On Alpine heights and British crags

Preface

"T X 7H0EVER looked at them,” said an \/\/ Arab writer in 1686, referring to certain mountains supposed to be identical with Ruwenzori, became attracted, and stuck to them until he died, and this science is called human magnetism.” An allied species of '' human magnetism ” is noticeable on many mountains at the present time. But this nowadays takes the name of mountaineering, and so fascinating is the sport that few who have once been attracted by it fail to stick ” to the mountains to the end of life. Truly once a climber always a climber — in spirit if not in deed.

Previous to the outbreak of the great war mountaineering had been greatly on the increase. This was due in some considerable measure to the winter-sport fashion, and to the exploitation of rock-climbing in Britain. Men of all nationalities visited, and still visit, for instance, the Lake Country crags, and few of the thousands of ordinary tourists, who annually come to the

Vi ALPINE HEIGHTS AND BRITISH CRAGS district, fail to hear or see something of its fascinations for the climber.

Thus the adventures of the lover of the earth’s high places have attracted much popular attention, and to those so interested this book is intended largely to appeal. Yet no pains have been spared to make it, at the same time, of practical service to the active follower of ice and rock craft at home and abroad. The technical and topographical details are the result of over twenty years’ keen personal contact with the mountains themselves, a continuous keeping in hand and foot touch with the crags.

This work having been prepared for publication, just before the outbreak of the war, it may be mentioned that the topographical details of the Dolomites have been left in their original form. Up to the present time, the campaign in this difficult district has effected few changes, and, unless a stray shell should carry away some of the more slender summits, the Austrian Tyrol bids fair to retain its former beauty of valley and peak. Doubtless the name of the region will be altered and the present frontier line may vanish. This latter must be a convenience to all travellers.

I acknowledge willing assistance from many sources, notably from Messrs. A. E. Field, G. S. Sansom, and other climbing friends, in connexion

PREFACE

Vll with the MS. Mons. G. Tairraz has been good enough to allow me to use two of his pictures. I am also grateful to Messrs. Newnes, and to the Editors of ^'Cassell's Magazine” and the '' Badminton Magazine,” who have kindly granted me permission to make extracts from articles which have appeared in their valuable publications.

G. D. A.

Idwal, Chestnut Hill,

Keswick.

Contents

CHAP. PAGE

I. Amongst the Cortina Dolomites . . i

II. Up the Kleine Zinne and other popular

Chapter I

‘-Not vainly did the early Persian make His altar the high places and the peak Of earth-o’ergazing mountains, and thus take A fit and unwalled temple, there to seek The Spirit, in whose honour shrines are weak, Upreared of human hands.”

Byron

IT was a hopeless world of whirling whiteness. Far, high up on the Piz Bernina we wandered, enwrapped by a blinding snowstorm, and full weary after a week of fruitless sallies on many a gale-swept summit. Then above the shrieking of the rising gale there rose a roar far overhead on the right. The crash of the avalanche was the last warning voice of the giant Bernina, and down towards us came the grim, invisible doom. The snow-laden mist grew thicker. Trust in Providence was the only hope, for trust in speedy legs might have carried us blindly into the very danger to be averted.

Immediately came the thunderous splash of the mass as it flung itself down to the quivering snow-slope whereon we waited. Very near us on the left, how close we shall never know, there were sounds as of a mighty rushing wind, a rattling roar like storm-breakers awash on a pebbly beach, and the whole mountain seemed to shudder. A few icy masses flew past in mid-air, and then, far below, the uproar sank to rest. We were unharmed.

There was now no counsel for advance. As one man we turned our backs on the enemy and raced valleywards, undoubting the wisdom of the Irishman's advice : Better be a coward

for ten minutes than a dead man all your life."

This was the final adventure of a stormy week, when shortly after Midsummer Day snow lay a foot deep in the main street of Pontresina. The dangers of the High Alps at such a time had been effectually demonstrated. That evening the voice of the tempter in the shape of a Dolomite enthusiast made itself heard. News had come that these less lofty peaks had escaped the severest storms. It was to be either Dolomites or Dover, homeward-bound. Thus a few days later we left the train at Toblach — the English climbers' gateway to the Dolomites — having, as is usual at Innsbruck, missed the connexion and the finest climbing-day of the holiday withal.

Then came the four hours' drive to Cortina, with the song of the breeze in the sunny pine trees and fresh views of mountain glory at every turn. Once past the blue Toblach See, with its typical Tyrolese dwellings, doll-house-like in form and colour, our way lay steadily uphill. On the long straights where slowness tended to dulness, motors would flash past merrily, filling our mouths with dust and our hearts with envy. Near Landro the dense pine woods thinned, revealing ravishing peeps of towering pinnacles which played hide-and-seek with us 'midst shifting wisps of vapour.

Soon on the left there gleamed the ice-capped pinnacles of the Drei Zinnen away beyond the narrow defile of the Rienzthal. On the beautiful shores of the Diirren See the call of the camera was not to be denied. But perpetuation of the scene was postponed by the sudden appearance of some Austrian soldiers who scowled unpleasantly, and in excited, guttural gaspings stopped the proceedings. Feigned ignorance of their language was of no avail. Photography was not allowed because of some mountain fort near at hand. Put tersely, unless we desisted our camera and selves would be hurled into the Diirren See immediately. Ice-axes were evidently a poor match for muskets, so discretion proved the better part of valour, until subterfuge could take the place of both on a later occasion.

The reason of this ban was revealed during the coming war, for this was one of the most hotly contested areas where Italy pressed hard for mastery of the mountain region.

There was a strong temptation to break the journey at Schluderbach and spend a day on the Coolin-like ridge of the Croda Rossa, which lifted itself so grandly on the right-hand side of the roadway. The modern-looking village had a beautiful situation, and was far in advance of Cortina in this latter respect. We could well appreciate the wish of old Santo Siorpaes to live and die within sight of his native Schluderbach. This most famous of the early guides ever refused those patrons who tempted him to leave his own district by a recital of the wonders of the Greater Alps.

But to us Cortina had more important attractions. On our arrival therein the advantage of being early season visitors was quickly realized. There was plenty of room in the Croce Bianca Hotel, and the guides soon noticed our Alpine complexions, ruddier than the sunset on Sorapiss or the pinnacled peak of Pomagagnon. The Inglesi '' had arrived — harbingers of the rich spoils of the coming climbing-season — and we were besieged with offers of assistance. But soon the peculiarity of Dolomite guides was evident. Each amateur must take a single professional. It was fruitless to urge that any single Swiss guide would take us up the Grepon — the most difficult climb in the Alps — or that we had conquered the Matterhorn and many others without professional aid. For the actual .climbing guides would not be necessary, but with our heavy cameras to carry, and the necessity of saving time for photography always present, professional aid was advisable. Rope-soled boots, or scarpetti, the climbers* foot-wear thereabouts.

leave no scratches on the rocks. The exact and best route up any difficult Dolomite may have taken many years to discover and perfect, thus for amateurs the finding of the proper way is a stiff problem, though a fascinating one withal, if the holiday time be not too restricted.

There is practically no snow or glacier work in the Dolomites, and some of us thought we knew something of rock-climbing. Besides, there is safety in numbers on a rope, and the sanguinary history of Dolomite climbing made at least one of us chary of trusting a more or less valuable life to an untried professional. But explanation was hopeless. One and all they refused to join our party single-handed. We expected many chimneys and corners on the peaks, but never a '' corner '' in guides. Fortunately, in this special case, the next two days were hopelessly wet, and we had plenty of time to make local inquiries which resulted in a certain guide consenting as an experiment to show us the way up the Cinque Torri. For this he was boycotted by his fellow-guides.

The break in the weather also allowed time for an appreciation of the surroundings. There seemed small wonder that Cortina had lost much of its former repute as a climbing centre. Imagination had pictured it close mountaintended. As a matter of fact it lay in a broad, open valley running north and south, with the famous peaks bounding it, but sufficiently far away to lose much, if not most, of their grandeur.

The Croda da Lago on the south-west, and Sorapiss, with Antelao in lofty attendance, on the south-east of the long valley, possessed the shapeliest outlines. On the north-west the three bulky masses of the Tofana di Razes, the Tofana di Mezzo, and the Tofana di Fuori lacked grace and character, though nearer acquaintance would have revealed plenty of good rock-climbing. Monte Cristallo on the east, one of the most visited of the Ampezzo Dolomites, showed none of its grandeur from the close vicinity of Cortina.

In the village itself — perhaps town is a more appropriate word nowadays — the School of Woodwork was an attraction. In the main street, just south of the church, was found an excellent place where scarpetti to fit Cumbrian and other sizable feet might be bought. Meanwhile the wonderful and lofty campanile of the church was ever conspicuous in scene and story. High up was pointed out to us the ledge where Emil Zsigmondy made the traverse that so astonished the natives. With youthful audacity he passed twice round the dizzy edge of the highest balcony before the police gave chase. Then he hid in a dark corner until they passed up the stairs, whence by a hurried descent his escape was made.

At last there came a cloudless morning, and with it the early morning sun which made fine play with our lack of training on the way up the westerly side of the valley to climb the Cinque

Torri. Several inches of new snow lay on the ground and hung amongst the pine trees. The warmth stirred the usual stillness of the woods to a watery life, which in the downpouring made its presence felt as well as heard. Then, as we drew up towards the remarkable five towers, gathering vapours made a welcome shade and added vastly to the grandeur of the surrounding heights. Two cameras were important members of the party, and a sturdy porter came as far as the Cinque Torri Hut to help with these and other heavy luggage. The plan was first to climb our peak and then cross to the Reichenberger Hut on the Croda da Lago the same evening, in order to ascend that splendid Dolomite the following day. Thus, as the porter was unnecessary on the actual ascent of the Torri, he was told to stay at the Cinque Torri Hut in charge of the luggage and await our return. He was left snoring peacefully between two empty wine bottles outside the building, utterly thoughtless of coming events. Alas ! we never saw him again.

During the walk up to the foot of the gigantic highest peak of the Cinque Torri there was time to discuss the unique topography of the mass. There are more than five towers and all have now been climbed. The last to succumb was the tooth-like pinnacle of the Torre Inglese, and it is one of the very few special problems around Cortina that have been solved by Englishmen. A few of the ordinary peaks were first ascended by our countrymen, notably the Pelmo (10,395 feet) by Ball, and the Civetta (10,560 feet) by F. F. Tuckett ; moreover the highest tower of the Cinque Torri (7760 feet) owes its first conquest to an Englishman. This was in the September of 1880 when Mr. T. E. Wall and his guide, G. Ghedina, reached the top by the short, easy northerly side.

How strangely opinions and methods have changed in a few years’ time. Great difficulties were encountered, and the first man up said, In not one of the mountains here is the most little bit as hard as the easiest in this.'' The ascent of the 580 feet of climbing on the short side took three hours and the descent two hours and twenty minutes. Nowadays an expert would climb up and down in an hour if the conditions were good.

The core of the peak is split from top to bottom by a huge crack quite 600 feet deep. The weathering turmoil of ages has jammed this cleft with masses of shattered limestone varying in size from a pea to an elephant. The former genus are apt to fall and crack the heads of an unwary climbing party, whilst the latter great boulders head the cracks by which the ascent is made. Their negotiation forms the difficulty of many of the main routes, which for the most part make use of the central cleft or some of its branches. These side clefts branch off from the central one to the east, west, north, and south, so the top of the Torri is split somewhat like a gigantic X.

Until comparatively recent times the west side, which faces the Nuvolau, was considered inaccessible. Its reputation for interest and difficulty led us to choose it for the ascent. We trudged leisurely up the bare slopes, later to be bespangled with wild tulips, vanilla, and the grey growth of the edelweiss. The great wall of limestone now rose straight overhead for 800 feet, and it was necessary to walk away to the left to realize the weird wonder of those savage rocks. Perched, like huge monoliths, on the crest of a grassy mountain Alp, and thus often called the Torri di Averau, they scarce seemed like the work of nature. It was easy to imagine them to be the colossal ruins of a gigantic temple dedicated to some Alpine Isis, and raised by the Cyclopean Gigantes of unknown ages past. From some points of view they had weird resemblance to a crumbling mass of colossal cromlechs.

Impressive as was the scene the adventurous call of the great rift on the westerly face was irresistible. In the great boulder-crowned cave at the foot of the chimney we exchanged the ordinary nailed climbing boots for scarpetti. The steady drip, drip of falling water from the melting snow up above made much lingering unpleasant, thus '' Vorwarts was the continual cry. In sheltered crevices ice lurked insidiously. The dangers of scarpetti on icy or wet footholds were soon realized and, contrary to good mountaineering practice, the arms had to do most of the work.

Up and up we went in two parties, through chimneys narrow and broad, and over impending boulders of terrific aspect. My leadership of the second rope was at first under the careful scrutiny of the guide, but his misgivings as to our making a speed-record descent to the starting-point gradually disappeared like the mists on the opposite snow-crowned peak of the Nuvolau. The outward views of the now sun-bathed prospect, framed in the dark walls of the chimney on either hand, were grand in the extreme. A stone dropped from one point where a protruding mass broke the continuity of the chimney fell direct for several hundred feet to our now tiny footsteps in the snow at the foot of the tower.

The chimney rose ahead in an alluring way, and some one suggested the taking of a photograph of this from the crest of the protruding mass of rock. Two of us climbed to its narrow tip where there was barely room for the leader and his camera. The legs of both were steadied by the second climber, who secured the rope around a projecting knob of rock. Behind and on either hand was empty space ; the camera in front gave a feeling of false security, because its use as a support would spoil the exposure. As to the others mounted in the chimney, their progresswas arrested with successful photographic result.

A minute or so later there came from above a terrifying sound of falling stones. Our guide in the chimney lost his head and his handholds simultaneously, but fortunately he slid and jammed in the narrow crack, whence he was

3^elling promiscuously the most dreadful language. Our position on the pinnacle seemed hopeless. Balance was almost upset by the suddenness of it all, still we were of necessity firm under fire. Two or three large rocks flew past our heads with a roar. A big, black, bounding beggar made me duck my head almost to the verge of joining its flight into the abyss. But the succeeding small fry '' with their invisible but not inaudible whiz caused most dismay. Strange to say, not one actually struck us, though a small one took an inch of skin off the finger of my right hand which was nervously thrust out to save a valuable lens.

Meanwhile some excited language was in progress overhead. The guide explained, to our great astonishment, that it was the porter whom we had left asleep three hours ago outside the hut. It seemed that a German climber had appeared and persuaded the porter to take him up the Cinque Torri by the easiest way. He was engaged by us, but hoped to get up and down before we appeared. To prove so unfaithful and nearly kill his patrons in the act seemed an unforgivable offence. He probably heard our vows of terrible requital, and hence made downward tracks to Cortina, leaving our baggage and all hope of reward at the hut. Much as some of us longed to meet that porter once more, he was never seen again after the previous parting at the Cinque Torri Hut.

Ere long the narrow escape was forgotten in the joys of conquest of that hoary-headed old Dolomite. Near the top of the chimney a traverse was made out to the right, and an exhilarating finish on the tremendous south-westerly face of the lofty tower added to the zest of the expedition.

It was a remarkable place, truly Dolomitic in structure and sensation. We moved carefully along an indefinite ledge to the right until the foothold gradually thinned away to invisibility. Ere this was reached the guide was the only man moving on the face. It was nervous work watching him swing out over the great wall, and our companion who was tied on the same rope looked round longingly but vainly for a belay round which a coil might have been hitched. Such an experience was uncomfortable for a well-trained cragsman. He had yet to learn that blind trust in the professional, be he competent or otherwise, which so many of our countrymen are so willing to bestow.

Personally, my list of climbing friends has been thinned too tragically to encourage this hero-worship of the Alpine guide. On this occasion, for photographic purposes, we recalled the guide, and meanwhile the rope joining him to our friend was belayed round a jutting rock above our standing-place. Then the advance up the slippery vertical wall was permissible, and the photographers and their lens could take in the scene unmoved (see illustration opposite).

With the ice cleared off the handholds our

CLIMBING THE GREAT WEST FACE OF THE CINQUE TORRI following ascent of the face proved less difficult than it appeared. But it was sensational in the extreme, and the downward plunge of the precipice a few feet below a slanting niche which held the toes of one's scarpetti was weirdly thrilling. Beyond this the eye saw nothing but the tiny roof of the Cinque Torri Hut a thousand feet below. Calm deliberation was required in the selection of the best holds, but soon the angle became more reassuring, and we crawled out on the surprisingly broad summit slabs.

When my brother appeared from below with the bulging rucksack, filled with a whole-plate camera and full equipment, on his back, our Dolomite mentor was much impressed. The way the climbing had been negotiated seemed to satisfy the critic, and he exclaimed, Surely, Herren, I will go alone with you to the end of the world ! " We nodded suggestively down to the world far underneath, and, after expressing a disinclination to take such a journey, we took advantage of his enthusiasm to extract a promise that he would accompany us up the Kleine Zinne instead. He kept his compact though, finally, only through much tribulation ; but that is another story.

Sunny, midsummer conditions had reigned on the west side of the peak, but midwinter greeted us harshly on the summit. Dense snow-clouds enwrapped mountain and mortals alike. After a brief battle with the elements the farther peak was gained. There the guide pointed to a black hole at our feet, and it was evident that the storm-swept climber might very easily step unawares into that veritable Avernus. It would be his last worldly step. However, it was indicated as the top of the great central cleft and the way downwards, so one by one we descended into its moist, chilly interior where it was at last possible to give the difficulties our cool consideration.

The great cleft extended to the base of the Torri, a black, yawning abyss with perpendicular sides but bridged in places by a chaos of huge boulders and jagged splinters wedged from side to side.

A descent was effected on the north wall until the first mass of boulders could be gained. Thence through narrow holes and dark caves, and along surprising ledges, we wriggled and crawled until another steep descent brought still more emulation of the Troglodyte. Finally, without descending the great chasm to its foot, which would have brought us on to the open mountain-side just above the hut, a way was made outwards to daylight on the northerly side near the Torre Inglese.

At first a passing snow-shower hid this quaintest of all the Ampezzo pinnacles. However, whilst we sheltered amongst a vast mass of tumbled boulders, strangely reminiscent of the summit of the Glyder Fach in North Wales, the skurrying flakes grew thinner. A dim, grey spire appeared above us, curving upwards and bending forward like a Titan's finger of scorn pointing mockingly down at puny mortals. The Torre certainly seemed likely to have the best of the argument that day. Then the snowcurtain drew aside to vanish beyond the glittering peaks of the Tofane, and the sun shone cheerily.

In half an hour's time we were tasting all the joys of airy isolation on the final front of the fragile tower where for over 8o feet hand- or foothold was scarcely more than an inch wide. A sudden snowstorm, whose sudden approach had escaped detection during the excitement of the ascent, enwrapped us on the summit. This added more than a spice of danger to the undertaking. There was every prospect of our being snowed-up literally. In fact had not a small but convenient spike of rock been discovered, there were chances of our being transformed into human icicles and handed down to posterity from the crest of the shapely Dolomite. However, aided by the friendly spike and the long length of doubled ropes we reached terra firma in peace, not in pieces.

After regaining our '' foot luggage," for thus seemed the heavy, nailed climbing boots after the light, softly-treading scarpetti, we hurried down the slippery slopes to the hut. The porter had gone. We were wet to the skin, and in the end the feel of the heavy loads led us to the decision to spend the night at the Cinque Torri Hut.

It was a cloudy sunset, and early next morning anxious heads were thrust outward to scan the weather prospects. Patches of starlight were visible through the drifting clouds. Encouraged by these we took an early breakfast, and just as grey dawn began to creep into the gloom of the pine forests we trudged valleywards to cross to the hut below the Croda da Lago. The plan was to keep as high a level as possible across the lofty, tree-fringed slopes and contour round the extreme northerly end of the mountain. Others who wish to climb the two popular Cortina peaks on successive days would find this route much preferable to the long descent towards Cortina which is usually followed in approaching by the Fedara Alp.

The Croda da Lago might well be termed the Queen of the Dolomites. Seen from Cortina it rises in shapely grandeur on the west side of the valley. Its lower form is draped in flowing robes of olive-tinted pine trees, whilst the array of pinnacle and campanile crowns all in lofty grandeur. The peaks of Antelao (10,710 feet), Sorapiss (10,520 feet), and Cristallo (10,495 feet) on the opposite side of the valley possess more height, but their almost shapeless massiveness makes them seem but as vassal peaks to their gracefully majestic queen. Small wonder that more climbers pay homage to this peak than to any other of the Dolomites. The south peak (8910 feet) is the higher of the two summits, but it has little of interest for real climbers, and the northern tower (8887 feet) now monopolises practically all the scarpetti traffic. It was first ascended in 1884 by Baron Eotvos with Michel Innerkofler by the east face, which is still the easiest and most popular route. The North Ridge, discovered as recently as 1893 by Dr. Sinigaglia and Pietro Dimai, has more fascination for the expert.

The Pompanin Chimney which is even more difficult for those who have not learnt how to back and knee '' up such places in England is on the west side of the peak. Zaccaria Pompanin was the first man up the route by the famous Kamin, and Dr. Sinigaglia with Angelo Zangiacomi were his companions in the August of 1895.

The North Ridge was to be our route the day after the night spent at the Cinque Torri Hut. A picturesque '' cross-mountain '' walk, down and up hills galore, brought us within sight of the beautiful Lago from which the Croda probably gets part of its name. The comforts of the delightfully situated Reichenberger Hut were soon available. Hereabouts the view of the graceful tower of the Becco di Mezzodi (8430 feet) peeping through the pine trees, and reproduced with wonderful clearness in the blue waters of the lake, was most alluring. There was a strong inclination to linger in this abode of mountain peace and spend a lazy day amongst the flowery depths of the Fedara Alp, or scramble amongst the rugged crags of the Becco. In the latter case an easy way would have been found on the farther or southerly side, very suitable for guideless wanderers. The beginning lies up a sandy gully facing the Pelmo. Then on the northerly side facing the hut we might have tasted all those joys of almost holdless perpendicularity which charm the expert exceedingly.

However, the huge, pinnacle-crowned cliffs of the Croda overhanging the little lake rose like a perpetual challenge which had perforce to be accepted. The path up to the crags on the farther side of the lake was unmistakable, and this soon led up through a maze of juniper to a steep couloir. This was so abundant in holds that the rope was unnecessary, despite our heavy loads. Soon we gained the open mountain-side, and thence to the left an extended series of wonderful ledges on the face of the cliff brought us to the real work of the day.

This began practically below the beginning of the true north ridge of the north peak. This point had not been realized by several friends who had vainly attempted the Croda without guides. The secret of success would be to traverse practically as far as possible along the ledges across the east face. Then we came to the so-called Rast-Platz — a big hollow under the overhanging body rock of the peak. Climbing boots were replaced by scarpetti. Buttresses and towers now rose overhead in bewildering confusion, but the guide picked out the route unerringly.

At the outset a chimney full of handholds and dripping water was an absorbing detail. In due course we seemed to be clinging, as

Tartarin has it, circumambient ether,’' with the possibility, should a handhold fail, of a record dive into the gloomy lake over 2000 feet below. As is usual in Dolomite climbing, the ascent proved easier than it looked. Yet sensational situations abounded, and a chill north wind was at times troublesome. Vertical and even overhanging sections were passed with comparative ease, because of the wonderful holds for hands and feet. At one point a smooth slab caused delay, but there was one comforting grip for the trusty fingers that made the upward swing through space nothing more than exhilarating. This was perhaps the most difficult part of the climb.