Clinton Dent - Above the Snow Line - Mountaineering Sketches Between 1870 and 1880

Telescopic observations

We were now rather more than half-way up the Glacier de la Charpoua. To reach the most promising-looking point at which we might hope to get on the rocks, it was necessary to travel straight across the snow at about the level on which we stood. Now, this Glacier de la Charpoua is not constructed on ordinary principles. Instead of the orthodox transverse bergschrund it possesses a longitudinal crack running up its whole length, a peculiarity that vexed us hugely. Half a dozen times did we attempt to cross by some tempting-looking bridge, but on each occasion we were brought to a stand by impassable crevasses; then had to turn back, go up a little farther, and try again. It was already late in the day and we could ill spare the time lost in this to and fro movement. Eventually we reached a little patch of rocks not far from the head of the glacier. No sooner had we reached these rocks than the guides hunted up a suitable place and concealed some utterly worthless property as carefully as if they expected evil-minded marauders to be wandering about, seeking what they might pilfer. Having effected the cache with due care, Franz once again burst into a strange carol, the burden of which was unintelligible, but the chorus made frequent allusion to “der Teufel.” We now saw that, after all, the only feasible plan would be to cut our way still higher up a steep slope, and thus to work right round, describing a large curve. An occasional step required to be scraped, for the glacier is in shadow till late in the morning, owing to the Aiguille Verte intervening and cutting off the sun’s rays. Throughout the day our second guide had been burning with a desire to exhibit the good qualities of the most portentous ice axe I ever saw, an instrument of an unwieldy character resembling a labourer’s pick on the top of a May pole. Its dimensions were monstrous and its weight preposterous: moreover, the cutting spike had an evil curve and, instead of hewing out blocks of ice neatly, preferred to ram a huge hole in the slope and stick fast therein, while a quiver ran through its mighty frame and communicated itself to the striker, who shuddered at each blow as after taking a dose of very bitter physic. However, Franz was so proud of his halberd that we were obliged to sacrifice rapid progress to the consideration of his feelings, and he was accordingly sent on to cut the steps which were now found necessary. With no little exertion did he construct a staircase of which the steps were about the size of foot baths, and with no slight impatience did we watch his gymnastics and athletic flourishes, which were a sort of mixture of tossing the caber and throwing the hammer combined with a touch of polo. Ultimately we were able to quit the glacier for the actual face of the mountain, at a point probably not very much below that struck by the previous party; but it was our intention at once to bear off to the left.

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Franz Andermatten died in August 1883. His name is mentioned elsewhere in these sketches, but I leave what I have written untouched: for I do not hold with those who would efface the recollection of all that was bright and merry in one taken from us.

In the old house, be it noted – not the modern luxurious combination of a granite fortress and a palace.

Travels in the Alps, p. 119.