# My Climbs in the Alps and Caucasus (1908)/Chapter 7

CHAPTER VII.
THE DENT DU REQUIN.
FOUR travel-worn men arrived at the Montenvers at 7 o'clock one evening, after thirty-three hours of continuous railway and diligence, and, with the enthusiasm of inveterate climbers, immediately began to discuss what was to be done on the morrow. "Began"! do I say? It had formed the staple of their talk during all those weary thirty-three hours, and still no satisfactory conclusion had been reached. The walk up to the Montenvers had, however, convinced three out of the four that a start at 2 a.m. the next morning would be contrary to all the canons of mountaineering. On the other hand it was felt that perfect weather must not be wasted, and, as a concession to the youth and energy of the party, it was decided that we would camp the next night in the open, and assault the redoubtable Dent du Requin on the following day. Even the suggestion hazarded by the aforementioned ​youth and energy, that we might spend a second night out and do a sort of right and left barrel arrangement—climb the Requin one day and the Plan the next—was regarded with distinct approval.
A consultation with the map, and our collective recollections of what may be seen on the way over the Col du Géant, decided us to camp on some nameless rocks a little below the Petit Rognon, where the more sanguine spirits averred we should find grass and other untold luxuries.
The next day we began our preparations directly after breakfast, and the elder members of the party, with the accumulated wisdom of years, chartered a porter to carry their share of the baggage, but Hastings, with the muscles of Hercules and the imprudence of youth, loaded a huge bag, and, in addition, easily showed us the way to the foot of the rocks leading up to our proposed bivouac.
From this point a remarkable desire to enjoy the view became manifest, both in the party as a whole, and in its individual constituents. On the rare occasions when we were not all seated on a flat stone admiring the prospect in concert, four scattered wanderers might be seen leaning on their axes, wrapped in serene contemplation of the glories of a steep slope of screes. Progress was consequently slow, and it was not till 2.35 p.m. that we straggled on to a pleasant little grassy valley. As each member of the party reached this ​tiny oasis in the desert of stones, he might have been seen to gaze wearily at the steep moraine above and then, throwing himself on the ground, begin to pour forth, with most persuasive eloquence, a series of convincing reasons for camping at this particular spot.
There being no dissentients, the porter was promptly paid off, and the afternoon tea was put in train; we then proceeded at our leisure to contemplate the formidable summit we were to attack. Seated in the shadow of a great rock, we examined it with the telescope, and came to the conclusion that it would be won if we could only reach the eastern ridge anywhere in the near neighbourhood of the summit. From a cleft in this ridge we could see there was a convenient crack or gully leading down to a great buttress that merged in the face of the mountain, about five hundred feet below the ridge. To the left of this was a considerable patch of snow, and it appeared to us that once on this snow, we should have a fair chance of success. Below this snow, however, the rock was, for a short distance, slabby and precipitous, and it seemed doubtful whether the ascent of this section could be effected. The optimists were confident that it could be done, but the pessimists were even more certain that we should be stopped. An alternative line was then suggested by Slingsby, who pointed out that, though the southern ridge of the peak ​concealed the western face, this face not only looked easy when seen from the Col du Géant, but had actually been climbed by parties seeking to make the ascent. So far then as this point, where the southern and western ridges join, an assured route was open to us. From thence it would apparently be easy to go down the southern ridge towards a remarkable rock tower, capped with a great stone which looked much like a three-cornered hat. Whether it would be possible to descend the face at any point on to the snow patch was not quite so certain, but the rocks looked distinctly more favourable than those below the snow patch, and there was, in addition, very much greater choice of route. The only objection to this line was the détour it involved, and the great extent of more or less difficult rock it would be necessary to traverse. It was, however, pointed out, that our main object was not an ascent, but a training walk, and it would, in consequence, be an advantage rather than otherwise to have a sufficient extent of rock on which to develop our muscles and burn out, what Professor Tyndall refers to, as the "effete matters" which English life lodges in the muscles. We were quite unable to resist the strength of these arguments, and decided in favour of the south-western face, the descent from the southern ridge to the snow patch, and the re-ascent to the eastern ridge.
​Our next proceeding was to prospect for suitable holes to crawl into should the weather turn bad, and for soft and dry grassy hollows, should it keep fine. We then made the tea, and enjoyed one of those sumptuous meals with which Hastings invariably treats his companions. It is needless to add that Slingsby and I once more gave the party a graphic description of the Aiguille du Plan, and the joy which its ice slopes afford the faithful. Meanwhile the sun "toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel," and the cold breeze of evening suggested sleeping bags, so we each retired to the lair of our choice, and, pitying the poor wretches cramped in stuffy inns, we were soon sleeping the sleep of the just.
About two o'clock Hastings stirred me out of a refreshing slumber, and we then set up a series of howls to wake Slingsby and Collie, who were concealed in certain remote and invisible hollows. At length they emerged from the gloom and, wrapped in our sleeping bags, we sought to eat our breakfast. But breakfast at 2.30 a.m., when you are totally out of condition, is not a successful meal. It requires much careful training before the stage is reached when, at that hour of the morning, you can eat three questionable eggs and enjoy them. While ​drinking our hot tea, Slingsby and I gave our companions further interesting details of the Plan, Collie now and again breaking in with an unanswerable demonstration of the inferiority of the Alps, for climbing purposes, to Skye and other Scotch districts.
At 3.10 a.m. we started up the moraine, led by Collie, who had prospected this part of the route on the previous afternoon. We then crossed a level tongue of glacier to the foot of the steeper slopes. Here we found the ice just as steep as it was possible to walk on without cutting steps. More than once, I expected to effect an involuntary glissade to the bottom; but as the rest of the party seemed to be thoroughly enjoying themselves, I concealed my difficulties and pretended that I liked it. We then reached more level ice, and had the choice of either going to the left on to the open glacier, or keeping to the right along an apparently easy valley between it and the rocks of our peak. Unluckily I led off by the apparently easy valley, and soon found it would not do; it appeared, however, possible to cut up a sérac and reach the glacier, and thus avoid actually retracing our steps. The sérac proved long and hard, and both Hastings and I had a try at it before we succeeded in cutting our way to the top. The top proved to be merely a peninsula of ice with crevasses on three sides and a perpendicular wall from twenty to twenty-five feet high on the ​other. The lowest and only vulnerable part of this wall was at the left corner and immediately over a large and nerve-shattering crevasse.
Slingsby cut himself a step and made himself firm, and I essayed to ascend; but want of training made itself felt, and I suffered from the ridiculous idea that a slip would pull Slingsby out of his hold. Retreating for a moment, Collie was added to the anchor; then Hastings, firmly planted at the corner, gave me a lift, and after a short struggle the top was won. So soon as the next man was up, I unroped and went off to see whether we could reach practicable glacier. This proved perfectly easy, and a weary climber was soon reposing on the snow, offering devout and most heartfelt prayers that the progress of his companions might be slow. Not merely was a gratifying response to these aspirations vouchsafed, but on the arrival of my companions they promptly sat down, as if it were the most natural and proper thing for enthusiastic climbers at 5.30 a.m. to indulge in a protracted halt. Shame at length drove us on to our feet and we laboured solemnly up the slopes, each member of the party exhibiting a most pleasing and touching modesty in the matter of leading.
At 6.10 a.m. we struck the rock. I injudiciously jammed myself in a chimney, and had the pleasure of seeing the rest of the party, led by Collie, going up slightly to the left with ease and cheerfulness. ​Having extricated myself from the chimney I followed, and discovered the rest of the party. They said they were waiting for me, but the abandon of their attitudes suggested that this was not the whole truth. Seeing some signs of movement, I suggested lunch. Applause greeted this brilliant idea, and we all solemnly pretended to eat. At length we repacked the knapsack and climbed up for another half-hour, when we came to a little pile of meat tins. We promptly decided that as it was obviously the custom to lunch at this point it would savour of radical, not to say of anarchical doctrines, to break a rule evidently hallowed by time. We once more solemnly sat down and consumed ginger, chocolate, and similar light refreshment. By these and other devices we succeeded in bringing the pace down to a point that agreed with our lack of training, and it was not till 8.50 a.m. that we reached the ridge.
A steep chimney, partly blocked by a big stone at the top, had to be attacked next. We put on the rope, and Hastings shoved me up as far as he could reach. The big stone, however, appeared to be loose, and was otherwise unpleasant to climb over, so I thought to squeeze in between it and the rock. The space proved insufficient, and I had to retreat and take off my coat, after which it was just possible to get through. The coat was then stowed away in a secure hole and left till we should return.
A short distance further we reached the crest ​of the south ridge at the point where it joins the main ridge of the mountain. Immediately in front rose a perpendicular tower, and, directly behind it, but apparently cut off by a smooth step in the ridge, was the summit. The south face of the tower had been rent by frost into three great blocks one above the other. On the second of these dangled an end of rope, lashed round a more or less insecure stone, and it obviously denoted the high-water mark of previous attempts. It appeared barely possible to reach this rope by climbing a crack on the face in front of us, but the better plan was, presumably, to traverse into the gully between the perpendicular tower and the final peak. This latter, we subsequently learnt, was the line taken by Mr. Morse's party in their various attempts on the peak.
On consultation, however, we agreed that the final peak was probably inaccessible on this side, even if the tower could be climbed, and we were also inclined to think that the end of rope hanging down the rock suggested that the inside of the gully was a less convenient staircase than weary climbers might desire. Slingsby judiciously settled the discussion by leading along the southern ridge towards the "hat." This proved perfectly easy, and at the point noticed the previous afternoon he swung round to the left and led towards the snow patch. In a few minutes we were pulled up by a cliff, faced for the most part with a frost-riven ​veneer, so near falling that a very slight pull sufficed to detach very considerable quantities of débris. From this point of view our chances looked desperate. The crack we had seen overnight appeared precipitous, and it did not even look possible to get into it, the cliffs between us and it consisting of smooth and outward shelving slabs. After some consultation, in which Slingsby still held to the favourable opinion formed overnight, it was decided that I should be steadied down by the whole of our light rope (200 feet) and spy out the land on the further side of the snow patch.
The descent proved very much easier than I had anticipated, though the fact that no single hold could be trusted, even in those places where anything worthy of the name of "hold" was to be found, made me extremely glad of the moral support afforded by the rope. Immediately above the snow I found an easy and convenient traverse on the rock, leading across to the top of the buttress of which mention has previously been made.
From this point the opinion formed the preceding day was seen to be amply justified; easy rocks led into the crack, and it appeared, though difficult, to be well within the limits of the possible. Shouting to my companions to hurry up, or rather down—an injunction they certainly did not obey—I selected a suitable hollow between two rocks and proceeded to indulge in a doze. My dreams were, ​however, somewhat frequently interrupted by shouts for directions from the next man. Some considerable time was then taken in finding a rock to which the rope could be fixed for the aid and comfort of the last man, and altogether at least an hour and a half were expended on this two hundred feet of cliff. Whilst Slingsby and Collie were tying the lower end of the fixed rope to a suitable stone, so that we might be sure of finding it on our way back, Hastings and I started up the easy rocks into the crack. We soon found this latter was not all that could be desired, and we again put on the rope. Our companions quickly caught us up, and we then began the attack in earnest.
The first serious obstruction was formed by a smooth slab quite destitute of hold except for a perpendicular crack between it and the precipitous wall on our right. This crack was in parts too narrow to admit one's fingers, and at no point did it afford really satisfactory hold. Hastings gave me the usual lift, followed by a shove, but owing to the extreme steepness of the slab it was a matter of some difficulty to keep oneself from toppling outwards. Unfortunately the utmost limit at which he could help me was still some six feet from the top, and it became evident that a very serious struggle would have to be made. Moreover, it was impossible to tell whether hold would be found at the top of the slab. Unless there was such hold nothing ​could be done, for a second perpendicular rock rose immediately above it, and the outward sloping ledge on to which it was necessary to climb was not more than eighteen inches wide. Hastings, with extraordinary daring and skill, managed to follow me up a yard or so, and gave a most welcome push to my feet with an ice-axe: so aided, I got a hand on to the ledge, and at its extreme upper limit found a deep and most satisfying crack; even with its aid getting one's feet on to the ledge and subsequently abandoning the crack, and reassuming an upright attitude, was not wholly easy.
We then encountered the usual sort of chimney work, steep corners, occasionally wet rock, and a general tendency in everything to slope outwards with overhanging edges. At more than one place Hastings had to propel the leading man upwards for some eight or nine feet, but beyond trifles of this sort, which appeared to that same leading man a most convenient and restful method of getting up a hill, we met with no very serious obstacle. About 11.30 a.m. we reached the window in the eastern ridge and were within a short distance of the summit.
On our right a bold pinnacle cut off the view; on the left a knife-edge of granite rose steeply for some fifteen feet and then abutted against a square tower. Taken as a whole it looked very formidable, and we all agreed that a halt was desirable. It ​soon, however, became obvious that life is not worth living if you have to sit on a rock sloping outwards at an angle of forty-five degrees, retaining your position by clinging to inconveniently placed knobs; nor are matters materially improved if you exchange that position for one in which you sit astride in a V shaped gap. These discomforts speedily brought us to the conclusion that we had no time to lose and had better see what could be done with the sharp ridge and the tower beyond.
The ridge proved easier than we had expected. With the fingers on one side and the palms of the hand on the other, and the grip that could be obtained by holding it between the knees, progress, if not exactly elegant, was fairly easy so far as the foot of the tower. Beyond this a bit of very awkward scrambling was necessary. Supported exclusively by the grip of the fingers on the by no means horizontal knife-edge, the right leg had to be stretched, till, at its utmost reach, a small outward sloping shelf afforded some sort of support for the foot. The right hand had then to leave its hold on this edge and, at its longest stretch, grope along a very inferior perpendicular wrinkle in the tower. When the most desirable point of this wrinkle had been found, the knife-edge, the only reliable grip within reach, had to be definitely abandoned, and the weight swung over on to the right foot. The whole proceeding was of much delicacy, for the ​foothold was so precarious that any miscalculation in balance would have inevitably involved a slip. The cliff immediately below is remarkably precipitous even for the Chamonix Aiguilles, and I hardly like to say how many thousand feet the scientist of the party declared it to be.
The next stage did not appear very much easier. The aforementioned wrinkle, with one or two other similar rugosities, afforded the only means of support. Clutching them between my fingers and thumb, and scraping my feet downwards on the rough granite, I succeeded in getting sufficient propelling power to work up inch by inch. Fortunately the rock was pleasantly warm, and Hastings ever shouted out most comforting assurances; so, little by little, the difficulties yielded and a gasping climber at length reached the square-cut top of the tower.
The rest of the party quickly followed, and we again indulged in a quiet bask. Starting once more, we were soon confronted by a profusion of that sort of split rock which is known to habitués of the Montenvers as a "letter-box." In the present instance the postal arrangements were represented by three of these boxes; that to the left being the most formidable and that to the right the easiest. I made a preliminary survey of the middle one, as it did not appear wholly certain that that on the right led to the ridge above. However, it proved distinctly ​difficult, and the Nestor of the party advised a preliminary investigation of the easy one on the right. Having ascended it, I found a long stride round a nasty corner placed me in the upper section of the central box, and from this point there was no serious difficulty in climbing once more to the ridge.
Immediately in front rose the final tower. It was obviously impregnable to direct assault, and, at first glance, it looked as if we were to be defeated within twenty feet of the summit. A second glance, however, disclosed a detached flake on the left that seemed to offer distinct chances of success, and, as we advanced to the attack, an easy and convenient route on the right was unfolded to our delighted eyes. This latter led up the edge of a great rent-off flake, from the top of which the edge of a second, steeper and sharper flake, gave access to the summit. It was only ascended at the cost of some damage to our fingers and nether garments, but the nearness of the summit made us callous to the minor ills of life, and a few minutes later we were shouting ourselves hoarse on the highest point.
Though we had left the provisions behind, Hastings turned out of his pockets the materials for a sumptuous repast, and we feasted on a great variety of dainties. One half of the party then proceeded to indulge in the sweet pleasure of tobacco, and the other half went perilously near sound and solid slumber. Having refreshed ourselves by these judicious ​methods, we constructed a cairn of the few stones that were available, and we then, feeling our labours were completed, gazed on the great peaks and rejoiced in the glorious mass of light reflected from the vast fields of snow which surrounded us on all sides.
Owing to the fact that we had distributed our ice-axes, knapsacks, spare rope, &c., on sundry and various rocks throughout the line of ascent, it was essential that we should return the same way, otherwise we should have been tempted to make a short cut to the point where the main and south ridges meet. The top of the great tower was, we could see, easily accessible, and, even if the gully between it and the mass of the mountain should prove impracticable, a "piton" and the rope would easily have solved that difficulty. Unluckily we could not abandon our various baggage, and we were, in consequence, bound to follow the route we had taken in ascending.
At 2.20 p.m. we left the peak and were soon on the top of the tower above the window. Hastings promptly produced a "piton," which we drove into a suitable crack to help the last man down. The window being regained, we took a farewell glance at the ridge and started down the gully. At the first bad pitch we carefully hitched the rope, and I was delighted to find the ease with which it could be descended. My delight, however, was somewhat modified when, after ten minutes spent in ​endeavouring to loosen the rope, I had to go up again to unhitch it. This procedure struck us as both fatiguing and likely, if repeated, to prove injurious to our tempers, so, on reaching the second mauvais pas, Hastings was once more utilised as a ladder, and the rocks descended by the simple methods of my youth.
We reached the snow patch at 4.5 p.m., and, to save time, we determined to go up on one rope and trust to luck and such shelter as the cliff afforded, to escape the stones certain to be sent down. I was happily accorded the post of leader. I say happily, because, where stones are concerned, I fully concur with the Biblical maxim that it is "more blessed to give than to receive." My liberality on this occasion was great, but, as frequently happens, this generosity did not evoke those feelings of enduring affection that were desired. I must, however, except Collie, who, as last man, not only enjoyed the missiles I sent down, but had in addition those scattered by the rest of the party; so far as I could judge, he thoroughly enjoyed dodging them, and when not so engaged, watched our proceedings with calm and benignant composure from loose and inconvenient ledges.
Regaining the southern ridge at 5.5 p.m., we raced along it to its point of junction with the main ridge, and, supported by Hastings, I slid through the hole and regained my coat, which the chill ​of evening made extremely welcome. We then opened the knapsacks and had a short halt. We re-roped with Slingsby as last man, and soon found that the snow was in such a sloppy state that the utmost care would be needful. Our hopes of "rattling down to the glacier" were consequently dashed to the ground, and it was not till 6.25 p.m. that we reached the Bergschrund.
Slingsby got well over, but as Hastings followed, the rickety sérac gave a groan and a shiver and a great mass fell from it into the depths below. Happily it quieted down after this little exhibition of ill-humour, and we were able to follow on to the glacier. The crevasses proved very badly bridged, and we were constantly forced to quit our morning's track to find a more secure route. Night came on apace, and the suspicion began to float across my mind that we were in for an impromptu bivouac on the snow. Slingsby, however, rose to the occasion; quitting our route of the morning which would have taken us down a long slope of ice on which snow, varying from three to nine inches in thickness, was lying, and which, in its present sloppy condition, would have involved grave danger, he struck boldly to the right, and unravelled a complex series of obstructions as readily as an ordinary mortal would have done in broad daylight. But he was, at length, pulled up by a perpendicular cliff, which apparently constituted the edge of the world and overhung ​space. There is something strangely impressive in gazing over a great ice wall into inky darkness and absolute silence. The sense of boundless depth and utter mystery seems to pervade one's whole being. The utmost light of our lantern failed in any way to pierce the gloom, and despondency was settling down on us, and we were making up our minds to a night on the snow, when a rift in the clouds let a glint of moonlight fall on the glacier and the existence of firm land, or rather glacier, was disclosed some fifty feet below, accessible by a sort of peninsula of ice. The moon having done us this good turn, very unkindly extinguished itself again and left Slingsby the pleasant task of cutting along a nearly perpendicular face of névé with an extremely wide crevasse underneath, aided only by such light as a folding lantern emits. Our leader, however, appeared to thoroughly enjoy the business, the chipping gradually got more remote, and one after another my companions disappeared over the edge into the darkness. At last it became my painful duty to follow. Cheery voices out of the gloom told me that it was perfectly easy, but on this point I most emphatically disagree. The large coal-scuttle-like steps which I was assured existed in profusion, appeared to me mere scratches in loose and rotten snow, while the highly extolled hand-holds broke away at the least strain and served no useful purpose, other than filling my pockets with their broken débris. However, I ​managed to reach a place where Collie on the other side of a crevasse, armed with an abnormally long ice-axe, could just manage to skewer me with its point, and in this painful and undignified way I was landed, in a snowy and damp condition, on a small ridge of ice between two deep crevasses.
Slingsby meanwhile had once more started off into the darkness along a narrow edge of ice with profound chasms on either hand. After we had followed and made a few more dodges round various obstructions, a short glissade put us on the more level glacier, and we began to rejoice in the sure and certain hope of sleeping bags and hot soup.
The combined memories of Slingsby and Collie took us off the open glacier on to the little moraine at exactly the right spot, and we avoided all the difficulties we had encountered about here in the morning. Feeling our work was nearly over, we halted a few minutes and tried to make out where we were to go next. To our right we could see great looming séracs, to the left was an ice slope plunging precipitously into utter night. By the process of exclusion we decided, therefore, that our way must be straight ahead, and, as we remembered that the ice tongue had been very steep, even by daylight, we utilised our halt by putting some long spikes into our boots.
On attempting to descend we found the ice rapidly steepened, and some of the party protested ​that it was not the way we had come up. Slingsby then unroped and demonstrated that there was no possibility of going farther in that direction.
We next crossed a little crevasse to our right, but soon scrambled back again appalled by the great towering séracs, séracs that we were all prepared to swear had never been passed in the morning. Slingsby, however, still unroped, again prospected amongst them, and this time shouted to us to follow. Promptly the great looming séracs were seen to be mainly fictions of the darkness, and were reduced to mere hummocks of ice, and the yawning chasms to water channels or streaks of sand-covered glacier!
Thanks to our screw spikes we descended the ice tongue with tolerable ease, reached the level glacier and tumbled helter-skelter back to the gîte, regaining our camp at 11.45 p.m.
Here Hastings and I, realising the discomfort of packing by lantern light, and the advantage of getting some one else to carry our luggage, made various deceitful remarks about the delights of sleeping bags. So entrancing was the picture we drew that Collie declared his intention of not going further, and Slingsby was brought to the same state of mind by my generously offering him the loan of my sleeping bag for use as a mattress. Having in this ingenious way got rid of the necessity of carrying my bag, I felt equal to the descent to the ​Montenvers, and Hastings having with equal kindness presented his bag to Collie, we started down the stones, screes, and waterfalls that lead to the glacier. Wishing to avoid the necessity for jumping inniunerable crevasses, I suggested going down the Chamonix guides' route to the séracs of the Géant. The previous year I had descended it without jumping a single crevasse, and both Hastings and I agreed that this was well worth half an hour's détour. Alas, on reaching the point where in 1892 an unbroken causeway led between the Tacul system of crevasses on the one hand and the Trélaporte system on the other, we found that the two systems had joined hands, and the next hour and a half were expended in jumping and dodging and running across knife-edges, so that our arrival at the Montenvers was only effected at 4.30 a.m. The door was shut, but the smoking-room window was open, and having accomplished that well-known problem we filled our pockets with biscuits and retired to our respective rooms.
* ↑ Messrs. Cecil Slingsby, Norman Collie, G. Hastings, and myself. The ascent was made on the 25th July, 1893.
* ↑ This scramble has been described by Mr. Ellis Carr, one of the party, in a paper entitled "Two Days on an Ice Slope," Alpine Journal, vol. xvi., p. 442, et seq.