CHAPTER XI.
THE BERNINA-SCHARTE.
The general reader may perhaps find the following description somewhat dry; the climber may share his opinion. Having fairly warned both, and promising to make my account as short as possible, I will now embark upon it.
Piz Bernina is the highest mountain in the Grisons, a canton in which climbing is rather neglected. It is a pity that more members of the A.C. do not go there, especially now that several good guides are available; but I am digressing already, so revenons au Piz Bernina. This peak is frequently ascended by the ordinary route, but until last summer seldom by any of the other lines of attack. The time has now come, however, when the route by the “Scharte” is the most popular.
The first ascent of Piz Bernina by the “Scharte” was made in 1879 by Dr. Güssfeldt, who considered it so difficult that he left a bottle in the gap, with a notice inside it to the effect that he defied any one to bring it down. But on August 6, 1883, Dr. Schultz, with Alexander Burgener and C. Perren, repeated the expedition, and brought Dr. Güssfeldt’s bottle back with them. Commenting on this, the Alpine Journal says: “We regret to say that this most dangerous expedition was effected a fourth time in August 1884 (by Herren Zsigmondy and Purtscheller without guides, who slept two nights on the way), and that there is some talk of building a hut to facilitate the climb, though we trust the scheme will never be carried out.” From this reputation the route by the “Scharte” has gradually fallen—or risen, as I prefer to call it—to what it is at present. In 1889 Mr. W. E. Davidson wrote, “The Scharte is easy, the arête a fine climb;” and now we find that the excursion has been undertaken twelve times alone under Martin Schocher’s guidance. The route having now lost its terrors, an account of an ascent may interest that section of our country-folk who propose following in our footsteps. I had often thought of making the expedition, but had taken no definite steps towards accomplishing it, till one day I heard that a party had just returned from descending Piz Bernina by this route. “Now,” thought I, “here is my opportunity. The steps are made, the mountain is known to be in good order, why not start at once?” But the elements were against me. No sooner did we reach the Misaun Alp than a terrific thunderstorm burst upon us, and farther advance was impossible. Nor could we renew our attempt, for heavy snow fell, and climbing was at an end for that season. But the following year I returned to the attack, and though the weather nearly checkmated me again, we contrived to carry our plans through with success.
On this occasion we took up our quarters for the night under a boulder about an hour and a half farther than the Roseg restaurant. We set out in perfect weather, but towards evening clouds drifted up, and as the sky gradually became more and more obscured, our spirits sank lower and lower, till at midnight, when the guides relit the fire, an ominous drip-drip-drip on the boards which we had propped up against the boulder as a shelter from the wind, caused a feeling akin to despair to steal over us. Weibel indulged in a few forcible expressions towards the elements, while Schocher and I made tea and gloomily discussed the situation. Of course, the Bernina by the Scharte in bad weather was out of the question for prudent people like ourselves; still we did not wish to return whence we came. We had almost resolved, “if the worst came to the worst,” to stretch our limbs by crossing Piz Morteratsch to the Boval hut, when a brilliant idea came to me. “Schocher,” I said, “let us go up Piz Prievlusa!” Now, I must here state that the route for this peak (which up to now has been but once ascended) is the same for a considerable distance as that for the Prievlusa Saddle, and to the Prievlusa Saddle we had to go for the Bernina-Scharte. Schocher jumped at my suggestion, and no sooner was our plan decided on than the rain saw fit to stop. The sky, however, was still darkened by clouds, though every now and then a star shone out from a ragged hole in the mists.
We collected our baggage, put the rugs and saucepan in a heap for the porter to fetch down later in the day, and at 1.15 A.M. were off. I must say that my hopes of getting up the Bernina were at a low ebb, the only feeling I associate with the occasion being one of drowsy stubbornness—in fact, a sensation of walking as in a dream, I knew not whither.
As we neared the mountain, and dawn came on apace, cloud-banners were seen drifting wildly from the sharp and jagged crest. Weibel pointed to them, exclaiming that we could never pass along the ridge in such a wind; but Schocher, after examining the flying clouds with care, pronounced them of no importance, as they were blowing down, and not across the ridge. I was much struck with the skill he showed in coming to this conclusion, which, later on, turned out to be perfectly accurate.
By daybreak we had a large expanse of blue over our heads, and though fleecy clouds clung to most of the neighbouring summits, the Bernina remained persistently clear, save for an occasional shred of mist streaming from the upper rocks. At 5.30 we gained the pass between Piz Prievlusa and Pizzo Bianco, known as the Fuorcla Prievlusa. Making our way to the Morteratsch side, we sat in the welcome rays of the sun on a rocky ledge at the top of a grand wall, up the face of which the pass is reached from the Boval side. Here we breakfasted, and then continued our way towards Piz Bernina. The first bit of the ridge, until the rocks were gained, was the most unpleasant piece of work we encountered during the whole climb. The snow here was in bad order, the step from it on to the rocks was awkwardly steep and long, and I, for one, was glad to get my foot on to a more solid surface, and to profit by the good handhold available. The rock arête affords pleasant climbing, but from the point where it ceases to the summit of Pizzo Bianco is a long grind over snow. Every step had to be cut, and Schocher hacked almost without ceasing till we reached the Pizzo Bianco, from where the really interesting portion of the ascent commences. An hour or so earlier we had seen another party rapidly mounting the snow slopes below the Fuorcla. It consisted of Messrs. Scriven and West, accompanied by Peter Dangl of Sulden and a local guide, by name Joos Grass. The latter, oddly enough, I had met on a previous ascent of the Bernina by the ordinary route; both on that occasion and the climb I am now writing of he impressed me favourably. This party had spent the night at the inn in the Rosegthal, which they had not left till 3 A.M.
After nearly an hour’s halt on Pizzo Bianco, we once more got under weigh, and, as we were starting, the others joined us, and paused in their turn for a meal on the point we were quitting. I had thus the pleasure of traversing a narrow rock ridge with four critical pairs of eyes watching my awkward movements from a first-rate point of view. Fain would I have clung on with my hands; my pride obliged me to walk uprightly whenever such a mode of progression was at all possible. I had a sneaking conviction that there was hardly a single place where, not only was it possible, but even tolerably easy, and that the sense of obligation was good discipline in forcing me to strive after better “form” than usual.
The descent into the “Scharte” (or cleft in the arête) proved simple enough, with the knowledge that until I reached the bottom Schocher was bestriding the ridge above, and was “ganz fest.” He followed with ease and rapidity, and turning the party the other way on, began to cut steps round the great rocky tower which here bars the ridge. The couloir was ice throughout, and we spent a lot of time before we were clear of it at the foot of the final peak of the Bernina. Climbing up this without difficulty, though delayed somewhat by the fresh snow overlying the rocks, we reached the top at 10.30, the other party following immediately in our wake.
The weather, which had behaved better than we had dared to hope, now gave up the paths of virtue, and a thick mist, with lightly falling snow, hid everything at more than a few yards’ distance from our view. However, we had reached our goal, and the clouds could now do their worst without endangering our return. So after half an hour’s halt, we started off in a cheerful frame of mind for Boval. How we scrambled down the arête, glissaded over the snow-fields, and raced through the Labyrinth, need not be told. We got to Boval early in the afternoon in steady and soaking rain, and astonished the people at the restaurant by dropping down upon them out of the clouds from Piz Bernina. So ended our day’s excursion.