Chapter IX: Mountaineering on Ski (3)

Under fair conditions winter mountaineering is often surprisingly easy. Men who have enjoyed unbroken good luck with their weather are tempted to discount the very real dangers of mountaineering in winter, and to adopt a paradoxical attitude towards the Alps in winter, implying that the only danger to be feared is sunstroke and snow-blindness. Those who have not been so uniformly lucky realize that winter mountaineering on a big scale is a sport from which the element of danger will never be lacking; that a sudden storm may transform even an easy expedition into a desperate struggle for safety.

[Sidenote: The Approaches to the High Alps.]

Often the most difficult, and sometimes the most dangerous, part of a winter expedition in the High Alps is the first day’s march to the club hut. Once the upper regions are attained, progress is usually fairly straightforward. It is quite normal for ski-runners to make nearly as good time on the ascent of a snow-peak as summer climbers, but it is very rare indeed that the club hut is reached in anything approaching summer time. From one and a half to twice as long must be allowed for the ascent to most club huts.

The long, narrow valleys that so often lead to huts are usually very deep in soft powdery snow, so that progress must be slow, whereas in the upper regions the snow is usually more or less packed by the wind, which makes for easier going on the ascent, even though the descent may be far from pleasant. Moreover, the danger from avalanches is usually much more serious in the lower regions, where the slopes are much steeper and the valleys narrower.

On the first day’s march the guides will be heavily loaded, for the full equipment for a serious expedition in the High Alps is very much more bulky and weighty than that necessary in summer. In the first place, no prudent ski-runner commits himself to a High Alp tour without ample reserves of food. He must allow for the danger of finding himself stormbound in a hut for a period which may be anything from a day to a fortnight. Plenty of compressed reserve food is essential until the club huts begin to store emergency rations. Further, as a broken ski may involve serious consequences, he must burden himself with spare ski-tips and all the apparatus for mending ski. Extra clothes, plenty of gloves, and, of course, crampons add to the overburdened rucksacks. Unless one is prepared to carry very heavy sacks it does not pay to economize in porters. As a rule, you should reckon two guides or porters for every member of the party if you contemplate an expedition of some five to six days in length, unless, of course, you are prepared to carry some thirty pounds or so in your own sack for the first day. Of course, if you take two porters to the hut, they may be sent back from the hut; but it is obviously unfair to expect a solitary porter to make the descent alone.

Everything should be done to make matters easy. If the first part of the ascent lies up a path or a wood-track, a boy should be hired to carry your ski. If the ascent begins from some out-of-the-way alpine valley, it will often pay to send a guide on ahead the day before to make tracks for part of the distance in soft snow. This is especially useful if you are attempting a very big climb from one of the rather higher alpine valleys or mountain inns without using a club hut. It is unwise to reckon on climbing more than an average of 500 feet per hour for the first day.

An early start is essential. The longest days pass fairly comfortably if you break them up with frequent _short_ halts and short feeds. It is often impossible in winter to make a prolonged halt owing to the cold. A few caramels or some chocolate, which can be easily got at, should be kept in one’s pocket, and munched during short halts. Napoleon’s rule of a short rest and something to eat every hour is a good rule for climbers, especially winter climbers who are heavily laden.

The huts as a rule are comfortable enough in winter, though the stoves often prove troublesome. Wood is usually kept in large quantities, brought up at the end of the autumn, though it is as well to make inquiries on this point before starting. On reaching the hut, set the aneroid barometer usually found in most huts. A pocket-barometer is not so reliable, for, as Whymper pointed out and conclusively proved, the usual aneroid tends to lose on the mercurial. In other words, if you carry a pocket-aneroid up some thousands of feet and then set it at the hut, it will usually fall a point during the night, where a mercurial barometer would have remained stationary.

So, too, if you descend from a peak to a hut, the pocket-aneroid will rise where a mercurial would remain stationary, thereby often conveying very dangerous and misleading information. It is most important to set the hut aneroid, so as to have some warning of the approach of a sudden storm.

If you are unlucky enough to be caught by bad weather in a hut, and if your provisions run short, you should spend as much of your time as possible lying down and keeping warm, for the less exercise you take the less food you will need. People who practise the ‘fast cure’ have proved that a man can go without any food for a week and carry on his ordinary business without feeling unduly weakened. It is therefore in every way better to stay at the hut fasting--even for three or four days--than to attempt to descend in a bad storm. If the worst comes to the worst, and the party is thoroughly weakened by lack of food, they can always stay at the hut and await the search party.

If a sally is attempted in bad weather from a hut which is situated among glacier snow-fields, it is advisable to cut up a number of small stakes from the firewood. These can be planted in the snow at intervals of a hundred yards or so in order that a retreat can always be made back to the hut if further advance is impossible.

[Sidenote: Snow Conditions in the High Alps.]

If the Alps were windless, the snow that falls between November and the end of February would remain powdery and unspoiled on all save very steep south slopes. At high altitudes the sun is powerless to affect the snow in midwinter on _gentle_ south slopes. The snow would remain powdery on _northern_ slopes till the middle of April but for wind. Unfortunately, the High Alps are swept by wind, more especially during long spells of fine cloudless weather, during which the ‘bise,’ or north wind, sweeps across all exposed ridges and faces. Consequently, the snow seldom remains long unspoiled. In sheltered glacier valleys it may retain its powdery condition, but on all more or less exposed slopes it soon hardens. Of course, if an expedition is planned within two or three days of a fresh snowfall, the party may have perfect powder snow; but such snow is the exception in winter in the High Alps, whereas it is the rule in spring.

[Sidenote: Rock Ridges and Ice Slopes.]

Rock climbing does not properly come within the scope of mountaineering on ski; but so many ski-runners combine a ski tour with a final scramble up a rock ridge, such as the last arête of Monte Rosa or the Zinal Rothhorn, that some discussion of the condition of rocks and ice slopes in winter is essential.

As a rule, rock ridges are as dry, or drier, in winter than in summer. Snow that falls in summer often falls at a temperature little below freezing. It is often most adhesive stuff. The strong summer sun followed by frosts at night turns this snow into crust, or at least into snow with a considerable power of sticking to the rocks. In summer it is often several days before the big rock peaks will go after a heavy snowfall. But in winter the snow that falls in the High Alps is light and powdery. The low temperatures and the reduced power of the sun prevent the snow melting; it retains its light powdery character, and is swept away from exposed ridges by the wind. It offers no resistance to the wind, for it is composed of light dry crystals with no cohesive or adhesive power. Consequently, the rock ridges in the winter are often freer from snow than in average summer weather, which is a mixture of good and bad. In winter, cornices have little chance of forming. In fact, if the weather is mild and the ridge windless on the day of the ascent, it is scarcely more difficult to climb a rock ridge of average difficulty in winter than in summer. South ridges are, of course, much warmer than north ridges, but they are not necessarily more free of snow; for the agent that reduces the snow on the rock ridges is not the sun--powerless as a melting agent at these altitudes in winter--but the wind; and in fine weather the wind, as often as not, blows from the north. Of course, if the north wind is blowing, a north ridge may be impossible, for the rocks promptly become extremely cold to touch, so that in general it is wisest to select south rock ridges in preference to north. None the less, rock ridges facing north, such as the north ridge of the Zinal Rothhorn or the north ridge of the Gspaltenhorn, have been climbed without difficulty in midwinter.[22]

The same causes which keep the rock ridges comparatively free from snow tend to remove any snow that may fall on to steep ice slopes.

Inexperienced winter mountaineers are often surprised to find as much or more ice on summit slopes in winter than in summer.

As a matter of fact, there is often quite as much ice on steep exposed slopes in winter as in summer.

An ice slope is transformed into a snow slope when falling snow is accompanied by a temperature just above freezing-point--in other words, when the snow is very nearly sleet. Such snow adheres to the underlying ice, and by the normal process of alternate thaw and frost becomes more and more firmly attached. The next snowfall that occurs attaches itself to the underlying thin stratum of snow crust lying on ice, so that in the course of time the ice slope is covered by a compact and reliable layer of crusted snow.

But the dry powder of midwinter has no chance of finding a permanent resting-place on steep ice. The first strong wind that blows will remove it.

Many slopes vary from season to season and from month to month. Sometimes they are ice, sometimes snow. Such slopes, if they are ice in October, will remain ice until the following spring. May and June are the months in which the conversion of ice slopes into snow slopes usually takes place.

GLACIERS IN WINTER

The light powder snow which is swept from rock and ice ridges is deposited on the broad glacier snow-fields, which therefore receive more than their fair share of snow. In midwinter there are few open crevasses to be seen, save at the icefalls, and most traces of concealed crevasses disappear from the upper _névés_. None the less, the danger from concealed crevasses is by no means trivial. The dry powder snow forms the most brittle of snow-bridges.

In the Grenz glacier accident a snow-bridge _fourteen feet thick_ collapsed beneath a party of ski-runners. Of course, sooner or later, most crevasses are bridged, not only by powder snow, but various forms of wind-driven snow and wind-formed crust. Such crust is, of course, less brittle than powder snow-bridges, but it is quite brittle enough. The low temperature tends to increase the brittleness of snow-bridges.

In the early hours of a _summer_ morning a snow-bridge two or three inches thick will usually be safe enough; for such bridges are generally formed of a mixture of ice and hard snow which is due to alternate melting and freezing. Such crust is much more compact, more solid, and far less brittle than crust formed by wind.

Glaciers are, in fact, safer in summer than in winter; for though there are many more crevasses open, there are far fewer dangerous crevasses whose existence cannot easily be detected. The droop on the snow and other unmistakable signs in ordinary seasons betray most concealed crevasses to the experienced eye. In winter the winds are so powerful, and their effect is so much greater (for reasons explained on pp. 446-447), that they obliterate all traces of underlying crevasses. The surface of the snow is apparently one uniform field of wind-driven snow, and even the most expert cannot possibly detect the presence of concealed crevasses.

This raises the very vexed question of ski-ing on a rope. It is quite easy with a little practice to ski at a reasonably high speed on a rope, and to make combined swings. Roped running is, in fact, quite enjoyable, but it is not, and never can be, as enjoyable or as easy as free ski-ing. Consequently, many ski-runners will never consent to rope on the descent, save on glaciers, which are known to be badly crevassed.

There are three methods of ski-ing on a glacier:

1. _A Roped Descent._--For the technique of ski-ing on a rope, see pp. 452-456.

2. _A Descent in exactly the same Tracks as were used for the Ascent._--This method is based on the presumption that a snow-bridge which held in the morning during the ascent will hold during the descent. Obviously the strain is much less during the fast descent than during the climb. Also, as the variations of temperature in winter are of no great importance, provided that the temperature remains below freezing, a snow-bridge which holds in the morning should hold in the afternoon, though the same cannot, of course, be said in summer. As the tracks of the ascent were presumably made on sealskins, the descent must also be made on sealskins if it be desired to follow with any accuracy the line of the ascent and to avoid rapid swings and turns which are liable to test severely a snow-bridge strong enough to resist the ordinary uphill track. For my part, though this method is sometimes used, I consider that the necessity to wear skins and to keep exactly along one line is just as troublesome and not nearly so safe as the rope.

What usually happens when people start a descent _without_ skins, but with the pious intention of keeping to the uphill tracks, is that they very soon find themselves curving and swinging some considerable distance from their old tracks.

3. _A Free Descent Unroped._--If you discard the rope, you should be doubly careful to reduce risk to a minimum by paying attention to the general laws of crevasse formation. The middle of a glacier is usually the safest part of the glacier in winter. Lateral crevasses, i.e. crevasses at the side of the glacier, are wider, more numerous, and more complicated than transverse crevasses. The crevasses in the middle of a glacier are usually at right angles to the line of flow, so that a ski-runner who is running straight will cross them at their narrowest breadth. Lateral crevasses usually run at an angle of 30-45 degrees to the line of flow,[23] so that they will usually be crossed by a ski-runner at a more or less wide angle, and the danger of running along the whole length instead of across a snow-bridge is therefore great.

The principal rules for glacier ski-ing in order of importance are as follows: (1) Don’t fall. (2) Don’t make sudden swings. (3) Run straight. (4) Don’t use your stick. (5) Keep to the middle of the glacier.

In other words, run as straight as you can consistent with not falling. It is better to run straight and to use your stick to reduce your speed than to check your speed by swings and turns, for a swing to a standstill above a crevasse is more likely than any other ski-ing manœuvre to break a snow-bridge.

Keep close together on the descent, but not too close. Above all things, avoid crossing the same snow-bridge while another member of the party is crossing it. In the Grenz glacier accident three members of the party fell into the same crevasse.

Avoid short sharp turns, and cultivate long gentle turns if you cannot run straight.

It is often advisable to follow the leader’s tracks, for if the leader has passed over a crevasse without falling in, the chances are that you will be equally fortunate.

There should be two ropes in the party, so that if one rope disappears with its bearer into a crevasse the second rope may be available to pull him out.

At least one rope, and, in addition, the first-aid case and mending apparatus for ski, should be in the rear of the party, as nothing is more annoying than to see the leader disappearing far below with the spare ski-tip just as your ski-point has snapped off.

“Always rope on snow-covered glaciers.” This is the law, and in theory the law admits of no exceptions. But in winter, as in summer, this law is often broken. Few climbers have a clear record on this point. The temptation to break the law is, of course, much stronger for the ski-runner than for the foot-climber. There have been comparatively few accidents in which ski-runners have fallen into crevasses. On glaciers that are known to be little, if at all, crevassed in summer, only a pedant would rope in winter. Local knowledge is therefore very useful indeed, and if a local guide can be taken, so much the better.

Such accidents as have happened have been either on the ascent, or during a more or less level traverse, or as the result of a sudden swing or stem which has disturbed the snow. I know of no case in which a ski-runner has fallen into a crevasse during a fast, free, unchecked descent. Indeed, I should doubt if it would be possible to break through a snow-bridge while moving fast and running straight. I have myself shot an open crevasse about ten feet or more in breadth while travelling at a fairly high speed.

Most ski-runners would rope in winter on a glacier that was known to be very crevassed in summer. Many ski-runners always rope in winter, but far more only rope when they know the glacier to be very crevassed.

In May or June there is no reason to rope for the descent, save under very exceptional circumstances. The risk of falling into a crevasse in May or June is so slight that the rope may usually be discarded.

[Sidenote: Ski-ing on a Rope.]

Ski-ing on a rope is not so difficult as the inexperienced might suppose. Experts who have practised together can attain high speeds, and perform all the turns while roped together. A couple of good runners with a little practice should be able to run safely at a fair speed. But practice is necessary, and an hour or two of roped running in the valley is well worth while.

Two is the most manageable number on a rope, and of course, there need never be more than three, for larger parties can divide up into two twos, a two and a three, etc.

First a word as to roping. Most guides make a loop at the very end of the rope. This is quite unsound. The loop should be made about four feet from the end of the rope, and this four feet of spare rope should again be tied round the waist. Otherwise, if you fall into a crevasse, the pressure on your waist may almost suffocate you before you are withdrawn; whereas, if you have four feet of spare rope, you can uncoil this, make a new loop into which you can place a foot, thereby at once relieving the pressure on your body. With a little effort you should be able to wriggle out of the main noose, standing in what may be called the stirrup noose. If you are not exhausted, you might then be able to swarm up the rope, which would of course be quite impossible if, as would otherwise be the case, the end of the rope was originally tied round your body. Two men on a glacier alone sometimes adopt Mummery’s plan of wearing a second rope, which, in the event of a fall into a crevasse, is untied by the man above and wound round the head of an axe driven into the snow. The man below pulls on to the rope wound round the axe. The man above pulls on to the rope round the fallen man’s body. Thus there are virtually two men pulling one.

There is another method of roping sometimes used when three ski-runners are tied to the same rope, which--though it has been employed by experienced guides--seems to me most unsound. In this method two ski-runners are tied to one rope, along which runs a small iron ring. To this ring a second rope is fastened, and to this second rope the third ski-runner attaches himself. The theory is that the third ski-runner, being attached to a rope which in turn is attached to a movable ring free to slide on the main rope, is far less constrained in his movements than if all three were on the same rope. This is true, but I should be sorry to be the third ski-runner if I was to fall into a crevasse. Suppose the other two ski-runners are on opposite sides of this crevasse. The man in the crevasse is then attached to a rope which slides helplessly with the ring along the main rope. The iron ring probably buries itself in the lower lip of the crevasse. I do not quite see how any tension is to be exerted on the secondary rope.

It is simpler to begin by considering the case of two ski-runners, A and B, running on a rope. If there is a marked difference in the ability of A and B, the poorer ski-runner should lead, for it is much easier to lead on a rope than to be the last man. The last man on the rope has to moderate his pace and his direction in accordance with the movements of the leader. If, however, A and B are equally good runners, then the leader should be the one whose ski are the faster: I do _not_ mean the faster ski-runner, but the one whose ski are running better, either because the ski themselves are faster and more slippery, or because their owner is the heavier of the two, and therefore, other things being equal, tends to get downhill quicker. For if, on a gradual slope which is to be taken straight without braking or stemming, A (whose ski are faster) is constantly overrunning B, the rope will get mixed up with the ski, and A will have to regulate his pace by stemming or braking in order to keep the proper distance. On the other hand, if A leads, his extra speed will keep the rope taut, and the tension of the rope will enable B to keep a uniform distance.

On easy ground A and B can ski in single file. B, whose ski are slower, will be kept in line by the tension of the rope. It is not necessary nor desirable for B to follow exactly the same spoor as A: his spoor should be an inch or two to the side of, and parallel to, A’s spoor.

B must be on the look out for sudden increases in pace on the part of A: A may, for instance, come to a steeper gradient, and B, if he is not on the look out, is liable to be pulled over and pitched on to his head. Similarly B, if A runs on to a gentler gradient, will have to guard against overrunning A, and thereby rendering the rope useless; for if A and B are on the same snow-bridge they may both fall in. _At least_ 75 feet of rope should be allowed between A and B. On easy ground this rope may be allowed to be taut; on more difficult ground B should keep a coil of rope in his hand to allow a margin in the event of A suddenly increasing his speed.

The normal position for straight running should be modified. In free running lateral strains may usually be disregarded; the main risk of a fall lies in fore and aft changes of speed. Consequently, for normal running the narrow groove and the lengthened base, as in the Telemark position, are usually preferable to a broad track. But a ski-runner on a rope is always liable to lateral strains. It is rare that one runs exactly in line; whenever one’s track is parallel rather than coincident with the track of the leader, and whenever the leader changes his direction, however slightly, the rope exercises a certain amount of sideways pull. The greater the distance between the parallel tracks, the greater the lateral tension of the rope. Consequently, the ski-runner on a rope must be prepared, not only for forward and, in the case of the leader, for backward jerks, but also for sideway strains.

The best position for roped running is to hold the ski about 8 inches apart. One ski should be a few inches ahead of the other, and the knees should be loose. The body should be slightly bent below the waist. The Telemark position is, of course, most unsound.

On average ground the ski-sticks should be held together in the left hand, leaving the right hand free to hold a spare coil of rope. If it is necessary to brake or to control your speed, you should do so by stemming and not by the stick.

On difficult ground you should use the stick to control your speed--a recourse which is seldom, if ever, justified, except when running on the rope. It is quite easy to hold both the sticks and also a spare coil of rope in your two hands; and if you intend to brake with your sticks, you must, of course, put your sticks together and get both your hands on to them. The most efficient stop turn on a rope is the Christiania helped out with the sticks. If you are unroped, a yard or two of sideslip after a sudden stop is quite a good thing, but if you are roped, you need to stop in the smallest possible compass, especially if you are leading and the man behind falls. For this purpose there is nothing to beat the stop Christiania helped out with the sticks. As a rule, however, stemming is sufficient without using the sticks. Good runners can, of course, make a series of linked turns on ski, and there are few prettier sights than a skilful party on a rope descending in a series of Stemming turns.

Whether leading or going last, always keep your partner fully informed as to your changes of speed or direction. If the back man feels that he is going to fall, he must shout out at once, so as to give the leader time to stop by a stick Christiania. Similarly the leader, if he comes to a steeper gradient, should warn his partner that the speed is likely to increase.

_Be prepared to fall neatly and with the maximum of effect._ Should the leader fall into a crevasse, don’t allow yourself to be dragged after him. Throw yourself on the ground, and bring your ski round, as you fall, at right angles to the track and below you. This is more difficult than might be imagined. An indifferent runner, or even a good runner who had not trained himself to expect a fall, would run a big risk of being pulled into the crevasse by the first man.

The ‘falling Christiania’ is the best method of avoiding being pulled after the leader into a crevasse.

On fairly steep slopes it is best not to run in line. A and B should run side by side. Provided the rope is long enough (and at least 75 feet should be allowed between each partner), there is no danger that A and B will fall into the same crevasse. A and B will probably not be exactly side by side. B will be just a little behind A. In other words, the line of the rope will not be exactly at right angles to the parallel lines of the two tracks cut by A and B. This side-by-side method is much easier than running in line; if A suddenly quickens in speed, the only result is that A, instead of being side by side with B, tends to run on ahead, and the two tracks tend to close up together until the speed is readjusted. So, too, if B falls suddenly, A has much more chance and more room in which to make a stop Christiania than if they were running exactly in line. Also it is not necessary for either A or B to hold a coil of rope in his hands. If the snow is smooth, the rope need not be taut between the runners if they are running side by side. It cannot be allowed to hang loose and to sweep the snow.

All that has been said above applies equally to three men on a rope: three on a rope is, however, a more difficult combination; the position of the middle man liable to both fore and aft jerks is far from enviable. The best man should be placed in the middle. It is, however, surprising how easily a party of three practised roped runners can execute straight running and even combined turns on a rope.

Ropes that are employed in winter should be new. Old summer ropes should not be used up in winter. Ropes break much more easily in winter than in summer, and the strain is much greater in the event of a fall into a crevasse owing to the greater speed on ski than on foot.

THE HIGH ALPS IN SPRING

There is a fascination about the High Alps in winter that is unique. Never are the great peaks so icily aloof, the silences of the glaciers so inviolate. No moon compares with the full moon of January shining on some great glacier causeway; no views are clearer than the summit panorama of February. None the less, winter is _not_ the proper season for ski tours in the High Alps. It is true that the rock ridges are usually free from snow in the winter and corniced in spring, so that for expeditions which combine ski-ing with more or less difficult rock climbing, winter is preferable to spring. At the same time, it is possible to exaggerate this point. An ardent champion of winter mountaineering once cited to me the Lyskamm as a mountain that could not be climbed in May owing to cornices. Unfortunately for his case, the Lyskamm _had_ been climbed in May. I have known the cornice on the Wetterhorn almost invisible in May, whereas in many winters it is quite formidable.

Still we may concede that rock ridges are certainly far easier in February than in May, and cornices in general much larger in spring than in winter.

And of course the snowline is lower in winter than in spring; but, as we shall try to prove, this is not of very great importance.

The winter is the season for ski tours of modest length. It is the season for what may be called _sub-alpine_ ski-ing. (We need some handy expression in English for the most useful German word _Mittelgebirge_.) Spring, on the other hand, is eminently suitable for ski tours in the High Alps.

The best month for glacier ski-ing is May. June is also excellent. Indeed, from about the middle of May to the middle of June is, on the average, as good a month as any in the year for glacier ski-ing.

February is usually the best of the winter months, and May is the best month for spring ski-ing. May is, among other things, usually fine. April is almost always stormy; but the weather usually mends at the end of April, and a long spell of perfect weather is as common in May as in February.

Let us then compare ski-ing among the glaciers in May and in February from the point of view of (1) Safety; (2) Quality of ski-ing; (3) Effort; (4) Scenery.

(1) _Safety._--The shortness of the days and the great variations of temperature, from mild and equable to bitterly cold, all add an element of danger to the High Alps in February. A small mishap may have very serious consequences. A broken leg half-way down Monte Rosa or the Wetterhorn probably means a night in the open, and a night in the open may mean a fatal ending. The sudden changes of weather, the storms that rise in a night and last for days, all make February ski-ing among the glaciers a sport with its own dangers. In May all these risks are reduced almost to vanishing-point. A broken leg is a broken leg in February or in May, but a night in the open in May should have no permanent effect on any but a very badly wounded climber.

We have already dealt with avalanches. Here we need only repeat that though avalanches are of daily occurrence in May, an experienced party has no difficulty in avoiding them. They have a regular time-table, and, provided one times one’s ascent or descent so as to avoid crossing certain slopes at certain hours, one is absolutely safe. In winter, avalanches can fall at any hour of the day, under certain circumstances, and at any temperature. To take a concrete example: the Gauli hut. This hut lies at the head of a very steep and narrow valley, the Urbachthal. In winter one would never be quite safe in this valley. A sudden wind might rise and bring down a powder avalanche; and even in steady weather the risk of a powder avalanche from the very steep sides of this valley is never entirely absent.

In spring one leaves Meiringen before midnight, climbs this valley at night, and, provided the weather is fine, one is absolutely safe; for in spring, avalanches fall in the afternoon and never fall at night, save when the Föhn is blowing. And when the Föhn is blowing the ski-runner stays at home, or remains in a club hut.

Finally, the glaciers are not oversafe in winter, for reasons explained on pp. 448-449. In May all save very badly crevassed glaciers can be descended on ski by an unroped party, without greater risks than those which must be faced by every bold pedestrian that crosses Piccadilly Circus. The crevasses are never so securely bridged as in spring.

(2) _Quality of the Ski-ing._--In winter it is the exception to find good snow in the High Alps. The wind, as has already been explained, spoils the snow on all exposed slopes. But in May the wind is powerless, for the first fine day and hot sun will melt the snow so thoroughly that all traces of wind action during the snowfall will entirely disappear. Thenceforward the wind is powerless, for the wind cannot churn up the heavy melted snow of spring, still less the hard crust which is found in the early morning.

Snow in spring is hard crust in the early morning, Telemark crust up to midday or later on high north slopes. In the afternoon it is usually soft and heavy, but in the evening it once again yields fine ski-ing.

The ski-runner who visits the High Alps in winter can form no forecast as to the possible conditions of the snow, for the snow is dependent on the direction and on the strength of the winds that have blown since the snow fell. It is therefore a matter of chance whether the snow is good or bad, for nobody can foretell the conditions which depend on such a fickle element as the wind. The longer fine weather endures in winter, the greater the chance that the snow will be spoiled. In spring the reverse is the case. _The more often snow is melted and refrozen the better it becomes._ In general, provided the weather remains fine, the spring ski-runner can count almost with certainty on perfect ski-ing and perfect snow.

An important point in favour of spring is the fact that one usually gets good ski-ing for every foot that one climbs on snow. In winter the summit snow slopes are often so windswept, that the ski are left some distance below the actual top and the final ascent is made on foot. In spring the snow is just as good on the most exposed summit slope as lower down. I have started spring or summer ski descents from the _actual summits_ of such peaks as the Dom, Ebnefluh, Galmihorn, etc. This is an important advantage, and more than counterbalances the fact that the snowline is higher in May than in February; for though one may lose a thousand feet of ski-ing on the last day, one more than balances this loss by the fact that good ski-ing is obtained from the highest limit of the snow.

The snowline in May usually extends down to 5000 feet. I have spent three May months in the Alps, and I have always been able to get good ski-ing well on to the middle of May down to about 5500 feet, and sometimes lower. In narrow valleys the remains of spring avalanches survive into the summer. I have skied in the middle of June below 6000 feet in the Gredetschthal, and I have often, in the middle or end of June, obtained first-class ski-ing below 7000 feet.

Of course the height of the snowline is of no very great importance if, as is usually the case, one spends four or five days on the glaciers. One can sacrifice a thousand or two thousand feet of ski-ing on the last day with complete composure if one is certain, as one is never certain in winter, that one will get really good ski-ing for every foot of snow slope that one climbs.

(3) _Effort._--Much less energy is expended on a spring than on a winter ski tour. In winter most of the climbing is done on ski. Tracks have to be made in the soft snow; a gradual zigzag course has to be taken; time is wasted over ‘kick turns.’

In spring one climbs on foot or on crampons. The ski are dragged behind on string. On level or gentle slopes the weight of the ski is almost imperceptible if they are pulled along on string. On steep slopes they are by no means a great hindrance. It is surprising what can be accomplished by a man who is dragging instead of carrying ski. I have seen Knubel climb a short but very steep snow and ice wall in which he had to cut half a dozen handholds, and on which he had to steady himself with one hand while he cut hand and foot holes with the axe held in his right hand. Meanwhile his ski were dangling on string--attached to his waist--over the bergschrund below.

The ski should, of course, always be secured by two strings in case one breaks.

In spring on hard snow one climbs very nearly as fast dragging one’s ski as one would climb without ski, and from 50-100 per cent faster than one would climb if one was forced to ascend the same slope on ski with soft winter snow.

The saving of effort is as remarkable as the saving of time, for it is much easier to climb direct on foot than to zigzag up soft snow on ski.

Apart from the upper snows, the approaches to the High Alps are easier in spring than in winter. The snow at night is nearly always hard in May. The narrow valleys, filled with soft powder snow, are covered with a firm groundwork of hard crust in spring. The climb to the club hut is usually done at night or in the early morning. Though the snow lies down to five thousand feet well on into the middle or end of May, so that the ski descent can be prolonged down to very low levels, it is usually possible to pick a route up snow-free slopes (either on southern or south-westerly or south-easterly slopes) far higher than the lowest levels of the snowline. Paths can be utilized instead of snow slopes, more especially if the peasants have begun to tramp out the paths for their own purposes. The long detours, often necessary in winter, to avoid dangerous avalanche slopes are needless in spring, for such slopes can always be crossed with safety at night when the snow is crusted.

(4) _Scenery._--I have tried to show that the High Alps yield better and safer ski-ing in May than in winter. Even if this were not so, May would possess a charm for the mountaineer that no other month affords. It is perhaps idle to compare the rival beauties of the four great alpine seasons, for, even if one season could be proved paramount, the true mountaineer would wish to study the mountains in all their moods. The icy virginity of the High Alps in winter reveals secrets that are hidden in spring and in summer.

None the less, if it be permitted to state a preference, I for one should give my vote to May months. Contrast is the greater teacher, and May is the month of contrasts. I think of moments when one stepped on to a high ridge after hours among the burning snow-fields of May, and looked down, with a shock of surprise, on to the valleys dressed in a green that was different, transfigured, miraculous--a green that the valley-dweller has never seen. I think of quiet evenings after long days among the snows, when one strolled down through the scented pines with one’s ski on one’s back and the music of a perfect run still echoing in one’s heart--of the Dollfuss in May, a little oasis of green young turf covered with gentian and anemone in a wilderness of burning snow and granite ridges. I think of a sunset hour just above Rosenlaui, following four perfect days among the May glaciers, the foreground of marsh-marigolds a sheet of flame, and the whole valley one full-throated chorus of spring. Running water is always beautiful, but there is no music in all the harmonies of Nature to compare with mountain torrents in spring after days among the dead silence of the upper snows. Such are the contrasts that reward the mountaineer in May. Within the compass of dawn and sunset he can live through the cycle of the seasons, can pass from winter to spring, can enjoy the best that snow yields to the ski-runner, and the chiefest rewards that the hills yield to those that explore them when the great rebirth of colour and music has finally prevailed over the stubborn obstinacy of the retreating snows.

In order to understand the conditions that prevail in the High Alps in spring, the effect of sun on snow and the various habits of sun-formed and sun-melted crust must be grasped. These are dealt with on pp. 412-417. Avalanches are analysed on pp. 423-438. All that now remains is to consider the application of the principles laid down to the various months of spring.

[Sidenote: March.]

The winter of the calendar ends officially on 23 March, and the calendar spring lasts from 24 March to 23 June. None the less March, whatever the calendar may say, is winter in the High Alps. The snow, unless disturbed by wind, remains powdery on all north slopes and gentle south slopes. March is often a month of snowstorms, though occasionally it is distinguished by really fine weather. On the whole, however, it cannot be said to be a good month for glacier ski-ing, though, on the other hand, the days are longer than in February. The sun is stronger and the crevasses more securely bridged.

[Sidenote: April.]

April marks the transition from winter to spring. As a rule, April is marked in the Alps by frequent storms, varied by periods of wet Föhn. Occasionally one gets a week of really good weather and fine ski-ing, even at very low altitudes, and it often happens that the last week in April is perfect succeeding to a long period of snowstorms. But as a rule good weather is less common in April than in any month of the alpine year.

The snow itself varies. Powder snow is found on north slopes at high altitudes. South slopes are usually crusted. The crust varies a great deal, and resembles, in general, the crust found in winter at low altitudes. In other words, April crust on the glaciers is usually marble crust in the early mornings. The law, explained on p. 414, “The milder the frost the better the crust,” often gives the clue to timing a successful descent. As one descends on an early morning in April the crust usually improves.

As a rule, the sun is strong enough to melt the crust just before or just after midday, and in this case you get perfect running on Telemark crust. Owing to the lower temperature the snow remains good much longer than in May. In fact, at high altitudes it seldom becomes completely thawed, so that the ski-ing on April afternoons is usually better than on May afternoons.

It is important to notice that when, as in spring and summer, the sun remains above the horizon after 6 p.m., the northern slopes will be in the sun after the southern slopes have lost the sun, for the sun at 6 p.m. is due west and after 6 p.m. is north of west. Of course, as the sun is low in the sky only north slopes that are not shut in by neighbouring slopes will keep the sun.

If a north wind is blowing, the snow on north slopes, previously crusted by sun and frost, may remain quite unmelted throughout the day. I have found hard slippery crust in the late afternoon at the end of April just below the rocks of the Zinal Rothhorn, with the result that the ski-ing was most unpleasant. A bitter north wind was blowing at the time. So, too, south slopes when the north wind is blowing may resist the sun, and though they will not, like north slopes, remain really hard, they will not be thoroughly melted.

If you are lucky enough to get fine weather, April ski-ing is often delightful. After a few days of sun traces of wind action disappear from all slopes, save perhaps north slopes at very high altitudes. Telemark crust towards midday, and even later, and salt snow or hypo snow (p. 417) as you descend from the glaciers to the lower regions, are characteristic of April ski-ing.

It may be necessary to time your descent to the valley so as to pass a dangerous slope before the sun has struck it. With ordinary caution an experienced party should run no risk whatever of being caught by an avalanche; but it is undeniable that inexperienced parties come to grief more frequently in April than in any other month. This does not prove that the avalanche danger is really greater, but only that it is greater for the inexperienced.

[Sidenote: May.]

In May newly fallen snow usually remains powdery for one or two days on north slopes, and even longer at high altitudes. But, in general, powder snow is the exception in May. At high altitudes you will find hard marble crust in the early morning. At lower altitudes you will usually find ‘film crust’ and ‘perforated crust.’ For the formation of these excellent running surfaces, see p. 414.

The main difference between marble crust on the one hand, and either film crust or perforated crust on the other hand, is that the former is too slippery to give the ski purchase, whereas film or perforated crust is a splendid surface for Stemming turns or Christianias.

As a rule, in spring one descends after the sun has softened the crust. Whether the original morning crust was hard and slippery, or covered by a film or perforated crust, does not matter once the sun has melted its surface.[24] In any case, there will be a period of ski-ing on Telemark crust (p. 415). The main importance of film or perforated crust is its value when you have to begin a descent before the sun has softened the snow. I remember starting one morning just after the dawn from the Oberaarjoch. I intended to ski down to the Grimsel and thence to climb the Galenstock, and I hoped to go from the Oberaarjoch hut to the Furka between dawn and sunset, taking the Galenstock _en route_. It was obvious that an early start was necessary. At that date I had done little ski-ing in June, and I fully expected that the top slopes of the Oberaarjoch would be covered by very hard and slippery marble crust. To my great surprise the crust, though hard, was covered by a beautiful film of soft, transparent brittle ice. As the ski swung round on a turn, this soft film peeled away and rustled down the slope with a soft splashing sound. No surface could be finer. Straight running was absolutely safe on the even, unchanging gradients of those summit slopes. There were no hidden rocks or hidden crevasses to fear. The film crust was absolutely true. There was no risk of running into a soft sticky patch or a windswept pocket. One could run as fast as one liked, secure in the knowledge that at any moment one could stop by a long-drawn-out Christiania. On really steep slopes one could link a succession of sweeping Christianias, the loveliest of all conceivable turns, and on gentle slopes one could run straight. The soft film gave an excellent purchase and prevented the ski side-slipping helplessly as one began to turn, for the ski cut in under the film and peeled it away.

Until a man has skied down from some glacier pass at dawn on film crust he has yet to learn the best that ski-ing can yield. That run from the Oberaarjoch stands out as one of the finest runs of my life. The great charm of film crust is that fast running can be combined with absolute safety, for a dangerous fall is almost impossible on this surface. I remember that we took twenty minutes from the pass to the snout of the glacier, and duly arrived at Gletsch after taking the Galenstock _en route_ before sunset.

Perforated crust is harder and firmer than film crust. On very steep slopes it is a little too slippery, but on anything below 25 degrees it gives perfect running.

In May film crust and perforated crust are common in the early morning, and marble crust is unusual. After fresh snow one finds all sorts of shades of snow from pure winter snow to film crust, but a few days of cloudless weather is usually sufficient to change powder into crust on all but very high north slopes.

[Sidenote: June.]

June differs mainly from May in that the snowline is higher and that winter snow is even more uncommon. Film crust and perforated crust is the rule at all save high altitudes and just after fresh snow.

As a rule the snow is even better in June than in May. _The more frequently spring snow is melted and refrozen the better it becomes. Old snow that has passed through this process again and again acquires a granular and crystalline character._ It does not melt so thoroughly. Provided there is no touch of Föhn in the air, it retains this crystalline form even when it is melted. In June the snow remains good for ski-ing much later in the day than in May, even though the sun is higher in the sky. In May the period of transition from wet snow to crust is very sudden. One moment the snow is wet and heavy, and half an hour later the first crust has formed. In June there is often a well-marked intermediate period when the snow gradually gets colder and more crystalline. This granular snow is very fast and very true, and suitable for every kind of turn and swing at high speed. On May evenings the soft crust is very pleasant, but it is a little too soft and the snow underneath the crust is a little too woolly; but in June when the sun goes off the slopes the snow becomes crystalline, cold, fast and just compact enough to prevent the ski sinking in too deep.