow, and loop the rope. One man must then approach the edge of the -crevasse and see the run of the rope, the nature of the pull, and the -clearance of overhanging snow, if any, which has to be made. If the -crevasse has the character of a bergschrund, with one lip higher than -the other, it is often easier to pull the man out from the opposite -side to that from which he has fallen. One, or, if the numbers allow, -two of the party must work round cautiously to the far side, taking -a spare rope to let down. A noose should be made at the end of the -rope before it is lowered. The stirrup for the foot can also well be -employed in such emergencies. In a party of three, on a suspicious -glacier, the spare rope should always be carried by the last man, and -not by the first man, as is usually done in guided parties. - -With the two ropes pulling from different sides the extrication is -fairly easy. If the farther lip cannot be reached, or overhangs as much -as or more than the near lip, there is nothing for it but to cut back -the lip of snow overhang above the suspended man until the rope is -cleared. This runs some risk of injuring the man below with the falling -masses; but the chance must be taken on occasion. The longer a man -hangs, the more helpless he becomes. Promptitude is essential. - -Keen sight is the first quality for a good leader on snow-covered ice; -to be able to remark not only every change of shade or colour or angle -on the surface immediately ahead, but also to be able to read the -surface well to right and left for its betrayal of crevasses that may -be continuing, better hidden, across his path. He must also know all -about glacier structure and the inclinations and aspect of surfaces -where hidden crevasses may be expected. Tinted glasses are, for many -men, an interruption to the reading of ice or snow, and often the -cause of bad leading. The man is fortunate who is able to do without -them when he is leading, or who finds enough protection in the clear -spectacles which best suit his sight. There is an exaggerated idea of -the chances of breaking ordinary clear spectacles which has little -foundation. They can be worn safely on almost all rock and ice; and -even on very severe rock, where they run some risk of smashing as the -head is raised past a ledge, they are as safe on the nose as in a -pocket. Except right up under the arm-pit, and not always there, there -is no contrivable pocket which can be sure of avoiding contact with -rock in some attitude of climbing. - -After our eyes--and our experience--we have still another criterion, -that of the hand. The probing with the axe point at every step must -become perfectly automatic, and begin of itself to function as soon as -sight or instinct makes us suspicious about the glacier surface. We -must have the right sort of axe point, one without a large protuberant -collar to the spike, so that we can probe with nicety of touch; and we -must get to know exactly the feel of our axe and the meaning of the -different resistances which its point signals to our hand. For this -reason it is well always to use the same axe or kind of axe. - -Where our eye or axe probe has given us reason to suspect a crevasse, -the next test is to flog the same spot lightly with the axe point. -In dealing with sun-soft surface this flick goes deeper, with less -exertion, and practice can make it a very accurate reporter upon the -consistency. This too is its merit in testing the thoroughfaresomeness -of visible bridges. Where also the snow cover is thin, the flogging -stroke tells us more quickly than the prod where sound footing ends and -the crevasse begins. - -Snow testing, like walking with the axe, should be shared equally -between the two hands. It is not only exceedingly useful to be equally -dexterous and sensitive with either hand, but the practice keeps -the muscular development even and the general condition of the body -proportionately better. - -When we are working through crevassed glacier the second man must -always watch the meaning of his leader’s movements, and halt and brace -at once if the leader checks. The others watch each the man in front -of him. It is essential to follow exactly in the steps on a glacier -of this sort, even though the windings of the leader’s tracks may -suggest many pleasant short-cuts to the tail of the rope. By watching -the men ahead we know when we must be ready to let out rope, so as to -enable the man in front of us, in his turn, to make a long step across -a dubitable crevasse or a short jump, and when we shall have to pause -and protect him with the rope, as his turn comes to start delicately -over a presumed bridge. To hold the rope taut is irritating, to jerk -it dangerous, and to leave it slack on the surface irritating and -dangerous; the correct touch comes with experience. - -The leader will always be on the look out; but the men behind will -naturally be following with less close attention. Therefore if the -leader comes upon a small crevasse or other easy obstacle too slight -to cause him an obvious check, he should warn the man behind of its -presence, as he strides on, by beating the spot with his axe; and the -signal should be repeated by each man following. - -Again if, when we are all moving together, we have checked in order to -make some awkward step or to test a bridge, we must remember that in -a few seconds the man behind us will be checking at the same place, -and we must slacken our pace at the right second to allow him time to -cross. It is common and aggravating error to hurry on again so as to -get into rhythm with the man in front, forgetting that the man behind -will have slowed up for our pause, and will be jerked or scuffled by -our omission to allow him the same margin. - -The same rule applies if we are serpentining rapidly down a glacier, -swinging so as to cross longitudinal or diagonal crevasses at the right -angle. If we resume the normal pace the moment we have swung ‘into -the straight’ again ourselves, we leave no time for the man behind to -finish his parabola or cross his bridge. This is a roguery ingrained in -all but the best of guides. - -Glacier craft, the ability to choose in anticipation the easiest line -down or up a volatile succession of semi-visible obstructions, and -to surpass them safely as they become concrete, can only become an -actual possession by long experience and unwearying observation. There -is a family likeness between whole groups of surface configurations -shaped by the same cause, which, however dissimilar their momentary -association, will recall to a recording eye some past occasion of -encounter, and will suggest to a cool head and skilful hands the -proven method of avoiding or defeating them in their new combination. - -Glaciers form our avenues of tempting approach, and, as often, of -tedious return. During the hours when human vivacity is on the wane -the higher ice falls are opening always wider eyes of watchful -malice. Towards their confounding not only ice craft but all the -qualities which produce the _collective_ strength of a party, from -temper to the sense of direction, must contribute in concert. Among -glacier ambuscades a party that has not found unity will fall to -pieces. They are yet more demoralizing to one whose leadership is in -commission,--that grievous blunder of divided responsibility, which, -arising out of the sociable conjunction of two or more self-contained -parties for the purpose of a single climb, leads too often through -disjointed action to failure, and even, as our chronicles bear witness, -to disaster. - -A really united rope, well led, which can work through disheartening -glacier falls long, and late, and _like_ them, has graduated in -mountaineering; and may be considered to hold the freedom of the great -peaks. - - -SNOW CRAFT - - -The technique of snow craft is identical in its principles with that of -ice craft. The upright balanced movement, the management of the rope, -turning, anchoring, etc., are the same, or only slightly modified. -Only points of detail, therefore, need be mentioned which are peculiar -to the different qualities of snow surface. In certain cases, such as -bridges and cornices, both snow and ice are in question, and the notes -are then supplementary to those made under general ice craft. - -To make snow steps is a matter of muscle and rhythm; to use them, one -of balance and endurance; but to know how to avoid making them and -where not to make them is the science of snow craft. We may learn to -identify snow states by description: nothing but experiment can teach -us how to deal with them. - -We may classify the states of snow under many heads; but we are only -practically concerned with three points: which of these states are -pleasant, which are unpleasant, and which are unsafe to walk upon. -Of most importance is it to be certain which states are likely to be -unsafe, and to be able to recognize their presence beforehand. - -Under Reconnoitring some suggestions are made as to the signs by -which snow states may be interpreted from a distance, and some of the -certainly unsafe ones consequently avoided in anticipation. - -As to whether the state on a particular day will be pleasant or -unpleasant, the weather of the day, the hour and the angle of the snow -can tell us much. The final test must always be by touch. - -[Sidenote: Some Characteristics and Countermoves.] - -Snow lying at above an angle of 20 degrees may slide whenever its -support is not equal to its mass. Its support comes either from behind, -the rock, ice or snow surface upon which it rests; or from its quality, -the cohesion of its particles; or from below, the angle and mass of the -subtending snow slope. In deciding about its safety we must take all -those three points under our inspection. Of its sub-surface we know -something if we can ascertain the lie of the rock strata or detect the -presence of ice. Of its quality and mass we judge by surface signs and -our recollection of the weather. Of its support from below we judge -by the angle at which it lies; not only by the angle of a specimen -section, but the angle of all sections of the slope below.[17] - -Snow lying at easy angles, exposed to the directer rays of the sun, -will usually be soft; and while we may be able to mince over its -night crust before sunrise, we do well to avoid its possibilities of -purgatory on our return later in the day. Snow on south and south-east -faces for the same reason is the more to be respected, and its earlier -deterioration must be accepted without resentment. - -If a strong wind has been blowing, the snow on the sheltered side of -a peak will be the softer and the more likely to avalanche. Snow on a -sheltered face becomes loosened in fibre by the balance between the -air-currents, whereas, on the windy side, it will get blown off or -blown superficially hard. - -If there has been Föhn in the wind, the snow will be untrustworthy all -round. Föhn has the insidious quality of disintegrating snow through -all its depth; it may appear to have affected the surface relatively -little, but it will have reduced the under-snow to slush. This is the -most perilous of avalanche states. - -Snow may be expected to slide, under the usual conditions, not only -after hot days or days of wind. Days of warm mist and diffused sunlight -may be even more deleterious. - -Certain states of snow may start sliding irrespective of all changes of -temperature, at any time and on calm days, merely as the result of some -slight disturbance. First among these is ‘powdery’ snow. This may be -either fresh snow or old snow which has never been melted and refrozen. -Older snow in a powdery state we shall only expect in summer to find at -greater heights, where the daily sun has little power. Since we shall -recognize by sight that it is older snow, and since it has neither -blown off nor as yet fallen, we shall be reassured about its holding -quality, provided that we can also make certain that it is not lying -in great masses or at a minatory angle. Sometimes, although we may not -have seen it, we shall get evidence of its presence above us, in the -appearance on gusty days of cascades of thin powdery snow streaming -like dust down the lower ice or snow slopes. In the Alps these wind -cascades of old powdery snow are sensational to see or to feel pouring -round us on a steep wall, but they are too light to be harmful. The -difference in weight between a flying veil of dry snow and one of -wet snow must be felt on the shoulders or ankles to be appreciated. -Cascades, of a more threatening sound, betray to us the presence above -of old granular or crystal snow. The grains are easily set in motion; -but in the Alps snow of this sort rarely lies at a depth to be worth -regarding. Old powdery or granular snow, lying at a good angle and in -light mass, we shall expect to be laborious but not to avalanche:--at -least until we have put it to its last test of touch. - -New snow, as a dry powder, if it lies in large masses, must be expected -to avalanche on all slopes of steeper angle. In lesser quantities, it -may be started by wind or by an incautious passage. On ice or rock it -is never stable, until it has been cleared away or melted and refrozen. - -New snow, as a wet powder on rocks, is desperately chilly for the -hands, and has the disagreeable quality of transforming itself into -an ice glaze under the pressure of the boots or the glove. If we are -caught out by a fall of new wet snow on rock, ice-claws will protect -our foothold, but nothing will save the hands. I have known very few -men whose hands would stand more than a very short spell of clearing -out rock holds in wet snow. Gloves are soon saturated, and the ice -glaze forming under the hand still further reduces the effective -grip of the numbed fingers. It is this that makes climbing on rocks -impossible for days after a snowfall; while from snow or ice slopes, -where we are not so concerned with handhold, the same storm will -restrain us by its threat of avalanches. - -After a storm of any length, two or three fine days are required in -summer for the rock to clear. The first day of sun should melt the -snow; the night following will refreeze it into a glaze: the second hot -day will melt the glaze; and, with luck, the third day may find the -rocks clear. - -All wet snow, melting in heat or rain, in Föhn or after wind, is liable -to avalanche, according to the angle at which it lies and in proportion -to the amount of water which it contains. Only experience and touch -can tell whether snow is or is not overcharged for the angle at which -it is lying. It is astonishing what a quantity of water snow will hold -without moving; and again, what a trifle will set it falling or arrest -it. I have seen a whole quiet mountain face break into avalanches under -the extra snow weight discharged during a few minutes of after-squall; -and I have watched water-logged snow streaming like thin milk over -the slabs of a north precipice, stopping suddenly as heavy, cold grey -clouds crept over the rocks, only to begin again the instant the clouds -passed and the sun broke through. - -Frothy snow, neither powdery nor wet, but of the texture of dry -sea-foam, is not so frequent in summer in the Alps as in some other -great ranges. But I have found it occasionally near big summits or high -up on northern snow faces. In spite of its intimidating quality, it is -safe at almost any angle if it lies on a good sub-surface. But it is -infinitely laborious. A step takes us up to our waist or shoulders. -Progress is only possible by flogging a furrow up it with forearms and -shins, which leaves a trail like an ecstatic sea-serpent. Some relief -can be got by slapping down the shaft of the axe flatwise above us and -crossways to the line, and pulling up on it as on a horizontal bar. - -Before venturing upon snow of definitely unstable type, such as powdery -snow or wet snow, we must make certain of its mass, its angle and the -nature of the surface below it. We then adapt our methods accordingly. - -For instance, if we find that wet or powdery snow is lying upon ice -at anything but a very low angle, we start by finding out if it is of -the same quality for all its depth. If it is, we must clear it away -at each pace and cut a step in the ice below. If the poor quality is -only superficial and improves below, or if we notice that where the -lowest skin of snow rests on the ice it adheres either in a film or -in measle-patches,--which signifies that the ice and the snow surfaces -are going through a gradual process of peaceful interpenetration,--we -can count on this lower snow surface for sure footing. We need not cut -steps, but only stamp through the snow to a safe depth for a sound step. - -If we have any doubt as to the security of a slope, which we shall have -when the angle of the slope and quality of the snow are varying and -the resultant stability is indeterminable, we must ascend or descend -it vertically, if possible, or on very steep zigzags. We must take -care to cross incipient cleavages, or traces of horizontal strains on -the surface, at right angles, and never encourage them by letting the -weight of our party tramp parallel to their length. - -A steep slope of doubtful quality, if it has to be traversed, should -be crossed as near its upper edge as possible, and this particularly -if the slope is subtended by a cliff or a snow slope of steeper -inclination. - -On a slope actually showing traces of a recent slide, secondary falls -may be expected. A snow slope is not a _sérac_, and it is not so safe -to assume that all has fallen that can fall without close inspection. -If we cannot see the place of origin we can make a deduction, as in the -case of an ice fall, from the appearance of the nearer debris: as to -whether it was a recent fall, a night or day fall, a surface skim, a -local powder-rush or a sample of gravitating under-slush. - -On the lee side of ridges which have been exposed to the wind, we must -expect to find snow accumulations of a poorer quality, and liable to -slide according to the angle at which they lie. This will be especially -the case if the ridges are subordinate ribs descending from a principal -ridge. On such ribs, if we find wind signs on the near side, we must -be careful of the snow on the far side of each rib, and in all the -adjoining protected hollows. - -Good snow is either snow with a hard surface, or snow which, below the -surface, remains sticky and light. Except at great heights, we shall -only find snow hard before the sun has touched it. Before sunrise, -after wholesome cold nights, we count on finding all snow surface good -and every bridge holding. When we find soft surfaces in the early hours -after a warm night, it bodes us ill if we have to return the same -way later. On hard, steep snow, wherever our boots begin to scratt -fretfully for foothold, it is less fatiguing to put on claws, or to -make a notch with a single one-handed tug stroke of the adze-blade. On -very steep snow of medium hardness, when a handhold is needed, it is -better to use the blade of the axe than the pick. - -The more level the snow the more directly will it have felt the sun; -the thinner will be its night crust and the softer its under layers. -Therefore we avoid, especially later in the day, launching out upon -the great snow plateaux and valleys of the higher regions of glaciers, -such as are labelled ‘_Firn_,’ ‘_Névé_,’ ‘_Ewige Schnee_’ on maps, -names of foreboding. If we have to take to them, we keep to the sides, -where the snow-levels begin to climb and the rays strike less directly. -If we have a choice, we select the side or line which is subject to -the shortest hours of full sunlight. Always, if they are there, we -use old foot tracks. The floor of an old step melts and refreezes -and, protected by its depth, remains firmer than its surroundings. On -popular peaks these tracks can become immense frozen ruts, very awkward -and ankle-racking to descend. It was reported one radiant year that -a tourist on the final slopes of the Jungfrau had fallen into one of -these ‘steps,’ and had been extricated with difficulty. - -[Sidenote: Snow Travail.] - -When we are really in for a steady plough through deep snow, the stride -should be kept short, the knee bent, the weight well forward, and the -body swaying from side to side--in fact we adopt the ‘tramp’s walk.’ -To thrust with the straight knee is uselessly fatiguing. On soft snow -we are lost if we cannot achieve some sort of steady rhythm. The feet -should be planted _straight_, and not toes outward. The length of the -stride with either leg should be absolutely equal. - -If the weights of the party are very uneven, the heavy man should -precede. It is less fatiguing for a heavy man to make his own steps, -where he allows beforehand for the ‘give’ of the snow, than to stride -out behind expecting a firm tread, only, in two out of three steps, -to find the floor give way under him. Irregular resistances are the -negation of rhythm. - -Unless he has the shortest legs of his party, the step maker must -always shorten his normal stride on soft snow. The length of the first -man’s stride is increased as each man behind slightly deepens the -steps, until the last man may have to be making a grasshopper bound to -reach from tread to tread of what started as a normal pace. - -On soft surfaces, especially where the resistance is irregular, it is -difficult to keep in balance, and the axe comes into use at every step. -I have usually found it better to reverse the axe. The head, like a -ski-stick, gives broader stay on level snow, and firmer touches against -inclined soft snow, than the point. - -Crusted snow, where the surface has melted and refrozen, but too -lightly to carry our weight, is the worst snow of all. When it lies -at easy angles, it may be extraordinarily wearisome to cross. It just -bears our weight until the body is fairly over the foot, then it gives -and lets us through. At least the half of each lifting effort is thus -lost, and each fresh step has to be made from a yielding basis uphill -on to a hard one. Rhythm is impossible, and the prolonged aggravation -is demoralizing. For which reason I have found soft snow the one test -of sheer endurance in which good guides are inferior to good amateurs. -We meet it not infrequently in our own islands, and welcome it then as -good ‘alpine’ training. - -For really bad crust there is no countermove, except strong thighs -and a high flat-foot step. On crust of a better character, especially -before sunrise, a shuffling step, which distributes the weight, often -saves the foot from going through, or lets it sink to a less depth. -On some crusted surfaces it is possible to slide cautiously along on -the shuffle-step, where lighter men, walking ‘heel and toe,’ are going -through at each stride. When the surface is too soft for even a shuffle -to save us, the tread should be made with the whole flat of the sole, -and not with the heel leading as is usual in road walking. Under the -flat foot, as under a snow-shoe, the snow packs more quickly. To pivot -upon the foot, before the weight comes upon it, widens the bearing -surface. - -Soft snow cannot be taken at a rush. There is a peculiarly clinging -and binding quality in the snow of old avalanche debris. These are -just the places where most folk start seven-leagued leaping. If we -cannot restrain them, we make them take off the rope first. To be -tied to a hop-o’-my-thumb when our leg has just entered binding snow, -up to the thigh, at an acute angle to the pull is full of unpleasant -possibilities. The wise man will continue even here to move lightly, -and only as rapidly as balance and rhythm will allow. - -On long monotonous snow wades, if we cannot get a good rhythm of legs -or body, it is sometimes of use to supply its place by an artificial -rhythm, counting the steps up to fifty and then pausing, or whistling, -or following a tune in our head--anything that may introduce a rhythm, -with rests, into the featureless vista of effort. The boredom that -may afflict a party on snow is peculiar to itself. The even glare -and the winding line of diminishing tracks hypnotize the eye and -mind, and produce a conviction of exhaustion which is often in great -part self-suggested. The wader feels that he absolutely cannot take -another step. If counting fails, and other wiles and conversational -red-herrings shrivel up in the silent white monotony, rest is the only -cure. Sleep follows easily in such states, and a few minutes’ slumber -often restores a man or a party surprisingly. - -On long snow plods it is best to get rid of the rope whenever the -absence of crevasses will allow. It but doubles the uneasy travail. If -it has to be kept on, avoid spoken remonstrance when the man before or -behind jerks you; let the rope do the talking. If you are leading, keep -a small, loose coil in your hand, so that the man behind shall not drag -you in mid-step. If you are last, you can always exercise a salutary, -silent check. If you are in the middle, and you have, as is frequent -in tired parties, an energetic leader trying provokingly to press the -pace in front and the weakest member lagging slightly but protestingly -upon your rope behind, the best way to protect yourself, inoffensively, -is to take up both their ropes in your one hand, and so link their -opposing pulls directly on to one another. You can thus maintain -equilibrium with no further discomfort to yourself. When I was learning -the craft in early years between two guides, or a guide and amateur of -unequal endurance, I had many occasions for perfecting the device. - -The use of ski upon snow is treated of separately. Whenever summer ski -have been made as available as ice-claws, there can be no doubt that -they will cancel out for us as much of the technical consideration -of these penitential snow fields as claws have simplified for us the -labour upon all the angles of ice. - -[Sidenote: Snow Slopes.] - -To make steps upon inclined snow is a matter of little difficulty. -The direction and weight of the kick are suggested by the angle and -texture of the surface. But to use them calls for more care than is -usually given to the matter. On soft slopes it is a nuisance if the -step stamper has a length of stride that makes each pace a slight -effort for us. It is better to remonstrate at once: to shorten the -pace by refashioning the step is to break rhythm for the whole line. -Of course on easy slopes, if we are out of the rope, we go as we -like, provided that we do not exhaust, by eccentric following, the -energy which we should be reserving for our turn in the lead. But as -the angle increases, or where the going gets more heavy, men of any -experience fall into single file; and then to make missteps, to tread -a step down at the heel, or to step outside the line, is to throw -the whole march of those behind us out of gear, and to waste our own -energy in repeating the leader’s work. It is impossible on snow not to -be conscious of the leg swing of the man ahead. If he walks with the -wrong foot for the trail, we are either drawn into his error, to our -own inconvenience, or we resist the attraction with a conscious and -tiresome effort. Our common rhythm goes. Worse than this, he spoils -the steps for us. Nothing is more muddling, in ascending or descending -snow slopes, than to find the steps broken or doubled. We bungle, -and get the wrong foot for the leader’s tracks; our body as a result -balances wrong for their angle of use. In coming down especially, a -bad second man, who lets himself lollop carelessly into tracks or -makes ‘tumble-steps’ on either side, confuses every one behind him as -well as himself. The whole party will be wasting temper and strength -in choosing between a maze of ‘joy’ tracks, or in remaking their own -in despair, where they should have been following mechanically on a -ready-made line. - -In using steps on steep snow of uncertain stability, it is vital -to tread right to the fraction of an inch. A tired man who steps a -nail-breadth false on a descending ladder of this character will -certainly cause some step to give, and endanger the general safety by -a slide. He may explain that the step ‘broke away’; but the fault has -been his. It is the ideal of all good climbers, although very few men -can live up to it, to use steps as accurately and with as dancing and -precise a foot at the end of a long day as they did at the beginning. - -If a snow step on a steep slope looks insecure, as it often may on wet -snow after several men have passed, it is best to tread slightly inside -it and scrape down a shaving of fresh snow to strengthen the floor -under the foot. But this intentional over-tread should never be made on -the outside of a step. If a step has broken away and a new step has to -be made, it should be trodden, similarly, inside the old one, over but -not exactly in line above the broken step. - -Descending on snow of poor quality is oddly nervous work. The -descending action is awkward, as upon ice, and there is the added doubt -as to what will happen when we drop on to the foothold. Every one has -days when the muscles are stiff and when the descent of shaky steps -does not go in easy balance. At such times it is reasonable, and safer, -to make ‘arm-scoop’ holds to help the balance on the step-down. We -may do on snow what we may not do on ice--take the weight momentarily -off our foothold on to the arms; because on snow, if some one else -slips, we can at once drive another foothold with the heel and get -into balance for the jerk. In coming down steps in soft, steep snow -which have been worn away by previous members of the party, it is often -even advisable to make these arm-scoops in order to save the effort of -making new steps and to lessen the weight on the old ones. - -On high, popular ridges in fine weather the lines of old steps with -their floors refrozen and their shape spoilt are often uncomfortable to -use on the descent. For the mountaineer the whole day should be equally -of pleasure. The more the difficulty of the climb is over, the more we -may consider our comfort, even to the point of demanding a new set of -steps. - -On steep zigzags, if we are crossing and recrossing one another, we -remember to give the man below us ascending, or above us descending, -time to make his turning step at the corners. If we do not slacken, we -shall jerk him or force him to let out his hand coil just when he is -most occupied with the turn. - -On big faces, of yielding snow, we find firmer stepping up the -wind-blown crests of the undulations, often only detectable by their -correspondence with the buttresses descending from the cliffs above. -Conversely, on faces of recalcitrant snow, we foot it more lightly up -the troughs between the waves. - -[Sidenote: The Rope and Axe.] - -Except on hard morning snow, or on snow where we can make absolutely -certain of what is happening underneath, it is a good principle to -retain the rope. Progress is quicker than on ice, but sight and -prescience can ensure us less completely against the accident and the -unseen. As a partial illustration of the distinctions to be observed, -a strong party might be justified in making their way unroped and on -claws up a formidable dry ice fall; but they would, if they knew their -business, then put on the rope to traverse the easy but snow-covered -angles of the _névé_ above, seemingly far safer than the _séracs_ they -have just passed singly and unroped. - -“What is happening underneath” must be interpreted to mean not only -what may be lurking underneath the snow surface, in the way of ice or -crevasses, but what is happening below us on the mountain side. We keep -the rope on unless we are _certain_ that the breaking of a step or a -slip will lead to no worse results. If there is a long, steep wall of -ice or snow below, or the suggestion of crevasses or a bergschrund, or -a rock cliff, or even a section of the slope which we cannot see and -which may contain a cliff, we may take no chance, and the rope must be -retained. - -On all smooth snow and ice slopes, unless we are moving short-roped -over safe and fairly even glacier, the rope-lengths between us should -be allowed to ‘travel’ lightly on the surface. This lightens the draw -of a heavy rope carried on the waist or hand, and avoids the strain -upon the balance. Too much travelling rope is a drag; too little -tightens on us like a brake. The hand must get to know by feel when -there is just enough down to let it travel lightly and freely. The -hand, too, as on rock, must learn the habit of freeing, freeing the -rope continually, so that it shall not catch. Over rough surface we -raise it clear; and over ‘suspected’ glacier we keep it all but taut, -taking up the slack in a hand coil. - -We may never trust snow steps, unless in a very fine quality of snow, -to carry more than our own weight. In protecting others of the party, -therefore, we cannot, as upon ice, rely exclusively on balance and our -foothold to take the jerk upon our rope in case of a slip. - -To anchor, on all steep and doubtful snow slopes where the angle or the -quality of the snow advises the retention of the rope, the axe must be -thrust into the snow beside and above us at every step. It is driven to -the head or to just beyond half its length according to the condition -of the surface. The rope is passed round the shaft and rests on the -snow, so that in case of a slip we get the friction of the snow into -which it cuts to help us. At a turning step on a zag the rope is put -round the shaft in the reverse direction. This driving of the axe and -the looping of the rope men should execute when the feet are at rest on -the holds, and not, as many do, while they are taking the step. It is -often very difficult for tired men to continue for hours the regular -thrust of the axe and the careful anchor of the rope at each pace. But -just on those angles and on those types of surface where the precaution -is most laborious is the protection most needed. Snow is not ice, and -in proportion as snow steps are easier to make they are easier to -break, and more in need of assistance from the hand. - -On the sharp edges of big ridges the true footing is often along the -crest itself. If the crest is too frail for the feet, it can still -provide the best bedding for the driven axe or an armhold. If the snow -is really threatening, and it is unsafe to trust to steps along the -side or on the edge, it is occasionally preferable for two climbers to -make their own steps along opposite sides of the crest, with the rope -riding across the snow edge between them _à la mode Tartarin_. - -If rocks or obstacles forbid us to use the rope in this literary -fashion, on such risky snow we shall, of course, only move one at a -time. To secure a safe anchor step while the other man shifts, I have -used the device of driving the axe almost up to the head, and then -standing on the snow crook immediately behind it. - -To arrest another man’s slip on steep snow, the snow itself must be -used to minimize by friction the jerk of the rope on axe and arm. -Any bulge or corner of snow will serve, for the rope to play over -and, slowly, cleave through. I have seen a rope, held across a sharp -slanting edge, cut four feet into the snow under the weight of a -sliding man; the friction stopping him gently before the jerk came upon -the axe. If there is no corner to help, we must lean the whole weight -of our body upon the rope where it runs out to us round the belay on -our axe; so crushing the racing rope into the snow and reducing the -final tug upon the driven axe shaft. - -[Sidenote: Bergschrund and Bridge.] - -The crossing of the obvious bridges over the bergschrunds that subtend -snow slopes is an art by itself. Flat or snub bridges are less secure -than bridges that display a Roman archness of irregular snow on their -upper surface. If the bridge is steep enough to call for steps, the -steps of the leader should be followed absolutely, unless he has -previously cast doubts upon their validity by falling through them. -If the centre of the bridge, or the spring of the arch at its higher -end, appears too frail for steps, and the word be given to crawl, the -crawling should be done quite flat, and the body pulled along by the -axe. To fox-trot on hands and knees is little safer than to walk on the -feet. - -If the bridge is only doubtful, we cat-step across it with the lightest -foot we can. We carry the axe at thigh level and at right angles to -the body, so that if a leg goes through, the axe comes down on the -snow like a rail under the arm, and has a good chance of catching on -firmer snow at either end. I once dropped ten feet into a crevasse, -and was stopped thus by the axe under my arm-pit hitching between the -narrowing walls. If we feel a foot going through, we must avoid above -all things our first impulse, to throw the weight convulsively on to -the other foot. The whole body should be allowed to fall forward flat. -A swimming movement with the arms then often extricates us without -further collapse. Of course on no bridge may more than one man cross at -a time; and for a doubtful bridge at least two men must be stationary -and anchoring the rope of any man crossing. - -A steep bridge of unproven security is often best crossed, on a -descent, by a prone glissade. If the bridge has an obviously continuous -surface, we may prefer to fly it head forward and face down, because -clothes admit less snow in such fashion. But if the continuity is -doubtful--and the fact is often difficult to ascertain from above--it -is best to shoot the bridge lying on the back and feet foremost. The -hands and feet are held ready to shove off backward against the snow, -and we are ready to finish the crossing on a flying jump, should a -breach appear in the bridge as we approach it. - -If there is no bridge, we sometimes have to jump considerable widths -and depths. It is better then to take off soon, and not to yield to the -temptation to creep just a little farther down the steep, crumbling -upper lip of the schrund. Too long a descent often ends in a slip as -the wall steepens, and it requires a nice judgment to continue the slip -discreetly, and shove off for the jump at just the right instant to -carry us across to the other lip. For a high jump into soft deep snow -it is permissible to throw the axe ahead; and it is essential to see -that there is enough rope out for the jump. Again, if a man has jumped -and is shooting on down the snow slope beyond the rift, it is kinder -not to be in a hurry to stop him categorically with the rope. On lower -snow slopes the angle is rarely too steep for a man to be able to stop -himself gradually and less painfully, helped by friction and the merest -suggestion of restraint. Jumps of more than twenty feet into soft snow -have been made; but they are not agreeable. If the snow on landing is -at all sticky, it binds at once round the legs, and threatens a break -or a severe strain as the weight of the body travels forward above them. - -[Sidenote: Snow Cornices.] - -The cunning of hidden cornices cannot be overrated. Its detection is -dealt with elsewhere. - -Once we have located what we take to be their line of junction with the -parent snow crest, we must allow a further broad margin in selecting a -safe line for our steps. I have known a section of cornice thirty feet -deep break away along the line of our steps, when we thought we had -allowed a good ten-foot margin from its line of junction. The heavier -the cornice, the deeper the margin we must leave; not an easy rule to -keep, as the snow curve backing a big cornice will be all the more -gradual and solid-looking. Leaders are always apt to cut the margin -too fine, for the reason that the farther we move away down the back -of a cornice, the steeper becomes the slope, and the harder probably -will be the snow for step-making. At great heights the same cold winds -which blew the cornice may have blown the snow slope to crusted snow -or snow-ice; whereas, where the angle eases off right upon the crest -and the back curves over into the cornice, the direct exposure to the -sun will often produce a band of softer snow, easy to kick steps in. -When we are dealing with huge ridges and long distances, it is very -trying to have to continue to cut steps at a snail’s pace, on a steep -wall, when three feet above there is a line where we could walk. But -these are just the situations which differentiate between good and -bad mountaineers. Danger is a matter for our individual judgment, and -if a guide, however famous, makes steps at a level that seems to our -mountain sense to allow too narrow a margin, we need never have the -least hesitation in starting to make another line below. The implied -criticism is better than remonstrance. - -Occasionally when the cornice is not too big and its back is -ice-crusted or exposed to a high wind, it is possible to work along -underneath it, below the crest of the wave. This must be done with -caution; the shock of step-making may easily loosen a section of the -overhang on to our heads. - -Where a ridge is surmounted by a double cornice, that is, by two -cornices curving opposite ways, one on the top of the other, there -is simply no safe way of getting past them. Parties who persist in -traversing a great ridge when they find it in this condition must be -persuaded that their luck will take pity on their understanding. - -In approaching the edge of any ridge, if it is not otherwise obvious -that no cornice exists, the leader must test for the cornice every few -inches with strong, deep thrusts of the axe shaft. The rest of the -party, protecting him with the rope, must remain well below on the -face until he has demonstrated that no cornice exists, or until he has -had time to locate its line and to return to a point well below the -junction. Such a crest should never be approached diagonally, lest two -men might find themselves on the cornice together, but always at right -angles. If an uncorniced ridge gives us reason to suspect, as we follow -along its crest, that a cornice is beginning, at least two of the party -should descend well down the face (if rock anchorage is not available), -and protect the leader while he investigates. - -If we wish to cross a ridge or a pass and the far side is overhung by -a cornice, the leader must be strongly protected while he flogs away a -section of the cornice, back to the sound edge. A large slice in this -case should be cleared away, as adjacent parts of the cornice weakened -by the fracture may fall upon the party subsequently as they descend. -These crossings should never be made where the cornice is really heavy. - -We shall never, of course, approach a crest up a wall crowned by a -large cornice; which is equivalent to climbing deliberately up under a -toppling _sérac_. A light cornice we may approach, but preferably at a -point where it has broken away. If no such gap exists, we may be forced -to cut our own skylight through it. This calls for great caution and -skill; a small fragment may easily sweep away any man below us on the -slope. - -[Sidenote: Snow in Couloirs.] - -In couloirs and chimneys snow can remain at a higher angle than on -open slopes, and presents therefore some exceptional features. Certain -of these are dealt with under other headings. Snow in a rock couloir, -late in the day, must always be tested before we descend on to it. This -can sometimes be done with less trouble by throwing heavy stones on to -the surface. The way the snow spurts or squelches or rives to receive -them tells much to the practised eye. If they start a surface avalanche -they may either betray ice below, or they may leave bare a tract of -hard under-snow down which we can kick good steps. The presence of ice -below snow is often evident at the edges where the snow-ice splays out -on to the containing walls. The testing process should be repeated at -intervals, as we descend, on doubtful snow. A long couloir, of pure -snow above, has frequently ice below snow in its lower sections. - -In descending couloirs of uncertain snow, we naturally make use of the -rock walls, when possible, for belays or holds. There are often good -leg stances between the rock and the snow, where the snow veil has -shrunk away, with an ice-trimmed border. - -If the snow is of good quality, we proceed as we like; but if it is -shallow, lying on ice, or of suspicious consistency, we ascend it in -as direct a line as possible, or in steep zags, with a disposition to -keep near the sides. On really threatening snow we ascend and descend -by means of the vertical ladder of apses or pigeon-holes, climbing face -inwards, and using both hands and feet. Our tread in this fashion is -more feline, and our weight better distributed. - -If we desire to leave a snow couloir by the rocks on either hand, or -to use the rocks to help the ascent, it is sage first to try the side -which is exposed for the longest time to the sun: the snow adhering -to these rocks will be kindlier, and there will be less chance of -an ice glaze. We have, however, to remember that the sunny side is -usually that upon which falls of stones start earlier and occur more -frequently; and our decision must depend upon the evidences of their -spoor on the snow. - -Outcrops of rock, in large snow couloirs, on ice or snow slopes, often -appear as welcome islands in a long labour of step-making. But outcrops -are apt to be more or less disintegrated, according to the character -of the rock. If they are not rotten, they are not unusually rubbed -bare and holdless by the passage of ice, stones and snow over them. -Such islands, on ice slopes, are nearly always encircled by harder ice -for a space round their lower walls, which increases our labour in -approaching or leaving them. On their upper side they sometimes support -a convenient spit of good snow. On the whole, they generally give more -trouble than they save. - -A particular type of couloir which is found in the Alps is worth -mentioning, because of its false heart and honest, grubby face. These -are the easy couloirs that debouch on to the glaciers at the bases of -many sound granite peaks. They are plastered inside with loose rubble -and snow or gritty mud, and we assume sound granite at the back. With -dirt and care they seem fair enough to scramble down. But they are -often in a precarious state of deeper decay. The passage of the party -will start a gradual or rapid dissolution; and on occasion I have -seen the whole cuticle of couloirs of this type, grubble, snow and -large rocks, slough itself off on to the glacier a few minutes after -the descent of a party. They should always be tested before entry by -discharging large rocks down them, to prove their honesty or expose -their enamelled senility. - -[Sidenote: Snow at Home.] - -Among the Scottish mountains practice of a very useful character in -our snow craft can be had during the winter months. From November to -May snow will be found of different qualities: the best during March -and April. On northern and eastern faces we may get step-cutting on -hard crust and ripple crust, passable glissading, and happy experience -of small snow slides, large cornices and snow travail. On north -faces, exposed and crusted by the cold winds, snow will stay at an -exceedingly high angle, and as there is small risk of underlying ice, -we can adventure admirable practice in very steep snow work with -more excitement than peril. The snow couloirs at times introduce us -to bergschrunds, and, educatively, to reconnoitring exercises in -identifying the respective runnels of stone fall and water spurt. - -On north faces in the Lakes and in North Wales normally the snow work -is confined to the first quarter of a cold season. Ice is rare, except -as glaze or as frozen water-fall or drip in wet gullies sheltered from -the sun. Step-making is commoner than step-cutting. Of snowy, icy and -glazed rocks we can get more than we may desire; but for snow technique -little but practice in travail, step-kicking, back-sliding, rope craft -and blizzard-facing,--all very pleasurable holiday experiences, for -which it is worth while taking down the ice-axe. - -It is curious to note that ski-ing as a common device used once to be -practised by the boys and herds of the north, the primitive ski being -formed out of the hoops of barrels. The custom has now lapsed: the -effect of the enclosing of the hills by walls, or of the boys by Board -Schools. The reintroduction of some less elaborate ski might revive a -more romantic spirit. - -[Sidenote: Confusing Weather.] - -In fair weather route finding on snow has no difficulties comparable -with those of ice or snow glacier. The flaws are obvious, and there -are no hidden angles. The one complication is weather and atmospheric -condition. As a result of the somewhat featureless simplicity of snow -slight changes produce more serious confusions. - -High wind is always an enemy,--not only on snow. A mountaineer is more -afraid of going out on windy days than on days of rain and snow fall. -On snow, wind finds a new weapon to hand in the snow particles, whose -blinding assault interferes with the discretion. The sight of the faint -blur of snow as it is blown up from the skyline of a high ridge will -always give us pause: no passage there will be possible while the halo -remains. Wind and snow combined may confuse the best of mountaineers, -and often the compass proves the one rescue from a complete reversal of -direction. However resolutely they march, few men can resist on a long -tramp the impulse of snow or wind on their faces to swing unconsciously -one way or the other for protection. A shift of wind in a mist may take -a party, steering by it on snow, through a complete circle. I have -known of men, attempting a descent on the sheltered side of a level but -interrupted ridge, who were led, by a spinning wind in mist, through -the ridge and back along its other side to their starting-point, and -all in twenty minutes. - -But even when unsupported by wind or obscurity, a slight depression -or a light cloud may make way-finding difficult on even snow, where -there are no rock outlines to penetrate its guile. A diaphanous mist, -approaching in tint that of the snow surface, is sufficient to conceal -or completely alter distances and angles. - -In cases where the mist exactly combines in tone with the snow, a -curious phenomenon makes itself uncomfortably evident. The leader on a -snowy crevassed glacier will suddenly, and apparently wilfully, begin -to fall into crevasses which are visible to those following behind -him on the rope. They will marvel at his stupidity, until they begin -to lead themselves, when they will reproduce it. The reason will have -been that whereas those behind have some dark object, man or rope, -upon which to focus their eyes, the eyes of the man in front, looking -only upon a uniform blank surface, go out of focus, and become unable -to distinguish between details of the same tone. Any detail darker by -contrast--a rock, or the length of the rope ahead, or even the sight -of a distant peak,--for such mists are often transparent--will yield -them a focal point again. If he has no such natural assistance, the -leader must keep looking methodically at his feet, and then forward. -This will discover to him the nearer crevasses. For a longer view he -may try the device of balling snow, till it crushes to a darker colour, -and throwing it ahead: he will then again be able to see more distant -details in their relation to the passage of the snowball. - -In a mist or at night, on glaciers, or on snow slopes where there is -reason to suspect the neighbourhood of rocks, it is possible to keep -direction, and to discover towards which side of a slope or glacier our -march is tending, by shouting, and calculating our position by the time -it takes for the echo to return from the rock on either side. Across -smooth slopes a very small and remote obstruction will give echo to our -appeal. - -On open snow slopes where there are no retaining walls, the best method -is to have the full length of the rope out, and put a man with the -compass at the rear end to correct the leader’s line. If a compass -is lacking--if it can ever be lacking in the mountains!--the man far -behind is still in the better position to judge, by the pointer of the -rope, whether the line is being maintained or is inclining either way. - -If a return in mist over the same ground is expected, the tracks should -be made intentionally deep, in order to reinforce the line against -the sun’s action, which may be all the more rapid when the light is -diffused through such mist. The axe should be driven deeply into the -snow at short intervals, so as to leave marks which may last longer -than footprints; and this especially on hard snow. - -On rocks or snow in mist, and even with less excuse on clear days, some -other-land climbers adopt the device of marking the line of return at -important points of divergence by squares of red paper fixed under -stones. In emergency these can be of service; but they are unsightly, -and their frequent use encourages climbers to pay insufficient -attention to a very important part of their work--which is to note -and record in memory the details of a route against the time of their -return. A climber who has to find the return line on difficult rock -or glacier, or on any climb that winds by devious ways, should never -omit at all points of divergence or of salient indication to turn round -and note how the passage or kink looks from the opposite direction; -which is generally very different from its aspect on the approach. -Distant views are often confused and absurdly distorted by mist; but -details close at hand, for whose memorizing alone red paper could be -a substitute, are seldom sufficiently obscured not to be recognizable -by a trained observation and memory. Only in two cases--one, the rare -event of an expedition over fog-bound snow being continued with the -intention of return over the same line; and two, equally singular, -the case of a party, which contains only one mountaineer capable of -leading the return route, attempting in mist a climb whose difficulty -will necessitate the expert going last on the descent--would the use of -red paper seem to be justified. Waste paper is inelegant, and makes an -unimpressive substitute for hill craft. But mist is a subtle enemy on -glaciers, and we may sympathize with folk who meet it by tricks when -they happen to have brought a box of them with them. - -[Sidenote: The Sense of Direction.] - -In the end, and behind all memory and observation, we have to fall back -upon that useful but mysterious faculty, the sense of direction. Its -existence is often denied, especially by men who do not possess it, and -its workings are attributed to powers of observation, to unconscious -memorizing and to reasoning. But no one who has mountaineered or -travelled much in uncharted ground with men of very divergent or very -similar powers of sight or experience will be found to discredit its -positive but entirely accidental possession. Irrespective of sight -and independently of the presence of any other respectable mental -faculties, some men are found to possess it and some not; and no -experience or study will ever equalize the capacity of those who cannot -with that of those who can exercise it in dealing with misty conditions -or unknown country. Men who have it only in a slight degree frequently -impair its fidelity by training their observation and memory. By -taking thought we can nearly always confuse it, in ourselves or in our -neighbour; and this fact has especially to be borne in mind in dealing -with less educated brains, such as those of guides, where its working -is unconscious when it exists at all. A pertinent question or reminder -may often set them, or ourselves, thinking or doubting, and lead to -hesitation or wandering where a moment before confident movement -reigned. - -If we have once made certain that a guide or even a younger or less -experienced climber possesses it, we may accept its leading thankfully -in moments of doubt, although its counsel may contradict our own -reasoning or conscientious observation. - -Those who do not possess the instinct, and those who possess it only -in a small degree, will find it almost impossible in thick mist -on featureless snow to avoid the inclination to turn in a circle, -generally to the left. In mist, with the most resolute intentions, it -is at times even difficult to correct the inclination, by allowing for -the stronger thrust of the right foot (or whichever may be the leading -foot in our own case) and by taking the axe in the opposite hand to -that foot; or by discovering and allowing for our exact amount of bias. -The compass is the only secure guide for the ungifted. - -Some men have the sense in the form of an ability to keep a straight -line once set, no matter what the obstruction or obscurity; others in -the form of knowing their position in relation to any near or distant -point they have previously visited. With a few the sense is polarized; -they ‘feel’ the north. My own sense indicates only direction between -points already visited. Although making all allowance for the leading -foot, and conscious that as leader I was being kept to a straight line -by the compass in the hand of my last man, I have myself in thick mist -on level snow, after forty-five minutes of what was actually straight -marching, felt positive that I had led the party through one complete -and one half-circle to the right, so strong was the instinct to turn to -the left in spite of all precaution and prevision. On the other hand, -I have watched a man who had been brought round from Hammersmith to -South Kensington by Underground on his first visit to London, and set -to the task without previous warning, take and keep, in thick fog, the -most direct line back again through the maze of cross streets; which -he could not be said to be seeing for the first time, as they remained -invisible. A singular case was that of a high Wrangler, a mountaineer, -whose sense of direction was acute, but inverted: it indicated points -precisely opposed to the correct ones. Once we had discovered this, and -allowed for the idiosyncrasy, we made frequent use of his otherwise -very exact sense. For those who may have interested themselves in the -faculty, I will add that this friend similarly produced or wrote down -the results of all mental calculations with the figures in the reverse -order. - - -GLISSADING - - -Glissading is an art that rewards the skilful. For the inexpert, -though the pleasure in its prospect never dies, the actual performance -is more often productive of aching shins and wet clothes, than of -birdlike exhilaration. Until ski-ing came in to complement it, and we -may say to improve upon it, glissading gave its artists their nearest -approximation to the sensation of flying. Its physical thrill is very -little less intense than that of flying on machines through the air, -because the exciting vibration of the feet over the solid surface -provokes a lively consciousness of pace and motion disproportionate to -the actual rate usually attained. - -But it has never been widely recognized that the art has to be learned. -Very little has been written about it, and much of that little has been -fundamentally wrong. All men glissade in a sort of way, as a kind of -amusing frolic, with tumbles forming an integral part of the fun, like -the periodic shrieks of the ladies on the Earl’s Court roundabouts. -But men who know how to glissade, and how to use its opportunities -as a real auxiliary to their mountain progress, have always been the -exceptions. Guides are seldom able exponents. More than a dozen fatal -accidents are directly traceable to bad glissading. - -Fortunately, the greater popularity of ski-ing has come to the rescue, -and its more general practice should have prepared both the minds and -feet of a much larger number for a more serious treatment of their -mountaineering glissading. A man who can ski is half-way to becoming a -good glissader. A good glissader, once the first surprise of the ski -feeling is overcome, finds many of the simpler ski motions familiar. - -In learning to glissade, a man has three points of normal contact which -he must learn to control: his two feet, and the shaft-point of his -axe. There is also a fourth point of possible contact, with which I -deal separately under sitting glissades. The head of the axe, except -in one very rare case, is useless for contact, and should never be -brought into play. In fact, during the time of learning,--and to learn -properly will take as long as has to be devoted to the beginnings of -ski-ing,--it is better to use only a stick with a single point, or a -ski-stick. The axe head during the preliminary falls is apt to point -too keen a moral. - -A certain school of icemen, the devotees of the short axe, keep the axe -head always sheathed in its leathern cover. In glissading the practice -has distinct advantages: it preserves the keenness of the edge, -protects the climber, and is far warmer to grasp. Those who learn to -glissade with an axe and not a stick may well copy the practice. This -suggestion applies to learning both on snow and on glacier. - - -ON ICE - -Glissading on ice is practically confined to short rushes on glaciers; -even there it is generally avoidable, but its mastery adds a delightful -possibility of directness and pace to the late returns down ice falls. - -No sane man will ever start a glissade on ice on a mountain side, -unless the slope is evidently short and is seen to end in safe -arresting snow, or in the earth deposits found on Himalayan glaciers. -The sheer pace and rude vibration produce helplessness and, soon, -unconsciousness on a steep ice slide of any great length. Control -cannot be maintained for more than a brief period of inevitable -acceleration. Often, however, quick bands of ice intrude, visibly or -not, on a steep snow glissade, and it is then important to be able to -make the new adjustments required by ice; and so avoid being thrown -out of balance by the sudden alterations in the quality of the surface -flashing under our feet. - -[Sidenote: Positions.] - -In ice-glissading the point of the axe takes practically all the -weight. It is essentially axe riding. The feet become only props to -the balance. Ice is rarely quite smooth, and, if the weight is at all -on the feet, the slightest irregularity or ‘stick’ in the surface at -this high rate of speed throws the heels back and over the head. The -right hand grasps the shaft, just sufficiently far from where the -point touches the ice to avoid scraping the knuckles. The left hand -grips the head. The more the left hand forces the head up, and the -greater the weight that we throw upon the right hand holding the shaft, -the sharper is the brake upon the pace, and, incidentally, the more -prepared is our balance against an accidental trip. - -On hard ice the feet cannot be used to brake; nor, except by very -gradual movements, can they attempt to steer. Their business is to -carry their small proportion of the weight as lightly as possible over -the irregular surface, and, like the front wheel of a bicycle, to -prevent a forward or sideways fall. On rotten ice, if claws are worn, -braking with the feet is possible by driving in the heels; but such -surfaces are unusual in the Alps. - -The knees must be well bent, with the body bowed almost into a sitting -position, so as to keep the centre of gravity well down upon the -supporting tripod of legs and axe. The zigzag spring, formed by the -curves of knees and body, absorbs most of the jar. The soles rest flat -on the ice, with the toes pointing down the slope. The feet should be -kept slightly apart, for the better balance over roughnesses. To avoid -obvious lumps they can be slid more apart or brought together. If they -are used to steer at all, they must both be pointed sideways in the -desired direction; but no attempt can be made to drive in the edges -of the boot, as is done on snow. This would merely result in a fall. -Steering, in this position, must be left to the gradual friction of the -soles inclined sideways and downwards, and, in the main, to the swing -of the weight on the axe. - -On very rough ice, or on the rough icy surfaces found in snow couloirs, -where we cannot make certain of keeping on the feet if we face squarely -forward, it is best to adopt a sideways position of the body, the sides -of both feet in contact with the slope, and one foot just below and -slightly separated from the other. The distance between the feet must -depend upon the character of the surface and the angle of the slope. -On an easy angle of rough slope, where it is desired to go slowly and -stop at any sudden point, the lower foot, with the knee only slightly -bent, can be thrust well ahead, taking somewhat more of the weight, -and acting as a shifting brake. On steep, rough ice, or wherever it -is desired to increase the pace, and at the same time to protect the -balance, the feet, still in the sideways position, should be kept close -together, while the knees and thighs are drawn up into a crouching -attitude. The weight, of course, still rests mainly on the axe. - -On steep, rough slopes of snow and ice alternating, where the balance -is easily upset by the changing surface, this squatting or crouching -sideways position must always be adopted, with the heels slightly -apart and brought right up under the body, which practically sits upon -them. The centre of gravity is then well down upon the three points of -contact, which are all in firm and close relation to one another, and -the balance is steady. Ice-glissading is possible for the expert, in -this position, on many long ice intrusions where ordinary folk have -to creep carefully down in steps. For a beginner, the under faces of -the great ice hummocks below the falls on dry glaciers give the best -practice, as their length and angle can be selected. Since near the -crest these concave faces are often vertical or overhanging, early -practice should be limited to their lower curves. - -As in ski-ing, the start-off from the rim of an ice slope or from the -crest of an ice wave is the most difficult moment. We cannot jump into -our glissade as we can upon snow, or at least only on ice of very mild -angles. The right position is to start in a ‘crouch,’ with the toes -just over and the heels just holding the ice edge; the weight is then -thrown back upon the axe, the toes turn down and the legs shoot out. -As soon as the balance in motion is secured, the forward, the sideways -position or the crouch, is assumed according to the feel of the surface -and the angle. - -On very steep dry ice, for the first body length or so at the start -of a slide over a vertical or overhanging crest, be it on a glacier -or at the top of an ice couloir, it is sometimes necessary, in order -to remain in contact with the concave surface at all, and not to be -flung out head foremost by the kick of the axe point against the ice, -to leave the ‘crouch’ the instant the feet are launched, and to shoot -out the legs to their full extent. The whole length of the body is then -held rigid, with the feet pressed as much as possible sideways and -flat against the ice. In such a position there is considerable risk of -cutting knuckles or other surfaces against the ice. The position is, -of course, only required for a second or so, as no glissade may be -attempted where the angle does not ease off sufficiently after a few -feet to allow of continuing the descent in one of the normal attitudes -of controlled glissading. - -The fortunate will sometimes find an admirable surface on the more -easily inclined planes of lower dry glaciers, where melting and -freezing have followed one another during the day. The ice is so -slippery that it is only possible to walk with maddening dislocations, -and it is generally too level for a long glissade. It is then often -feasible to adopt a ski-ing or skating stride, and strike out with -either foot alternately. On a good surface and angle one may find -oneself travelling in this way almost as easily as on skates. -Similarly, on the wet lower ends of afternoon glaciers, if rubber-soled -shoes happen to have been brought, it is worth while putting them on. -One can drift down on them as lightly as on ski. - -[Sidenote: Arrests.] - -If the balance is once lost upon ice, and there is no prospect of an -early arrest on a softer surface lower down, it is best to turn on -the back, keep the head and hands off the ice, and force the point of -the shaft back under the arm-pit and into the ice, so that the weight -dragging on the shaft may gradually arrest the progress. The body must -be kept head upwards; the legs, if slightly apart and rigid, will help -to check the pace by friction and by the rugosities encountered by the -heels. - -If in such case the ice slope has been badly chosen, and the fallen -glissader perceives that the only hope of avoiding a fall over rock is -to stop the slide at all hazards, the risk must be taken of turning -over on the face. The head of the axe must then be gripped with both -hands, so that the adze-blade rests just over the right shoulder, and -the pick-point is ground into the ice with the whole weight. It is -useless to attempt to force in the pick if the axe is held only by the -shaft, or at the stretch of the arms above the head. The axe at arm’s -length will be torn from the hands the moment the pick touches the ice. - -These two methods of arrest can also be turned to account in checking -falls on steep and hard snow, or snow with a crusted or icy surface. - - -ON SNOW - -Even more on snow do the positions for glissading vary with the angle -and consistency of the surface. The expert glissader changes from one -attitude to another, as the feel of his feet on the changing surface -suggests, without loss of balance or even a check to the pace. - -[Sidenote: Positions.] - -The axe should be grasped as for ice-glissading. The knees should -be bent, slightly or more according as the surface is slow or fast, -forming a convenient arch of balance for the body. The bent leg acts as -a strong spring to absorb jolts, and it is more quickly and powerfully -adjustable to the changing demands of balance, when the body is in -rapid motion, than the straight leg. To keep the knees straight is -impracticable on all but perfectly uniform ‘show’ snow slopes. Those -who have at times advised it have been influenced by some pictorial -ideal which had small regard for the mechanism of the body or for the -conditions of the glissade in action. - -The body should not be bent forward or crouched, as is done in -ice-glissading, but held upright or inclined slightly backward, so as -to form a continuous and concordant arc with whatever may be the curve -of the leg at the moment. The lower end of this curve will always be -bent more sharply at the flex of the knee; but in proportion as the -knee is more or less bent, the graceful inclination backward from the -hips will vary correspondingly. - -The shoulders, especially that above the hand on the shaft, should -be braced well back, and the head inclined a little forward, for -better sight. The tendency to let the shoulders stoop forward and the -body sag downward into a sitting position has to be resisted on snow -surfaces. It is a false position, that follows inevitably on an attempt -to keep the knees straight; and it is as bad a beginner’s error as -the inclination to sit forward and not back when learning to jump on -horseback. The fact that it has been suggested as the ideal attitude, -both in description and in illustration, may have been responsible -for the large number of mountaineers who have never become more than -‘axe riders’ in snow-glissading. Sagging and axe riding are necessary -in ice-glissading, where we do not attempt to balance on the feet, -but depend for safety and steering upon the axe brake. On snow the -good glissader aims at reducing friction and riding by balance. To sag -or use the straight knee throws us back upon the axe for balance and -for our steering. Straightened knees mean the weight on the heels and -the toes up; but if the weight is more on the heels than on the toes, -steering with the feet is impossible. - -The feet should be kept close together, with the toes pointing down -the slope, so as to reduce friction and facilitate foot-steering. If -the surface for a space gets icier and rougher, the feet are allowed -to separate slightly, so as to secure the balance on their wider base -and brake the pace by the angle that the two outward-pointing toes make -with the direct line of descent. - -On good snow surfaces to draw the feet slowly or sharply together, so -as to grip up a snow wrinkle between them, or to thrust them apart, -with the toes slightly turned inwards, produces each a different degree -of brake, or helps to reconfirm our balance, if we require it. - -Small interruptions on the surface should be allowed to pass between -the feet. In practical glissading, in fact, the feet are very rarely -kept long in one position; they drift gently about, as balance or the -surface demand. - -The decision as to when they should be kept exactly parallel to one -another, with the weight evenly distributed between the two, or when -the one should travel slightly in advance, carrying the larger share of -weight for the moment, must depend upon the snow surface and angle, and -on the amount of work that is being done, in consequence, by the axe. -If the surface is roughish and steep or hard, the weight will be more, -and for longer periods, thrown back upon the axe shaft, and this for -reasons of balance. So supported on the axe, there is not the same risk -on a bad surface of our being suddenly pitched outward, head foremost. -In such case the feet are best kept parallel and together, acting as -supports supplementary to the axe, as upon ice. But if the surface -is straightforward in angle and quality there is less threat to the -balance, and our object is to reduce the surface friction and increase -the pace. To this end all the weight will be brought forward off the -axe and kept in balance above the feet. The axe will only be lightly -or occasionally in contact with the slope. The body will be sailing -down upright, but on a curve of balance agreeing with the bend of the -knees. The feet, in this case, adopt a position and a motion familiar -in ski-ing. They remain close together, but one foot travels slightly -in advance of the other, carrying for the moment the greater share of -the weight. The other foot runs in close support. It is brought up, and -in turn passes into the lead, according as ease of balance, steering, -or need of rest for the employed leg suggest. The balance sways lightly -from one leg to the other as each is employed, and the motion, allowing -for the different length of stroke, is not unlike the smooth steady -running in long-distance skating. At any second, if the surface demands -it, the weight can be thrown back upon the axe, and the feet are then -brought parallel again. - -Now that ski-ing experience is familiar, it is unnecessary to explain -why glissading on one foot--that is, on a single line of contact, with -the other foot and axe in partial support and ready to take their turn -if required--is easier, quicker and less exposed to accident than -moving on the two feet parallel, with the weight distributed evenly -between them. The instance of the relative pace and security of bicycle -and tricycle, although not quite on all fours, gives us a suggestive -comparison. - -On an obviously good and continuous snow slope the axe brake can be -removed altogether, and the axe is then carried easily in front across -the body, ready at any moment to be shot back under the arm into the -snow. The body then sways to the balance, above the slight bend of -the knees, and is practically upright. This is the most delightful of -all positions: there is no tension upon any of the body muscles, and -the sensation is that of a winged swoop. To brandish the axe at arm’s -length over the head, a fashion affected by performers of a theatrical -type more familiar in illustrations than on the mountains, adds nothing -to the pleasure and diminishes the security. The balance above the feet -is prejudiced, and the axe recovery in case of need is slower. - -[Sidenote: Steering.] - -The steering is done, as in skating or ski-ing, firstly, by canting the -feet and twisting the toes in the required direction; and secondly, -by swinging the weight of the body into the new position above them, -either by means of the sway of balance if we are glissading free, or -by the thrust from the axe point if we are axe riding. For instance, -if we wish to turn to the right, in order to avoid an obstacle or make -a zigzag on a slope too steep for comfortable direct descent, we twist -the toes to the right, and at the same time cant the feet in the same -direction; that is, we press down the right-hand edge of both boots -into the snow, gently or hard according as we wish to make a sharp -or an easy turn. If we wish to accelerate the turn, we bring the axe -into use, pressing back upon the point, which we thrust into the snow -slightly on our right. Similarly, to make a turn to the left, we twist -the toes and cant the feet to the left, and, if required, press on the -axe transferred to our left side. - -By making all three movements energetically at the same moment it is -possible to execute very sharp turns. The steeper the slope the higher -the speed, and the higher the speed the more acute the angle of turn -possible. - -If a glissader is expert enough to be able to descend steep slopes in -balance on his feet alone, without the axe as brake, and has mastered -the finer art of travelling upon alternating feet, he can steer his -turns also without the axe, and can descend on a succession of sharp -zigzags without the small awkwardness involved in transferring the -axe from one side to the other of his body. When he wishes to turn -to the right out of a direct descent, he sways his balance on to his -right foot, directs and cants it, and as he turns brings across his -less weighted left foot into line again below it. When he wishes to -turn back again to the left out of a zig to the right, he throws his -weight on to his heels, as in a ski-ing turn, directs and cants his -feet to the left, sways his weight over on to the left foot again, and -so continues on the new zag. In travelling on the one-foot method, -sharp turns are made by throwing the weight on to both heels; gradual -turns can be made on the one foot. Slight changes of direction, not -big enough to be turns, are more quickly made by bringing up the rear -and less weighted foot, sliding it in front into the new direction -required, and then swaying the weight across on to it. - -An expert can thus swing quickly and safely down a slope or couloir -too steep for direct descent, zigzagging from side to side almost -without help from the axe. His turns are less crisp than those of ski -or skates; but he can descend on a snow ribbon or in a narrow couloir, -where only short boots could find room to travel or turn. - -Even if a glissader has only accustomed himself to descend travelling -on his two feet parallel, with his weight evenly distributed between -them, he can still make slight changes of direction, without help from -the axe, by sliding one foot in front of the other. This will deflect -his course correspondingly in the opposite direction: that is, to turn -to the right, he brings forward the left foot; to turn to the left, -he advances the right. But his turns without the axe will never be -effective or sharp until he has learned to glissade mainly on one foot. -The second foot, for a one-foot glissader, acts as a free auxiliary to -indicate the new direction and to support the turning movement, while -the body swings in easy support from one foot to the other, as the turn -suggests. - -[Sidenote: Jumping.] - -The hands alone should never be used as rudders. Supposing we wish -completely and suddenly to change the line of descent, because we see -some obstruction below, or discover better snow farther off, this -is best done by a half-turn, and a spring on to the free leg. For -instance, to get across to our left we swing our free right foot across -us to the left until it touches the snow again at its utmost reach. The -weight is then flung across on to it by means of the axe, or by a rub -with the outside of our left arm against the snow. The left leg follows -(all without checking the descent), and we descend on the new line, or -swing the right leg again if a second spring is needed. To make these -changes of line, a sideways jump across, off the one travelling foot -and alighting on the two feet held sideways and slightly apart, is a -neater method, but it requires more practice. - -Jumping, sideways or downward, is as pleasant a refinement in -glissading as it is on ski, and very generally useful. It is often -more convenient to jump interruptions, of ice blocks, rock bands and -snow humps, than to steer round them. A good glissader jumps off -either foot, and alights on both. Even large crevasses can be safely -jumped by a skilful man, with a great saving of the time usually spent -in circumventing them. But this requires considerable skill and a -discreet eye in selecting the take-off. The edges of bergschrunds are -generally hidden or rotten, and the crouch and spring have to be made -well ahead of possible breakages. The glissader has no hand-made wall -to guide him and to dispatch him on his jump at the right instant, -angle and velocity; and the angle of the slope below has not been -chosen to accord with his curve of descent on to it, and down it. - -If we fall, after a jump or stumble, the first thing, on a steep -slope, is to stop any tendency to roll, which is the shortest road to -unconsciousness. The next is to get the head up. Then, if we have held -on to the axe, we get it by the head and begin to brake, as described -above. If the axe is lost, we do the same with elbows and heels, -sliding on our back; but never with fingers and toes, face downwards. - -[Sidenote: Brakes.] - -There are two methods of stopping or braking, the axe brake and the -foot brake, which are used in conjunction for purposes of sudden arrest. - -The axe brake is made by pulling the head of the axe upward with the -one hand, and forcing the shaft point down, and into the snow, with the -other. The weight of the body is thrown on to the lower arm, and the -thighs are brought close against the axe shaft. If it is necessary to -make a sudden stop on a hard snow surface where one is being ‘run away -with,’ the most powerful brake of all is to bring the shaft of the axe -under the right arm-pit, grip the left hand on the head, with the right -hand close to it, and turn the body slightly sideways, so that the -whole edge of each boot, heel and toe, scrapes against the surface. - -The foot brake is made by turning the toes up and shoving the heels in -and down into the snow, at the same time straightening the legs. If the -surface is too hard to admit the heels easily, or the pace and hard -surface combined threaten that an attempt to check with the straight -heels will mean one or both legs being torn up underneath the body, so -flinging us out and off our balance, the feet must be turned sideways -to the slope. The heels at the same instant are thrust downwards, the -legs are straightened, and the weight is thrown equally upon the axe -shaft and upon the feet. - -On any surface where a glissade is justifiable it is possible to stop -with these combined brakes within a distance of a few feet, provided -that, as with a motor-car, they are not jammed on so suddenly as to -upset the equilibrium and detach the points of contact from the surface. - -For gentle checks to pace, touching at intervals with the axe point, or -pressing on one or both heels momentarily, is sufficient. - -[Sidenote: Sitting.] - -Practically no snow slope of right consistency and termination is too -steep to glissade down; but many incline at too low an angle, or are of -too soft a surface, to glissade down in a standing position. - -So long as we are young and thoughtless, and place the enthusiastic -memories of youthful tobogganing before the after-discomfort of wet -clothing,--a youth which in the case of mountaineers appears to extend -well on into the sixties,--we hail such soft slopes as the recovered -opportunity of recalling a lost ideal; and we descend them sitting-wise. - -For sitting, the methods of guiding and braking with the axe and the -feet are much the same as for standing; only they are more clumsy and -proportionately less effective, as the slope also is less exacting. -The axe is held under the arm, in the same manner, to brake, and is -transferred from side to side to steer. - -The foot steering is performed by obstructing with one heel or the -other. For a sharper turn, the legs are lifted and swung across in the -desired direction. To avoid rolling over in a quick turn like this, -the body leans over on the side towards which the turn is made, and -the weight is thrown inward and back upon the axe. The whole length of -the outside of the leg and thigh contributes to the steering action, -as an equivalent for the canting of the feet in a standing turn. Leg -and thigh thus supplement the ineffective guidance of the heels. The -movement checks the pace usefully, for the snow will begin to hummock -under the thighs and up under the jacket, whereas before it was merely -percolating through the breeches. - -In descending direct the legs are kept together, and the body is -converted into as rigid a reproduction of a torpedo as the incidents of -descent permit. To accelerate the pace the body can be thrown back and -held stiff, which takes off the brake made by the curves of the back -and distributes the weight, as on a sleigh or ski. This movement adds -the neck to the other potential snow orifices. - -On unwilling slopes, punting with the axe and a swimming motion of -the legs can be resorted to, for propulsion; but the effort is not -dignified. Shooting, or ‘chuting,’ head-foremost has an exuberant -appearance, but does not add materially to the chances of pace. - -Braking is done upon easy slopes by opening the legs, and allowing a -triangle of travelling snow to pack between them. To brake sharply, the -axe point is driven into the snow under the arm, the body is arched -stiffly upward clear of the slope on the support of the axe, and the -heels are driven down and in, close together. - -For standing glissading, if the surface is good, we generally each -choose a line of virgin snow. Pace will come of itself, and is not so -important as uniformity of surface. But in sitting glissading the first -to descend has the worst place. He has to make a clearer and harder -track for the rest. If a trough of this kind is once formed, it will -be most polished in its exact centre; and men are well advised to turn -slightly upon one thigh and shoot down upon their longest but narrowest -available body-surface. - -A very pleasant method of descending, as a party, is to form a -fashion of bob-sleigh, each man sitting close behind the man in front -and having his legs held up by him clear of the slope. The most is -thus made of the collective weight and the least of the collective -body-surface necessarily in contact with the snow. The best situation -is towards the rear of the human sleigh. The man at the head will -collect most of the snow pack, and there will be only the usual moist -permeations to be enjoyed by the tail. - -The first man descending on an unknown slope after fresh snow, or on -the occasional snow patch found at lower levels, should always make -careful examination to see that there are not rock or stones near -enough to the surface to inconvenience, if not injure, his descent. - -Sitting glissading is useful not only on snow too soft or too easily -inclined for standing, but also upon surfaces where a crust has formed -over soft snow, through which the feet break under any attempt to -glissade standing. On snow of this character both steering and stopping -are even more difficult than they are in ordinary sitting glissading, -since any attempt to drive in the heels suddenly may result in a -head-over-heels fling. On such a surface it is best to lie as flat and -stiff as possible, and avoid making any abrupt local movements. - -The sitting glissade has been already mentioned as of use in crossing -schrunds with awkward-angled or dubitable bridges. Each man before he -shoots for the bridge should make certain that he leaves enough free -rope and good sense behind him to allow him to come to rest on the far -side without a disruptive or a premature jerk. - -[Sidenote: Stone Tests.] - -It is always wise, before glissading on a slope of uncertain -consistency, to throw a few large stones on to the snow to test the -surface. They should be as heavy as possible, so as to ascertain -the weight at which the snow will avalanche. The practice has the -further advantage, on a slope whose termination we can see, and where, -therefore, a slight avalanche quality in the snow need not deter us -from glissading, of clearing away all the deciduous snow from at least -one line of descent. There is left a smooth, harder track whereon a -human being can descend comparatively dry. At the best, the stones -may start a general avalanche, and so leave a safe and clean slope -where we can choose our line. Incidentally, the stone track serves to -discover the presence or absence of concealed stones or of rock points -uncomfortably near the surface. - -[Sidenote: The Rope.] - -To remain roped is impossible in ice-glissading, and is a nuisance -in snow-glissading. The rope should never be necessary where there -is any long and comfortable glissade in safe prospect. Pace and real -foot-running are impossible on the rope. Its use enforces axe braking -and slow-coach running at even distances, so that the rope shall -neither tighten upon the front man and upset his balance nor entangle -in loose coils about his feet. Every one in a roped party, however -expert, must be axe braking, and wearying his shin muscles, if no more, -in the vain effort to keep an even distance over surfaces of quickly -varying quality and angle. - -For the men in the middle of a rope, to be thus glissading is simple -weariness of the flesh. On short glissades, during long climbs, the -rope may have to be retained to save time, but on slopes of any length -it is always worth while to unrope. If the rope has to be retained on -such slopes for precautionary reasons, because the end of the slope -is not in sight or because there are beginners taking part, the party -should rope in pairs. Two experts can glissade fairly freely on a rope -by descending on adjacent parallel lines with the rope loosely across -between them. They have only then to see that it does not catch on -excrescences which they themselves are avoiding. In the same choric -fashion an expert can glissade alone with a beginner, protecting him -and accommodating himself to his uneven descent. He follows beside or -slightly behind, and is at liberty to quicken up, overtake, and even -get secure anchorage in time, if he sees his companion beginning to -descend the slope in other fashion than on his feet. In glissading with -a beginner on a rope the pace should never be allowed to become greater -than one is absolutely certain of being able to regulate, not only for -oneself but for one’s companion, with plenty of margin for accidents. -Once a man has been jerked off his balance, it is far harder for him to -stop himself and his companion by the travelling axe brake, on a steep -slope, than when he is stationary and upright with his heels well in. -He must therefore keep the pace well within the speed limits. - -The higher refinements of glissading, the zigzag and the free sailing -on one or both feet, are of course out of the question for more than -two on the rope; and barely feasible for them. - -[Sidenote: Some Variations.] - -There are a few occasions where exceptional varieties of glissading may -be found of use. - -[Sidenote: Alternate Glissading.] - -In descending snow slopes of doubtful consistency, or slopes or -couloirs whose lower end is concealed, and therefore an object of -suspicion for free glissading, an alternate slide and anchor method can -often be adopted. It is especially good for protecting beginners who -cannot be relied upon to arrest their glissade at any given instant. -The experienced man anchors firmly in the snow with the rope round his -driven axe. The front man then glissades down until he is arrested by -the rope or a call from the rear. The rear man follows, and glissades -either down to him or past him, stopping himself in the latter case, -if he is wise, before the rope runs out. _If_ he is wise, because no -inexperienced man can be relied upon to know what security of anchorage -is required to resist the jerk of a man running out a double length of -rope on steep snow. The first man then, in turn, glissades past, and -is stopped by the expert with the rope. The process can be repeated -until the bottom of the slope is reached, or the secure termination -of a freer glissade is ascertained. The method is a good time-saver, -especially in steep couloirs, but it must be worked with all caution. I -tried it on one occasion with a mountaineer of confident self-security, -and after sailing past him, and becoming certain that my rope must -have run out, I turned round, to see him head-foremost after me down -the slope. He had been twitched from his stance without so much as -a perceptible check to my rope. Since then I always, in alternate -glissading, turn face inward when I feel the rope is near its end, and -stop myself,--for the first few ‘runs-out’ at least, until I know I can -depend on my second. With a beginner it is best to stop, as last man, -when one reaches him. With a good second it is enough to arrange with -him that each shall call out sharply to the man glissading some three -yards or so before the rope runs out, leaving him time to stop himself. - -[Sidenote: Face Inward.] - -Any man who wants to get all he can out of the opportunities to -glissade must be able to travel in every reasonable attitude, and to -change from one position to another at any instant without check or -loss of control in the movement. The axe is the transitional support -during all movements involving sudden or marked alteration of balance. -As a convenient variety it is useful to be able to glissade face inward -toward the snow. On slopes of doubtful termination, and in couloirs -more especially, where it proves impossible to discover if there may -not be some ‘cut-off’ below, or where the quality of the snow, and -perhaps the presence of ice beneath it, make caution imperative, a more -controlled, watchful and restful descent can be made with the face -towards the slope. The axe head is then gripped under the arm with the -pick caught behind the shoulder. The two hands are firm on the shaft in -front, ready to shove the point into the snow. The legs are slightly -apart, with the feet parallel and the toes inclined upward. The descent -can be stopped in an instant by pressing on the axe shaft, and by -forcing the toes outward and downward, so that the inside edges of the -boots scrape downward against the surface. On rough icy surfaces, in -order to allow us to look round, and also to prevent the toes catching -and throwing the body outward, it is sometimes even safer to bend one -leg up, so that the flat of the one sole rests against the slope at -about the level of the knee of the lower straighter leg. The body then -lies forward over this bent leg as on a firm spring, with the centre -of gravity low and the balance secure. The head is freer to turn and -prospect above or below. A foot brake of extra power and rapidity can -be made by scraping the upper, raised foot downward along the slope -with the whole force of the body--a sort of stopping kick. For hurrying -the descent of awkward couloirs where the glissade of short stretches -may have to be stopped within inches, I have usually preferred this -face-inward glissade. In this position we not only can stop, but steer -with great precision and power; and in a very confined space, as in a -narrow couloir, we can side-step or side-jump easily. To jump obstacles -or crevasses when glissading face inward, we must of course turn round -first; but a good glissader should find no difficulty in twisting -round, especially out of the last position described, with the one leg -raised, which is in itself already a half-turn attitude. - -The position has the additional advantage of allowing us to watch -companions above; and, in suspicious couloirs, to keep a look out for -their loosened stones or small following avalanches. Stones can be -dodged once they are seen; and a fine face-inward glissader, whenever -he sees the small, wavering, pursuing avalanche, looks round and ahead -for some lower bay of shelter in the walls of the couloir, and, if need -be quickening his pace, steers out of its way into safety at the edge. - -[Sidenote: Plunging.] - -In couloirs or on slopes faced with soft sticky snow, too soft or too -gradual for a free glissade, it is often possible to save a long trudge -of descent by using the ‘plunging’ step. A few long springing steps, -driving the heels hard along the surface, will start a small surface -snow slide, and upon this we can ride down, until it again packs, -when the plunges are again repeated. If the snow joins in the game too -heartily, and there is a risk of losing control and of being swept down -in a cumulative avalanche, we use the swinging cross-step to the edge -of the wave, and jump clear. When the avalanche has passed there may be -a fine surface left for normal glissading. - -On every slope where we begin to feel that the travelling mass of -accompanying snow is getting beyond control, the glissader must be -ready to swing-step or to jump clear of it on one side or the other. -When it is past, he has also to look out for the not infrequent chance -of the furtive slides which will pursue the first. If two men are -glissading on a rope, the upper will be in the best position to decide -when the mass is growing too big, and he must give timely warning to -his companion before he jumps clear himself. - -[Sidenote: On Claws.] - -In couloirs of a certain type, where there is a thin covering of fresh -snow over ice, or where snow has partially melted into ice glaze over -rock, I have occasionally found light claws a great help to safe -glissading. The angle may be too steep, and the snow upon ice too bad -to allow of a prospect of descent without prolonged, deep step-cutting -or slow ambling on our prehensile claws. A pair of light claws that one -has no fear of blunting may then be found of great service to save time -and labour. Glissading lightly and slowly on the feet, side-crouching -as upon ice, or still better face inward, the claws slip down with the -surface snow. Where the snow is thin, they scrape through on to the -ice and retard the pace; where it thickens, they can still be forced -through by throwing more of the weight off the axe on to the feet; -and the descent, with the fitful brake of the axe, remains perfectly -controlled. - -As before noted, claws of the long-pointed pattern can be used in the -same fashion on rotten ice. - -On hard, smooth ice at high angles, claws of the light type are often -safer than nailed boots. A good position for such claw-glissading is -one of those familiar in ski-ing. We sit astride of the axe shaft with -the point against the ice. We can then throw the weight back upon the -shaft, and brake, while we release the feet to steer, or we can let the -weight forward on to the feet and increase the pace. Either or both -feet can be relieved of the share of weight if anything threatens to -catch them and upset the balance. - -This axe-riding position is occasionally convenient in icy couloirs, or -on fresh snow, where only an absolutely slow and controlled glissade -would be safe. - -It can also be made use of on very rough surfaces, on dry glaciers -or practice ice slopes, without the extra security of claws and -trusting to the boot-nails alone. But on nails alone the glissade is -proportionately less regulated, and we are more dependent upon the axe -for control and braking. - - -ON OTHER GROUNDS - -Many surfaces other than ice or snow give us good practice and -pleasurable moments. Volcanic ash is said to provide the finest -conceivable flying footing. Sand of sea-cliffs or quarries, and even -the mud shoots of the east-coast cliffs, give excellent fun; but the -most common, and perhaps the most admirable sub-alpine surface is a -light, steep scree slope. - -[Sidenote: On Scree.] - -Our method of descending these shoots is dictated by the size of the -stones composing them. When they are of shale, or light enough to slide -away under our weight, we need only straighten the leg, stiffen the -ankle, incline the body slightly forward from the hips, and start with -a long leaping stride, forcing the heels well down and in. Small scree, -at a good angle, will carry us on and down of itself. The axe is held -in the same way as on snow, and is only used for balance touches. - -On scree at a lower angle we shall have to continue the plunging -strides, leaping from heel to heel and travelling as far as possible -on the stones set moving by each foot. The stronger the leg the longer -may be the stride. The massing of the stones under the foot will stop -each step with the softness of a slow spring, and if we are thrown out -of balance by one too abrupt foot check, we can generally recover it on -the next stride. - -Towards the end of the slope the scree grows larger, and whether -sliding or plunging, we have to look out for knee and ankle twisting. -We go cautiously, but driving always harder with the heel, until the -stones refuse to yield to the thrust; and then we call in our loose -legs under control, and proceed to stumble or dance down the rest -according to the perfection of our ankles and balance. A man light of -foot and supple of joint can let his feet drift, as it were, over even -large rolling stones, letting them adjust themselves to the varying -resistances without checking his pace. A man who judges his scree not -by its size but by its angle, its shape and the way it sits on the -surface, can continue his glissade often well beyond the point where -the less expert begin to fall or crawl. - -Once the blocks grow too big to be kicked into harmless motion, and -the drifting feet begin to slip over them into the interstices, the -wise man begins to look for other shoots to carry him farther. By -using the swinging cross-step described already, we can make diagonal -descents of slopes on a succession of connected parallel glissades. -By choosing a line well ahead, and crossing from shoot to shoot, many -hillside descents of weary prospect can be charmed into a few moments -of stimulating racing. It is well to remember that up-running spits of -light scree often conceal themselves in depressions between ribs of -rock or in hollows between slopes of heavier scree, especially near the -bottom of the slopes. - -The light screes that lie in these lower furrows on hillsides are -among the deepest and pleasantest. Our zagging from furrow to furrow -will divert our thoughts if not our feet from the last tiresome steep -grass drop. Where the lower spits of light shilla thin out, generally -at their lower ends, it is wise to look out for the catch to the ankle -of rocks or wet earth or grass, stripped of their scree varnish by the -driving heel. - -It is best for each member of a party to choose a different line, -otherwise the larger stones dislodged, often accumulating a torrent, -may surprise a speedier forerunner. Similarly, it is safer to leap -sideways occasionally ourselves, and wait while our own attendant -torrent passes. - -The angle of inclination at which small scree lies is invariably the -angle of disinclination for big scree. Big scree, when we cannot avoid -it, is an unqualified worry, and we worry out of it as we can. The -method, traditionally recommended, of sitting or standing on one large -stone and tobogganing down on it over the others, would seem to be only -successful for distances not yet ascertained. - -[Sidenote: In Winter Gullies.] - -Except in the North, where winter snow gives much the same conditions -for glissading as the summer Alps, winter glissading in Britain is -usually upon snow-covered scree or mixed snow and scree. The end of our -glissades in this case has a special risk: where the snow thins and -weakens among the larger blocks, which it yet continues to cover--to -our downfall. To glissade near emerging rocks is risky, on account of -the probable holes and hidden pockets in the snow round them. - -In gullies alone we find snow over rock. Here there is another special -risk in the rock steps or pitches, which may be only partially covered -with snow. The drop is often invisible from above, and an inexperienced -glissader may be unable to stop himself in time, when he is close -enough to recognize a break in the continuity of the snow slope. -Sometimes there is a frail lid of snow more deceptive than an open -break; and I have seen a man shoot over a pitch of this sort through -the snow lid and down the wet rock channel under the lower snow. Where -the rock of such pitches is visible, we have still to look out for -another trap. We may count upon stopping as we reach the rock; but -the very end of the slope, where the melting snow has run down and -refrozen over rock, is usually of harder surface, if not of ice. Hence -we have to allow for a sudden and surprising acceleration just where we -intended to slow up. - -No man should start glissading down a gully or slope that he does not -know; or that he cannot see throughout its whole length; or until he is -expert enough to know what the snow, as he finds it, will do with his -feet. - -[Sidenote: On Grass and Heather.] - -Glissading is also possible and pleasant on slopes of grass, heather -or whortleberry growth, if the angle of the hill is steep and the -conditions right. - -Under snow, even in small quantity or half melted, any herbage will -serve; but the dry, polished, almost glassy surface of grass or short -growth, produced by drought or hot sun, is almost as slippery as snow. - -On firm covering snow over hill grass, of course a standing glissade is -indicated. - -If the snow is soft or thin, so that the feet would catch through it -upon the grass or heather stems, sitting is best. On steep slopes -sitting means rapid going, while there is any snow at all showing -between the stalks. - -If the snow is merely a wet skim, or if we are glissading upon dry -glassy herbage, it is better for clothes and comfort to use the feet. -The correct method is to sit or squat right down on the heels. If we -have an axe or stick, we lean back upon it, or push with it, as balance -or our relenting pace suggests. If we have no stick, we clasp the hands -round the knees and shoot down in a honeypot attitude. At a check, the -legs are shot out, and a raking action of the heels starts the slide -again. This fashion of sliding crouched upon the feet is feasible upon -nearly all steep slopes of smooth, thick, fatiguing herbage, where -the walking descent would be slippery and laborious; but it must be -used with caution. Stones, roots and hummocks intrude; and nowhere is -a human being more helpless, once he has lost control, than on steep, -slippery grass. If he once starts to roll, a broken arm or a bad -shaking may be the least disagreeable consequence. There have been more -serious accidents due to slips on grass than on all the snow mountains -of the world put together. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[13] _Climb. Club Ann._, 1912. Also, where there is danger of -frost-bite to the feet, as in the Himalaya, the risk of a nailed boot -is avoided by wearing claws over soft hide boots or strong wrappings. -For the same reason it is better to wear warm ski-boots, with removable -claws, rather than nailed boots in winter mountaineering in the Alps, -where the ski-ing alternates with the climbing and a soft boot would be -insufficient. - -[14] See “Equipment,” p. 93. - -[15] See “Rock Climbing,” p. 151. - -[16] See “Norway,” p. 546. - -[17] See “Mountaineering on Ski,” p. 424. This chapter should -be consulted for the more detailed study of snow phenomena required for -winter and spring ski-ing. In “Snow Craft” I have limited myself to the -conditions that a climber may meet with in the ordinary alpine summer -season. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -RECONNOITRING - - -Reconnoitring precedes in action the exercise of mountain craft. But -as an art it is the gold cup in the sack mouth of a mountaineer’s -equipment. Its effective mastery must rest upon his previous -accumulations of practical experience. It may therefore, fittingly, be -put in last. - -In the Alps and nearer European ranges, maps and guide-books relieve -the mountaineer of almost all occasion to apply his powers of -observation to the interpretation of the Seen or the reconstruction of -the Unseen. The majority of men who climb in the Alps or Britain get -no practice in making even elementary deductions from scenic details -within sight; and a number more, whose experience and observation have -been sufficient to enrich them with what they would call an instinctive -feeling about the meaning of topographical details which they can see, -or about the probabilities of those which are out of their sight, have -never, for lack of opportunity, been forced to resolve this feeling -into precise conclusions. - -Nothing but actual necessity, the need of providing for safe progress -or comfort, will induce most men on a holiday to exercise or educate -their observation. The loss is considerable; not only because a -developed faculty of observing, and of reasoning from the observations, -is in itself a valuable permanent possession, but because the neglect -involves the failure to see much that is beautiful. If we are -accustomed to wait until beauty imposes itself upon the eye, as in the -end it will, and almost flauntingly, in large mountain scenery, we -shall have already missed the discovery of the relations of line and -colour and mass to which the beautiful effect is due, and we are fated -to overlook much that is lovely and much that is interesting in regions -where there is grace and interest in the smallest detail, but where -detail escapes unperceived among the broad and salient features of -familiar magnificence. - -[Illustration: MOUNTAIN ARCHITECTURE [C. F. MEADE] - -On a more material plane, a man who aspires to lead a party must be -able to ‘see,’ in the sense in which an artist or natural scientist -‘sees,’ and he must be able to make the necessary mountaineering -deductions from his sights. A mountaineer who wishes to conduct an -expedition efficiently in unexplored ranges must be able to do more: -he must be practised in the art of confirming conjecture as to what -is beyond his sight from ‘signs’ within view. For an expert of this -sort it is fortunately sufficient to indicate what he can discover and -how to set about it; fortunately, because ‘signs’ in practice are so -modified by place, climate and season that no rules could be laid down -without a page of exceptions to prove each one. One day of practical -demonstration under guidance will reveal more of what we ought to see -and how to see it than much tabulation. We may write of a ‘snow sky’ -and an ‘ice sky,’ and a mountaineer who had them pointed out to him -would recognize the difference; but we cannot with truth say “a snow -sky is a whitish-blue, or shows as a white underside on a cloud,” or -“an ice sky is a greyish-blue, and reflects in a shade of grey from a -cloud,” because a different climate or region might anywhere contradict -our colour definitions. But the distinction between the two would -remain as a constant difference of tone under all identical conditions, -and it would be perceptible to a trained eye. - -Somewhat the same difficulty interferes with any accurate summary -of more elementary signs to be looked for in reconnoitring,--signs -whose discovery is, or should be, part of our daily alpine routine. -Every mountaineer should know at a glance, in the right conditions of -light, new snow from old snow, ice from crusted snow surface, open -glacier from _firn_ or _névé_. But who could learn to recognize the -differences, under continually changing conditions of light, from his -recollections of a written classification? The suggestions here made -must be understood, therefore, only to affirm that between certain -groups of surface appearances there are certain constant relative -differences, whose presence, or absence, can always be ascertained -in the right weather and light. They are intended to indicate a few -lines of less obvious investigation, which the trained eye can pursue -in examining aspects and details of mountains that are visible to -everybody but not equally intelligible to everybody; and further, to -outline a province of yet more difficult discovery--the collection of -information as to aspects and details which are not even in sight. - -It may now be assumed that until a mountaineer knows something of -his craft by actual experience, the choice of a route up a peak need -not be left to his unaided attempts at reconnoitring. Elementary -mountaineering information is far more widely diffused, and practical -climbing ability has become almost an inherited instinct. The method -adopted by the Badminton on Mountaineering, and by various excellent -manuals in imitation of it, first synthesized for us a sample peak or -climb, resolved the attributed features into their simple elements -again, and then directed us, with natural confidence, precisely how -to deal with them. A method advisable for purposes of picturesque -propaganda in earlier, darker days is of less service to a climbing -generation whose acquired craft can be more generally trusted to know -how to attack its peak, if it can once attain to only a small part of -the certainty about the real character and the momentary condition -of distant detail which these illuminating studies could happily -assume. The path so well prepared by our predecessors for the straying -or reluctant feet of the potential climber, and so entertainingly -bordered with composite examples, need not be retrodden. Guidance in -reconnoitring, to be of later use, must now wait for its opportunity -further along the way, and be ready to pester the progressive -competence and self-assurance of zealous mountaineers with the -well-meaning but aggravating importunity of an elder walking companion: -“Can’t you see _that_?” and, “What does it _mean_?” and, finally, -“Well, then, I’ll _tell_ you!” - -Snow and rock and ice, as a triune element, alone concern us. What we -need to find out about them is their respective _angles_, to know if -we can get up at all; their several _conditions_, to ascertain if we -can do so with or without danger or difficulty; and the degree of -modification which their _combination_ may be introducing, in order to -decide if we can do so within the appointed time. For instance, our -agreeable opinion of the angle of a rock rib will counterbalance our -unfavourable view of the state of a snow face, which it relieves; or -our optimistic impression of the snow in a couloir will free us from -the gloom created by our sight of the angle and character of a rock -wall, which it bisects. With a peak as such we are only concerned in -so far as it presents to us a greater or lesser mass of favourable -or unfavourable angles and superficial conditions. We take it that -our climbing craft can get us up any mountain by any way visible or -invisible. It is for our reconnoitring craft, first, to reject those -alternatives which are interrupted by the angle of the impossible; -secondly, to condemn the lines where it detects surface conditions or -direct menaces which will introduce too large an element of danger; -thirdly, to except the routes where it decides that harsh angle and -poor condition in unrelenting succession combine to form too great a -volume of difficulty to be humanly vincible in a single expedition; -and lastly, if no agreeable or interesting remainder be left over, to -use its utmost skill to determine whether some _unseen_ aspect may not -reveal sufficient of its character to encourage a hope that it will -offer a more helpful line of attack. - -The sum of the results of these investigations will of course add -up differently with every peak, and any discussion of it in the -abstract could only be hypothetical. The decision as to whether -this sum in any concrete case represents a feasible or justifiable -mountaineering attempt must take into further account the strength of -the party proposing to make it, and must be therefore, for us, equally -hypothetical. All that the grammar of reconnoitring can usefully define -are the lines which investigation should follow in order to secure -exact information about the elements which are the material for our -calculations, and therefore the chief factors in our decisions. Snow, -rock and ice are these elements; and their state, angle and influence -upon each other in certain combinations form the only matter that need -concern our examination on the spot,--or here. - - -THINGS SEEN - -To discover whether a distant slope is snow or ice, if the character of -the surface is not apparent at once, or deducible from its position, -aspect or angle, we must wait for sun or strong daylight. - -[Sidenote: Snow Surface Condition.] - -Ice surfaces--that is, the smooth ice surfaces found in the -Alps--reflect light as an even, steely glimmer, like elongated pools -of water. Black ice, not so often found in the Alps, has a different -quality in reflection. Granular ice is distinguishable by its -reflection of light in facets or prisms. It will be noted that these -tend to increase in size as our inspection descends the length of a -glacial slope. The honeycombed ice found in tropical ranges is quite -distinct in character; it can be recognized from a distance, and in a -photograph, by its surface forms. - -Snow surfaces show plain white or grey in comparison. - -An ice crust upon snow has an appearance much like that of ice, but the -reflected light is ‘pockled’ and uneven. - -New snow, which is best left alone, has a brilliant fresh surface. -Seen even from great distances, and especially upon rock, it shows a -filmy, gossamer, veil-like quality. This endures until the aeration has -escaped and the feathery surfaces have subsided into harder contours. - -Old powdery snow, as contrasted with new snow, has a greyer tint when -seen from a distance, particularly if not seen in direct sunlight. - -Old wet snow, laborious to cross, and deciduous according to its angle, -shows a bluish, luminous surface light, especially in its depressions. -It is often transected by visible lines of strain or cleavage. - -A thawing snow surface, seen from near, is dull and drenched looking, -or pitted with small holes. - -Surface hard-crusts, or plates, produced alike by wind and sun, which -afford pleasant going but possess the avalanche potentiality if the -angle is steep and their attachment to the surface below is slight, -generally mark themselves off from the surrounding snow slopes by a -lower, duller tone; sometimes they are tinged with a yellow shade. The -plates vary in thickness, deepening towards the middle, and they can -often be recognized by their edges, which run out on the neighbouring -snow in darker wavelets, sometimes with eyebrow-markings round their -curves. - -Old hard snow, of deep attachment and sound progress, lies in -alternating wave and hollow of different tones of light and -shade, where the sun has been at work on the surface. It is often -dust-speckled, or shows bluish finger-prints. - -Granulated snow, in strong light, may show bright or prismatic -reflections from its facets, similar to, but easily distinguishable -from, granular ice prisms. - -As confirmation, or correction, of what distant observation may -have revealed about the character of ice or snow surfaces, general -considerations must also be taken into account: the recency of the -snowfall, the subsequent weather, etc. There is also the final test of -touch, which is made on the spot, before any snow slope is traversed. -The change in the condition of the snow, which may be produced by a day -of sun before we can return down the slope, must not be left out of the -calculation. Many slopes whose surface may be adjudged and found safe -for passage in the early morning cannot be trusted by nightfall. - -[Sidenote: Angle on Snow.] - -It is essential to be able to judge of the inclination of a slope; for -some harmless conditions may become dangerous if the snow is lying -at above a certain angle. New snow, for instance, has been known to -slide at as low an angle as twenty degrees. Hard old snow, melted and -refrozen, may be supported in small patches, and remain reliable, at as -high an angle as sixty degrees. - -The power to estimate the angle of a slope by the eye only comes with -practice. Most slopes look precipitous in face. But a mountaineer who -has trained his eye by first going round to see a number of such slopes -in profile, and by then returning to see them in face, has learned what -he must deduct from an apparent angle. He is then qualified to make -a truer estimate of the real angle of slopes which he may be able to -examine in face alone. - -Snow cannot lie at anything like the angle at which it often appears to -lie when seen in face. From the presence of snow, in fact, much can be -argued as to the generally mild angle of the mountain face on which it -lies. Except in narrow couloirs, where it is supported by the walls, -snow does not lie permanently above or even up to an angle of fifty -degrees. Most big snow slopes are considerably less. The broader the -face on which it lies, usually the less the real angle of the snow. - -The fact that a big snow peak presents a continuous slope of snow -to its summit is evidence that the mean angle of the ascent is not -great, otherwise the even accumulation could not have proceeded. In -prospecting a new mountain, therefore, however tempting its rock face -or ridge may be to a modern climber, its snow side, if it has one, may -be assumed to offer the inclination of easier ascent. And this more -particularly if the snow slopes face towards the south, where the snow -would naturally adhere least to the face. - -Interruptions to climbing on such snow faces, whether as steeper slopes -of snow or as ice walls (such as it is well to note beforehand), are -at once apparent from their different shading if the snow slopes are -inspected when the sun is overhead. - -The inclination of a hanging slope of snow always appears still more -exaggerated as seen from in front if it lies on the face of what is -mainly a rock peak. We have in such case to discover if the snow is -lying on ice, or only forms a coating to the rock. If it is on ice, the -lower edge of the slopes, where the snow runs out on to the rock, will -generally betray a rim or broken wall of ice. To judge of the quality -of such a snow surface, and of the strength of its attachment to its -ice or rock sub-surface, the slopes below it must be examined, and -snow, stone or water furrows looked for. By the crumpled or the clean -appearance of the edges of the slope itself, where it touches the rock -walls on either side of its descending fan, much can be learned of its -past transmutations and present condition. - -Long or short spits of lighter snow, running up against darker snow or -ice, are the retentions of later falls, and are indications of uneven -angles of surface. They betray the presence of bulges or ribs below, -and, besides their promise of easier progress on slopes where the -general surface may be frozen hard or over-steep, they give us by their -contrast a further basis for our estimate of the actual inclination. - -The presence, the shape, and the number of cleavages or crevasses in -a slope of ice or snow are a further guide to our estimate. A certain -type of crevasse is only found on slopes lying at an angle of about -forty-five degrees. - -We may get additional evidence, in cases of doubt, by waiting for the -sun to throw the shadow of another peak or shoulder upon the slope. -When the sun and the interruption are located, the distortion of the -reflection will allow of an approximate estimate of the angle of the -snow slope. - -Faces or ridges of mingled rock and snow, and surfaces interrupted by -the intrusion of any detail, be it only of a shadow or tint, are always -easier for the experienced eye to estimate, in angle and character. -Where we have rock and snow or light and shadow in contrast, practice -in the reading of snow and ice surfaces, and in the rules that govern -their angles of inclination and attachment, and practice in the -interpretation of the details of rock structure, become mutually and -comfortably corrective. - -[Sidenote: Snow Cornices.] - -Cornices form against the wind, not with it. The contrary is sometimes -stated; but the error is possibly due to the fact that irregularities -in the configuration of a ridge often produce back eddies in a -cross-wind. If the prevailing wind is snow-bearing, and across, a -snow-bearing back swirl may build a small cornice on the sheltered -side of a ridge. Such a small cornice would appear to have been formed -_with_ the prevailing wind: actually it would have grown against its -return eddy. A wind blowing along (not across) a serrated ridge may -similarly produce very small cornices facing _either_ way on the ridge, -and apparently at right angles to the prevailing current, owing to -some tower or curve on one side or the other having created an inward -and upward cross-eddy, and a shelter from the main-current in which -the snow-laden eddy can work. Large cornices facing either way on the -same ridge, and the double cornices, are produced by a shift in a -snow-bearing cross-wind to the directly opposite quarter. If we find -ourselves on a corniced ridge when a strong wind, and especially a -strong wind from a warm quarter or with Föhn in it, is blowing against -the back of big cornices, i.e. from the opposite direction to that from -which the snow-bearing wind was blowing which formed the cornices, -we have to be even more careful, if that be possible, in dealing with -them, as such a wind will loosen their attachment and magnify the -suddenness and the size of their collapse. A cornice will always form -more easily on the summit of a sheer or abrupt wall, which creates -a strong upward eddy in a wind blowing against it, than upon a more -gradual or snow-rounded inclination which offers less resistance to the -current and less ‘catch’ to its snow burden. For this reason, upon a -summit or a ridge which has, as so often is the case, one more gradual -snow side and one rock side inevitably steeper, we must be prepared -to find cornices overhanging the rock face, larger if produced by a -wind-shift, lesser if by a back eddy, even though the prevailing wind -has blown regularly upon the opposite snowy face, and should have -relieved us of the necessity of caution by its failure to develop -cornices on that side. - -In general, therefore, the direction of the prevailing wind can give -us no certain guidance as to whether or not to expect the existence of -cornices. If a snow-bearing wind has blown against the visible side of -our ridge or summit, we shall see them. If upon the invisible side, we -must assume their presence until we can disprove it. But a wind-shift -or variable current may always contradict our calculations. A cornice -is very quickly built. - -If we have not been following the performances of the prevailing wind, -or if we mistrust its portent in any case, we have to rely upon visual -evidences when we are prospecting the approach to any snow summit -or the traverse of any snow-crowned ridge. In the case of a single -summit it is less trouble to assume the presence of a cornice, until -we fail to find it. In the case of a continuous ridge it may save us -much tribulation to ascertain its condition in this respect before -we start out for a long day upon it. If there are cornices, and they -project _towards_ us, they will at once be recognizable; if _away_, it -is not always easy to make certain, without getting a sight of some -part of the ridge in profile. Their detection at one point of a ridge -will dictate the necessity of precaution along the rest. A telescopic -examination can often discover the thin dark line of junction or -strain, running parallel to the crest in the snow on the near side, -where the projection of a cornice towards the far side starts its -inclination. (In more considerable snow ranges, such as the Andes, -this crack has, I am told, on occasion been proved to be due to a -longitudinal crevasse on the ridge. In the Alps, however, I know of no -case of this having been observed.) - -An alternative and rarer indication will be the discovery of a band -of shadow or duller tint, seen in the right light, running along the -snow wall just below some part of the crest. This will be due to a -relative steepening of the snow wall, sometimes even taking the form of -a concavity, where the back of a high, steep cornice, facing towards -the far side, hummocks up off its supporting ridge. The appearance -I believe to be occasioned by a fall or a shift in the prevailing -wind,--a fall permitting the snow to accumulate upon the head of the -cornice and form a sort of bulbous whale-back over it, or a shift of -wind to the near side beginning a projection which may ultimately grow -into a ‘double’ cornice, with the higher of the two facing towards us. - -Failing either of these signs, any two projecting points of rock or -snow, near together on the suspected ridge, should be examined. If the -connecting line of snow between them shows sharp and continuous against -the sky, and ascends at its either end in a continuous single curve -to the points selected, the cornice on the far side, if any, will be -slight and local. If, however, the snow rim seems to merge indefinitely -on the skyline, and its curve ascends to the points at either end in -a variable arc of different centres, so that we seem to see, as it -were, round the edge of a fold where the snow-curve hangs to the rock -points, a cornice is indicated. If the breadth of the points or towers -is sufficiently ascertainable to enable us to estimate the average -thickness of the connecting rock ridge hidden below the snow between -them (as it usually is unless the towers are seen absolutely flat in -face), then the look, almost a reflection, in the sky immediately -above the snow curve, and the character of the snow curve where it -wavers over against the sky, will indicate to an expert eye whether the -cornice is large or small. - -Where, again, sufficient rock points projecting from a snow ridge are -visible, as we see it in face, to suggest what must be the actual line -of the snow-covered rock connecting them, any wayward sweep away from -us in the visible line of the snow between them is an indication that -the snow rim, where the skyline thus unaccountably retreats from the -eye, is superintending a cornice on the far side. - -The presence of a double cornice--the fatal cornices that face two -ways, one built up above the other--is not difficult to establish. A -band of shadow or low light on the near side of a snow crest, below a -band of higher light, means a lower cornice facing towards us under -an upper cornice curving away. A band of markedly higher light, below -a band of shadow or obvious concavity, means an upper cornice facing -towards us above a lower cornice facing away. - -For all such observations on snow, which find their opportunity in the -relative positions of light and shadow, it is apparent that a time must -be chosen when the sun shines from the right quarter. Their accuracy -depends upon their being continued over a time sufficient for the sun -to travel past, and so indicate to us dimension, by the change in, or -the disappearance of, the shadows cast. - -[Sidenote: Wind and Snow Signs.] - -Wind is not ‘seen,’ but its immediate effects upon snow are, more -especially on high ridges, corniced or otherwise. The quality and -quantity of the surface snow on a ridge, which it is important to know -beforehand, can be discovered in times of wind from the amount and -direction of the snow particles, which are seen to be blowing off the -ridge, and appear as a film or puff of vapour upon the sky just above. -The absence of any halo to the ridge, in spite of the manifest action -of wind upon adjacent clouds, is equally valuable evidence of the -stable quality of the snow. - -The direction and force of the wind will often suggest the side of the -ridge to which we shall prefer to limit our passage on the morrow. On -the windy side, if the ridge be snow-covered, according to the quarter -and character of the wind, the snow will be crusted or hard, or we may -have to encounter a bare sheet of ice. If it be rock, again according -to the wind, we shall find the holds either cleared or ice glazed in -the morning. On the side sheltered from the wind, on a high exposed -ridge the snow should be just of good quality. But even on such ridges -it may be spongy and cantankerous if the wind has had Föhn in it. - -In a bad season, or after a storm of ‘dry’ snow, it is worth while -examining high ridges that have been exposed to the wind, on the chance -that they may not have been closed by snow for the usual three days, -like other peaks. A friend and I owed our own last great climb to -having observed that the Zmutt ridge of the Matterhorn had been blown -black and bravely snow-clear by the same storm that sheeted all the -other ridges and summits of Zermatt in white, untimely mourning. - -Apart from the indirect evidences it brings, wind, keen or warm, gusty -or continuous, has its direct bearing upon the comfort, the safety and -even the possibility of our climbing. Of its effects on snow surface, -on rock falls and upon _morale_ I have written elsewhere. - -[Sidenote: Ice.] - -Ice sheets on snow peaks are located from a distance by their reflected -light; but it is well to memorize or sketch their position and extent -beforehand, especially if we expect to have to cross them upon our -descent, since they will be usually invisible from above. If there is -prospect of our glissading, the exact positions of interruptions, ice -shields, bosses, etc., must be known in advance. - -Ice upon rock is apparent, either as a grey-blue, bottle-glass -bordering to the stippling and nestling of old snow, or in the refrozen -festoons of new ice, exquisite and evil, that complete the Gothic -character of granite pinnacles. - -Lazy, main glaciers reveal themselves frankly. The solution of their -complexity is the business of ice craft; but distant inspection is -concerned to discover the easiest line of ascent or descent, if the -glacier is to form part of the expedition. - -The most difficult hanging glaciers--that is, those with the largest -systems of crevasses--will be as a rule the most steeply inclined. -They will be therefore the easiest to prospect, even in detail, as -seen in face from far off. Very few hanging glaciers descend evenly -or straight. Either side or the centre will be moving the faster, and -receiving the fuller reinforcement. The line of the great crevasses -will slant upward or across, from one side to the other, or from both -sides to the centre. And along the edges where the lines of varying -pace and pressure adjoin and descend in conflict will be found, -if there are no abrupt ice falls due to uneven bedding, the least -interrupted route. Contrary pressures often tend to squeeze up the -ends of successive cross-lines of crevasses, creating a tortuous but -consecutive eddy of passage. Though the crevasses may still exist, as -walls, _séracs_, etc., they will be more compressed and negotiable on -this line. Frequently the cleavages will here survive only as partial -splits, and across and down the edges of the unsevered splinters or -flakes a continuous descent will be possible. But climbers may skirt -round the mazes of glacier causation, if they have but eyes for the -visible surface clues. It is enough for them to note from afar and -remember by marginal marks where the best line of traverse from side -to side, or from side to centre, should be started, in order to keep -or recover the mobile thoroughfare. On large glaciers this is often -very difficult to rediscover once we are on the ice, when our view is -restricted by its irregularities of surface. - -Similarly, to enable us to get on or off any glacier, we should note -beforehand the position of convenient side-bays, where the ice runs out -on to the rock in smoother, spent waves. - -[Sidenote: Couloirs.] - -Even as the passage of couloirs might be considered as belonging to -snow and ice craft or to rock craft, so also their consideration is -transitional to rock reconnoitring. - -On large mountains the important thing to know about a couloir -beforehand, if we intend to use it, is whether it is filled with ice or -with snow, and whether it is subject to stone fall. - -To information on the first point, the study of the angle of the -couloir is the first help. A steep angle generally implies that the -lining will be ice and not snow. - -But as snow, supported by retaining rock, may remain at a very high -angle, we look to see if there are any furrows in the white surface. -If there are furrows and they are in ice, they will show us ice -reflections in sunlight. If there are no ice reflections and they are -therefore in snow, or if they are only ice-backed and therefore in -snow-covered ice, the depth of the furrows will tell us what depth of -snow we may expect upon the ice. If there are no furrows, the edges of -the supposed snow must be inspected for further information. Where the -snow runs out on to the rock at the side in ice webs, the surface tone -will appear of different qualities if it be snow on ice, or if it be -ice throughout. - -And after all our examination, we may be agreeably surprised to be able -to ascend on hard snow in the early hours where we had calculated from -the angle that we should be hacking in snow-ice; or as disagreeably -disappointed to find snow of avalanche quality, on a late return or -after warm wind, where we had located snow of the best bearing variety -during a morning inspection. - -The base of the couloir should be inspected for traces of previous snow -avalanches, and for the character of its bergschrund. We see if we can -whether the summit of the couloir is commanded by glacier or slope -likely to use it for the discharge of snow or stones. If so, we note -during what hours the presence of sun will increase the risk, and when -shade to diminish it may be looked for. - -In a big couloir we mark down islands of rock which, in case we are -detained in the recesses until stone fall time, will provide us with -screens below which to steer our line. - -We study the lie of the strata and the containing walls for possible -exits from the couloir. On big peaks the top of a couloir often opens -upon an amphitheatre of slabs, too thinly ice coated for steps. It is -then important to mark down a line for escape in time. - -If the base of the couloir selected can be seen, the presence there -of fallen stones is evidence that they have fallen; but their absence -there is not conclusive that they have not. They may have been -swallowed by the bergschrund, disappeared into some crevasse, or lodged -in soft concealing snow. For this end we must examine the edges of the -schrund and of any cleavages for traces, and the surface of the lower -snow for pockling. If there are channels worn in the snow or ice at -the base or back of the couloir, we shall get further evidence that -something is accustomed to fall. These channels may have been made -by stones, by ice trash or by water. In sunshine the difference is -distinguishable. If the runnels are ‘silver-backed’ in sunlight, and -there are no stones apparent, they have been made by water and are -harmless. - -If the couloir to be visited descends on to a visible glacier, but is -itself invisible, the presence, absence or scarcity of fallen stones -discoverable at the bottom end of the glacier, subject always to the -possibility of the consumption by rift or crevasse, will demonstrate -the couloir, or couloirs, commanding the visible glacier to be -proportionately infected with, free from, or only in some cases liable -to, the falling sickness. - -[Sidenote: Rock.] - -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. - -[Sidenote: 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. - -[Sidenote: Ridges.] - -The same reasoning from the big to the little helps us in prospecting -ridge climbs. If the succeeding edges, towers and large interruptions -on a great ridge show a disposition towards maintaining a steady family -connection, each with its neighbour, in spite of their bold skyline -accidentation--(I cannot put this more intelligibly, but any student of -natural outline will know what is meant)--then there is every reason to -hope that the ‘cuts-off’ between them will also prove more relenting -than they look. In their smaller detail the same indulgences, of ledge -and flake and fluke in favour of the climber, will manifest themselves. - -A ridge seen end-on is very deceptive. If it rises steeply, it may -appear to be a continuous incline, whereas it consists really of -separated, ascending ‘steps.’ If a side view is not obtainable, the -look of the walls falling on either side from the ridge crest must be -our guide. The depth, extent and number of depressions indicated in -these side walls, seen in profile, will tell us that there are couloirs -below, and therefore probably syncopations in the seemingly continuous -crest-line above. - -The projection of bulges or articulated ribs on either side wall may, -similarly, be identified as the edges or supporting buttresses of -isolated towers, whose depth of separation from each other is concealed -from us in the foreshortening of the ridge. - -Towers on a ridge, seen in flat from one side, are equally misleading. -They are more often the ends of short ridges which run crosswise to -the line of the main ridge than the needles which they appear to the -eye. An inspection of the general lie of the strata will often tell us -whether we may assume this to be the case. - -If we can get both an end-on view and some oblique view of the ridge, -or of any tower upon it, we can reason fairly closely what the two -unseen sides of any spire will be like, and even whether they can -be expected to offer traverses conveniently sloping, or weathered -surfaces, such as the dip of the strata and the jointing deny to us -upon the visible sides. - -Allowance must always be made for the deceptive outlines that are -introduced by foreshortening. A view from some second point is often -necessary to counteract their false impression. - -In prospecting a ridge for purpose of traverse in the early morning, -it is well also to note which side gets the sun soonest and keeps it -longest. On this side we shall find the holds most clear of snow or -morning glazing, and be able to escape the chill to the muscles of -shadow on cold rock. The rock on this side also will, for the same -reason, be probably the more superficially disintegrated, and so offer -a greater choice of holds, though not necessarily holds of such good -quality. - -[Sidenote: Slabs.] - -In reconnoitring slabs, on faces or on the side walls of ridges, we -find that their apparent angle as seen in face is as misleading as that -of snow slopes. In their case we have not the presumptive knowledge -that they cannot be as steep as they seem, since rock may be as -perpendicular as it looks. Nor have we the subtle variations in light -and shadow which help us, on snow, to correct the eye. Rock faces are -so broken that it is seldom possible to get the assistance of sun -shadows in estimating the angle of portions of their surface. - -On the other hand, acquaintance with the characteristics of the -particular type of rock, and the visible general inclination of -its strata, give us a groundwork for a preliminary estimate of its -slabiferous sections. - -New snow can again come to our assistance. Snow will reveal to us an -easy angle by lying over our slabs as an even cloak; or it may display -a vertical section by missing it altogether. It will also indicate the -surface in some detail, by the fashion of its distribution on ledge or -pocket. - -Otherwise we must try to secure a side view of bare slabs, or at least -a second, oblique view. If this is not to be managed, it is of use to -inspect any near and more approachable slab of similar formation. By -an examination of the profile of a ‘sample’ slab we are often able to -revise our estimate of the angle and potential holds of its bigger, -remoter neighbours. - -But on rock the final judgment of doubtful passages must be left in the -end to the practical test of attempt. The only infallible criterion is -its tactile value. When we have reduced the ‘impossible’ sections of -a route to a few isolated passages, it is always worth while going to -see. The accidents of rock, its roughness, its whimsicality and its -reticences are nearly always in the end in our favour. If we can only -make sure that the rock is sound, and fix a general line of ascent, the -overcoming of the ‘impossibles’ or the ‘improbables’ in detail can well -be left to the moment. If we could map out a whole climb before we did -it, much of the pleasure would be lost. - -To the resources of rock technique no rock that is sound, and not -obviously absurd, is impossible, either by attack or turning movement. -And we may assume this to be so until we have ascertained by ‘rubbing -our noses against it’ that we have lighted on the rare and unhappy -exception. - -[Sidenote: Rocks in Britain.] - -In prospecting rock climbs in our own country, reconnoitring is -practically confined to scrutinizing familiar faces for alternative -routes or to orienting our own climbing in an unfamiliar district. - -The first is a simple matter of good glasses, good sense and direct -assault. In the second, there is still some room for general discretion. - -We have to allow for a great difference in atmosphere as between -Britain and the Alps. All alpine measures have to be reduced by about -two-thirds. - -We can generally assume that the north or northward inclined aspects of -British hills will give us the best climbing. This judgment is subject -to partial revision, according as we come to know better the local -characteristics or the rock formation of the particular hill before us. - -If the rock wall faces to the south, our prospect of good continuous -climbing is reduced. Rocks facing south will be more disintegrated, -as they will have been less protected from the sun and more subject -to strong variations in temperature. If broken up or inclined on this -side, they will be covered with verdure, which is offensive in itself -and hastens the action of water on all the rocks it commands. - -We have also to make sure of the lie of the strata, not only for -convenience of hold, but also because on the side towards which the -stratification dips the moisture fallen on the mountain will drain, and -we shall have to look out for our principal enemies--wet rock, rock -corrupted by moisture, and, in winter, an icing or glaze. - -Our islands provide us with a great variety of rock structure and hill -forms, and, according as we get to know the aspects of one hill of any -local type, it is interesting to reconstruct the unseen aspects of its -neighbours. Several good climbing cliffs were first found in this way. - -The look of the outline will suggest the sort of climbing we shall find -on the faces. We get further information from the nature and size of -any scree slopes below a cliff. The presence or absence of verdure, and -the sight of the belts, knots and surface _minutiæ_, tell us the rest. - -All the local rock of the same aspect and in the same structural line -will be similar, and may be bad; but if we can get at another aspect of -it, on an opposite hillside, it may be of good holding character. For -which reason rickety ridgelets may be faced across the valley by sober -and admirable slabs. - -Mist and cloud in Britain are our frequent companions. Mist may do us -good service by throwing an unsuspected ridge or pinnacle into relief. -But as a rule the alterations which cloud and fog effect in mountain -details falsify rather than reveal. Their use is to place a greater -value upon the fidelity with which previous reconnoitring has been -conducted, and its result remembered, if we wish, in mist, to arrive -at an intended climb at all, or to make descent into the right valley -on our return. Not impossibly they are sent by nature to complicate -what is otherwise the over-easy mountaineering training of our hills; -to handicap the specializing gymnast, and to enforce the practices of -observing detail, using the compass and map, and exercising judgment, -memory, and the precious sense of direction. - - -THE HALF-SEEN - -In the Alps or unfamiliar regions, to discover the truth about what -may be termed the half-seen,--that is, about formation or detail -which should be visible but for foreshortening, distance, angle or -light,--new snow is again our best auxiliary. Its presence suggests, -even emphasizes, much that is unsuspected. Seemingly straight ridges -are shown to be crooked, and plain faces rough. It helps us with light -in hidden corners, and annihilates distance. - -Otherwise we have to use days of driving cloud, or wait for the morning -or evening moments of thin mist, when the drift lies across the face or -through the ridge, and picks out its angles, features and perspective. -Mists will often reveal the existence of ridges and pinnacles, whose -separation from the face behind is undiscoverable as seen in front or -in clear light. - -Of more frequent service are the hours when the sunlight falls across -the face from the side, and the protuberances and hollows jump into -stereoscopic clearness in shadow and the modifications of light. -Invisible snow depressions, bosses and foreshortened angles of rock -slab or ledge are cheerfully betrayed by the veracity of cross-shadows; -and points and lines of obstinate sunlight, which remain salient and -surprising after the sun has deserted all the rest of the seemingly -even surface of snow or rock, proclaim to us unexpected inequalities -and therefore possibilities of passage. - -In cases of outside difficulty upon rock, where we are reconnoitring -some great rock wall, of a granite or dolomitic type, we can generally -make sure of the vertical rifts and clefts from below; but the presence -or size of transverse fractures or belts is hidden from us. In this -case assurance as to what has been only half-seen can be completed if -a downward view of the rock, or of its local type, is also obtainable. -The information is best secured from the summit of the peak itself, -reached by another route, and many great first ascents have owed their -discovery and safe accomplishment to such complementary inspection. -Only a short section need be in sight from above in order to indicate -the general character of the cross belts, and the last section on such -peaks is always the more important to examine, as it will generally be -the severest in its details. But even without this local visitation a -downward or oblique view of any section of the face, or of an allied or -neighbouring wall of similar structure, will give adequate information, -and convert the half-seen into the two-thirds made certain. - -A familiar instance of the use of such inspection would be almost any -great Welsh cliff or Irish sea cliff. Seen from below, it appears to -be continuous steep slabs, with only vertical cracks for the climber; -seen from above, it looks a jumble of vague cross-terraces of grass, -snow or rock, hardly offering a chance of good articulated climbs. Both -estimates would be false. Only by collating the two points of view can -a fair judgment of the character of the climbing be formed. A number -of delightful climbs, of late discovery, have owed their neglect to -the fact that they were only easily visible from a single aspect, and -that this produced an abiding false estimate of their quality. The -importance of securing corrective views, from different angles, be -it only of a section of a proposed route, or of a passage of similar -character more conveniently situated, attaches also to our inspection -of the half-seen on big ridges. With points to remember in such -inspection I have already dealt. - -It does, in fact, belong not a little to the reasoning from the seen -to the unseen; to which more metaphysical division of reconnoitring it -leads over. - - -THE UNSEEN - -The investigation of the unseen is a chief concern of mountaineers in -new regions. But it can also be of service to the expert, in examining -even a peak he knows well, to ascertain for him the condition of its -invisible side on a particular day. - -As I have said before, it is possible only to indicate _where_ signs -may be sought, and what _relative_ differences the expert eye may -discover and convert into information. - -The mountaineer, after inspection of the near side of a ridge or summit -in a big range, wishes to supplement this knowledge by the discovery -of the character or general formation of the unseen side. He wishes to -know whether it will give him snow of easier progress, or a subordinate -ridge for better assault or descent; also whether he can look for clear -rock on the far side, to assist his ascent of a ridge unfavourable in -its visible aspects, or whether he must be prepared for ice slopes. - -The first conditions for the inspection are experience, good glasses, -clear sunlight and no recent snowfall. Also, if he wishes to confirm or -increase the detail of his observations, he must be prepared to spend a -whole day of good light, with the sun aiding him from different points -in the sky. - -As he looks over and across his high ridges from some distant -view-point, in good sunlight, the mountaineer is able to distinguish -several different kinds of sky, according to the different character of -the unseen surfaces from which the sunlight is being reflected upward -on to clear atmosphere or on to low clouds. - -_The Snow Sky._--This he will find has a distinguishable tint, -identifiable by the practised eye, as different on a given day from -the normal coloration of the sky above as is the light reflected -from different qualities of steel, or from silver as compared with -electroplate. - -If the sky seen over his ridge is purely a snow sky, of uniform -appearance, it is just to assume that the unseen side of the ridge -consists of large snow slopes, and rises at a comparatively gentle -angle, since we know already that upon broad surfaces, at a steep -angle, snow can only rest while it remains new and adhesive. - -If, again, the sky above is purely a snow sky, but is traversed by a -band of slightly modified quality or tone, leading away from the eye, -there will exist on the far side a correspondingly inclined great snow -ridge, from one side of which the sun, in a given position, will be -reflecting high light, but from the other, lower. By repeating the -observation at different times of day, so that the light will have -fallen and been reflected from different directions, we can confirm the -existence of such a ridge, and may be able to locate its position and -determine its magnitude with some accuracy. - -A second and characteristic appearance is visible on the sky above the -unseen side, if this far side consists of two large snow fields divided -by a long rocky ridge extending away from us. We then have a snow sky -divided by a band of sky which is not catching any reflected higher -light, and which we may assume to be a ‘rock’ sky. - -_The Rock Sky._--If the whole expanse of the sky above is seen to have -a uniform and normal tone with no local alterations, such as would be -produced by partial snow reflection, then the unseen side will consist -of a large wall of rock--probably, in such case, steep rock. - -Under favourable conditions, a very practised observer may detect in a -uniform rock sky a band of slightly modified tone going away from the -eye on the far side. This will be produced by another great rock ridge -extending in the corresponding direction. By watching the sky above -this ridge, and observing the differences produced by the reflections -of light at different hours from its different aspects, we may even be -able to discover to our satisfaction whether the invisible ridge is all -rock or has one side covered with snow. - -_The Ice Sky._--Dry glacier or large fields of ice betray themselves -upon the sky in a slightly greyer tinge, distinguishable more by -contrast than by an absolute tone from a snow sky under the same -conditions. - -There is also a ‘water’ sky--the unmistakable look in a sky which is -reflecting great unseen sheets of water; but its identification is more -familiar and of more service to arctic or desert travellers than to -mountaineers. - -Apart from these larger sky signs there are some more local indications -that are of particular value to the climber. The appearance of the sky -as seen across the ridge will in most cases give us evidence of a mixed -character--that the unseen side is partly rock, partly snow. It is thus -essential to know, if we propose to use the ridge we are prospecting -for our ascent, whether the rock just over or on the ridge is bare or -ice glazed, and whether the snow discovered on the far side rises up -to the edge of the ridge or leaves a crest of clear rock. - -If there are bare rocks close up to the edge on the unseen side, these -will be at certain hours heated by the sun, and a hot current of air -will be ascending. The skyline above will have a wavering appearance, -showing a band of darker tint between the ridge and the normal sky. - -If there is snow close up on the far side, the air will not be -disturbed, and the skyline will be steady and clean. - -If the rocks beyond are free from snow but glazed with ice, the skyline -will remain undisturbed, but it will have a brilliant glistening -appearance in strong sunlight, like a strip of polished blue steel. -This last indication, if the eye can learn its significance, may often -be of service on climbs where the unseen mountain structure is already -known, but when there is uncertainty as to the actual condition of the -rocks on the day. Many fruitless ascents might have been saved if the -ice glazing on such unseen sections of a ridge could have been detected -in time. - -Some of these appearances may even be recognized in photographs, if -they have been taken under the right conditions and left untouched. By -watching a given section of ridge, while the sun is moving across the -sky, all a sunny day, and by using a map at first to discover what the -different sky signs as they become visible actually mean, and also how -much they reveal of the unseen topography as displayed in the map, it -is possible for some men to train their sight to discriminate fairly -closely between a number of even more complex signs, and to ascertain -actual details as to the character and direction of unseen walls and -crests, the location of unseen snow summits, and the length of far -ridges. - -The process, in practical application, is of course throughout -assisted, corrected, and its lines of observation suggested by the -nearer features which the expert reconnoitrer already has in sight. -For an observer who knows the forms usual in the type of mountain -before him, and who has the local features, on the side visible to -him, to indicate still more closely what he may look out for, the -interpretation of the meaning of sky signs presents fewer alternatives, -and the conclusions drawn from them can be far more detailed than would -seem possible were his reasoning about the unseen based only upon one -group of evidences. - -Final success in reconnoitring depends upon our ability to put -together, in order of their relative importance, all our assembly of -large and small evidences. Experience is able to deduce the small from -the large and to reconstruct the large from the small; and confirmation -of the truth of our deductions, from the seen or the unseen, comes when -two such lines of evidence meet: when the detail which we discover in -a single quarter confirms the speculations that we have based upon our -experience or on our interpretation of larger evidences, or when our -induction from a number of small visible indications is proved correct -by some revelation in a greater sky sign. - -For a mountaineer who has to convert his observation of distant objects -and signs, of a size altogether incommensurate with his own, into terms -of a possible advance for his eight-foot reach or four-foot stride, -no evidence is too big or too small;--and this especially because the -big, in mountains, repeats itself in the small with timely consistency. -A good mountaineer might almost claim to be able to construe a single -favourable sky sign, under certain conditions, into the assurance -of his atom-like advance up the infinite invisible detail of an -unpromising-looking mountain giant. - -Sunny days, patience and good glasses are first conditions for his -task. The same glasses should always be used. A type should be selected -that gives enhanced stereoscopic effect. Above all, the sight of the -eyes must be equal, or corrective glasses should be worn. Many men -never discover even what they ought to be able to see, until they -learn that their eyesight is, if only slightly, astigmatic, and use -spectacles for their reconnoitring. - -Reconnoitring is not merely the preparation for a single day or for a -particular climb. A mountaineer has to learn to see and to record all -day and every day, not only distant signs for future use, but each and -every detail of his surroundings. The detail may be forgotten, but -its accumulation will gradually form in his mind a mass of general -precedents and of knowledge of the characteristics of particular -shapes and structures. This will remain with him, and will return -instinctively to aid his judgment when some cognate detail presents -itself to be interpreted as a piece of solitary evidence. As a last -personal illustration, I may recall that one of the pleasantest new -ascents in my recollection was the outcome of a simple reasoning from -a detail in the seen to the memory of the unseen: the sight of a layer -of excellent snow, covering for the time the usually bare slabs of one -wall of a peak from which we were descending, revived the recollection -that on a famous peak in another valley was a similar wall of identical -aspect and character, as yet unascended on account of its normal -impracticability. Without further examination we made the attempt upon -it, and the speculation was confirmed in the cheeriest manner. - -If care so constant that it dominates alike the exhaustion of failure -and the more dangerous enervation of triumph is essential for our safe -climbing, observation so continuous that it becomes unconscious is as -necessary for our fortunate designing. Its habit may profit us by more -even than by momentary success. For a mountaineer may read a sky sign -only for the promise that it brings him of the morrow’s exercise; but -he has learned to see it, and with the power of sight he has opened a -new world of pleasure. It was the first scientific student of the form -and reflection of clouds, of the structure and relation of hills, who -was the first understanding prophet of their significance for art and -imagination. The more we can learn to see or to reconstruct of the -mountain forms visible or invisible about us as we climb, the more -vividly will memory interpret their meaning for our lives when we are -no longer among them. If we are of a mood to use both sight and its -interpretation as servants of our spirit as much as of our performance, -we may discover a reflection from the mountains that will permanently -colour our thought. There is a reassurance no less for our journey -through the years than for our march of a day in the perception that -oncoming shadow, by its very quality of darker relief, can reveal to us -some unsuspected and relenting aspect in the daunting precipice across -our path; and a twofold message, for our mind even more than for our -mountaineering, in “the light of the unseen snow-field, lying level -behind the visible peaks, sent up with strange reflections upon the -clouds; an everlasting light of calm aurora in the north.” - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -MOUNTAINEERING ON SKI - -BY ARNOLD LUNN - - -Winter mountaineering may be said to date from Mr. Moore’s crossing of -the Strahlegg and Finsteraarjoch Passes in January 1865. The first big -peak to be climbed in winter was the Wetterhorn, which was ascended -in 1874 by the Rev. W. A. B. Coolidge and Miss Brevort; a few days -later this party climbed the Jungfrau. These brilliant expeditions -set a fashion which was, however, only followed by a select company -of mountaineers, among whom a place of honour must be given to Mrs. -Le Blonde. It was not until Paulcke crossed the Oberland at the end -of 1897 on the ski that winter mountaineering began to be a popular -sport. To wade up a big peak in deep snow on snow-shoes or on foot only -appealed to a minority, but the number of those who were attracted by -the chance of combining mountaineering with ski-ing steadily increased. - -The English were slow to follow the new fashion; the number of British -ski-runners who have a long list of glacier ski tours to their credit -is still small, but abroad hundreds of experienced mountaineers have -explored the High Alps on ski, and abroad the advisability of using the -ski in the High Alps has passed beyond the limits of discussion. - -The time is coming when most alpine huts will be provided with ski. A -steadily increasing number of mountaineers realize that such peaks as -Monte Rosa or the Zermatt Breithorn provide excellent ski-ing at all -months of the year, and that the trouble of dragging a light pair of -summer ski to the summit is well repaid by a magnificent run down to -the hut. - -There is no month in the year in which the writer has not enjoyed -first-class ski-ing, and there is no season in the whole alpine -calendar in which ski cannot be used on the loftier snow peaks in -the Alps. Ski have come to stay as an indispensable adjunct to -mountaineering. To the rock climber the ski are perhaps mainly useful -in bad seasons; if the weather in summer were uniformly good the -enthusiastic rock climber would have little use for the ski. But long -spells of bad weather are not unknown, and many a climber who has -engaged a guide or a couple of guides for a month has spent a week, -a fortnight, or in some cases even longer without climbing a peak. I -venture to assert that if he took himself and his ski to a club hut -he would at least have the satisfaction of making good use even of an -afternoon’s fine weather. I remember once finding myself at the Egon -von Steiger hut during bad weather. It snowed all day and all night, -and cleared at ten o’clock the next morning. Two parties on foot -attempted the easy Ebnefluh. Both were driven back after a very brief -struggle with deep soft snow. Myself and a friend reached the summit on -ski in more or less normal time, and enjoyed a wonderful run back to -the hut, where the disgruntled foot-sloggers had spent the day. - -Let the rock climber learn to ski, and when the big rock peaks are -deep in snow he will be able to snatch a Monte Rosa or Breithorn from -the first fine day. In bad seasons individual fine days are often -sandwiched between two or three days of bad weather. Such isolated days -are useless to the foot-climber but invaluable to the ski-runner. - -[Sidenote: Technique.] - -I cannot spare the space to explain the technique of ski-ing.[18] Here -I need only attempt to dispel a lingering belief, that dies hard, -to the effect that there is one technique for ordinary ski-runners -and another for mountaineers. This curious superstition is the last -relic of an exploded system of ski-ing taught by an Austrian called -Zdarsky, the main effect of which was to encourage timid, slow and -clumsy ski-ing. The ‘Lillienfeld’ ski were short, and made straight -running very difficult and turning very easy. The Lillienfeld system -taught people to ski very quickly by dodging all difficulties and -encouraged a free use of the stick. It was a bad system, and is now -quite discredited; but there still lingers a curious belief that the -Norwegian style may be all very well for small mountains but is too -dashing and insecure for the High Alps. As a rule, glacier ski-ing is -far easier than ski-ing among the lower mountains; the most difficult -of all ski-ing country is wooded country, such as extends for miles -round Christiania, the home of the ‘Norwegian style.’ Let me therefore -urge the reader to master the free Norwegian style, to make all his -turns and swings without the aid of the stick, and to acquire a free -and dashing style. The mountaineer even more than the low-level -ski-runner should have complete control of his ski, and complete -control is impossible unless you have learned to control your ski not -by means of the stick, but by means of the ski themselves. - -[Illustration: SNOW WAYS [JEAN GABERELL] - -There are a few occasions on which the use of the stick is permissible -on tour; but it is so dangerous to begin by using the stick as a brake, -that I would advise the beginner NEVER to use the stick until he has at -least passed the ‘THIRD-CLASS TEST’ which is held from time to time in -all ski-ing centres patronized by British runners. - -Furthermore, though of course it is absurd to take risks in the High -Alps, occasions often arise where speed means safety. With bad weather -or night approaching, the man who can run fast stands more chance -than the man who can not, and, consequently, the higher your speed -consistent with safety the better your chances. Now, a high speed -consistent with safety can only be maintained by those who have lost -no chance on small expeditions of raising the speed at which they feel -comfortable, and this, again, can only be achieved by running just a -little faster than is quite comfortable. - -In the High Alps a reckless runner, who is always falling, is a danger -to his companions and himself, but a man who is quite incapable of a -fair speed is always a nuisance on tour, and may sometimes prove a -danger. Steadiness is the first requisite in the High Alps, but speed -is by no means unimportant. Any man with average balance and nerve, -if he is properly taught, can learn to run steadily and to make slow -turns on average snow at the end of a fortnight. To become a really -expert ski-runner is, of course, another matter, but some of the finest -ski-turns in the High Alps have been carried through with success by -men who were not even third-class runners. Let the mountaineer learn -to ski and take such chances as a snowy summer may afford. In a few -hours he will begin to enjoy ski-ing, and his enjoyment will steadily -increase with his experience. It is easy to become a third-class -ski-runner, and very well worth while taking sufficient trouble to -become a second-class runner. First-class ski-ing is, of course, not -within the reach of all. - -In order to make much that follows comprehensible to the reader, -who, though a mountaineer, has yet to become a ski-runner, a short -definition of the ski-ing turns and swings is necessary. - -The object of every ski-runner is to approximate as nearly as possible -in his course to a straight line between the point of departure and -the goal. Obviously this ideal is impossible of attainment save on -comparatively short open slopes, which can be taken straight. Hence the -regrettable necessity of turns and swings which, unlike skating turns -and swings, are not an end in themselves, and are only incidentally -beautiful and graceful to execute and to watch. - -There are three principal turns or swings: the _Stemming turn_, the -_Telemark_, the _Christiania_. - -Each of these turns can be used either as a stop turn (i.e. in order -to stop more or less suddenly), or as a means of linking one tack to -another. For instance, a slope may be too steep to take straight; in -this case the good runner descends in a series of linked curves. - -According to the condition of the snow, he will make these linked -curves either by means of the Stemming, the Telemark, or the -Christiania turns. - -The Stemming turn is the easiest and slowest turn. It is the key -to alpine ski-ing, and can be employed on snow on which a Telemark -or linked Christiania would be either difficult or impossible. The -beginner should try to combine Stemming with Christianias, to begin -his turn as a Stem and to finish with a Christiania. This swing, which -is sometimes called a Stem-Christiania or a ‘Closed Christiania’ (as -opposed to ‘Open Christianias’), or by a natural abbreviation a -‘Closti,’ is the most generally useful of ski-ing swings. - -The Lillienfeld system placed exclusive reliance on the Stemming turn -and dismissed the other two as fancy tricks. This was absurd, for in -many kinds of snow the Telemark or Christiania is much the more useful -manœuvre. Either of these latter turns can be executed at a very high -speed, whereas the Stemming turn cannot be done at a high speed. - -The Telemark is mainly useful in deep soft snow or in soft breakable -crust; in either of which the Stemming turn and the linked Christiania -is difficult or impossible. - -The Christiania, as a stop turn, is the safest method of stopping -at high speed. Linked open Christianias are not easy to master, but -are very satisfactory when mastered. Wherever a linked series of -Christianias can be executed, linked Stem-Christianias are easier, and -safer. The power to make a series of continuous non-stop turns with the -Christiania marks out the expert; nothing is more beautiful than fast -descent on glacier snow, film crust or crust slightly softened by means -of a series of swift-running Christianias. - -For the High Alps I consider that the Stemming turn and the Christiania -should always be used in preference to the Telemark, excepting in very -deep soft snow--rare in the High Alps--or in soft breakable crust. - -The Telemark is a one-foot turn; all the weight is on the leading foot; -consequently the Telemark is less powerful and less sure than the -Christiania, which is a two-foot turn. Furthermore, the falls resulting -from a Telemark which has gone wrong are more dangerous than from any -other turn. From a faulty Christiania or Stemming turn one is usually -thrown backwards or sideways against the slope; from a faulty Telemark -one is often thrown on to one’s head or outwards from the slope. -Further, the ski have a nasty habit of crossing behind in a badly timed -Telemark. - -To sum up: Use the stick as little as possible. Make all your linked -turns by Stem-Christianias, except in deep soft snow or breakable -crust, where the Telemark should be used. For a sudden stop use the -Christiania in preference to the Telemark. - -[Sidenote: Equipment.] - -In addition to the ordinary mountaineer’s equipment, the ski-runner -must have ski, sealskins, ski-sticks and repair outfit for ski. - -I have no space to advise on the choice of ski, but I might warn the -reader against the common illusion that ski for mountaineering should -be markedly shorter than ski for short tours. They should be a couple -of inches shorter, but very short ski should not be used save in the -summer. I have used the longest size obtainable (2·36 in.) for quite -long tours, and the next longest size (2·31 in.) in the High Alps. - -Sealskin are detachable, and are fixed on to the ski to prevent the ski -side-slipping while climbing a steep slope. Ski-ing boots are bigger -than mountaineering boots. They should be nailed--lightly nailed, of -course, but on no account entirely nailless. The nailless ski-ing boot -is a superstition imported from Norway, where the hills are milder in -gradient than in the Alps. - -For all glacier tours crampons, or, to use another word, ‘ice-claws,’ -should be taken. Eight-pointers are best, though good work can be -done with six-pointers. The small four pointers are most insecure and -uncomfortable. - -For all further details as to equipment the reader may consult my book -_Cross Country Ski-ing_. - - -THE ALPINE CALENDAR - -The first winter snows usually fall in October: excellent ski-ing -is often obtained at the ordinary winter sports centres in October. -Glacier tours should certainly not be attempted before December, as -the danger from crevasses is at its maximum in October and November. -January and February are the best months for ski tours up to about ten -thousand feet. The winter proper is NOT the best season for glacier ski -tours, though most of the classic ski tours in the High Alps have been -carried out between December and the end of February. Good ski-ing can -be obtained at low levels well on to the end of April, and sometimes -even later. As a rule, the snow lies down to about five thousand feet -on north slopes well on into the middle of May. - -MAY AND JUNE ARE THE BEST MONTHS FOR GLACIER SKI-ING, though excellent -ski-ing may be obtained throughout the summer. There is no month in -the year in which the High Alps do not yield good snow, but the best -all-round months for mountaineering on ski are undoubtedly May and June. - - -SNOW CRAFT - -The expert cross-country ski-runner must not only be a fast and safe -runner on all kinds of snow and ground, but he must also possess -a thorough knowledge of snow craft. Unfortunately, there are nine -ski-runners whose Telemarks are perfect for one whose knowledge of snow -is even adequate, and the number of those whose understanding of snow -in all seasons of the year is really expert is indeed small. - -Snow craft in winter and in spring is even more complex than in summer, -and requires a special study of its own. Even the most expert guides -whose knowledge of summer snow leaves nothing to be desired require -considerable winter experience before they are thoroughly competent to -lead a party among the High Alps in winter. The same is true of spring; -each season, in fact, requires a separate study. - -The ski-runner needs to possess a more exact knowledge of snow than -that which the foot-mountaineer requires. A mountaineer on foot is -mainly interesting to discover whether the snow is hard enough to walk -uphill without sinking in, and whether the snow is likely to avalanche. -Hard snow, soft snow and avalanche snow are the three main categories -in which the foot-mountaineer divides snow. He need not bother with -all the delicate gradations of value that distinguish snow which is so -hard that it will not take a Stemming turn, and snow which, though hard -enough to bear a foot, will yet take a Christiania or even a Telemark. - -The ski-runner who neglects snow craft is severely punished for his -carelessness. He runs into fast and sticky snow and pitches heavily -on his face, or from soft snow on to hard snow and falls heavily -backwards. Even the least observant ski-runner soon realizes that -an elementary knowledge of snow is essential to his comfort and his -safety. His knowledge of snow needs to be instinctive. On foot a man -has time to probe and to examine, but on ski he has to diagnose the -snow while travelling at a high speed. He has to possess an accurate -sense of direction so that he can foretell the changes of snow that -occur when travelling from, say, a north-east slope on to an eastern -slope, or an eastern slope on to a south-eastern slope. - -Quite as many bad ski-ing falls are caused by deficient snow craft as -by deficient balance. - -Precisely because even the most casual ski-runner is bound to learn -from the past experience of nasty falls, ski-ing inevitably teaches -even the most unobservant some knowledge of snow craft. A ski-runner -cannot hand over the whole strategy of the day’s campaign to a guide. -He must think for himself and study for himself. In summer the real -business of climbing usually begins when the glacier or the summer -snowline is reached, but in winter a ski-runner can kill himself in an -avalanche within an hour of the hotel. Snow craft begins in winter at -the hotel door. - -The careful study of snow is a fascinating branch of nature study. -More can be learned from books than the reader might imagine. Once a -ski-runner has grasped how snow is affected by altitude, orientation, -wind and sun, he is in a better position to profit by his knowledge in -practice than if he was forced painfully to unravel the laws of snow -by personal observation. In the early days of ski-ing in the Alps the -guides themselves were completely ignorant of the main laws of snow in -winter. They are still, for the most part, ignorant of the subtleties -of spring ski-ing, which is much more difficult to understand than -winter ski-ing. In winter, if a snow slope holds good snow in the -morning it will probably hold good snow throughout the day, but in -spring the same slope goes through a regular cycle of changes. It may -be unskiable at dawn, yield perfect ski-ing at midday, prove absolutely -unsafe at three in the afternoon, and yield good running again in the -evening. - -To time a descent accurately, to forecast from a knowledge of the -orientation and altitude of a given mountain that it will yield perfect -ski-ing at a given hour, is to know one of the most satisfactory -intellectual pleasures that the mountains afford. - - -WINTER SNOW - -There are certain forms of snow which are characteristic of certain -seasons. ‘_Powder snow_,’ for instance, is normal in winter and -uncommon in the late spring; none the less powder snow is often found -even in summer, just as certain forms of snow which are characteristic -of spring or early summer are occasionally found even in midwinter. -‘Winter snow’ must then be taken to mean the kind of snow which is -common and characteristic of, but not limited to, winter. - -[Sidenote: Powder snow.] - -In winter a normal snowfall is accompanied by a temperature below -freezing; snow that falls with the temperature just above freezing -usually descends in the form of sleet. Fortunately, such conditions are -not common. - -Snow will even fall when the temperature registers a degree or two of -thaw. I have known dry snow fall with a temperature of two degrees -above zero--centigrade, at a height of 5500 feet above the sea. -Similarly, as icemakers know, water will freeze on a rink even when the -temperature is above freezing-point. - -The explanation for this anomaly may be sought in the well-known -law that pressure lowers the freezing-point.[19] It seems a natural -deduction that diminished pressure will _raise_ the freezing-point. -0° centigrade is the freezing-point of water at sea-level. Under a -pressure greater than that of the air at sea-level, the freezing-point -is lowered so that the bottom of a glacier will be in a condition of -liquefaction at a temperature below freezing. It should follow that an -air pressure _less_ than that of the air at sea-level should raise the -freezing-point; or, in other words, that at any point above sea-level -the freezing-point should be higher than zero. From my own observations -I believe that water will freeze and rain turn to snow when the -temperature is 2 degrees centigrade above zero at a height of 5000 feet. - -Fortunately, the normal snowfall is accompanied by a temperature below -freezing, for if the snow is on the point of turning to rain, it forms -a crust when the temperature falls. A normal dry snowfall takes the -form of small hexagonal crystals. Newly fallen snow is not compact, -and contains a great deal of air, which slowly escapes as the snow -settles, so that after a day or two the new snow has lost nearly a half -of its apparent depth. - -New snow is very soft and slow, but gives good running on steep slopes; -though, of course, long steep slopes are liable to avalanche. Good -running is also often obtained during a snowfall by choosing south -slopes, previously covered by a hard crust; for there is nothing -pleasanter than two or three inches of snow on hard crust, and during -a gentle snowfall it is possible to enjoy quite good sport on such -slopes. In general, expeditions--even quite short ones--are impossible -till the snow stops, and unsafe for a day or two after a heavy fall. -Newly fallen snow sticks badly in the sun even if the temperature is -well below freezing. - -Once, however, that the snow has settled it soon gives perfect running. -One night’s really hard frost is sufficient to produce excellent snow. -_Powder snow_ remains good almost indefinitely in winter on northern -slopes, provided it is not spoiled by wind. It steadily improves. In -sheltered places the crystals gradually grow in size so that sometimes -you find large leaf-like formations, which rustle under the ski like -autumn leaves. Such snow is a dream of paradise. - -_Powder snow_ is the ideal running surface. It is equally good for -straight running and for swings. In deep soft powder the Telemark is -the best swing, but in fairly compact powder any turn or swing is easy -and safe. - -The ski-runner who visits the Alps in winter, and has good luck, may -run for day after day on perfect powder. He is in danger of thinking -himself a better runner than he is. If he concentrates on Telemarks, -the first tour in the High Alps, where he will meet varieties of hard -and soft crust, will find him out badly. He should therefore make -a point of spending a day or two on south slopes so as to master -the Stemming turn on hard snow. If he is getting pleased with his -Telemarks, let him try a Telemark on the soft breakable crust to -be found on south slopes at midday, and if he can do a series of -fast-linked Telemarks in such crust, he may then return to his powder -snow with a good conscience. - -[Sidenote: The Effect of Wind on Powder Snow.] - -Snow which is spoiled by the sun is never quite impossible, and is -always curable by a hair of the dog that bit it; in other words, by -another and stronger dose of sun. But snow which has been wrecked by -the wind is the despair of the ski-runner. - -The wind does not affect snow that has once been crusted, so that -wind-swept snow is almost unknown in spring. The favourite victim of -wind is precisely that light, dry powdery snow which is so common in -winter. - -The effect of wind depends on three factors, the strength of the wind, -the time during which the snow is exposed to the wind, and lastly the -type of snow exposed to the wind. Powder snow is the most sensitive, -the quickest to spoil and the most trying when spoiled. Hard crust is -entirely unaffected; heavy wet snow is very little affected. - -A light wind produces on powder snow the markings which are known -as _ripplemark_, a term which has been applied by scientists to the -rippled effects which can be traced, not only in snow, but also in -sand, and even in clouds which have been influenced by wind. Sand and -snow behave very similarly under the influence of wind. A slightly -stronger wind, or a wind blowing for a longer spell, produces caked -powder, which is dense and compact, but has not quite lost its powdery -quality. The ski sink in to a depth of an inch or more, and though -fast running is dangerous and apt to produce broken ski points, a good -runner can derive much pleasure from caked powder, and can force linked -Telemarks without much trouble. The third stage in the deterioration -of snow occurs when the wind produces a hard crust. _Windboard_ is -hard and slippery, but so long as it is not varied with soft patches -of sticky snow or of breakable crust, windboard yields a surface which -may annoy the novice but which should not prove, at any rate on slopes -of moderate gradient, too troublesome to an expert who has mastered -his hard snow turns. Windboard is common during the winter months in -the High Alps; in appearance and texture it is not unlike the hard -marble crust, which is found on south slopes after a long spell of fine -weather, but it is vital to discriminate between windboard and marble -crust, because the former may sometimes break away in slab avalanches -whereas the latter never avalanches. Windboard betrays its origin by -ripple markings, sometimes faint but seldom invisible to the practised -eye. Windboard is often varied by pockets of sticky snow. - -If wind produced nothing worse than caked powder or windboard, the -ski-runner would have less cause for complaint. Unfortunately the -wind often produces horrible surfaces which resemble each other only -in their general unsuitability for ski-ing. _Skavla_ is the generic -Norwegian name for wind-swept snow, and skavla is common on the -exposed fjords of Norway and Sweden, where it attains a degree of -unpleasantness seldom matched in the Alps. Skavla varies. Sometimes -skavla consists of patches of glittering ice varied by treacherous -pockets of sticky snow; sometimes a breakable trap crust interspersed -with windboard; sometimes waves of hard, icy snow which occasionally -attain a height of two feet or more. The prevailing wind determines -the direction of the waves and acts in precisely a contrary fashion to -that of wind on water; for wind on snow has a burrowing effect, and -forms these waves by excavating and eroding a slope, gradually forming -a series of steps. In other words, whereas on the sea the wind will be -found to be blowing up the longer slope of a wave, on snow the wind -will have been blowing against the short steep side of the snowy waves. - -To sum up: The effect of wind on powder snow is always bad. The -stronger the wind and the longer that it blows, the worse the snow. -Hence in winter avoid exposed slopes and seek out sheltered valleys. -The summit slopes of winter mountains will usually be spoiled by the -wind, which is one of many reasons why spring is so superior to winter -as far as ski-ing in the High Alps is concerned. - -[Sidenote: The Effect of Sun on Powder Snow.] - -Powder snow acquires a crust if it is exposed to wind, to sun -shining at a sufficiently direct angle, and to an air temperature -above freezing. Wind alone has the power of forming crust without a -preliminary melting of the surface. I do not know why this should be -so, but no doubt the reason is to be found in the law that pressure -lowers the freezing-point, so that the increased pressure caused by -wind lowers the freezing-point, or, in other words, produces the -effects of a thaw at the point where the wind acts even though the -general air temperature may be well below zero centigrade. - -At any rate, sun, wind and thaw are alike in producing a surface crust. - -The effect of the sun depends mainly upon the angle of inclination. In -midwinter, snow will remain unaffected by the sun on northerly slopes -even though they receive several hours of sunshine in the course of the -day. - -In fact, in midwinter eastern and western slopes retain powder snow for -a very considerable time, while a slope that is a few degrees north of -west or a few degrees north of east retains powder snow throughout the -winter, always providing that it is not exposed to wind or to thaw.[20] - -I use the term _‘thaw’ to denote a general air temperature above -freezing as opposed to the purely local melting caused by the sun’s -rays_, which may be, and in fact normally is, accompanied by an air -temperature in the shade of several degrees below freezing. - -The thermometer will often be registering more than ten degrees of -frost in the shade and twenty or more degrees of warmth--centigrade--in -the sun. It is, as icemakers know, quite common to find a belt of cold -air, two feet in height, just above the snow and just below a strata of -warm air several degrees above freezing-point. - -In normal winter weather you may be uncomfortably warm in the sunshine, -and yet the sun has no power to affect powder snow on any slope which -has not a touch of south in it. - -The steepest south slopes are the first to lose their powder snow. -Afterwards, the gentler south slopes follow suit. Towards the end of -February western and eastern slopes begin to crust. In March due north -slopes still hold powder,--at any rate above 5000 or 6000 feet,--but -slopes which are only a few degrees north of east or of west begin to -crust. Finally, the level outruns get crusted, then the gentle due -north slopes, and last of all steep north slopes. - -Of course at high altitudes winter conditions prevail until well on -into April. - -In midwinter good ski-ing is usually to be had on south slopes for -three or four days after a snowfall, though steep due south slopes soon -crust. The time during which gentle south slopes or slopes which are -just south of west or east will hold powder depends on the general air -temperature and on the altitude. I have known pretty steep due south -slopes hold powder below 4000 feet for three days of cloudless weather, -but the temperature was about 15 degrees centigrade below freezing. - -This is, however, unusual, and south slopes soon crust up even in -midwinter. The sun melts the snow by day, and the melted snow refreezes -at night, producing a crust. Such a crust will, at first, be soft and -breakable. - -_Soft breakable crust_ is not a bad running surface. It is quite true, -i.e. does not vary in pace from one place to another, and is usually -soft enough to enable the ski-runner to make Telemark swings, either -stop or linked, without much difficulty. Sometimes the crust is harder, -and in this case the jump-round or _quersprung_ is the only possible -manœuvre. - -A peculiarly villainous form of crust, fortunately rather rare, is -known by the appropriate name of _Trap crust_. This crust is perfectly -solid at one spot, and bears the weight of the ski without breaking, -only to crack a few yards lower down. The ski-runner skids with great -speed over the hard crust, only to be pulled up suddenly as his ski -break through the soft crust below. - -Trap crust is more usual in spring than in winter, especially on slopes -which change in direction, so that the ski-runner passes from snow -which has been sufficiently thawed to form a hard solid crust at night -to slopes which have only been superficially melted. Trap crust is only -found after fairly heavy falls of snow which require considerable time -to form a solid crust. As a rule, trap crust covers a foot or more of -powder snow. - -To return, however, to more normal winter conditions. _Under normal -conditions the snow on south slopes in winter is gradually transformed -into crust._ - -This crust is at first soft and breakable, but the continuous process -of melting and refreezing gradually produces a solid unbreakable crust. - -_Unbreakable crust_, as the ski-runner soon discovers, varies greatly -in quality from hard crust which is so hard that the ski slip sideways -without obtaining the least grip, crust which on any slope but the most -gentle is almost unskiable, to the other extreme, crust which though -quite hard and unbreakable is rough enough to permit even a Telemark -and to make Christianias and Stemming turns delightfully easy. - -The solid crust formed in winter is usually very hard and slippery -before the sun strikes it. This crust is known as _Marble Crust_. You -find marble crust on southern slopes in winter, and at high altitudes -in spring. It is common in the High Alps. Even at the very end of April -I have known a slope at a height of 12,000 feet remain hard, slippery -and unsoftened for some little time after the sun had struck it because -a bitter north wind had lowered the temperature several degrees below -freezing. - -In mid-winter a slope of marble crust will yield good ski-ing after the -sun has struck it, unless the air temperature is several degrees below -freezing. Marble crust, touched by the sun, yields a surface which -will puzzle the beginner but which is pure delight to the man who has -mastered Stemming turns and Christianias. The excellent running that -may be obtained on south slopes is too little exploited, for winter -ski-runners are firmly convinced that good ski-ing can only be found on -north slopes where powder lies. - -Mid-winter may be said to last till the end of January. In February you -often find perfect spring snow, Telemark crust, etc., on south slopes, -and in February, as often as not, the best running is obtained on -southern slopes. This type of running will be dealt with later. - -[Sidenote: Summary of Winter Snow.] - -Winter snow may therefore be summarized as follows. The normal winter -snow which is found throughout the winter on northern slopes and -occasionally on southern slopes is powder snow which is perhaps the -ideal ski-ing snow. - -Powder snow deteriorates under the influence of wind and sun. Wind is -the more mischievous. A little wind does no great harm, and the expert -can even ski with pleasure on the hard crust formed by wind, but the -extreme action of wind often produces varieties of snow which are all -but unskiable. - -The High Alps and lofty summits in general being most exposed to wind -will usually yield inferior ski-ing to sheltered slopes. The best -ski-ing in winter will therefore seldom be found on the glaciers. - -Snow also deteriorates under the influence of sun, which forms a crust. -This crust, however, once formed is often improved by a further dose of -sun. - -Though the best ski-ing is usually obtained on north slopes, excellent -ski-ing is often obtained on south slopes by those whose knowledge of -snow craft is sufficient to time their descent and to choose their -route accurately. - -Abnormal conditions produced by Föhn and thaw are dealt with on pp. -417-422. - - -SPRING SNOW - -We have seen that good ski-ing in winter depends largely on the absence -of wind. A sudden thaw may also produce a disastrous result, for snow -which has once been rained on and refrozen will remain covered with -crust until there is a new snowfall. - -The best winter snow is without rival, but spring snow is, on the -whole, safer and less capricious. In normal spring weather all snow is -crusted in the early morning, for the sun is powerful enough to melt -snow even on northern slopes. But this spring crust, as we shall soon -show, is much less troublesome than crust in winter and yields very -fine ski-ing indeed. Wind, the great enemy in winter, has no effect -in spring, for wind cannot affect hard crust, and if wind blows while -the snow is falling a few days of strong sun will melt any wind-formed -crust and produce exactly the same surface as if the snow had never -been touched by wind. It should, however, be added that, in the early -spring, wind, though powerless on snow which has once been melted -and crusted, is a great nuisance if it blows on snow which is still -powdery, as is usually the case for twenty-four hours or so after a -snowfall; snow which has once been crusted by the wind has a very -strong resisting power to the action of the sun; I have known south -snow in March retain irritating effects of wind action after several -days of strong sun that would have been sufficiently potent to melt any -ordinary crust. - -Spring ski-ing is, as a rule, delightful. Snow is troublesome in the -intermediate stage between powder and crust. Once a crust is formed, -the more often that crust is remelted and refrozen the better, as -there is nothing better than old crystalline snow which has been -through the mill of melting and refreezing again and again. Unless wet -Föhn blows such snow will always retain its crystalline character, -even when remelted by the sun, and will always yield good ski-ing. Of -course in the late spring at low altitudes the sun is powerful enough -thoroughly to thaw and drench the snow, and in the middle of May below -7000 feet wet snow in the middle of the day is unpleasant. But in March -and April ski-ing on melted crust is wholly delightful. Incidentally -the best ‘Spring snow’ is often found at the end of or in the middle of -February on southern slopes. - -From the beginning of March onwards all slopes, save those at very high -altitudes, begin to crust over. The process is gradual on northern -slopes. There is a period when the northern slopes no longer hold the -dry loose powder of winter but have not yet begun to crust. - -_Spring powder_ is common on north slopes in March. It is denser than -winter powder, and is not so dry. It is slightly moist on the surface, -and much heavier. It yields, however, a first-class running surface, -and will take any turn or swing. Its main objection is the fact that it -is peculiarly liable to avalanche. - -Gradually, however, Spring powder disappears, save at great heights, -and all slopes are covered by crust. In the afternoon the crust is -melted, and the snow is soft and wet on all slopes. At night the snow -is refrozen. - -The normal cycle, then, of a normal spring (say April, at altitudes -between 3000 and 9000 feet) is as follows: Hard crust at dawn; crust -superficially softened between sunrise and midday; soft melted snow in -the afternoon; soft breakable crust as the sun loses in strength; and -solid hard crust after the sunset. - -First let us consider the hard crust usually found at dawn. - -This differs materially from the marble crust of winter, and from -any of the crusts formed by wind action. It is, as a rule, slightly -softer. What is more to the point, it is rougher. The surface of normal -spring crust is perforated by numberless little holes. Sometimes -these holes are quite small, mere pockmarks, sometimes they are as -large as half-crown pieces. It is the presence of these holes and the -roughness of the crust that makes steering easy, so that control is -not difficult, and linked Christianias or Stemming turns are within the -power of the good runner. - -_Perforated crust_, in fact, is a delightful running surface. It is -common at low altitudes in March, at moderate altitudes in April, and -is normal in the High Alps in May, June, July and even August. - -_Film crust_ is found in May and June on the glaciers, and occasionally -at low altitudes in April. It forms a delightful running surface. -Unlike marble and perforated crust, it is not quite homogeneous. It -is composed of a hard under-surface of solid crust, covered by a very -thin, soft, and transparent film of ice, which glistens in the sun like -burnished silver. - -This film of soft ice is shorn away as the ski begin to come round on -a turn. It provides a splendid purchase, preventing effectually all -side-slip, and yet not sufficiently strong to make turns difficult. - -Film crust is admirable for fast straight running, because at any -moment the pace can be regulated by a swift turn. There is nothing -finer than a run down the glaciers in the early morning on film crust. - -We have seen that the cold nights of winter produce marble crust, which -is hard and slippery. Marble crust is the kind of surface which needs -crampons or a chip with the axe if it is climbed on foot. - -Further, marble crust, and all forms of crust produced by winter winds, -yield a very unsatisfactory surface, too slippery to give good purchase. - -We have seen that the milder nights of April produce perforated crust -which is much rougher and gives good ski-ing, while the even warmer -nights of May and June produce film crust in which Christianias and -Stemming turns are easy and safe. In fact film crust gives such a -wonderful grip that even Telemarks are possible. - -From this we deduce the following law: - -Provided the night’s frost is sufficient to produce a solid unbreakable -crust, the crust will give the best ski-ing when the frost has been -least severe. - -In other words, “THE MILDER THE FROST THE BETTER THE CRUST.” - -This rule is important. It often happens in spring that one has to -start down before the sun has produced a surface melting. Again and -again the first thousand feet or so of descent have been spoiled -because the crust was too hard and slippery. But the lower one ran -down the better the ski-ing. The hard marble crust of winter gave way -to the perforated or film crust of spring. In April, in the High Alps, -winter conditions often prevail at high altitudes to give way to spring -conditions lower down. You start a run on marble crust and end on -perforated or film crust. The lower the altitude the milder the night -frost, and hence the better the crust. - -But of course the hard crust of dawn is soon changed under the -influence of the sun. At first the sun produces a slight surface -softening which is, however, quite sufficient to make a great deal -of difference. Even marble crust, if superficially softened, yields -excellent running. Gradually the melting process becomes more -pronounced. Sun-touched crust with a slight surface moistening--quite -sufficient to make Christianias and Stemming turns a joy--yields to -crust covered by an inch or two of melted snow. Such crust is known as -_Telemark crust_--not because Christianias are not easy, but because -Telemarks are very simple, whereas Telemarks are difficult, if not -impossible, on hard crust. - -Telemark crust is a normal stage in the passage of hard crust to melted -snow. It is the practical certainty of finding Telemark crust at -certain hours in spring that makes spring ski-ing in fine weather such -a delight.[21] - -As the sun increases in strength all trace of the underlying crust -disappears. The snow is melted through and through, and becomes -dangerous on steep slopes. - -This wet snow is often slow, but it never sticks like the wet snow of -winter. On steep slopes it gives good running--if unsafe. - -Snow sticks in the intermediate stage between freezing and thawing. -Thus powder snow which is beginning to thaw sticks abominably, but snow -which is melted through and through does not stick. Snow which has once -been thoroughly melted and then refrozen will never stick badly again. -A surface of wet snow overlying powder will, of course, stick, but -melting snow which rests either on hard crust or on the hard ground -does not stick. It may be slow, but it does not adhere in sticky lumps -to the running surface. - -Thus two inches of melted snow on top of crust (Telemark crust) gives -a fine running surface, and an inch or even less of wet snow on grass -also gives excellent sport. - -Snow that has been melted and refrozen night after night soon acquires -a crystalline character. When the crust begins to melt after the -sun has struck it, the melting surface is composed of numerous wet -crystals, sometimes about the size of salt crystals, sometimes much -larger. - -This _granular_ snow is familiar to all spring runners, and gives an -excellent ski-ing surface. Occasionally towards sunset, as the wet -heavy snow that is usually found in the afternoon during the wet spring -begins to freeze again, you will find the snow assuming a very marked -crystalline formation, which resembles the wet hypo crystals with which -photographers are familiar. - -In general, so long as snow retains a crystalline formation it gives -good running. Salt snow or hypo snow yields excellent sport. In May at -_low_ altitudes the sun, however, is so powerful that it dissolves the -crystals and reduces all the snow to one consistent heavy wet slush. -Such snow does not stick--that is to say, it does not adhere to the -running surface--but it is very slow. Furthermore it is dangerous, -because if you run suddenly on to a patch of this very heavy snow you -are liable to be pitched on to your face. Often the snow is not only -melted downwards but upwards, for the ground is very warm in spring, -and thaws the snow from below, so that you will often find a patch of -soft heavy snow resting in the form of a shallow bridge on an empty -space. The ski break down the bridge of snow, and the ski-runner -pitches heavily forward. Such hollow snow is seldom found in April, -but is common in May at lowish altitudes. In May the best ski-ing at -low altitudes (5000-7000 feet) is obtained before 10 a.m. and after 7 -p.m. In the early morning and just after sunset I have often enjoyed -first-class ski-ing right down to 5000 feet and lower, well on into the -middle of May. - -We may therefore sum up the normal cycle of a spring day as follows: - -At dawn every slope will be covered by a hard homogeneous crust. This -crust will be either marble crust, in which case it will yield very -difficult and unpleasant ski-ing, or perforated crust or film crust. -Perforated and film crusts give excellent ski-ing even _before_ the sun -has begun to soften the crust. - -When the sun begins to gain in strength the hard crust is superficially -softened, and gives good running even in the case of marble crust. - -A later stage is reached when the hard crust is softened to a depth -of about two or three inches (Telemark crust). This again gives good -running. - -Either before or after midday, according to altitude and inclination, -all traces of crust disappear, and all slopes at moderate altitudes -are reduced to wet, heavy and more or less water-logged snow. In the -early spring this stage is perhaps only reached on southern slopes. -In the late spring it is reached on all slopes at low altitudes and -on north slopes, save, perhaps, at very high altitudes. In general, -the ski-runner should not be abroad at such hours. Towards evening the -slopes begin to refreeze. There may be an interval of hypo snow--soft -hypo-like crystals in which fast running and every kind of swing is -perfectly safe and easy. This is soon followed by the formation of a -soft breakable crust, which gradually hardens until at last the cycle -is complete by the formation of a hard solid crust. - -THUS IN GENERAL THERE ARE TWO PERIODS OF A SPRING DAY WHEN SKI-ING IS -EASY, FAST AND SAFE. THE FIRST PERIOD IS WHEN THE HARD CRUST BEGINS TO -SOFTEN, AND THE SECOND PERIOD IS WHEN THE WET MELTED SNOW BEGINS TO -FREEZE. THE SKI-ING IS LEAST PLEASANT AND MOST DANGEROUS BETWEEN MIDDAY -AND SUNSET. - - -THE EFFECT OF FÖHN AND THAW - -So far we have discussed normal winter and spring conditions. Föhn is, -unfortunately, associated not only with spring but with winter. The -conditions that are produced by Föhn are, however, spring conditions -rather than winter conditions; for Föhn, though by no means uncommon in -winter, is at least abnormal, whereas periods, more or less prolonged, -of Föhn weather may be regarded as normal in spring. The peasants have -a saying that, if the Föhn did not blow, the good God and the warm sun -could do little with the snow. Certainly but for Föhn Switzerland would -still be covered with glaciers. - -Föhn, strictly speaking, should be used only for the warm dry wind that -blows from the south, and which has been the cause of so many fires. -The fire of Grindelwald was caused by this type of Föhn. The wind dries -up the wooden chalets, and a spark from a cigar or a kitchen fire, -carried on the wind, is enough to kindle wooden buildings from which -the wind has absorbed every trace of moisture. But the word Föhn is -also used for the warm, damp south-west wind, which is in every way -utterly different from dry Föhn. They are alike only in that both dry -and wet Föhn raise the temperature and melt the snow. - -I propose to call the true Föhn DRY FÖHN and the wet, warm south-west -wind WET FÖHN. - -Dry Föhn is often associated with long spells of warm dry weather. The -skies are cloudless, and there is no hint of rain to be seen. You know -that there is Föhn in the air by a peculiar warm dryness, a marked -absence of coolness and moisture in the atmosphere. - -The wet Föhn always brings rain. Sometimes dry and wet Föhn will fight -for the mastery. Sometimes dry Föhn will emerge into wet Föhn and bring -down the rain, only to recover its mastery a day or two later. - -[Sidenote: Föhn in Winter.] - -Let us consider the effect of wet Föhn in winter proper. The ski-runner -is bound to detect the first hint of wet Föhn in the air by a slight -stickiness in any powder snow that he may chance to be ski-ing on. If -the wet Föhn is slight, copious waxing will eliminate its effects; but -if it is pronounced, the snow will ball and stick atrociously. - -Should the Föhn disappear, it leaves its legacy behind. All slopes of -powder snow which have been affected are covered with a crust, which -will be more or less thick according as the thaw has been more or less -severe. I assume, of course, that the thaw had been followed by the -frost at night, without which crust cannot be produced. Only a new -snowfall can restore a slope of powder snow which has once been melted -by Föhn to its pristine conditions. - -Sometimes the Föhn is so slight that the surface of the powder snow is -barely touched. It is not covered by crust, but there is a suspicion of -resistance as the ski drive through due to an embryo crust. Telemarks -are not quite so easy, and a very fast swing is apt to throw the -ski-runner outwards, owing to the fact that the side-slip is less -pronounced; for the snow gives less easily when covered by the first -hint of crust. More usually the Föhn, if it once begins, is accompanied -by rain. Often even in December heavy rain will fall on all slopes -below 12,000 feet. Directly the Föhn disappears the usual winter frosts -will convert such slopes into solid icy crust which is harder and more -slippery than any marble crust produced by sun or wind. I have seen -crust, formed by Föhn followed by frost, so hard that neither ski nor -hobnailed boots left any perceptible trace; and on an easy slope which -a beginner could take straight I have slid down helplessly on my back -some hundred yards, only to be saved from a further and probably fatal -fall by a guide, who thoughtfully received my head in the pit of his -stomach, breaking a thumb in the effort to arrest me. - -That was an extreme case of ice crust produced by Föhn, but it is not -uncommon to find every slope below 10,000 feet covered by an icy crust, -on which ski-ing is impossible. The wise ski-runner climbs on crampons, -and selects a due south slope for the descent, and times his descent -for midday. The slight surface softening produced by the sun is usually -enough to produce superficial stickiness, which gives capital running, -provided that you have mastered the Stemming turn and Christiania. -But, except at or near midday, and except on south slopes, ski-ing is -impossible during such periods. - -Sometimes good ski-ing is obtained near stream beds when all other -slopes are covered by hard crust. The mist that rises from the stream -bed descends in hoar frost and covers the crust with a layer of -crystals deep enough to take a turn. But such slopes are scarce. - -Occasionally the wet Föhn is followed by a period of dry Föhn. - -In this case the frost at night is much milder, and you will often -find instead of marble or icy crust typical spring formations. I have -found perforated crust and even film crust in January, when a period -of dry Föhn with high temperatures by day and mild frosts by night had -followed two or three days of rain. - -For weeks together I have known the crust formed by dry Föhn to -resemble perforated crust, but formed of a much smoother and more -slippery texture. Imagine a hard surface pitted by numberless smooth -little round hollows about the size of half-crown pieces. This type -of hard perforated crust gives good running, but calls for a thorough -mastery of hard snow turns. - -Often the dry Föhn produced a surface-melting to a depth of two or -three inches--_typical spring conditions in midwinter_. - -This again is an illustration of the law stated on p. 414: “The milder -the frost the better the crust.” In other words, once the snow in -midwinter has been thoroughly spoiled by thaw followed by frost, the -ski-ing will be best when the conditions approximate as nearly as -possible to those characteristic of spring. - -Spring snow is quite common in winter when dry Föhn follows wet Föhn, -and the wise ski-runner will seize every chance of securing spring -conditions once he has despaired of proper winter conditions. He will -choose south slopes instead of north slopes, low altitudes instead of -high altitudes, and time his descent for the sunny rather than the -shady hours. “The milder the frost the better the crust.” From which it -follows that the lower the altitude and the drier the Föhn the better -the ski-ing--once normal winter conditions have been interrupted. - -It is most interesting to observe how the same slope will be composed -of typical spring crust one day and of impossible slippery winter -marble crust the next day. The difference is solely due to the fact -that, in the first case, the night’s frost had been mild, and in the -second case severe. - -After Föhn you will often, for instance, find a queer kind of surface, -called Foam crust, composed of innumerable overlapping edges, miniature -cornices formed by a little trickle of water, a mere drop, which has -run off a thin small eave of snow. Now hard frozen foam crust is -very unpleasant, but directly the dry Föhn gains the mastery, and -directly the hard foam crust is exposed to a hot sun and a hot dry Föhn -atmosphere, it immediately softens, and yields very fine ski-ing not -unlike the best Telemark crust. - -To summarize the effect of Föhn in WINTER: - -Wet Föhn followed by frosts produces a crust on all slopes which -have been exposed to thaw. If the Föhn is very pronounced, and is -accompanied by rain, which is followed by frost, all slopes will be -covered by a hard solid crust. - -If a period of normal cold winter weather sets in, this crust will be -very hard and very slippery, and will only yield good ski-ing on south -slopes exposed to the sun. - -If the wet Föhn is followed by dry Föhn, you will get spring conditions -at any rate at low altitudes--a hard crust, smoother but not unlike -perforated crust, in the early morning, and a soft crust, not unlike -Telemark crust, on south slopes when the sun is shining on them. - -[Sidenote: Föhn in Spring.] - -The Föhn is less deadly in spring, because snow which has been crusted -by Föhn and frost is remelted by the sun, and the sun and frost -together will always produce the same surface, whatever has gone -before. A wind-swept slope or a Föhn-crusted slope are affected in -precisely the same way. In winter Föhn spoils all snow that it has -affected, and, save for the lucky accident of dry Föhn, one has to -wait for a new fall till normal winter conditions are restored. But -in spring, once the Föhn has ceased, a single sunny day followed by a -single cold night’s frost is sufficient to produce the normal spring -conditions, hard crust in the morning passing through the normal -transformations of the spring day. - -Wet Föhn is, however, most unpleasant in spring while it lasts. If you -are caught by wet Föhn in a club hut you are imprisoned till the Föhn -passes, for the wet Föhn brings down the avalanches on every slope -above 23 degrees (see p. 430). Ski-ing, while there is a touch of wet -Föhn in the air, is always unpleasant. Snow which has been melted -by the sun in a dry atmosphere never entirely loses its crystalline -formation, excepting at low altitudes in the very late spring. And even -then sun-melted snow is never so unpleasant as snow melted by the Föhn. -The Föhn disintegrates the snow, destroys the crystalline formation, -reduces the snow to one uniform heavy mass. - -Such snow does not stick _in spring_, provided it has been through -the usual process of melting and refreezing on previous days. But -though the spring Föhn does not produce stickiness, it gives the -snow a dragging, clogging grip. It may not ‘ball’ under the ski like -sticky snow in winter, but on all but steep slopes it makes ski-ing -desperately slow. Uphill work is most trying, for the friction between -wet Föhn snow and the ski is very marked. The ski have to be thrust -through the clinging surface, and the wet Föhn not only affects the -snow, it affects one’s whole body and produces a general sense of -lassitude. - - -SUMMER SNOW - -Between July and the end of September the snowline climbs ever higher. -The snow above this snowline obeys the laws that we have tried to -explain in the preceding pages. Snow is transformed into crust by the -action of sun or thaw or wind, and the crust itself affords good or bad -ski-ing, according to the conditions under which it has been produced -and the conditions that affect it when once it has been formed. - -In the summer you will meet with every type of snow in the High Alps. -After a fresh snowfall the snow will often remain powdery for days on -northern slopes at great altitudes. Between July and the beginning -of the winter you will find typical winter snow, powder snow or -wind-driven snow: you will find typical spring snow, such as film -crust or perforated crust, but you will not find any type of snow -which can fairly be described as mainly characteristic of the summer. -The conditions in July and the first half of August will approximate -to those of June, though of course there will be far less snow in -August than in June. Towards the end of September the snow conditions -will approximate to those of the winter proper, with the important -difference that the snow at the end of September approaches a minimum. - -Once the ski are left behind and the final climb begun on foot, there -will be many complex and difficult problems of snow craft to solve -which, however, hardly come within the scope of pure ski-ing. Of these -the most important is the problem of safety. Once the ski are left -behind, the climber’s interest in the snow is reduced to two main -problems: Is the snow hard enough to make going easy and yet not so -hard as to need step-cutting? Is the snow safe or will it avalanche? - -The avalanche question will be treated in its proper place. Summer -Ski-ing will be dealt with on pp. 468-470. - -I have tried to condense this section, and, like all condensed and -theoretic writing, it will no doubt prove rather dull reading. In the -later sections I shall try to provide concrete illustrations of the -principles here explained, and to show how the laws of snow craft may -be applied in order to get good ski-ing in the months of the alpine -calendar. - - -SNOW AVALANCHES - -Snow avalanches may be classified either as _Ground avalanches_ or as -_Superficial avalanches_. - -GROUND AVALANCHES--the ‘Grundlawinen’ of Continental writers--may be -defined as avalanches in which the entire snow surface is stripped off -a slope, revealing the underlying earth, grass or rock. - -SUPERFICIAL AVALANCHES may be defined as avalanches in which a layer of -snow, more or less deep, slides off an underlying layer of snow or ice. - -Before proceeding to discuss avalanches in general, and to analyse more -exactly the various subdivisions of these two principal categories, it -is essential to analyse the primary conditions that produce avalanches. -_Primary conditions_ may be defined as those which exist before the -snow has covered a slope, originally bare of snow. These primary -conditions are the _contour_ and _gradient_ of the slope and the -_nature of the surface_ that underlies the snow. - -No avalanche has yet been observed on slopes whose gradient is less -than 23 degrees, though, of course, even level slopes have often been -overwhelmed by avalanches falling from steep slopes above. - -Other things being equal, the stability of a snow slope depends not -only on its gradient, but also on the gradient of the slopes just below -and the slopes just above. - -A concave slope, for instance, which has an even outflow so that there -is no sudden change of gradient and so that the steeper slopes merge -gradually into gentle slopes and these gentle slopes into a level -outrun, is infinitely safer than a convex slope the higher portions -of which are more gradual than the lower portions below. Slopes that -steepen suddenly below a comparatively safe gradient should always be -treated with great respect. - -A slope, whose gradient would be perfectly safe if the slope petered -out gradually, may be highly dangerous if the gentler slope ends -suddenly in a steep slope, for the snow on the gentle slope is, so -to speak, ‘in the air.’ It has lost the natural support which is -afforded by a gradual concave base leading out on to the level, and -there is a reasonable chance of the weight of the snow on the safer -slope proving just too much to stand the strain at the point where the -slope steepens. In general concave slopes are safer than convex slopes, -and slopes where the gradient steadily diminishes towards the base -are safer than those in which the gradient increases before the base -is reached. Of course, any slope overhanging a cliff is always to be -treated with very great care, as even a superficial snow slide which -would be quite innocuous if the slope ended on easy safe ground may -prove fatal if it carries the ski-runner to the edge of a cliff below. - -The chance of surviving an avalanche depends greatly on the nature of -the ground where the avalanche comes to rest. Many ski-runners have -escaped unhurt after being carried down several hundred feet because -they have managed to keep on the surface of the avalanche and because -the avalanche has gradually spread out fan-shaped on open, gentle -slopes. But an avalanche falling into the bed of a narrow V-shaped -valley with steep sides is almost certain to prove fatal, for the -victim of this avalanche will be buried by the snow falling above, -and this snow will fill up the narrow bed of the valley and freeze -solid instantaneously by pressure. Thus all narrow valleys such as the -Urbachthal, or the upper Rhone valley between Gletsch and Oberwald, -should only be ascended when the snow is thoroughly safe. - -An analogous case is where a tributary ridge runs across a hillside. An -avalanche falling down this hillside will pile itself up against the -tributary ridge and a ski-runner will probably be crushed below the -avalanche, squeezed in between the tributary ridge and the main slope. -Often a large moraine fulfils these conditions, so that an avalanche -falling from a neighbouring slope is arrested at the moraine and piled -up against it. - -Similarly, if you are caught by an avalanche while ascending a gully, -your chance of escape is much greater if the gully widens below the -point where the avalanche overwhelms you. If it contracts, the pressure -of the snow forcing its way through a narrow space may crush you to -death. Compare the account of the avalanche that killed Bennen quoted -in _Scrambles in the Alps_. - -The bottom of a valley is not only dangerous for reasons just stated, -but also because the stream at the bottom of a valley often exercises, -especially in spring, an undercutting effect on the snow slopes that -end in the stream bed. - -_The nature of the underlying surface_, apart from its contour and -gradient, is a factor of vital importance, especially in the early -winter and in the spring. At intervening periods most avalanches are -superficial, and slide from an underlying surface of hard snow; but in -the early winter and in the late spring the whole snow slope slides -away, so that the nature of the underlying surface and the probable -support that it affords is of great importance. - -Steep grass-slopes form a dangerous under-surface, especially where it -is never or seldom mown; for long unmown grass generally lies facing -downwards, and offers a most slippery surface. - -Grass which is regularly mown is usually short and stubby in winter, -and gives better purchase to the snow. A slope covered by stony -boulders, bushes or trees is usually fairly safe, though a big -avalanche, once it is fairly under weigh, will sweep over shrubs and -even over small trees. Fairly dense wood may usually be considered -as safe, provided one avoids the long open clearings made by old -avalanches, which so often run down the middle of a forest. - -An elementary knowledge of geology is useful; the excellent geological -maps published by the Swiss Survey can often be consulted with benefit. -Rocks which suffer much surface disintegration provide a better -purchase for snow than very hard and consequently very smooth rocks. -The hard ‘Hochgebirgskalk,’ an alpine variety of limestone, which is -very common, especially in high regions, is slippery, and instead of -disintegrating gradually, as gneiss or granite disintegrates, has a -habit of breaking away along vertical and horizontal joints. - -The common rock known as ‘Flysch,’ common in the lower Alps, provides a -much safer surface. - -Glacier-polished rocks are, of course, especially dangerous, and the -whole Grimsel region is consequently swept by avalanches throughout the -winter. - -The lie of the strata is an important factor. Where, as is usually the -case, the strata are inclined, one slope of a mountain will usually -be safer than the other. Diagrams I and II represent the north and -south slopes of a ridge running more or less east and west. The ridge -is formed by parallel but inclined bands of strata. Rock climbers -know that the slope in Diagram I, though of the same gradient as the -slope in Diagram II, is very much more difficult to climb. It is also -much more liable to avalanche, as the outcrop of the strata provide -a natural check to avalanches in Diagram II; whereas in Diagram I -each outcrop forms a small steep snow slope quite unsupported. If the -outcrops are of reasonable breadth, there will be belts running across -the face of the slope at A’, B’, C’, D’ which will be inclined into the -slope, and provide a safe line of traverse; whereas there is no safe -line for a ski-runner desiring to traverse or ascend the slope A, B, C, -D. - -[Illustration: DIAGRAM I.] - -[Illustration: DIAGRAM II.] - -Geological maps indicate the ‘strike’ of the strata, and therefore -provide useful clues as to the varying liability of slopes to avalanche. - -Loose scree guarantees the ski-runner against ground avalanches, -but, as the winter advances, loose scree is soon covered with deep -snow, from which later layers of snow can slide uninfluenced by the -underlying scree. In fact, as the winter advances, the original -underlying surface plays a smaller part in the problem of avalanches. -Hard-crusted snow covered by soft snow is especially dangerous, and -of course ice, as is so often met with in the High Alps, is the worst -under-surface of all. Fortunately, snow often attaches itself firmly to -ice, transforming an ice slope into a snow slope. - -The conditions necessary for this transformation will be explained on -pp. 426-427. - -So far we have dealt with _primary_ conditions, the nature of the -ground before the snow has begun to fall and the gradient of the slope -from which the avalanche slides. An important factor is the _quantity_ -of snow on the slope. It often happens that a shallow superficial layer -detaches itself and carries a ski-runner down the slope. If the slope -ends on gentle ground, no damage is done beyond the loss of height -and the consequent waste of time and effort in reascending to the -spot from which the avalanche started. But if the snow slide carries -the ski-runner over a cliff or into a bergschrund or crevasse, it is -clearly immaterial to the ski-runner whether his original snow slide -was 1 inch or 6 feet in thickness. - -I propose to use the word SNOW SLIDE for such small avalanches as are -only dangerous where they carry the ski-runner on to dangerous ground, -such as the edge of a precipice, and to reserve the word AVALANCHE for -avalanches deep enough in themselves to overwhelm and possibly to kill -a ski-runner. - -Though a very small layer of snow--an inch or even less--is enough to -produce a snow slide, especially if the shallow layer rests on ice, the -amount of snow necessary to produce a real avalanche is much greater, -and varies very much with the quality of the snow. - - -CLASSIFICATION OF AVALANCHES - -The old writers divided avalanches into ‘Grundlawinen’ (ground -avalanches) and ‘Staublawinen’ (dust avalanches)--a misleading -classification, for a ground avalanche may be composed of dry powder -snow, and produce all the appearance of a ‘Staublawinen’: the clouds -of white snow dust, once supposed to be peculiar to avalanches of -powder snow, are really common in almost every type of big avalanche, -especially where the avalanche falls over steep cliffs. I prefer to -divide snow avalanches into four main classes: - - I. Dry powder avalanches. - - II. Wet new snow avalanches (i.e. powder snow which has begun to thaw - as differentiated from old wet snow which is formed by crust which has - been thoroughly melted). - - III. Snow-slabs. - - IV. Wet old snow avalanches--the Grundlawinen of the older authors. - -I. DRY POWDER AVALANCHES.--Newly fallen snow, which has not been -subject to thaw or sun, contains a great deal of air until it settles, -and even when it has settled it still imprisons a considerable quantity -of air. This makes for stability, for snow is less likely to avalanche -when it lacks cohesion. I have often experimented on newly fallen snow -at a low temperature, and I have found it almost impossible to start an -avalanche on any slope below about 35 degrees and less than about 200 -feet in height. Small snow slides are common enough if the underlying -surface is hard; but as a rule even snow slides come to a standstill -after a few yards. The really dangerous dry powder avalanches only -occur on very long and steep slopes, where the amount and mass of -the snow is sufficient to produce the necessary momentum for a big -avalanche. Dry powder has a strong internal friction, and, as a rule, -some powerful external impact is necessary to start an avalanche. -Of such impacts wind is the most dangerous. A sudden blizzard may -convert a valley, safe when the ski-runner entered it, into a veritable -death-trap. Further, the fall of an avalanche on one side of a valley -may precipitate other avalanches on the opposite side. Partly owing -to the air imprisoned in dry powder, and partly owing to the momentum -of the avalanche itself, the wind caused by a big fall of snow is -extremely powerful and destructive. Houses and trees are torn away by -the blast, even though they may be beyond the track of the avalanche. -The force of the wind is multiplied manifold when the avalanche falls -into a constricted space, such as the floor of a narrow valley. I have -seen a bridge just below Gletsch destroyed by a spring avalanche, or -rather by the wind caused by an avalanche on the opposite side of this -very narrow valley. A large part of the bridge, weighing several tons, -had been thrown _upwards_ to a height of about 150 feet! - -After a heavy snowfall the danger of dry powder avalanches may last for -a day or two, or even more; but as a rule two or three days of settled -weather and keen frosts render most northern slopes--in winter, though -not in spring--safe enough. When the powder snow has passed into the -stage known as _Crystal powder_--i.e. when the small light dry powder -has been converted into crystals of an appreciable size--the danger of -avalanches is very remote. On a windless day with a temperature in the -shade below freezing, I should not hesitate to cross almost any slope -up to 35 degrees which was covered by genuine crystal powder snow, -provided that the slope petered out gradually on to the level and did -not overhang a cliff. - -II. WET NEW SNOW AVALANCHES.--Directly the powder snow is exposed to -surface thaw, either owing to a rise of temperature or to the sun, -its weight and cohesiveness increase, and the danger of avalanches is -consequently much greater. Sometimes the snow falls with a temperature -above freezing. This wet new snow is dangerous, but as it is also -extremely unpleasant for ski-ing, few ski-runners are likely to be -abroad. On the other hand, ski-runners are often tempted to cross a -southern slope where the powder is beginning to melt. Snow on a steep -southern slope soon gets thawed through the bottom, so that ground -avalanches are quite normal in winter on south slopes. As a rule, south -slopes in winter get rid of their superfluous snow in the first two -or three days of fine weather. The snow that remains is thawed by day -and frozen by night, so that at the end of four or five days the south -slopes have got rid of their avalanches, and the snow that remains is a -crust more or less hard and slippery. This crust by day may become soft -breakable crust, but once it has crusted, a slope in the winter is not -likely to avalanche until there is a new snowfall. A very marked rise -in temperature may make a south slope that has been crusted dangerous -again; but such sudden and marked rises of temperature are rare in -winter. - -In general, therefore, south slopes in winter are safer than north -slopes. They give rise to more avalanches, but such avalanches as -fall off south slopes generally fall within two or three days after -a snowfall, after which a south slope is crusted and safe in winter; -and though after a few days of settled weather most north slopes are -absolutely safe, very steep and very long north slopes, or short steep -slopes overhanging a cliff, are always dangerous. Of course, whenever -the wet Föhn is blowing, or whenever there is a general thaw, _all_ -steep slopes, and a great many moderate slopes, become very dangerous -indeed. The effect of the thaw is to give the snow the cohesiveness -and weight which it lacks in its pristine dry condition. The dampness -in the air saturates the snow with moisture and increases its weight. -During a severe Föhn you will often see huge ground avalanches -almost as destructive as those that fall in spring. When the Föhn is -blowing ski-ing is always extremely dangerous. Fortunately, it is -also extremely unpleasant, or fatal avalanche accidents would be more -frequent. - -The dry Föhn (see p. 418) is much less dangerous. Unless it is very -pronounced, it will hardly affect northern slopes in winter, though it -may convert a south slope, usually covered by hard crust, and therefore -safe, into soft wet and dangerous snow. - -In spring northern slopes usually hold powder snow for a few days at -high altitudes, and even at moderate altitudes in the early spring, -such as March. This powder snow soon loses the dry, light, powdery -characteristics of winter powder. Though it continues to yield -excellent running, spring powder is very liable to avalanche. It is -damper and more cohesive than dry powder, and therefore more dangerous. -Dry powder often rests on the ground below. A northern slope will often -be covered with a homogeneous layer of powder some feet in depth, but -spring powder (see p. 413) invariably rests on a hard-crusted slope -below. It therefore tends to slide away during the warm hours of the -day, and should be treated with very great caution. - -Avalanches composed of spring powder are, properly speaking, new wet -snow avalanches. They must be carefully distinguished from old wet snow -avalanches, for old wet snow is formed by the melting of crust, whereas -spring powder is formed by the melting of powder snow, i.e. ‘new -snow.’ Snow may be defined as ‘new’ before it has been crusted, and as -‘old’ when it has been through the crusting process. Thus powder snow -is always ‘new,’ however long it may be since it fell. On the other -hand, a snowfall in June may be turned into crust within twenty-four -hours, and thereby become ‘old snow.’ Crust and soft snow formed by the -melting of crust are both ‘old’ snow. - -Spring powder is all the more dangerous, because it yields wonderful -ski-ing at a time when other slopes have been spoiled by the sun. -Furthermore, as spring powder is found on north slopes, ignorant -ski-runners underestimate its danger; for it is a common fallacy among -the inexperienced that south slopes are more dangerous than north. In -spring the reverse is usually the case, for avalanches in spring are -occasioned by the general air temperature just as much as by the sun. -(See also below, p. 438) - -III. THE WIND-SLAB.--The _wind-slab_ is the most treacherous of all -avalanches, the most difficult to foresee, and the most incalculable in -effect. - -Falling snow is usually accompanied in the High Alps, and often -accompanied in the lower regions, by wind. If the wind is powerful, -the falling snow is driven over exposed ridges in whirlwinds, and -comes to rest on the lee-side and in sheltered hollows. In this way -the snowy avenues leading to glacier passes and the more sheltered -snow-fields receive more than a fair share of snow. This action of -the wind, denuding the exposed ridges and feeding the hollows and -lee-sides, takes place on both a large and a small scale: on a large -scale, when snowy valleys are fed from the snow blown off the exposed -ridges that rise out of them, and on a small scale on any slope exposed -to wind which is divided by ridges, however small. Any tributary ridge -on a slope across which a wind is blowing will have a wind-side and a -lee-side, and will accumulate snow on the lee-side and give off snow on -the wind-side. A stone wall or even a hedge provides an example of this -on a small scale. - -Snow driven by wind and settled on lee-sides may either be more or less -powdery, a denser, heavier powder than normal powder, or it may assume -one of the many forms of wind-caused crust. We have described on p. 407 -the various forms of winded powder, such as ripplemark, caked powder, -etc., and on p. 408 the various forms of wind-formed crust, such as -windboard and _Skavla_. - -In general, the greatest caution should be exercised when crossing -any slope which has accumulated much wind-driven snow. Wind-driven -powder snow is heavier and more adhesive than ordinary powder. It is -more detached from the underlying surface, and is much more conducive -to avalanches. The ski-runner should keep his eyes open for traces of -wind action, and when he finds snow which has obviously been exposed -to severe wind, he should exercise the greatest possible caution on -crossing over to the lee-side of a ridge dividing slopes, whence the -snow has obviously been blown away, from slopes where the wind-driven -snow may have fallen back to earth. Wind-driven powder may in turn be -covered by a new snowfall, which adds to the difficulties of diagnosing -the avalanche risk. - -So far we have been dealing with wind-driven snow which still retains -some suggestion of powder, which is soft and dense and caky. A still -more treacherous and dangerous wind formation is the wind-slab, or -‘Schneebrett,’ of Continental authors. - -Windboard, as already explained (p. 407), is a hard, slippery crust -formed by wind. Windboard is common on glaciers in the winter months, -and though disagreeable to ski on, it is safe enough in most cases. -Sometimes, however, this windboard, instead of being homogeneous with -the underlying snow, is loosely attached, and in places forms a vault -with a hollow space between the windboard and the snow beneath. The -windboard is, then, properly speaking, a wind-slab. The wind-slab, -or, as some writers prefer to call it, the snow-slab, is formed by -wind-driven snow, which eventually settles into a hard crust. As the -wind-drifted snow is of a different density to the snow on which it -settles, it tends to form a distinct stratum from the underlying snow. -In winter the temperature is usually considerably below freezing, so -that snow which falls, or snow which is drifted by the wind, cannot -bind with the snow below. In order for two strata of snow of very -different density to form a homogeneous whole, there must be a period -when the temperature is just above freezing in order to produce the -melting followed by frost, which is a necessary factor in the fusing -together of two successive layers of different types of snow. - -The wind-drifted snow, ultimately transformed into a hard crust, -is then of a different density to the snow below, to which it is -loosely attached. This underlying snow may be either soft snow or hard -crust; in either case the wind-slab forms a covering layer insecurely -attached to the foundation snow. This superficial layer is subject to -different strains from those which affect the underlying snow; for the -tension due to the expansion and contraction which follows changes of -temperature affects the layers formed of snows of different density -and character in varying ways. The surface layer, or wind-slab, may -contract more obviously than the snow below, so that if the slope is -concave in shape, the wind-slab, in contracting, tends to form an arch -above a more or less shallow vault. - -There is little if any surface indication to betray the fact that the -wind-slab is not homogeneous with the underlying snow; the ski-runner -may cross some such slope without the least suspicion that the hard, -slippery crust is not quite so solid as it appears. Suddenly he will -hear a sharp cracking noise; the hard crust will settle under him and -cave in; the crust cracks along the line made by his ski, and the whole -slope comes down on top of him in a cataract of tumbling blocks. The -strata formed by the wind comes away, tearing with it much of the soft -underlying snow, and pours down in a floor of hard, icy blocks of snow. - -The wind-slab is the most dangerous and deceptive form of avalanche. -Its hard polished surface gives a false sense of security. The -temperature is no guide, for wind-slabs can avalanche at any -temperature. Indeed, extreme frost tends to make the wind-slab more -brittle. It can avalanche after days or weeks of fine weather when all -the more obvious avalanches have fallen. Lastly, this wind-slab is to -be found in the natural line of approach to glacier passes, in the long -sheltered avenues that collect the snow blown off the exposed ridges. - -It is of primary importance to distinguish most carefully between the -crust formed by sun action and the crust formed by wind. A south slope -crusted by sun followed by frost will never avalanche so long as the -crust remains unmelted. Sun-formed crusts never avalanche. A careful -study of south slopes will soon teach the ski-runner to recognize -crust formed by sun and to distinguish it from crust formed by wind. -The wind-slab is usually patchy, granulated, and often betrays the -action of wind by a slight rippled appearance. The expert can detect -wind-formed crust and can distinguish it from sun-formed crust. - -The contrast between crust formed by sun (or by any process of -alternate melting and frost) and crust formed by wind is instructive. -The fact that the former is safe and the latter often dangerous is -due not to any surface differences but to the difference in the nature -of the connection between the under-surface of the crust and the -underlying snow. - -Sun-formed crust always merges gradually into the underlying snow. -There is no sharp plane of cleavage. The hard crust merges into softer -crust; the softer crust into soft snow. There is often, of course, -a plane of cleavage between two successive falls of snow--the upper -layer may be soft snow resting on crust; or it may be snow which is -superficially crusted resting on crust. And directly the sun melts the -superficial crust there may be danger. But so long as crust formed by -alternate melting and frost remains unsoftened by the sun, it may be -deemed to be absolutely safe so far as avalanches are concerned, for -this sun-formed crust will merge gradually into the snow immediately -below it. - -Wind-formed crust is, however, often sharply separated from the snow -underneath it. Wind-swept crust may overlie powder snow with no -intervening and softer crust to act as a binding influence. The crust -may be absolutely separate, susceptible to different strains and -tensions, and forming the shallow vault described above. - -Should you suspect a wind-slab, sound with the ice-axe, and try to -discover whether the snow is homogeneous or rests on a soft streak of -snow below. If, at the border of the dangerous slope, a sharp stamping -with your ski produces a settling noise, followed by the breaking away -of detached fragments of snow-slab, you will know that the slab is -probably insecurely poised on a shallow vault below. - -Wind-slabs are, fortunately, not very common. They can only exist under -winter conditions, heavy snowfalls, severe wind and comparatively weak -sun action. After April, for instance, the formation of a wind-slab -would be impossible, for the May sun is strong enough to melt any crust -formed by wind or by any other action. In summer they are uncommon -excepting under unusual conditions. They sometimes occur in late -summer, when the sun has lost much of its strength and is no longer -powerful enough to thaw snow which has been converted by wind into a -wind-slab. - -IV. OLD WET SNOW AVALANCHES.--For the distinction between old wet snow -and new wet snow, see p. 427. - -Old wet snow avalanches are very common in spring. The snow, which -has been melted and frozen, and remelted again and again, gradually -becomes denser and heavier. As the spring advances the power of the -sun becomes very great. In the afternoon, and at lower altitudes long -before midday, most snow slopes are saturated to a greater or a lesser -depth by the melting power of the sun. Such old wet snow is of course -extremely dangerous. - -The great spring avalanches, the ‘Grundlawinen’ of Continental writers, -usually select well-known tracks. Some of them have local names, and -their annual occurrence is as regular as the return of spring. The long -tongues of bare spaces between forests mark their track. Incredible -quantities of snow are torn from the mountain side; trees are uprooted -and boulders carried downwards. The avalanche comes to rest far below, -and spreads out a discoloured tongue of snow-blocks, dark with the -earth rooted from the mountain side, and strewn with small trees and -shrubs. Sometimes, after an unusually severe winter, these big spring -avalanches extend their domain, and destroy chalets, and bridges, and -even villages. Roads that cross the line of these spring avalanches -must be ensured against destruction by tunnels. - -Superficial avalanches of old wet snow are more common than these big -ground avalanches. These superficial avalanches occur daily in spring -weather. The snow is saturated with water, which acts as a lubricant -between one layer of snow and the harder crust beneath. Sometimes -avalanches are started by the snow thawing from the ground upwards, -for the ground in the late spring is warm enough to thaw the snow -immediately above it. I have seen a vault one foot in height between -the ground and the overlying snow. - -The power of avalanches is best appreciated by those who have visited -the Alps in May. It is an interesting, if annoying, experience to be -confined to some high alpine club hut in May by a sudden invasion of -Föhn. If the club hut can only be approached over steep ground or up -a steep and narrow valley, there is nothing to be done but to wait -till the Föhn disappears. Hardly a minute passes without an avalanche -falling off some near or distant slope. The roar of big avalanches is -varied by the hiss of the smaller snow-slides. Thousands of tons of -snow are removed from the steeper slopes every hour. - -Old wet snow avalanches are much more deadly than avalanches formed of -new snow. Newly fallen snow weighs about 1½ cwt. the cubic yard. Old -wet spring snow weighs about 15 cwt. or ¾ of a ton the cubic yard--in -other words, ten times as much as newly fallen snow. - -Furthermore, if you are overwhelmed by old wet snow, you will find the -very greatest difficulty in freeing yourself, even if you are only -covered by a layer a foot or so in depth. Powder snow contains a great -deal of air, so that you can live for some time even if buried in a -powder avalanche, but the wet spring snow contains nothing but water, -and suffocation is a matter of minutes. - -Whenever the Föhn blows in spring, all slopes above a very moderate -degree of steepness immediately become extremely dangerous. In normal -clear weather there is a frost at night, so that any slope, however -steep, can be crossed without fear of avalanches between sunset and -dawn. As soon as the superficial soft crust begins to form on the wet -snow all danger of avalanches disappears. - -On the lower slopes in May, the interval after the dawn during which -a steep slope may be crossed with safety varies greatly. In May hard -crust softens with surprising speed, and after 9 a.m., or even earlier, -the risk of avalanches below the glacier level soon becomes formidable. - -A vital distinction must be drawn between the kind of softening that -is produced when a solid homogeneous crust softens superficially, and -the melting of a superficial layer or crust resting on an older crust -below. The second case occurs when a layer of soft snow, or of crust, -rests on the older strata of crust. Once this new layer has melted it -is very liable to slide off from the older layer below. On the other -hand, a homogeneous crust softening superficially is usually safe -enough so long as the underlying crust remains hard. Telemark crust, -which is crust softened superficially so that Telemarks are easy (p. -415), is usually safe. - -The great danger is the existence of a layer of crust formed by a -recent snowfall resting on an older layer. I was once climbing the -steep slopes that lead from Zinal to the Mountet glacier. It was on -the last day of April, and the sun had just struck the slope. The -local guide was leading, and I ventured to suggest a detour to avoid a -traverse across a slope that had begun to soften. He ignored the risk, -and proceeded. I remained behind and watched him. Suddenly a layer of -snow about six inches in thickness, which had softened down to the old -hard crust beneath, slid away with startling rapidity. The guide gave a -small jump, and got his ski into the old layer, while the softened snow -slid away and disappeared over the cliff below. The guide’s top ski -had cut through to the old layer before the snow slipped, otherwise he -would have been killed. - -In May in the High Alps the risks of such avalanches is small on all -save very steep slopes. Most of the big spring avalanches fall below -the limits of the summer snowline. They slide off slopes which are -bare of snow in summer. Once the region of the _névés_ is reached the -danger is very much less, though of course by no means non-existent, -especially when the Föhn is blowing. The May ski-runner must often time -his ascent to a club hut to arrive in the early hours of the morning, -and wait for his descent from the glaciers to the lower valleys for the -hour after sunset. - -As the winter advances the danger from avalanches increases, not only -because the quantity of snow increases and because the sun is more -powerful and the temperature higher, but also because the inequalities -on the underlying surface gradually disappear. Scree, small boulders, -shrubs and other natural checks to the flow of an avalanche vanish -in the ever-deepening snow. Roads and small shelving plateaus, which -break up a steep slope, get buried. Each succeeding avalanche leaves -some of its burden on all protruding shelves, and thereby tends to -smooth out the mountain side, creating, in place of a slope broken by -inequalities, one long, even flow which presents no hindrance to the -avalanche. Thus big avalanches tend to take the place of the smaller -avalanches which fell down part of the slope, only to be arrested at -some convenient terrace, such as a road or small plateau. - -In the spring avalanches often fall right across rivers, which very -soon form a tunnel beneath the snow-bridge of the avalanche. Such -snow-bridges should be crossed with caution. More than one ski-runner -has been killed by breaking through the remains of an avalanche into a -river. - -It is a common illusion among the inexperienced that north slopes are -safer than south slopes in spring. They are not--in fact, north slopes -are more dangerous than south slopes. In spring it is the general air -temperature which determines the fall of avalanches. True, the south -slopes avalanche first, and for this reason north slopes hold much -more snow, so that when they finally get rid of their superfluous snow -they produce far and away the most destructive avalanches. Of course -in spring the sun shines on all slopes, and it shines with quite -sufficient force even on due north slopes to produce an avalanche. In -fact, the really great spring avalanches are those which fall from -northerly slopes. - - -SUMMER SNOW AVALANCHES - -During the summer months, as already explained, every type of snow can -be found in the High Alps from pure winter powder to the numberless -varieties of spring crusts and spring soft snow. - -It follows that avalanches in summer obey the same laws as in spring. -There are far fewer avalanches in summer than in spring, for there -is far less snow to fall. Quite enough, however, is left to make the -avalanche problem of vital importance for the ski-runner and the summer -climber. - -The various types of avalanches described in this chapter are not -confined to winter or spring, with the possible exception of the -wind-slab avalanche. I should have said, a priori, that wind-slab -avalanches were peculiar to winter and the early spring, for they -depend for their existence on snow falling at a very low temperature, -and on the snowfall being followed by strong and cold winds before -the sun has time to melt the snow and to bind it into the underlying -surface. I am told by Mr. Young that he has seen wind-slab avalanches -in summer--probably, I should imagine, in the very late summer or early -autumn, when the conditions begin to approximate to winter conditions. -Apart, then, from wind-slab avalanches, which must be very uncommon -in summer, all the other types are by no means unusual. Avalanches of -powder snow, of old wet snow and new wet snow can occur at any month of -the year. - -It is not necessary to give separate rules for summer and for spring. -The important factors in the problem are not so much the season as -the amount of snow that has fallen, the temperature, the angle of the -sun, etc. etc. If the reader thoroughly understands avalanche craft in -winter and in spring, he should be able to cope with the same or with -similar problems in summer. - -The majority of fatal avalanche accidents in summer are due to snow -slides. I have for convenience’ sake adopted the arbitrary distinction -of avalanches into avalanches proper--those which are dangerous owing -to the weight and quantity of the snow that falls--and snow-slides, -which are only dangerous in so far as they carry the climber or -ski-runner with them over a cliff or into a crevasse. Most summer -avalanche accidents are due to snow slides, and occur in places which -the ski-runner could not reach on ski. Snow resting on ice in gullies, -or snow resting on smooth slabs, etc., are frequent causes of fatal -accidents. Such avalanches or snow-slides have been described by Mr. -Young. - -The classical device for testing whether snow is resting on ice--i.e. -throwing a big rock down the suspicious slope--is often of use to a -ski-runner who is in doubt whether to descend a doubtful slope on ski -or on foot. - - -TACTICS ON AVALANCHE GROUND - -The simplest rule is to avoid avalanche ground. Unfortunately, this -is not always possible. The limits of danger are so wide that one may -occasionally find oneself on a slope which might conceivably avalanche. -Such a slope may provide the only possible means of getting down to -the valley, so that the choice is not merely between giving up an -expedition or risking an avalanche, but between the certainty of a -night out if one recrosses the pass and the possibility of an avalanche. - -It has sometimes been asserted that a ski-runner could escape an -avalanche by turning his ski downhill and making a sudden dive -downward. Of course this is wildly absurd. I have only once been caught -in an avalanche, and, long before I could have turned my ski downhill, -the avalanche had carried me some twenty yards downhill. An avalanche -does not start by a kind of snowball action. It starts with a sharp -crack, and the sudden sliding away of a deep layer of snow. Watch snow -sliding off a roof and you will understand that an avalanche is very -sudden and overwhelming. Almost every avalanche leaves a clean line -of cleavage behind--a wall of snow which is exactly as deep as the -avalanche at its birth. - -The chance of escaping an avalanche by flight is infinitesimal if you -are near the point where the avalanche starts. You are lucky if you -have time enough to kick your ski off, and you will only be able to -do this if you have unloosened the bindings previous to crossing the -dangerous slope. There will be no chance of unstrapping them once the -avalanche is upon you. If you cannot kick them off instantaneously, -they will remain attached to you. - -Your chance of surviving is very much greater if you can get rid of -your ski, for the ski drag you under, and prevent all hope of fighting -your way to the surface of the avalanche. Once you are overwhelmed -you should adopt a swimming motion. Above all, try to keep your head -uppermost. A vigorous swimming motion with the hands is said to be -useful by people who have survived. - -Dangerous slopes should always be crossed as high as possible. An -avalanche is much more dangerous if it overwhelms you from above than -if it starts from the immediate neighbourhood of your ski. Steep slopes -below a cliff usually yield a fairly safe passage just below the rocks, -for there is often a little gap between the edge of the snow and the -rocks which affords a secure route. Take advantage of every belt or -shelf of gentler ground that may run across a steep slope. Traces of -old roads or even of footpaths are better than nothing. - -Clearly a man on ski is much more likely to start an avalanche than -a man on foot. I have often been surprised to see chamois-tracks -down slopes 40-50 degrees steep. It is true chamois occasionally get -killed by avalanches, but they certainly possess a great immunity. The -reason is obvious. The chamois’ slender hoofs sink in very deeply. -They penetrate right through the snow to any hard underlying crust -that there may be beneath. Further, the chamois does not, like the -ski-runner, cut the snow by a continuous line which divides the slope -in two, and deprives the snow above the ski-tracks of much of its -support. Chamois-tracks form a row of small holes, and therefore have a -much less unsettling effect. - -A man on foot has some of the advantages of the chamois. He is at -least much safer than on ski. His feet get down to the old crust below -unless the soft snow is very deep. On ski it is extremely easy to start -a small superficial avalanche or snow-slide; and on ski it is very -difficult to check such a small or big avalanche once it is started. -The ski may sink just into the superficial layer and help to detach it. - -On dangerous ground you should therefore remove the ski and proceed on -foot. If possible, tackle such slopes by a direct ascent or descent in -single file. Traversing is much more likely to cut the snow slope and -start an avalanche. - -Never rope on avalanche ground unless one member of the party can -remain on safe ground, i.e. a cluster of rocks, and secure the man -who is traversing a short stretch of dangerous snow. If two or three -ski-runners are caught by an avalanche while roped together, their -chance of escape is slight, as the rope tends to get caught, to drag -them under the snow and to suffocate them. - -Dangerous ground should, of course, be crossed by only one man at a -time. - -It has been suggested by an experienced mountaineer that each member -of the party should drag behind him a long thin red cord, which would -provide a clue to the whereabouts of a man who had been buried by an -avalanche. The ski-ing mountaineer’s kit is already so overcharged that -few people would be likely to add to it for this purpose. - -For the descent of dangerous slopes, if the party do not proceed on -foot, they should put on their sealskins, so as to run the slopes as -steeply and directly as possible. - -The ice-axe should always be driven in as far as possible, so as to -find purchase in the underlying snow. Ski-sticks that are provided with -removable disks are very useful, as they can be driven in much deeper -than ordinary ski-sticks. - -When in doubt, sound with an axe or stick and try to discover whether -the snow is homogeneous, and if not, what lies below the surface layer -and what lies below the snow itself. - -When in doubt, turn back if possible. If it is necessary to proceed, -take off your ski. If speed is important, keep on your ski; and if you -are descending, put on sealskins. If you cannot spare the time to put -on sealskins, sit on your ski and descend by a sitting ski-glissade, -which is, by the way, a knack in itself. - - -THE HIGH ALPS IN WINTER - -[Sidenote: Weather Conditions.] - -The weather after the New Year is usually more settled than in the -summer. A spell of absolutely unbroken weather lasting from three -weeks to a month or more is almost inevitable some time in January or -February. As a rule, February is the finest month in the winter. - -These typical fine-weather periods are often accompanied by mild -weather. The temperature even by night is often surprisingly high on -the glaciers, even when there is no touch of Föhn in the air. This has -led some observers to claim that the temperature in winter--even in -the shade--is often lower in the valleys than on the mountains. I have -never seen any evidence produced for the phenomenon which has been -romantically described as ‘inverted temperature,’ and have no reason -to believe that any such violation of the laws of temperature really -exists. It is often, of course, colder in the plains when the plains -are covered by _nebelmeer_ than in sunny alpine stations, but this is -very different to any general inversion of temperature. I have, it is -true, sat on the summit of the Finsteraarhorn in midwinter stripped to -the waist, and I have often been uncomfortably hot at great altitudes -in the sun. But it is dangerous to generalize from such experiences, -and though on a windless day, winter mountaineering may be as warm and -comfortable as summer climbing, the ski-runner must always be prepared -for sudden danger of temperature, and severe cold. - -The variations in temperature are surprising. A cushion of cold air, -several degrees below freezing, may exist near the surface of the snow, -and three feet above the surface of the snow the air may be quite -mild. This is a phenomenon well known to rink-makers. In the sun the -heat may be quite intense, and yet, a few yards off, in the shade the -temperature may be several degrees below freezing. - -A suspicion of wind may transform a mild and equable into an -unpleasantly cold atmosphere. The changes of temperature are very -sudden. You may be basking in shirt-sleeves on one side of a ridge, and -be frost-bitten within a few minutes on turning a corner into the wind. - -The great danger of winter mountaineering is the risk of a sudden -change of weather. Storms seem to blow up out of clear skies with a -suddenness to which summer affords no parallel. The man who is caught -in a big winter storm is lucky if he escapes without casualty. A -driving wind makes ski-ing almost impossible. The snow is blown into -one’s face, and in a few minutes one’s eyelashes are gummed up with -miniature icicles. - -The big storms that sometimes prevail for more than a week at a time -may imprison the climber in a club hut until all his provisions are -exhausted. From most club huts escape is completely impossible till -the storm drops. Even when the storm has given place to fine weather, -retreat may be very dangerous owing to the avalanche peril. - -Under fair conditions winter mountaineering is often surprisingly easy. -Men who have enjoyed unbroken good luck with their weather are tempted -to discount the very real dangers of mountaineering in winter, and to -adopt a paradoxical attitude towards the Alps in winter, implying that -the only danger to be feared is sunstroke and snow-blindness. Those who -have not been so uniformly lucky realize that winter mountaineering on -a big scale is a sport from which the element of danger will never be -lacking; that a sudden storm may transform even an easy expedition into -a desperate struggle for safety. - -[Sidenote: The Approaches to the High Alps.] - -Often the most difficult, and sometimes the most dangerous, part of a -winter expedition in the High Alps is the first day’s march to the club -hut. Once the upper regions are attained, progress is usually fairly -straightforward. It is quite normal for ski-runners to make nearly as -good time on the ascent of a snow-peak as summer climbers, but it is -very rare indeed that the club hut is reached in anything approaching -summer time. From one and a half to twice as long must be allowed for -the ascent to most club huts. - -The long, narrow valleys that so often lead to huts are usually very -deep in soft powdery snow, so that progress must be slow, whereas in -the upper regions the snow is usually more or less packed by the wind, -which makes for easier going on the ascent, even though the descent may -be far from pleasant. Moreover, the danger from avalanches is usually -much more serious in the lower regions, where the slopes are much -steeper and the valleys narrower. - -On the first day’s march the guides will be heavily loaded, for the -full equipment for a serious expedition in the High Alps is very much -more bulky and weighty than that necessary in summer. In the first -place, no prudent ski-runner commits himself to a High Alp tour without -ample reserves of food. He must allow for the danger of finding himself -stormbound in a hut for a period which may be anything from a day to -a fortnight. Plenty of compressed reserve food is essential until the -club huts begin to store emergency rations. Further, as a broken ski -may involve serious consequences, he must burden himself with spare -ski-tips and all the apparatus for mending ski. Extra clothes, plenty -of gloves, and, of course, crampons add to the overburdened rucksacks. -Unless one is prepared to carry very heavy sacks it does not pay to -economize in porters. As a rule, you should reckon two guides or -porters for every member of the party if you contemplate an expedition -of some five to six days in length, unless, of course, you are prepared -to carry some thirty pounds or so in your own sack for the first day. -Of course, if you take two porters to the hut, they may be sent back -from the hut; but it is obviously unfair to expect a solitary porter to -make the descent alone. - -Everything should be done to make matters easy. If the first part of -the ascent lies up a path or a wood-track, a boy should be hired to -carry your ski. If the ascent begins from some out-of-the-way alpine -valley, it will often pay to send a guide on ahead the day before to -make tracks for part of the distance in soft snow. This is especially -useful if you are attempting a very big climb from one of the rather -higher alpine valleys or mountain inns without using a club hut. It is -unwise to reckon on climbing more than an average of 500 feet per hour -for the first day. - -An early start is essential. The longest days pass fairly comfortably -if you break them up with frequent _short_ halts and short feeds. It is -often impossible in winter to make a prolonged halt owing to the cold. -A few caramels or some chocolate, which can be easily got at, should -be kept in one’s pocket, and munched during short halts. Napoleon’s -rule of a short rest and something to eat every hour is a good rule for -climbers, especially winter climbers who are heavily laden. - -The huts as a rule are comfortable enough in winter, though the stoves -often prove troublesome. Wood is usually kept in large quantities, -brought up at the end of the autumn, though it is as well to make -inquiries on this point before starting. On reaching the hut, set the -aneroid barometer usually found in most huts. A pocket-barometer is not -so reliable, for, as Whymper pointed out and conclusively proved, the -usual aneroid tends to lose on the mercurial. In other words, if you -carry a pocket-aneroid up some thousands of feet and then set it at the -hut, it will usually fall a point during the night, where a mercurial -barometer would have remained stationary. - -So, too, if you descend from a peak to a hut, the pocket-aneroid will -rise where a mercurial would remain stationary, thereby often conveying -very dangerous and misleading information. It is most important to set -the hut aneroid, so as to have some warning of the approach of a sudden -storm. - -If you are unlucky enough to be caught by bad weather in a hut, and if -your provisions run short, you should spend as much of your time as -possible lying down and keeping warm, for the less exercise you take -the less food you will need. People who practise the ‘fast cure’ have -proved that a man can go without any food for a week and carry on his -ordinary business without feeling unduly weakened. It is therefore in -every way better to stay at the hut fasting--even for three or four -days--than to attempt to descend in a bad storm. If the worst comes to -the worst, and the party is thoroughly weakened by lack of food, they -can always stay at the hut and await the search party. - -If a sally is attempted in bad weather from a hut which is situated -among glacier snow-fields, it is advisable to cut up a number of small -stakes from the firewood. These can be planted in the snow at intervals -of a hundred yards or so in order that a retreat can always be made -back to the hut if further advance is impossible. - -[Sidenote: Snow Conditions in the High Alps.] - -If the Alps were windless, the snow that falls between November and the -end of February would remain powdery and unspoiled on all save very -steep south slopes. At high altitudes the sun is powerless to affect -the snow in midwinter on _gentle_ south slopes. The snow would remain -powdery on _northern_ slopes till the middle of April but for wind. -Unfortunately, the High Alps are swept by wind, more especially during -long spells of fine cloudless weather, during which the ‘bise,’ or -north wind, sweeps across all exposed ridges and faces. Consequently, -the snow seldom remains long unspoiled. In sheltered glacier valleys -it may retain its powdery condition, but on all more or less exposed -slopes it soon hardens. Of course, if an expedition is planned within -two or three days of a fresh snowfall, the party may have perfect -powder snow; but such snow is the exception in winter in the High Alps, -whereas it is the rule in spring. - -[Sidenote: Rock Ridges and Ice Slopes.] - -Rock climbing does not properly come within the scope of mountaineering -on ski; but so many ski-runners combine a ski tour with a final -scramble up a rock ridge, such as the last arête of Monte Rosa or the -Zinal Rothhorn, that some discussion of the condition of rocks and ice -slopes in winter is essential. - -As a rule, rock ridges are as dry, or drier, in winter than in summer. -Snow that falls in summer often falls at a temperature little below -freezing. It is often most adhesive stuff. The strong summer sun -followed by frosts at night turns this snow into crust, or at least -into snow with a considerable power of sticking to the rocks. In summer -it is often several days before the big rock peaks will go after a -heavy snowfall. But in winter the snow that falls in the High Alps is -light and powdery. The low temperatures and the reduced power of the -sun prevent the snow melting; it retains its light powdery character, -and is swept away from exposed ridges by the wind. It offers no -resistance to the wind, for it is composed of light dry crystals with -no cohesive or adhesive power. Consequently, the rock ridges in the -winter are often freer from snow than in average summer weather, which -is a mixture of good and bad. In winter, cornices have little chance -of forming. In fact, if the weather is mild and the ridge windless on -the day of the ascent, it is scarcely more difficult to climb a rock -ridge of average difficulty in winter than in summer. South ridges are, -of course, much warmer than north ridges, but they are not necessarily -more free of snow; for the agent that reduces the snow on the rock -ridges is not the sun--powerless as a melting agent at these altitudes -in winter--but the wind; and in fine weather the wind, as often as not, -blows from the north. Of course, if the north wind is blowing, a north -ridge may be impossible, for the rocks promptly become extremely cold -to touch, so that in general it is wisest to select south rock ridges -in preference to north. None the less, rock ridges facing north, such -as the north ridge of the Zinal Rothhorn or the north ridge of the -Gspaltenhorn, have been climbed without difficulty in midwinter.[22] - -The same causes which keep the rock ridges comparatively free from snow -tend to remove any snow that may fall on to steep ice slopes. - -Inexperienced winter mountaineers are often surprised to find as much -or more ice on summit slopes in winter than in summer. - -As a matter of fact, there is often quite as much ice on steep exposed -slopes in winter as in summer. - -An ice slope is transformed into a snow slope when falling snow is -accompanied by a temperature just above freezing-point--in other -words, when the snow is very nearly sleet. Such snow adheres to the -underlying ice, and by the normal process of alternate thaw and frost -becomes more and more firmly attached. The next snowfall that occurs -attaches itself to the underlying thin stratum of snow crust lying -on ice, so that in the course of time the ice slope is covered by a -compact and reliable layer of crusted snow. - -But the dry powder of midwinter has no chance of finding a permanent -resting-place on steep ice. The first strong wind that blows will -remove it. - -Many slopes vary from season to season and from month to month. -Sometimes they are ice, sometimes snow. Such slopes, if they are ice -in October, will remain ice until the following spring. May and June -are the months in which the conversion of ice slopes into snow slopes -usually takes place. - - -GLACIERS IN WINTER - -The light powder snow which is swept from rock and ice ridges is -deposited on the broad glacier snow-fields, which therefore receive -more than their fair share of snow. In midwinter there are few open -crevasses to be seen, save at the icefalls, and most traces of -concealed crevasses disappear from the upper _névés_. None the less, -the danger from concealed crevasses is by no means trivial. The dry -powder snow forms the most brittle of snow-bridges. - -In the Grenz glacier accident a snow-bridge _fourteen feet thick_ -collapsed beneath a party of ski-runners. Of course, sooner or later, -most crevasses are bridged, not only by powder snow, but various forms -of wind-driven snow and wind-formed crust. Such crust is, of course, -less brittle than powder snow-bridges, but it is quite brittle enough. -The low temperature tends to increase the brittleness of snow-bridges. - -In the early hours of a _summer_ morning a snow-bridge two or three -inches thick will usually be safe enough; for such bridges are -generally formed of a mixture of ice and hard snow which is due to -alternate melting and freezing. Such crust is much more compact, more -solid, and far less brittle than crust formed by wind. - -Glaciers are, in fact, safer in summer than in winter; for though -there are many more crevasses open, there are far fewer dangerous -crevasses whose existence cannot easily be detected. The droop on the -snow and other unmistakable signs in ordinary seasons betray most -concealed crevasses to the experienced eye. In winter the winds are so -powerful, and their effect is so much greater (for reasons explained on -pp. 446-447), that they obliterate all traces of underlying crevasses. -The surface of the snow is apparently one uniform field of wind-driven -snow, and even the most expert cannot possibly detect the presence of -concealed crevasses. - -This raises the very vexed question of ski-ing on a rope. It is quite -easy with a little practice to ski at a reasonably high speed on a -rope, and to make combined swings. Roped running is, in fact, quite -enjoyable, but it is not, and never can be, as enjoyable or as easy as -free ski-ing. Consequently, many ski-runners will never consent to rope -on the descent, save on glaciers, which are known to be badly crevassed. - -There are three methods of ski-ing on a glacier: - -1. _A Roped Descent._--For the technique of ski-ing on a rope, see pp. -452-456. - -2. _A Descent in exactly the same Tracks as were used for the -Ascent._--This method is based on the presumption that a snow-bridge -which held in the morning during the ascent will hold during the -descent. Obviously the strain is much less during the fast descent than -during the climb. Also, as the variations of temperature in winter are -of no great importance, provided that the temperature remains below -freezing, a snow-bridge which holds in the morning should hold in the -afternoon, though the same cannot, of course, be said in summer. As the -tracks of the ascent were presumably made on sealskins, the descent -must also be made on sealskins if it be desired to follow with any -accuracy the line of the ascent and to avoid rapid swings and turns -which are liable to test severely a snow-bridge strong enough to resist -the ordinary uphill track. For my part, though this method is sometimes -used, I consider that the necessity to wear skins and to keep exactly -along one line is just as troublesome and not nearly so safe as the -rope. - -What usually happens when people start a descent _without_ skins, but -with the pious intention of keeping to the uphill tracks, is that they -very soon find themselves curving and swinging some considerable -distance from their old tracks. - -3. _A Free Descent Unroped._--If you discard the rope, you should be -doubly careful to reduce risk to a minimum by paying attention to -the general laws of crevasse formation. The middle of a glacier is -usually the safest part of the glacier in winter. Lateral crevasses, -i.e. crevasses at the side of the glacier, are wider, more numerous, -and more complicated than transverse crevasses. The crevasses in the -middle of a glacier are usually at right angles to the line of flow, -so that a ski-runner who is running straight will cross them at their -narrowest breadth. Lateral crevasses usually run at an angle of 30-45 -degrees to the line of flow,[23] so that they will usually be crossed -by a ski-runner at a more or less wide angle, and the danger of running -along the whole length instead of across a snow-bridge is therefore -great. - -The principal rules for glacier ski-ing in order of importance are -as follows: (1) Don’t fall. (2) Don’t make sudden swings. (3) Run -straight. (4) Don’t use your stick. (5) Keep to the middle of the -glacier. - -In other words, run as straight as you can consistent with not falling. -It is better to run straight and to use your stick to reduce your -speed than to check your speed by swings and turns, for a swing to -a standstill above a crevasse is more likely than any other ski-ing -manœuvre to break a snow-bridge. - -Keep close together on the descent, but not too close. Above all -things, avoid crossing the same snow-bridge while another member of the -party is crossing it. In the Grenz glacier accident three members of -the party fell into the same crevasse. - -Avoid short sharp turns, and cultivate long gentle turns if you cannot -run straight. - -It is often advisable to follow the leader’s tracks, for if the leader -has passed over a crevasse without falling in, the chances are that you -will be equally fortunate. - -There should be two ropes in the party, so that if one rope disappears -with its bearer into a crevasse the second rope may be available to -pull him out. - -At least one rope, and, in addition, the first-aid case and mending -apparatus for ski, should be in the rear of the party, as nothing is -more annoying than to see the leader disappearing far below with the -spare ski-tip just as your ski-point has snapped off. - -“Always rope on snow-covered glaciers.” This is the law, and in theory -the law admits of no exceptions. But in winter, as in summer, this -law is often broken. Few climbers have a clear record on this point. -The temptation to break the law is, of course, much stronger for the -ski-runner than for the foot-climber. There have been comparatively few -accidents in which ski-runners have fallen into crevasses. On glaciers -that are known to be little, if at all, crevassed in summer, only a -pedant would rope in winter. Local knowledge is therefore very useful -indeed, and if a local guide can be taken, so much the better. - -Such accidents as have happened have been either on the ascent, or -during a more or less level traverse, or as the result of a sudden -swing or stem which has disturbed the snow. I know of no case in which -a ski-runner has fallen into a crevasse during a fast, free, unchecked -descent. Indeed, I should doubt if it would be possible to break -through a snow-bridge while moving fast and running straight. I have -myself shot an open crevasse about ten feet or more in breadth while -travelling at a fairly high speed. - -Most ski-runners would rope in winter on a glacier that was known to be -very crevassed in summer. Many ski-runners always rope in winter, but -far more only rope when they know the glacier to be very crevassed. - -In May or June there is no reason to rope for the descent, save under -very exceptional circumstances. The risk of falling into a crevasse in -May or June is so slight that the rope may usually be discarded. - -[Sidenote: Ski-ing on a Rope.] - -Ski-ing on a rope is not so difficult as the inexperienced might -suppose. Experts who have practised together can attain high speeds, -and perform all the turns while roped together. A couple of good -runners with a little practice should be able to run safely at a fair -speed. But practice is necessary, and an hour or two of roped running -in the valley is well worth while. - -Two is the most manageable number on a rope, and of course, there need -never be more than three, for larger parties can divide up into two -twos, a two and a three, etc. - -First a word as to roping. Most guides make a loop at the very end of -the rope. This is quite unsound. The loop should be made about four -feet from the end of the rope, and this four feet of spare rope should -again be tied round the waist. Otherwise, if you fall into a crevasse, -the pressure on your waist may almost suffocate you before you are -withdrawn; whereas, if you have four feet of spare rope, you can uncoil -this, make a new loop into which you can place a foot, thereby at once -relieving the pressure on your body. With a little effort you should be -able to wriggle out of the main noose, standing in what may be called -the stirrup noose. If you are not exhausted, you might then be able to -swarm up the rope, which would of course be quite impossible if, as -would otherwise be the case, the end of the rope was originally tied -round your body. Two men on a glacier alone sometimes adopt Mummery’s -plan of wearing a second rope, which, in the event of a fall into a -crevasse, is untied by the man above and wound round the head of an axe -driven into the snow. The man below pulls on to the rope wound round -the axe. The man above pulls on to the rope round the fallen man’s -body. Thus there are virtually two men pulling one. - -There is another method of roping sometimes used when three ski-runners -are tied to the same rope, which--though it has been employed by -experienced guides--seems to me most unsound. In this method two -ski-runners are tied to one rope, along which runs a small iron ring. -To this ring a second rope is fastened, and to this second rope the -third ski-runner attaches himself. The theory is that the third -ski-runner, being attached to a rope which in turn is attached to a -movable ring free to slide on the main rope, is far less constrained in -his movements than if all three were on the same rope. This is true, -but I should be sorry to be the third ski-runner if I was to fall into -a crevasse. Suppose the other two ski-runners are on opposite sides -of this crevasse. The man in the crevasse is then attached to a rope -which slides helplessly with the ring along the main rope. The iron -ring probably buries itself in the lower lip of the crevasse. I do not -quite see how any tension is to be exerted on the secondary rope. - -It is simpler to begin by considering the case of two ski-runners, -A and B, running on a rope. If there is a marked difference in the -ability of A and B, the poorer ski-runner should lead, for it is much -easier to lead on a rope than to be the last man. The last man on the -rope has to moderate his pace and his direction in accordance with the -movements of the leader. If, however, A and B are equally good runners, -then the leader should be the one whose ski are the faster: I do _not_ -mean the faster ski-runner, but the one whose ski are running better, -either because the ski themselves are faster and more slippery, or -because their owner is the heavier of the two, and therefore, other -things being equal, tends to get downhill quicker. For if, on a gradual -slope which is to be taken straight without braking or stemming, A -(whose ski are faster) is constantly overrunning B, the rope will get -mixed up with the ski, and A will have to regulate his pace by stemming -or braking in order to keep the proper distance. On the other hand, if -A leads, his extra speed will keep the rope taut, and the tension of -the rope will enable B to keep a uniform distance. - -On easy ground A and B can ski in single file. B, whose ski are slower, -will be kept in line by the tension of the rope. It is not necessary -nor desirable for B to follow exactly the same spoor as A: his spoor -should be an inch or two to the side of, and parallel to, A’s spoor. - -B must be on the look out for sudden increases in pace on the part of -A: A may, for instance, come to a steeper gradient, and B, if he is -not on the look out, is liable to be pulled over and pitched on to his -head. Similarly B, if A runs on to a gentler gradient, will have to -guard against overrunning A, and thereby rendering the rope useless; -for if A and B are on the same snow-bridge they may both fall in. _At -least_ 75 feet of rope should be allowed between A and B. On easy -ground this rope may be allowed to be taut; on more difficult ground B -should keep a coil of rope in his hand to allow a margin in the event -of A suddenly increasing his speed. - -The normal position for straight running should be modified. In free -running lateral strains may usually be disregarded; the main risk -of a fall lies in fore and aft changes of speed. Consequently, for -normal running the narrow groove and the lengthened base, as in the -Telemark position, are usually preferable to a broad track. But a -ski-runner on a rope is always liable to lateral strains. It is rare -that one runs exactly in line; whenever one’s track is parallel rather -than coincident with the track of the leader, and whenever the leader -changes his direction, however slightly, the rope exercises a certain -amount of sideways pull. The greater the distance between the parallel -tracks, the greater the lateral tension of the rope. Consequently, the -ski-runner on a rope must be prepared, not only for forward and, in the -case of the leader, for backward jerks, but also for sideway strains. - -The best position for roped running is to hold the ski about 8 inches -apart. One ski should be a few inches ahead of the other, and the knees -should be loose. The body should be slightly bent below the waist. The -Telemark position is, of course, most unsound. - -On average ground the ski-sticks should be held together in the left -hand, leaving the right hand free to hold a spare coil of rope. If it -is necessary to brake or to control your speed, you should do so by -stemming and not by the stick. - -On difficult ground you should use the stick to control your speed--a -recourse which is seldom, if ever, justified, except when running on -the rope. It is quite easy to hold both the sticks and also a spare -coil of rope in your two hands; and if you intend to brake with your -sticks, you must, of course, put your sticks together and get both -your hands on to them. The most efficient stop turn on a rope is the -Christiania helped out with the sticks. If you are unroped, a yard -or two of sideslip after a sudden stop is quite a good thing, but if -you are roped, you need to stop in the smallest possible compass, -especially if you are leading and the man behind falls. For this -purpose there is nothing to beat the stop Christiania helped out with -the sticks. As a rule, however, stemming is sufficient without using -the sticks. Good runners can, of course, make a series of linked turns -on ski, and there are few prettier sights than a skilful party on a -rope descending in a series of Stemming turns. - -Whether leading or going last, always keep your partner fully informed -as to your changes of speed or direction. If the back man feels that he -is going to fall, he must shout out at once, so as to give the leader -time to stop by a stick Christiania. Similarly the leader, if he comes -to a steeper gradient, should warn his partner that the speed is likely -to increase. - -_Be prepared to fall neatly and with the maximum of effect._ Should -the leader fall into a crevasse, don’t allow yourself to be dragged -after him. Throw yourself on the ground, and bring your ski round, as -you fall, at right angles to the track and below you. This is more -difficult than might be imagined. An indifferent runner, or even a good -runner who had not trained himself to expect a fall, would run a big -risk of being pulled into the crevasse by the first man. - -The ‘falling Christiania’ is the best method of avoiding being pulled -after the leader into a crevasse. - -On fairly steep slopes it is best not to run in line. A and B should -run side by side. Provided the rope is long enough (and at least 75 -feet should be allowed between each partner), there is no danger that -A and B will fall into the same crevasse. A and B will probably not -be exactly side by side. B will be just a little behind A. In other -words, the line of the rope will not be exactly at right angles to the -parallel lines of the two tracks cut by A and B. This side-by-side -method is much easier than running in line; if A suddenly quickens in -speed, the only result is that A, instead of being side by side with -B, tends to run on ahead, and the two tracks tend to close up together -until the speed is readjusted. So, too, if B falls suddenly, A has much -more chance and more room in which to make a stop Christiania than if -they were running exactly in line. Also it is not necessary for either -A or B to hold a coil of rope in his hands. If the snow is smooth, the -rope need not be taut between the runners if they are running side by -side. It cannot be allowed to hang loose and to sweep the snow. - -All that has been said above applies equally to three men on a rope: -three on a rope is, however, a more difficult combination; the position -of the middle man liable to both fore and aft jerks is far from -enviable. The best man should be placed in the middle. It is, however, -surprising how easily a party of three practised roped runners can -execute straight running and even combined turns on a rope. - -Ropes that are employed in winter should be new. Old summer ropes -should not be used up in winter. Ropes break much more easily in winter -than in summer, and the strain is much greater in the event of a fall -into a crevasse owing to the greater speed on ski than on foot. - - -THE HIGH ALPS IN SPRING - -There is a fascination about the High Alps in winter that is unique. -Never are the great peaks so icily aloof, the silences of the glaciers -so inviolate. No moon compares with the full moon of January shining -on some great glacier causeway; no views are clearer than the summit -panorama of February. None the less, winter is _not_ the proper season -for ski tours in the High Alps. It is true that the rock ridges are -usually free from snow in the winter and corniced in spring, so that -for expeditions which combine ski-ing with more or less difficult -rock climbing, winter is preferable to spring. At the same time, it -is possible to exaggerate this point. An ardent champion of winter -mountaineering once cited to me the Lyskamm as a mountain that could -not be climbed in May owing to cornices. Unfortunately for his case, -the Lyskamm _had_ been climbed in May. I have known the cornice on the -Wetterhorn almost invisible in May, whereas in many winters it is quite -formidable. - -Still we may concede that rock ridges are certainly far easier in -February than in May, and cornices in general much larger in spring -than in winter. - -And of course the snowline is lower in winter than in spring; but, as -we shall try to prove, this is not of very great importance. - -The winter is the season for ski tours of modest length. It is the -season for what may be called _sub-alpine_ ski-ing. (We need some handy -expression in English for the most useful German word _Mittelgebirge_.) -Spring, on the other hand, is eminently suitable for ski tours in the -High Alps. - -The best month for glacier ski-ing is May. June is also excellent. -Indeed, from about the middle of May to the middle of June is, on the -average, as good a month as any in the year for glacier ski-ing. - -February is usually the best of the winter months, and May is the best -month for spring ski-ing. May is, among other things, usually fine. -April is almost always stormy; but the weather usually mends at the end -of April, and a long spell of perfect weather is as common in May as in -February. - -Let us then compare ski-ing among the glaciers in May and in February -from the point of view of (1) Safety; (2) Quality of ski-ing; (3) -Effort; (4) Scenery. - -(1) _Safety._--The shortness of the days and the great variations of -temperature, from mild and equable to bitterly cold, all add an element -of danger to the High Alps in February. A small mishap may have very -serious consequences. A broken leg half-way down Monte Rosa or the -Wetterhorn probably means a night in the open, and a night in the open -may mean a fatal ending. The sudden changes of weather, the storms that -rise in a night and last for days, all make February ski-ing among -the glaciers a sport with its own dangers. In May all these risks -are reduced almost to vanishing-point. A broken leg is a broken leg -in February or in May, but a night in the open in May should have no -permanent effect on any but a very badly wounded climber. - -We have already dealt with avalanches. Here we need only repeat that -though avalanches are of daily occurrence in May, an experienced party -has no difficulty in avoiding them. They have a regular time-table, -and, provided one times one’s ascent or descent so as to avoid -crossing certain slopes at certain hours, one is absolutely safe. In -winter, avalanches can fall at any hour of the day, under certain -circumstances, and at any temperature. To take a concrete example: the -Gauli hut. This hut lies at the head of a very steep and narrow valley, -the Urbachthal. In winter one would never be quite safe in this valley. -A sudden wind might rise and bring down a powder avalanche; and even in -steady weather the risk of a powder avalanche from the very steep sides -of this valley is never entirely absent. - -In spring one leaves Meiringen before midnight, climbs this valley -at night, and, provided the weather is fine, one is absolutely safe; -for in spring, avalanches fall in the afternoon and never fall at -night, save when the Föhn is blowing. And when the Föhn is blowing the -ski-runner stays at home, or remains in a club hut. - -Finally, the glaciers are not oversafe in winter, for reasons explained -on pp. 448-449. In May all save very badly crevassed glaciers can be -descended on ski by an unroped party, without greater risks than those -which must be faced by every bold pedestrian that crosses Piccadilly -Circus. The crevasses are never so securely bridged as in spring. - -(2) _Quality of the Ski-ing._--In winter it is the exception to find -good snow in the High Alps. The wind, as has already been explained, -spoils the snow on all exposed slopes. But in May the wind is -powerless, for the first fine day and hot sun will melt the snow so -thoroughly that all traces of wind action during the snowfall will -entirely disappear. Thenceforward the wind is powerless, for the wind -cannot churn up the heavy melted snow of spring, still less the hard -crust which is found in the early morning. - -Snow in spring is hard crust in the early morning, Telemark crust up to -midday or later on high north slopes. In the afternoon it is usually -soft and heavy, but in the evening it once again yields fine ski-ing. - -The ski-runner who visits the High Alps in winter can form no forecast -as to the possible conditions of the snow, for the snow is dependent on -the direction and on the strength of the winds that have blown since -the snow fell. It is therefore a matter of chance whether the snow is -good or bad, for nobody can foretell the conditions which depend on -such a fickle element as the wind. The longer fine weather endures in -winter, the greater the chance that the snow will be spoiled. In spring -the reverse is the case. _The more often snow is melted and refrozen -the better it becomes._ In general, provided the weather remains fine, -the spring ski-runner can count almost with certainty on perfect -ski-ing and perfect snow. - -An important point in favour of spring is the fact that one usually -gets good ski-ing for every foot that one climbs on snow. In winter the -summit snow slopes are often so windswept, that the ski are left some -distance below the actual top and the final ascent is made on foot. -In spring the snow is just as good on the most exposed summit slope -as lower down. I have started spring or summer ski descents from the -_actual summits_ of such peaks as the Dom, Ebnefluh, Galmihorn, etc. -This is an important advantage, and more than counterbalances the fact -that the snowline is higher in May than in February; for though one may -lose a thousand feet of ski-ing on the last day, one more than balances -this loss by the fact that good ski-ing is obtained from the highest -limit of the snow. - -The snowline in May usually extends down to 5000 feet. I have spent -three May months in the Alps, and I have always been able to get good -ski-ing well on to the middle of May down to about 5500 feet, and -sometimes lower. In narrow valleys the remains of spring avalanches -survive into the summer. I have skied in the middle of June below 6000 -feet in the Gredetschthal, and I have often, in the middle or end of -June, obtained first-class ski-ing below 7000 feet. - -Of course the height of the snowline is of no very great importance if, -as is usually the case, one spends four or five days on the glaciers. -One can sacrifice a thousand or two thousand feet of ski-ing on the -last day with complete composure if one is certain, as one is never -certain in winter, that one will get really good ski-ing for every foot -of snow slope that one climbs. - -(3) _Effort._--Much less energy is expended on a spring than on a -winter ski tour. In winter most of the climbing is done on ski. Tracks -have to be made in the soft snow; a gradual zigzag course has to be -taken; time is wasted over ‘kick turns.’ - -In spring one climbs on foot or on crampons. The ski are dragged -behind on string. On level or gentle slopes the weight of the ski is -almost imperceptible if they are pulled along on string. On steep -slopes they are by no means a great hindrance. It is surprising what -can be accomplished by a man who is dragging instead of carrying ski. -I have seen Knubel climb a short but very steep snow and ice wall in -which he had to cut half a dozen handholds, and on which he had to -steady himself with one hand while he cut hand and foot holes with -the axe held in his right hand. Meanwhile his ski were dangling on -string--attached to his waist--over the bergschrund below. - -The ski should, of course, always be secured by two strings in case one -breaks. - -In spring on hard snow one climbs very nearly as fast dragging one’s -ski as one would climb without ski, and from 50-100 per cent faster -than one would climb if one was forced to ascend the same slope on ski -with soft winter snow. - -The saving of effort is as remarkable as the saving of time, for it is -much easier to climb direct on foot than to zigzag up soft snow on ski. - -Apart from the upper snows, the approaches to the High Alps are easier -in spring than in winter. The snow at night is nearly always hard in -May. The narrow valleys, filled with soft powder snow, are covered -with a firm groundwork of hard crust in spring. The climb to the club -hut is usually done at night or in the early morning. Though the snow -lies down to five thousand feet well on into the middle or end of May, -so that the ski descent can be prolonged down to very low levels, it -is usually possible to pick a route up snow-free slopes (either on -southern or south-westerly or south-easterly slopes) far higher than -the lowest levels of the snowline. Paths can be utilized instead of -snow slopes, more especially if the peasants have begun to tramp out -the paths for their own purposes. The long detours, often necessary in -winter, to avoid dangerous avalanche slopes are needless in spring, for -such slopes can always be crossed with safety at night when the snow is -crusted. - -(4) _Scenery._--I have tried to show that the High Alps yield better -and safer ski-ing in May than in winter. Even if this were not so, May -would possess a charm for the mountaineer that no other month affords. -It is perhaps idle to compare the rival beauties of the four great -alpine seasons, for, even if one season could be proved paramount, the -true mountaineer would wish to study the mountains in all their moods. -The icy virginity of the High Alps in winter reveals secrets that are -hidden in spring and in summer. - -None the less, if it be permitted to state a preference, I for one -should give my vote to May months. Contrast is the greater teacher, -and May is the month of contrasts. I think of moments when one stepped -on to a high ridge after hours among the burning snow-fields of May, -and looked down, with a shock of surprise, on to the valleys dressed -in a green that was different, transfigured, miraculous--a green that -the valley-dweller has never seen. I think of quiet evenings after -long days among the snows, when one strolled down through the scented -pines with one’s ski on one’s back and the music of a perfect run still -echoing in one’s heart--of the Dollfuss in May, a little oasis of -green young turf covered with gentian and anemone in a wilderness of -burning snow and granite ridges. I think of a sunset hour just above -Rosenlaui, following four perfect days among the May glaciers, the -foreground of marsh-marigolds a sheet of flame, and the whole valley -one full-throated chorus of spring. Running water is always beautiful, -but there is no music in all the harmonies of Nature to compare with -mountain torrents in spring after days among the dead silence of the -upper snows. Such are the contrasts that reward the mountaineer in May. -Within the compass of dawn and sunset he can live through the cycle -of the seasons, can pass from winter to spring, can enjoy the best -that snow yields to the ski-runner, and the chiefest rewards that the -hills yield to those that explore them when the great rebirth of colour -and music has finally prevailed over the stubborn obstinacy of the -retreating snows. - -In order to understand the conditions that prevail in the High Alps in -spring, the effect of sun on snow and the various habits of sun-formed -and sun-melted crust must be grasped. These are dealt with on pp. -412-417. Avalanches are analysed on pp. 423-438. All that now remains -is to consider the application of the principles laid down to the -various months of spring. - -[Sidenote: March.] - -The winter of the calendar ends officially on 23 March, and the -calendar spring lasts from 24 March to 23 June. None the less March, -whatever the calendar may say, is winter in the High Alps. The snow, -unless disturbed by wind, remains powdery on all north slopes and -gentle south slopes. March is often a month of snowstorms, though -occasionally it is distinguished by really fine weather. On the whole, -however, it cannot be said to be a good month for glacier ski-ing, -though, on the other hand, the days are longer than in February. The -sun is stronger and the crevasses more securely bridged. - -[Sidenote: April.] - -April marks the transition from winter to spring. As a rule, April is -marked in the Alps by frequent storms, varied by periods of wet Föhn. -Occasionally one gets a week of really good weather and fine ski-ing, -even at very low altitudes, and it often happens that the last week -in April is perfect succeeding to a long period of snowstorms. But as -a rule good weather is less common in April than in any month of the -alpine year. - -The snow itself varies. Powder snow is found on north slopes at high -altitudes. South slopes are usually crusted. The crust varies a great -deal, and resembles, in general, the crust found in winter at low -altitudes. In other words, April crust on the glaciers is usually -marble crust in the early mornings. The law, explained on p. 414, “The -milder the frost the better the crust,” often gives the clue to timing -a successful descent. As one descends on an early morning in April the -crust usually improves. - -As a rule, the sun is strong enough to melt the crust just before or -just after midday, and in this case you get perfect running on Telemark -crust. Owing to the lower temperature the snow remains good much longer -than in May. In fact, at high altitudes it seldom becomes completely -thawed, so that the ski-ing on April afternoons is usually better than -on May afternoons. - -It is important to notice that when, as in spring and summer, the sun -remains above the horizon after 6 p.m., the northern slopes will be in -the sun after the southern slopes have lost the sun, for the sun at -6 p.m. is due west and after 6 p.m. is north of west. Of course, as -the sun is low in the sky only north slopes that are not shut in by -neighbouring slopes will keep the sun. - -If a north wind is blowing, the snow on north slopes, previously -crusted by sun and frost, may remain quite unmelted throughout the day. -I have found hard slippery crust in the late afternoon at the end of -April just below the rocks of the Zinal Rothhorn, with the result that -the ski-ing was most unpleasant. A bitter north wind was blowing at the -time. So, too, south slopes when the north wind is blowing may resist -the sun, and though they will not, like north slopes, remain really -hard, they will not be thoroughly melted. - -If you are lucky enough to get fine weather, April ski-ing is often -delightful. After a few days of sun traces of wind action disappear -from all slopes, save perhaps north slopes at very high altitudes. -Telemark crust towards midday, and even later, and salt snow or hypo -snow (p. 417) as you descend from the glaciers to the lower regions, -are characteristic of April ski-ing. - -It may be necessary to time your descent to the valley so as to pass -a dangerous slope before the sun has struck it. With ordinary caution -an experienced party should run no risk whatever of being caught by -an avalanche; but it is undeniable that inexperienced parties come to -grief more frequently in April than in any other month. This does not -prove that the avalanche danger is really greater, but only that it is -greater for the inexperienced. - -[Sidenote: May.] - -In May newly fallen snow usually remains powdery for one or two days -on north slopes, and even longer at high altitudes. But, in general, -powder snow is the exception in May. At high altitudes you will find -hard marble crust in the early morning. At lower altitudes you will -usually find ‘film crust’ and ‘perforated crust.’ For the formation of -these excellent running surfaces, see p. 414. - -The main difference between marble crust on the one hand, and either -film crust or perforated crust on the other hand, is that the former is -too slippery to give the ski purchase, whereas film or perforated crust -is a splendid surface for Stemming turns or Christianias. - -As a rule, in spring one descends after the sun has softened the crust. -Whether the original morning crust was hard and slippery, or covered by -a film or perforated crust, does not matter once the sun has melted its -surface.[24] In any case, there will be a period of ski-ing on Telemark -crust (p. 415). The main importance of film or perforated crust is its -value when you have to begin a descent before the sun has softened the -snow. I remember starting one morning just after the dawn from the -Oberaarjoch. I intended to ski down to the Grimsel and thence to climb -the Galenstock, and I hoped to go from the Oberaarjoch hut to the Furka -between dawn and sunset, taking the Galenstock _en route_. It was -obvious that an early start was necessary. At that date I had done -little ski-ing in June, and I fully expected that the top slopes of the -Oberaarjoch would be covered by very hard and slippery marble crust. To -my great surprise the crust, though hard, was covered by a beautiful -film of soft, transparent brittle ice. As the ski swung round on a turn, -this soft film peeled away and rustled down the slope with a soft -splashing sound. No surface could be finer. Straight running was -absolutely safe on the even, unchanging gradients of those summit -slopes. There were no hidden rocks or hidden crevasses to fear. The film -crust was absolutely true. There was no risk of running into a soft -sticky patch or a windswept pocket. One could run as fast as one liked, -secure in the knowledge that at any moment one could stop by a -long-drawn-out Christiania. On really steep slopes one could link a -succession of sweeping Christianias, the loveliest of all conceivable -turns, and on gentle slopes one could run straight. The soft film gave -an excellent purchase and prevented the ski side-slipping helplessly as -one began to turn, for the ski cut in under the film and peeled it away. - -Until a man has skied down from some glacier pass at dawn on film crust -he has yet to learn the best that ski-ing can yield. That run from the -Oberaarjoch stands out as one of the finest runs of my life. The great -charm of film crust is that fast running can be combined with absolute -safety, for a dangerous fall is almost impossible on this surface. I -remember that we took twenty minutes from the pass to the snout of the -glacier, and duly arrived at Gletsch after taking the Galenstock _en -route_ before sunset. - -Perforated crust is harder and firmer than film crust. On very steep -slopes it is a little too slippery, but on anything below 25 degrees it -gives perfect running. - -In May film crust and perforated crust are common in the early morning, -and marble crust is unusual. After fresh snow one finds all sorts of -shades of snow from pure winter snow to film crust, but a few days of -cloudless weather is usually sufficient to change powder into crust on -all but very high north slopes. - -[Sidenote: June.] - -June differs mainly from May in that the snowline is higher and that -winter snow is even more uncommon. Film crust and perforated crust is -the rule at all save high altitudes and just after fresh snow. - -As a rule the snow is even better in June than in May. _The more -frequently spring snow is melted and refrozen the better it becomes. -Old snow that has passed through this process again and again acquires -a granular and crystalline character._ It does not melt so thoroughly. -Provided there is no touch of Föhn in the air, it retains this -crystalline form even when it is melted. In June the snow remains good -for ski-ing much later in the day than in May, even though the sun is -higher in the sky. In May the period of transition from wet snow to -crust is very sudden. One moment the snow is wet and heavy, and half -an hour later the first crust has formed. In June there is often a -well-marked intermediate period when the snow gradually gets colder -and more crystalline. This granular snow is very fast and very true, -and suitable for every kind of turn and swing at high speed. On May -evenings the soft crust is very pleasant, but it is a little too soft -and the snow underneath the crust is a little too woolly; but in June -when the sun goes off the slopes the snow becomes crystalline, cold, -fast and just compact enough to prevent the ski sinking in too deep. - -In June the lower limits of the _névé_ often show signs of furrowing. -The action of the sun forms ridges and furrows producing a wavy effect. -These ridges are unpleasant to ski on or to ski over when the snow is -hard, but quite harmless when the snow has begun to soften. On steep -slopes the ridges run roughly parallel with the fall of the slope. On -the level the snow is divided into numberless little hillocks with -corresponding holes. - -The action is similar on a small scale to the erosive action of water -on a large scale. Water furrows an even mountain side with gullies and -a more or less level plain with intersecting ravines that produce a -series of hills. And just as in the geological cycle the last stage of -a mountainous country is a peneplane, so on snow the action of the sun -acts on the ridges and hillocks formed by previous action of the sun -and once again reduces the surface to a plain. I have seen in winter -one heavy rainstorm furrow the hillsides with miniature ridges and -a level snow slope with miniature hillocks, and I have seen the next -rainstorm--which followed two days later--erode the ridges and hillocks -formed by the first storm and once again produce slopes of even contour -and levels unbroken by hillocks. - - -THE SPRING TIME-TABLE - -The spring ski-runner has, in general, the choice of two periods of -the day for his descent. He can descend in the morning just after -the sun has begun to soften the surface of the hard crust, or in the -evening when the soft melted snow is beginning to freeze again. If -the day’s run ends at some club hut situated at a reasonable height, -say 9000-10,000 feet, he can usually leave the hut about dawn and -return about midday, for the snow at this height is usually perfect -just before midday; or he can time his descent for just before or just -after sunset. If he is descending to the valley, it is usually best to -time his descent a great deal earlier. In May the snow below 8000 feet -softens very quickly directly the sun touches it, and becomes dangerous -on steep slopes. In this case, should the snow on the glaciers be -film or perforated crust, he can start his descent before the sun has -softened the crust, so as to reach the lowest limits of the snow before -they have been softened by the sun. - -As this is often impossible, it is best to time the descent from the -peak to the club hut for midday, or rather before midday, and then to -wait in the hut till sunset, and continue the run down to the valley -after the sun has set and the snow begun to freeze again. Guides are -often dreadfully impatient, and have the greatest objection to spending -a long time on the summit of a peak. Many guides seem to regard summit -views with studied malevolence, and very few guides really understand -spring snow. If, as often happens, the arrival on the summit occurs -after midday, it is absurd to spoil a perfect descent by running down -in the afternoon. The amateur must exercise reasonable restraint and -insist on waiting. There are many things more unpleasant than to lie -about on the summit of some great peak for three or four hours studying -the changing effect of a May afternoon on distant hills and valleys, -what time the snow gradually improves. - -Great judgment is required in spring to get the best value out of the -descent; it will often pay a party to wait three or four hours for the -snow to improve. Summer climbers seldom linger on the summit, for in -summer the wind usually makes itself felt, but in May or June one can -bask on the top of a peak in shirt sleeves even after the sun has set. - -Eastern slopes, of course, are the first to soften in the morning and -the first to freeze at night. The best moment to descend varies with -the orientation of a slope. It is often possible to choose one of two -alternatives,--an eastern or a western route,--and the wise ski-runner -can often improve the quality of the descent by a clever choice of line -and slope. - -Considerable experience is needed after a fresh fall of snow. Snow -usually remains powdery for a day or two on north slopes in May or -June. Perfect powder snow is by no means the exception in spring; -an inch or two of winter powder on spring crust provides a surface -which is absolutely unrivalled. When, however, the powder begins to -turn into crust the ski-ing may often be difficult. After a snowfall -you should try either to find slopes holding winter snow or slopes -holding spring snow, but not slopes on which the snow is just changing -from powder to crust. You may, for instance, have spent the night at -a club hut at a height of 9000 feet above the sea. You have arrived -in the middle of June on the first fine day after a snowstorm. The -snow near the hut has been thoroughly melted by the sun before your -arrival. The weather is clear, and there is a north wind blowing. You -may reasonably expect powder snow on north slopes down to about 10,000 -feet, so that if you have a choice of an expedition on north snow, say -a peak 13,000 feet high, you should attempt it, and you will probably -find powder snow most of the way. On the other hand, a peak of the -same height that faced south might be an unpleasant condition, powder -turning into sticky snow or crust. It might therefore be best to choose -a small peak, say 11,000 feet, facing south, and run down below the -hut, remounting in the evening. Such an expedition might yield better -ski-ing than a high peak. - -After a day or two of fine weather all snow, excepting snow on north -slopes at a very great height, is transformed into ordinary spring -snow. Thenceforward the ski-runner may count on perfect snow, provided -he times his descent right. - -It is only with forty-eight hours of a snowfall that there is any real -difficulty. During such short periods the experienced spring ski-runner -will know whether to go for north slopes in the hope of winter snow or -for southern slopes, or north slopes at lower altitudes, in search of -spring snow. - - -SUMMER AND AUTUMN SKI-ING - -In summer the snowline climbs ever higher, and the scope of the -ski-runner is accordingly limited. Climbers who go straight up a peak -and down again to the valley will therefore be unwilling to burden -themselves with ski; but for a man who spends several days in club huts -without ever descending far below the summer snowline, the use of ski -for snow-peaks is as valuable as at any other season of the year. Monte -Rosa, Ebnefluh, Fiescherhorn, etc., yield quite as good ski-ing down to -the club-hut levels in August as in January--better, in fact, for the -snow is usually better in August than in January. - -Of course the crevasses are more open than in spring, and the greatest -care is needed after a fresh fall of snow. - -The snow conditions as the summer advances gradually change. July is -not unlike June, excepting that there is less snow on the mountains -and that the snowline is higher. Otherwise one finds in July all the -varieties of spring snow from film crust to granular snow. - -On 20 August the sun is at the same altitude as on 20 April, and on 20 -September it is at the same altitude as on 20 March. So that towards -the end of September we should expect that the sun would be powerless -to affect powder snow on north slopes just as it is powerless at -the end of March to transform powder into crust on north slopes at -reasonably high altitudes. - -In August powder snow on north slopes usually remains uncrusted for -two or three days after a fall. The wind, which was powerless in May -or June, begins to regain its ascendancy. In August one finds at high -altitudes on north slopes all the usual effects of wind action that one -may observe in April. One does not see the same traces of wind that -one observes in January, for the snowfalls are lighter and the sun is -stronger, but windboard and rippled snow are common enough in August. - -In September and October snow remains powdery unless affected by Föhn -on north slopes above 9000 feet. - -In October the snowfalls usually begin at the ordinary alpine centres. -I have enjoyed perfect ski-ing at Mürren by the middle of October; ski -expeditions in the High Alps have also been carried out at this date, -though the practice is to be discouraged; for, of course, the glaciers -are never so dangerous as in October or November, when the maximum -number of crevasses are open and the snow bridges more insecure than at -any other period of the year. - -In a few years’ time many club huts will be provided with ski, so -that the trouble of carrying ski to the summer snowline will no -longer exist. When once this obstacle to summer ski-ing is removed, I -confidently expect that it will be the exception rather than the rule -to see climbers ascending Monte Rosa or similar peaks without ski at -any period of the year. - - -SUMMER SKI - -Short summer ski are very useful. A handy size is about 5½ feet in -length. Such ski are very light and easily carried, and can be tied on -between the rucksack and the back. They are becoming very popular, and -have a great future. - -On hard snow short ski are nearly as fast and as steady as long ski. -On soft snow they are, of course, nothing like so fast, and are apt -to be jerky and unpleasant if the snow varies in density or in speed. -On steep slopes of soft snow they are quite as good as long ski, for -they are very easy to turn; and so long as the slope is steep enough -to descend with continuous turns, short ski are as good or better than -long ski. It is on gradual slopes of soft snow or crust that their -disadvantage is marked. - -They are amazingly handy for really steep narrow slopes, such as -gullies. On short summer ski one can descend a gully 40 degrees steep -and about 12 feet wide with sharp continuous turns. Stemming turns and -Christianias are ridiculously easy. - -Mountaineers who have never been on ski will find short ski quite easy -to manage. A man who can glissade with safety down a steep gully will -be able to ski almost at once on good snow and on easy slopes without -too many falls, and should be able to make slow turns on short ski -after a day or two’s practice. Provided the snow is good, the average -_névé_ is an ideal practice-ground for beginners owing to the absence -of obstacles. - -Even very short ski, 3 feet or 4 feet in length, are a great deal -better than no ski. On steep slopes they are most useful, and even on -gentle slopes, provided the snow is hard, one can get a really fine run -on a pair of ski no more than a yard in length. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[18] I may perhaps refer the reader to my own book _Cross -Country Ski-ing_ (Methuen) or to V. Caulfeild’s book _How to Ski_ for -the technique of ski-ing. - -[19] I am ignorant of physics and should be glad to have this -guess corroborated by a physicist. - -[20] Eastern slopes retain powder snow rather longer than -western slopes, possibly because the morning sun is less powerful -than the evening sun, as the atmosphere warms up as the day proceeds. -Further, as the prevailing alpine winds blow from the west, slopes that -face east are less often spoiled by wind than those which face west. - -[21] Sometimes when the night is unusually mild the crust -is not sufficiently firm, and at the first touch of sun, it does not -merely melt superficially producing Telemark crust, but gives under the -ski and yields very nasty running. This is usually the case at _low_ -altitudes in May. - -[22] As the prevailing alpine winds blow from the west, western rock -ridges and rock faces are usually more free from snow than eastern -ridges. See footnote, p. 409. - -[23] As the middle of the glacier moves faster than the sides, -and as the line of cleavage is at right angles to the line of tension, -lateral crevasses, contrary to what casual deduction might suppose, run -backwards from the side of the glacier to the centre. - -[24] Provided that the night has been cloudless. An overcast -sky, or Föhn, will only produce a very weak crust which gives at once -when the sun rises. See footnote on p. 415. A couple of hours of a -cloudless sky is, however, quite enough to produce a good firm crust at -night. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -MOUNTAIN PHOTOGRAPHY - -BY SYDNEY SPENCER - - -It is somewhat superfluous to draw attention to the immense popularity -attained by photography in the mountains. Among climbers very few are -content to supply their requirements from the work of others, and it -may safely be asserted that a camera is almost certain of its place in -the outfit of at least three-fourths of the climbing parties of the -present day. It is true that the majority of these confine themselves -to snapshot photography. This cannot be regarded as a serious form of -the art, seeing that it is practically impossible to compose a picture -on the diminutive scale of the usual view-finder, and that the films -generally used are too uncertain in results. Photographers, also, of -this class very rarely trouble to do their own developing. - -Excellent work can, however, be done with a hand camera. It has one -drawback: the lens is usually a fixture, and provides only one fixed -focus, a very important consideration in serious photography. But if -the climber decides to use such a hand camera, the following remarks -may be of service. - -[Sidenote: The Camera.] - -The best form for mountain work is the folding variety. There are -innumerable good makes from which to choose. Reflex cameras are -too bulky for mountain work. The adjustments should be as simple -as possible; and for good work a focussing glass is essential. The -lens, by far the most important portion of the camera, should be the -very best obtainable. It should be fitted with automatic shutter for -instantaneous and time exposures, and also with a lens cap. This latter -I have always preferred to use for long exposures in preference to an -automatic shutter. It is much easier to avoid shaking the camera in -removing a lens cap than it is in pressing the lever of an automatic -shutter. The use of a wooden folding tripod with a triangle top I -strongly recommend in preference to the brass or aluminium tripod -with telescoping legs, since such legs are not sufficiently rigid. I -advocate the use of glass plates; and three dark slides, or better -still, a changing box to hold six plates or twelve cut films, complete -the apparatus. So far, the most satisfactory changing box I have come -across is one ‘made in Germany’; of which the description is given on -another page of this chapter. An adapter for a film-pack adds very -little to the weight, and is a useful addition to the outfit. A hand -camera such as I have described is of great service on rock climbs of -difficulty, where it is not expedient to embarrass the party by taking -the more complicated paraphernalia of a stand camera. - -There is a type of climber to whom the merely gymnastic or, we will -say, athletic side of climbing is not the sole aim and object of the -sport. He is an enthusiastic lover of the marvellous beauties of the -mountain recesses, and wishes to take home impressions of the peaks -and glaciers as he himself has seen them; for climbers know well that -the mountains are ever changing in aspect from one year to another, or -even from season to season. He sees and desires to record atmospheric -effects which may never be repeated during his climbing experience. He -takes his photography seriously, and he is consequently prepared to put -himself to a considerable amount of trouble to obtain really artistic -records of the scenery amongst which he climbs. - -For such a type of climber I decidedly recommend the stand camera in -preference to the hand camera. It entails rather more trouble, but this -is certain to be justified by the superior results. - -The component parts of a stand camera outfit may be enumerated shortly -as follows: - -1. _Body of the Camera._--This should be of the best possible make, -with metal-bound corners, and fitted with a metal turn-table. All the -metal parts should be of aluminium, for the sake of lightness. It -should have the usual rising front and swing-back, and an adjustable -focussing glass for horizontal or vertical pictures. The body must, of -course, fold up, and it is most important that all the adjustments -should be as simple as possible, so as not to waste valuable time in a -climbing day. - -2. _The Lens._--This, as I have already remarked, is the most vital -feature of a camera. For stand camera work I would urge the adoption -of a set of three or four interchangeable lenses, as this gives -the photographer a wide range of focal angles to choose from, and -practically enables him to include in his pictures just as much as -he desires. For a half-plate camera, two 14-inch, one 11½-inch and -one 9-inch lens make a good set, giving a series of focal lengths -ranging from 5¾ inches to 14 inches. For a quarter-plate camera, two -11½-inch, one 9-inch and one 7¼-inch lens will give a range of focal -lengths from 4⅛ inches to 11½ inches. The lens mount is fitted with -an iris diaphragm and a detachable ring marked with the apertures -suitable for each lens combination. A yellow screen, of such a shade -as to increase the exposure by three times, is useful where there -are trees or grass in the foreground, and serves also to soften the -shadows. Its use ensures clouds not being lost in development through -over-exposure, although it cannot be claimed that successful results -may not be obtained without it. It is also of distinct advantage in a -hazy atmosphere. A Thornton Pickard shutter will be found useful, but -for time exposures the lens cap is really all that is necessary. - -3. Three ordinary double-back slides are usually taken; but they may -be replaced by a changing box--a more convenient and compact way of -carrying the plates. Most of the changing boxes on the market are made -with a folding leather bag at one end, and the changing of the plates -from front to back is effected by hand; but the writer has always used -a changing box in which an inner shell pulls out like a drawer, taking -with it, by means of a clip, the exposed plate in its sheath. As soon -as the inner shell is drawn out to its full length the sheath drops -to the bottom of the shell. This is then pushed back again, and the -used plate slides in at the back of the unexposed plates, which have -meanwhile been pushed up by a spring. The metal sheaths are numbered -on the back. The photographer can see which number has been taken by -turning over the box when he has partly pushed back the inner shell -after the exposed plate has dropped to the bottom. He will then see -the number through a red glass-covered opening. As this appears to be -the only box of the kind which is made, it may be advisable to state -that it is known as the ‘Grundmann’ changing box. Some enterprising -British firm should be induced to bring out something similar. The -movements are so simple that it can hardly fail to work properly. - -Six plates are generally sufficient for one day’s work, and a changing -box made for that number will not weigh more than three dark slides -with the same number of plates. If desired, the six plates can be -replaced by twelve cut films in suitable thin sheaths. - -4. _The Tripod._--The ordinary camera legs on the market are, even -when folded, inconveniently long for mountain work, and for rock -climbing may prove a real source of danger. For comfort, legs when -folded should not measure more than 12 inches at the utmost. It is -best to have a set specially made, and I know of nothing better than a -set made in the following manner. The bottom section of each leg is a -solid square-sided aluminium bar with a very sharp point. This slides -into a square wooden frame. Over the frame the two next sections are -folded; the top one folds inside the second, so as to unfold in the -same direction. Made in this way, the tops need only to be pressed -together in order to fit them, with a slight spring, on to the pegs of -the turn-table. A cross strut makes the fit tight and immovable. The -total length of the legs opened out is about 42 inches, which is quite -as long as is necessary for mountain work. A set of legs made in this -way stands perfectly rigid; it will also go easily into the side pocket -of the rucksack, or it can be carried on the top of the sack without -the slightest inconvenience to the climber. - -5. The outfit is completed by a focussing cloth, with a running tape -along one side, which prevents the cloth from blowing about in the wind. - -As regards the comparative merits of glass plates and films, the latter -have the one great advantage of lightness, but they are notoriously -uncertain and much more difficult to control in development. The most -satisfactory results are obtained with slow plates, of which six are -enough for any ordinary expedition. - -It is not a bad plan to take in addition an adapter with a film-pack, -for snapshots of climbing incidents. - -The best size of camera to take is a debatable point. Half plate is the -largest which can be carried with convenience; and for the best results -there is no question whatever that the larger size is the better to -work with. A half-plate camera, as described, can be carried on most -ascents of average difficulty; with the possible exception, perhaps, of -strenuous rock climbs, such as the Dru or the Grépon, where anything -but a hand camera is liable to be a distinct incumbrance. - -But on the whole, for all-round utility I am inclined to recommend the -quarter-plate size. In addition to the economy in weight and bulk of -the whole apparatus, the quarter-plate negatives are a more convenient -size from which to make lantern slides, and excellent enlargements can -always be made from good negatives of this dimension. - -[Sidenote: The Choice of Subject.] - -We come now to the all-important question of choice of subject; one on -which it is most difficult to give definite advice, seeing that so much -depends on the artistic perceptions of the photographer. Photography -to a certain extent is a mechanical art, but good photographers invest -their work with a decided individuality; and it is this at which the -novice should aim. - -The first thing to bear in mind is the proper balance of proportions. -To achieve this the set of interchangeable lenses already recommended -are indispensable. Without them a photographer must find considerable -difficulty in conveying the true impressions of the mountain landscape -as seen from the point at which the photograph is taken. - -Panoramic views of distant ranges will of course always continue to be -taken; but as pictures they are of small value unless they are assisted -by atmospheric effects of cloud or mist. - -In photographing peaks close at hand, it is usually best not to include -more than one summit in the picture, or at any rate to make one peak -the central point of interest. Others may only be included if they can -be made to enhance the value of the main feature in the composition. -The majority of views of this type look best if they are taken on -plates placed vertically; but this is by no means a rule to be rigidly -followed. Broad mountain masses, such as Mont Blanc and the Grandes -Jorasses, or composite peaks, of the type of Monte Rosa, should always -be taken horizontally. - -The chief feature in the picture should never be placed in the centre, -but rather to one side of the view; and the lines of intervening ridges -and glaciers should be included, so as to lead the eye towards the -main object. This produces the necessary impression of distance and -depth; an easy effect generally, if the photo is taken from below, -but not always feasible if the view is from a summit. The effect of -distance and depth is always much helped by a good foreground, but the -foreground must not on any account draw the attention from the main -feature. - -Such a foreground is of special value in the case of views of peaks -as seen from a summit, where it is not possible to include the base -of the peaks in the picture. A few rocks intruding in the immediate -foreground, or a ridge running so as to connect the distant view with -the standpoint of the photographer, removes the feeling of blankness -and of lack of distance which the absence of any foreground is apt to -produce. - -The amount of sky which may be properly included should occupy from -about a quarter to a third of the plate. Too much sky produces a very -bad effect; whilst, on the other hand, many photographers make the -mistake of bringing the peaks too near the top of the picture, giving -them an unnaturally attenuated appearance. - -Ice-falls and much-broken glaciers compose very easily. On the other -hand, broad expanses of snow-field are about the most difficult subject -the mountain photographer can tackle. The texture of the snow is -the one thing to aim at. If this is not brought out, the picture is -valueless. Slight under-exposure is the secret of success. For these -subjects it is better to have the sun well in front, as the light on -the snowy surface is then well broken by shadows. - -For the other kinds of mountain subjects I should recommend the novice, -where slow plates are used, to err on the side of over-exposure, and -to develop slowly. By this method he will find it is easier to get -atmosphere into his pictures. A certain amount of detail may be lost in -the distant objects, but he will secure a much truer gradation between -his distances. - -As regards the development of slow plates, it should be noted that -this can be carried out with comparative strong light, provided it -is suitably shaded. The developer should be gradually increased in -strength. The photographer can then see easily what he is doing, and, -by means of brushwork, can control the development of any portion of -the negative. - -Broken light is essential to the success of most mountain photographs, -and for this reason the best time for taking them is usually early and -late in the day. This is of course not an invariable rule, and the -photographer must be guided by the subject he has in front of him. -Moreover, the climber is not always able to choose the time of day for -his work. If the midday light is very brilliant, the yellow screen -can be utilized. Personally, I have used it very seldom, but have -made a practice of using a very small stop, and have trusted to slow -development for the rest. - -[Sidenote: Colour Photography.] - -I should like also to draw attention to two other forms of photography -which have been introduced in recent years, and have proved very -attractive to climbers. Colour photography exercises an extraordinary -fascination, and it would doubtless become still more popular if -the plates were less costly. There are several forms of plates -and processes, and with all of them some remarkable results have -been obtained. The different processes vary somewhat in simplicity -of manipulation. One of the simplest is the Lumière Autochrome. -The photograph is taken in the ordinary way, but with the proper -light filter, as prescribed, fixed on the lens front. It is to be -remembered that the focussing glass must be reversed owing to the -fact that the plate is placed in the dark slide with the film turned -inside. The essential point is to learn to judge of the correct -exposure. Over-exposure can be corrected by intensification, but it -is a troublesome process. The development is perfectly simple if the -instructions given are carefully followed. It is very important to -see that the solutions used are cold enough, otherwise the unhappy -photographer runs the risk of watching a perfectly successful colour -picture melt away in front of his eyes. - -[Sidenote: Stereoscopic Photography.] - -The other form referred to is stereoscopic photography, which is more -particularly adapted to snapshots of climbing incidents and to studies -of rock and glacier scenery near at hand, since the pictures can be -taken with the camera held at any angle, even pointing directly above -the head or below the feet, and the scenes are afterwards reproduced -in marvellously lifelike manner in the stereoscope. To secure the -full stereoscopic effect the ‘lines’ of the picture should start from -the immediate foreground and carry the eye away to the main object, -i.e. the camera should be held close down to the surface of water or -glacier, or with one side close against a wall of rock as foreground. A -rock crest running immediately away from the camera, or two, containing -walls of ice or rock on either hand, give the best results, and provide -the framework of illusion for the more distant scene. The stereoscopic -effect is lost in distant views. The handiest size in this camera, the -‘Verascope,’ is 107 cm. by 45 cm. It is made of metal throughout. It -carries a detachable magazine of twelve plates, and weighs rather more -than a pair of field-glasses. Films can be substituted for plates for -lightness, but the results are on the whole inferior. If it is carried -in a strong leather case, the camera will stand an extraordinary amount -of rough treatment on rocks and immersion in rivers. It is especially -suited for difficult climbing and exploration, where it is desired to -record special passages and incidents, at angles, and in circumstances -and climates, in which the ordinary camera is useless. - - * * * * * - -My final piece of advice is, never leave the camera behind, and never -waste plates or time unless the result is likely to be successful. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -MOUNTAINEERING IN TROPICAL COUNTRIES - -BY A. F. R. WOLLASTON - - (_The suggestions contained in this chapter are based on some - experience of travel in the mountains of Africa and New Guinea, and - it is assumed that the conditions are not materially different in the - mountains of tropical South America. It is taken for granted that - the transport animal is man, and that after entering the mountains - the traveller must depend entirely on the provisions he carries with - him. The medical suggestions are intended only for those who have no - special knowledge of the subject, and for conditions in which only the - simplest treatment is possible._) - - -HEALTH - -The first essential to the success of an expedition lies in the good -health of the various members of the party. Hard work in the trying -conditions of tropical mountains soon saps the energy of the most -robust, but by taking proper precautions a man may continue in good -health for six months or even longer. - -[Sidenote: Prevention of Sickness.] - -When the body is for many hours daily bathed in sweat and smeared with -mud, personal cleanliness becomes of the first importance. A bath, if -it can be managed, or a sponge-down, should be the rule every evening, -and all cuts and scratches must be carefully attended to and protected -from infection. The question of hot or cold water may be left to the -preference of the individual, with this reservation, that no man should -ever take a cold bath when he has cooled down after freely perspiring. - -The teeth are liable in hot climates to become loose and even to fall -out. They should be kept scrupulously clean, and the mouth may be -washed out with a weak solution of Condy’s fluid. The hair should -at all times be cropped short both for comfort and cleanliness, and -paraffin or some other oil should be rubbed into the scalp. - -A regular action of the bowels is even more necessary in tropical than -in temperate climates. There may be some difficulty about this on a -diet of tinned foods, but it can generally be ensured by a daily plate -of porridge (see below, Constipation). To avoid malaria every effort -must be made to escape the attacks of the _anopheles_ mosquito. It will -not be possible for the traveller to carry with him a mosquito-proof -tent, but failing this, he must use a well-constructed mosquito net, -made in one piece, without an opening at the side. The lower edge of -the net should not hang loosely, but should be tucked under the edge -of the mattress if one be used, or otherwise stretched tightly round -the edge of the bed. The meshes of the muslin should not be less than -twelve to the inch. It is good economy, as well as being more humane, -to provide your ‘boys’ and other servants with mosquito nets. Mosquito -boots, i.e. light boots with long loose uppers of canvas or thin -leather, into which the trousers can be tucked, are conveniently worn -in the evening to prevent mosquitoes biting the ankles. If a camp be -occupied for several days, it is advisable to see that stagnant pools -near by are filled up, and that no discarded tins are lying about to -become filled with rain-water, in which mosquitoes may breed. - -Here it may be convenient to state that very many diseases of the -Tropics--cholera, dysentery, typhoid, bilharzia, etc.--are spread -chiefly by means of water. It is therefore of the greatest importance -to make sure of a supply of pure water. Filters will remove mud and -other suspended matter from water, and a good filter in perfect -condition _may_ provide a sterile water; but it is seldom possible -to keep a filter perfectly clean, and it is better to do without it -altogether. If the water is stagnant, or if there is any possibility of -its having been contaminated in any way, it is always advisable to boil -it and make tea, or if it is preferred, to aerate it with sparklets. -“When in doubt, boil,” is a golden rule. - -As a medicinal prevention of malaria there is nothing more effectual -than to take a daily dose of 5 grains of quinine bihydrochloride. -As this is a somewhat expensive drug, the native members of the -expedition, if they are numerous, may be given the less costly (but -less soluble) quinine bisulphate, 5 grains. If it is not convenient -to give quinine to the natives every day, it may be given to them in -10-grain doses twice a week on consecutive days. The tabloids may be -sugar-coated for the natives, who may otherwise surreptitiously reject -them. - - (_The following suggestions are intended for the necessarily limited - possibilities of a mountain camp._) - -[Sidenote: Treatment.] - -_Malaria._--So long as his temperature is above normal, the sick man -should, if possible, be kept in bed. Give 3 grains of calomel followed -by a dose of Epsom salts to clear the liver and bowels. Continue to -give three doses of 5 grains each of quinine bihydrochloride every day -that the fever lasts; but do not give the quinine while the temperature -is raised. When the attack has ceased give 10 grains daily for a week, -and afterwards continue with the regular daily dose of 5 grains. At -the same time it is very important to make sure of a regular action of -the bowels. If, while the attack lasts, headache is very severe and -persistent, 5 or 10 grains of phenacetin may be given; but this drug -is greatly abused and is often of little or no use. Sweating may be -stimulated by giving copious draughts of hot tea; when the sweating -stage is at an end, the pyjamas should be immediately changed. - -_Diarrhœa_ is a very common trouble, particularly when no fresh food -is obtainable. It is usually sufficient to take a dose of castor oil -and to eat as little as possible for 24 hours. If this treatment is -not effective, give 10 grains of bismuth subnitrate three times daily, -and a diet of milk and arrowroot or Horlick’s malted milk. If the -diarrhœa ceases, but there is still discomfort in the bowels, 10 drops -of chlorodyne may be given, but in most cases it is better to avoid the -use of this drug. - -_Dysentery._--Rest in bed, warmth, a diet of milk and water and -arrowroot, and a preliminary dose of castor oil are the first -essentials of the treatment. Severe cases may be well treated by the -use of emetine hydrochloride, in keratin-coated cachets, containing -one ½-grain dose. One dose should be taken each day, and the treatment -should be continued until he has taken altogether 8 grains. As an -after-treatment it may be good practice to take 2 drams of liquid -paraffin every night. There are some who advocate the regular use of -this every day as a preventative of intestinal disease, but such a -thing will be hardly practicable on a mountain expedition with limited -transport. The treatment by ipecacuanha cannot be recommended for -camp use. Less severe types of dysentery may be treated by giving -small doses (1 dram) of sulphate of magnesia every two or three hours -to ensure a free watery purgation, which may be continued until the -pain has ceased. If the disease proves to be intractable, the sick -man should be removed to the nearest place of civilization as soon as -possible. - -_Constipation_ is not a very common trouble in tropical mountain -expeditions. It may generally be avoided by eating a daily plate of -porridge and, if they can be carried, by eating prunes and figs. If -the camp arrangements make bread-making possible, it is a good plan to -mix with the white flour some whole meal, or, in countries where it is -grown, the meal made from millet. If none of these measures ensures -a daily action of the bowels, a dose of sulphate of magnesia (½ to 1 -ounce) may be taken early in the morning, or one ‘Livingstone Rouser’ -or cascara sagrada or two vegetable laxatives (Burroughs & Wellcome) -may be taken over-night. - -_Sunstroke_ is not at all likely to occur, but if a serious case should -happen, and the temperature rise to 105 or 106, the patient should be -stripped and wrapped in cold wet blankets until the temperature falls -to 103, after which he should be placed in bed in the darkest and -coolest place possible; the bowels must be kept open and a liquid diet -given for some days. - -_Coughs_ and _Colds_ are sometimes exceedingly troublesome. They -may often be cured at the outset by taking a hot bath (if that be -practicable) with mustard in it, followed by bed with many blankets -and a dose (10 to 15 grains) of Dover’s powder. A sore throat may be -treated by frequent gargles of weak solution of potassium permanganate -(Condy’s fluid) and by sucking tabloids of chlorate of potash. Nasal -catarrh may sometimes be cured by sniffing the vapour arising from the -open mouth of a bottle of formalin. - -_Toothache_ is one of the most frequent and most distressing troubles -of a mountain expedition, and it ought, as far as possible, to be -avoided by visiting a dentist before leaving civilization. If the pain -is in a decayed tooth, it is sometimes sufficient, after clearing away -the debris, to put into the cavity some powdered carbonate of soda; -it is more efficacious to put in very carefully a small drop of pure -carbolic acid on a plug of cotton wool. Pain at the root of a tooth -may be relieved by painting the gum with tincture of iodine, but the -cheek should be held away from the jaw until the tincture has dried. -Some forms of toothache can only be treated by extraction, and no -expedition ought to make a long journey without three or four forceps. -The sufferer will probably prefer extraction at the hands of an amateur -to the horrors of prolonged toothache. - -_Sleeplessness_ is often a very serious trouble, not less at high -altitudes than in the sweltering heat of the foothills. Sleep may -sometimes be induced by drinking a cup of hot cocoa shortly before -going to bed; it is also a good plan to have biscuits within reach -during the night. If the insomnia is very persistent, it may become -necessary to give up smoking and to reduce as far as possible the -consumption of tea. The use of powerful sleeping-draughts is strongly -to be deprecated, except in extreme cases. - -_Conjunctivitis_ is certain to occur to one or more members of the -expedition. It is easily treated by a weak solution of boric acid, or -an astringent solution of zinc sulphate (1 grain in 1 ounce of water). -An eye-bath is easily carried, and is very useful. - -_Skin Diseases._--The most common that is likely to be met with is -‘prickly heat,’ which is due to extensive sweating. The amount of -fluids drunk should be cut down as much as possible, and some relief -may be obtained by the use of a weak solution of carbolic acid (1 in -50). It is a good plan to use a dusting powder before going to bed. - -‘_Scrub Itch_’ and ‘_Dhobie Itch_’ are names given to a very irritating -and inflamed condition of the skin, more especially of the moister -parts, such as the arm-pits and the inside of the thighs. It is in many -cases particularly troublesome at night, and it is not at all easy -to cure. The part should be kept scrupulously clean, and a sulphur -ointment (10 per cent) may be applied. A dusting powder of zinc and -boric acid often gives temporary relief from the irritation. - -_Ringworm_ of one kind or another is almost certain to occur among a -large number of men. It is hopeless to expect to cure a case during the -course of an expedition, but the spread of it may be checked by the use -of a sulphur ointment or by painting the part with liniment of iodine. - -_Body Parasites._--In places where ‘jiggers’ are found, it is certain -that the men are adepts at their extraction; but a European, who takes -proper care of his feet and wears long boots in camp, need not be -troubled by them. If the body is invaded by lice, they can be got rid -of by the use of a mercury ointment. - -_Snake Bite_ requires the most prompt treatment. Without loss of time a -strong ligature must be tied about the limb above the bite: thus, for -a bite on the finger the ligature may be at the base of the fingers, -for a bite on the hand or forearm it must be above the elbow, and for -a bite on the foot or leg the ligature must be above the knee. The -ligature must be twisted tightly by means of a stick, and at intervals -of about half an hour it should be relaxed for a few seconds to prevent -the risk of gangrene. With a sharp knife the whole of the area about -the puncture should be freely cut away, and the wound should be washed -with a strong solution of permanganate of potash. A less heroic, -but less reliable, treatment is to make two or three incisions into -the flesh about the puncture, and to rub into the cuts crystals of -permanganate of potash. A small quantity of alcohol may be given, and -the patient may be put to bed and kept warm. The popular remedies of -large quantities of brandy, walking about, and sucking the wound are of -no value. - -_Leeches_, by reason of their delicate gait, often find their way into -the most intimate and unexpected places, and may be gorged with blood -before they are detected. They should never be pulled off: a touch with -the juice out of a well-smoked pipe will cause them to shrivel and drop -off. In the early mornings, when leeches stretch themselves expectant -on every twig, a wise man will walk in the rear of his caravan. - -_Cuts_ and _Scratches_, if not attended to at once, may lead to -abscesses and ‘veldt-sores’ and an infinity of trouble. Even the -smallest scratch should be treated at once with the iodine bottle, -which may be easily carried in a pocket, or if necessary, with a -bandage. - -_Boils_ are best treated by dusting with boric acid powder and -protecting them with a gauze dressing. When they come to a head, the -top may be cut off and a drop of pure carbolic acid applied, after -which a gauze dressing must be used until it is completely healed. - -_Abscesses_ may be opened with a sharp knife, when they ‘point,’ and -dressed with a wet gauze dressing, frequently changed, until the -discharge has ceased. The smallest abscesses and boils should be -treated with extreme care, as they are very liable in the Tropics to -develop into ulcers if neglected. - -The treatment of _Sprains_ and _Fractures_ must be learnt from one of -the many small handbooks of First-aid. - -[Sidenote: Medicine Cases and Drugs.] - -For use in Africa no better case has been devised than the ‘Congo -Chest’ (No. 250) of Messrs. Burroughs, Wellcome & Co., and in other -countries, where it cannot be carried far, it is useful as a store to -be kept at the base camp. A smaller case, which will fulfil most of the -ordinary requirements, is the No. 231 case, weight about 7 lb. For the -higher ascents, where only the barest necessities can be carried, a -leathern pocket-case (such as No. 114, B. W. & Co.) should be taken. In -all circumstances it will be advisable to take an additional supply of -bandages and dressings, which cannot be contained in the case itself. - -It is important that all drugs should be obtained fresh from the makers -shortly before the departure of the expedition. - -The following is a list of drugs, etc., which may be found useful in a -tropical expedition: - - Quinine bihydrochloride gr. v. - Quinine bisulphate gr. v. - Blaud pill gr. iv. - Potassium chlorate gr. v. - Dover powder gr. v. - Iron and arsenic compound. - Bismuth subnitrate gr. v. - Ginger essence min. x. - Potassium permanganate gr. ii. - Calomel gr. i. - Salol gr. v. - Salicin gr. v. - Laxative vegetable. - ‘Livingstone Rouser.’ - Zinc sulphate gr. i. - Opium gr. i. - Aspirin gr. v. - Phenacetin gr. v. - Soda mint. - Easton syrup dr. ½ - Cascara sagrada gr. ii. - Ipecacuanha (sine emetine) gr. v. - -In addition to the above, which are taken in tabloid form, a supply -should be taken of the following: - - Pure carbolic acid. - Boric acid. - Castor oil. - Sulphate of magnesia. - Iodoform. - Lanolin. - Vaselin. - Sulphur ointment (1 in 10). - Ammoniated mercury ointment (1 in 10). - Iodine liniment. - -And the following various articles: - - Metal-handled lancet. - Dressing scissors. - Dissecting forceps. - Probe. - Clinical thermometers. - Caustic holder and points. - Suture needles and silk. - Safety pins. - Mustard leaves. - Adhesive plaster, 1 inch and 2 inch. - Court plaster. - Oiled silk. - Large supply of bandages of 1-inch and 2-inch width. - Supply of lint. - Gauze. - - -EQUIPMENT - - (_These notes are merely intended to supplement, with special - reference to the Tropics, the information on this subject contained in - other chapters._) - -[Sidenote: Food.] - -The mainstay of the ‘Sahib’ or ‘Bwana’ or ‘Tuan’ must be the same as -the food of his men: thus, in a wheat country his food is flour, in -a millet country, millet, and in a rice country, rice; and to the -ordinary Englishman the worst of these is rice. An important point to -arrive at in selecting tinned provisions is to take as great a variety -as possible. Though it is true that after a few months all tins, meat -or fish or fruit, seem to have one and the same flavour, it is possible -that a stomach jaded by a long course of beef or mutton may welcome -jugged hare or curried prawns. It is worth while, too, to take a few -tins _de luxe_ for special festivals. In hot places there is often -a craving for strong flavours, and a palate which shuns such things -at home cries out for pickles and sauces. There is perhaps little -need to say that all tinned foods should be obtained from the best -manufacturers, and that any tin which shows a suspicion of ‘bulging’ -should be at once discarded. It is probable that no fresh vegetables -will be available, and it is unfortunate that of those in tins the wet -vegetables are too heavy for limited transport, while the dried variety -are tasteless and require a long time for cooking: an exception must -be made in favour of Murray Cooksley’s dried potatoes which can be -strongly recommended. Failing vegetables, it is very important to eat -fruit: dried apple chips, pears, prunes, peaches and apricots, more -particularly the latter, should be eaten daily. Raisins and figs are -good food, and are conveniently carried in the pocket with biscuits -for lunch. Ginger is useful in counteracting the prevailing flavour of -tin. Some of the cheeses, notably the flat Dutch variety, are a useful -food, and should certainly be taken; nor should anchovies and olives be -forgotten. In the higher regions there will be a strong desire--even -stronger than in the Alps, possibly on account of the distaste for it -in the hot country below--for butter, and this should be of the best -kind: it is a good plan to take two varieties, as the flavour of tinned -butters varies considerably. The usual drink will probably be tea, as -coffee is heavy to carry, and is usually undrinkable as made by the -native cook. A cup of cocoa before bedtime is an easily carried luxury. -Condensed milk should certainly be taken in considerable quantities for -use in sickness; the ‘Ideal’ brand of unsweetened milk mixes well with -porridge or stewed fruit. A great saving in transport may be effected -by the use of saccharine (or preferably saxin) tabloids. - -The use of alcohol is a question about which no one will dare to -dogmatize. It should certainly not be taken during the day, but, in -the opinion of the writer, a small glass of whisky or, in the Dutch -fashion, of gin at or before the evening meal adds to the enjoyment -of monotonous food and assists digestion. A bottle or two of brandy -should be taken for emergencies, and champagne is of great value in the -convalescent stage of malaria or other fevers: this latter should be -taken in pint bottles, which may be left at the base camp, whither sick -men will necessarily be sent. - -[Sidenote: Canteen.] - -A great deal of ingenuity has been devoted to the invention of -canteens, but most of them are useless to the mountain explorer, who -can only afford to carry the fewest and most necessary articles. Weight -may be saved by using plates of aluminium, and cooking-pots may be of -the same metal if it is possible to ensure their thorough cleaning. -Kettles should be made of iron, and cups or mugs of enamelled iron; -cups can be made to pack more conveniently one inside the other if the -lower half of the handle is cut off. In those Eastern countries, where -kerosene tins are used for the transport of provisions, an excellent -fire-place can be made by using discarded tins laid on their side--a -few holes are knocked in the top and the fire placed inside. Tins of -the same kind can be easily adapted to the purpose of baking bread; -and in this connection it may be mentioned that in countries where -banana wine cannot be obtained, a very good substitute is yeast cakes, -one tin of which (price about 1s. 6d.) makes bread enough for one man -for six months: bread made with baking powder very quickly becomes dry -and uneatable. Tin-openers are very liable to be lost or broken, and a -quantity of them should be taken. - -[Sidenote: Clothing.] - -The most important parts of the clothing in tropical mountaineering are -the head-gear and foot-gear. In the lower hills and in the early part -of the day when the sun is really hot, a wide-brimmed hat or a helmet -with a good protection for the back of the neck should be used; if the -helmet is made of ‘pith’ it should be covered on the outside with the -thinnest waterproof material, otherwise it becomes sodden and heavy -with the first rain. Hats and helmets should be lined with thin red -cloth; the latter are more cheaply bought in tropical towns than in -this country. - -The most careful attention should be devoted to the question of -_boots_, and it is in all cases wise to take more pairs than are -thought to be necessary. Most people will find it impossible to wear -in the Tropics the heavy boots to which many are accustomed in the -Alps; the excessive perspiration makes the feet soft and more easily -blistered, and every extra ounce of weight is a serious consideration. -The most suitable are ordinary nailed shooting boots, with a plentiful -supply of spare nails or ‘saccorb’ screws for the higher ascents. It -is a good plan to have the uppers made in one piece, i.e. with no seam -down the back. In the Tropics all leathern objects become coated with -mould in a few hours, and rot with astonishing rapidity, so that it is -advisable to expose spare boots to the sun whenever the opportunity -occurs. Dubbin, or some other preparation of the kind, should be -freely used.[25] At the end of a hard day it is the greatest comfort to -be able to change into a pair of light and soft shoes or boots; when -transport is very limited it will still be possible to carry a pair of -Canadian moccasins. In the lower country and at the base camp it is -advisable in the evening to wear mosquito boots (see above, Malaria). - -Khaki or drill _suits_ are more cheaply made locally than in this -country; they should be made very amply, and large pockets provided. -Sleeves are an almost intolerable nuisance in the lower ground, and -they may be cut very short or dispensed with altogether. Shorts are -cool and comfortable, but they should not be worn in places where -leeches are found, and they cannot be recommended in any case, as the -bruises and scratches on the knees are very liable to suppurate in hot -climates. Trousers are preferable to breeches or knickerbockers, and -light canvas anklets holding the ends of the trousers over the boots -are cooler than putties. For underclothing every man must decide for -himself. There are those who can wear woollen vests and flannel shirts -in the Tropics; but both of those garments quickly become ‘felted’ with -profuse sweating, and no amount of washing will restore their softness. -Linen or cotton vests are easily washed, and are usually found to be -the most comfortable. A flannel shirt and soft woollen sweater should -be taken to wear at night in the mountains. Thick woollen socks, -several sizes too large, will often help you to sleep on a cold night: -a warm woollen cap is useful in the same way. - -Cholera belts have been strongly recommended by some travellers, but -they are often a source of danger rather than otherwise. The important -thing to aim at is to protect the vital organs of the abdomen from -chill during the night, and this may be effected by fastening a wide -towel about the middle of the body; even in the hottest night this -will not be found oppressive: the same purpose will be answered by a -folded blanket, which may be pulled up and down over the shoulders and -feet when the night becomes chilly. A light mackintosh cape or poncho -reaching to the knees is of great use for wearing about the camp, when -a dry change of clothes has been put on after a day’s march. - -[Sidenote: Furniture.] - -Of _beds_ none has yet been found better than the ordinary X-pattern, -but as this is somewhat heavy to carry, it will probably have to be -left behind when the mountains are reached. In countries where bulky -loads can be carried, the ‘Wolseley’ valise is of the greatest value. -One load carries a man’s bedding, spare boots, clothing and a variety -of odds and ends, and the valise itself is used as a bed, which can -be made tolerably comfortable by putting leaves and moss underneath -it; if the flaps are sufficiently wide, the valise can also be used -as a sort of makeshift tent. Blankets should be of large size (96 by -60 inches), and it will be found that two or three light blankets are -better than a single heavy one; by sewing tapes at the edges of one of -the blankets it can be converted into a sleeping-bag when required. -Clothes should be carried, not haphazard with the blankets, but in thin -cotton bags (about 30 by 20 inches): one of these bags, filled with -soft clothes, may be used as a pillow; but the extra labour of carrying -a well-made hair or feather pillow is more than balanced by the comfort -it ensures. In mountain regions, where vegetation is luxuriant, a more -comfortable bed can be made in this fashion: four Y-shaped pieces of -wood are driven into the ground at intervals corresponding to the -four corners of a bed; two short pieces of stiff wood are laid across -the forks of the Y’s at the head and foot of the bed, and on them are -laid long saplings from one end to another--these are easily secured -in their place by rattans or other creepers or fibres, which are sure -to be found growing in such places, or by string. On the top of the -bedstead thus made leaves or grass may be laid, and on the top of this -the bedding. In places where there is no vegetation, and where the -Wolseley valise cannot be carried, the bedding must be laid on a thin -waterproof sheet, which should measure not less than 96 by 60 inches. -Such a waterproof sheet may be of use in other places also: it is not -generally known that fleas have a strong dislike to india-rubber, and -in places where these little creatures abound a complete immunity from -them may be enjoyed by sleeping on a mackintosh sheet. - -A _camp-chair_ is a necessity which must be carried as far as -circumstances will allow. The best is the ‘Rhoorkee’ chair, which -accommodates itself to the most uneven ground, and can be taken to -pieces and packed with the bedding; spare canvas should be taken for -mending. A useful but less strong type is the X-pattern folding chair. - -_Washing Apparatus._--An aluminium basin with a canvas cover will hold -all the necessary gear. Duplicates should be taken of everything, -particularly sponges, which are very liable to be attacked and devoured -by crickets. A pair of barber’s clippers is indispensable. - -[Sidenote: Tents.] - -Tents are among the most important part of the equipment, and at the -same time they present the greatest difficulty. In an expedition -to high mountains in the Tropics every variety of climate will be -experienced, from the sweltering heat of the plains to the alpine cold -of the heights, and it will not be possible to carry tents suitable to -all these conditions. The only thing to do is to effect a compromise -by taking tents which will not be unbearably hot in the low country, -and which at the same time are not too heavy to be carried into the -mountains. The first of these requirements is met by using a tent -provided with an outer fly--an absolute essential in a hot country; -the second is achieved by making the tent such that the fly and the -tent itself can be used separately when transport is strictly limited. -One condition is certain to be met with at all altitudes, and that is -the frequent and abundant rainfall; this makes it imperative that both -the outer fly and the roof of the tent should be made of rain-proof -canvas. In the lower country it is advisable to aim at the ideal of one -man one tent, as the close proximity of persons in a small, hot tent -is likely to lead to friction of another kind. The smallest compatible -with comfort for one man is a ‘Whymper’ pattern tent, 6½ by 6½ feet on -the ground, and 6½ feet high at the ridge. A tent of this size may be -occupied by two people in the mountains, but a tent of 7½ by 7½ feet -would be preferable, though heavier. The inner tent is slung from the -ridge pole by loops about 6 inches long; the outer fly is stretched -over the ridge pole, and should project beyond the inner tent not less -than 1 foot at each end and 2 feet at the sides. The outer fly and -the roof of the tent should be made of some form of Willesden canvas -capable of withstanding a heavy downpour of rain; to ensure lightness, -the ends and side walls of the tent may be made of a lighter material, -such as waterproof duck. Both ends should be made to open, and also -to be laced up tightly in the event of heavy rain or strong wind -or cold. Large pockets sewn on to the side walls, and a light cord -stretched from end to end under the ridge, will be found useful. In -heavily timbered countries a considerable amount of transport may be -saved by discarding tent-poles and cutting wood for the purpose from -the neighbouring jungle. If a belt of bamboos is met with, some of -these may be cut and carried on from camp to camp. At the base or -other long-occupied camp it will generally be found possible to build -a house thatched with grass or leaves, which will be always cooler -than a tent, as well as more commodious for the Europeans. One or more -‘Mummery’ tents for the Europeans may be taken for the final ascents of -mountains. A great disadvantage of these tents, if made of some light -waterproof material, is the excessive condensation that takes place -inside them in places where the atmosphere is saturated with moisture. - -Special attention must be devoted to the tents of the ‘boys’ and -carriers, who, if they want less ‘head-room’ and less protection from -the sun than their masters, require an equal amount of protection from -the cold and rain. Their tents may be made without an outer fly, of -the same material as above described, and it may be calculated that a -tent of 10 by 6 feet with a height of 4½ feet is sufficient for six -men. A light rope should be sewn firmly along the outside of the ridge, -terminating at either end in a free loop, which can be attached to a -tree or to a post driven into the ground. The roof may be made sloping -to reach the ground; more room, with a little extra weight and cost, is -provided by bringing the roof to within 1 foot of the ground and sewing -to the edge of it a hanging wall or valence 1 foot wide. To accommodate -a large number of men, a good plan is that practised by the Dutch army -in the East Indies. Two upright poles are driven into the ground, and a -horizontal pole tied from one to the other at a height of about 7 feet. -Many poles 12 to 15 feet long are then laid about 1 foot apart, with -one end on the ground and the other resting on the horizontal, to which -they may be tied by rattan or cord; the angle at which these poles are -laid should be as low as is consistent with the waterproofness of the -roofing material, and they may be strengthened by tying horizontal -poles across them at intervals of 2 to 3 feet. On the structure thus -made, which resembles the framework of half the roof of a house, is -laid a light Willesden canvas 10 feet wide, and of a length calculated -according to the weight of the material and the average loads carried, -and to the number of men to be accommodated. It is obvious that such a -shelter, which gives plenty of room and has many advantages in a hot -climate, can only be made in districts where timber is plentiful, and -is not suited to cold weather, nor to places where strong winds are -frequent. - -It is advisable to provide each man with a waterproof ground sheet -measuring 72 by 30 inches; an even better plan, which will cause much -gratification and good-will, is to give to each man a waterproof canvas -sack of the same dimensions, which he can use as a ground sheet or as -a sleeping-bag, and at all times as a ‘hold-all’ for his clothes and -personal belongings. - - -MANAGEMENT - -[Sidenote: Loads and Packing.] - -The conditions of transport vary so much in different places--in one -place men carry loads on their heads, and in another on their backs: -here they carry a 60-lb. load, there only 40 lb., and so on--that it is -impossible to specify in detail here the size and shape of the loads, -and only a few general principles can be suggested. After finding out -the local conditions, it is important, so far as it is possible, to -pack provisions in loads as they will be required, so that it will -not be necessary to open one box for salt, another for meat, another -for jam, and so on. By a careful calculation it will be possible to -pack the boxes with all (or most of) the food required for a certain -number of days. The ‘Vanesta’ case of three-ply wood (made by the -Vanesta Company) is by far the lightest and strongest box for packing -provisions and other gear. The boxes should be made of the size suited -to the local conditions of porterage, and each one should be fully -addressed on the lid, and a number attached with reference to a list of -its contents; it is advisable also to put the numbers on the _ends_ of -the boxes, so that when they are all piled up on board ship or at the -base camp or elsewhere, a sought-for box may be found with the minimum -of trouble. When their contents have been used, these boxes should -not be thrown away, but should be kept for the use of natural history -specimens or other curious objects found during the course of the -expedition. - -All loads should be as nearly as possible of the same weight, but some -will necessarily be heavier than others, and a few days’ experience of -the men will suffice for their proper distribution. Much time will be -saved at the beginning of the day if the same man always carries the -same load. Double loads are to be avoided at all cost. Personal loads, -i.e. bedding, tents, kitchen apparatus, and other things that may be -wanted on the march or as soon as camp is reached, should be given to -strong men who are not likely to dawdle behind the caravan. If it can -be arranged, it is wise to have one or two spare or lightly loaded men -to take up the burdens of any who fall out by sickness or any other -accident. - -[Sidenote: Trade Goods, Natives, etc.] - -In Africa, where the manufactured products of civilization have -penetrated even to the remotest districts, the question of trade goods -is a constant worry. Every inquiry, therefore, must be made beforehand -as to the kind of goods required in the district to be visited and -in the regions to be passed through on the way. But fashions are -constantly changing; on one side of a river you can get nothing without -brass wire, and on the other glass beads are the only currency: if the -people ask for small white beads nothing will induce them to take your -large red ones; so it is necessary in those places to go provided with -many different kinds of goods to suit the local tastes. Salt is in some -places of the greatest value for barter, and in places where the people -understand their use, fish-hooks are greatly appreciated. In unexplored -regions, such as parts of New Guinea, where the natives have received -nothing from the outside world, the question is simpler, and it is -only necessary to take those things which the people are certain to -appreciate, such as glass beads, red cloth (turkey twill) and straight -knives. Even the most uncultured of “savages” are expert barterers, -and it is advisable to establish a definite scale of payment--such -as, for example, one bead for one sweet potato, a piece of cloth for -a spear or club, and so on. They are quick to appreciate justice and -honesty, and attempts on the part of the carriers of the expedition to -defraud them must be checked. On first coming into contact with a new -tribe it is necessary, without making a display of force, to be on the -watch against a treacherous attack. Presents should be given to the -head-men and (if they are seen) to the old women. It is well to learn -and practise the native form of greeting, and to submit to any ceremony -of blood-brotherhood or the like. If it is possible to learn the names -of individuals and to so address them, it will always be appreciated as -a compliment. Undue familiarity between the carriers of the expedition -and the native women will inevitably lead to trouble, and should be -severely punished. It is unwise to point at native people, and (in -some cases) to laugh at them. Unless they are travelling with the -expedition, natives should never be allowed to remain in the camp after -nightfall. Medical treatment is one of the surest ways to win the -affection and respect of the ‘savage,’ and castor oil or bandages will -often make a way easier where words or rifles would be of no avail. - -[Sidenote: Carriers, etc.] - -The management of the carriers themselves is a matter which can be -learnt by experience alone. Generally speaking, it may be said that a -just and strict impartiality to all men is a foundation of their good -services; men of all colours are quick to notice and to take advantage -of the smallest sign of weakness or of favouritism on the part of their -master. Cases of insubordination or other faults must be punished in -some way; but, unfortunately, the use of the stick, which alone among -certain races appeals to the delinquent (and is indeed expected by -him), is forbidden by the constituted authority, and an infringement -of the rule leads to trouble after returning to civilization: the -appeal to the pocket by cutting off a part of the man’s wages is the -most effectual punishment that remains. One of the most annoying -troubles that the leader of an expedition has to contend with is -malingering. This does not often present much difficulty to anyone -with a knowledge of medicine, and others may often detect it by means -of the clinical thermometer; the most appropriate punishment for it is -the administration of a powerful purgative. Finally, it may be said -that very little trouble will be experienced if the men have hard work, -adequate food, tobacco, and days of rest at stated intervals. - -[Sidenote: Camps, and Things in General.] - -When a camp is made on the banks of a river, the tents of the Europeans -should be pitched upstream of those of the men. A careful examination -of the high-water mark should be made before the tents are pitched. - -The cook-house should be made within a very short distance of the -Europeans’ tents, as it rains more often than not at the time of the -evening meal. - -A good ‘boy’ is one who has a fire going to make tea while the camp is -being pitched. - -At a base camp latrines should be constructed, and at a temporary camp -the men should be instructed to go to a certain definite distance. - -Trenches to carry off water should be made round the tents, even if -there seems to be no probability of rain. - -In choosing a site for a camp, avoid as far as possible the proximity -of a native village; and if strong winds are frequent, avoid the -neighbourhood of large and decaying trees. - -The leader of an expedition should often personally supervise the -distribution of rations to the men; and, except in the case of very -large expeditions, he should always supervise the apportionment of -loads at the beginning of a journey. - -Flies are often an intolerable nuisance in a camp; they may be driven -out of the tent at dusk by putting a lamp outside and then shaking -the roof of the tent, so that they are unable to settle: after a few -minutes they will have settled elsewhere and the lamp may be brought -inside. - -The following is a list of articles which might be overlooked in -preparing the equipment for an expedition: A spring balance for -weighing loads; a steel measuring-tape; a cold chisel; wire for -mending; assorted nails and screws; a housewife with needles and -cottons, etc.; stencil and ink for marking boxes; a small electric -torch; many bootlaces; spare watch-glasses; a flint and steel; -pocket-books in which notes can be written in duplicate. - -Finally, it may be appropriate to quote the advice given by a -distinguished traveller, the late Mrs. Bishop: “Never take anything you -can possibly do without.” To this we might add another counsel: Take -everything you are likely to require, and leave things behind when they -can no longer be carried. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[25] See also “Equipment,” p. 82. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -MOUNTAINEERING IN THE ARCTIC (SPITSBERGEN) - -BY SIR W. MARTIN CONWAY - - -Since the expedition which I took to Spitsbergen in the years 1896 and -1897, I have not heard of any parties of mountaineers going to that -country. Mountains were incidentally climbed by the Russian-Swedish -surveyors, who went up there in several successive years to measure an -arc of the Meridian. Indeed, they discovered and climbed the highest -point in the main island, which Garwood and I had beheld afar off in -1897 but were unable to reach. Mountaineering, however, was merely -an incident in the work of those parties. It has always seemed to -me strange that English climbers have never followed our example in -the Far North, and it is therefore with little hope of being very -serviceable that I now accede to the request of the editor of this work -to contribute a chapter on “Arctic Mountaineering,” and how to set -to work about it. Truth to tell, my own memory of details has become -feeble; but such as it is, it shall be placed at the reader’s service. - -[Sidenote: Modes of Access.] - -The first question, of course, is how to get to Spitsbergen, and having -got there, how to get away from it; for though tourist steamers not -infrequently visit the western coast of the main island, they stop so -short a time as to be useless for even the briefest mountaineering -expeditions. The climber who wishes to have the best of the season -should arrive not earlier than the end of June, and start away at -latest towards the end of August, when the sun has already begun to set. - -Nowadays a good many industrial enterprises, such as mines and, I -believe, quarries, are being prosecuted in Spitsbergen, so that -there must really be plenty of opportunities of being carried thither -from Tromsö and brought back again; but it is impossible to predict -beforehand what they will be. Probably the easiest way would be to make -arrangements with the owner of one of the Tromsö or Hammerfest fishing -sloops to convey the party up to its selected base and call for it -again on a day fixed in advance. The price that should be charged for -such accommodation ought to be moderate; but my experience of the North -Norwegians was that they are liable to open their mouths pretty wide -when they think they have a traveller in their power. In any case, such -arrangements are best made by an agent long in advance and with all -legal exactitude. - -[Sidenote: Equipment and Outfit.] - -The equipment necessary for Spitsbergen mountaineering need not be very -elaborate. The temperatures to be faced will not exceed those of an -ordinary English winter, and clothes will therefore not require to be -of the Arctic character we associate with Polar expeditions. But a man -does need to be really warmly clad with plenty of thick underclothing -and thoroughly strong garments. For when the wind blows and the snow -drives on the higher levels it is cold enough even at Midsummer, though -on rare occasions in still air the warmth of the sun may be felt to -a quite surprising degree. Near the sea-level and on the moraines -and rocks the strongest mountaineering boots are none too strong. I -doubt whether the ski-ing boots commonly worn for winter sport would -adapt themselves for use in such places. Once the upper levels of the -glaciers have been gained, which generally involves two or three days’ -work with sledges from sea-level, travelling becomes easier and more -agreeable, and is done almost entirely on ski. Sledges, ski, warm -sleeping-bags, goat-hair stockings and warm clothing generally can be -bought very well at Bergen or Trondhjem on the way out; but it would be -well, as far as the sledges are concerned, to write beforehand and make -sure that they would be available. British consuls at those places or -the Norwegian Consul-General in London would doubtless inform inquirers -as to the names of the best shops to deal with. Reindeer sleeping-bags -are delightfully comfortable and warm, but they are distinctly heavy -and bulky. Good eiderdown sleeping-bags with a rug or two would, I -think, be quite warm enough till the 20th of August at any rate. The -best tents to take are relatively large tents of the ‘Mummery’ type, -made of strong Willesden canvas with rubber sheeting floor sewn in. It -is absolutely essential that the floor should be sewn in, otherwise the -tent could be easily blown away in a gale. I do not remember the exact -arrangements of the tents of this kind made for me by Edgington’s. The -floor space was probably about 6 feet or 6 feet 6 inches by 4 feet. The -height may be judged by the fact that for poles we used ice-axes, with -extra pieces about 18 inches long to fit over the points with a socket -to lengthen them. Three or even four people might be crowded into such -a tent, but no one would wish to share such a tent with more than one -companion on a pleasure journey of a few weeks’ duration. The remainder -of the kit would consist of cooking apparatus and supplies, to wit, -a primus stove, some aluminium plates and pans, aluminium spoons -and forks; and for provisions the usual tinned goods, concentrated -soups and pots of jam, and a sufficient quantity of highly nutritious -biscuits to take the place of bread. Far the best biscuits for this -purpose we found were named ‘Triticumina,’ which contained plasmon; -but the biscuits which have currants sandwiched into them form a very -welcome change. - -A liberal supply of brown sugar in tins should on no account be -forgotten, though jam is almost as good. If the party contemplate -spending their time in one district of the island, they will probably -make for themselves a heavy and comfortable base camp, which may be as -well stored as they please, as it will, of course, be situated close -to the shore of some bay or harbour, and everything belonging to it -will be landed direct from the boat, so that the question of porterage -will not arise. This base camp ought to be equipped with a rowing boat -of the type called a whale boat, such as can be readily hired from any -North Norwegian port. It would be well to have one or two able-bodied -Norwegian sailors to man the boat and help drag the sledges, and no -difficulty would be experienced in finding in or about the Lofoten -Islands suitable men, skilful also in going on ski. Our experience -was that young unmarried men were to be preferred. The others got -home-sick. - -[Sidenote: Plans of Campaign.] - -A mountaineering expedition to Spitsbergen might lay out its plans on -many different lines, but, broadly speaking, there are two main choices -between which to select. In one, the mountains of the coast region -accessible directly in one day, or at most in two days, from the sea -would be the principal object of attention. In the other, the high -interior regions of inland ice remote from the shore, and the mountains -rising out of them, would be the goal. There is much to be said for -either plan. The former would be the less laborious and the more -comfortable; the latter harder work, more adventurous, and opening up a -stranger and more wonderful world. There is also a third region, that -of the unglaciated, boggy valleys around Advent Bay and Bell Sound; -but this, after a season’s experience, I cannot honestly recommend as -pleasant travelling country. - -[Sidenote: From the Coast.] - -Let us then take the other two alternatives one by one. Climbers who -would hug the coast may go up with a fairly large party prepared to -subdivide on arrival, and pitch base camps in different bays if so they -please. But a large party is, of course, not essential, and a couple -of good friends, with one or two Norwegian sailors at their disposal, -would have a very good time on shore or afloat in their whale boat. -Having chosen a well-protected landing-place with a shelving beach up -which to haul their boat, and having pitched their tents well out of -reach of the highest tides and storms, they could either climb the -mountains close at hand, or they could row off or sail away in their -boat to any others accessible from their fjord, taking with them a -light camp and provisions only for two or three days. Or, again, they -can make short trips of one or two days’ duration merely into the -interior, not cumbering themselves with a sledge, but carrying on -their backs a very light camping equipment of a kind brought to much -perfection by the Amateur Camping Club. On this system the same base -camp need not be adhered to for the whole season, but in suitable -weather it could be moved, by help of the whale boat, even from one of -the western fiords to another. - -The great question which naturally arises is what sites by the seashore -are best suited for climbing centres. Broadly speaking, the north half -and the south toe of the main island alone come into consideration, -for the east islands are not practically accessible, nor would it -often be wise to make a sea-base at all far to the eastward on the -north coast. Practically, therefore, we may take the coast-line round -from Wijde Bay westward and then southward down the coast to King’s -Bay, then all along either coast to Foreland Sound to the mouth of Ice -Sound, whilst at the south end of the island only Horn Sound need be -considered. - -Coming now to detail, in the high summer of a very open season, when -the ice-pack has withdrawn to somewhere in the neighbourhood of 80° -30“, it might be safe to make a base camp for a week or two in Wijde -Bay itself, preferably on its eastern shore, from which the high peaks -of 7000 feet and thereabouts, which range down the west side of New -Friesland, can be climbed in a two-day expedition. These peaks are -very indifferently explored; only the highest of them has ever been -climbed; they stand in the midst of a region of extraordinary interest, -and must command wonderful views to the eastward over the little-known -north-east land and away off to the romantic Wyches Islands. Probably -there is no district in the whole Archipelago which would so well -reward the season’s work; whilst if the ice-pack were to come down and -seal the mouth of Wijde Bay, retreat is always open overland to Cape -Thordsen in Ice Sound by one or other of two obvious routes. - -A less heroic base could be found at a dozen points near the north-east -angle of the island, and this is probably the best and most practical -region to choose; for here it would be possible to shift the base camp -every few days, whilst there are any number of mountains rising from -the coast built of the hard primary rocks and apparently offering -delectable scrambles. The main bay, called Mauritius Bay by the Dutch -in the old days, and in particular the south-east corner, would -probably be the best place to begin. The labyrinth of glaciers that -empty into Redcliff Sound must be well worth a visit, and the same is -true of the peaks and glaciers of Magdalena Bay. The fact that the -whole of this region has been admirably mapped by the Prince of Monaco -is a further advantage for the prospective climber. Between Magdalena -Bay and Close Cove (now wrongly called Cross Bay) there is no place -for a base camp; but Close Cove, King’s Bay, Cove Comfortless and -the north part of Prince Charles’s Foreland form together an enclosed -area containing innumerable excellent coast-line bases. Probably -one of the narrow bays at the head of Close Cove would provide an -attractive situation, besides giving access to an intimately glaciated -and beridged interior. But the south-east extremity of King’s Bay, -as we found, is a delightful situation, and from it the Three Crowns -and countless other peaks can be reached. Prince Charles’s Foreland -has been excellently mapped by Dr. Bruce, and seems to have some good -climbing peaks, most of which, and all of those along the opposite side -of Foreland Sound, await their first experience of a human foot. It -must be admitted that the region nearest the west coast suffers from -the worst weather, for it continually happens that the clouds lie low, -whilst above the level of 1000 or 1200 feet there is brilliant sunshine -for days and perhaps weeks together, and of course no night at all. -From Horn Sound in the south some splendid peaks are accessible, only -one of which has ever been climbed. This is perhaps the best place for -a week or two at the close of the season, though it might be rather -difficult to get there in an open boat from the northern parts. The -hospitality of some passing steamer, however, might be available for -such transfer. - -[Sidenote: Into the Interior.] - -Far more interesting and delightful, however, than merely climbing -peaks from a sea-base is a bold venture into the far interior. Indeed, -a climber standing on the summit of any peak and looking inland over -the vast glaciers and at the countless ranges and beautiful mountains -spread abroad before him on a clear day will, I think, be irresistibly -drawn into that white labyrinth. Of course the most delightful -experience is a traverse of some part of the island from sea to sea. -This requires a good deal of organization, because it is necessary to -have a boat to meet the party arriving from the other side at some -point arranged in advance. From Magdalena Bay to Cross Bay the traverse -has been made, and leads through splendid scenery. More interesting, -because new, would be the traverse from Wood Bay to King’s Bay, or from -King’s Bay along the King’s Highway and down to North Fjord; or again, -from the head of Sassen Bay over to the east coast and back. It would -scarcely be possible to have a boat prepared to meet a party on the -east coast, so that either from Ice Sound or Bell Sound journeys to the -east coast must be made to and fro by the same route. In the nature -of things little general advice can be given for such expeditions; -each must be organized according to its own special circumstances. It -is obvious, in any case, a large margin would have to be provided for -the unexpected. A sledge may break down, or delays may be caused in -a thousand ways, so that a considerable reserve stock of provisions -must be taken. The first day from the coast, sometimes the first two -days, will be very laborious. A sledge and its load will have to be -carried by repeated journeys over rough ground and generally over broad -moraines before the camp can be pitched at the edge of the clear ice. -Then, generally speaking, there will be a crevassed region to traverse, -where progress must be slow; but after two or three days at the outside -easier conditions will be met with. Soon, however, the snow-covered -belt of the glacier will be reached, and as at this time of year a -slight but continuous thaw is proceeding, it necessarily follows that, -where there are no crevasses to drain off the water, there will be -a wild belt covered with water-logged snow and intersected by wide -and rushing streams which it is often very difficult to cross. The -water-logged snow is merely unpleasant and laborious, as the ski and -the sledge will sink into it, and every hollow thus made is instantly -filled with ice-cold water. The only way to deal with the big streams -is to follow up alongside of them till they divide into smaller brooks -which can be crossed in detail. Yet higher up, however, the thaw is -left behind and a splendid hard surface is found, over which ski-ing -and sledging are a pleasant pastime, and longer distances can be -covered in a day’s march. Out of this higher region peaks, of no great -absolute height indeed, but of fine form, arise in all directions, and -from a suitably chosen high camp it will be possible in a few days to -make many ascents, either of summits in the ranges bordering one’s own -glacier on either hand, or in other ranges behind them which can be -readily reached over undulating passes. - -[Sidenote: Exceptional and Beautiful Phenomena.] - -A traveller who has made one such expedition into the interior of -Spitsbergen will have become acquainted with glacier phenomena such -as no ordinary alpine region can display. The pools and ice caverns -of Arctic glaciers, the strange blue river-tunnels through the ice, -the burst lakes scattering huge ice-blocks afar, the curious sheaves -of crystalline ice-rods, the rivers of water stained crimson by -disintegrating dolomite rock and flowing over the white ice-like veins -of jasper in marble, the frozen heaps of ice, in shape like volcanoes, -which rise where springs force themselves out of the ground--these and -many other strange and beautiful sights await the student of glaciers -in the Arctic regions. Moreover, the glaciers themselves have quite -a different look from alpine glaciers. They appear to be far more -viscous, as in fact they are, so that if they end on a piece of flat -ground and do not reach the sea, the end spreads out into a great round -mass, as a stream of honey might if it emerged from some narrow gap on -to a flat area. But where a glacier reaches the sea, and especially -a great glacier perhaps seven miles in width, it has to terminate, -of course, in a splendid cliff, and this cliff is, as it were, made -of towering _séracs_, blue in the hollows and white on the crown, in -height perhaps 100 feet above the water-level, and these _séracs_ are -continually falling into the sea and breaking up into little icebergs, -causing a great commotion in the waters as they plunge in their fall -and jostle against one another till they come to rest. - -Nor must I forget to mention another of the great glories of this -mountain region, to wit, the long sunset. Towards the middle of August -the sun, in the hours corresponding to midnight, approaches close to -the horizon, and presently actually dips beneath it. It follows that -a sunset colouring, paler and more delicate but not less beautiful -than that we know in the Alps, illumines the sky, the clouds, the -mountains and the glaciers at this time, and that not merely for a few -minutes but for four or five hours on end, according to the atmospheric -conditions. I know of nothing more wonderful than to climb a mountain -which commands a wide view over the flat, fog-covered ocean and the -clear, snow-covered interior when the whole of this enormous expanse -shines pink in the lights and blue in the shadows, and the effect lasts -on for four or five hours spent amid such surroundings. - -[Sidenote: Summary, Cost, etc.] - -But it is not my business to describe the beauties of Arctic scenery -in this place, but only to indicate as best I may how the intending -mountain traveller in those regions may set to work. Conditions, -of course, of accessibility and the like change from year to year, -especially nowadays when Spitsbergen has become the scene of industrial -undertakings; it will be necessary for any intending traveller to make -inquiries well ahead as to the circumstances attending his own case. I -feel convinced, however, that an enterprising party of three or four -climbers could spend a season in Spitsbergen and have an excellent -time at not more than twice the cost of a corresponding season in the -Alps, and possibly for a good deal less. Ingenuity, adaptability and -enterprise will be essential. After all, for what kind of travel that -is worth while are they not? - - _Note._--The foregoing was written before the war. Recent commercial - developments have made Spitsbergen much more easy of access. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE CAUCASUS - -BY HAROLD RAEBURN - - -The Caucasus of the mountaineer is that more or less continuous chain -of great glaciated peaks which extends for nearly 600 miles between the -Caspian and Black Seas. - -[Sidenote: General Topography and Structure.] - -Geographically, the water-parting of the ridge forms the boundary -between Europe and Asia. - -Politically speaking the mountains run, with a general south-east to -north-west direction, through almost the centre of the Russian province -of the Caucasus, dividing it into the two districts of Cis-Caucasia, -with the chief city of Vladikavkaz, and Trans-Caucasia, with Tiflis as -the centre of government. Situated in about the same latitude as the -Pyrenees, with a more continental climate, the ranges of temperature -are much greater than in the Alps. - -In such an extensive tract of elevated country great variation of -conditions must naturally occur. Speaking generally, and with more -special reference to the central group of summits, the glaciation is -somewhat less than in the Alps in proportion to the elevation, about -2000 feet greater than that of the central Pennines. The average level -to which the glaciers descend is rather higher. As the average slope of -the mountains is more abrupt, the glaciers are steeper. In consequence, -the Caucasian glaciers are as a rule more difficult and broken, and the -ice-falls more continuous. - -The prevailing wind is warm and moisture-laden, blowing from the -south-west, off the almost sub-tropical shores of the Black Sea; -condensed by the cold peaks, the moisture is thereon deposited in the -form of snow. Thus, in spite of its northern aspect, the glaciation of -the European slope is little greater than that of the southern. - -[Illustration: MAP OF PART OF CIS AND TRANS CAUCASIA - -Showing approaches to the Mountains] - -The height at which trees cease is very much the same on both sides -(7000-8000 feet). A feature of the country is the great forests which -cover the upper basins of many valleys, particularly on the south side. - -In many of the southern valleys these forests are composed of deciduous -trees of various species, such as birch, beech, oak, maple and -chestnut, giving a variety and charm which the more sombre pine forests -of the north do not provide. Some of the northern valleys are destitute -of timber, and the fuel difficulty is one which confronts the climbing -explorer. - -The whole mountain system may for present purposes be divided into -three principal groups. - -1. All the peaks south and east of the line of the Dariel, more -correctly the Krestovaya Gora, Pass; in which though many peaks exist -as high as the Oberland Mountains, yet the glaciation is not continuous -for long distances. - -2. The great central group. This is the most important and best known. -It extends from Kasbek, immediately west of the above pass, to the -Klukhor Pass, west of Elbrus, a distance of about 130 miles. - -In the whole of this distance there is only one driving road, that of -the Mamison Pass (9280 feet), the highest road in Europe. All other -routes across the range, except one or two grass passes, must be made -over glacier passes, the lowest about 10,500 feet above sea-level. - -3. West and north of the Klukhor Pass lies a tangled group of somewhat -lower glaciated summits, some of which are still unascended. - -[Sidenote: Records and Literature.] - -If we pass over the ancient traditions and tales of the Arabians, -Greeks and Jews, mountaineering in the Caucasus is of very modern -growth. - -The Arabian Kaf, the Jewish Ararat and the great mountain celebrated by -Æschylus as the prison of Prometheus, are all situated in or near the -Caucasus range; whether it be true or not that the Tower of Babel was -built not far from the borders, this mountain land remains a Tower of -Babel to this day. - -In the city of Baku there are even now said to be one hundred different -languages and dialects spoken. The Caucasus Mountains themselves give -homes to as many tribes and dialects as there are rivers. - -These tribes were almost always more or less at enmity amongst -themselves. This lack of nationality rendered the task of absorption -by Russia an easy one. It should not be forgotten that a good part -of the Caucasus proper was not conquered by Russia. The nominal -sovereignty possessed by the kings of Georgia over many of the mountain -tribes only began to be made real when the last king placed himself -under Russian protection. - -This great diversity of peoples, languages, religions and customs -renders travel in the Caucasus, if more interesting, much more -difficult. Most of the people know nothing of Russian, and it is -therefore necessary for a climbing party to have an interpreter -with them who has knowledge of as many of the different languages -as possible. Apart from the fabulous, the earliest effort of -mountaineering in the Caucasus appears to have been an attempt -to ascend Elbrus by a party of four savants, attached to the -politico-geographical expedition of General Emanuel, in 1829. - -The first writer to draw attention to the Caucasus as a field for -mountain exploration was the Rev. H. B. George, in a paper read before -the Alpine Club on 2 May 1865. The pioneer expedition was that of -Messrs. Freshfield, Moore and Tucker, with François Devouassoud, in -1868. Mr. Grove’s party followed, in 1874, and his book, _The Frosty -Caucasus_, is now a valuable alpine classic. During the ’80’s British -mountaineers, with Swiss guides, conquered the majority of the highest -peaks. Mr. Cockin was the most successful: three of the greatest peaks -fell to him and his guides in one season. Messrs. Dent, Woolley and -Holder were also very successful. - -_My Climbs in the Alps and Caucasus_, by Mr. A. F. Mummery, describes -his expedition in 1888, when the great peak of Dykh-Tau was ascended. - -In the ’90’s a number of British guideless parties went out, but from -various causes had little success. - -Since then, in spite of three splendidly illustrated volumes, _The -Exploration of the Caucasus_, by Freshfield and Sella, in 1896, _Aus -den Hochregionen des Kaukasus_, by Merzbacher, in 1901, and _Kaukasus -Reisen und Forschungen_, by de Déchy, in 1904, British interest in the -district has been slight. Messrs. Longstaff and Rolleston had, however, -a very successful guideless campaign in Suanetia, in 1903. - -A Russian author, Afanasief, published in German, in 1913, a very -useful little compendium of the ascents made up to date, _100 Kaukasus -Gipfel_. - -As a proof that the Caucasus as a new mountaineering centre is still -very far from being exhausted, British expeditions in 1913 and 1914 -succeeded in effecting the ascents of ten new summits, none of which -was below 13,500 feet in height. - -[Sidenote: Routes of Access.] - -The easiest, cheapest and quickest way to the central group from -London is that to the north side, overland. The route is via Berlin, -Warsaw and Rostoff on the Don. Thence either by the Baku train to -Beslan, for Vladikavkaz, or by the Russian Spas express to Mineralnia -Vodé, for Piatigorsk. An even better starting-point for the mountains -is Naltshik, to which a branch railway, opened in July 1912, should -run in two hours from the junction on the main Rostoff-Baku line of -Kotliarefskaia. - -The south side may be reached by driving from Vladikavkaz or from -Darkop on the main line over the Mamison Pass. - -Another excellent way of reaching the south side of the range from the -north side would be by taking the motor service (office in the annex -of the Grand Hotel) from Vladikavkaz over the Dariel--correctly the -Krestovaya Gora--Pass to Tiflis, and round by the Tiflis-Batum railway. -The motor line passes close under the huge mass of Kasbek (16,546 -feet), and its glaciers can be reached in a few hours from Vladikavkaz. -The old route to the south side of the range followed by most of -the earlier English parties is that by Vienna and Odessa, thence by -steamer, in from two to four days, across the Black Sea--calling at -Sevastopol--to Batum. From Batum a short branch-line connects with -Kutais. From here the Mamison road leads up to Oni on the Upper Rion, -and can be utilized for driving for part or the whole of the distance, -according to which valley or group of peaks it is desired to visit. - -For the most westerly group, that lying west of Elbrus, the port -of Sukhum Kalé on the Black Sea will probably be found most -convenient. For the extreme eastern groups Tiflis will prove the best -starting-point. - -[Sidenote: Modes of Travel.] - -The usual, and the best mode of travel in the mountains is on foot. All -the railhead towns mentioned are more than a day’s march distant from -the hills. Kasbek alone is closely approached by a motorable road. - -At the towns elected for approach--Tiflis, Kutais, Vladikavkaz, -Piatigorsk or Naltshik--it is necessary to engage vehicles or horses, -and a cook-interpreter. Whether it is advisable to buy horses for the -whole journey depends upon whether much travelling, and in consequence -little climbing, is to be done. The purchase of horses sets the -party free from the endless haggling, delay and annoyance which seem -inseparable from hiring. On the other hand, the purchase necessitates -engaging at least one man for every two horses, and this adds greatly -to the expense and to the commissariat difficulties. - -Though considerably improved of late years, the various roads up -Caucasian valleys, where they exist at all, are not of the best. A -Russian road on the steppe is not a road in the usual sense of the -word; it is merely a part of the ground over which one drives, and is -not made in any way except by the wheels of passing traffic. The road -of the Mamison Pass is a built road; but it is exceedingly rough in -places, and is frequently interrupted by landslides, tree-falls and -avalanches. - -The most comfortable vehicle to obtain is the troika or phaeton, a -light, low carriage something like the alpine char. A rougher and more -usual carriage is the lineika, seated like a low-set Irish jaunting-car -on four wheels. It is wonderfully elastic, its light, loose method of -construction allowing it to adapt itself to the potholes, boulders and -tree-trunks of the rougher parts of the road. Most of these vehicles -will be found to suffer from the general debility consequent upon -extreme old age. It is advisable to have each one carefully inspected -before the start. - -In the more out-of-the-way parts, where such luxurious modes of travel -cannot be indulged in, an arba can often be obtained. This is a light, -springless two-wheeled cart. It is often drawn by a pair of small but -strong oxen, and though the pace is very slow, a large quantity of -baggage can be conveyed in one. - -The horses--almost invariably mares--are small, light animals showing -evident trace of Arab blood. They are docile, free from vice, and -marvellously sure-footed. Indeed, in this last respect they far surpass -an average mule. Some of the ‘horse passes’ on the south side of the -range would be considered by most people impossible for horses and more -fitted for goats. - -The saddles are Turkish, i.e. with a high pommel in front and behind. -Some travellers have recommended taking out an English saddle. Few -riders, however, would be able to retain their seat on an English -saddle while their mounts were scrambling down or up the precipitous -broken bank of some ravine or bed of a glacier stream. - -[Sidenote: Centres.] - -As in the Alps, so in the Caucasus, more climbing will be got by -settling at a centre than by travelling about from one place to -another. On this method the necessity of carrying heavy tents, large -supplies of stores, etc., is avoided. A couple of light tents, to -accommodate two or three men each, are all that is necessary. - -Good centres for the various districts are, on the north side, -Urusbieh, Chegem, Balkar, Bezingi, Stirdigor and Dsinago; in the Tsaya -valley, the sanatorium kept by M. Sanghiev in the pine forest near -Rekom; the inn at Saramag on the Upper Ardon; the Russian road-houses -of Kalaki on the north and Tshantshakhi on the south side of the -Mamison Pass; Gebi on the West Rion River; Ushkul on the headwaters -of the Ingur; Mestia or Mulakh on the Mulkhora; and Betsho just below -the giant precipices of Ushba. To Gebi and Tshantshakhi Kasarma on the -south, and to most places on the European side of the range, driving -should be _possible_ nowadays. - -[Sidenote: Equipment and Commissariat.] - -Mountaineering in the Caucasus is still very much on exploring lines. -Save in the case of Kasbek or, in a minor degree, of Elbrus, no -huts, guides or organization for climbing exists. The success of an -expedition must therefore largely depend upon the care and forethought -bestowed upon the equipment and organization of the party before it -leaves railhead. - -The climbing equipment should be exactly similar to that of the -Alps; but as anything lost cannot be replaced, everything must be -at least in duplicate. Indeed, it is advisable to take out three -pairs of climbing boots--the odd pair for the purpose of lending to -porters if it is found necessary to take them over a glacier, since -it is not fair or safe to take heavily loaded men with ‘gloved’ feet -up steep and slippery ice and snow. Two ice-axes are essential: one -may easily get broken, lost or stolen. Tents, of any of the lighter -English makes, are best taken out. Eastern bags, with padlock and -key, are the most convenient method of carrying spare clothes. Among -these, two or three complete changes of underclothing--of course all -wool--are necessary. Plenty of spare flannel collars and abundance of -stockings, and, of course, undersocks, are well worth their slight -extra weight. _Crampons_ are almost a necessity, though cumbrous and -annoying to carry. It is advisable to have a tin case for these. They -are of immense service in levelling up the good and the inferior icemen -of a party, and in conserving the energies of the step-cutter, or -step-cutters, for really difficult work on rocks or ice slopes higher -up. - -With two pairs of new--but broken-in--modern mountaineering boots it -ought to be quite unnecessary to take out nails, iron boot anvil or -hammer for a two months’ campaign. - -The general stores--cooking utensils, plates or bowls, cups (mugs are -preferable), table cutlery, travelling stoves (primus and alpine), -candles, etc.--are best obtained in the country. The most convenient -packages are strong baskets. These should be made at home, and covered -with strong waterproof material. Size 25 inches by 15 inches by 11 -inches is convenient for horse carriage, and should be furnished with a -strong lock. They can also serve as seats in or outside the tents. - -The personal equipment should include a roll-up mattress--hair is the -best--6 feet 6 inches by 2 feet 4 inches, a down quilt or sleeping-bag -and a small pillow. If the tent has a ground sheet, a waterproof cover -for the mattress is not required. To save trouble and expense on the -journey and at the Customs, it is much the best plan to bring as -little as possible into the country in the way of consumable stores. -Jam is perhaps the one exception. For high work jam is of great -importance, and the little ¼-lb. tins to be obtained in London are -extremely convenient. A few soups--powder or tabloid--are also useful -for emergencies. Excellent shops are to be found at all the chief -railhead towns, such as Tiflis, Vladikavkaz, Piatigorsk and Naltshik; -also at Kutais and Oni on the Mamison road. In them almost everything -obtainable in western Europe may be got. - -Many different kinds of tinned meats, fruits and fish are to be had, -but the party would do well to have as little to do with these as -possible, except perhaps a few boxes of sardines. In the country, -mutton, fowls and eggs are always to be obtained, and these are safer -and more palatable than the tinned foods, which should be kept for -emergencies and given away at the end of the trip. The great weakness -of the Caucasian commissariat is in the all-important item of bread. -Away from the towns this is invariably very bad. It is made of maize or -wheat flour mixed with rye, or of rye alone; no yeast or baking powder -is used, and it is never properly cooked. Naturally it is exceedingly -trying to a western stomach. When forced to use it, one should have -it well toasted. Very good bread can be bought in the towns, and as -large a supply of this as possible should be taken. There is also an -excellent form of bread to be got in some of the small _dukhans_ or -shops up country. It is in hard glazed small rings, and is threaded -on strings and hung up like onions to the roof. It keeps well, and -is quite palatable and digestible. One way of overcoming the bread -difficulty would be to engage a cook-interpreter, who could bake, and -to carry flour and a small portable oven with the party. - -[Sidenote: Organization.] - -Interpreter-couriers are to be found at Tiflis and Vladikavkaz. These, -however, would not care to attach themselves to a climbing party, or, -in fact, to leave the roads at all; walking for even a few miles is not -in their line. There are guides and tariffs--fairly reasonable--for -both Kasbek and Elbrus. Good material undoubtedly exists for the -development of a school of real mountain guides, but their time is not -yet. A climbing party must bring its own guides, or, better still, -have some one in the party who, by previous experience or knowledge of -guideless climbing in the Alps, is qualified to act as guide and leader -on high ascents. - -After bread and horses, porters are the principal worry for the leader -of a party in the Caucasus. The mountain tribes are independent and -‘huffy,’ and great tact and patience are needed in dealing with these -semi-civilized children of nature. The men are not, like the Swiss, -accustomed to carry heavy burdens, and are quite ready to throw up -their job and throw down their loads at or without a moment’s notice. - -The cook is a very important member of the party. He stands for -creature comforts, and the party is fortunate which succeeds in -engaging a capable man at the town from which the expedition starts. -It is very necessary for all purposes that one at least of the party -should know some Russian. The cook-interpreter, if only one man is -engaged, must speak, besides Russian, at least one western European -language, and he must have a good knowledge of as many of the Caucasian -languages as possible. - -[Sidenote: Maps.] - -The general map of the country is that known as the 5-verst map, which -is to be obtained in Tiflis or from the principal London map-sellers. -It is on the scale of 5 versts = 3½ miles = 1 in 210,000, to the inch. -This, though quite accurate as far as the low country is concerned, -is of little use in the mountains. The best known map is that issued -with Messrs. Freshfield & Sellas’s _The Exploration of the Caucasus_ -(Edward Arnold, London, 1896). It is on the 5-verst scale, and is a -useful general map, though the scale is too small to show the mountains -properly. - -Herr Merzbacher issued with his weighty work, _Aus den Hochregionen des -Kaukasus_ (Leipzig, 1901), a very convenient map on the scale of 3⅓ -versts = 1 in 140,000. This map is to be obtained from the publishers. -It endeavours to give more names, heights and details of mountains than -Mr. Freshfield’s; but this, in some cases, has led to a multiplication -of errors. Mountains have been inserted which explorers of the locality -have failed to find, and in the south-eastern portion of the central -group the nomenclature and heights given are often very misleading. By -far the most useful map, and the map which is practically indispensable -for the mountain explorer who is not prepared to make his own, is the -Russian 1-verst map. This is on a large scale (1/42000). It gives with -very considerable accuracy the forms of such glaciers and mountains -as are visible from positions reasonably accessible to the surveyors. -It seldom commits itself by giving any names at all to the peaks, -except to the principal ones--although the more important glaciers -are generally named. The printing of the names and figures--of course -in Russian characters--is often exceedingly bad. The maps are on the -hâchure system. With the exception of the sheet covering Kasbek, which -is on sale at Vladikavkaz, they can only be obtained through the -military authorities in Tiflis. - -[Sidenote: Expense.] - -This will, of course, greatly depend upon the style in which the -expedition is conducted. If a courier-interpreter is engaged, and Swiss -guides are brought, the expense must be expected to be considerable. -In spite of the general rise in the cost of living and in the price of -labour, which of late years has increased in the Caucasus--between 50 -and a 100 per cent--an eight or nine weeks’ journey out from London -and back can be done comfortably at a cost not exceeding £100 for each -member of a party of four, five or six. Below are given a few prices, -based on the experience of the expeditions made in the years 1904, 1911 -and 1913. They are, of course, only approximate. Foodstuffs will be -found not to vary so much in cost as the hire of horses and porters. - - 1904. 1911. 1913. - Horse, per day 1-3 R. 1½-2 R. 3-4 R. - Porter, per day -- 1 R. 1½-4 R. - Sheep (small) 4-6 R. -- 3-5 R. - Hens (small) 20-40 K. -- 35-50 K. - Eggs (small) 1-2 K. -- 1½-2 K. - Bread (about 2 lb.) 8 K. -- 10 K. - Cheese 15 K. -- 10-20 K. - Wine (Kakhetinskoe), litre -- -- 1 R. - Beer -- -- 15-20 K - Sucking-pig (very small) 2-3 R. -- 2 R. - - Rouble = 2s. 1½d. - Kopeck = ¼d. - - _Note._--All prices given are pre-war. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -THE MOUNTAINS OF CORSICA - -BY GEORGE FINCH - - -[Sidenote: Season.] - -The best time of the year for climbing in Corsica is the spring. -The weather is fine during the months of April, May, June and July; -but in the latter half of June and in July the midday heat is often -oppressive. This is seldom the case in April or May. During these two -months the melting snows ensure a supply of water, which is often -deficient in the hot summer months. In April, also, the snowline -is still very low; from the mountaineer’s point of view this is an -advantage, as the approach to the climbs often lies over long slopes -covered with dense undergrowth, known as ‘maquis,’ and most troublesome -for walking when not snow-covered. As early as towards the end of March -the steeper rocks are already sufficiently free from snow for climbing, -while the snow on the gentler slopes remains to facilitate the crossing -of the ‘maquis.’ - -Another point in favour of an early season is the greater clearness of -the atmosphere. In March and April of 1909 from every summit we had a -clear view of the Apennines and of the Maritime Alps even late in the -day. In the summer months mists rising from the Mediterranean partially -obscure the view shortly after sunrise. - -[Sidenote: Equipment.] - -A light tent and sleeping-bags should be taken, as the nights are -often cold. A primus oil-stove (petroleum used to be obtained almost -anywhere, but methylated spirits were difficult to procure), and tinned -milk, meats, vegetables, fruit and jam must all be imported, as they -are not procurable in Corsica. Such provisions are dutiable, but my -personal experience has been that the Customs are indulgent if informed -of the mountaineering object. - -For porterage, mules can be procured. One mule will carry 250 lb., and -costs, together with the services of the mule-driver, according to the -locality, from four to eight francs a day. - -Both driver and mule entertain a dislike to snow, and will shy at the -prospect of crossing even the most diminutive snow-patches. Otherwise -they will go almost anywhere. I have covered as much as 38 miles of -road, scrub and mountain-track in a day with one mule carrying rather -over 200 lb. - -The character of the usual hotel accommodation in the interior will -be found to bias the climber in favour of camping out. He can thus -also move at once nearer to the base of his climbs. Wood for fires -is plentiful, and many streams provide trout-fishing (three to the -pound).[26] - -The two most important mountain groups are those of the Rotondo and the -Cinto. - -[Sidenote: Centres, Modes of Access, and Topography.] - -The garrison town of Corte will act as a centre to both these -districts. It is reached by a four hours’ rail journey from either -Bastia or Ajaccio. - -A steamship service connects Bastia with Leghorn three times a week -(five hours’ crossing). Fairly frequent services likewise connect -Ajaccio with Nice (twelve hours) and with Marseilles (sixteen hours). -The approach to Corsica by all three routes is magnificent, especially -that of Nice to Ajaccio. It is well worth while to make this crossing -by a day service. - -From Corte a good camping centre at the head of the Restonica valley, -in the heart of the Rotondo group, can be reached in four hours -(mule-track most of the way). - -The true centre of the Cinto group is Calacuccia. This village can -be reached from Corte in six hours, walking over the Col de la -Rinella; but there is no mule-track. The view from this Col embraces -practically the whole Cinto group. An alternative route, advisable -when it is necessary to transport baggage, is from Corte to Francardo -(half an hour’s rail), and thence in three hours by carriage (postal -service, or hired conveyance, 15 francs) to Calacuccia. Convenient -camping centres in the Rodda, Erco, Viro and Golo valleys can thence be -reached in from three to five hours. - -For the northern slopes of the Cinto group Asco is the best centre -(three hours by road from the railway station, Ponte Leggia). This -village also serves as a base for the magnificent chain of mountains -running eastwards from Monte Padro (2400 metres) to Monte Corona -(2143 metres), and thence in a southerly direction to Punta Minuta -(2547 metres) in the Cinto group. To the north of Monte Padro lies -the Tartagine valley, at the head of which is the Capo al Dente (2032 -metres), one of the most sporting peaks in the island. A number of -unclimbed peaks close in the valley to the north. The approach to -the Tartagine valley is rather troublesome. From Palasca (on the -Bastia-Calvi railway line) via Mausoléo to the _maison forestière_, the -best centre, takes eight to ten hours by a good road. - -Other groups offering good climbing and an abundance of ‘first -ascents’ and ‘new routes’ are the Monte d’Oro and Monte Renoso groups. -Vizzavona, the centre for both these ranges, boasts of good hotel -accommodation, and can be reached in three hours by rail from Ajaccio -and in one hour from Corte. - -The above-mentioned mountain groups are those which will attract -the climber most of all. They offer almost endless possibilities -for first-rate climbing over both known and virgin ground. With the -exception of Monte Renosa, the main mountain groups lie to the east of -the Ajaccio-Bastia railway, and for this reason most climbers prefer to -approach the mountains from the east, from Corte, the half-way station -on the line. There is, however, little to choose between the eastern -and western slopes--both offer high-class climbing, and preference -might now well be given to the western slopes, as here much more -remains to be accomplished in the way of pioneer work. As a general -rule, camp centres for climbing on the western slopes of the d’Oro, -Rotondo, Cinto and Corona groups are best reached by crossing the main -chains from Corte. In these cases the mountaineer will have to act as -his own beast of burden unless the route be _entirely_ free from snow, -which is very unlikely in the spring. - -There are a great number of mountain groups either of minor importance -or difficult of access (the Incudine, 2136 metres; Punta di Capella, -2044; etc.), but as a rule from the climbing point of view they are -of little interest. Mention should be made of the chain of hills, -attaining heights of over 1300 metres, which forms the backbone of the -promontory of Cap Corse. The main ridge can be traversed throughout -its length in one long day from Bastia, and the splendour of the views -down on to the Mediterranean and towards the ranges of the interior is -beyond all description.[27] - -[Sidenote: Nature of the Climbing.] - -There are no glaciers in Corsica, though in the Cinto and Rotondo -groups snow-patches occasionally survive the summer’s heat. Both these -groups show marked traces of glacier action. The ice work is limited -to cutting in ice-choked chimneys and to clearing rocks. Long, steep, -hard-frozen snow slopes necessitating a sustained use of the axe are -seldom encountered, and ice-claws may safely be dispensed with. On the -other hand, ski might prove to be of great value, as the return on foot -from a climb over the long slopes of soft snow lying on the ‘maquis’ -is often very trying. Devotees of ski-ing will find plenty of splendid -ground, especially on the eastern and southern slopes of the Cinto -group. - -The rock is sound, and handholds are only too abundant. As a general -rule, only those climbs are difficult which lead up over apparently -perpendicular rock walls or ridges, rocks which from the distance look -hopelessly impossible. - -This deceptive appearance may account for the fact that until 1909 no -climb of exceptional difficulty was accomplished in the island. Paglia -Orba (2500 metres), the Matterhorn of Corsica and the most conspicuous -mountain of the Cinto group, may be taken as an instance. - -The east wall was first climbed in the Spring of 1909. The final -1000 feet of this wall appear to overhang, and actually do so for -considerable sections of the ascent. The unique character of this climb -would alone justify a visit to the island. The possibilities of new -climbs--both new routes and first ascents--are still numerous. Nothing -need be declared impossible on the strength of an inspection from a -distance; the chances are that a route of the most hopeless appearance -will ‘go,’ and also provide the best of climbing. - -The view from almost any summit embraces greater or lesser portions of -the sunny coast-line, which adds the charm of contrast to the alpine -surroundings. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[26] From the point of view of expense, the mountaineer will -find mountaineering in Corsica exceptionally cheap. Hotel prices -average five to six francs per diem, but the climber who spends most -of his time in tents will incur even this moderate expense only for -comparatively brief periods. The return fare to Ajaccio is about £8, -and, provided the climber imports his own stock of tinned provisions, -a further sum of £15 to £20 should be more than ample for a month’s -sojourn in the island, on a pre-war estimate. - -[27] When one considers the proximity of the mountains to the -coast, their height (Monte Cinto, 2710 metres) is considerable; and -many magnificent walls of well over 2000 or even 3000 feet are to be -met with. - -Joanne’s guide-book, _La Corse_ (Hachette et Cie, Paris), and -_Baedeker_, contain very full information as regards accommodation, -etc. _Baedeker_ supplies much useful information on the mountains -themselves. The best maps are those of the Corps d’État-Major, on a -scale of 1 to 80,000. They are somewhat unreliable, and the reverse of -clear. These and other maps are procurable at the stationers’ shops in -Ajaccio and Bastia. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -THE HIMALAYA - -BY T. G. LONGSTAFF - - -Although the natural and physical conditions in those ranges loosely -called the Himalaya are probably more diverse than in any other -mountain region in the world, still a certain amount of generalization -is possible. - - -GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS - -[Sidenote: Configuration.] - -Essentially, we find two more or less parallel ranges. The southern -and highest is visible from the plains. On this stand the great peaks -whose names are familiar to us. This outer range is pierced by numerous -rivers which burst through a series of deep, narrow gorges. The low -elevation of these river valleys brings an almost tropical fauna and -flora up to the foot of the Snows. The snowline on this range, owing -to greater precipitation, reaches down lower than on the second range, -that to the north. This second, or northern, range constitutes the -local water-parting between India and the countries to the north. It is -reached by broad, open, treeless valleys almost Tibetan in character as -in fauna. Its snowline is high owing to the drier climate. The peaks -seldom attain 25,000 feet, and, in general, are not so precipitous as -the great line of peaks to the south. - -Even in Kashmir this arrangement of two parallel ranges may be traced; -but though there is plenty of fine climbing on the ranges which enclose -between them the Vale of Kashmir, most of which have already fallen -to the attacks of residents and British officers, yet the eyes of -the mountaineer from England will be fixed on the vast range of the -Karakoram beyond the Indus. - -[Illustration: THE HIMALAYA - - [C. F. MEADE -] This grand chain has a character of its own, though there are -points of resemblance to both ranges of the Himalaya. The glaciers are -the largest outside the Polar regions. The peaks are very high and -very precipitous. It is the country _par excellence_ for the mountain -explorer; but for the mountain climber the greatest drawback is the -journey of four to six weeks from England to the scene of operations. - -[Sidenote: Climbing Conditions.] - -Rock climbing is the same all the world over in that the conditions -vary on every mountain in any range. Also, a rock peak cannot be -really reconnoitred from a distance; we must come to grips with the -rocks before we can know the practicability of a route. As to snow -and ice, I think conditions are worse in the Himalaya than in the -Alps or Caucasus, chiefly owing to greater variations of temperature. -Avalanches of all kinds are bigger, and great caution must be exercised -in the choice of camps and bivouacs. Snow and ice slopes in the Alps -appear to me to look steeper than they eventually turn out to be. In -the Caucasus they are about as steep as they look. In the Himalaya I -have usually found them markedly steeper than their distant appearance -led me to expect. - -[Sidenote: Management.] - -Diverse as are the physical conditions of the Himalayan regions, -the inhabitants thereof show an even greater variety of character. -Some general rules of conduct may, however, be indicated, though -most of them may be considered by mountaineers as truisms not worth -the stating. The first object to keep in view is to create such an -impression amongst the natives as will make the path of subsequent -visitors easier and not harder. Almost all hill men are superstitious. -You must expect timidity at first. Remember particularly that native -servants are very prone to abuse the authority which in the eyes of the -villagers is acquired by the mere fact of their being in your service. -The hill man is usually inarticulate; he knows you cannot speak his -dialect, and probably your servants are the only interpreters. Your -watchfulness is his only chance of a square deal. Pay for _everything_ -with your own hand, if it be only an anna for a few eggs. Of course -always pay your day-to-day coolies yourself, and, if they desire it, -give each his four or eight annas separately, only paying over a whole -rupee to a group from the same hamlet. - -Religious beliefs are very mixed in the hills, and it is a good rule -to keep well away when your coolies, whatever their race, are cooking -or eating. Of course you must never offer them cooked food. Away from -the villages, and if only two or three men are with you, such things -as biscuits and jam--being assumed not to be made by hand--may be -offered if necessary. This applies more especially to Hindus; but -though Moslems should eat with Christians, the same rules had better -be applied. With Gurkhas (though nominal Hindus) or others with the -strain of Mongolian blood in them--who are or have till lately been -Buddhists--the code need not be quite so strict. - -These remarks might seem unnecessary to anyone having experience only -of sport or travel in High Asia; but for the mountaineer who essays -to take coolies or shikaris to high bivouacs it is obviously of great -advantage to get them to adopt European foods and methods of cooking. -This was successfully done by the Italian expedition to the Karakoram -in 1909. Tea (native green is best) and the vilest cigarettes may be -offered to any coolie without fear of offence as a reward after an -extra hard day. The gift of a sheep or goat on suitable occasions -produces a glow of contentment all through the camp. - -As to more general conduct: Refrain from whistling. Do not bathe naked -before natives. Never lose your temper except on purpose and with a -definite object. Never allow your servants to be familiar or to enter -your tent with their shoes on. Do not laugh or joke with your men -unless you are master of the language. If you do, you may be as broad -as possible, especially with Gurkhas. Exact proper respect from all -village officials with whom you come in contact. Conversely, treat a -native gentleman with the same courtesy that you expect yourself. Hindu -religious mendicants and devotees are easily irritated, and are best -left severely alone. - -[Sidenote: The Campaign.] - -It is absolutely essential that the climber planning a visit to -the Himalaya should make up his mind exactly what he wants to do. -Leaving aside exploration, the most dangerous lure on the path of -the mountaineer, we may for convenience confine ourselves to two -courses--the attack on some particular and probably very high peak; or -a less ambitious and more general campaign in some selected district in -which climbing for its own sake, apart from any design of raising ‘the -record,’ is the object aimed at. - -Having settled the strategic idea, we must next consider tactics. In -the case of a single big mountain, the method of attack will be in the -nature of siege operations; and in this case a siege train, in the form -of Piedmontese guides, makes for success. Still, a siege is dull, and -to get the full pleasure out of a trip in the Himalaya, amateurs and -not guides are the best companions. The difficulty is to get them for -an absence of several months from England. - -As a matter of tactics, the writer prefers, with or without guides, -to try and ‘rush’ peaks; for by this means far the most climbing is -secured. On the other hand, more frequent failure is risked by such -direct attacks. Unless the weather is favourable, a successful high -ascent is quite impossible; and if a climber is moving about and -continually attacking different peaks, he loses chances on particular -peaks which the besieger, waiting upon their favourable moments, can -take instant advantage of. - -There is, further, the vexed question of the actual final assault. -Should it be a gradual pushing of bivouacs higher and higher, in the -hope of acclimatizing ourselves to the want of oxygen; or should we -make the last bivouac as low down as possible, in the hope that better -conditions for digestion and sleep will enable us to put forth one -tremendous effort on the final day of the adventure? Subjection to -low pressures, or want of oxygen, for days or weeks will find out our -weakest spots. With some the belly, with others the mind. For myself, I -know that after several nights at very high altitudes my mind is dull -and my courage reduced to vanishing-point. In all cases, so far as I -know, there is considerable loss of weight. To actual mountain sickness -we can acclimatize ourselves by going as frequently as possible above -20,000 feet. But we cannot stay for long at very high altitudes and -preserve all our strength. We must come down again soon to 15,000 -feet, or lower if we can. It is easier to deny than to prove the -existence of mountain sickness; but although we do not bleed from the -ears, or even the nose, nowadays, most of us suffer some diminution of -our powers. This being so, it appears that the best chance of success -on a very high mountain is to send _some one else_ to examine the final -route and to lay the last bivouac for the storming party; just high -enough for them, supposing they are in good condition, to reach the -summit well on in the following afternoon. This may seem a soulless -way to wear a mountain down; but it is merely the application of Polar -methods to slightly changed conditions. - -As in the Polar regions, also, the weather decides between success -and failure, between return and no return. Because of the cold, it is -unwise to start before sunrise.[28] The risk is less in descending easy -ground at night--perhaps because movement is then quicker. - -A concrete example puts the case shortly. Trisul is only some 23,400 -feet high, but it appears to be the highest peak of which the complete -ascent is universally admitted. After two nights, at about 20,000 feet, -in bad weather, the party retreated to 14,000 feet. Three days later, -after one bivouac at about 18,000 feet, the summit was reached at 4 -p.m. (10 hours), and the night was spent on the return at about 16,500 -feet. - -[Sidenote: Season.] - -Generally speaking, the regular rainy season (‘monsoon’) commences in -July and ends in September; but all the world over more rain falls, and -falls more frequently, on mountains than on the country immediately -surrounding them. Hence, though probably June is the best month for the -high peaks, we cannot even then count on continuous fine weather. - -It is always easy to avoid the monsoon by pushing north into the second -range; but here again it must not be expected that the highest peaks -will completely conform to the rainless character of the rest of this -region. - -When the rains are over, in September and October spells of gloriously -fine and clear weather are the rule; but the nights are then bitterly -cold above the tree-line. - - -THE CHIEF DISTRICTS - -Though the Himalaya, in the widest sense of the term, extend beyond -the Brahmapootra on the east and beyond the Indus on the west, we may -impose these limits upon them for present purposes. Furthermore, only -sections of these ranges are at present politically accessible to the -mountaineer. - -Practically the whole of the Himalayan region is covered by the Great -Trigonometrical Survey of India on a scale of one inch to four miles. -The sheets are obtainable in London. - -It would be easy to criticize this map in detail. For reasons of -finance and policy, the surveyors were ordered to cover a very large -area each season and not to attempt detailed surveys of uninhabited -areas. It would be, therefore, manifestly unfair to set up claims which -were never made by the authors and then to demolish them.[29] - -[Sidenote: The Eastern Himalaya.] - -For Bhutan, it is best to consult Claude White’s _Sikkim and Bhutan_ -(Arnold, 1909). It would be necessary to obtain special leave from -the Government of India to travel here; and the country is not very -promising from our point of view. - -[Sidenote: Sikkim.] - -For Sikkim, consult Mr. Freshfield’s Round _Kangchenjunga_, and several -papers by Dr. Kellas in the _Alpine_ and _Geographical Journals_. - -Sikkim is a region of tropical contrasts, merging on the north into -Tibetan conditions. The vegetation is magnificent. The great peaks in -the south are difficult; in the north much easier, where the isolated -peak of Chumolhari (23,930 feet) has long challenged attention. - -The starting-point is Darjeeling, reached by rail in a day and night -from Calcutta, or in three days from Bombay. A call should be made on -the Deputy Commissioner, especially if the climber intends to enter -native Sikkim. At present permission would not be given to enter Nepal -or Tibet, and probably not for Bhutan. Stores can be bought beforehand -at Darjeeling, and a Buddhist cook should be, if possible, secured. - -The semi-Tibetan natives of Upper Sikkim, and similar immigrants from -north-eastern Nepal, are splendid material for glacier work. Dr. -Kellas with these people found himself quite able to dispense with -alpine guides. They are cheerful, smiling and easy for Europeans to get -on with, fond of a joke, and, if handled well, honest and reliable. For -the first part of the journey in the lower country temporary coolies -can well be used. - -[Sidenote: Nepal.] - -In Nepal, though in certain circumstances the frontier is not -inviolable, yet for a variety of reasons, not all political, an -Englishman is not likely to be able to penetrate to any of the great -peaks. At the same time, for the mountaineer as well as for the -explorer, few journeys are better worth making than that up the valley -of the Gandak, or the Kosi, into the heart of the grandest of all -mountain ranges. - -[Sidenote: Kumaon and Garhwal.] - -To my mind this is the finest part of the Himalaya at present -accessible. It is the most ‘alpine’ portion of the Himalaya, possessing -peaks over 25,000 feet. The scenery, flora and fauna are exceedingly -beautiful and varied. It contains much difficult ground, even below the -tree-line. Most of the highest peaks are very severe. Towards Tibet the -country opens out and the mountains are easier.[30] - -The approach is by rail to Kathgodam. There follows a short drive -to Naini Tal, where all ordinary supplies may be obtained. Thence a -driving road to Ranikhet and a pony road to Almora, where fair supplies -are also obtainable. - -A formal permit must be obtained from the Deputy Commissioner of -Almora, and two chuprassis will be told off to engage coolies from -village to village. For Garhwal it will probably be necessary to get a -separate permit and chuprassis from the Deputy Commissioner at Pawri. - -When the base of operations is reached in Garhwal or Kumaon, it is -advisable to engage a few local men as permanent coolies. The ordinary -stages are worked by relays of coolies from village to village. In -these, native flour (_ata_), rice, fowls, goats and, higher up, sheep -can usually be obtained. A Mussulman cook can be obtained in Naini Tal. -An army reservist--Garhwali or Gurkha--would be found of assistance. He -should be provided with an extra broad pair of good nailed boots. - -Gurla Mandhata (25,350 feet) is just over the frontier in Tibet. -Access to it is at present barred by our own Government. It can be -reached through Kumaon in a fortnight from Almora, and is probably -easily climbable from the Gurla Glacier.[31] - -In Garhwal the Rishi Nali with Nanda Devi (25,660 feet) is the centre -of attraction.[32] Under present conditions it is not likely to be -climbed. - -Dunagiri (23,184 feet), an outlier of this group, is pretty certainly -climbable by Graham’s route--the south-west ridge--from a bivouac at -the head of the Tolma valley. Farther north, Kamet (25,443 feet), -allied with bad weather, has so far defied repeated attacks. - -Every variety of climbing is to be found on these mountains, and it is -a region that seems to exert an extraordinary fascination on every one -who has visited it. - -In the matter of securing coolies for climbing purposes, it is well to -remember that the Kumaonis are a poor lot; the Danpurias and Garhwalis -are better; the partially Hinduized Bhotias of Badrinath Niti and -Milam are good; the still more Mongolian people of Gharbyang, and of -the north-west corner of Nepal, are splendid, and can be taken on into -Tibet. - -[Sidenote: Tehri Garhwal.] - -This small native hill state, west of British Garhwal, contains some -very fine peaks around Gangotri. It is reached from Lansdowne or -Mussoori. To facilitate travel, an introduction should be obtained -to the Rajah. The mountains present a most promising and practically -untouched field for the mountaineer. As coolies, the local men in the -north are probably pretty good. - -[Sidenote: The Simla Hill States.] - -Kangra, Kulu, Spiti, Lahaol and Bushahr embrace a very large mountain -area, and offer unlimited scope to the less ambitious mountaineer. It -is an ‘alpine’ region, but still on the Himalayan scale. The peaks -rarely attain 23,000 feet. But probably more actual climbing can be -obtained in one season here than in any other section of the Himalaya. -General Bruce’s book, _Kulu and Lahoul_, should be consulted. - -The entry is from Dharmsala or Simla. The latter, probably, will be -easiest for new-comers to India, since there is a railway to Simla; -and at Simla supplies and servants can be obtained. - -Hindus, Buddhists, and nominal Moslems are met with, and for coolies, -it would seem that the quality of the natives improves as we move north. - -Chamba is a semi-independent hill state. The arrangements for -travelling must be made with the Rajah. It is a difficult country, -and not very promising. Manimais (or Mani Mahais), however, looks -magnificent. - -[Sidenote: Kashmir and Karakoram.] - -The mountaineering literature on the Karakoram is voluminous, and it -would be out of place to enter into details. A drawback to this region -is the time it takes to reach the mountains. The railway runs to Rawal -Pindi; thence by carriage or motor to Srinagar, two to ten days, -according to the state of the road. From there it is a matter of coolie -or pony transport, according to the time of year and the route chosen. -The time taken from Srinagar to Astor (for the Nanga Parbat group) will -be again about ten days; or from Srinagar to Skardu (for the western -Karakoram) about a fortnight. From Srinagar to Leh takes about three -weeks. The routes themselves vary considerably according to the time of -year. - -It may be remarked that there is a very promising 25,000-foot group, -which can be easily reached from Panamik in the Upper Nubra Valley.[33] -Unfortunately, our party was prevented by bad weather from making -anything like a thorough reconnaissance. It would probably take two -months to reach the foot of the peak from England. - -The Kashmiris (mainly Moslems) on the whole are a poor lot, and as -servants and followers they are apt to ill-treat and rob the up-country -villagers. But both Baltis (Moslems) and Ladakhis (Buddhists) are -splendid as coolies if they are handled properly. - -[Sidenote: The Hindu Khush, etc.] - -With regard to the Gilgit Agency, of which the native states of Hunza -and Nagar form part, it must be borne in mind that permission to travel -is difficult to obtain. The country is poor, and transport and supplies -are hardly sufficient for the use of the garrison and the frontier -officers, who have to be constantly on tour. - -The seven distinct tribes inhabiting the Agency vary in quality from -the point of view of the mountaineer. Most of the shikaris are splendid -cragsmen, and some of the Hunza men are acquainted with axe and rope. - -The Hindu Khush, extending from Hunza through Ishkoman, Punyal, -Yasin, Ghizr and Chitral to the Afghan border, contains many, almost -untouched, fine mountains and glaciers, culminating in the wonderful -group of Tirich Mir (25,426 feet). But the conditions of transport and -frontier policy will render access difficult for some years to come. -Yet the region is a most interesting one and the scenery very varied, -for it includes the water-parting between the Indus and the Oxus. Many -aspects of the country, both physical and human, vividly recalled to me -memories of the Caucasus. - - -PERSONAL MATTERS - -[Sidenote: Expense.] - -The cost of a climbing expedition in the Himalaya entirely depends on -the scale of preparation. If guides are taken, their fares, outfit and -pay will be a heavy item--not less than £250 each. It is obvious that -the further English stores have to be transported the more they will -cost by the time the mountains are reached. It is cheaper in the end to -get most of the stores at the last hill station, and to pay a little -more for them. The equipment for the high bivouacs, however, must be -brought out from home. This will cost, say £50. A first-class return by -P. & O., plus fare to the end of the railway transport, may be put at -£100. - -If the expedition is on a modest scale, and the climber has some -knowledge of the language and customs of the country, and can limit -himself and his servants to a dozen loads, the actual expense of travel -in the hills is not great. Twenty pounds a month is a liberal estimate -for each European. This includes everything: food, servants and -coolies’ wages. Two amateurs, contributing £500 in all between them, -and with four months to spare, ought to be able to put in ten weeks in -the hills without any difficulty. In Kashmir, with the same allowance -of time and money, they would only get eight or nine weeks in the -mountains, and in the Karakoram not more than a month. (All estimates -are pre-war.) - -Obviously a big expedition with guides must cost a great deal more -than this, but the amount can be calculated on the basis of the -figures given above. For a large party it would be advisable to bring -out all the supplies for the mountains packed in numbered Vanesta -cases. A number must be put _on every side_ of each package, and lists -of contents to correspond prepared. These cases also serve as good -substitutes for chairs and tables. - -[Sidenote: Outfit.] - -The days or weeks of travel to the foot of the Snows require an outfit -distinct from that required for high mountaineering. The extent of -the travelling outfit depends primarily upon the time and money at -the disposal of the individual. A camp-bed and an 80-lb. Kabul tent, -ordered beforehand from the Elgin Mills at Cawnpore or through the A. -& N. Stores at Bombay, is worth serious consideration. Personally, I -prefer a Whymper tent, with an extra fly to keep the sun off and with -the floor-cloth sewn in. A Whymper tent can also be used by the cook -and followers, without the double fly and with a loose floor-cloth; if -this is sewn in, it is apt to get burned when fires are lighted inside -the tent on wet evenings. - -On all railway journeys, in most bungalows--public and private--and -even in some hotels, bedding must be carried. A very thin cork or hair -mattress is a luxury; the sleeping-bag does nearly as well. Two Jaeger -sheets, two Jaeger blankets, a pillow and a couple of pillow-cases, -aided by a bath towel, really suffice. The whole is wrapped up and -strapped in a strong ground sheet laced down the middle, or in a more -complicated valise sold in India. This bundle constitutes the _bistra_, -one coolie-load; it should be as rain- and vermin-proof as possible. - -A folding X-table and chair are almost necessary concessions to caste. -A spare chair should be available if natives of chair rank are likely -to be met. An india-rubber or canvas bath is also necessary for other -purposes. When bathing in the open, as before said, drawers at least -should always be worn out of respect for native sentiment. Toilet kit -is carried in an enamelled iron basin with a leather cover, called a -_chilamchi_. - -Cooking vessels (_degchis_) should be of aluminium, but cups and plates -and teapot may be enamel-ware. Either hurricane lanterns (kerosene), -or candle-lanterns that can stand on a table, are necessary in camp. -All these should be obtained from the A. & N. or other stores in India. - -[Sidenote: Food.] - -As to food, the necessary tinned butter, biscuits, jam and other -groceries can be bought at the last hill station. In most places in -the hills sheep or goats can be bought as required. Farther on you -must bring your own live stock along with you; this should ensure milk -of sorts. Chickens and eggs, rice and native flour (_ata_), can be -purchased in most villages. - -On the glaciers, cocoa, chocolate or tea, with plasmon, are needed for -breakfast, and, for the evening, maggi (vegetable) soups with rice. At -the highest camps by far the best drink is some sort of dried malted -milk preparation, like Horlick’s or Allen & Hanbury’s diet. The above -must be brought out from England, unless it is found to be obtainable -from the A. & N. Stores in Bombay. - -[Sidenote: The High Camp Outfit.] - -The tent should be the Mummery pattern if carried by yourself, but may -be Whymper pattern if coolies are still available. Ice-axes can be -lengthened to serve as tent poles, if desired, by means of a piece of -hollow bamboo 10 or 12 inches long which is slipped over the point. The -bamboo must be bound round with wire at the end to prevent splitting. -In bad weather a small ventilator to the tent is necessary, as it may -be found impossible to open the door. Sleeping-bags can be made of -any thickness and warmth of goose-down. Balloon-silk should be sewn -underneath the bag, and brought up for at least 18 inches over the -feet. At high altitudes only a primus stove, burning kerosene, will -serve. Absolute alcohol should be carried to start the apparatus, and -a flat strip of perforated brass as a wind-shield is necessary. The -primus stove and reserve of kerosene, in old petrol tins, must not -be carried in the same load with any food. This must be specially -remembered during the _whole_ of the expedition. - -It is a good plan to camp not later than 3 p.m., and to start melting -snow at once. The first melting will probably be drunk tepid. Then the -evening meal, or rather drink, of soup or cocoa or malted milk must be -taken; following this, while the stove is still alive, more snow should -be melted and the morning’s drink prepared. If this is placed in large -thermos-bottles inside the sleeping-bags it will last, if untouched, -till the following afternoon. - -It is worse than useless to invite frost-bite by a very early start. -But in any case the time cannot be spared to melt snow in the morning. - -[Sidenote: Clothing.] - -So long as you wear a good ‘Cawnpore’ pith helmet (_topi_) nothing -else matters much. Sunburn will prevent you wearing too little. Some -people prefer a turban. This consists of the _pugari_ or _loonghi_ and -the _koolla_ or conical cap affected by Mohammedans and Europeans, and -round which the pugaree is worn. On a cold morning the tail of the -pugaree can be wrapped round the neck. It is easy to tie--in a fashion. -It is in some ways better than a pith helmet, but does not protect -the eyes from glare. Shorts are very cool for marching; but beware of -blisters at the back of the knees. A spine pad is necessary in the -valleys, and pleasant at even the greatest altitudes. - -Footgear for high climbing is still a vexed problem. You must have very -heavily nailed boots for the moraines. On snow I have worn a covering -of raw cowhide, _hair outside_ over the front half of the boot. The -half sole is made of stoutest canvas. The whole may be garnished with -a common pair of Swiss ice-claws. Boots should be large enough for -two pairs of socks to be worn. Since putties will be invariably used, -stockings will only be needed for a change in the evening. No doubt -for very high work some Polar footgear would be better than climbing -boots.[34] Possibly ski-boots may meet the difficulty. But a piece of -blanket wrapped over the whole boot and held in place with a large pair -of claws, or by the boot-nails as they wear through, ought to be an -efficient substitute. Swiss snow-shoes are hardly worth carrying, but -on easy slopes at high altitudes they can be very useful, and I have -been glad of them. Ski are probably useless, for our purpose, owing to -transport difficulties. - -Smoked glasses are only better than nothing; the proper colour is -something between yellow and green, such as Sinclair’s ‘N.W.V.’ -glasses, or their like. - -[Sidenote: Instruments.] - -You cannot produce a good map without sacrificing much time and energy. -But apart from this, it is useful to know the heights of camps, -etc. For this purpose use at your camps a boiling-point thermometer -(hypsometer), specially constructed for high altitudes: you must -observe the air temperature with a swing thermometer at the same time. - -Also take a large (4½ inch) Watkin mountain aneroid (J. Hicks, Hatton -Garden), graduated from 31 to 10 inches. Keep it permanently out of -action as soon as you go above 5000 feet, and only throw it into gear -when taking a reading--allowing not more than a few minutes for it to -settle. Put it out of gear as soon as the reading has been made. - -A reading should be taken with the Watkin whenever the hypsometer is -used, as a check on both instruments. When climbing, and at the highest -camp, probably only the Watkin will be used, since, even with absolute -alcohol, an hour may be spent over an hypsometer observation at great -heights. The Watkin must be read both on leaving camp and on returning. - -The air temperature ought to be taken at each observation; but this is -a refinement. - -All observations must be immediately entered in a special notebook -with hour, date and place. These should be worked out by some one else -on a return to civilization. The Indian Meteorological Department or -the Survey at Dehra Dun or the Royal Geographical Society would be the -natural referees. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[28] _Alpine Journal_, vol. xxiii. p. 223. - -[29] _Alpine Journal_, vol. xxv. p. 389. - -[30] Consult A. L. Mumm’s _Five Months in the Himalaya_ (Arnold). - -[31] _Alpine Journal_, vol. xxiii. p. 217 _et seq._, and map. - -[32] Consult _Alpine Journal_, vol. xxiii. p. 202, and maps, and vol. -xxiv. p. 107, and map. - -[33] _Alpine Journal_, vol. xxv. p. 487, with map, and Neve’s -_Picturesque Kashmir_, chap. xii. - -[34] Consult _Appalachia_, Oct. 1914, vol. xiii. p. 160. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -THE MOUNTAINS OF NORWAY - -BY W. CECIL SLINGSBY - - -Concerning the mountains of Norway, their geography and the history of -their exploration, a considerable amount of published information is -already available for mountaineers: it is, therefore, unnecessary to do -more than give a general idea of the mountaineering potentialities of -the country, and of the facilities of travel and provisioning. - -[Sidenote: Guide-books and Literature.] - -_Baedeker_ is excellent as a general guide, and a copy should be in -the hands, and to some extent also in the head, of at least one member -of every mountaineering party. In addition, maps should be obtained -of each district which the climbers intend to visit. The Amts Karter, -price 1 _krone_ each, will answer this purpose. - -There are no ‘Climbers’ Guides’ for Norway, though many books deal -more or less with its mountains. The great mountain classic is _Norway -and its Glaciers_, by Professor J. D. Forbes. Mrs. Aubrey le Blond -has dealt solely with one group, the mountains of Lyngen Fjord, in -_Mountaineering in the Land of the Midnight Sun_. This is of use to -those who wish to climb between lat. 69° and 70°, but is not of service -in Central Norway. _New Climbs in Norway_, by Mr. E. C. Oppenheim, -deals also with certain individual peaks. There is an excellent book -in Norsk on the Söndmöre Alps, near Aalesund. _Norway, the Northern -Playground_, is the result of many years’ experience on my own part, -but barely touches the romantic regions of Arctic Norway. The _Alpine -Journal_ has many papers by many authors on all parts of the country. - -[Illustration: NORWEGIAN PEAKS [NORMAN COLLIE] - -Of late years Norsk mountaineers have been very active, not only in -Norway and in the Alps, but also in far-off Himalaya and the Southern -Andes. The _Aarbog_ of “Den Norske Turist Forening” virtually resembles -an alpine journal, and its illustrations of glaciers and aiguilles -are valuable. It has had for many years mountaineering papers both in -English and Norsk. Every one who intends to climb in Norway should -become a member of this most useful club. He will have considerable -privileges, connected with mountain huts, etc. No mountaineering -qualification is required; merely a small subscription. T. Bennett & -Sons, or F. Beyer (Tourist Agents at Bergen), as well as the keepers of -the tourist huts, will enrol members. There is also an inner circle, -the “Norske Tinder Klub,” whose mountaineering qualification is at -least as high as that of the Alpine Club. - -A slight knowledge of the language is essential. Norsk is easier for -north-country folk to acquire than for southerners, as much of our -northern dialect is almost identical with Norsk. As an outcome of -perhaps laudable ultra-patriotism, great changes, which in the main -lead to a simplification of the language, are being made. The natives -themselves during this period of transition apparently have no fixed -rules of spelling, and a foreigner need not feel uneasy on the subject. -The greatest difficulty in connection with this phase is that--so far -as I am aware--there is no Norsk-English dictionary which has adopted, -or at present _can_ adopt, the spelling mostly in use. - -[Sidenote: Season.] - -As in Switzerland, July and August are the best months for -mountaineering in Norway, though, speaking generally, there is more -often settled weather in June and September. In some years, the two -last weeks in June are perfect for climbing, but as in the Alps again, -there is often too much snow for pleasant mountaineering before July. -Similarly, there is often ideal weather in September, and though the -days are getting short, grand climbing may be done during the whole -of the month. Once the weather breaks, and heavy snows fall, no good -climbing can be done. The presence of the Gulf Stream causes a rather -larger rainfall in Norway than in the Alps. Often bad weather in the -Alps means excellent weather in Norway, and vice versa. - -[Sidenote: Routes of Access, Travel, etc.] - -Travelling facilities have much improved during the last few years. The -steamboat service from England is better, but more remains yet to be -done in this respect. The North Sea has not improved, and never will. -A quickened train service from Christiania to Throndhjem shortens the -journey up to the romantic north by a good day. The completion of the -picturesque Bergen to Christiania railway has revolutionized travel in -many ways, both good and bad. The usual routes to Norway are by Hull -or Newcastle to Bergen, Christiania or Throndhjem. Dozens of public -steam-yachts, some starting from London, run every summer. Some are -ocean liners of a large tonnage, and they may occasionally be used. To -‘consult Cook’ is good advice. - -Bergen is the best starting-place. From thence mountaineers may proceed -direct by steamer to Skjolden at the head of the Sogne Fjord, and from -thence may now drive up to Turtegrö, the favourite centre for the -Horungtinder--one of the finest ranges in Norway; or, and better still, -they may go by rail to Vossevangen, drive to Gudvangen and then take -steamer. Or further, by rail to Myrdal, and drive to Aurland and take -steamer there. - -Bergen is reached in about thirty-six hours from Hull or Newcastle. -Numerous steamers leave there for every mountaineering district. Three -days must be allowed by steamer from Bergen to Svolvaer, the centre -of the Lofotens. Another day to Tromsö and Lyngen Fjord. It is always -advisable to book berths on the north-going boats a fortnight before -leaving. Thos. Cook & Son can do this. - -Christiania is a good starting-point, and the railway to Throndhjem -much shortens the time to get to Arctic Norway. The mineral railway, -terminating at Narvik, near the mouth of the Ofoten Fjord, close to -lat. 69°, is in direct communication with Stockholm, from which a -‘Lapland Express’ runs two or three times a week. By means of this, -Arctic Norway can readily be reached by those who prefer railway -travelling to steamboats--mostly within the Skjaergaard (or Skerries). - -[Sidenote: Expense] - -The return fare, Newcastle to Bergen, food included, is £6 first class. -Rather more by Wilsons. The cost of two men for a three weeks’ tour in -Central Norway, including going and returning, should be from £20 to -£25 each. I have done it for considerably less. It may also easily be -increased to £30 or £35 if the travellers are ultra-luxurious in their -ways and habits. It should never be forgotten that a _krone_ (1 kr.) is -worth 1s. 1½d. Many novices, used to francs and lire, forget this fact. -One pound only produces about 18 _krone_, and not 25. A large number of -persons who take yachting cruises in huge steamboats, and who only land -here and there, throw about their money in a wicked manner, and have -much spoiled the very few natives with whom they have come in contact. -Away from the haunts of the tourist horde, on the west coast, prices -are still very reasonable. Tips must not be given on quite so generous -a scale as in the Alps. (These prices are pre-war.) - -[Sidenote: Equipment.] - -For camp life excellent provisions are obtainable in Christiania, -Throndhjem and Bergen, and by getting them in the country the worry of -passing the Customs, which is not very serious, is avoided. - -Experience shows that bacon and porridge form a great stand-by for a -camp breakfast. First-rate sides of Yorkshire bacon and good oatmeal -can be bought in the three above-named cities. As tinned meats, useful -as they are, have their limitations, it is well to purchase a leg or -two of mutton whenever possible. There is no doubt at all that one -can climb infinitely better when fortified by fresh, rather than by -tinned, meats. A trout-rod, and the ability to use it efficiently, is -often most serviceable anywhere in Norway, and in the Lofotens a few -sea-fishing appliances frequently add a welcome change to camp meals. -One result of the great cod fishery in the Far North is that excellent -French and Spanish wines are procurable at the posting stations at -reasonable prices in Arctic Norway. Speaking generally, the farther -north one goes the more comfortable are the steamers, and certainly the -more interesting is the company met with. Ashore, the hospitality which -many of us have met with leaves behind most happy memories. - -With regard to the equipment requisite, generally speaking what is -suitable for Switzerland is fit for Norway. It must, however, be taken -for granted that, except in Christiania, and possibly to some extent -now in Bergen, no alpine nails, ice-axes, goggles, alpine rope, etc., -are procurable. If extra boots are not taken, it is also very desirable -to take an ample supply of spare nails or screws. With these much can -be added to the security of a party, by fitting up a casual porter or -two with nails of a kind which he has probably never seen before. He -may at first object, but in the course of the first day on the snows -he will heartily approve, unless he may happen to come upon the--not -uncommon--highly polished _roches moutonnées_ of gneiss. - -No longer is it necessary to take tents into Jotunheim or elsewhere -in Central Norway, as comfortable inns and mountain huts are to be -found here, there and everywhere. In Arctic Norway it is otherwise. In -many places not only are tents a luxury but also a necessity, unless -mountaineers have the use of a yacht where they can sleep, or unless -they charter a small steamboat. Even then it is advisable to have -tents, as now and then the question of safe anchorage is a difficult -one. Nowadays the well-to-do merchants in Lofoten, and also on the -mainland, very often possess motor-boats, which can be hired to take -mountaineers to remote fjords together with their tents. - -In Scandinavia it is a safe maxim to hold that the farther north one -goes the more numerous are the mosquitoes. Hence mosquito nets should -always be taken north of Throndhjem. Mosquitoes, fortunately, are not -always in evidence even in hot summers. - -[Sidenote: Guides.] - -The question of guides is a difficult one. At least 90 per cent of the -best climbing in Norway has been done without them, solely because they -were non-existent when most needed. There are a few excellent men, -experienced alike on difficult glaciers, on steep snow slopes and on -rocks of the Chamonix Aiguille type, but their number is very limited. -Several are to be met with in various places in the Jotun Fjelde, which -include the Horungtinder. - -In the neighbourhood of the Justedals-brae, which is by far the largest -snow field in Continental Europe, and over 400 square miles in extent, -there are naturally a few good icemen able and willing to tackle the -very complex glacier problems. They can be found at Fjaerland, in the -valley of Justedal, at Stryn, Olden and Loen, and probably also by now -in Stardal and Jölster. - -At or near Öie on the Hjörund Fjord, two or three very fair guides -may be found for the Söndmöre Alps. These men have been trained more -or less by British mountaineers. The same may be said for Romsdal, -Eikisdal, as well as for Sundal in Nordmöre, where in the adjacent -Troldheim are a few fine glaciers and interesting peaks of gneiss. At -the same time, it is true that in every mountain valley in Central -Norway there is at least one excellent cragsman to be found, who is -invariably called to rescue crag-fast sheep or goats. These men, shod -in _snaukopper_, or soft-soled shoes, climb fearlessly on the smooth -glaciated crags of gneiss, and make excellent guides so far as rock -climbing is concerned. - -In Norway, which is at the same time the most democratic and the most -conservative country in Europe, the guides and porters are often much -better educated than their fellows in Switzerland, and know how to -read a map intelligently. They are frequently landowners on a moderate -scale, and consider that they confer a favour by acting as guides. -They will not use the prefix ‘Mr.’ or ‘Herr’; and why should they? -Frequently they can trace their ancestry back to the Viking Age, and -even occasionally to the “Early Kings of Norway.” Though generally very -nice fellows, they are fully conscious of the monetary value of their -services, i.e. when they are really capable men. They have not yet -learned to carry as much as the Swiss. As the summer is short, there -is more than enough work to occupy the whole manhood of any particular -district on the land without question of mountains. This condition has -become of late years much aggravated by the enormous emigration to -Canada and the United States. - -Within the Arctic circle, amongst the hundred and twenty miles of -aiguilles of gabbro and granite in the Lofoten Islands, there are no -real mountain guides. This is the case, too, on the whole mainland of -Norway within the magic circle, whether it be amongst the aiguilles of -Lyngen Fjord or the weird truncated pyramids of gneiss along the coast, -though even here a few good cragsmen are to be found. - -We must to some extent make an exception in the case of the nomad Lapps -who wander with their reindeer across the glaciers. The gallant French -explorer of the snow fields and glaciers along the Swedish border, -Monsieur Charles Rabot, made use of some of these men, and in his -interesting book, _Au Cap Nord_, has recorded his experiences. - -[Sidenote: General Topography and Structure.] - -Though Norway is 1100 miles in length, the mountains which afford scope -for indulging in the sport of mountaineering are confined between lat. -60° and 70°, i.e. from the glaciers of the Folgefond to the north point -of the peninsula of Lyngen Fjord. More or less they are groups where -gabbro has been upheaved through the surrounding silurian strata, -granite or gneiss. These groups are unconnected save by relatively -uninteresting rolling fjelde, the haunt of the wild reindeer and -its enemy the lynx. Though there is as good climbing to be found in -Norway as in the Alps, no mountain attains the height of 9000 feet, -and consequently there is no continuous ice stream falling so far as -that from the summit of Mont Blanc to the snout of the Glacier des -Bossons. But there are many continuous icefalls of over 5000 feet, -and some glaciers which descend over 6000 feet nearly to the fjords -below. In many cases, as these ice streams are exceptionally steep -and are hemmed in by straight-cut mountain walls of gneiss, the ice -is more compressed, harder and of a deeper blue colour than what one -sees in Switzerland. Notably is this the case in the glaciers of the -Justedals-brae. There are also similar conditions in Lyngen Fjord in -Arctic Norway, e.g. in the case of the noble Fornæsbrae, descending -from Gjækkevarre--the Mont Blanc of the North. - -The finest range in Central Norway is that of the Horungtinder and -portion of the Jotun Fjelde. Its dominating point is Skagastölstind. -This range has the advantages, and likewise possibly the disadvantages, -of possessing a well-recognized centre at Turtegrö, which, from a -picturesque point of view, is at the wrong side of the range. The many -fine peaks are nowadays being worked out with a persistency worthy of -Wasdale Head or Pen-y-Pass. Those of us who know the Coolin in Skye -well, know what grand climbing is suggested by the word ‘gabbro,’ the -formation of the Horungtinder. - -In several other districts gabbro spires give the tone to the picture -and afford magnificent climbing to the mountaineer. Notably is this the -case in Söndmöre, on each side of the Hjörund Fjord, where some lovely -mountains, such as Slogen, bathe their feet in the sea. Unfortunately, -they frequently have their heads bound up with fleecy clouds, owing to -their proximity to the Gulf Stream and to nature’s condensers in the -form of huge snow fields. The 120 miles’ length of the Lofoten Islands -are also built up of granite and gabbro. The first view of these -islands gives a sensation of exaltation and joy. And their colour! It -is the same formation as the Coolin, and the same influences are at -work. The Gulf Stream, that rare and subtle painter, simply touches -the mountains with its moisture-laden breezes, and, helped by the sun, -a richness and delicacy of tint appears which is unknown elsewhere in -Europe. It lacks only the contrast which the Coolin possess of the -changing colour of heather. - -The mountains of the Lyngen Peninsula, a grand region of rugged -aiguilles and huge glaciers, which stream down seawards from, in some -cases, a height of over 6000 feet, all consist of gabbro. But it must -not be concluded that the only good climbing is confined to mountains -of this order. As in the Alps, granite and gneiss hold their own, -and very many beautiful mountains afford arête and face climbing of -exceptional interest. - -In Romsdal, Eikisdal and Troldheim, the latter until recently a much -neglected district, there is grand sport to be had, not only on rocks -but on steep and difficult glaciers as well. - -North of Throndhjem are the Oxtinder. Though high and girt about their -loins with glaciers, they are, it is said, disappointing. The glacier -region of Svartisen and a few rock peaks south of Bodö, but yet within -the Arctic circle, deserve more detailed attention from our countrymen -than they have yet met with. - -On the mainland, north of Bodö and the Salten Fjord but south of -the Ofoten Fjord, are some of the most beautiful and some of the -most fiendish-looking rock mountains conceivable in a mountaineer’s -nightmare. In the first category is the Strandaatind, which has a -most lovely outline, and is also a difficult mountain to ascend. Not -far away are two hideous and truncated obelisks. These are in South -Folden Fjord. At the head of this fjord, and on and within the Swedish -frontier, there is a grand glacier region. - -Sixty-five miles farther north the Stedtind, or Anvil peak, a monolith -with one diagonal crack across the face, rises 5200 feet out of the -sea. Probably it is the most hideous mountain monster on our planet. -Yet there are only 15 feet of especial difficulty to be crossed when -the ascent is made from the back. True, but these 15 feet are highly -sensational! - -There are still left unclimbed in this region other gruesome peaks -which await mountaineers capable of taking the initiative. The glaciers -of Frostisen and a few of the high peaks rising out of this snow field -have been fairly well explored, but as yet little information has been -given us on the subject. - -Up to comparatively recent years there was a strange ignorance about -the higher mountains in Norway, and great uncertainty as to which was -the highest. Once upon a time Sulitelma held the honour. Snehaettan -also had a short reign. In an old atlas of mine, Skagastölstind is -termed “the culminating point of Scandinavia.” Then came the plea -for Galdhöpiggen; and not many years ago a claim was put in for -Knutshultind, which was never looked upon seriously. For a good many -years, however, Galdhöpiggen has been recognized as the king, though -its neighbour, Glittertind, was only twenty odd feet lower. The summit -of the former consists of a narrow rock ridge terminating abruptly in a -precipice at one end, which therefore cannot hold much snow. The latter -is a snow dome. I pointed out many years ago the probability that after -two or three years of unusually heavy snows the snow dome would rise, -that Glittertind would be raised to the throne, and Galdhöpiggen be -deposed. This has come to pass, and now Glittertind--a much duller -mountain than its rival--is “the culminating point of Scandinavia.” It -may and ought to be deposed ere long. - -[Sidenote: Local Conditions.] - -In both Central and Arctic Norway there are some conditions which -do not prevail in the Alps. The long nightless days have both their -advantages and their disadvantages. In Arctic Norway there is a -topsy-turvyness to which we are unaccustomed. One never knows when to -go to bed, and, as the snow does not get so soft as in Central Norway, -there is a great temptation to delay departure and waste much time on -the way. There is naturally a feeling of romance in arriving on the -summit of a difficult mountain a few minutes before midnight, and of -watching the sun roll along several degrees above the mountain horizon. -Still, for the sake of the sub-conscious machinery of the body, it is -best to observe the usual hours for work and for sleep. - -In Central Norway I have seen the sun both set and rise again a couple -of hours later while I was traversing a difficult mountain ridge. But -there is an enormous difference between the length of days in the -end of June or July and that in the middle of August. Occasionally -mountaineers who do not recognize this fact get benighted. - -In Central Norway the snows become soft by 9 a.m., though not to the -same extent as in the Alps. Still, an early start is desirable when -a fine expedition is contemplated. Especially is this the case when -crossing the Justedals-brae or other huge snow fields. - -Avalanches fall as they do in the Alps, but rarely between the end of -June and the beginning of September, and stones, icebound at night, -are loosened by the sun in the morning, and come toppling down in the -orthodox manner, and may, perchance, be a danger to the unwary. In -fact, the ordinary dangers associated with high mountains exist equally -in Norway. - -In some regions magnetic rocks occur, and then the compass is of no -use. Where this is the case, and mists come on, and there is no wind -to indicate the cardinal points, the interest of the expedition may -unexpectedly be increased. - -Ice, hard blue ice, is much more often encountered on the Norwegian -glaciers and gullies than in the Alps. - -On very steep snow slopes and glaciers in the Far North one frequently -comes upon a deep square-sided groove in the snow; at the top of the -slope it may be 12 feet wide and 4 feet deep. This imperceptibly -widens, during a descent of between 1500 and 2000 feet, to a groove, -still square-sided but now 20 to 25 feet in width and 7 or 8 feet -deep. Such grooves are most difficult to cross, and on one memorable -expedition on Rulten, when victory was almost assured, the party was -driven back by the apparent danger of making such a crossing. These -grooves show no sign of the work of falling stones or rocks, but are -probably, at an earlier period of the year, caused by water. I have -never met similar grooves in Central Norway, nor yet in the Alps. - -After a long spell of fine weather during the nightless days of the -summer months, the glaciers may become very dangerous by reason of a -peculiarity in the character of their crevasses. The larger and the -flatter the glacier, the greater the danger. This is especially the -case on the Justedals-brae, though by no means confined to that region. -The condition is caused, in my belief, principally by the comparatively -low altitude of the sun above the horizon. The rays of the sun are -directed more horizontally upon the snow, and for a considerably larger -number of hours during the long days in Norway than is the case in the -Alps. This approximation to horizontality causes an abnormal melting -power to be directed to the under side of the snow eaves and of the -bridges of open crevasses. Especially is this the case when these -eaves are attached and frozen to the north or northerly walls of the -crevasses. Under these conditions crevasses of 25 or 30 feet in width -may only have the appearance of a width of 2 or 3 feet. Not only this, -but they often have clear-cut and well-defined edges and not jagged -lines. On the surface there may be little or no indication of the -hidden dangers which are shielded from view. - -The interest in hot seasons may be much increased by the presence of -‘pink snow,’ _Protococcus nivalis_, which has been known to lie in -patches covering several acres. - -In Norway there are several great snow fields, Greenlands in miniature. -Hill and dale on these snowy uplands are alike covered with glacier, -and only here and there rocky islets or _nunataks_ appear, and -usually as alpine gardens. In nearly all cases the rock below the -ice sheet is gneiss, and if the glaciers were to disappear, rolling -fjelde, or rounded hog-backed peakless mountains 5000 to nearly 7000 -feet in height, would appear. Such snow fields are rare in the Alps; -consequently British mountaineers have little experience, on a large -scale, of glaciers which rest on broad, gently sloping ridges, and -which slowly descend, maintaining connection at the same time with -glaciers on either side moving nearly in the same direction. The -process is natural enough. The results are more or less novel and -appalling. On the ridges gravitation is at work, and the ice moves -onwards in three directions: down the main axis of the ridge and -downwards on each side. In years of little snow, consequently, scores -of quadrangular masses of _névé_ and ice are left, on every side of -which are deep square-walled crevasses. Woe betide the party which -descends such a ridge without using the greatest care. Few men may have -experienced these conditions, but those who have will always retain a -lively memory of them. - -It is not necessary to repeat, to mountaineers, that most Englishmen -who have climbed in Norway return again and again, to a country which -has still much of the romance of exploration, and, for them, the -sympathetic interest of an historical connection with their racial -consciousness. I myself like to believe that we, who take our pleasures -on the mountains--and the more grisly these mountains are the better we -like them!--have inherited the passion from our ‘Norsk ancestry,’ who, -as we gather from an old Saga, indulged in the sport of cliff climbing -nearly one thousand years ago. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -THE SOUTHERN ALPS OF NEW ZEALAND - -BY MALCOLM ROSS - - -While distance lends enchantment, it also, not infrequently, presents -difficulties. The mountaineer, probably more than most people, -realizes this as, beside his winter fire in England, he sees through -the smoke-rings of evening pipes alluring visions of the pine-clad -Rockies, of the lonely Caucasus, of the giant Himalaya, of the high -Andes and of the far-distant Southern Alps. Most climbers are also -workers, and it is the time taken and the expense of the journey that -no doubt give them pause when they think of the distant ranges; but -more particularly of the Himalaya or the New Zealand Alps. In regard to -the latter, however, the expedition need not be an expensive one. The -return passage from London to New Zealand by the big direct liners is -not costly. - -[Sidenote: Routes, etc.] - -A good service is run by the New Zealand Shipping Company and the Shaw -Savill & Albion Company. The voyage out is by the Cape of Good Hope and -the return by Cape Horn. The return passages by the alternative and -more interesting route between London and Lyttelton cost £132 first -class and £75, 10s. second class. The British steamers on this route -belong to the P. & O. Company and the Orient Company. The passage -occupies about six weeks, but it can be shortened by a week by crossing -the English Channel, taking train across France and joining the steamer -at Marseilles. - -The advantage of this route is that we are often within sight of -interesting lands and call at quite a number of ports--Gibraltar, -Marseilles, Port Said, Suez, Aden, Ceylon, Perth, Adelaide, Melbourne -and Sydney. At the southern end of the journey time can be saved by -taking train from Adelaide to Melbourne, and thence a Union Company’s -steamer to the Bluff, which is the southernmost port in New Zealand. -The New Zealand steamers on this route may not, however, be considered -so good as those running from Sydney to Auckland or Wellington, and -the passage to the Bluff is generally a colder and more stormy one -than that from Sydney in the more northern latitude. Besides, Sydney, -with its charming harbour, is well worth seeing, and time can still -be saved by taking train right through from Adelaide to Sydney. Still -quicker though slightly more expensive routes are those across the -Atlantic via San Francisco or Vancouver. A change of scene is provided -by either of these routes, which avoid the heat of the Red Sea and the -cold of the more southern route taken by the direct steamers. Another -alternative would be to go East and return by the Western line, thus -circumnavigating the globe; and variations in the latter route can -be made by which Java, China and Japan can be visited. Yet a further -choice will be opened up with the completion of the Panama Canal. My -own preference would be to take a return ticket by P. & O. steamer -between Marseilles and Adelaide, travel by train from the latter port -to Sydney, and from Sydney proceed direct to Wellington, New Zealand, -by one of the Union Company’s steamers. At Wellington full particulars -regarding the charges _en route_ to Mount Cook and the cost of guides -and accommodation can be obtained from the Tourist Department or from -the writer of this chapter, who will willingly place at the disposal of -any climber any information and advice that he can give. - -[Sidenote: Local Conditions, Guides, etc.] - -At Mount Cook there is an accommodation house, under Government -control, and all charges are reasonable. The best guides are servants -of the Government. Their services, however, may not always be available -when most wanted, and a man will do better, if he can afford it and -desires it, to bring with him his own guide. - -The ideal party would be one of three first-rate amateurs, or two -amateurs and a good guide, used to both rock and ice work. It would -be practically independent of local assistance, and ready to seize -all opportunities of fine weather to do first-class climbs or new -expeditions. The local guides would willingly co-operate with or -advise such a party regarding local conditions, weather, routes, etc. - -The weather in New Zealand, as in all mountainous countries, plays an -important part in such expeditions, and the climber of high peaks will -be well advised to keep his eye on the dreaded north-wester, which -sweeps across the Pacific Ocean and assails the beetling crags and -snowy summits of the great range with a force and fury which it is -difficult successfully to combat. - -Our mountains, though not so high as those of the European Alps, are -practically the same height from a mountaineering point of view, -because in New Zealand the snowline is so much lower and the ranges -rise directly from lower elevations than they do in Switzerland. Our -alpine chain seems to be more heavily glaciated and the rocks more -friable than is the case in Europe. Our glaciers are certainly larger, -and the moraines upon and beside them such as to tax the patience if -not the endurance of the climber unused to them. The scenery is grand -from the purely alpine point of view, but one used to Swiss mountains -will miss the well-formed road, the fine hotels and the high mountain -hut, to say nothing of the mountain railway, which we must hope may -never become the vogue in New Zealand. - -On the west coast the scenery is more varied than on the east, because -of the forest that clothes the lower Alps; but the weather is wetter, -and the dense vegetation often a bar or at least a hindrance to the -attainment of a high bivouac. The difficulty is accentuated when one -has to carry one’s own tent and provisions on one’s own back, although -there is not nowadays the same difficulty in obtaining porters which -the pioneers had to put up with. Such huts as there are, are low down -in the valleys; and if new ground is to be broken, the expedition -should come provided with its own tents and sleeping-bags, and be -prepared often to spend the night under the more or less friendly -shelter of some detached rock. To the mountaineer, however, the -dispensing with such luxuries will only add to the joy of his new -climbs and tend to make him more fully appreciate the luxuries of -civilization when, with his peak in his pocket, he returns again to -the lower altitudes. From the technical point of view the climbing -is very much like what it is in Switzerland; but the strange climber -would always do well to remember that the dangers from avalanches -and falling rocks are not so accurately mapped out as they are in -ranges that have been climbed by several generations of experienced -mountaineers. - -While the new field will certainly prove fascinating from the climber’s -point of view, it is also worth remembering that it abounds in objects -of interest to the geologist, the botanist and the zoologist. The -glaciers are among the largest and most interesting in the world; the -flora is of the most diversified character; and the fauna, though -limited, is curious. - -[Sidenote: Topography and Structure.] - -Large as the glacier system is at the present day, it is small as -compared with the extent of the glaciers which descended far down -the plains in the Pleistocene period. The greatest accumulation of -ice and snow lies at the head of the Tasman and Murchison glaciers, -on the eastern side of the main range of the Alps. The Mueller, the -Hooker and the Godley glaciers, on the same side, are, however, -likewise of large extent; while on the western side of the Mount -Cook Range there are other glaciers of large size, one of which--the -Franz Josef glacier--descends to within about 600 feet of the sea, -and has beautiful tree-ferns, and a vegetation which appears almost -semi-tropical, growing within a few yards of its terminal face. - -One peculiar feature of the Southern Alps is the absence of any number -of low sub-alpine passes over the main range. The principal low passes -are the Haast Pass, leading from Lake Wanaka to the west coast; the -Hurunui Pass, dividing the sources of the river of that name; and -Arthur’s Pass, over 3000 feet high, across which the coach runs through -the wonderful scenery of the Otira Gorge to Hokitika and Greymouth. -The first point to be noticed in regard to the central chain is that -it does not present an unbroken line of watershed, but rather a series -of peaks and broken ridges, separated from each other by deep ravines, -and for the most part not easy of access. The clue to this system of -ravines and ridges is to be found in the fact that the Palæozoic rocks -forming the main range have been at a very early period subjected to -extensive pressure, the effect of which has been to crumple them up -into huge folds, the upper portions of which have been removed, leaving -the remaining portions of the strata standing up on edge, either in -a vertical position or at very steep inclinations. The strike of the -beds differs from the general direction of the dividing range by 33°. -The rule which has been found to prevail in other mountain chains of -similar formation appears also to hold good in the central chain--viz., -that the greatest amount of denudation has taken place along the -original ridges, which are now occupied by valleys, whilst the existing -peaks and ridges are on the sites of former depressions. - -The next feature to be noticed is the jointed structure of the rocks. -Although the joints cross each other in all directions, apparently -without order, there are two prevailing systems of joints which have -an important influence on the configuration of the surface. These -are: First, a system of vertical cross-joints at right angles to the -stratification, and running in unbroken lines for great distances, -with such regularity that they might easily be mistaken for planes -of stratification were it not for the frequent occurrence of beds of -trap-rock, the outcrop of which marks unmistakably the true bedding; -secondly, a system of joints, more or less inclined to the horizon, -not running in parallel planes, but arranged in a series of curves -radiating from a common centre. - -The effect of this system of jointing, combined with the strike of -the beds, or the direction of the axis of folding, is to produce -two distinct systems of valleys in the central chain, the direction -of which is very remarkable. The one radiates from a common centre, -situated about fifty miles north of Mount Darien, in the sea near -Cliffy Head. This system includes all the principal valleys from the -Teremakau on the north to the Makarora on the south, their direction -varying from N. 82° E. to S. 30° W., giving the idea that the country -has been starred, just as a mirror is starred by a violent blow. -To the other system belong the valleys of rivers and watercourses, -running either on the strike of the beds, or in the direction of the -cross-joints, or in a zigzag course, following alternately these -two directions and giving to the cliffs which bound these valleys -a peculiar rectangular appearance, resembling ruined masonry on a -gigantic scale. - -The western slope and part of the central chain consist of crystalline -rocks and metamorphic schists resting on a basis of granite, that -presents itself here and there to the view in the rugged bluffs and -declivities on the west coast. To the eastward of the crystalline -zone stratified sedimentary rocks appear, such as slates, sandstones, -conglomerates and indurated shales. These compose the greater part -of the eastern side of the central chain, exhibiting everywhere huge -foldings. The extensive development of limestones such as are peculiar -to the European Alps is totally lacking, and it is easily seen that -only the eastern half of a complete mountain system has been preserved, -while the western half is buried in the depth of the main. - -[Sidenote: Flora and Fauna.] - -At Mount Cook the botanist has a splendid field before him. The -alpine and sub-alpine flora is of the most beautiful and diversified -character, and to the traveller making his first visit from Australia -or the Northern Hemisphere it will also have the charm of novelty. -Among the shrubs there is considerable variety, and many of the bushes -are during the autumn laden with prettily coloured berries. Among the -larger trees a variety of beech is most prominent. The pretty green -foliage of the broadleaf is also conspicuous, and a number of the -Coniferæ. But it is probably among the herbaceous plants that the -botanist will delight most to linger. - -On Mount Torlesse, in the lower and more eastern range, Dr. von Haast, -during his early explorations, collected over two hundred flowering -plants, over thirty of which were new to science, and even in these -later years new discoveries are still being made. - -Splendid herds of red deer inhabit the heights and vales of the lesser -Alps, so that after the mountaineer has bagged his peaks he can change -his ice-axe for his rifle and bag a few fine heads as well. Recently -chamois have been successfully acclimatized in the Mount Cook region, -while elk and moose have been liberated in other localities. In the -rivers of both the North and the South Island there are fish that will -make the rods bend and the reels give to some purpose. - -The birds of the alpine and sub-alpine regions are especially -interesting. The kiwi and the kakapo, those strange flightless birds of -the South and West, will prove a novelty to the explorer from northern -climes; while the inquisitive friendly weka, with his rudimentary -wings, and the curious kea, who digs into the loins of the living sheep -with his powerful hooked beak to make a meal of the kidney fat, will -be a never-failing source of interest to the traveller, who will find -the former a thief and the latter rather a noisy companion whilst he is -endeavouring to seek repose in one or other of the iron-roofed mountain -huts. Wood-pigeons and a bush parrot known as the kaka are also to be -found, and, in unexplored country, may make a welcome addition to the -larder. A native thrush, two species of cuckoo that come down from the -equatorial islands, wrens and fly-catchers are also met with; while the -tui and the bell bird sometimes fill the woods with glorious song. In -a chapter on mountains there is not space to do them all justice; but -anyone who is specially interested in that strange bird, the kea, will -find his habits and his character more fully described in my recently -published book, _A Climber in New Zealand_. - -[Sidenote: Glaciers.] - -The following table, showing comparative sizes of the Canterbury or -east coast glaciers compiled by Mr. T. N. Brodrick of the New Zealand -Government Survey Department, will give some idea of the extent -of the glaciation and prove interesting to anyone contemplating a -mountaineering expedition to the Southern Alps: - - -TABLE SHOWING COMPARATIVE SIZES OF THE CANTERBURY GLACIERS - - +---------+--------+------------+---------+-----------+--------+---------+ - | Name. |Area of | Area of |Length of| Average |Greatest|Narrowest| - | |Glacier.|Country from| Glacier.| Width. | Width. | Width. | - | | |which Supply| | | | | - | | | of Ice is | | | | | - | | | drawn.[35] | | | | | - +---------+--------+------------+---------+-----------+--------+---------+ - | | Acres. | Acres. | Mls. Cs.|Mls. Cs. |Mls. Cs.|Mls. Cs.| - |Tasman |13,664 | 25,000 | 18 0| 1 15 | 2 14| 0 60| - |Murchison| 5,800 | 14,000 | 10 70| 0 66-7/10| 1 5| 0 42| - |Godley | 5,312 | 10,560 | 8 0| 1 3 | 1 55| 0 58| - |Mueller | 3,200 | 7,740 | 8 0| 0 50 | 0 61| 0 37| - |Hooker | 2,416 | 4,112 | 7 25| 0 41-3/10| 0 54| 0 30| - |Classen | 1,707 | 3,972 | 4 70| 0 43¾ | 0 73| 0 21| - +---------+--------+------------+---------+-----------+--------+---------+ - - -First-class mountains in the New Zealand Alps may be said to range in -height from 10,000 feet to 12,347 feet, which latter is the height -of Mount Cook. All the mountains of 10,000 feet and over have now -been climbed; but there is much interesting work yet to be done in -connection with new routes and high pinnacles and passes on the main -range, while there are still many untrodden peaks of the second class -scattered over a wide extent of explored and unexplored country. In -short, there is in New Zealand work for generations of climbers yet to -do. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[35] This is not the whole watershed, but only that portion on -which the _névé_ snow lies. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE PYRENEES - -BY CLAUDE ELLIOTT - - -The claims of the Pyrenees on the alpine climber have been set forth -with charm and vigour by Count Henry Russell and Mr. Packe, and yet -they remain singularly neglected. Possibly it is the very ardour of -their advocates that has betrayed their cause. For it is not as the -rival of the Alps, but as a preparatory training-ground for the Alps -or as a refuge from the cosmopolitan tourist, that the Pyrenees should -be regarded. Let it be said at once that as a climbing-ground pure -and simple there can be no comparison between the ranges. The biggest -peak in the Pyrenees has a height of 11,160 feet; their glaciers are -small--their total area is about 13 square miles--they do not flow down -into the valleys, but as a rule are as broad as they are long; and the -snowline is about 1000 feet higher than it is in Switzerland. The very -lack of snow and ice at once renders the ordinary routes up the larger -Pyrenean peaks infinitely more easy than the ordinary first-class -alpine ascent. - -Of course rock climbs of great difficulty can be found if search is -made for them, but the normal routes up the rock peaks of reputation, -such as the Fourcanade or the Pic du Midi d’Ossau, do not present -difficulties approaching those, say, of the Chamonix Aiguilles. - -The climbing on the whole resembles that of the western end of the -Oberland or of Tyrol. With some exceptions the angles are not steep, -the rock is inclined to be rotten, and the snow and ice work is easy. -The mountains possess, however, a peculiar charm of their own, which -is not nowadays to be found in the Alps, and is due to their solitude, -their wildness, their freedom from the works of man. And this very -desolation provides the Pyrenees with peculiar difficulties: there the -mountaineer will find himself almost completely alone; there are few -guides, few climbing parties, few huts, no good climbing centres, no -good maps, and seldom any detailed descriptions of routes. He will have -to be dependent on himself and himself only, and it is in this that -their appeal and their value lie. - -[Sidenote: General Topography and Structure.] - -The portion of the Pyrenees which will most interest the mountaineer is -that which lies between the Vallée d’Aspe immediately to the south of -Pau, on the west, and the Val d’Aran, immediately beyond Luchon, on the -east--a distance of some 70 miles. The structure is more complicated -than appears at first sight, because the biggest peaks do not lie on -the central frontier range, but on one side or the other, and because -the subsidiary ridges often join the main range at very acute angles. -The reason for this is that the lines of original folding lie at an -acute angle to the general direction of the chain; M. Schrader has -pointed out that “while the chain as a whole lies in the direction E. -9° S., this particular direction is not produced by a continuous line, -but by a series of oblique folds whose direction is about E. 30° S.” -The folds are of granite, schist or limestone, and thus provide a great -variety of rock work. - -The sketch overleaf only indicates _general_ topography. Starting at -the Vallée d’Aspe and proceeding eastwards, we find that the main -frontier range is comparatively low, while the higher peaks are thrown -out to the north, the chief being the Pic du Midi d’Ossau (9460 feet) -above the village of Gabas, a fine double-peaked mountain of rotten -granite and schist, the traverse of which makes an excellent climb. -The main range, however, still keeping its schistous character, soon -rises to over 10,000 feet in the Balaitous, which lies at the head of -the Val d’Azun and provides good climbing. After this it maintains its -high level, but it is overtopped by the Pic d’Enfer (10,200 feet), a -granite mass immediately to the south and above the Baths of Panticosa -in Spain. The frontier chain after passing the Pic d’Enfer culminates -in the Vignemale (10,800 feet), a schistous peak with a fine glacier, -and then bends south to the ice-covered limestone massif above the -Cirque de Gavarnie, comprising the Taillon (10,300 feet) and the -Marboré (10,600 feet), on the frontier, and Mount Perdu (10,900 feet) -immediately to the south. A little farther eastwards it throws out a -high rib, running into France and culminating in the Pic Long (10,400 -feet). Continuing along the main range we find that it maintains its -height, and though it never rises much above 10,000 feet it only twice -falls below 8000, and then only by a few feet, till it reaches the -Val d’Aran. The formation of this easterly portion is of granite, and -provides a quantity of good rock climbing. The highest mountains, -however, lie in two massifs on the Spanish side of this part of the -range. The most westerly of these contains the Pic des Posets (11,040 -feet), an interesting peak of granite and schist rising from an easy -glacier, and the other is the massif of the Maladetta, culminating in -the Pic de Néthou (11,160 feet), the highest summit of the Pyrenees, -on whose flank lies the largest glacier of the range. The two massifs -are separated from one another by the deep valley of the Esera, -where Venasque is situated, which can be reached easily from Luchon, -in France, by the mule-track over the Port de Venasque. Beyond the -Port the main range is cut across by the Val d’Aran, running roughly -west-north-west, which marks a line of geological folding. South of the -Val d’Aran and east of the Maladetta group lies the Montarto massif -(not to be confused with the Pic de Montarto d’Aran), a rocky ridge, -rising out of a snow field on the east resembling a small glacier, of -which the highest point is the Comolo Forno (_c._ 10,100 feet) and -the most striking the Pic de Bécibéri, some 100 feet lower. Farther -eastward and still south and east of the Val d’Aran, is an unusually -wild and complex region of granite peaks, averaging 9500 feet, and -innumerable small lakes, comprising the Cirques of Colomés, Sabouredo -and the Sierra de los Encantados. The main frontier chain starts again -beyond the Val d’Aran some miles to the northward, and though it still -remains high and still forms one of the most remarkable mountain -barriers in Europe, it contains no glacier and little perpetual snow, -and on the whole the mountains are less steep. So from a purely -technical point of view it is of comparatively small interest to the -climber. But there are few people who would not enjoy visiting it, both -because of the wildness and desolation of the country, and because -hidden away in its recesses is the principality of Andorra, which lies -immediately to the south of the watershed, some 40 miles beyond the Val -d’Aran, and accessible without great difficulty from the railway at Ax -in France. - -[Illustration: MAP OF PYRENEES] - -It will be seen from this brief description that the range is an -extended one, and that the larger peaks are far apart from one another. -Moreover, there are few towns among the mountains, and the higher -summits are separated from one another by difficult country. On the -French side there are a certain number of good roads connecting the -northward running valleys, but on the Spanish side there is often not -even the faintest of paths. Also from the Val d’Ossau to Ax, 150 miles -to the east, no large road actually crosses the main range, and even -footpaths across are surprisingly rare. It follows, then, that the -Pyrenees are not mountains for the climber who is fond of the comforts -of life. A tent or sleeping-bag is absolutely necessary for their real -appreciation. - -[Sidenote: Centres.] - -The only centres are Luchon and Gavarnie, but these are not good; -the climbing round them is limited, and would soon be exhausted by a -competent party, unless it were content with infinite small variations. -Gavarnie (5000 feet) is easily reached from Paris via Bordeaux, Dax and -Lourdes to Pierrefitte in under 24 hours; thence by a short electric -railway to Luz, and finally by 12 miles of excellent road. It contains -several good hotels, and in summer it is crowded with tourists. From -here a number of interesting peaks can be climbed direct. Immediately -to the south is the magnificent Cirque de Gavarnie, above which lies -the frontier ridge rising to the points of the Gabiétou (10,000 feet), -the Taillon (10,320 feet), the Casque, the Tour de Marboré (10,670 -feet) and the Pic d’Astazou. From the Marboré a still higher ridge runs -south-east, on which lie the Cylindre (10,900 feet), Mont Perdu (10,990 -feet) and the Soum de Ramond (10,760 feet). The frontier peaks may all -be climbed in a day from Gavarnie, and the energetic may traverse two -or even three of them in the day. - -The others also are not too far for a day’s excursion; but it may be -found preferable to sleep in the Cabane de Gaulis, on the flank of the -Perdu, or better still, to bivouac. - -Hanging on these peaks is a mass of _névé_ and broken glacier, allowing -difficult variations to be made on the usual routes, which are easy; -here alone, indeed, can glacier work of any difficulty be found. -For instance, a route has been made up the Perdu from the north, -which involves the ascent of an ice-fall. The rock work is not so -satisfactory, but some really hard and interesting ascents have been -made straight up these frontier peaks from the Cirque de Gavarnie. - -Farther to the east we find first the Cirque d’Estaubé, and then the -Cirque de Troumouse, facing north, and cut off from Gavarnie and from -each other by subsidiary ridges. - -Surrounding the Cirque d’Estaubé are ranged in order the Tuqueroye, the -Pic de Pinède and other peaks, providing some difficult rock routes, -and accessible in a day from Gavarnie. Above the Cirque de Troumouse is -an interesting rock ridge, of which the chief point is the Pic de la -Munia (10,300 feet). It is, however, rather far from Gavarnie, and many -people will prefer to spend the night at the small but expensive inn at -Héas before attacking it. - -From near the Munia a ridge runs due north to the Pic Long. This -mountain can be climbed by its glacier or by its sound granite rocks -in a long day from Gavarnie, or the night can first be spent at Gédre, -where also the inn is dear. - -To the west of Gavarnie lies the Vignemale, which is ascended by a -crevassed, but easy, glacier. Here again difficult climbing can be -found if search is made; for instance, it has been ascended by a very -difficult couloir on the north side. - -Luchon (2000 feet) is even more easily reached than Gavarnie. -Trains run direct from Paris via Toulouse and Montrejeau, and the -whole journey from London should take just over 24 hours. It is -altogether a larger town than Gavarnie, and is one of the fashionable -watering-places of the Pyrenees. It has some good if expensive shops. - -From here it is easy to attack the interesting granite peaks on the -main range. Running southward, a little to the west of Luchon, is the -Val d’Oo or d’Astau, enclosed by the Pic du Port d’Oo (10,300 feet), -the Perdighero (10,500 feet), the Crabioules (10,200 feet) and the -Quairat (10,000 feet). The ordinary routes up these can be accomplished -in a longish day from Luchon, and are quite easy according to alpine -standards. They may also be visited on the way to the Posets, which -lie immediately to the south. - -Immediately to the east of the Val d’Oo and nearer Luchon is the Vallée -de Lys, which is dominated by the Pic de Quairat, the Crabioules, the -Maupas (10,200 feet) and the Boum (10,000 feet), and the small glaciers -on their flanks. - -The ascents of these are again rather long from Luchon, but there is an -inn some 3½ hours up the valley where the night may be spent. - -Farther to the east, and running south-east from Luchon, is the Vallée -de la Pique, which leads up to the Port de Venasque. The mountains -round this valley are not so fine, and are mostly too easy to demand -attention. One exception is the Pic de la Pique (_c._ 8000 feet), a -small, sharp rock peak in the valley, with a great local reputation, -but not really of serious difficulty. - -These are the only peaks of interest in the immediate neighbourhood of -Luchon. But by crossing the Port de Venasque (7900 feet), or preferably -some more interesting col to the west, and sleeping out, the Maladetta -group can easily be climbed. This massif faces the Port de Venasque, -and consists of a somewhat amorphous base from which rise several -granite ridges and summits--the Pic d’Albe (10,700 feet) on the west, -then the Maladetta (10,800 feet) and the Néthou (11,160 feet), from -which flow two large glaciers, then the Pic de Salenques, the Pic -Moulières, and finally also the Fourcanade (9400 feet). At the foot -of the Glacier du Néthou is a hut called the Rencluse. Most people -would have preferred a bivouac to the old refuge there, but a new -building has just been opened, and the track thereto from the Port de -Venasque was in 1919 being marked with blazes of green paint (a unique -phenomenon in the Pyrenees, at all events on the Spanish side). - -The climbing on the Maladetta group is very easy on the whole. The -glaciers are simple, and the rock, though rotten, is easy. The -Fourcanade, a bold granite peak, more easily approached from Las Bordas -or Viella in the Val d’Aran than from Luchon, presents no difficulty -by the ordinary route from the south, but might afford some very -interesting fancy routes on the precipitous northern side. The best -climbing from Luchon lies on the main range, and the peaks here have -not been so thoroughly explored as those round Gavarnie; indeed there -is room for some most interesting new rock routes to be made. The -rock again is granite, and is much sounder than the limestone of the -Gavarnie peaks; and the main range provides some beautifully sound rock -arêtes. - -The mountains round Gavarnie and Luchon are not big, are grouped -closely together, and the ascent of more than one can often be made in -a moderately long day. Therefore a party which clings to civilization -will soon exhaust the more important routes and be driven back on -making minor variations. Yet there are no other centres worthy of the -name. Of course there are places such as Cauterets, or the Baths of -Panticosa in Spain, from which a few peaks can be ascended, but these -can hardly be called centres. It follows, then, that a party which -wishes for any quantity or variety of mountaineering proper must sleep -either in inns or huts or must camp out, and inns are so rare and huts -are so dirty that it will be forced to camp out if it is to see the -most attractive parts of the range. For it is precisely the wildness -and solitude of these parts, far from human habitation,--of the Posets, -for instance, or the Balaitous, or the region east of the Maladetta -group,--that mark off the Pyrenees from the Alps and give them a charm -that is all their own. The wise climber will abandon centres and inns -and move along the main range, sleeping out, climbing such peaks as -attract him, and occasionally visiting some high village for the sake -of renewing his food supplies. - -This is the only way in which to see and appreciate the Pyrenees, and -if the climber adopts it he will have to face problems very different -from those of the Alps. Though the ascents will be far easier than -those of first-class alpine peaks, yet the external help will be -infinitely smaller. He will find the country a primitive one, and if he -is to achieve success he must depend mainly on himself and little on -professional or artificial aid. - -[Sidenote: Guides.] - -In the first place, little help can be obtained locally. At Gavarnie -and Luchon there are a few capable men; but the majority of the class -called guides in the Pyrenees are guides rather in the old sense of -the word than in the newer sense of professional climbers. They are, -of course, competent to show the way over the mountains from one place -to another, and often even the easy routes up the peaks; sometimes -they are good rock climbers. But of actual mountaineering, as a rule -they know nothing. Most of them have little knowledge of snow craft or -of the use of the rope--which they are apt to regard as a danger to -themselves rather than as a safeguard to their party; and above all, -they have nothing of the high tradition of the alpine guide. A guided -party in the Pyrenees would save time below the snowline in getting -across country; but, provided they had a little experience of the Alps -and of English climbing, above the snowline they would usually be safer -alone. - -There is also in the more remote districts a class of men who offer -themselves as guides, but in whom it would be unwise to put any trust -for any purpose whatever, especially in the off season when the -mountains are more than usually desolate. - -Though brigandage is now extinct in the Pyrenees, there are still -persons who will seize any chance of returning to a modified form of -it. But even if we allow that some guides are better than others, the -Pyrenees remain essentially mountains for the guideless, and if the -climber takes a guide, he will lose half their charm while adding -little to his own safety or achievements. - -[Sidenote: Maps.] - -Again, in Switzerland, the climber rightly puts implicit confidence -in the accuracy of his maps even for minute detail. In the Pyrenees -he is unable to do so. There are three maps of importance, and none -of them approaches the excellence of the Siegfried map. The first is -that issued by the French Ministère de l’Intérieur, and published by -Hachette et Cie, in plain paper sheet. Its scale is small (1/100000), -it has no contour lines, it is rather indistinctly printed, it makes -little attempt to delineate accurately the higher mountains, and on -the Spanish side it gives no more than a general indication of the -geography of the country. - -The map of the État-Major de la Guerre, which is on a larger scale -(1/80000), formerly sold at 1 fr. 20 c. a sheet, is even worse; this -also is not a contour map, and it stops entirely at the frontier, and -leaves the Spanish side a complete blank. Its printing, moreover, is -blurred and indistinct. - -The third map is the most useful; it is drawn by M. Schrader, and -issued by the Club Alpin Français, in 6 sheets, and covers only the -High Pyrenees. It is absolutely essential for the Spanish side, and it -is best for the French side also. Its scale is only 1/100000, and it is -not quite so detailed as we might wish. But it gives the contours, and -it is clearly printed. Unfortunately most, if not all, of the sheets -are out of print and difficult to obtain. - -Finally, there is said to be a Spanish military map of the High -Pyrenees; whether it exists or not, it is unobtainable by the public. - -The defects of these maps are felt even more in the valleys than in the -high mountains. In climbing a peak in good weather comparatively little -help is needed from a map; but the configuration of the higher valleys -and gorges is such that for them a really good detailed map would be -invaluable. They are often narrow, steep and heavily wooded; paths are -few and very hard to find, or to keep to when found, and the existing -maps give little accurate indication of them. In consequence, it is -here that a guideless party has special difficulties, and these are -increased by the prevalence of the cirque formation. The upper valleys -are often cut into two parts by a horseshoe wall of rock, extending -right across them from one side to the other, and thus consist of an -upper and lower plane with a precipice between. In ascending a valley -it is usually not difficult to see an easy way up these cirques, but in -descending, when nothing can be seen between the immediate foreground -and the valley below, it is often hard to tell where the line of least -resistance lies. The map as a rule gives no clue, and a guideless party -may have to make several attempts to find a feasible route. Thus it is -really in the valleys, and especially in the Spanish valleys, where all -difficulties seem to be accentuated, that the lack of a good map is -most felt. - -There is, however, a prospect that soon we shall be better equipped -in this respect, as the publication of the Pyrenean sheets of the new -French 1/50000 map is expected in the course of the next few years, -and there is also talk of the issue of a 1/20000 map of the Gavarnie -peaks. The reproduction of the 1/40000 manuscript map, which forms -the basis of the 1/80000 État-Major map (France only), has also been -discussed. - -[Sidenote: Huts and Inns.] - -Another respect in which the Pyrenees will be found more primitive than -the Alps is in the absence of climbing huts. There are, indeed, huts in -the Pyrenees in certain numbers, but they are shepherds’ huts, built -of uncemented stones with no flooring, and as a rule so filthy that no -civilized person would use them unless driven to it by great stress -of weather. The majority of the huts marked on the maps are of this -nature, and as they are liable to fall to pieces from time to time, -here also the maps may become untrustworthy. (A special instance of -this is the Cabane de Turmes, under the Pic des Posets; this is marked -in the Schrader map, but has for some time ceased to exist.) There are, -however, a very few climbing huts proper, especially near Luchon and -Gavarnie, either kept by private individuals for profit, or erected by -the C.A.F. on alpine lines. - -Inns also are rarely to be found high up in the mountains; on the -French side they are more common than on the Spanish, and they are also -more likely to be good; in Spain they are sometimes fairly clean, but -always very primitive, with a peculiar style of cooking, involving a -lavish use of oil, which is extremely unpalatable to most Englishmen. - -Probably the best inn in the high valleys on the Spanish side, except -at the Baths of Panticosa, which are on a high road, is at the thermal -establishment and shrine of Caldas de Bolis. It may be useful to -mention this for those who wish to explore the region east of the -Maladetta, as it finds no place in Joanne’s guide. - -[Sidenote: Equipment.] - -In these circumstances, huts and inns being both few and bad, a tent or -a sleeping-bag is an absolute necessity in the Pyrenees. The latter is -preferable for a party which wishes to be as free as possible; a tent -is, of course, more comfortable, but it almost necessarily involves -the taking of a mule, and the party will be at once restricted in -its movements; the mule will be unable to traverse peaks, and more -especially it will be unable to cross a large number of low cols which -involve no serious climbing, but which would be too difficult for four -legs. This means that the party would be able to cross the main range -only at a few points, and in moving along the range it would often be -forced down into the lower valleys. Again, in bad weather sleeping-bags -are not such a disadvantage in the Pyrenees as elsewhere, for their -limestone and schist tend to weather into caves, and if a bivouac is -made near a cave or an overhang or a shepherds’ hut (and there will -generally be little difficulty about finding one of these), shelter can -at once be found in the event of storm. - -On the other hand, a party travelling without porters or mules and -sleeping out will find that it has a great weight to carry. The -sleeping-bags ought to be thick, as it will often be necessary -to bivouac at about 7000 feet, which is occasionally above the -tree-level, and warmth at night is worth a few extra pounds. Below -the tree-level it is easy to make a fire, but a large supply of wood -must be collected, and some wakefulness is required to prevent the -fire from going out in the small hours of the morning when the cold is -greatest. For cooking it is usually best to use an aluminium cooker -with methylated spirits. A large quantity of food must also be carried, -especially on the Spanish side, where a human habitation may not be -met with for four days on end. Occasionally a shepherd may be able to -provide some cheese, or a limb of an izzard, the Pyrenean chamois; but -a climbing party will have to rely mainly on the high villages for -supplies, and these are few and far between. The French villages are -more civilized, and will provide more luxurious food; but the Spanish -villages are more worth visiting, the people are kindly, and at least -the necessaries of life are obtainable. Usually they can provide -coffee, chickens, sardines, eggs and, of course, bread. But jam, -potted meats, compressed soups, etc., are better brought straight from -England, though they can be bought as a rule at the larger towns on -the French side. Chocolate is better bought on the French side, though -generally obtainable on the Spanish. It is curious that cows are rarely -kept in the high villages, and milk and butter are often unobtainable. -On the Spanish side most people will prefer to drink water, as the wine -has a peculiar taste; in France it is good, but rough. Streams, of -course, are plentiful in the mountains. The natives carry their liquor -in bags of goatskin, smooth on the outside and hairy inside; the hair -imparts a very goaty taste to the contents, so it is wise to add an -ordinary English metal water-bottle to one’s equipment. If one of the -party is a fisherman, it would probably pay to take a rod and line, as -many of the small lakes abound with trout. Some people carry with them -rope-soled shoes, alpargatas, which are used by the natives for walking -on the rough mule-paths and over grass. They are certainly light and -restful for one’s feet, but it is doubtful whether they are worth their -weight and bulk in one’s rucksack; for rock climbing they would be here -of doubtful use. - -The usual alpine clothing should be worn. - -The valleys are very hot in summer, but the temperature and weather in -the mountains are similar to those of Switzerland. - -It is important to remember that often civilization is several days -distant, and in consequence many extras must be taken. Most of these -must be brought from England, as it is impossible to obtain real -climbing equipment on the spot. It is quite essential to carry a -first-aid case, including a few simple medicines, extra pairs of -snow-glasses, an extra folding lantern, plenty of candles and matches, -string, waterproof bags--sponge-bags do very well--to protect matches, -maps, etc. A prismatic compass with a protractor and an aneroid will be -found very useful for ascertaining the exact position of the party. - -A passport should on no account be forgotten: the Customs officers and -frontier police give little serious trouble, but occasionally they -are apt to assert themselves, and in this case a passport has a most -soothing influence upon them. - -If no member of the party knows Spanish, a conversation book would be -of use. A small knowledge of French is essential, and in each Spanish -village there is usually some one who knows French and will act as -interpreter. Still, it would save some trouble to be able to talk a -little Spanish; since the war especially knowledge of French seems to -have become rarer at some of the more remote Spanish inns. English, of -course, is unknown except in the larger French towns. Basque would -only be of use in the country west of the Vallée d’Aspe, where the -range is lower. - -It is clear, then, that each member of a party ought to have a rucksack -of the largest size. His sleeping-bag, if he takes one, will fill most -of it, and the rest will be taken up by his extra clothes or his share -of food and equipment. In all, he will be carrying more than is usual -in the Alps (probably between 20 and 25 lb.), but not too much to -affect his enjoyment. - -It is possibly a wise precaution for a party, starting out of -condition, to hire a mule to convey their rucksacks--which will be at -their heaviest at the start--as far as the first bivouac. - -[Sidenote: Expense.] - -One great advantage of a holiday spent in the Pyrenees is its -cheapness. This is partially due to the fact that the climber will -spend much of his time either in camp or else in small mountain -inns, where the charges are quite moderate as a rule, the chief -exceptions being the inns round the tourist centres, which tend to be -extortionate. On the Spanish side the stranger ought to make a bargain -with his host, who expects it of him as a matter of course. This is -particularly necessary if the hire of a mule is in question. - -In addition, the journey from England is not expensive; the pre-war -return fare to any of the mountain termini ranged from £9 to £10 or £11 -first class, and from £7 to £8 second class. Existing rates are perhaps -30 per cent or 40 per cent higher. Guides, if they are used, are also -cheap, 10 to 15 francs a day with food was a normal wage before the -war, though they would often demand more. Most mountains near any -civilization have a fixed tariff; the bigger peaks as a rule run from -20 to 30 francs, with a few running to 40 francs (pre-war prices). Thus -a party accustomed to the Alps will be surprised at the cheapness of a -holiday spent in the Pyrenees, unless, indeed, it spends much time in -the centres on the French side. - -It is necessary to provide oneself with Spanish money for Spain. French -money is not accepted as a rule. If considerable loss over exchange is -to be avoided, it is desirable to obtain both French and Spanish notes -before leaving England. English money can be changed, at a price, in -the bigger French towns. - -[Sidenote: Literature.] - -Some knowledge of the literature of our mountains is almost essential -to the success of a climbing tour, and there is no lack of books and -articles on the subject. _Baedeker’s South-Western France_ is, of -course, good for the more civilized region, but makes no pretence at -being a mountaineer’s guide. Joanne’s _Pyrénées_ (Hachette et Cie, -1912, revised to 1914) is better, as it gives fairly detailed accounts -of the principal climbs, and contains a good general introduction. -Count Henry Russell’s _Grandes Ascensions des Pyrénées_ (Hachette, -1866) and _Souvenirs d’un Montagnard_ (Pau, 1888) are both of value; -they describe all the more important routes, but the style is emotional -rather than practical. Probably the climber will find Packe’s _Guide to -the Pyrenees_ (Longmans, 1867) of the greatest use; it is essentially -a mountaineer’s guide, and restricts itself to the region between the -Vallée d’Aspe and the Val d’Aran; its directions for climbing the -peaks are of a practical nature, and often give as much detail as is -necessary. Unfortunately it is out of print, and difficult to find. In -addition to these guides we have an account of two climbing holidays, -called _Through the High Pyrenees_ (Innes, 1898), by H. Spender and -H. Llewellyn Smith. This book gives a good picture of the country and -of the type of climbing, and it contains an excellent appendix on the -“Pyrenees as a Climbing Centre,” and an extremely useful bibliography, -including a full list of the many papers on Pyrenean climbing to be -found in past numbers of the _Alpine Journal_ and the _Annuaire_ of the -C.A.F. It is in these journals, and especially in the latter, that the -more difficult modern routes, accomplished since the publication of -Packe’s guide, are recorded, and here we have a ready means of knowing -in which volume to find them. Finally, Belloc’s _Pyrenees_ makes -interesting reading, but it is of more value to the walker than to the -climber, and it contains some imaginative detail. - - * * * * * - -From this short account it will be seen that the Pyrenees make no -appeal to climbers who are only content with long and arduous peaks and -difficult ice-work, or to those who prefer to climb from a comfortable -hotel or a clean hut and who dislike attending in person to the -troublesome details of bivouacking and cooking. But to the climber of -moderate ambitions, who is weary of the clatter of Swiss hotels or the -picnic-parties on Swiss peaks, there are no near mountains which offer -so attractive a refuge. The novice, also, who has spent a few summers -behind guides in the Alps will discover that one season of guideless -climbing in the Pyrenees will infinitely increase his knowledge of -mountaineering in the larger sense of the word; he will have experience -of route-finding both in the valleys and on rock and glacier, of -step-cutting, of using aneroid and compass and of camping, and he will -return to the greater peaks with a heightened capacity for appreciating -the mountains and their craft. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS - -BY A. L. MUMM - - -[Sidenote: General Topography.] - -The Rocky Mountains form the backbone of the North-American Continent, -and the Canadian Rockies extend from the United States frontier in a -north-westerly direction for some hundreds of miles. Of the regions -which are of interest to mountaineers, the northern limit is marked -by Mount Sir Alexander, a peak which rises a few miles to the west of -the continental divide or watershed, a little over 400 miles, as the -crow flies (_very_ roughly speaking), from the frontier, and from 60 to -80 miles beyond Mount Robson. The country situated between these two -mountains is full of interest for explorers and climbers, but is at -present very imperfectly known and mapped. From Mount Robson southward -we possess mountaineering knowledge which is extensive, but not quite -continuous and far from complete, as far as Mount Assiniboine, a -distance in a direct line of about 200 miles (another rough estimate). -Till quite recently nothing of alpine or mountaineering interest was -known to exist in the main chain of the Canadian Rockies south of -Mount Assiniboine, but, in the course of an official survey of the -watershed between Kicking Horse Pass and the frontier (1913-16), no -less than four groups of mountains, clad in snow fields and glaciers, -and containing three peaks of over 11,000 feet, were discovered. No -climbing has as yet been attempted on any of them. They extend for -about 40 miles beyond the Assiniboine group.[36] - -The continental watershed pursues a very tortuous and irregular course, -and is probably at least half as long again as the ‘air-line’ length -of the range. East of the watershed the mountain region extends for -a comparatively short distance and ends with remarkable abruptness. -Through much of its length there is a succession of minor groups -and ranges situated close to the main chain, but separated from it -by the upper valleys of the great rivers, which show a striking -tendency to run parallel to it. These possess some extensive snow -fields and considerable glaciers, and will probably receive attention -from climbers in the near future, but very little is known of them -at present. Beyond them is a belt of mountains, not attaining to the -snow-level but often rocky and bold in outline, which reaches to -the edge of the great central plain, and presents to the traveller -approaching it by the railway the appearance of a solid impenetrable -wall. There are no snow fields or glaciers in this outer belt so far -as I am aware. (It may be as well to say here once for all that this -qualification is often unavoidable in dealing with an area so extensive -and little known as the mountain region of Canada; it is impossible -to give any information at all without putting forward as probable -statements which may turn out to be erroneous.) To the west of the -watershed, on the other hand, the country is continuously mountainous -all the way to the Pacific Coast, three hundred miles away, and there -are several ranges, alpine in size and character, standing quite apart -from and independent of the main chain. Of these the Selkirks, an -immense mountain system, enclosed by the great loops of the Columbia -and Kootenay Rivers, are by far the largest and most important. - -The outstanding feature of all this region is that till quite modern -times it was entirely uninhabited, and for the most part still remains -so. Indians in old days came up into the mountains to hunt, and to some -extent for purposes of trade, but they did not live among them. Two or -three outposts of the Hudson Bay Company, long since abandoned, were -the only permanent human habitations. This differentiates mountain -travel in Canada in many ways--as soon as the immediate neighbourhood -of the railway is left--from mountain travel in the Caucasus or the -Himalaya, particularly with respect to food supplies, roads and -methods of transport. In the high mountain region the railways have had -little or no effect on the character of the country, except within a -few miles of the line. - -The Rockies are now accessible by two lines of railway. Of these -the Grand Trunk Pacific was completed early in 1914. It enters the -mountains by the valley of the Athabasca River, and at the point where -it leaves the Athabasca to ascend to the Yellowhead Pass (17 miles -away) stands Jasper, destined to become a tourist centre, to which we -shall return later. The other line, the Canadian Pacific, which has -been in existence more than thirty years, crosses the main chain at the -Kicking Horse Pass, and then, after descending into the deep trench of -the Columbia River, passes through the very heart of the Selkirk Range. -Climbing has now been carried on continuously and systematically for -nearly thirty years among the mountains adjacent to this railway both -in the main chain and in the Selkirks. It will be convenient to deal -at once with the region here indicated, which will be referred to as -the C.P.R. district. It is the only region where at the present moment -conditions prevail at all resembling those of the European Alps, and -climbing within its limits is quite a different affair from climbing -elsewhere in Canada. - -A climber wishing to see something of the mountains of Canada, who has -not ample time at his disposal after arriving among them--I should be -inclined to say _at the very least_ a month--would be well advised to -confine himself to the C.P.R. district, making, perhaps, one short -trip of the kind mentioned below. He would find enough, and more than -enough, to occupy him. - -[Sidenote: The ‘C.P.R.’ District.] - -Taking the main chain first, the extent of the C.P.R. district may be -taken to be the area dealt with in _Baedeker’s Canada_ (1907), which -contains about ten pages packed with accurate and highly condensed -information. The alpine particulars given are mainly based on chapters -i. to ix. of _In the Heart of the Canadian Rockies_, by the Rev. -Sir James Outram, who has been over almost the whole district and -has supplemented his own experiences by copious extracts from the -original narratives of Dr. Collie, Mr. Wilcox, and the members of the -Appalachian Mountain Club.[37] - -The railway enters the mountains from the east by the valley of the -Bow River, the principal constituent of the _South_ Saskatchewan, and -soon afterwards arrives at Banff. The excellent C.P.R. Banff Springs -Hotel is the most frequented place in the Rockies; but Banff itself is -not a mountaineering centre, though Dr. Collie discovered a good rock -climb in the neighbourhood on Mount Edith, and doubtless others might -be found.[38] It is, however, of interest to climbers as the site of -the Club House of the Alpine Club of Canada (of which more anon), and -as the starting-point for Mount Assiniboine. This peak is the highest -to the south of the railway, and its ascent is a very fine expedition. -Given favourable conditions it can be reached and climbed, and the -return journey to Banff completed, within six days. This involves -travelling with a camp outfit and pack-horses; but it would be well -worth while for a climber visiting Canada for the first time to make -one such trip (and this one is probably the most repaying), for, -besides being pleasant and interesting in itself, it would give him -much useful experience in case he contemplated returning another year, -and making a more extended journey off the beaten track. - -Soon after leaving Banff, the valley of the Bow River runs parallel -with the main chain, passing Storm Mountain and Mount Ball, which can -be reached via the Vermilion Pass in two days from Banff.[39] - -Thirty-five miles beyond Banff is Laggan, where the railway leaves -the Bow River, and ascends by Bath Creek to the Kicking Horse Pass. -Laggan[40] is the station for Lake Louise, where there is another -first-class C.P.R. hotel (3 miles from the railway), the principal -centre for the mountains on the south side of the line. Several -of these can be climbed from the hotel itself; and there may be a -permanent summer camp for the use of climbers in the valley of the Ten -Peaks. If not, it is easy to have a tent, provisions, etc., sent there -from the hotel.[41] A similar arrangement could be made either at Lake -Louise or Field for a camp at Lake O’Hara, and this would bring within -easy reach all the other peaks which deserve attention, except those of -the Ottertail Range. - -The last-mentioned group is best attacked from Field, 16 miles beyond -Laggan and 8 miles to the west of the Kicking Horse Pass, where there -is another C.P.R. hotel, the Mount Stephen House, the best centre -for visiting the mountains on the north side of the railway. Besides -the hotel at Field there are a chalet hotel on Emerald Lake and two -permanent summer camps, one at the Takakkaw Falls; the other, Camp -Warren, I have not been able to locate. It is, of course, also possible -to approach the mountains of the Waputik Range by making a short trip -up the Bow River, but the Yoho and Emerald Valleys seem to be more -attractive. From the climber’s point of view these mountains are -distinctly inferior in interest to those on the south side of the line, -and the same may be said of Mount Hector, the highest summit between -the Bow and Pipestone Valleys. East of the Pipestone the mountains of -the Ptarmigan Lake district, just opposite Laggan, should be worth a -visit.[42] - -The best general map that I can discover of this part of the C.P.R. -district is the southern sheet of a map of “The Rocky Mountains between -lat. 51° and lat. 53°,” published by the Department of the Interior. -Unfortunately, it comes to an end four or five miles short of Mount -Assiniboine. The part of it which is material for present purposes -is given in a pamphlet issued by the C.P.R. Company, entitled _The -Challenge of the Mountains_. The scale is 4 miles to an inch. The -large-scale maps accompanying the Report mentioned on p. 572 show -the mountains actually forming the watershed (and this includes the -Assiniboine group) southward from Vulture Col and Mount Gordon in the -Waputik Range. - -Coming now to the Selkirks, Glacier House (about 90 miles by rail -beyond Field and 3 miles beyond Rogers - -Pass, where the line crosses the crest of the range), is probably -the best of the centres of the C.P.R. district, in so far that the -largest number of expeditions can be carried out from the hotel itself, -or with only one night out. In this respect Glacier House has very -few rivals even in Switzerland. _Baedeker_ gives a short summary of -these expeditions and an excellent little map of the mountains, which -literally surround the hotel. - -[Sidenote: The Selkirks.] - -But much more than _Baedeker_ is available. Besides Mr. Palmer’s -exhaustive book (of which more presently), no visitor to the Selkirks -should omit to secure a copy of Mr. A. O. Wheeler’s _Selkirk Range_ -and the accompanying map in four large sheets, which covers a large -portion of the range on a scale of practically 1 mile to an inch. The -topographical information secured by Mr. Wheeler during his survey -is embodied in the form of a Climbers’ Guide in chapter ii. of _The -Selkirk Mountains, a Guide for Mountain Pilgrims and Climbers_, where -very full particulars are given as to the number of days and nights -required for each expedition, whether pack-horses are available, etc. -Huts or cabins are mentioned at Rogers Pass and the Caves of Cheops. -There seem to be no huts or summer camps south of the railway, and it -must be borne in mind that pack-horses cannot be taken southward into -the mountains direct from Glacier House.[43] - -The limits in the Selkirks of the C.P.R. district can be easily grasped -by examining together the map in _Baedeker_ and that in the Climbers’ -Guide (difficult to read, but useful as showing at a glance the area -comprised in Mr. Wheeler’s large maps). It will be seen at once that -the latter covers a wider area, and in particular has a large extension -to the west and south-west, reaching even beyond the Columbia River to -the Gold Range--a quite independent group. This extension seems to come -well within the C.P.R. district: one or two of the expeditions in it -can be taken from Glacier House; the remainder are treated in chapter -vi. of the Guide in connection with Revelstoke, which accordingly must -be added to the list of C.P.R. centres. Since the publication of the -Guide fine climbing has been accomplished on Mount Moloch and other -peaks reached by the north branch of the Illecillewaet River.[44] The -extension of Mr. Wheeler’s map to the north is unimportant; the notices -in the Guide of Mountain Creek and Mount Pearce are not encouraging, -and, so far as Glacier House is concerned, the crest of the Hermit -Range forms the limit of ordinary mountaineering in this direction. -To the south, on the other hand, both maps extend to regions which -can only be reached by a journey of some days, and several of the -expeditions described in the Guide clearly lie outside the category -now under consideration. No hard-and-fast line can be drawn, and the -traveller must use his own judgment; only, if he is at all tied as to -time, let him bear in mind that estimates of a journey’s length by -little-trodden trails are necessarily very rough, and that what is -called a week’s trip may easily turn out to require two or three days -less _or more_. - -[Sidenote: Guides and Equipment.] - -Swiss guides, to the number of six or eight, are imported every summer -by the C.P.R. Company, and endeavours are being made to induce some of -them to settle permanently at Edelweiss, near Golden, on the Columbia. -They are distributed during the season among the four or five centres -which have been mentioned. Anyone desiring their services, the charge -for which is (or used to be) $5 per day, should communicate as early as -possible with the hotel from which he intends to climb. A mountaineer -arriving in the C.P.R. district with his ordinary Swiss outfit could -thus enjoy plenty of climbing without any special preparations. Even -ropes and ice-axes are supplied at Glacier House, and, probably, at -the other centres also. The Hudson Bay Company’s excellent blankets -can be procured at Banff, and for a single odd night out bedding could -probably be borrowed. - -There is also plenty of scope for guideless climbing. Some of the -expeditions are undoubtedly difficult, and only suitable for an -exceptionally strong unguided party; but three reasonably experienced -amateurs could accomplish a great deal. As compared with the main -chain, the Selkirks offer more snow and ice work and less rock work, -and there seem to be more climbs of only moderate difficulty than -in the Rockies on the south side of the railway. (For a general -comparison of the Selkirks with the Rockies, see Palmer, op. cit. pp. -3-10.) - -[Sidenote: The Northern Selkirks.] - -Turning now to remoter and less known ground in the Selkirks, to the -north of the railway, beyond the Hermit and Clach na Cooden Ranges, a -very considerable mountain area is enclosed in the Great Bend of the -Columbia River. Pack-horses cannot be used in it effectively, and the -conditions of travel are exceptional and extremely difficult; but a -large part of it, probably the most interesting part, was explored with -extraordinary perseverance by Mr. Howard Palmer’s party from 1908 to -1912. Only in the latter year, on their fifth visit, did they succeed -in attaining the summit of Mount Sir Sandford, the monarch of the -region. For further information the reader is referred to part iii. of -Mr. Palmer’s _Mountaineering and Exploration in the Selkirks_. Part -ii. of this fascinating book is equally valuable as a guide to the -mountains immediately south of Glacier House, which have already been -noticed. Beyond these a still more extensive region remains to be dealt -with. - -It will have been noticed that Mr. Wheeler’s map, breaking off abruptly -along most of its southern margin in the very middle of untrodden snow -fields, is itself a challenge to further exploration. His work has -been carried a short distance further by the ascents of Mount Beaver -and Mount Duncan, and some climbs in the Battle Range, but the regions -beyond are still, so far as I am aware, a _terra incognita_, and I -am quite unable to say how much further the southern portion of the -Selkirks proper continues its alpine character. - -[Sidenote: The Purcell Range.] - -Between this southern portion and the main chain of the Rockies is -another large mountainous tract forming part of the Selkirks system and -known as the Purcell Range, comprising the Dogtooth, Spillimacheen and -South Purcell Ranges. A rough idea of its extent and situation may be -obtained from the sketch map accompanying Dr. Longstaff’s paper in the -_Canadian Alpine Journal_,[45] bearing in mind that Mounts Beaver and -Duncan rise close to the watershed between the two rivers which also -bear those names. - -The Dogtooth Range appears to be sub-alpine, and is disposed of in -chapter v. of the Guide; but from the Beaver-Duncan divide to the -neighbourhood of Wells Pass there is a continuous stretch of alpine -country, which rivals in height, beauty and general interest the main -Selkirk Range itself. The Spillimacheen Range has as yet hardly been -touched, but south of Bugaboo Pass a series of energetic campaigns -have, since 1910, been carried on from the Upper Columbia Valley. The -district is far from being an ‘exhausted’ one, but the remarkable group -of mountains situated between Horse Thief Creek and Toby Creek has been -thoroughly explored and mapped.[46] - -[Sidenote: Some Minor Ranges.] - -It has been said that the range rapidly loses its interest to the south -of Wells Pass, but it is rash to make such a statement in Canada, where -the alpine area is being continually enlarged by fresh discoveries so -rapidly that it is difficult to keep pace with them. In illustration -of this, reference may here be made to an entirely unexpected alpine -region found in 1912 in Vancouver Island, and to Dr. A. P. Coleman’s -recent explorations in the Torngats (Labrador) on the other side of the -continent.[47] - -Another outlying district which deserves mention, though not so recent -a discovery, is the Garibaldi Range, near Vancouver City.[48] - -[Sidenote: The Main Chain from Laggan to Jasper.] - -Returning now to the main chain, there is nothing to be added, so far -as the south side of the C.P.R. is concerned, to what has been already -said. There remains the main chain to the north, which falls naturally -into two sections--that lying beyond the G.T.P. railway, and that -situated between the two railways, the largest, and in many respects -the most interesting, of all the areas with which we have to deal. This -section, or rather that part of it lying south of the Athabasca Pass, -was divided by Dr. Norman Collie[49] into four main groups: (1) The -Balfour (or Waputik) group, between the Kicking Horse Pass and Howse -Pass; (2) the Forbes group, between Howse Pass and Thompson Pass, 30 -miles farther north; (3) the Columbia group, extending over the 35 -miles from Thompson Pass to Fortress Lake Pass; (4) the Mount Hooker -group, between the Fortress Lake Pass and the Athabasca Pass, 25 miles -farther. Sir J. Outram’s divisions and subdivisions,[50] so far as they -are carried, practically coincide with those of Dr. Collie. To these -must now be added a fifth group, the mountains between the Athabasca -and Yellowhead Passes, which may be called the Edith Cavell group. -As far as the Athabasca Pass the range has a very definite western -boundary consisting of the great trench of the Columbia River, and -it is this portion of it which Sir J. Outram refers to when he says -the Rockies are 60 miles in breadth. At the Athabasca Pass the range -connects with the mass of mountains that separate the Columbia and -Fraser River basins, and from this point northward no precise statement -as to the breadth of the chain is possible. - -Of the groups above mentioned the first falls within the C.P.R. -district, and has been already dealt with; the second and third were -the scene of much climbing and exploration from 1898 to 1902, in which -the leading part was played by Dr. Collie. He and Mr. Stutfield have -described his three expeditions in _Climbs and Exploration in the -Canadian Rockies_, one of the Alpine classics of Canada. The whole of -this exploratory work is well summarized in the second half (chapters -x.-xv.) of Sir J. Outram’s book. Since that time the energies of -pioneers have been diverted in other directions, and few, if any, -additions have been made to our knowledge of the region.[51] The -credit of having mapped it belongs to Dr. Collie; all subsequent maps -are based on his; the only extensions of importance are due to Dr. A. -P. Coleman.[52] A study of the records will show that there is still -plenty of scope for exploration in groups 3 and 4, and if first ascents -are not the principal object, groups 2, 3 and 4 probably offer as fine -a field for climbing as any district in Canada. - -Attempts have been made to approach the crest of the range from the -west by the lateral valleys descending to the Columbia River, but the -travelling proved to be exceptionally bad even for the Rockies, and -this line of attack is only mentioned to be dismissed. The explorations -above mentioned were carried on wholly on the eastern side of the -range, and the route generally followed holds so important a place in -mountaineering geography that it must be described in some detail. -Starting from Laggan, it ascends the valley of the Bow River, running -parallel to the Waputik Range, to the Bow Pass. Thence it descends into -the basin of the North Saskatchewan by the south branch of that river -(also called Bear Creek, and, more rarely, the Mistaya River), and -leaves it again by the north branch. Both these streams, as their names -suggest, also run parallel to the main chain. At the head of the north -branch the Wilcox Pass leads to the valley of the Athabasca, which -also runs nearly due north, and is followed till the G.T.P. Railway -is reached at Jasper. The ‘air line’ from Laggan to Jasper is just -130 miles, and a good idea of the scale and character of the journey -may be formed by comparing it with that from Chur to Martigny, which -are almost precisely the same distance apart. Starting from Chur, the -Vorderrhein represents the Upper Bow, and the Oberalp the Bow Pass. -The Reuss corresponds to the North Saskatchewan, the Furca to Wilcox -Pass, and the Rhone to the Athabasca. In each case the main chain is -on the traveller’s left hand, while other ranges of varying size and -importance rise on his right, though, unfortunately, the Rockies have -nothing comparable to the Bernese Oberland. Of course there is no -correspondence, in point of distance, between the intervening points. -Very roughly speaking, it is 70 miles to Wilcox Pass, the valleys of -the Upper Bow and the two branches of the Saskatchewan being each a -little over 20 miles in length, while it is about 60 miles from Wilcox -Pass to Jasper. The early explorers all started from Laggan, and -only one of them, Dr. Coleman,[53] followed the route here described -throughout its whole length. It is scarcely necessary to point out -how enormously its importance and value have been enhanced by the -construction of the second line of railway. - -The groups mentioned above are progressively more imperfectly known as -one moves farther north, mainly owing to the difficulty of time and -the necessity which formerly existed of a long return journey. The -mountains north of Wilcox Pass can now be much more rapidly and easily -reached from Jasper. Those which enclose the Whirlpool River are still -almost untouched, and would well repay a prolonged visit. The best -line of attack for those on the left bank (the fifth or Edith Cavell -group) would probably be found by going through the depression to the -west of Mount Edith Cavell. The ascent from the Whirlpool trail to it -is steep, but a good packer could get horses up it. Mount Edith Cavell -was approached by this route and climbed by Mr. E. D. Holway in 1915. -Some of the mountains to the west of the depression look difficult.[54] -On the opposite side of the Whirlpool, which in its ordinary condition -is fordable here, a large valley running deeply into the mountains on -the right bank looks well adapted to facilitate the exploration of the -blank space on Dr. Coleman’s map between the Whirlpool and Wood Rivers; -horses could probably be taken up it. The starting-point for this -valley or for the Edith Cavell depression can be reached in three days -from Jasper.[55] - -Close to the Yellowhead Pass, Mount Fitzwilliam, a prominent rock peak, -must be of exceptional interest as a view-point, and may be a good -climb as well. - -[Sidenote: The Groups East of the Main Chain.] - -Of the groups situated to the east of the main chain, the one between -the Bow and Saskatchewan Rivers can be traversed by the Pipestone Creek -and Pass and Siffleur Creek. This route, which reaches the Saskatchewan -a few miles below the confluence of its north and south branches, was -several times used as an alternative to that by the Bow Pass; and there -are transverse passes from the Upper Bow Valley to both the Pipestone -and the Siffleur Creeks, but the early explorers seem to have found no -great inducements to linger in this region.[56] - -A much larger block of mountains is that which separates the -Saskatchewan from the Athabasca, and gives rise to its important -tributary, the Brazeau; its southern portion was crossed in three or -four directions by Dr. Coleman,[57] who is the only authority on it -that I have come across. In the northern portion, between Mount Brazeau -and the Athabasca, is Maligne Lake, reached in 1908 by Mrs. Schæffer’s -party,[58] the first white visitors, via Poboktan Creek, and probably -also accessible by a pass nearly opposite the mouth of the Whirlpool -Valley. The few people who have visited Maligne Lake are remarkably -enthusiastic about it, and, judging from photographs, the peaks round -its head should prove very interesting to climbers. Much more is likely -to be heard of them in the near future, as the lower end of the lake is -only fifteen miles from Jasper by the valley--hitherto impassable for -horses--of the Maligne River, up which a trail will certainly be made -very shortly, if it has not been already completed, and the results of -further investigation will have an important effect on the reputation -of Jasper as a centre. - -[Sidenote: The Main Chain North of the G.T.P.] - -We now come to the mountains north of the G.T.P. Railway, which spread -over an extensive and indefinite area, of which our present knowledge -may be described as considerable but patchy. Mount Robson, the magnet -which first drew explorers here in the pre-railway days, is, and must -remain, the principal centre of interest. It is the great alpine asset -of the G.T.P., and an hotel will probably soon arise somewhere near -Mount Robson Station, opposite the mouth of the Grand Forks River, a -tributary of the Fraser. Up the Grand Forks Valley the base of its -western face--the best line of ascent--can now be reached in a long -half-day, by rail and trail, from Jasper. Very full information with -regard to this great peak, the highest in the Canadian Rockies, and its -satellites and surroundings, is now available, but it would take too -long to deal with it here.[59] Swift Current Creek and two or three -other valleys descending into the Fraser below the Grand Forks were -visited by Mr. Holway in 1915 and 1916; he reports: “A wonderful field -for exploration, especially in the big bend of the Fraser.” The same -energetic explorer paid a brief visit in 1916 to the Cariboo Range, -on the other side of the Fraser, probably the most important of the -independent minor ranges.[60] - -The main watershed immediately to the north of Mount Robson (Robson -Pass) consists of a long flat plain, so level that the water issuing -from the Robson Glacier flows both ways. All climbing hitherto has -been done from camps on this plain, which was formerly inaccessible, -except by actual climbing, from the much lower Grand Forks Valley, -and attainable only by a roundabout route from the east via the Moose -River and Pass. It can now be reached via the Grand Forks by a trail -engineered in 1913, in seven or eight hours from Mount Robson Station. -If an ascent of Mount Robson itself be the sole object, it would -probably be the quickest way--as above suggested--to go up to a bivouac -direct from the Grand Forks Valley; but the higher camping-ground on -the divide is much the best centre for exploring the neighbourhood -generally. The round trip by the Moose River route is also worth making -for its own sake, especially if time permits of some climbing being -done on the way. There are interesting expeditions to be made near the -Moose Pass: Resplendent Valley, at the head of the West Fork of the -Moose River, is well worth a visit, and, though the actual line of the -divide has been laid down by Mr. Wheeler, there is still exploratory -work to be done among the mountains between the East Fork and Grant -Creek. - -For the whole of this region Mr. Wheeler’s map[61] is indispensable. -The mountains facing Mount Robson _immediately_ on the other side of -the level plain above mentioned have all been climbed, but behind these -there is a remarkable region which is still very little known. The -range duplicates itself in a curious way difficult to explain on paper, -enclosing a low plateau, along which, strange to say, the main divide -seems to run. On the eastern side of the plateau is the Chown group, -first visited by Dr. Collie’s party in 1911.[62] Our further knowledge -of the country in this direction is mainly due to Donald Phillips, who -has made a rough sketch-map extending considerably farther north,[63] -and conducted three expeditions farther still, through very difficult -country, to Mount Sir Alexander[64] and Jarvis Pass. This is the -farthest north yet reached by climbers. Whether there are any alpine -regions beyond it is, I believe, quite uncertain. - -North of the Yellowhead Pass there are no blocks of mountains to -the east of the main chain, and definitely separated from it, of a -character at all comparable to those found between the G.T.P. and -the C.P.R.; but there is a considerable area lying just outside the -limits of Mr. Wheeler’s map, and shown as a blank on Dr. Collie’s -map, closely connected with the divide itself, which would certainly -repay farther exploration, and is within fairly easy reach of Jasper. -There are three possible lines of attack: First it may be possible to -approach it from the west, by the Miette River; secondly, there is the -valley of the Snaring River, which joins the Athabasca a few miles -below Jasper: whatever else he may find there, all the charm of the -unexpected awaits the first visitor to its mysterious upper basin. It -is said to be very difficult, if not impossible, of access, but the -attempt would be well worth making. Anyone contemplating it should, -before starting, make the ascent of Pyramid Peak at the head of Jasper -Lake, and carefully note what he sees from there. Lastly, there is -the much larger Stony River,[65] which enters the Athabasca below -Jasper Lake, and should provide a happy hunting-ground to a climber -with topographical inclinations. The southern branch already referred -to calls most urgently for attention, but higher up the main valley -several fine glaciers offer tempting roads to the skyline. A pass at -the head of the main Stony leads to the Smoky River, which it strikes -just opposite the Chown group, and thus supplies an attractive though -lengthy alternative route to the Robson region. There are some wild -and striking rock peaks on the right hand of the traveller crossing -this pass from Jasper, but apart from these, there is nothing beyond -the Stony River of any interest to a climber. - -An attempt on that remarkable mountain, the Roche Miette, is recorded -in the _Canadian Alpine Journal_, ix. 141. - -[Sidenote: Modes and Manners of Travel.] - -Travel away from the railway, as has already been indicated, means -travelling with a camp outfit and a pack-train. The business of -‘packing’ is a highly organized one, and it is a vocation which, in -untrodden country at least, makes as severe demands as that of a guide, -and more varied in character, on the courage and resourcefulness -of those who follow it. The packers, indeed, hold a position which -presents many analogies to that of guides in the Alps, and a first-rate -packer, like a first-rate guide, is a treasure beyond all price. It -may be as well to mention here, for the benefit of those who have not -visited the Rockies, that they are a very independent set of men, and -that the social distinctions which are universally taken for granted in -Europe simply do not exist for them. The sooner and more completely the -traveller can get himself into the same mental attitude on this point, -the more pleasantly will he fare. He will also discover, if he keeps -his eyes and ears open, that there is a very well-defined, unwritten -code of camp manners, of which the outstanding rules are: Never -grumble; never be impatient; never tell anybody to do anything, always -ask him. - -The usual way of making arrangements with a packer is to inform him, -as long as possible beforehand, of the number of the party and the -proposed duration of the trip. He then takes charge of everything, -providing saddle-horses, pack-horses, tents, cooking equipment, -provisions, etc., for a fixed sum per day: the only thing which -the traveller is expected to provide is his bedding. In the C.P.R. -district packing is now almost wholly in the hands of the Brewster -Transfer Co. Ltd., whose head-quarters are at Lake Louise. They have a -good reputation, and are said to provide good men. Their usual rates -are--for one person $15 per day; for two persons $12.50 for each -person; and $10 per day for three persons, “with liberal reduction for -larger parties.” Outside the C.P.R. district packing is still a matter -of individual private enterprise; some of the packers who formerly -worked in the C.P.R. district have migrated to Jasper, and probably -others will make it their head-quarters as time goes on; but at present -the principal centre of the packers of Northern Alberta is at Lac St. -Anne, near Edmonton. Their ordinary charges are about the same as those -of the Brewster Company. (_N.B._--Written in 1913; charges may now be -higher.) - -[Sidenote: Outfit.] - -A few suggestions with regard to some of the above-mentioned items may -be useful. - -1. Having once tried the experiment of dispensing with saddle-horses, -partly on general ascetic principles, partly with a view to getting -into training, I have no hesitation in saying that it is a great -mistake. If one keeps with the rest of the outfit,[66] it is dreary -work; if one goes at one’s own time and pace, trouble arises when -rivers have to be crossed--either the traveller has to wait for -the outfit or the outfit for the traveller (and to check a lot of -pack-horses when on the move is a tiresome matter); while it is -surprisingly easy for the unwary pedestrian to lose touch with the -outfit altogether, even on such a well-trodden trail as the Jasper -trail in pre-railway days. - -2. The traveller should make sure that one of the tents is a -_teepee_.[67] During a spell of cold, wet weather (and even snow -is sometimes encountered in August at quite low levels) a _teepee_ -makes things much less intolerable. A packer with a large and varied -experience of both summer and winter travel told me he preferred a -large ordinary tent with a stove. I have no personal experience of -this, but one or the other is essential. The other tents provided -by the packers satisfy all ordinary requirements, but are sometimes -inadequate under stress of prolonged wet weather. I once took a Whymper -tent made of extra light material, which, besides being absolutely -watertight, possessed two great advantages: first, it had a floor; -secondly, it could be put up immediately on arriving in camp: other -tents have to wait till the necessary poles can be cut down, and a good -many other things have to be attended to before this can be done. The -drawback to it--a serious one--was that the poles were inconveniently -long for packing purposes: this might perhaps be got over by making the -poles with two joints instead of one. A small Mummery tent for making -a flying camp is not required so often as alpine experience would lead -one to expect, but on the whole it is worth taking. - -3. As to clothing, the same sort is required as in the Alps. It is -well to bear in mind that one spends more time--generally much more -time--‘on the trail’ than in climbing, and heavily nailed climbing -boots are not very suitable for riding; they are apt to stick in the -stirrups, which might easily be a source of great danger in case of -a fall. Shooting boots with ordinary (not projecting) nails are much -better for an ordinary day’s travel. Gloves are useful in riding -through thick forest, and a silk neckerchief is some protection against -mosquitoes. Fortnum & Mason, Jermyn Street, London, have a good camp -boot which is also useful for this purpose. - -Either a mackintosh or a suit of ‘oilies’ is indispensable for riding -in wet weather. ‘Oilies’ are a more complete protection against rain, -but difficult to get in and out of quickly, and appallingly hot when -the character of the trail makes it necessary to dismount and walk. On -the whole, a mackintosh is to be preferred. - -For bedding, a couple of blankets are all that is required in fine -weather; spruce boughs make a perfect mattress. But there is much to -be said in favour of a camp-bed, especially if the tent has no floor -to it. With an X-bed, a sleeping-bag and a blanket any weather can be -faced with equanimity, and the extra weight of the bed is not a matter -of importance. It is much more necessary that the packages containing -one’s personal baggage should be tightly packed, compact and easy -to handle, than that they should be light. A couple of suit-cases -(preferably of crushed cane) _not more than 26 inches long_, hold all -that is wanted for a two months’ trip, and go well on each side of -a pack-saddle. A _chilamchi_[68] of the Indian type is useful, but -rather unwieldy; it is easy to get a rather smaller basin (preferably -_not_ enamelled) at the Army and Navy Stores, and have a leather case -specially made for it. - -4. Camping out is very extensively practised in Canada, and it is -quite unnecessary to think of taking out any special luxuries from -England in the way of provisions. Anything of that nature, also whisky -of excellent quality, and cigars (good and cheap), can be obtained -at the Hudson Bay Company’s Stores at Edmonton or Calgary. As to -provisions generally, packers usually have a very good idea of what -is wanted; but if one has any special preferences--e.g. for cocoa or -coffee over tea--it is as well to mention them. - -[Sidenote: Season.] - -The season for climbing in Canada and weather conditions generally are, -roughly speaking, similar to those in the Alps; but the season closes -rather earlier, and the spell of fine weather which is so often met -with in the Alps early in September does not seem to occur there. When -well-trodden ground is left, it must be borne in mind that rivers are -more likely to be troublesome early in the summer (i.e. till towards -the end of July) than later on; but quite insignificant creeks may -suddenly become impassable obstacles for a day or two at any time. -Trails, moreover, which are not regularly used often deteriorate, and, -as was remarked above, snowstorms sometimes make travel temporarily -impossible even in August. The moral of all which is, that it is rash -to try and work out cut-and-dried plans beforehand, so far as dates and -times are concerned. - -[Sidenote: The Annual Camps.] - -No account of mountaineering in Canada would be complete which omitted -to make mention of the Alpine Club of Canada, and the annual camps of -its members in the mountains, which indeed have become the outstanding -feature of mountaineering as practised by Canadians themselves. They -are usually held towards the end of July, and last for eight or ten -days. They are necessarily situated near one or other of the railways, -but their area is sometimes extended by the formation of subsidiary -camps, and parties for more distant expeditions are frequently -formed when the camp breaks up. A climber intending to make a first -acquaintance with the Rockies could not do so in a pleasanter and more -profitable manner than by paying a visit to one of these camps, and -for this and many other reasons he would be well advised to become a -member of the club. The cordial welcome offered to English mountaineers -generally, and to members of the Alpine Club in particular, must be -experienced in order to be properly appreciated, and it is hardly -necessary to point out that the camps give an unequalled opportunity -of obtaining first-hand information from the most authoritative -sources with regard to topography, new expeditions, methods of travel -and similar matters. If a visit to the camp was not practicable, -the traveller, as a member of the club, could procure advice and -assistance from its officials and other members which would otherwise -be unattainable. - -[Sidenote: Access, Cost, etc.] - -With regard to the journey from England, the following particulars were -given in the invitation issued to members of the (English) Alpine Club -in 1913: - -“The steamer fare, first class, from Liverpool to Montreal is £18, 10s. -each way (£11 by one-class boats). - -“The cost of return ticket, first class, from Montreal to Laggan -(C.P.R.) is £13. The extra charge for a berth in a sleeping-car is £6 -for the double journey. - -“The cost of return ticket, first class, from Montreal to Mount Robson -Station (G.T.P.) is £14. The extra charge for a berth in a sleeping-car -is about £6, 10s. for the double journey. - -“The time occupied by the journey from Liverpool to Mount Robson or -Laggan Stations is ten to eleven days.” - -_N.B._--The voyage in one-class boats takes some days longer. A berth -in the sleeping-car is practically indispensable. Two persons taking -a ‘compartment’ can make the journey in far greater comfort at an -additional expense of £2, 3s. each. The time and fares to Jasper would -be rather less than to Mount Robson. The times from Liverpool to Laggan -or Mount Robson Stations are short, and involve hard and continuous -travelling. Full particulars, together with pamphlets, descriptive -time-tables, etc., can be obtained at the London offices of the C.P.R. -and the G.T.P., both in Cockspur Street, London, within one hundred -yards of each other. The only alternative route to Montreal of any -importance is that via New York, as to which see _Baedeker’s Canada_. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[36] See _Report of the Commission appointed to determine the -Boundary between the Provinces of Alberta and British Columbia_, part -i. (1917). It is illustrated by numerous photographs and accompanied -by many large-scale maps. A summary of it is given in the _Alpine -Journal_, xxxii. - -[37] _Climbs and Exploration in the Canadian Rockies_, by -H. E. M. Stutfield and J. Norman Collie; _Camping in the Canadian -Rockies_, by W. D. Wilcox; _Appalachia_, vols. viii. to xi. - -[38] E.g. Mount Louis, see _Canadian Alpine Journal_, viii. -79, ix. 32; and _Alpine Journal_, xxxii. 68; Mount Norquay, _ibid._ -viii. 134. - -[39] _Canadian Alpine Journal_, i. No. 1, p. 85, v. 122. - -[40] The name of the _station_ has been altered to Lake Louise, but it -is known as Laggan in all the books. - -[41] Cf. “A Glimpse of the Rockies,” _Alpine Journal_, xxiv. 229; -_Canadian Alpine Journal_, x. 6. - -[42] _Canadian Alpine Journal_, iv. 110, 142, vii. 58, 124. - -[43] See, on this point, _Alpine Journal_, xxix. 95. - -[44] _Canadian Alpine Journal_, v. 34, vii. 33, 48, ix. 17; Palmer, -_Mountaineering and Exploration in the Selkirks_, ch. xx. - -[45] _Canadian Alpine Journal_, iii. 26. See also _Geographical -Journal_, xxxvii. 589, 601. Mr. Wheeler’s promised map does not seem to -have materialized. - -[46] _Canadian Alpine Journal_, iii. 14, 26, 147, iv. 98, vi. 103, 112, -vii. 12, viii. 17, 43. - -[47] _Ibid._ vii. 5, 67, viii. 34. - -[48] _Ibid._ iv. 140, viii. 121. - -[49] _Climbing in the Himalaya and other Mountain Ranges_, p. 144. The -whole of this chapter on the Rockies is still well worth reading. - -[50] Op. cit. pp. 15-16. - -[51] Mr. Eaton made some new ascents in the Freshfield Range, a -subdivision of group 2, in 1910. _Canadian Alpine Journal_, iii. 1. - -[52] _The Canadian Rockies, New and Old Trails._ A delightful book. - -[53] Op. cit., chapters xxvii.-xxix. See _Canadian Alpine Journal_, v. -84, 87. - -[54] _Alpine Journal_, xxviii. 355; _Canadian Alpine Journal_, vi. 74, -84, vii. 63. - -[55] Much new information as to the country round Jasper is contained -in an article by Mr. M. P. Bridgland in the _Canadian Alpine Journal_, -x. 70; and the recently published _Guide to Jasper Park_ (see _ibid._ -105) would probably be found very useful. - -[56] As to Mount Hector, see p. 576. - -[57] See his map and book, chapters xvii., xxi. and xxvi. - -[58] _Canadian Alpine Journal_, iv. 92; _Old Indian Trails_, by Mrs. -Schæffer. - -[59] Coleman, op. cit., chapters xxx.-xli.; _Geographical Journal_, -xxxvi. 57, xxxix. 223; _Alpine Journal_, xxv. 293, xxvi. 5, 382, xxvii. -329, xxx. 358 (summary of the expeditions of 1913); _Canadian Alpine -Journal_, ii. part i. 1, part ii. 1, 21 (ascent of G. B. Kinney and D. -Phillips), iv. 1, vi. 11-73 (the expeditions of 1913). - -[60] _Canadian Alpine Journal_, vii. 63, viii. 30, 133. - -[61] _Alpine Journal_, xxvi. 404; _Canadian Alpine Journal_, iv. - -[62] See his map, _Geographical Journal_, xxxix. 312. - -[63] _Canadian Alpine Journal_, vi. 178, 186. - -[64] _Ibid._ vi. 170, 188, vii. 82, ix. 79. - -[65] See Dr. Collie’s map and papers, _Alpine Journal_, xxvi, 5; -_Geographical Journal_, xxxix. 223. - -[66] The whole caravan--men, horses, baggage, etc.--is generally -compendiously referred to as an ‘outfit.’ - -[67] A large Indian tent in which a fire can be kept going. - -[68] Metal basin in a leather case. - - - - -INDEX - - - Accidents, mountaineering, causes of, 149, 256 - - -- -- how to deal with, 264-7 - - -- -- prevention of, 256-78 - - -- -- their effect on others, 264 - - Afanasief’s _100 Kaukasus Gipfel_ cited, 509, 510 - - Ailments, 9 - - Alpine Club of Canada, annual camps of the, 590 - - -- Ski-ing, Calendar for, 402, 403, 456-70 - - Alps, the Dolomites of the Eastern, 47 - - -- the Eastern, 201 - - -- the High, hints for winter equipment for, 444-6 - - -- -- in spring, 456-68 - - -- -- in winter, 442-56 - - -- -- snow conditions in the, 446 - - -- the Southern, 47 - - Amateur mountaineer, the, 108, 109, 134, 135, 136 - - -- -- improvement in his skill, 105, 106 - - Anchor, the, 220, 223 - - Anchoring on a descent, 191, 192 - - Andorra, 559, 560 - - Aneroid, 98, 445 - - -- the Watkin, 535 - - Angle of lie of snow, the, 325, 326, 328, 329 - - -- -- reconnoitring, 375, 376 - - -- of rock, 387, 388 - - Ankle, part played by the, in climbing, 158, 159, 289, 303 - - Anticipation in climbing, importance of, 157, 158 - - Arctic mountaineering, 497-505 - - Arms, use of the, in climbing, 161, 162 - - Association among climbers, 150 - - Automatic actions and adjustments in climbing, 69, 70 - - Autumn ski-ing, 468, 469 - - Avalanche ground, tactics on, 439-42 - - Avalanche, liability of snow to, 328 - - Avalanches, 273-5 - - -- classification of, 427, 428 - - -- conditions for their production, 273, 423-7 - - -- dangers of, 424, 425, 426, 430, 432, 433-8 - - -- dry powder, 428, 429 - - -- ground, 423, 427, 435 - - -- in Norway, 545 - - -- new wet snow, 429-31 - - -- old wet snow, 435-8 - - -- power of, 274, 428, 435, 436 - - -- rock, 271 - - -- summer snow, 438, 439 - - -- wind slab, 431-4 - - Axe, the, 91, 92 - - -- as an extra hand, 206, 207 - - -- as a third leg, 178, 207, 292 - - -- in descent, 208 - - -- on rocks, 204-8 - - -- on snow, 336, 337 - - - _Baedeker’s Canada_ cited, 574, 577 - - -- _Norway_ cited, 536 - - -- _S. W. France_ cited, 570 - - Balaitous, the, 557 - - Balance climbing, 144-8, 156, 157 - - -- factors involved in, 28-32, 140, 149, 156, 157 - - Barometer. _See_ Aneroid - - Bath, the hot, 5 - - -- in tropics, 479 - - -- morning, cold, 4 - - Bathing, 12, 13, 524, 532 - - Bed, portable, 99 - - Beginner, the, 113-6, 118 - - -- his choice of trainer, 114, 115 - - Beginners, initial practice for, 148, 152, 153; and _see under_ Rope - - Behind, the rope, 215 - - Belay, the direct, 220, 221 - - -- the indirect, 221, 222 - - Belays, 219-25 - - Belloc’s _Pyrenees_ cited, 570 - - Benightment, 52, 53, 74, 75 - - Bergschrund, 317, 337 - - Bhutan, 527 - - _Bise_, the, 446 - - Bivouac, outfit for, 99 - - -- selection of a, 53 - - Blindness, snow, 11, 343 - - Blistering from sun, 11, 12, 90, 97 - - Blizzards, danger of, 276 - - Body brake, the, 196 - - Boils, 484, 485 - - Boots, 4, 80, 81, 82, 153-5 - - -- canvas, 155 - - -- care of, 81, 82 - - -- for the Himalaya, 534 - - -- for ski-ing, 402 - - -- nailing, 82, 83, 154, 155 - - -- rubber, 89 - - Boracic powder for the feet, 5 - - Boredom, 15, 16 - - -- of tramps over snow, 332 - - Bouldering, 153, 171, 183 - - Boum, the, 562 - - Brakes, 195, 196 - - -- for glissading, 358, 359 - - Breeches, 87, 88 - - Breithorn, ski-ing on the Zermatt, 397 - - Bridges, ice, 337, 338 - - Bridgland’s _Guide to Jasper Park_, etc., cited, 583 n. - - Britain, mist and cloud in, 389, 390 - - -- rocks in, 388, 389 - - -- snow in, 342 - - Bruce’s _Kulu and Lahoul_ cited, 529 - - Bucket steps, 297 - - - Calendar for Alpine Ski-ing, 402, 403, 456-70 - - Camera, the folding, 471 - - -- the hand, 471, 472 - - -- the Verascope, 478 - - Canadian Pacific Railway District, the, 574-81 - - Canteen for tropics, 487, 488 - - Canvas boots, 155 - - Capo al Dente, the, 519 - - Carriers in tropics, 495 - - Casque, the, 560 - - Caucasus, the, climate of, 506 - - -- forests of, 508 - - -- literature of, 509, 510 - - -- maps of, 515, 516 - - -- modes of travel in, 511, 512, 514, 515 - - -- mountain system of, 508 - - -- mountaineering in, 506-16 - - -- -- centres for, 512 - - Caucasus, mountaineering in, commissariat for, 513, 514 - - -- -- cost of, 516 - - -- -- equipment for, 512, 513 - - -- records of, 508 - - -- routes of access to, 510 - - -- topography and structure of, 506-9 - - Caulfield’s _How to Ski_ cited, 398 n. - - ‘Chair,’ the, 196, 197 - - Chalk, its peculiarities and risks, 180 - - Chamois, as a danger, 271 - - -- in relation to avalanches, 441 - - Chamonix Aiguilles, the, 46, 47, 277 - - -- granite, 146 - - Check, easing of a, 258-60 - - Checking on the rope, 259, 260 - - Chill, avoidance of, 85 - - -- risk of, 5, 6, 7, 13 - - Chimney climbing, 167-9 - - Chimneys, descent of, 191 - - Chocolate, 6, 445 - - Christiania turn, the, 401 - - Claws, 96, 97, 287-94 - - -- in glissading, 365, 366 - - -- in mountain ski-ing, 402, 419 - - -- their value, 286, 294, 513 - - -- theory of their use, 288, 289 - - -- types of, 287, 288 - - Cliffs, sea, 181, 182 - - Climbing down, 184-99 - - -- in combination, 209-55 - - Closti turn, the, 401 - - Clothing, 5, 11, 84-90 - - -- for the tropics, 488, 489 - - -- for women, 89, 90 - - -- for the Himalaya, 534 - - Clouds as weather portents, 57-9 - - -- cirrus, 58 - - -- cumulus, 58 - - -- ‘fish’, 59 - - -- ‘mare’s-tails,’ 58 - - -- stratus, 58 - - -- thunder, 59 - - Coat, the, 84, 85, 86, 87, 90 - - Col du Lion, the, 57 - - -- Theodule, the, 57 - - Cold, effect of, on endurance, 10, 11 - - Coleman’s _The Canadian Rockies, New and Old Trails_, etc., cited, 581 - n., 582, 583, 584, 586 - - Collective confidence of party, 17, 18, 240 - - -- rhythm, 209, 211 - - Colour photography, 477 - - Combination, climbing in, 209-55 - - -- the secret of time-saving, 76 - - Comolo Forno, the, 559 - - Compass, 98 - - -- the radium, 52 - - Confidence, danger of over-, 24, 25 - - -- necessity of self-, for leader, 17, 238 - - Confusing effects of weather when on snow, 342-5 - - Conjunctivitis, 483 - - Constipation, 480, 481, 482 - - Continuous going, 76-8 - - Cooking apparatus, 98 - - Cornices, snow, 338-40 - - -- -- double, 380 - - -- -- reconnoitring, 377-80 - - Cornwall, cliff climbing in, 181 - - Corsica, literature of, 520 - - -- modes of access to, 518 - - -- mountaineering in, 517-21 - - -- -- centres for, 518, 519 - - -- -- cost of, 518 n. - - -- -- equipment for, 517, 518 - - -- -- season for, 517 - - -- nature of climbing in, 520 - - -- topography and maps of, 518-21 - - Coughs and colds, 482 - - Couloirs, 268, 272 - - -- glissading on claws in, 365 - - -- reconnoitring, 382-4 - - -- snow in, 340-2 - - -- the plunging step in, 364, 365 - - Courage, the measure of, 261, 262 - - Courmayeur, weather in, 56 - - Cover for the axe, use of a, 349 - - Crabioules, the, 561 - - Cracks, climbing, 165, 166 - - -- descent of, 191 - - Crampons. _See_ Claws - - Crevasses, 316-21, 452, 455 - - -- hidden, 315-22, 449 - - -- marginal, 309, 450 - - -- reconnoitring, 381, 382 - - -- scimitar, 310 - - -- systems of, 309-11 - - Crust, snow, 301, 331 - - -- effect of Föhn on, 413 - - -- -- -- frost on, 414 - - -- -- -- sun on, 415 - - -- -- film, 414 - - -- -- forms of, 410, 411 - - -- -- marble, 411, 414 - - -- -- perforated, 414 - - -- -- soft breakable, 410 - - -- -- trap, 410 - - -- -- unbreakable, 410, 411 - - Cups, drinking, 98 - - Cushion, rubber, 99 - - Cuts and scratches, 485 - - Cutting. _See under_ Steps - - Cylindre, the, 560 - - - Damp, risks of, 5 - - Dancing, as training, 4, 66, 156 - - -- movements analogous to those of climbing, 156, 157, 208 - - Danger, 26, 27, 72, 149, 152, 237, 260, 261 - - De Déchy’s _Kaukasus Reisen und Forschungen_ cited, 509 - - Descent, 42, 184-99 - - Detached rock, 176, 177 - - Diarrhœa, 481 - - Direction, the sense of, 345-7 - - Disappointment, 24 - - Discipline of parties, 2, 3 - - District, the choice of, 43-8 - - Dogtooth Range, the, 580 - - Dollfuss in May, 461 - - Dom, the, 459 - - Doubled rope, the, in descent, 192-5 - - -- on glaciers, 317-21 - - Down, climbing, 184-99 - - Drinks, 7, 8 - - Dru, the, 47, 152 - - Dunagiri, 529 - - Dysentery, 481, 482 - - - Earth glissade, 182 - - Earthquakes, 277, 278 - - Ebnefluh, ski-work on the, 398, 459, 468 - - Eckenstein, Mr., crampons designed by, 92, 96, 288 - - -- ice-axe designed by, 92 - - -- on knots for Alpine ropes, 94, 95 - - -- on nails for boots, 83 - - -- on ropes for Alpine work, 93, 94, 95 - - Elbrus, 509 - - End man, dangers of his fall, 260 - - Equipment, for Alps, 80-8 - - -- for Arctic mountaineering, 498, 499 - - -- for Caucasus, 512-4 - - -- for Corsica, 517, 518 - - -- for Himalaya, 532-5 - - -- for mountain ski-ing, 402 - - -- for Norway, 539, 540 - - -- for Pyrenees, 566-9 - - -- for rock climbing in Britain, 88, 89 - - -- for Rocky Mountains, 588-90 - - _Ewige Schnee_, 330 - - Exceptional ascents, 120-2, 149 - - Excitement, dangers of over-, 16 - - Exercise, forms of preliminary, 4, 156, 158, 159, 181 - - Exhaustion, 26, 27 - - Experts, guide and amateur as, 111, 112, 118, 119 - - Eyes, right use of the, in climbing, 146, 147, 166, 184, 185, 186, - 187, 192, 312, 313, 321, 370-396 - - - Face-inward position in descent, 190, 191 - - ---- in glissading, 363, 364 - - Face-outward position in descent, 188, 189 - - Face-sideways position in descent, 189, 190 - - Fall, 256 - - -- after a, 262-4 - - Fallibility, human, 256, 257 - - Fatigue, temper as a sign of, 20 - - Fear, 26, 27 - - Feet, care of the, 4, 5, 83 - - Fell climbers, 142 - - Fellowship, necessity of good, 3 - - Fencing as training, 4, 66 - - Fiescherhorn, the, 468 - - Finsteraarhorn, the, 442 - - Finsteraarjoch Pass, in winter, 397 - - _Firn_, 285, 330 - - First man on the rope, duty of the, 237-9 - - _Flysch_, 425 - - Fog. _See_ Mist - - Föhn, the, 59, 60, 61, 417-22 - - -- effects of, on snow, 326, 328, 377, 380, 412, 413 - - -- in spring, 421, 422, 436 - - -- in winter, 418-21 - - -- the dry, 418, 430 - - -- the wet, 413, 418, 429, 430 - - Folgefond, the, 542 - - Following and leading, 217, 218 - - Food, the choice of, 6 - - -- -- for tropics, 486, 487 - - Foot brake, the, 195 - - Footing, the right, for guide and climber, 125-9 - - Footwork, 140, 141, 153-8, 161, 176 - - -- for balance climbing, 282-4 - - Forbes, Prof. J. D., his _Norway and its Glaciers_ cited, 536 - - Fourcanade, the, 556, 562, 563 - - Freak climbs, 182, 183 - - Freshfield’s _Round Kangchenjunga_ cited, 527 - - Freshfield and Sella’s _The Exploration of the Caucasus_ cited, 509, - 515 - - Front, the rope in, 214, 215 - - Frost-bite, precautions against, 5, 288 n. - - -- remedies for, 10 - - Frostisen, 544 - - Fruit ice, 8 - - Funicula, 254, 255 - - Furka, the, 464 - - - Gabbro, 542, 543 - - Gabiétou, the, 560 - - Gaiters, 84 - - Galdhöpiggen, 544 - - Galenstock, the, 463, 464 - - Galmihorn, the, 459 - - Garhwal, 528 - - Gauli Hut, the, 457 - - Géant, the Dent du, 152, 201, 278 - - Geology, value of knowledge of, 425, 426 - - Giddiness, 9, 28-31, 182 - - Gjækkevarre, the, 542 - - Glacier falls, 311, 314 - - -- mills, 310 - - Glaciers, 279-81, 285, 308-24 - - -- in the Himalaya, 531 - - -- in New Zealand, 554 - - -- in Norway, 545, 546 - - -- in the Pyrenees, 556-62 - - -- in the Rocky Mountains, 586 - - -- in Spitsbergen, 503, 504 - - -- practice in ice work on, 285, 286 - - -- ski-ing on, in winter, 448-56 - - -- snow-covered, 314-22 - - Glacier work, 308-24 - - Glasses, field, 97, 98 - - -- for prevention of snow-blindness, 11, 97, 321, 322, 534 - - -- for reconnoitring, 395 - - Glazed rock, risks of, 170, 171, 193 - - Glissading, 348-69 - - -- alternate, 362, 363 - - -- arrest of, 352 - - -- face-inward, 363, 364 - - -- jumping while, 357, 358 - - -- on claws, 365, 366 - - -- -- in couloirs, 365 - - -- on earth, 182 - - -- on grass, 368, 369 - - -- on heather, 368, 369 - - -- on ice, 349-52 - - -- -- position for, 349-52 - - -- on sand, 366 - - -- on scree, 366-8 - - -- on snow, 353-66 - - -- on volcanic ash, 366 - - -- -- braking, 354, 355, 358, 359, 360 - - -- positions for, 353-61 - - -- -- steering, 355-7 - - -- stone tests for, 361 - - -- the axe brake for, 354, 358, 359 - - -- the foot brake for, 358, 359 - - -- the rope in, 361, 362 - - Glittertind, 544 - - Gloves, 10, 86, 89, 195, 258 - - Goats as a danger, 271 - - Grand Trunk Pacific Railway, the, 582-4 - - Grease on the face, 11, 90, 97 - - Gredetschthal, the, 459 - - Grépon, the, 47, 152, 385 - - Grimsel region, the, 425, 463 - - Grip climbing, 142, 143, 145, 174, 176 - - Gritstone, 180 - - Grove’s _The Frosty Caucasus_ cited, 509 - - _Grundlawinen. See_ Avalanches, ground - - Gspaltenhorn, the, 447 - - Guide as mountaineer, the ideal, 107, 108 - - -- companionship of amateur and, 128, 129, 136, 137 - - -- nature, 123-37 - - Guides, Alpine, changed conditions of, 103, 104 - - -- as experts, 111, 112, 119 - - -- care for their comfort, 126, 127 - - -- estimation of their qualities, 53-5 - - -- management of, 123-37 - - -- misconceptions of their function, 101-3 - - -- question of engaging, 118-22 - - -- traditional idea of, 102 - - Guides’ books, hints as to writing up, 53-5 - - Gullies, 141, 142, 268 - - -- glissading in winter, 368 - - Gurla Mandhata, 528, 529 - - - ‘Half step’ trick, the, 37 - - Halts, 40, 77, 78, 332 - - -- the rope during, 251, 252 - - Handholds, to cut, in ice, 298 - - Hands, use of the, 161-7 - - Hat, the, 85, 89 - - Headaches, 9 - - Health, importance of, 3, 4 - - Heart, training and development of the, 67, 68 - - Height, advantages of, 71 - - -- the psychological effect of, 31, 32, 293 - - Helmet, woollen, 86 - - Hill-shock. _See_ Hysteria - - Himalaya, the, climbing conditions in, 523, 525, 526 - - -- configuration of, 522, 523 - - -- glaciers of, 529 - - -- management of expedition to, 523-525 - - -- mountaineering in, 522-35 - - -- -- clothing for, 534 - - -- -- cost of, 531, 532 - - -- -- equipment for, 528, 532, 533, 535 - - -- -- food for, 533 - - -- -- hints for, 533, 534 - - -- -- instruments for, 535 - - -- -- season for, 526 - - -- -- use of claws in, 288 n. - - -- topography of, 527-9 - - Hindu Khush, the, 530, 531 - - _Hochgebirgskalk_, 425 - - Holding the rope, 225-7 - - Holds, anatomical, 244 - - -- cling, 161-2 - - -- finger, 161 - - -- friction, 160, 161, 169 - - -- on rock and ice, practice of, 69 - - -- over, 162 - - -- press, 163, 164, 179 - - -- pull, 174, 177, 179 - - -- push, 163 - - -- side, 162 - - -- under, 162 - - Humours, preventable, 14-7 - - Hurry, the blunder of, 38, 39, 40, 76, 77, 332 - - Hut usages, 48-50 - - Hysteria, or hill-shock, 26-8 - - - Ice, black, 285, 288, 294, 374 - - -- blue, 284 - - -- glacier, 284 - - -- grainy, 284 - - -- -- hard, 290, 291, 545 - - -- honeycombed, 374 - - -- -- rotten, 290, 294 - - -- -- soft, 290 - - -- snow, 285 - - Ice axe. _See_ Axe - - Ice claws. _See under_ Claws - - -- climbing in relation to rock climbing, 282-4 - - -- craft, 282-324 - - -- fragments, danger from falling, 275, 276 - - -- sky, the, 393, 394 - - Imitation, in collective climbing, 211-3 - - Incudine, the, 520 - - Infection of leader by party, 25, 26 - - Injured man, a danger to his party, 260, 261 - - Instruments, 57, 535 - - Ireland, cliff climbing in, 181, 182, 391 - - - Joanne’s _Pyrénées_ cited, 570 - - Jungfrau, first winter ascent of, 397 - - Justedals-brae, the, 545, 546 - - - Kamet, 529 - - Kasbek, 512 - - Kashmir and Karakoram, 530 - - Kellas, Dr., on Sikkim, cited, 527, 528 - - _Kletterschuhe_, 96, and _see_ Soles - - Knee, right use of the, in climbing, 146, 160 - - Knickerbockers, 85 - - Knots for ropes for mountaineering, 94, 95, 96, 255 - - -- tests of, 96 - - Knutshultind, 544 - - Kumaon, 528 - - - Lakes, the, 140, 152 - - -- snowcraft in, 342 - - Lantern, folding, 52, 98 - - Lava, old, 180 - - Leader, duties of the, 1, 6, 8, 9, 10, 13, 18, 23, 39, 43, 44, 48-55, - 125, 150, 151, 237-9, 323, 332 - - -- guide or amateur as, 109, 111 - - -- qualifications for, 1, 2, 3, 4, 9, 14, 15, 16, 19, 20, 21, 25, 33, - 56, 150, 151, 237, 238, 239, 321 - - -- responsibilities of, 2, 6, 9, 10, 16, 17, 27, 32, 34, 35, 36, 38, - 39, 111, 133, 134, 150, 151, 153, 227, 237-9, 260, 261, 263 - - Le Blonde’s, Mrs., _Mountaineering in the Land of the Midnight Sun_ - cited, 536 - - Leeches, 484 - - Lens, 471, 473 - - Light, to procure a, 52 - - Lillienfeld ski, 398 - - -- system, 399, 401 - - Limestone, 180, 181 - - Loads, risks of unnecessary, 22, 75, 76 - - Long rope, the, 198, 199 - - Longstaff, Dr., on the Purcell Range, cited, 579 - - Loops in ropes for glacier work, 320 - - _Lumière autochrome_, the, 477 - - Lungs, training and development of the, 67, 68 - - Lunn’s _Cross Country Ski-ing_ cited, 398 n., 402 - - Lyskamm, the, 4 - - - Malaria, 480 - - Maps, 98 - - Marble, 180 - - -- crust, 411, 414 - - Marboré, the, 557 - - Mascot, uses of a, 34 - - Matterhorn, the, 57, 112, 113, 201, 271, 272, 381, 386 - - Maupas, the, 562 - - May in the High Alps, 456-61, 463, 464 - - Medicine chest for tropics, 485, 486 - - Medicines, 100 - - Merzbacher’s _Aus den Hochregionen des Kaukasus_ cited, 509, 515 - - Mind, influence of, on the body, 14, 129, 240 - - Mist and cloud, uses of, 389, 390 - - -- dangers of, 277, 343, 346 - - Moine, the, 152 - - Mont Perdu, the, 559, 560, 561 - - Monte Cinto, 520 - - -- Corona, 519 - - -- d’Oro, 519 - - -- Padro, 519 - - -- Renosa, 519 - - -- Rosa, 446, 457, 468, 469 - - -- -- ski-ing on, 397 - - Moraines, 178, 208, 292 - - Mosquitoes, 480, 540 - - Moods, abnormal, 23-8 - - Mount Assiniboine, 575 - - -- Ball, 575 - - -- Beaver, 579 - - -- Cook, 551, 553 - - -- Duncan, 579 - - -- Edith Cavell, 575, 583 - - -- Fitzwilliam, 583 - - -- Hector, 576 - - -- Moloch, 577 - - -- Robson, 584, 585 - - -- Sir Sandford, 579 - - -- Torlesse, 553 - - Mountain photography, 471-8 - - -- sickness, 9, 10 - - Mountaineer, the amateur, contrasted with the guide, 103-8 - - -- the composite, 106 - - -- the moderate, 116-8 - - -- the true, 280 - - Mountaineering in winter, 397 - - Muffler, 86 - - Mumm’s _Five Months in the Himalaya_ cited, 528 n. - - Mummery’s _My Climbs in the Alps and Caucasus_ cited, 509 - - Mürren, 469 - - Muscular fitness, 9, 65, 66 - - - Nails, special, for climbing boots, 82, 83, 154 - - Nanda Devi, 529 - - Napes ridges, the, 152 - - Natives, management of, 494, 495 - - Nepal, 528 - - Nerve, 70 - - -- exhaustion, 9, 26, 27 - - Nerves, 68, 69 - - _Névé_, 285, 330, 335, 448, 465, 470 - - Neve’s _Picturesque Kashmir_ cited, 530 n. - - New Zealand, flora and fauna of, 553, 554 - - -- glaciers in, 554 - - -- guides for the Alps of, 549 - - -- mountains of, 550, 551, 555 - - -- routes to, 548, 549 - - -- the Southern Alps of, 548-55 - - -- topography and structure of, 551-3 - - -- weather of, 550 - - Night dangers. _See_ Benightment - - Night, hints for walking at, 51-3 - - Norway, glaciers of, 540, 541, 542, 543 - - -- guide books and literature, 536, 537 - - -- local conditions in, 544-7 - - -- mountaineering in, 536-47 - - -- -- equipment for, 539, 540 - - -- -- expense of, 538, 539 - - -- -- guides for, 540, 541, 542 - - -- -- season for, 537 - - -- mountains of, 542-4 - - -- routes of access to, 538 - - -- topography and structure of, 542-4 - - Norway and Sweden, wind-swept snow in, 408 - - Numbers suitable for parties, 34, 35 - - - Oberaarjoch, the, 463, 464 - - Oberland, the, crossed on ski, 397 - - -- its opportunities and characteristics, 45, 46 - - -- weather in the, 57 - - Obstinacy, hysterical, 28 - - Old age, climbing in, 73 - - Oppenheim’s _New Climbs in Norway_ cited, 536 - - Order, the, on the rope, 227-36 - - -- of moving on the rope, the, 236, 237; - and _see under_ Rope - - Outfit for the Alps, 91-100 - - Outram’s _In the Heart of the Canadian Rockies_ cited, 574, 581 - - Overhang, in descent, 194, 195 - - - Pace, adjustment of, to the task, 74-9 - - -- setting the, 37 - - Packe’s _Guide to the Pyrénées_ cited, 570 - - Paglia Orba, 521 - - Palmer’s _Mountaineering and Exploration in the Selkirks_ cited, 578 - n., 579 - - Panic, 27, 272 - - Parasites, body, 484 - - Passing ahead, 37, 38 - - Paulcke, 397 - - Pegs and aids, 96, 200-3 - - Pennines, characteristics of the, 46 - - Perdighero, 561 - - Persistence in uncertain weather, 63, 64 - - Perversity, mountain, 267-72 - - Photography, mountain, 471-8 - - -- -- choice of subjects, 475-7 - - -- -- equipment for, 471-5 - - -- -- in colour, 477 - - -- -- stereoscopic, 477-8 - - Pic d’Albe, 562 - - -- d’Astazou, 560 - - -- de Bécibéri, 559 - - -- d’Enfer, 557 - - -- Long, 559, 561 - - -- du Midi d’Ossau, 556, 557 - - -- Moulières, 562 - - -- du Munia, 561 - - -- de Néthou, 559, 562 - - -- de la Pique, 562 - - -- de Pinède, 561 - - -- du Port d’Oo, 561 - - -- des Posets, 559, 562 - - -- de Salenques, 562 - - Pitons. _See under_ Pegs - - Port de Venasque, 562 - - Positions in descent, 187-91 - - Powder snow, 326, 327, 405-11 - - -- -- effect of sun on, 408-11 - - -- -- -- wind on, 407, 408 - - -- -- the ideal ski-ing surface, 406 - - -- -- reconnoitring, 374 - - -- -- in spring, 412-7, 430 - - -- -- in winter, 411, 412 - - Preparations, psychological, for ascent, 129, 130 - - Punta di Capella, 520 - - Purcell Range, the, 579-80 - - Putties, 89, 125, 289 - - Pyramid Peak, 586 - - Pyrenees, the, 556-71 - - -- centres for climbing, 560 - - -- huts and inns, 566 - - -- literature of the, 570 - - -- maps of, 564-6 - - -- mountaineering in, 556, 557, 563 - - -- -- cost of, 569 - - -- -- equipment for, 566-9 - - -- -- guides for, 563, 564 - - -- topography and structure of, 557-563 - - - Quairat, the, 561 - - Quarries, scrambling in, for practice, 181 - - Quartz, its peculiarities and risks, 179, 180 - - - Rabot’s _Au Cap Nord_ cited, 542 - - Reach, advantages of, in climbing, 71 - - Reconnoitring, 370-96 - - -- angle on snow, 375-7 - - -- couloirs, 382-4 - - -- glaciers, 311-4, 381, 382 - - -- the half-seen, 390, 391 - - -- ice, 374, 381, 382 - - -- importance of, 370-3 - - -- ridges, 386, 387 - - -- rock, 384 - - -- rock faces, 384-6 - - -- rocks in Britain, 388-90 - - -- slabs, 387, 388 - - -- snow cornices, 377-80 - - -- snow surface conditions, 374, 375 - - -- the unseen, 391-6 - - -- wind and snow signs, 380, 381 - - Réquin, the, 152 - - Rescue parties, 266, 267 - - Rhone Valley, the upper, 424 - - Rhythm, balance, 144, 156, 157 - - -- collective, 209-11 - - -- of movement, importance of, 140, 141, 143, 145, 148, 156, 157 - - -- of step, importance of, 39, 40, 41, 76, 77, 78, 79, 145, 148 - - Rib riding, 169 - - Ring, use of the, 193 - - -- risks of the, 194, 198 - - Ringworm, 484 - - Ripple mark, 407 - - Roche Miette, the, 587 - - Rock avalanche, 271 - - Rock climber, the good, 138, 146-9, 171 - - Rock climbing, 138-208 - - -- -- in relation to ice climbing, 282-4 - - -- -- development of, 138-44 - - Rock sky, the, 393 - - Rocks, knowledge of structure of, 138 - - -- in Britain, 388, 389 - - Rocky Mountains, access to the, 574, 591 - - -- -- literature of the, 574, 586 - - -- -- maps of the, 576, 579, 581, 585, 586 - - -- -- minor ranges of the, 580 - - -- -- modes and cost of travel in the, 587-8 - - -- -- mountaineering in the, 572-91 - - -- -- -- guides and equipment for, 578, 588-90 - - -- -- topography of the, 572-87 - - Rope, best handgrip on the, 225 - - -- carrying the, 253 - - -- choice of the, 93-4 - - -- coiling the, 246, 252, 253 - - -- in collective climbing, 213-7 - - -- danger of abuse of the, 216, 217 - - -- drying the, 253 - - -- first man on the, 237-9 - - -- frequent examination of the, necessity for, 253 - - -- on ice, 305-8 - - -- kinks in the, 253 - - -- length of the, 253, 254 - - -- management of the, 246-55 - - -- order of moving on the, 236-7 - - -- order on the, 227-36 - - -- -- on difficult or new ascents and descents, 228 - - -- -- on direct ascents and descents, 227, 228 - - -- -- on easy ascents and descents, 228 - - -- -- on traverses, 229-32 - - -- -- with beginners, 233-6 - - -- right use of the, in descent, 191-9 - - -- -- on snow, 335-7 - - -- second man on the, 239-45 - - -- third man on the, 245-6; - and _see under_ Doubled, Knots, Long, Funicula, and Halts - - “Rope-riding,” 217 - - Rosenlaui, 461 - - Ross’s _A Climber in New Zealand_ cited, 554 - - Rubber soles, 155, 182 - - Rucksack, the, 5, 91 - - Rulten, 545 - - Running as training, 4 - - Russell’s _Grandes Ascensions des Pyrénées_ cited, 570 - - -- _Souvenirs d’un Montagnard_ cited, 570 - - - Safety-pins, 85, 86 - - Sandstone, risks and peculiarities of, 180 - - Sark, the island of, cliff climbing on, 181 - - Schaeffer, Mrs., her _Old Indian Trails_ cited, 584 n. - - _Schneebrett. See_ Wind slab - - Schrader, M., on the Pyrenees, quoted, 557 - - Scotland, cliff climbing in, 181, 182 - - Scottish mountains, snow craft on, 342 - - Scree, 178, 179 - - -- glissading on, 366, 368 - - -- in relation to ski-ing, 426 - - Sea cliffs, 181, 182 - - Sealskins for ski-ing, 402, 449 - - Season, habit of the, 62, 63 - - Second man on the rope, the, duty of the, 239-45 - - -- -- -- in case of accident, 262, 263 - - Selkirk mountains, the, 577-9 - - _Séracs_, 275, 301, 313, 335 - - Shirts, 85, 88 - - Signals, code of rescue, 51, 266 - - Sikkim, 527 - - Silence, dangers of, 18, 20, 51, 238 - - -- uses of, 23, 240 - - Simla Hill States, the, 529 - - Sitting glissading, 360, 361 - - Skagastölstind, 542, 544 - - Skating movements, analogous to those of climbing, 156 - - _Skavla_, 408 - - Ski, mountaineering on, 397-470 - - -- Lillienfeld, 398 - - -- for mountain work, 402 - - -- for summer work, 64, 397, 469, 470 - - Ski-ing in the High Alps, 399, 400 - - -- Lillienfeld system of, 399, 401 - - -- Norwegian style of, 399 - - -- technique of, 398-401 - - -- turns, 400, 401 - - -- Zdarsky’s system of, 398 - - Skin diseases, 483 - - Skipping as training, 4, 66 - - Sky, ice as affecting its tint, 393, 394 - - -- rock as affecting its tint, 393 - - -- snow as affecting its tint, 392, 393 - - Skye, climbing in, 152 - - Slab climbing, 142, 143, 166, 167, 387, 388 - - Slate, its peculiarities and risks, 179 - - Sleeping sack, 99, 498, 499, 513, 532, 567, 589 - - Sleeplessness, 483 - - Slides, photographic, 473, 474 - - Sling for axe, 93, 298 - - Slings, rope, 193, 194 - - Slingsby’s _Norway the Northern Playground_ cited, 536 - - Slips, how to accept, 41, 42 - - Smoking, 89 - - Snake-bite, 484 - - Snow a bar to starting, 63, 64 - - -- avalanches, 423-42 - - -- bridges, 337 - - -- cornices, 338 - - -- craft, 16, 325-46 - - -- -- for ski-ing, 403, 404 - - -- crusted, 331 - - -- -- reconnoitring, 374 - - -- granular, 416 - - -- in couloirs, 340-2 - - -- new, risks of, 327 - - -- pink, 546 - - -- powdery, 326, 327; - and _see under_ Powder snow - - -- the rope and axe on, 335-7 - - -- sky, the, 392, 393 - - -- slides, danger of, 273-5 - - -- slopes, reconnoitring, 375-7 - - -- -- security of, 329, 333-5 - - -- soft, its risks and difficulties, 330-332 - - -- spring, for ski-ing, 412-7 - - -- steps, 333, 334 - - -- summer, for ski-ing, 422, 423 - - -- travail, 330-3 - - -- winter, for ski-ing, 411, 412 - - Snow-blindness, 11, 343 - - Snow-line, the, 459 - - Snow-water, its supposed danger, 8 - - Social composition of a party, 32-6, 109, 110, 150 - - Socks, 4, 5, 10, 83, 87, 88, 89, 155, 156 - - Soles, hard, 153, 154 - - -- rubber, 155, 182 - - -- soft, 154, 155, 171, 179, 284 - - Solitary climbing, 151, 152 - - -- -- unjustifiable on snow or ice, 315 - - Soum de Raymond, 560 - - Spectacles. _See under_ Glasses - - Spender and Llewellyn Smith’s _Through the High Pyrenees_ cited, 570 - - Spitsbergen, coast of, 500-2 - - -- glaciers of, 501, 502, 503, 504 - - -- interior of, 502-4 - - -- modes of access to, 497, 498 - - -- mountaineering in, 497-505 - - -- -- cost of, 505 - - -- mountains of, 502-4 - - Spring in the High Alps, 456-68 - - -- snow for ski-ing, 412-7 - - -- Time-table for ski-ing, the, 466-8 - - Springing the rope, 197, 198 - - Stances, on rock, 218, 219, 223-7, 246, 247 - - -- on snow, 336, 337 - - -- on ice, 298, 306, 307 - - Stedtind, 544 - - Stemming turn, the, 400, 401 - - Step-cutting practice, 182 - - Steps, cutting, 294-302 - - -- using, 302-5 - - Stereoscopic photography, 477, 478 - - Stick, use of the, in ski-ing, 399, 400, 401, 442, 450, 454 - - Stimulants, their use, 7, 8 - - -- -- in the tropics, 487 - - Stockings, 83, 86, 155 - - Stomach, care of the, 4, 5, 86, 479, 480, 482 - - Stones, dangers of falling, 250, 251, 268-73 - - -- reconnoitring couloirs for, 382-4 - - -- -- faces for, 386 - - Storm Mountain, 575 - - Strahlegg Pass, crossing in winter, 397 - - Strandaatind, 543 - - Strata, rock, importance of acquaintance with, 383-5, 388, 425, 426 - - Stutfield and Collie’s _Climbs and Explorations in the Canadian - Rockies_, cited, 575 n., 580 n., 581 - - Subconsciousness, sphere of, in mountaineering, 69 - - Sulitelma, 544 - - Summer ski. _See under_ Ski - - Sun, dangers of, 11 - - Sunburn, 90, 97 - - Sunstroke, 12, 482 - - Sutherlandshire, cliff climbing in, 181 - - Sweater, 86, 88 - - Sweet-stuffs, value of, 6, 7 - - Swimming as training, 66 - - - Taillon, the, 557, 560 - - Teeth, care of the, 479, 480, 482, 483 - - Tehri Garhwal, 529 - - Telemark turn, the, 400, 401 - - Temper of mountaineering party, the, 19-23 - - Tennis as training, 4 - - Tents, 99, 513; - and _see_ Equipment - - -- for tropics, 491-3 - - -- Mummery, 492, 499, 533 - - -- _teepee_, 588 - - -- Whymper, 491, 532 - - Thawing of snow, the, 409, 415, 416 - - Thigh brake, the, 195, 196 - - Third man on the rope, duty of the, 245-6 - - Thirst, 7, 8 - - Thunderstorms, danger of, 276 - - Tirich Mir, 531 - - Tour de Marboré, 560 - - Tourist, the mountaineer, 112, 113, 118 - - Trade goods for tropics, 494, 495 - - Training, 65-73 - - Trap crust, 410 - - Tricouni nails for boots, 82, 83 - - Tripod for camera, 472, 474 - - Tropical diseases, 480, 481 - - -- mountaineering, 479-96 - - -- -- equipment for, 486-93 - - -- -- health in, 479-86 - - -- -- management of expedition for, 493-6 - - Tryfan, the buttresses of, 152 - - - U.H.U. Stollen nails for boots, 82 - - Underwear, 88, and _see_ Equipment - - Unsound rock, 173-9 - - Unusual rock 179-83 - - Urbachthal, 424, 457 - - - Val d’Evoléna, 46 - - Vanesta packing-case, the, 493, 494, 532 - - Verascope camera, the, 478 - - Vertigo, 28-31 - - Vignemale, the, 557, 561 - - - Waistcoat, the, 85 - - Wales, cliffs in, 142, 152, 181, 182, 391 - - -- North, snowcraft in, 342 - - Walking as training, 4 - - -- manners, 36-41 - - -- notes on hill-, 41-3 - - Warmth, the conservation of, 5 - - Warning, to give, 257, 258 - - Water-bottles, 98 - - Waterproof cape, 86 - - Weather, the, 56-64 - - -- alternating, 44, 45 - - -- confusing, 342-5 - - -- evil, 276, 277 - - -- signs, 60-2 - - Weight handicaps, 75, 76 - - Wet rock, risks of, 169, 170 - - Wetterhorn, the, 456, 457 - - -- -- first winter ascent of, 397 - - Wheeler’s _Selkirk Range_, etc., cited, 577 - - White’s _Sikkim and Bhutan_ cited, 527 - - Wilcox’s _Camping in the Canadian Rockies_ cited, 575 n. - - Will, function of, in climbing, 68 - - Wind, an enemy, 11, 258, 276, 343 - - -- a friend, 277, 380, 381 - - -- as weather portent, 59-60 - - -- effect of, on snow, 326 - - -- protection against, 5 - - Windboard, 407, 408, 432 - - Wind ‘signs,’ 380, 381 - - Wind slab, 432, 433 - - Wine, 7 - - Winter conditions in the High Alps, 442-56 - - -- mountaineering, 397 - - -- snow for ski-ing, 411, 412 - - Woman mountaineers, dress for, 89, 90 - - Wood-chopping as training, 4 - - - Young climbers, care of, 13, 14 - - - Zermatt, weather at, 56, 381 - - Zinal Rothhorn, 446, 447, 462 - - - - - PRINTED BY - MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED - EDINBURGH - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes - -Obvious errors or omissions in punctuation have been corrected. - -Page 78: “when the deterioriation” changed to “when the deterioration” - -Page 159: “changing but steelly arch” changed to “changing but steely -arch” - -Page 333-334: “possibility of the i consumption” changed to -“possibility of the consumption” - -Page 425: “The hard ‘Hochgebirgsalk,’” changed to “The hard -‘Hochgebirgskalk,’” - -Page 564: “Ministère de l’Interieur” changed to “Ministère de -l’Intérieur” - -Page 580: The footnote 2 _Ibid._ v. 20, 44, 82. was removed from the -page because it has no corresponding marker in the text. - -Page 589: “ordinary’s day’s travel” changed to “ordinary day’s travel” - -In the index, “d’Astazon” changed to “d’Astazou” - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MOUNTAIN CRAFT *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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