Complete Story. A Mountain Incident.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXIV, Issue VII, 17 February 1900, Page 296

Complete Story. A Mountain Incident.

Let me say at once that I do not wish to pose as an authority on climbing; neither do 1 purpose making an attempt to rival the exploits of Sir Martin Conway or Mr Whymper. In fact, 1 will be quite frank and admit that my experience is distinctly limited. Indeed, until recently, climbing had little more than a passing interest for me, and my efforts in this direction had been entirely suburban. Having, however, accomplished a successful ascent of Muswell Hill in the north, and Shooter’s Hill in the south —to say nothing of groping my way to the giddy heights of the monument at an earlier stage of my career —I was only prevented by a modesty that the reader will readily appreeiaie from bringing my achievements to the notice of the Alpine Club. Having once tasted the sweets of climbing, though, it became painfully obvious to my friends that the mountaineering fever had attacked me badly. For a time Whymper and Baedeker formed my entire mental pabulum, and after a. period of great unrest I eventually found myself in the Zermatt Valley with a companion equally enthusiastic although equally inexperienced. As we sat on the balcony of the Zermatt Hotel upon the evening of our arrival, looking up at the mighty Matterhorn gradually fading away in the gathering twilight, while its snow-covered sides flushed responsively to the rcseate fires of the setting sun, my friend drew a deep sigh and said, “How beautiful!” I looked downwards upon the fair form of my dinner companion—a sweet young Bostonian —and as my glance travelled over the gleaming coils of hair that lay upon her shapely neck like burnished gold, 1 answered fervently, “Yes.” “That’s worth gaining,” exclaimed my companion, as if following a train of thought, at the same time pointing to the flaming summit of the Matterhorn, and again, with downcast eyes, I answered “Yes.”

Fired with youthful ardour, my friend said he would go and consult some of the guides in the grounds of the hotel, and he left me. My fair Bostonian had placed her book aside, for the evening shadows had deepened. Time and place were conducive to the formation of new friendships, and when my friend reappeared on the balcony, after what seemed a ridiculously short interval, my dinner companion rose, and with the sweetest of smiles bade me “Good-night” as she passed into the Hotel. “It’s all right, old chap,” said he, slapping me on the shoulder. “I’m not so certain of that,” I answered, with a dubious shake of the head. “But I’ve fixed up the whole thing, he replied, emphatically. “The Devil you have,” 1 rejoined. “You’ve been pretty quick about it.” "Quick! What do you mean? I’ve been away an hour and three-quarters, and I thought you would wonder what had become of me.” I looked at my watch and found it nearly ten, and I marvelled at the flight of time. "Well, old chap,” continued ,my friend, taking me by the arm, “let’s go for a stroll down the village and listen to the band at the ‘Mout-Cervin,’ then I’ll tell you all about it.” To the “Mont-Cervin” we accordingly went, where under the soothing influence of a pipe and soft music he unfolded his plans.

To cut a long story short, the guides, like the prudent men they are, scouted the idea of two inexperienced climbers taking the Matterhorn as their first climb. No, they said in effect, a man successfully to negotiate the Matterhorn wanted something more than an ice axe, forty yiirds of rope, and a pair of armour-plated boots; an equipment which we had innocently thought would carry us over any obstacle and to any height. My friend had at first expostulated, but the guides were firm, so eventually it was decided that we should climb the Breithorn, a snow mountain nearly 14,000 feet high, whence excellent views were obtainable. . With the enthusiasm born of inexperience mv travelling companion suggested we should start the following afternoon, pass the night at the Gaud-

egg Hut, and complete, the ascent the next morning. But for reasons it is unnecessary to enter into here I strongly opposed the idea of leaving Zermatt with such unnecessary, and almost unseemly, haste, while I urged the necessity of another day’s complete rest so that we might start quite fresh. As everyone knows who has stayed in that marvellous valley, there are only two things to be done in Zermatt. One is to climb, the other is to flirt. If you care for the first-named form of recreation there is ample scope for the exercise of your powers. If, however, the latter, is more to your liking, then you have only to sit on the balcony of your hotel, and you will quickly find that there is no need for time to hang heavily on your hands.

My fair Bostonian had, alas! slightlysprained her foot. She was, therefore, reluctantly compelled—as she assured me with a divine smile —to rest throughout the morning. And very charming she looked as she reclined in a basket-chair, and nestled her head against a brilliant coloured cushion. My friend had started early for a climb to the Schwarzee Hotel, thinking it would bring him into condition. He had tried to prevail upon me. to accompany him, but I assured him that as far as I personally was concerned a perfectly restful day would be more conducive to fitness for the morrow.

Throughout the morning 1 rested-— that is, 1 remained on the balcony, and only moved when it was necessary to assist my fair companion to a spot where we could obtain a view through the hotel telescope of five poor mortals clambering up the face or the Matterhorn. WJith breathless interest she followed the movements of the climbers. while I, thanks to a lively imagination, combined with a previous study of Whymper and Baedeker, was able to furnish information concerning the Matterhorn and other mountains that could not have been obtained through the medium of any recognised guidebook. Luncheon and tea came round with startling rapidity, and when, half an hour before dinner, my friend returned jubilant with the result of his expedition, he found me still resting on the balcony, quietly reading a book left by the fair Bostonian on her departure five minutes earlier.

ell, what sort of a day have you had?” he exclaimed, throwing himself into a chair.

Delightfully quiet,” 1 replied, as 1 looked at my watch and hurriedly remarked that we had only just time to get ready for dinner.

The following morning my friend was early afoot putting the finishing touches to his equipment for the ascent. He appeared anxious to make a start, but 1 soon convinced him that as the Gaudegg Hut could be reached ■in four hours from the valley, it was of no use starting at a ridiculously early hour. I contended it was for better to “rest” during the morning and start after luncheon. By dint of a. little judicious manoeuvring my friend quietly agreed, and, a few minutes later, he disappeared, and did not turn, up again until the luncheon bell had rung. Deeming it unwise to exert myself prior to our start, I had been content to spend a perfectly restful morning on the balcony, the conditions being not unsimilar to those of the previous day. But human happiness is invariably brief, and between two and three in the afternoon our guides came to claim us, and I bade my fair companion adieu with as bright a smile as I could summon up. For a moment our eyes met, and I thought I detected a slight heightening of colour as she said “Good-bye,” and hoped I should "•have a good time.” Good time, forsooth! Happiness seemed impossible apart from my divinity. Out of the valley we passed in Indian file, and after toiling for an hour and a half up a narrow and dusty muie path, we were able to look down upon the brawling Visp leaping from rock to rock as it rushed through the valley to swell the .waters of the Rhone. After a journey of three hours and a half we reached the Gaudegg Hut—a. truly romantic spot, ami one that fitted well with my frame of mind. Here we arranged to spend the night. The hut, in reality, is little more than a. wooden shanty, and is jierched on the top of Home huge rocks on the Leichenbretter, just above the Theo-

dule glacier. The premises are rented for the season by four sisters from an hotel proprietor in Zermatt, to whom they pay a rental of 1,500 francs annually. The place is open from the early part of June to the latter end of September. All food supplies have to be brought up from the valley by carriers, and as the hut stands at an elevation of 10,000 feet, the task is no light one. As may be imagined, the place is primitive enough. No internal adornment or decoration is attempted. Plain boards and plain tables are the order of the day. The bed-rooms are all on one floor, and are reached by means of a ladder from the basement. The bed-rooms are comfortable and spotlessly clean. The charge for a room is five francs, a similar charge being made for dinner, and four francs is the lowest price of a bottle of wine.

At nine p.m. we “turned in,” as the guides suggested that we should start the following morning at three o’clock. Upstairs it was bitterly cold, but as each bed was provided with two feather beds, one for sleeping on and the other as a covering, it did not take long to get warm. At 2.30 the following morning we were aroused by a knock at the door, and a few minutes later we were looking out of the window anxious to know if the weather was favourable. The wind had partially subsided, and not a cloud could be seen. The stars sparkled in their steel blue setting, and were mirrored in the snowy 7 heights. A hasty toilet, followed by a cup of coffee, with bread and honey, and we were once more outside the trailing across the snow. The sun had not yet begun to show itself, and the snow was crisp and hard from the night’s frost. The scene was "not without its weirdness, as, through the dim, uncertain light, we silently trudged along, attached to one another by a rope. Occasionally we came to a crevasse, and the guide would prod the snow surface with his ice-axe to see whether it would bear his weight in crossing. At himes we had to make a wide detour in order to gain a crossing, and when the attempt was made we were told to keep the rope taut, so that if the leader fell in we might haul him out. Above us rose the summit of the Breithorn, and up the steep slope we moved with painful slowness, for at times we had to make a foothold in the frozen snow with our ice-axe. Still, there was something so mar-

vellously exhilarating in the air, u> say nothing of the charm of our surroundings—that fatigue was fairly kept at arm’s length. Our descent was comparatively easy. On more than one occasion, however, we slipped on the surface of the snow, and might have rolled on into eternity had we not been attached by ropes to our sure-footed guides. As the sun rose and gained in power the snow became softer and softer, so that towards the end progress was somewhat slow and difficult, for occasionally we would sink nearly to our waists. By half-past ten. though, we had regained the hut. feeling a bit tired, perhaps, but still thoroughly well pleased with our first experience of climbing. After a rest and some light refreshment we packed our knapsacks and continued our descent to the valley. By three o’clock we were back at Hotel Zermatt. Our guides had proved themselves such excellent fellows that we gave each thirty-five francs, this being five more than the recognised charge—a little douceur for which they appeared very grateful.

After a tub and a change of clothing, we felt like men who had been given a fresh lease of life. The hard work entailed in the ascent was soon forgotten, and only the charm and novelty of the experience remained. Our pulses had been quickened by the exhilarating effects of the climb, and although we had made but a small beginning, we began to feel something of that mysterious power and irresistible fascina|tion that mountaineering exercises over its votaries. At dinner we drank success to our first venture.

Later on I once more found myself on the hotel balcony, with the fair Bostonian at my. side. Again we watched the evening shadows shutting out the base of the Matterhorn, while golden shafts of light played upon its summit from the down going- sun. “And so your venture was in every way a success,” said my companion with one of her rare smiles. "Complete,” I answered. “May my next be equally so,” I quietly added after a pause, looking down upon her face. She raised her eyes to mine, and in» that glance I seemed to gain a glimpse into futurity.