CHAPTER III.
SOME MORE CHARACTERISTICS OF FIRST-RATE GUIDES.
Though it is a platitude to say that all good guides are plucky, yet some are more noted for “dash” than others. The names which at once come to the minds of most persons in connection with this characteristic would probably be those of, in the past, Michel Croz, Jean-Antoine Carrel, Johann Petrus, and a few others, and, in the present, Alexander Burgener, Emile Rey, Christian Jossi, and to mine, Martin Schocher. The three last names but one in my list are well known; that of Martin Schocher is less so. I must here make a slight digression in order to undertake a pleasant duty. In a former work, referred to before, I made some uncomplimentary remarks concerning Engadine guides.[3] Since then, however, Martin Schocher has come to the front, and has gained an amount of experience which no other Pontresina man can pretend to. Few expeditions of first-rate difficulty in the district have been made which were not led by him. On the three first occasions when the formidable ridge between Piz Scerscen and Piz Bernina was traversed, Schocher headed the party. The only time that the central west arête of Piz Palü was taken, he again led; and on the single occasion when Piz Morteratsch was climbed from the saddle between that peak and Piz Prievlusa, the party consisted of Schocher and Mr. Garwood only. Of this ascent Schocher declares that it was the hardest piece of work he ever undertook, consisting as it did of smooth rocky slabs, steeply inclined, and narrowing very often to the merest knife-edge.
During the past autumn Schocher for the first time left his native district, and went to the chief climbing centres of the Alps (the Oberland and Dauphiné excepted). The party were fortunate in their weather, and ascended the Dent Blanche, the Aiguille de la Za, and several other first-class peaks. If Schocher were to travel for another season or two, he would gain enough experience to place him on a par with some of the best men in the Oberland.
A fine rock-climber, a marvellously good and rapid step-cutter (his steps being large, well shaped, and exactly in the right place), of powerful build, and very willing and cheerful, Schocher is an ideal guide, and a credit to Pontresina. There are one or two young guides in the place who show promise, and Klucker of Sils is a host in himself; so the Engadine may fairly be congratulated on its progress in this respect during the last six or eight years.
Though Chamonix guides have deservedly acquired a reputation for their skill on ice and snow, yet, oddly enough, it is a St. Nicholas man who is said to most excel in this branch of mountain-craft. In the biography of Joseph Imboden in “The Pioneers of the Alps” Mr. Barnes writes: “His (Imboden’s) judgment as to the state of the snow is excellent, and may be implicitly relied on.” Sometimes, when climbing with this guide, I have expressed my fears of possible avalanches, and he has invariably, by a joke or one of those biting sarcasms which his soul loveth, banished my fears; for his wonderful quickness in noting exactly when and where the snow is safe, and when or where it begins to show a tendency to slip, would restore confidence to any one, however timid.
I have many times watched, with ever-increasing admiration, how a couple of first-class Chamonix guides will work their way through a perfect maze of séracs and crevasses and other obstacles incident to the wild chaos of an ice-fall. I have twice been through the séracs of Géant at night, starting at 11 P.M. from Montanvert, and accompanied by Michel Savioz, then a porter. He threaded his way round crevasses, over snow-bridges, and up and down séracs as if he was accustomed to going backwards and forwards nightly over the pass; and, on many other occasions, it has been a real delight to me to watch from the rear of the caravan the perfect confidence and ease with which these masters of their art grapple with the difficulties of a broken glacier. I was particularly struck some years ago by the skill and “dash” displayed by two of my guides, Auguste Cupelin and Alphonse Payot, in forcing a passage across the upper plateau of the Glacier de la Brenva. We had mounted in the morning to a bivouac on the moraine of the glacier, where, under a large boulder, we hit upon the remains of an old encampment, which had probably been the sleeping quarters of the three or four parties who had made or attempted different excursions from this point. We deposited our knapsacks and rugs, lit a fire with the wood which we had collected lower down, and then, after despatching a hasty meal, the two guides set out to make tracks across this formidable glacier. Our object, on the morrow, was to attempt the ascent of the Aiguille Blanche de Peuteret, but as some of the previous parties had spent hours in getting over the glacier which lay between our bivouac and the peak, my guides wisely decided to make a track over it that very afternoon, and thus, by having our way mapped out in advance, to save several hours in the morning. The reader may wonder why, in order to gain time, we did not shift our night-quarters to the other side of the glacier. This we should certainly have done if we could have found even the smallest piece of rock to take up our abode on, but snow was over everything, and therefore we had no choice but to remain on the left bank of the glacier. As I sat on a huge stone overlooking the ice, armed with a telescope, I could watch all my guides’ movements. One moment Auguste would make a rush at a great lurching sérac, the next he would have scrambled to the top, and be ready to step down the other side whilst Alphonse tightened the rope. Then I would see him clear, with a frantic spring, a yawning chasm, and turn and draw in the cord as Alphonse followed his example. Now both would disappear, soon to come into sight again, and seeming to rise out of the depths of the glacier, and Auguste would fall to work with his axe, hacking steps up a glassy wall until he conquered it. And so they worked on, ever progressing towards their goal, whilst I sat engrossed in watching such a brilliant display of ice-craft. It was dark before they returned, and I am sure my reader will sympathise when I tell him that, in spite of all this toil, we were unable to do the Aiguille (then an untrodden peak) the next day. We started about 1 A.M., traversed the glacier, and mounted the steep snow-slopes beyond; but the weather, which was slightly cloudy when we set out, grew gradually worse and worse, till at last heavily falling snow compelled us to abandon our attempt, and in terribly low spirits we retraced our steps to our bivouac, gathered together our baggage, and sulkily descended to the valley. We crossed the Col de la Seigne that afternoon, and next morning, in lovely weather, but through a sprinkling of lately fallen snow, went over the charming little snow-pass of Mont Tendu to St. Gervais, and thence by Chamonix home to Montanvert.