Chapter IX: A Night Adventure on the Dent Blanche

Mr Cecil Slingsby has kindly allowed me to extract the following admirable account of a guideless ascent with two friends of the Dent Blanche. It will be noticed that during a very cold night they "avoided" their "brandy-flask like poison." When a climber is exhausted and help is near a flask of brandy is invaluable, but when a party has to spend a bitterly cold night in the open, it is madness to touch spirits at all. The effect of a stimulant is to quicken the action of the heart and drive the blood with increased rapidity to the surface. Here it is continually cooled, and before long the heart finds it has to work double hard to keep up the circulation. Therefore to take brandy in order to resist the cold for hours together is like stirring up a cup of hot fluid, whereby fresh surfaces are continually brought in contact with the air and cooled with far greater rapidity than if left quiet. The best companion a climber can have during a night out above the snow-line is a small spirit-lamp. With this he can amuse and fortify himself at intervals, melting snow and making tea or soup, which will be of real help in enabling the party to pass without injury through the ordeal. Doctors and climbers of experience will, I know, bear out what I say. The truth of it was once more shown not very long ago under the following circumstances:

_To face p. 152._]

In August 1902 two French tourists with a guide and a porter set out to ascend Mont Blanc. The weather became very bad, nevertheless they pressed on, hoping to reach that veritable death-trap, the Vallot Hut. In this they failed, and as the hour was late they took the fatal course of digging a hole in the snow in which to pass the night. They were provided with brandy, and, doubtless in ignorance of the results it was sure to cause, they shared all they had. Both travellers died before morning, and the guides then attempted to descend to Chamonix. They seem to have been dazed, and to have lost their heads, and within a few minutes of each other each fell into a crevasse. The porter was killed on the spot, the guide was rescued, but little injured, after six hours' imprisonment.

Will people ever realise that Mont Blanc, by reason of the very facility by which it may be ascended, is the most dangerous mountain a beginner can ascend? He is almost certain to chance on incompetent guides, and these, if the weather becomes bad, have not the moral force--indeed a first-class man would have something even more compelling--to insist on an immediate return. The size of the mountain is so great that to be lost on it is a risk a really good guide would simply refuse to face.

To turn now to Mr Slingsby's narrative. His party had reached the _arête_ of the Dent Blanche without incident, and he writes:

"The rocks on the crest of the ridge were in perfect order. The day was magnificent, and there was not the remotest sign of a storm. Climbers who were on neighbouring mountains on this day all speak of the fine weather. My friend, Mr Eric Greenwood, who was on the Rothhorn, told me that that peak was in capital condition, but that there was a strong N.W. wind blowing at the top. We had perfect calm. Mr Greenwood stopped on the snow _arête_ till a late hour in the afternoon, taking photographs, and neither his guides nor he had the slightest expectation of a thunderstorm.

"We stuck faithfully to the ridge, and climbed up, and as nearly as possible over, each point as we reached it, because of the ice which shrouded the rocks almost everywhere on the west face.

"We were forced on to the face of one little pinnacle, and had to use the greatest care.

"Nowhere did we come to any place where we felt that our powers were overtaxed; still, the work was difficult, though not supremely so.

"A few days later I met Mr Conway at Breuil, and I asked him what he meant in this case by the term, 'following the _arête_.' His interpretation, which is rather an elastic one, is this: 'Climb over the pinnacles if it is convenient to do so. If not convenient, shirk them by passing below their western bases.' This latter method was most probably impracticable on the occasion of our ascent, which fully accounts for the great difference between Mr Conway's 'times' and our own, as we certainly climbed at least as quickly as an average party on the Dent Blanche during the whole of our ascent.

"The time sped merrily and quickly by, and the difficulties decreased as we hastened onward. Just as we left the last rocks a light filmy cloud, sailing up from the north, hovered for an instant over the top of the mountain, and then settled upon it; otherwise, though it had then become exceedingly cold, the sky was clear and the day perfect, and we could not help comparing our good fortune with that of those early climbers who fought their way upwards, step by step, against most ferocious gales.

"After some tiring step-cutting on the gentler slopes above the rocks, which, like the west face, were sheathed in ice, we reached at last the south end of the little flat ridge which forms the summit of the Dent Blanche, where a small flagstaff is usually to be seen. Here there was an enormous snow cornice which overhung the eastern side. The little cloud merely clung to the cornice on the ridge, and evidently had no malice in it at all. None of us put down the time at which we reached the top. One of us thinks that it was just after four o'clock, but the memory of the two others is clear that it was between three and four; at any rate, of this we are all agreed, that it was not so late as 4.12, the hour when the author of _Scrambles in the Alps_ reached the summit in bad weather. My watch, being out of order, was left at Zermatt.

"We left directly, and in less than a minute were out of the little cloud, which was uncommonly cold, and again we revelled in bright sunshine. We were under no apprehension of danger, nor had we any reason whatever to be anxious, as our way was clear enough: there was no doubt about that. We were in capital training, and we had, most certainly, a sufficiency of daylight still left to allow us to get well beyond every difficulty upon the mountain. Moreover, Solly, with his usual instinctive thoughtfulness, carried a lantern in his pocket, and we had left another lower down. Thus we had a most reasonable expectation of reaching the Stockje that evening, and Zermatt early the next morning.

_To face p. 156._]

"When we had come down for about an hour, we saw an occasional flash of lightning playing about the Aiguilles Rouges d'Arolla. This was the first indication that we had of foul weather. Soon afterwards a dark cloud crept up ominously over the shoulder of Mont Collon, and on to the Pigne d'Arolla. Still no cloud seemed to threaten us, but we hurried on very quickly.

"On arriving at the col, just above the great rock tower, we turned down a little gully on the west face. Here, though the work was exceedingly difficult, we lost no time whatever, and undoubtedly we chose the best route. The storm, meanwhile, had crossed over the east Arolla ridge, and we saw the lightning flashing about the Aiguille de la Za and Dent Perroc, and the clouds, as they advanced, grew more and more angry looking.

"We were advancing as quickly as the nature of the ground would allow on a buttress which supports the great tower on the west. It was then about six o'clock. We had, at the most, only 150 feet of difficult ground to get over, when a dark and dense cloud fell upon us, and it became, suddenly and almost without any warning, prematurely dark. Our axes emitted electric sparks, or rather faint but steady little flames, on both the adze and pick part; so also did our gloves, the hair of which stood out quite straight. A handkerchief, which I had tied over my hat, was like a tiara of light. This was very uncanny, but still deeply interesting. The sparks, when touched by the bare hand or the cheek, gave out no heat. There was no hissing to be heard on our axes or on the rocks, but Solly felt a sort of vibration about the spectacles which were on his forehead that he did not at all like, so he put them under his hat.

"Under ordinary circumstances we should have put away our axes until the storm should had passed away. Of course we did not do this, nor indeed would any other member of the Alpine Club have done so if he had had the good fortune to be with us. We wished to get across the 150 feet which was the only difficulty yet remaining before us. Each one of us was quite capable of undertaking the work, and, in spite of the unusual darkness, we had sufficient light for the purpose.

"Solly was leading across a difficult bit of rock, and clearing away the ice; Haskett-Smith was paying out the rope as required; I was perched firmly at the bottom end of a narrow and steep ledge round the corner of a crag above them with the rope firmly hitched. We were all working steadily and most carefully, and hoped in a few minutes to clear our last difficulty. All at once the whole mountain side seemed to be ablaze, and at the same time there was a muzzled, muffled, or suppressed peal of thunder, apparently coming out of the interior of the mountain--so much so that, if a great crevice had been opened in the rocks and fire had burst out from it, we should hardly have been more surprised than we were. Solly and Haskett-Smith each exclaimed, 'My axe was struck,' and each of them, naturally enough, let his axe go. Where to none knew. Solly, describing this, says, 'At the moment I was standing with my face towards the mountain, with my right arm stretched out, feeling for a firm foothold with my axe, which I held just under its head. For perhaps a minute the lightning was coming very fast; then came the noise, and I saw a curve of flame on the head of my axe. I involuntarily let it go. The whole place seemed one blaze of light, and I could distinguish nothing. The thought that rushed through my mind was--Am I blinded? the intensity of the light was so terrible. It is difficult to put such events in any order of time; but I think the noise or explosion came first, before the blaze of light, and the light seemed to flicker as if a series of flashes were coming. I hardly know whether my body or any part of my clothing was actually struck. My axe certainly was, and I think the rocks just by me were.'

"Haskett-Smith said that his neck was burnt, and we saw later that a dark-brown band, an inch and a quarter wide, had been burnt exactly half way round his neck. I was untouched. All the sparks disappeared with the flash.

"Now the matter was serious enough, as we had only one axe, and we felt that we had had a most providential escape. There is little doubt that, if this had occurred upon the crest of the ridge above us, the electric current would have been much stronger, and the consequences much worse.

"My two companions then climbed up to the little ledge where I was sitting, to wait at least until the storm should pass away. Whilst Solly was doing this, a tremendous gust of wind swept up from the N.W., and nearly carried him off his feet.

"The storm lasted much longer than we expected it to do, and by the time it had vanished it was quite dark. All climbers will readily agree with me when I say that the storm, seen from such a point of view, where the mountain forms are so wild, and their guardian glaciers so vast and glittering, was indescribably grand--so much so that, even under our circumstances, there was a kind of grim enjoyment which we could not help feeling.

"I put my axe upon a higher ledge for safety's sake. When the storm had gone by we took stock of our goods. Solly had a lantern. We each had two shirts, scarfs, and unusually warm clothing. We had plenty of food, some cold tea, and a flask of brandy. We knew well that we must stop where we were until morning. It was hard luck certainly, as there was only one narrow prison moat between us and freedom. Once over these 150 feet, we could have reached the Stockje by lantern light. Of this I am certain. But no man living could cross the moat except in daylight.

"Haskett-Smith, who is a marvellous man for making all sort of hitches, knots, and nooses, managed to get a capital hitch for our rope, and lashed us to the rock most skilfully. The ledge was steep, and varied from 1½ to 2 feet wide. As we could not sit back to back, which is the best plan when possible, we did the next best thing, and sat, squatted, or leaned, face to back. Solly, who sat at the bottom, had a loose piece of friable rock which supported one foot. I was in the middle, with my knees up to my chin, on a steep slope, but was supported by Solly's back and by a singularly sharp little stone on which I squatted. Haskett-Smith leaned with his back against a corner, and with his knees against my back. Each of us had a rücksack, which helped to keep out the cold. We made a good meal of potted meat, bread, chocolate, and an orange, and left a box of sardines and other food for the morning.

"Several short but heavy snow and hail showers fell after the thunderstorm had subsided, but we were thankful that there was no rain. The wind got up too, and whistled wildly through the crags above us. Fortunately, a screen of rock above our ledge partly sheltered us. We faced a grim and grisly little pinnacle on the west face of the mountain, which became, hour after hour, if possible, more ghostly. How we did hate it, to be sure. A light in a châlet near Ferpécle shone like a beacon for some hours, which was a pleasant contrast to the near view of the ghost, but it seemed to be a terribly long way off. We kept up our spirits capitally, and from previous experience I, at least, knew how thankful we ought to be that no member of our party was of a pessimistic turn of mind. At the same time, we were fully aware how serious the matter was, but we were determined to get well through it, helped, we trusted, by a power not our own.

"Our greatest trouble during the night arose from the consciousness that Mr Schuster, Herr Seiler, and other friends at Zermatt would be very anxious about us, and we often spoke of it with regret.

"We were most careful to keep moving our hands and feet all the night, and, though the temptation to indulge in sleep was very great, we denied ourselves this luxury. After two o'clock an increased vigilance was necessary, as the sky became clearer, and the cold much more intense. Mr Aitkin's guides, who were then bivouacking above the Stockje, 'complained much of the cold.' We probably suffered less than they did, as, at our great altitude, the air was doubtless much drier than below. At the same time, gentlemen who were occupying comfortable beds in luxurious hotels in the Vispthal thought the night was unusually warm. Haskett-Smith imagined the whole night that Solly was another member of the A.C., and invariably addressed him by the wrong name. This hallucination was, no doubt, the result of the electric shock.

"Shortly before 5 A.M. we opened our sardine-box, which was no easy task, as our outer gloves were like iron gauntlets. We made a good meal of petrified fish, frozen oranges, and bread. We avoided our brandy-flask like poison on the whole expedition.

"We soon discovered the lost axes below us, half embedded in hard snow. Then we began to move. Solly took my axe, and with much difficulty, and at the expense of a good deal of time, cut down to and recovered one of the missing ones. We found, however, that it was then far too cold, and we were too benumbed to work safely, so we returned to our ledge again until eight o'clock. Long before this hour the ghostly pinnacle was gilded by the morning sun, and, if possible, we hated it more than ever, as no warm rays could reach the place where we were for hours to come. On telling several of the leading guides in Zermatt about waiting until eight o'clock on the ledge, they all said that it was quite early enough for us to move after spending a night out in the cold, and that they had done exactly the same under similar circumstances. We were sure we were right; still their testimony is valuable. Messrs Kennedy and Hardy, when they had their 'Night Adventure on the Bristenstock,' say they were 'obliged to stamp about for some twenty minutes in order to restore circulation, or we should not have had sufficient steadiness to have continued our descent in safety.' Well, these gentlemen had neither waistcoats nor neckties, and had only a lump of bread and one bottle of wine. We were at least well fed and warmly clad, but we had no room to stamp about. Having now two axes, we were able to work again with renewed confidence in our powers. We saw the third axe lying half imbedded in the snow a long way below us, and about a rope's length from some firm rocks. The hail and snow, which had partly covered the rocks, increased the difficulty, and the ice in which we had to cut steps was unusually hard. In fact, our 150 feet were gained with much difficulty, and, by the exercise of great caution and severe labour, at last, after much time and manoeuvring, we recovered the third axe, and were indeed happy.

"Two minutes later we stood in bright sunshine, and such was its invigorating power that in ten minutes all our stiffness had vanished. My hat blew off here, and rolled on its stiffened brim at a tremendous pace down a couloir of ice. Fortunately, I had a woollen helmet which Miss Richardson had knitted for me. We hastened on very quickly in order to relieve, as soon as possible, the anxiety which we well knew our friends at Zermatt were enduring.

"When on the snow ridge between points 3912 mètres and 3729 mètres we heard voices far below us on the west, and soon saw what we knew afterwards to be Mr Aitkin, Imboden, and a porter. They had abandoned their intention of climbing the Dent Blanche 'on account of bad weather.' Indeed, Miss Richardson, who had spent the night at the Stockje, was told by Imboden that 'in such weather it would be impossible, and probably would remain so for a day or two; therefore, they might as well go to Ferpécle and do another col the next day.'

"Seeing that the party were above the route to Ferpécle, we knew at once that they were looking for us. Imboden shouted out to us, 'Where do you come from?' We pointed to the Dent Blanche, and they immediately turned towards Zermatt, and we only missed them by about five minutes at the usual breakfast place.

"Now, as we knew that there was no need for us to hurry, we rested, and made a most hearty breakfast, as we had left on the rocks a whole chicken, some ham, bread, plums, and a bottle of white wine.

"On crossing the glacier to the Wandfluh rocks our axes and rücksacks hissed like serpents for a long time, while we saw in the distance the storm which overtook Mr Macdonald on the Lyskamm that very morning; and none of us liked the renewal of electric energy, which may well be believed. A heavy mist also threatened us. Mr Aitkin had a similar experience to ours.

"We descended by way of the Wandfluh, and above the Stockje untied the rope which we had had on for thirty-eight hours; and such is the virtue of the Alpine knot that we were as firmly tied at the end of this time as we were when we first put on the rope.

"On the Zmutt Glacier we bathed our hands repeatedly in the glacier pools as a safeguard against possible frost-bites with entirely satisfactory results. On the glacier we were delighted to meet Mr E. T. Hartley, who welcomed us most warmly, and told us of the anxiety of our friends; he, however, and one good lady in Zermatt said all the time that we should return safe and sound again. Just off the glacier we met three porters provided with blankets and provisions sent by the kind thoughtfulness of Mr Schuster and Herr Seiler.

"We rested at the Staffel Alp, where we had some most refreshing tea, and reached Zermatt in the evening."