AN INTRODUCTION TO ALPINISM

P. G. MARTIN

Corpus

JOE and I met at the youth hostel at Visp in the Valais one Saturday evening. Youth hostels make very good valley bases for a climbing holiday, which is otherwise from mountain huts. On Sunday we took the train and bus up to Saas-Grund, where we left a further instalment of heavy luggage before setting off for the Weissmies Hütte. We were very disgruntled on finding that, on the Swiss buses, luggage has to .be paid for as well. Here I had my first taste of the somnolent atmosphere which reigns in a hut from mid-afternoon until the evening. This, of course, consequent upon the exertions of the morning. Living in an Alpine hut is a rapidly acquired but definite art. There are the hut shoes to be sought for, found and clumped about in; the shelf basket to be filled with all those heavyweight foods which looked so attractive at the shop in the valley, and now, having been carried so far, am beginning to regain their attraction; the knack of sitting about watching others eat or talking, to be acquired – this comes easily to the regular pub-goer; there is also the hut keeper to be made friends with, so that he can be prevailed upon to bear with your own particular cooking foibles. We attempted to go to bed early that night – in the long sleeping shelves where everyone sleeps together.

Here a word on our respective mountaineering experience. Joe had just finished a fortnight with somewhat (I hope they don’t read this) experienced friends in the Arolla District, and having "done" the Dent Blanche was feeling confident, to put it mildly. He was also a rock-climbing leader of moderate ability. I was quite definitely the second, although I had had a bit of experience of rock and snow climbing in Britain. I can just imagine the experienced Alpinist nodding his head wisely and saying, "I thought so," at this point. However I shall continue, as the purpose of this article (if such an article can rather shyly raise its head, and say it has a purpose) is to show how the fool can rush in and sometimes get away with it.

It was therefore not without some butterflies in the stomach that I for one lay down on the shelf that night. I felt that I was committed to a somewhat audacious (not to say foolhardy) enterprise and the adrenalin in my veins coupled with the party singing Alpine songs downstairs ensured that I didn’t get much sleep that night. This was a nervous feeling of anticipation that I never learned quite to do without. In a sense, this is a part of the thrill of climbing.

We awoke and arose next morning at about 3 o’clock. Joe took a masochistic delight in these early starts – "one of the attractions of Alpinism" he used to say – evidently a case of one man’s meat. We used to try to have an insular breakfast in the shape of a fried egg to supplement the continental bread and jam. Off we set on the moraine path and this brings me to one of the maxims of Alpinism – reconnoitre the route the night before, especially if you have no glacier lantern. We evidently had not done so sufficiently well and wasted a little time going round in small circles. Finally we reached the glacier and roped up. One of the advantages of being a novice is that you can still naively enjoy the simple pleasures of Alpinism – roping up as the light dawns on the mountains. At first the high snowy summits become a softly glowing red while the rest of the silent world retains its sterile paleness. Slowly the glow creeps downwards while you stamp your feet to warm them up – your crampon straps have been done up too tightly.

We had a guide book to the Valais Alps (in French) and consulting it, we set off across the glacier. I should have said we were attempting to climb the Weissmies by the ordinary route). Our uneasy autocracy of two led us too far to the right on to some ice appearing terrifically steep to the Alpine novice. This inspired him to drop his ice axe, which slid down to a little crevice below. He was psychologically belayed by the cursing leader while he crawled down to get it – it is awkward for a newcomer on crampons to move on ice without an axe. Having retrieved it, the party moved off the ice to some reassuring snow, and so along the correct route. The second rather wished the leader wasn’t so fearless when he boldly went across a steep snow slope with even steeper snow below it – he wished this because he was expected to follow without a belay. The leader got rather peeved if asked to belay the second on slopes of this nature. May I say here how exposed I felt on steep snow slopes at first, something you get used to in time, and something continental climbers seem very familiar with. Finally we reached the top at 4023m. I tried to feel suitably thrilled at climbing my first "Viertausender," but my mind was wholly filled with the thought of going down that steep slope again.

However, once back at the hut we could practice climbsmanship with anyone who would listen, lounge in the sun, attack our crampons with heavy stones (mine didn’t quite fit), or merely sink into the warm pool of self-congratulation. The wave of this carried us along the Fletschhorn-Laquinhorn traverse the next day – "a nice climb" as one guide put it. I was introduced to what I was told was typical Alpinism – a rock and snow ridge – I enjoyed this except when being tugged impatiently along a snowy arête with steep drops on each side. Please don’t think my leader was a terribly fierce person – I must apologise to him here and say how grateful I am to him for putting up with such an obtuse and dithery second, whose only questionable virtue is that he is alive to tell the tale. The guides put up with us very well. We started after everyone else, used their tracks until we overtook them, trying not to look proud of ourselves for a deplorable breach of mountain manners, and took up all the space on the narrow summit of the Laquinhorn, which we contrived to reach first. On the whole, we used to feel a little sorry for the guides. One talked nostalgically with us of the times he had been up a certain climb already that season just taking party after party along it. I used to think they looked rather enviously at us as we hurtled past. We were surprised to see how few parties went guideless and rather arrogantly regarded ourselves as the élite. (This bubble was pricked later). On the whole the guides were never chary of giving us advice and didn’t seem at all resentful – probably because they were quite busy enough anyway, and we obviously (ex-W.D. anoraks) had no money.

We came on down to the valley the same day we left the top of the Laquinhorn – this is customary.

Next day at the Hotel in Saas-Grund reaction set in and I wondered at the enormity of my offence in tempting fate so far as to presume to be an Alpinist. "Better leave it now and go home while your still in one piece," said Prudence. Adventure squeaked from where he was being sat on by P., "The call of the high places." Finally Joe restored my self confidence and we set off for the Britannia Hut above Saas Fee. Here we met a guide who showed us we weren’t really the toughies we thought we were – he would do a climb, go down to the valley, and then go up to a hut the same day for .html climb on the following day. We went suitably humbled to bed. Next day we traversed the Strahlhorn. I suppose anything is bound to be a disappointment when it has been romantically anticipated for a long while – such was my first view of the Matterhorn. "After all," I felt as I balanced precariously on the snowy arête, "it’s only a heap of rock." It is, too. The afternoon was given deplorably to peak-bagging – we bagged the Kleine Allalinhorn, 100 feet above the hut.

We reached the high water mark of our rock-climbing on the next day. We traversed the Rimpfischhorn "avec Grand Gendarme." We abseiled at one point on this and were suitably impressed when the guide and lady following us presented us with the sling .that night in the hut. The rock was rough, dry and sunny. I could shut my eyes and imagine myself in the Lake District – but I won’t, as I might fall off. I very much enjoyed the airy secure feeling of abseiling. Here a technical note. We only had one rope – being poor men – and we unroped and abseiled on the climbing rope. (Is there no limit to this fellow’s crimes against mountaineering? you say). Moving together on the rope is something calculated to try any second’s patience – its always his fault (really, no sarcasm intended) when the rope catches or he stands on it. It needs much practice.

Next day we distinguished ourselves by gallantly escorting a well-known lady Alpinist and her young son to Zermatt over the Adler Pass. This was not quite so chivalrous as it sounds, as she promised us a dinner in Zermatt if we accompanied her. We didn’t do this too well, as we got slightly lost en route. Big clean-ups that night in the Zermatt hostel preceded the appearance of two scruffs at table in one of Zermatt’s hotels. In Zermatt we met other C.U.M.C. members and swopped suitably impressive stories with one .html. "You should have seen the one that got away." Overheard in Z. hostel (in a strong American ascent): "I’d love to climb the Matterhorn – it’s so romantic."

Off then to the Betemps Hütte. This is the rendezvous of all the Swiss guideless climbers – Monte Rosa being apparently considered the guideless "must" in Switzerland. This we thought was beneath us, so we tried the Morshead Buttress on Nordend – and failed. We were getting into the position where "we must go on because we can’t go back" as the watchword, when reason prevailed, we abseiled and laboriously retraced our steps. The next day we "did" the Dufourspitze and ended up at the Margherita Hut for the night. C.A.I. huts tend to be more racketeering than the standardised Swiss Huts – however we finally got a small piece of bed space grudgingly allotted to us. What with the inadequacy of the blankets, the crowding and altitude sickness (a sort of depressing raging headache), the night was unpleasant. The hut is at over 15,000 ft. The next day the Lyskamm, Castor and Pollux were traversed. These were in an easy condition, but even so it was a feat for such a party. We regarded ourselves with new and respectful eyes when we saw a guide proceeding a cheval along the snow arête. I think I rose to the heights of mountain ecstacy when we sat in the sun on top of Pollux and brewed tea. By now we had both carelessly slipped on easy snow slopes, and had a new respect for our partner’s ability to stop us. Going down some guides played a trick on us by leading us up the garden path and then sitting down to let us overtake them and find a route for ourselves. Needless to say we made a hash of it and somewhat ignominiously rejoined their route.

Down again to Z., where I gave much amusement to the lady hostel warden and her daughters by patching the seat of my climbing breeches somewhat amateurishly. Next day up to the Dom Hütte, and a climb in itself. We were suitably impressed when a French schoolmarm convoyed a roped-up crowd of children down past us. They were enjoying it very much. The climb to the hut was our last, as bad weather curtailed our Alpine holiday, and we came down from the hut two days later. The very tedious waiting at the hut was enlivened by the hut-keeper’s little boy.

There is something about anything which is first that is missing in the subsequent ones – first love, first flowers of spring, first ascent, first excursion into Alpinism. It is, I am sure, the childish, questioning unprejudiced approach to it all; it is all new; wonder meets you at every turn; cynicism and boredom belong to the later visits. ’The fools rush in certainly, but they probably enjoy themselves more than the worldly-wise angels. Above all, make it a date for a visit to the Alps this summer if you haven’t yet been, and I hope you have as good a time as we did.