THE LURE OF THE MOUNTAINS.

Otago Witness, Issue 3555, 2 May 1922, Page 53

THE LURE OF THE MOUNTAINS.

How any things that used to be thought impossible” have been accomplished wl^ ul the last few decades ! Inventions that (could they have been thought of) woul have seemed the wildest dreams to out forefathers of a hundred years ago are now part of everyday life, ministering in a thousand ways to human deeds and pleasures. The heart of Africa has been opened up. and the southern and northern poles both reached. The problem of human rather of aerial navigation has been solved; already there are established air sendees for some short distance routes, and doubtless the to extend air navigation to round-the-world voyages, so tragically suspended tor the present, will soon be renewed. And last year saw a carefully organised attempt to ascend the loftiest mountain on the globe, Everest. Though the expedition did not achieve the ascent, it. accomplished an immense amount of preparatory work, and added greatly to knowledge of the geography and the plant and animal life of the Himalayan region. The attempt has been renewed this year, at an earlier season, I think, -than last; and before long we may expect to hear of progress, perhaps of complete victory, home people are ever ready to raise the cui bono objection in relation to discoveries and explorations that def not promise any material benefit to human beings. Polar exploration has been disparaged by them as a useless sacrifice of effort and human life, since those frozen regions can never —so it is said—be of use to human beings. . Similarly’ many are now disparaging tto j Everest enterprise. The answer to such objections is that it is the business of | man to learn all that he can about the i world he dwells in, and to master and utilise its powers for human service, also that all branches of science are so connected one with one another that discovery along one line is sure to lead to new knowledge and new achievements in other directions. Moreover there is the craving for knowledge, and the more common craving to do and achieve something, the more difficult the better. Exploration and mountain climbing appeal to the sporting instinct so strong in the British people. And surely the attempt to scale Everest is a splendid game, arduous above most, and played for heavy stakes. Its dangers and difficulties will be lure enough to many, but its promoters and leaders are actuated by the solid motive of advancing human knowledge and power. Decriers of polar discovery and exploration in mountain and desert regions and of attempts to fly been, and are, both unscientific and unimaginative people. As to mountain climbing, it does not indeed seem to me that there is much in ascending a peak just because it is difficult to scale. It *is a form of sport, but surely a high one calling for such unusual qualities of courage, coolness, resource, and endurance, as well as physical strength and agility. It is a form which admits few competitors, and allows of no applauding crowd; hence the little celebrity that rewards the great mountain climber as compared with the gTeat football champion or oarsman. But great mountaineering expeditions such as the attempt to conquer Everest stand on a different footing. They are expeditions of discovery and scientific exploration in which the ascent of the highest pinnaeleis of least intrinsic importance. The Everest parties of last year and this have traversed a vast extent of mountain country previously unknown to Europeans, much of it previously untrodden by man, and their observations will be of the highest value to workers in the various branches of natural science—physical geography, meterology, geology, mineralogy, botany, and zoology. Mountain climbers may be roughly divided into two classes, those to whom mountain climbing is pursued as an athletic exercise and a form of sport, and those who, while delighting in the physical exercise, are attracted mainly by the beauty and majesty of mountain scenery. Most of those who have made records in climbing naturally belong to the former class; they devote themselves to assaults on particularly difficult mountain walls or crags while the true mountain lover pauses to enjoy the beauty of mountain and valley and lake, of forests and gardens of alpine flowers. Some of the greatest of English writers have loved mountain climbing; Ruskin, some of whose grandest prose-poetrv describes mountain scenes, Matthew Arnold, and Leslie Stephens are names that recur to me just now. Byron was a mountain lover, and has some splendid passages descriptive of the Alps in his Childe Harold and Manfred, but he lived before the day of mountain climbing for pleasure, aiid I do not think lie attempted any notable ascents. Wordsworth, distinctively the poet of the mountains, knew only those of the British Isles. Among the great scientific men of the last century Professor Tyndal w'as a notable alpine climber. The love of wild nature and mountain climbing as a recreation are modern developments, but the desire to

climb, to get to the top of any high object in view, is a primitive instinct, we see it constantly in children. The modern mountain climber satisfies it together with higher feelings : he knows The iov of life in steepness overcome, And victories of ascent, and looking down On all that has looked clown on ns, and joy In breathing nearer heaven. “The view from below is the picturesque view,” says a writer on mountain climbing, “but the view from the top is an emancipation of the spirit.” Though not on'the vastest scale, our New Zealand mountains offer views scarcely surpassable in beauty and magnificence, and difficulties of ascent to tempt the enterprise of the boldest elimbers from other parts of the world. But as yet few of those who know our mountains most intimately have possessed the art of recording their impressions in an enduring literary form. As time goes on there will surely be found some to describe our Southern Alps as worthily as the Alps of Europe have been described. “The real poetic religion of mountains came with Wordsworth and Shelley,” says the writer quoted from above, “with Shelley’s sense of their splendour and prophetic voices, with Wordsworth's of their mystic communion and consolation.” And in those days when mountaineering was like discovery of new lands it had a zest above that known by the practised mountaineer of to-day. “The earlier books preserve the stimulus of this pioneering spirit, the fipst raptures of discovery, the first splendours of revelation, the visions of the men who were the first to burst to an unknown world of ice and snow. We get the thrill of adventure, the zest of exploration, the contact with Nature in her most dazzling and impressive forms. We are lifted into a keener and purer air. We watch the pitting of pluck, endurance, and skill against the impersonal and unsleeping antagonism of Nature with her sadden bursts of violence and fury. We realise the risks and share the triumphs; and the world affords few triumphs so direct, so satisfying, and so unalloyed as to stand after a stiff climb on the top of a high mountain and to behold the wide world at your feet.” But adventure, knowledge, and beauty are lures by which the mountains will continue to draw men, and women too, to experience the fatigues, perils, and delights of mountain climbing.