LATE SUMMER IN THE ALPS, 1950

By C. I. W. Fox

It was raining so hard when Bill Kelsey and I arrived at Grindelwald that we had to take shelter under one of the quaint bridges that span the local torrents. However, it could not go on for ever and soon we were lunching on the terrace of a restaurant and gazing up at the wonderful Oberland wall towering above us. We had just begun our meal when there was a shout and David Oxtoby was with us. We had arranged to meet him in Grindelwald after he had done what seemed from all accounts to have been a grand tour of Europe, and most romantic into the bargain, but that is another story.

Next morning saw us buying vast quantities of food : so much food in fact, that a native, coming into the shop, said, said ” Ach so, Eigerwand, Ja ?” We hastened to disillusion him.

By midday we were in the Jungfraujoch train, and got out at the Eigergletscher station, sending the main bulk of our food (enough for 12 days) on to the Jungfraujoch. After lunch we walked up to the old Guggi hut, where we spent a most uncomfortable but light-hearted night, for next day we were going to try one of the finest ice and glacier trips in the Alps葉he passage of the Eigerjoch.

At two o’clock the following morning we were already stumbling across the Eigergletscher in the direction of the Klein Eiger. The famous ice-fall nearly had us beaten, but Bill found the key, which involved some rather hair-raising jumps across seracs.. After several operations which included descents into dry crevasses we eventually emerged on to easier ground. We had brought a little petrol stove with us, and presently Bill, who was carrying the spare fuel, complained that the fumes had upset him and he was feeling sick, so our progress was slowed down while Bill’s inside fought a winning battle with the petrol. Eventually we arrived at the foot of the final snow slope, and soon after we were admiring the wonderful panorama of the Oberland.

The “pass” we were standing on is at the top of one of the most appalling’ slopes in the Alps, which descends to the Bergli. It is necessary to traverse along to the ” South Eigerjoch ” to get down behind the Monch. ” A long ridge of snow, sharp as the blade of a knife, was playfully alternated with great rocky teeth, striking up through their icy covering like the edge of a saw.” Leslie Stephen who wrote this, took a poor view of the ridge and descended back to the neve, then climbed the North slopes of the South Joch – 52°by clinometer.

We decided to try the ridge. I have no recollection of the time we were on it, but Lauener estimated six hours on the first ascent of the North Joch. It was difficult. After passing the rock teeth we had to traverse Stephens’ 52⁰ ice slope, overlaid with about four inches of new snow. We considered it prudent to use ice-pitons to safeguard each other. It was snowing very heavily and we were in thick cloud.

After reaching the departure point from the shoulder of the Mönsch – which we were able to identify by a momentary cloud-clearing謡e steered a compass course to the Ober Monsch Joch, and then up to the Jungfraujoch. I remember putting a foot into one of the tiny filled-in crevasses near the Touristenhaus, and thinking how foolish it would be to go into one of these after such a day. It was eleven o’clock at night when we got in, and we had been on the move for about 19 hours. However, we still had a reserve left and anyway we felt the “exercise in fatigue” to be justifiable. The thing that realty caused us to be so late was Bill’s sickness with the petrol fumes.

Next day, having collected our food from the station, we went down to the Concordia Hut in pouring rain: our chances of peak-storming seemed very thin. The day after was poor, but the weather showed signs of improving, so we decided to try the Kamm Westgrat on the following day.

The weather turned out to be grand and we set off in great spirits accompanied by a cheerful member of the Dutch Alpine Club, who had been there before. The ridge proved both easy and delightful, and seemed to go on for ever. The views all round were superb and the only things that seemed not to like being on the ridge were Bill’s and Dave’s hats which projected themselves down appalling precipices with enormous speed. When we got to the top we all shook hands with great solemnity.

We had an intriguing time finding a different route down as the surroundings were quite different from the guide-book description : the glaciers seem to be going back very quickly and in fact some of the small ones have disappeared entirety.

We decided to find out what made the Gross Griinhorn ” grün,” so we set off early in the direction of the Grtinhorn-lucke. We came up on to the Griinegghorn ridge by an easy couloir and soon we were standing on the top of the peak. Dave led us very ably down to the col and up the final rock ridge to the Gross Griinhorn. The view from the top was most memorable – all the Oberland, and the giants of the Valais visible 50 miles away. The Aletsch Horn looked a real Queen of the Oberland, and on the opposite side the Finsteraarhorn, supported by sweeping buttresses, soared majestically into the sky.

The time now seemed ripe for our most ambitious project, the traverse of the Finsteraarhorn, so next day we walked up to the Grunhornlucke, raced up the Weissnollen, and strolled down to the Finsteraarhorn hut. This hut is splendidly placed, but even so at least one of us has memories of aching shoulders from carrying large cans of water over the abominable moraine from a glacier stream some distance below.

In the early morning we set off across the dry glacier and in a short while we were at the foot of the rocks below the south­ east ridge. An hour’s scrambling and we were on the ridge, which became more interesting as we made our way along it. The final slab into the couloir is quite Gimmer-like in boots ; the rock is very loose and the leader soon became the object of much abuse when he unavoidably dislodged some stones. We passed over the summit at a brisk canter, as the wind whistled horribly through us, and below, the terrific East Face plunged away in one appalling swoop. After a pause for a meal we walked down over the Hugi-Sattel by the ordinary route, with the AletschHorn and its attendant peaks towering in front of us.

When we got back to the Concordia the next day the weather looked like breaking, so we packed up and retired to the Jungfraujoch, We travelled down to Eigergletscher by train and then on foot down the beautiful path to Gvindelwald in broiling heat.

Dave was running short of cash so he left for home, and Bill and I went round to Chamonix by motor-cycle ; we thought the Col de la Forclaz far more hair-raising than any Oberland peak.

At Chamonix we made the unique Chalet Biolet our base ; and there we met Warburton and Price of the Fell and Rock, who had been adventuring in Austria. On the following day we all went up to the Plan de 1’Aiguille full of beans and vowing to DO something. So an early start saw us stumbling across the vile moraine below the needles and then up the Nantillon Glacier en route for the Grands Charmoz. We left most of our gear at the foot of the Charmoz-Grepon Couloir and were soon traversing upwards and to the left to the Grands Charmoz. On the ridge we entered a fantastic fairy­ land of pinnacles and precipices ; in a short time we were at the top of the great couloir. Our blood was up and we were enjoying ourselves immensely ; we looked longingly along the Grepon Ridge, where the spires lean boldly over yawning space. On we went, finding the Mummery Crack strenuous but safe, and dangling and clambering over the spires. We were lucky in being able to watch a party of two finishing the terrific Mer de Glace face climb and, like so many before us, we marvelled at the daring of the first man to attempt the final section. These moderns however scorned even the ” artificial aid ” of an ice-axe and swarmed up with great speed on to the final block.

Soon we also were on the summit and, after a delightful but all too short rest gazing at the wonderland of rock and ice and space around its, we made ready to rope down over the Mer de Glace face. The Abseil belay appears as solid as it is pious.

Our way down lay first of all by the final crack of the Mer de Glace face climb. I did not see any pegs stuck in this to justify the phenomenal speed of the two gymnasts we had seen completing this section. The whole thing savoured of levitation !

Our abseil landed us in a rock crevasse on the Mer de Glace face, which we followed in the direction of the Nantillon Glacier. After what had gone before, the way down was comparatively easy, and we were soon sitting on the ” Col des Nantillons,” experiencing the well-known sensation of looking up and thinking ” Good Heavens, was I up there ?”

We said goodbye to Price and Warburton on the moraine (they were going down to Chamonix) and set off in the gather­ ing dusk towards the Plan. When nearing home we were alarmed by much torch-flashing and shouting below us and hurried down to investigate. It turned out to be a large part3′ of English people who were camping nearby and who were in the process of being metamorphosed into mountaineers, aided thereto by some guides. They thought we were survivors of some disaster but we soon reassured them and we parted with many good wishes.

The weather next day looked doubtful, so we rested, picnicked, picked bilberries and watched the golden spires, splashed with new snow, rising above the boiling sea of cloud.

The near view from the Grepon is of course dominated by the Blaitiere and the next morning saw us back on the Nan­ tillon glacier on our way there. A steep ice-slope above the bergschrund entertained us vastly and we cramponed up it with great glee, but the snow-covered rocks above slowed us down and gave us plenty to think about. We viewed the wooden peg on the top of the Rocher de la Corde with grave suspicion but roped down without a mishap, leaving a short length behind us for our return.

The final sentry-box crack caused much amusement as the leader was unlucky enough to jar his elbow when swarming over an overhanging chockstone, and for a while he was suspended like Mahomet twixt Earth and Heaven. And so on to the wonderful one-rock summit with Chamonix spread out like a map below and all around the pageantry of Mont Blanc and its satellites.

On our way down we came across tracks of a large party which had cut huge bucket steps in our lovely ice-slope and then seemed to have gone into a Highland Fling on a large step above it.

We left the Alps as we had arrived – in pouring rain. But we did not mind, for we were very satisfied with our season and we took home with us grand memories of wonderful days.