Chapter V: Climbing in Combination (1)

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.