# My Climbs in the Alps and Caucasus (1908)/Chapter 11

CHAPTER XI.
A LITTLE PASS—COL DES COURTES.
THE great cliffs closing in the head of the Brenva glacier had long attracted my hopes and aspirations, but a series of untoward events had, for three consecutive seasons, prevented any attempt being made to convert these hopes into accomplished facts. Last year, however, our whole party was resolved that, come what might, we would ascend the Mont Blanc from that glacier. In consequence, when we found the weather inclined to be unpropitious, we abandoned for the moment the attack on the Verte which has just been described, and determined to cross to Courmayeur, so that we could, if need were, devote our whole season to waiting for a favourable day.
We did not, however, wish to repeat the somewhat too well-known Col de Géant; or, for that matter, any of the passes leading from the Mer de Glace basin. It appeared to us that Mr. Whymper's route from the Glacier d'Argentière to Courmayeur was by no means the shortest or most direct that could be taken, and, with that altruism which ​Mr. B. Kidd tells us is the dominant note of our civilisation, we wished to confer on our fellow-creatures the inestimable boon of a better and easier way from L'Ognan to the unparalleled delights of Mons. Bertolini's Hotel. It must not be supposed that this was merely a momentary burst of the altruistic feeling; on the contrary, it had, as attentive readers of "Social Evolution" would infer, been surging and working in our minds for years. We had, indeed, in 1893, made a journey to the Col Triolet for the sole and express purpose of studying whether the pass could be made, and had come to the conclusion, so dear to Uncle Remus, that, "it mout, but then again it moutn't."
As the maps are all incorrect in this district, it will, perhaps, be as well to explain that the Aiguille de Triolet does not, as therein represented, rise at the point at which the Courtes ridge joins the watershed. At this particular point is a small nameless peak, between which and the Triolet is a col, probably lower than the Col Triolet. On one side of this col is a steep gully leading down to the Glacier de Triolet, and on the other are scarped ice slopes that fall away to the Glacier d'Argentière. Whilst this col, if feasible, would offer many advantages, an alternative and easier way was evidently to be found by ascending the great snow and ice wall to the north-east of Les Courtes, and ​known in the Conway Guide series as the Col des Courtes. From the top of this wall it would, presumably, be possible to traverse the ridge to the curious upper basin of the Glacier des Courtes and reach the ordinary Col Triolet.
With these two strings to our bow, we felt tolerably certain of getting across the ridge, and on the 2nd of August, 1894, left the Montenvers about 9 a.m. and tracked down and across the glacier to the Chapeau. On the way from the ice to the little refreshment booth, Hastings and I refused to follow the path where it descends slightly, and preferred to scale some wet and slimy rocks. After many efforts and much perching of ice-axes, we managed to force our way on to the path known as the Mauvais Pas above the obstruction, Collie meanwhile gazing on our performance with mild sorrow, his attitude suggesting the question, "Why should men with dry and fairly decorous knickerbockers sacrifice them on the altar of water and slime, when fifteen feet of descent would have enabled them to follow a dry and convenient road?"
François Simond met us with a hearty welcome, and hearing that we were ignorant of the ways of the forest path to L'Ognan, insisted on ascending a steep series of zig-zags till, reaching the open hillside, he could point out blasted pines and great rocks to serve us as safe landmarks and guides. After exchanging farewells with our good friend ​Simond, Hastings deposited the knapsack on the turf and we adopted those attitudes most conducive to rest and comfort. Two of the party, however, soon discovered that their ascent of a watercourse had made them too wet for a prolonged indulgence in repose. Collie, from amongst the wreathing pleasure of tobacco, protested in vain. We were deaf to his assertions that the chief delight of mountaineering is to be found in the skilfully selected halt; that the great dome of the Gouter, whitest snow above purple valley, the jagged crest of the Charmoz, the ice cliffs of the Plan with their piled-up memories of scorching sun and bitter night, were worthy of a longer halt. But we were obdurate, and, turning to the hill, we scrambled up amongst the pines and crags. A pleasant ramble brought us, some hours later, to the châlet inn of L'Ognan.
Sitting in the sun, we drank deep draughts of milk, thus recalling those far-off years when a long pull out of great wooden bowls constituted no inconsiderable part of the climber's food. A cross-examination of our hostess having elicited comforting assurances relative to the possibilities of dinner, we gave ourselves up to the contemplation of the shining sun and the knotted ridges of the Buet. Gradually the harder lines and sharper contrasts were softened and etherealised by those vague mists and wondrous visions that ever hover on the ​verge of sleep. Some of us, indeed, fell utter victims to the drowsy god.
The next morning we started at 12.40 a.m., our party being strengthened by the addition of a full-grown porter to carry the sack, and a small boy to instruct the full-grown one in the mysteries of the path. We ascended mule tracks and foot tracks, moraines and ice, these latter being varied by an occasional deflection on to the slopes at the side of the glacier. After a somewhat weary pilgrimage we emerged on to the smooth and even ice, and were able to tramp quickly towards the great wall by which it is enclosed. Lowering clouds, sailing swiftly before a south-westerly gale, aroused painful thoughts, and we declaimed on the vanity of early starts and the ignominy of returning to the Montenvers a second time wet and beaten. Soon after daybreak, a suggestion concerning breakfast was received with enthusiasm. We accordingly made our way to a small sérac, behind which we were partly sheltered from the wind.
It is needless to say we had many courses; beginning with Yorkshire bacon, we pursued our way amidst the delights of rolls and butter, of jam, of biscuits, of preserved fruits and ginger, of chocolate, and all the varied comestibles which our prince of caterers had provided. The two porters, after gazing with astonishment at the progress of this grand "gastronomic symphony," said good-bye, ​and quickly rounding a shoulder of Les Courtes, were lost to sight.
The pipe of peace being once more lit, we deputed Hastings, who, not being a smoker, had no particular duties on hand, to pack the knapsack, and subsequently, from the cold and wind-swept summit of the sérac, to prospect for an easy and convenient way across the Schrund. All idea of making the col immediately under the Aiguille de Triolet had been abandoned, owing partly to the difficulty of finding a possible route, and partly to the fact that any such route would of necessity be exposed to many and various falling missiles. We fell back, therefore, on the alternative plan of climbing up to the Glacier des Courtes, and thence traversing on to the ordinary Col Triolet. Before, however, these operations could be begun, it was necessary to get over the very formidable Bergschrund, by which access to the slopes of Les Courtes is defended.
At 5 a.m. we left the friendly sérac, and walked slowly up to the great yawning chasm. Two courses were open to us. We could either assault the Schrund at a point where, once across, the ascent would be merely an ordinary piece of step-cutting work; or we could keep more to the right, where an occasional sérac and more than an occasional stone were in the habit of falling, and ascend by a series of séracs piled one on the other, till an avalanche groove, high above the Schrund, was gained.
​According to our usual practice, we decided on the shorter and temporarily more difficult line, and bore towards the open Schrund with the overhanging lip. As we approached, however, it became obvious that this lip was too high to be practicable, so we altered our course, and swung round to the right towards the piled-up débris of séracs. When we had got to this rather rickety structure, we halted a moment to put on the rope and pull ourselves together before beginning the attack.
We had at the outset to climb on to a fragile, egg-shell sort of arrangement that bridged the crevasse, and led to the lowest of the séracs. Steps worthy the name could not be cut, as it was obvious that a very trifling interference with the structure might send it crashing into the open chasm below. After some preliminary efforts, Hastings hoisted me on to his shoulders and shoved me on to the top of the bridge. Its upper edge was peculiarly insecure, and so loaded with powdery snow that its passages suggested unpleasant possibilities. At the point where it abutted against the precipitous face of the first sérac, loose snow was piled high upon it, and much labour was required to beat and tread it down into the semblance of foothold. A first attempt to scale this obstacle proved abortive, and Hastings had to be once more summoned to give the needful aid. So soon as Collie had anchored himself as well as circumstances would allow, our ​second man entrusted himself to the bridge. Happily it proved of stronger virtue than we had expected, and, despite all temptations, did not stray into the downward path.
The advent of Hastings soon altered the appearance of affairs; planting himself on the highest reliable step, he once more lifted me up the slope, and when I had got beyond his reach, still gave me that moral support which the knowledge of his resource and extraordinary skill in "backing up" always affords, and which in many cases is as valuable as an actual shove. The short perpendicular cliff being ascended, a narrow and very steep gully, lying between a great sérac and the ice slope on our left, was reached. This gully being loaded with incoherent, dusty snow, no really reliable hold could be obtained. However, as all our rope was now out, it was necessary for Collie to come up on to the bridge. This being effected, Hastings untied, and thus gave me rope enough to crawl round on to the top of the sérac. From this point one looked down a hundred feet or more of overhanging ice cliff into the blue-black depths of the Schrund. The top of this cliff, which forms the upper lip of the Schrund, still towered high above our heads, but the piled-up séracs gave us a means of circumventing the obstruction, and we could see that the first serious obstacle was overcome. With ever lessening difficulty, though not without much ​hewing of steps and an occasional wrestle with loose snow, we gained the well-swept avalanche groove, and were able to cut really reliable foothold in its icy floor.
The hum of one or two small fragments which spun merrily over our heads soon directed our thoughts and aspirations towards some rocks shutting in the ice slope a short distance on our right. A first effort to cross was, however, foiled by the layer of dangerous new snow lying on all the slope outside our well-brushed avalanche slide. Fifty feet higher up the snow seemed slightly more compact, besides which we were not so terribly near the edge of the great overhanging ice cliff. Though the actual peril may not be affected by the nearness of such a cliff, none the less the human mind is so constructed—at least mine is—that one feels much happier when a reasonably long slide would precede the final and concluding drop.
By much careful anchoring, and by treating the new snow as Isaac Walton advises the angler to treat the frog he is impaling, "use him as though you loved him," we got across without material risk. A sharp scramble up and round a precipitous corner brought us to a secure ledge, on which we promptly sat down to recover our wind and to indulge in a few minutes of well-earned repose. The sacrificial fires being lit, Collie, soothed by their pleasant restfulness, was fain to admit that even Ben Nevis ​has nothing to quite equal this Schrund. A quarter of an hour later he took the lead, and climbed to the left round a peculiarly awkward corner. Beyond this, a little splinter of rock lures the cragsman forward. I found, however, that it could only just be reached by the tips of the fingers of the left hand, whilst the right was doomed to imitate the "evil one" and wandered up and down the face of the rock. This place was distinctly awkward, but the sight of Hastings, firmly planted on a broad ledge, braced my courage, and I gave a bold spring, and, after sundry wriggles, landed successfully on the splinter.
The rocks now became easy, and we could see that our way to the ridge was assured. The weather, perceiving that we were more or less independent of its vagaries, gave up making any further efforts to bother us, and moved off its clouds, winds, and other engines of torture towards the Bernese Oberland. We felt that these varied and satisfactory circumstances ought to be celebrated by a halt. I regret to say it was by no means the only halt; indeed our progress from this time forth was interrupted by such frequent pauses for rest and refreshment that our ultimate arrival on the ridge called forth the utmost surprise from each and all of the party. We felt, however, that our first view of the crevasses of the Glacier des Courtes must be honoured by a lunch, and a more than usually protracted halt was unanimously decided on.
​To our right an extraordinary needle of rock blocked the ridge, whilst to the left a series of jagged spires suggested that we might, possibly, still find work to test our mettle. Happily it is one of the strong points of amateur parties that no fear for the future ever interferes with their enjoyment of the present, and we basked in sundry nooks, a whole world of glorious form and colour delighting our half-closed eyes, with never a thought beyond the restful beauty of the scene. Gradually, however, it became apparent that sharp stones and occasional cold blasts of wind interfered with that perfect bliss which it is the invariable object of the climber to attain, so we hailed with enthusiasm a suggestion of Collie's that we should make our way along the ridge to a wide shelf of broken rock, where perfect shelter and luxurious resting places could evidently be discovered (9.15 a.m.).
A sharp descent, followed by a hard climb up the precipitous flank of a needle-like spire, brought us to this delectable table-land. It is doubtful whether we should have ever been able to make up our minds to start—possibly we should have remained there even to this day, wrapped in all the pleasure of sun and air and sky—had not a consuming thirst laid hold upon us. Driven unwillingly forward by this fiend, we grappled in succession with the few obstructions still remaining. At no point did they become at all serious, ​though once or twice neat little problems in rock-climbing presented themselves for solution. At length the upper snows of the Glacier des Courtes rose to our level, and we tramped across their sun-softened surface till we reached the Col Triolet (10.30 a.m.).
We discovered a pool of delicious water, formed in a tiny hollow between the névé and the rocky ridge of the pass, and forthwith knapsacks and all encumbrances were discarded, and we drank our fill with the keen enjoyment of thirsty men. Hastings, as usual, extracted unimagined luxuries from his knapsack, and we proceeded to enjoy an aldermanic banquet with far more than aldermanic appetites and digestion. At the conclusion of this feast, which of necessity took place on the margin of our pool, we repaired to the Italian side of the col, where we were sheltered from the wind, and warmed by the full blaze of the sun.
Sleep soon nestled among the party, and it was not till 11.40 a.m. that a stern sense of duty drove us down the rocks. The first Schrund or two did not give us very much trouble, but the final chasm, which cuts off this bay of the glacier from the main snow field, proved to be of a most formidable character. We had only a single circumstance wherewith to console ourselves, at one place alone was it possible to attempt to cross; those tiring traverses and vain searches for a better line so usual in such ​circumstances were, in consequence, wholly avoided, and we set ourselves determinedly to the passage.
After a few preliminary efforts, I got down on to a curious flake of ice that had been split from the upper lip of the Schrund, and, carefully held by Collie and Hastings, examined its stability. The great flake appeared perfectly sound and secure, so the others came down on to it, and after careful inspection agreed that if we could reach a small notch in the edge of the ice flake some distance to our right and some twenty feet below our present standing ground, the last man could lower the two others and then jump across the chasm on to some convenient snow.
The edge of the flake was too thoroughly disintegrated and rotten to be of any use, but we were able to cut our way down and along, inside the crevasse separating it from the parent ice. By this means the gap was reached without undue delay. As, however, we, one after another, stepped into it, a somewhat blank look settled on our features. It was evident that below the snow on which we wished to jump were large blocks of broken ice excellently suited for the fracture of any legs or other similar objects which might happen to fall on them; moreover, the difference in height was considerably more than we had judged from above—certainly not less than thirty feet. A strong and irresistible feeling of modesty now ​invaded each individual of the party, and no one would consent to accept the usually coveted distinction of descending as last man. This humility of mind seeming wholly proof to the blandishments of the most artful flattery, we had to seek another method of grappling with the difficulty.
On the inside of the flake, and about six feet below us, was a small ledge from which it appeared that a staircase might be constructed leading obliquely down the crevasse, till it emerged beyond the edge of the flake at the level of the lower snow field. Whether it would be possible to cross the Schrund at this point was not very certain, but in mountaineering something should always be left to luck. It adds such zest and interest to the proceedings!
No sooner had I scrambled down to the ledge and begun work on the staircase than the general opinion of the party veered round till it once more favoured the jump. Collie went so far as to offer to lower us down and then risk the thirty feet. But there are few pleasures of the muscular sort keener than that afforded by cutting down a crevasse—even the joys of rock climbing pale before those of perpendicular ice—the remonstrances from above remained, in consequence, unheeded, and I hewed my way down into the blue depths. It was at first possible to descend with one foot in a hole in the flake and the other resting on the parent mass; so ​long as this was possible the axe could be wielded with both arms, and excellent holes and cavities could be cut out of the opposing walls. Somewhat lower, the crevasse widened very materially, and, despite considerable length of limb, I could no longer reach across the chasm. I was, in consequence, reduced to cutting the staircase exclusively in the flake. It was impossible to stand in the steps so cut without holding on with at least one hand, the other being alone available for the axe. The steps soon began to show signs of scamping, and my companions above were urged to give due heed to the rope. Fortunately the axe held at full length still reached the opposing wall, and its support materially aided the otherwise most perilous business of getting from one step to another.
The flake, near its outer edge, curved in toward the great upper wall of the Schrund, and, having fought my way to this part of the crevasse, secure standing ground could once more be constructed. Here I halted a moment to recover from the effects of the struggle. One foot was supported on the flake and the other was wedged into a notch in the parent ice, while all eternity yawned between, and in this attitude I had to consider what should be done next. The flake was becoming very thin, indeed the difference of light and shade in the distant landscape could be clearly detected through its mass; the texture of its substance also left much to be ​desired, and it was evident that extreme care would have to be taken in dealing with it. Besides all this, a most objectionable lump of ice, weighing several hundredweights, was suspended by a curious and apparently most insufficient stalk of the same fragile material, exactly in the place where I wished to pass. To send the lump thundering down into the crevasse with a single blow of my axe would have been easy, but the very delicate health of the flake seemed unequal to the strain of so drastic a remedy.
I decided, at length, to pass below this "impendent horror," and to wholly avoid touching it. After several ineffective attempts, and not till the patience of those above had been sorely tried, did I succeed, by wedging my axe across the chasm, in swinging round the corner of the flake in such sort that I could grasp the edge of a second and lower flake that formed a sort of extension of our first acquaintance and friend. A moment or two later I scrambled on to its rotten and decaying surface and picked my way across a good and solid bridge to the firm glacier beyond.
The knapsack was lowered and Collie soon followed. Hastings, descending last, showed a contemptuous disregard of the great lump of ice, and putting his back against it, squeezed round the corner with great facility. Being thus at a higher level, he was able to step on to the axes that Collie ​and I held wedged across the chasm, and thus avoided the main difficulties of the passage.
Two years previously I had crossed the Col Triolet and passed this same Schrund almost without difficulty, but two snowless winters had altogether altered its character. Lower down, remembering splendid slopes of avalanche snow on the right bank of the glacier, I led our party across, but in place of a glissade of a thousand feet or more on hardest snow, we had to flounder down loose stones and rocks, the same exceptional winters having failed to make good the waste of the summer sun. As a consequence the bridge, which used to cross the torrent in the Val Ferret, had been allowed to disappear. Presumably no one now ever goes near this endless waste of desolation and hideousness. Having waded the stream we tramped down to Courmayeur, where we arrived amidst the deluge of a thunderstorm at 9.15 p.m.