THE RELATION OF SCOTTISH TO ALPINE AND HIMALAYAN MOUNTAINEERING

W. H. MURRAY

  1. The Value of Scottish Experience to Alpine
  2. Alpine Craft distinguished from Scottish Climbing
  3. Himalayan Climbing as distinguished from Alpine

 

 

I. The Value of Scottish Experience to Alpine

a comparison of Scottish, Alpine and Himalayan peaks is hardly required in Mountain Craft, whose readers will be already aware of the great differences in height, form, and glaciation. But a useful end is served if we relate the techniques of climbing in Scotland to those on higher mountains; we may then see where a Scottish training helps us and from that draw profit, and equally important observe in what respect it does not help, and so become more alert when climbing abroad.

All qualities of snow and ice found in the Alps and Himalaya are to be found also in Scotland, although certain qualifications are to be noted. Firstly, in Scotland new snow tends to cohere on the slopes from its first falling, and thereafter consolidates much more rapidly than Alpine, so that steep slopes may usually be safely traversed shortly after a snowfall, when, were they Alpine, they would be in a highly dangerous condition. Secondly, fresh dry powder lying on old hard snow is common in the Alps and liable to avalanche, but cannot be called common in Scotland although found there. The commonest source of avalanche in Scotland is the collapse in spring thaw of big cornices. After any very sharp rise in temperature, snow gullies should be avoided, even when not corniced, for rock and ice are both likely to fall from the retaining walls. Penalties are paid annually by climbers who disobey this rule. However, in cold weather excellent climbs involving much axe-work are to be had in the Scottish gullies, whereas Alpine gullies are to be avoided when possible, for at all times they discharge debris.

Rock-climbs either in the Alps or on lesser Himalayan mountains may often resemble the longer Scottish routes, and may occupy very much the same length of time. I am here comparing climbs I have done on Ben Nevis (e.g., Basin route, Slav route, and in winter the three big ridges) and in Glencoe (e.g., Gar rick's shelf and Deep-cut Chimney under snow and ice) with Alpine climbs like the Meije from the Promontoire, the Grands Charmoz, the frontier ridge of Mount Maudit from the Col de la Fourche, etc. Although the Alpine climbs are longer the Scottish climbs may consume more time. However, that is not usual, and my main point is that they have left on my memory the same general impression in regard to the type of difficulty encountered.

The lesser Himalayan peaks I have in mind are those between 16,000 feet and 19,000 feet mountains. These have given routes reminding me strongly of Cuillin ridges and Lochnagar buttresses. I speak here only of similarities in general character; likenesses can be still more marked when we come down to detail. Difficult pitches in the Himalaya are like difficult pitches anywhere else.

It is a merit of the long Scottish rock-climbs that pitches are usually separated by long stretches of easy rock. On these routes, and on snow and ice climbs, and on summit ridges like those of the Black Cuillin, or An Teallach and Aonach Eagach under snow, we learn the art of moving all together roped-up and at speed, on both the ascent and descent. It is important that we should become able to move safely without stopping to take belays on rock graded 'difficult', that is if we aspire to the better Alpine climbs. The ability to climb ' severes' is a further good help to this end, for it leads to greater confidence on difficult rock and so to less waste of time. Here I would stress the importance of quick rope-management and sustained rhythm, which are better learnt in Scotland than in England or Wales.

Practice in rope-management for Alpine work should include practice in abseiling. It is not adequate training to select one short crag and practise only on that, except as a beginning. Scotland abounds in cliffs of 800 to 1,500 feet on which descent can be made by abseiling a known route. This gives excellent training for the Alps, where the prior experience saves precious time, probably when really needed—for descents by abseil are not to be thought of as being the order of the day.

The most important contribution made by Scottish climbers to British mountaineering is (in my view) not in rock-climbing but in the development of difficult snow-rock-ice-climbing. It is for this reason that Scottish mountaineering makes such a valuable introduction to Alpine. The best season is mid-January to mid-March. Easter is almost always too late. Ice-pitches of the kind met in Scottish gullies (like Comb gully on Nevis or Crowberry and SC gullies in Glencoe) are not normally encountered in the Alps, but in acquiring the ability to deal with them we acquire all the skill to cope with the upper walls of Alpine bergschrunds, where these are climbable, or the ice-wall barriers on Himalayan ice-falls or open ice-slopes too steep for crampons only.

The Alps and the Himalaya, being inland ranges, get much less wind than the Scottish plateaux, which are seaward mountains lying in the storm-track of North Atlantic hurricanes. In the Himalaya, the high-velocity winds, made notorious on Everest, are encountered above 23,000 feet. Below that level the Himalaya are relatively windless. The clothing that is adequate for a Scottish winter season is fully adequate for the Himalaya below 23,000 feet. Thus, at an early stage of my own climbing career in Scotland, I found that one windproof anorak was not enough in winter storm, nor was one balaclava helmet (it must be reinforced with a wind- proof hood) nor one pair of woollen mitts, nor one pair of trousers, nor were two sweaters. If only we can learn this early enough it may save our lives. One of my friends died in a recent hurricane through not learning it in time. In the last eight years six of my personal friends have been killed on mountains, for reasons dealt with indirectly in this and the following part II.

The rapidity with which storms rise in Scotland, the possibility of winter severity at any time of year, the speed with which snow- conditions alter, more especially on Nevis where soft wet snow is apt to turn to ice overnight without a warning sign seen below, and the heavy punishment these deliver to unwary climbers, are at least a useful preparation for the quick-change, Alpine weather (big peaks make their own), which, although less violent in itself, has more dire effect on the body by reason of altitude.

A genuine skill in Scottish mountaineering is fully sufficient to let a climber do good Alpine climbs guideless in his first season, and to deal competently with all ordinary difficulties—provided that he keeps off the bigger routes and has the company of a more experienced man than himself. The latter point is important; the Alpine scale gives rise to certain difficulties, conditions and dangers which a purely British-trained climber has not yet encountered, and with which he cannot expect himself to deal safely in that first season. If he can raise no such experienced companion, then let him still go but keep to easy peaks in good weather.

The aspects of Alpine climbing that cannot be experienced in Scotland, and of Himalayan climbing that cannot be experienced in the Alps, are the subject of parts II and III.

 

 

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II. Alpine Craft distinguished from Scottish Climbing

The primary differences between Scottish and Alpine climbs are the same as those between Alpine and Himalayan—height, scale, and geographical latitude. All other differences derive from these. Thus the first difference to be noted is the incomparable greater bulk of snow and ice that distinguishes Alpine from Scottish peaks.

Glacier work tends to cause Alpine beginners more anxious concern than the subject merits. Alpine glaciers are for the most part to be regarded less as obstacles than as highways to and from the peaks. Much of importance regarding their negotiation may be learned in advance from the textbooks and the rest is a matter of common sense, and of cramponing, axe-work, and rope-management—simple skills in which hard but intelligent practice will soon make an active man proficient.

As a consequence of more southerly latitude, Alpine snow becomes mushy from sun-heat after midday and dangerous where it lies on steep or exposed slopes. Scottish snow does not change appreciably in the afternoon; thus it is not Alpine in character, but Arctic.

On Alpine buttresses and big ridges, route-selection even on moderate climbs can be baffling and time-consuming, because of the greatness in scale. The problems of route-selection are met in Scotland on a scale insufficiently great to give us skill or confidence on first trying Alpine routes.

Sudden bad weather, catching us high up on a long Alpine climb, will more often be a serious threat to survival than its heavier Scottish counterpart.

These triple risks of deteriorating snow, time-wastage on route- selection, and sudden bad weather we can in large measure escape by the employment of good guides. If we are determined to do our own mountaineering, then we must learn and study the art of Alpine speed and pace, and discipline ourselves most thoroughly. We must adopt a much more business-like attitude to our climbing than we do in Scotland. In Scotland we must be tough in dealing with our climbs, but in the Alps we must be tough in dealing with ourselves. We never learn this discipline at home, for we are unregenerate. The Egyptian street Arabs, who never tire of telling us we are hard cases', are telling us the truth.

Speed in the Alps implies not so much fast moving as not wasting time. We cultivate rhythmical pace and hold to it. We cut out long halts for tobacco and talk; we handle the rope expeditiously; and whenever possible we move all together. We must be prepared to keep driving the body onwards, despite its marked inclination to ease off. And our starting time is anything from midnight onwards according to peak, route, and hut.

By these stern means we aim to get off our peak before noon and so avoid the descent of bad snow, and we are able also to earmark time for unforeseen delays in route-selection. I find it quite impossible to exaggerate the urgent need for the unguided amateur, however experienced he may be, to provide for himself much more time than he thinks he will need. This, indeed, is almost the whole secret of carefree and enjoyable Alpine climbing—and of gaining objectives.

But we must follow up four further devices for increasing our speed or saving our time.

First, on the afternoon before our climb we should reconnoitre our route in its lower part. If this task is omitted, much time can be lost despite good weather on starting a modest climb like the Hornli ridge of the Matterhorn.

Second, in bad weather, it is always worth going up to a hut, and it is always worth starting out if conditions are not hopeless, for good weather comes just as suddenly as bad. We can withdraw before committing ourselves if the hoped-for clearance fails to materialize. The climber must not tempt the weather unduly as he may often do in Scotland. Penalties are too heavy. But the point is that we should not sit idle in the hut waiting to see if a promised clearance will really come.

Third, cramponing should be assiduously practised. (I assume here that we have learned to deal with steep snow and ice without crampons.) Guided parties can often dispense with crampons because guides cut ice at high speed, and the route being known they have plenty of time in hand. Guideless parties will save a vast amount of time if able to crampon well and safely, and if they start early enough to be able to use their crampons high on the mountain before the snow deteriorates. Good cramponing is not so simple as the confident beginner imagines. It demands practice on routes selected in rising standard of difficulty before a climber can with safety be let loose on a big snow and ice climb. Ignorance of these hard facts has led to much trouble, and to disaster.

Four, we can often increase pace by ensuring an adequate fuel intake. In Scotland, most climbers in good training can keep going all day on very little food. A habit is formed of eating only a bare minimum on the hills. And if this habit accompanies the climber to the Alps his performance will badly suffer. He becomes slower, more readily tired, and loathes to press on, despite good training. This trouble can often be traced to a low fuel intake. The truth is that Alpine climbing is much more exacting than Scottish. Food of high calorific value should be eaten frequently in small quantity. The more sugar an Alpinist can bring himself to eat the better the performance he is likely to give. (This truth has its limits.)

There is often a temptation to save time in the Alps, especially during an unexpectedly late descent, by taking a 'short-cut', which seems obvious to the eye although not mentioned in the guide-books. In Scotland, if it be a gully, our yielding to temptation is folly; but in the Alps it is dangerous lunacy.

The chief objective dangers in the Alps are falling stones and ice. So are they too in Scotland, but the difference in scale needs no labouring. The fact that an Alpine route is much frequented does not make it safe. The Nantillons glacier, for example, is a notorious danger spot; it is sounder practice to climb the Grepon by the much harder route from the Mer de Glace. In fine, dry seasons, remember that the ice-pointing will be melting off the rocks, and that stone-fall may be expected from cliffs that are reputedly harmless. At such time avoid routes that are notoriously loose (e.g., the Brouillard ridge).

The most important quality that a climber can acquire is one that he may win on homeland mountains—an alert intelligence maintained day-long. This he must consciously practise until it becomes second-nature to him—an unconscious habit or instinct. That alert awareness has to be turned to every movement by the climber and his companions and to the state of snow, ice, rock, and weather, and be used in scrutinizing all routes proposed. For the peaks themselves he must foster a profound respect. Alert intelligence ranks above all other qualities that a mountaineer may possess, for with it he may go to any range abroad and be safe, subject to good fortune, which he may earn but not command.

 

 

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III. Himalayan Climbing as distinguished from Alpine

A prior training in Scotland or the Alps is by no means an essential prerequisite for Himalayan mountaineering. A contrary opinion tends to creep into general acceptance as a result of the high qualifications rightly demanded by the Everest expeditions. But during these last five years I have met several men with good Himalayan records who had never climbed on other ranges. One can learn one's mountaineering in the Himalaya. For us, this would mean lost time and opportunity.

Scottish mountaineering, in itself, is by no means all-sufficient for successful Alpine climbing although a great help to that end, as shown in part I. Still less does it give in itself an adequate training for the Himalaya. An experience of Alpine climbing, preliminary to Himalayan, is highly to be desired, as will be obvious from my second article. It now remains to be said that Alpine experience in itself is not fully adequate for Himalayan problems and conditions.

The Himalayan scale is so great that Scottish and Alpine experiences are almost equally useless in estimating it, save when we get high on our peaks—say about 4,000 feet from our summits. It is then our Alpine experience that gives any meaning to what we see.

From lower down on our Himalayan peaks, or from farther away, I have found it extraordinarily hard both to appreciate the real size of nicks and steps in ridges and the true angle of all slopes seen en face. The foreshortening is gross and deceives the eye beyond all belief. The real situation is ordinarily very much worse than it looks. For example, the average angle of a long Himalayan ridge may not be so very great. It looks easy. However, we note along its length a number of little walls and steepenings of angle. Drawing on our Scottish experience we reflect that any step not climbable direct can be turned on one flank or the other, and that angles seen en face are always less than they look. Or, drawing on Alpine experience, we may reflect the ice-slopes are probably as steep as they look, but will not be more. We have then to learn the hard way that angles seen en face in the Himalaya are normally steeper than they appear. (A good example is the Lhotse glacier of Everest, which looked a very easy angle when we first saw it en face from Pumori in 1951.) Ridges tend to be rawer and narrower even than we feared, and when we try to turn their steps we find the flanks so steep and uncompromising that they offer but poor alternative. Consequently, the very common error made by parties new to the Himalaya, however experienced they may be as Alpinists, is an under-estimation of both difficulties and distance, and the consequent attempt on their summits from final camps that are pitched too low. The result is that climbable peaks tend to be lost through exhaustion and lack of time. If they are won, it is with quite excessive strain on the climbers.

We do well to bear in mind Mallory's remark that the three golden rules in Himalayan climbing are (1) Reconnoitre, (2) Reconnoitre, and (3) Reconnoitre. They have additional merit in providing us with time and opportunity to acclimatize to altitude. Our bodies have power to adapt themselves to oxygen-lack, and like all powers they improve with practice. Previous Alpine ascents tip to 15,000 feet are distinctly a help, for our bodies will afterwards adapt more quickly at least to that height.

Himalayan snow-conditions can be very different from Alpine. Under a clear sky before the summer monsoon it is not unusual for sun temperatures to exceed 160° F. at great heights where atmospheric cold protects the snow. But at lower temperatures and altitudes—say below 20,000 feet—the sun's effect on snow can be alarmingly quick and devastating; especially so on southward- facing slopes, which must be dealt with most warily. I have committed myself to northward-facing snow-slopes in June and seen them turn dangerous shortly after 8 a.m., although they had been hard-frozen at night.

Himalayan snow will avalanche at lower angles than Alpine and in enormously greater mass. Side glaciers will sometimes shoot an avalanche across the full breadth of the main glacier; and to complicate the matter further the snout of a side glacier or hanging glacier may be hidden from below by a cliff or buttress. It is well to keep aware of these points and to exercise the utmost circumspection when siting tents. In glacier-filled valleys, pitch camps on the glacier rather than in the nullah between the moraine and the mountain-flank, and so use the moraine as a protective screen. On upper glaciers, pitch camp when practicable at the toe of a ridge, so that anything falling goes to one side. If tents are sited on or under a long open snow-slope (e.g., the Swiss on Chaukhamba or the Poles on Tirsuli), be aware that providence is being unduly tempted and be prepared in mind and soul for disaster. My experience of monsoon snow is that under no conditions can it be trusted, and that one must keep to the crests of ridges.

Autumn snow conditions appear to me to be very much more like the Alps in summer than are spring conditions. There is more opportunity for crampon and axe work.

Autumn night frosts high up are extremely testing, save in the Everest region below 20,000 feet, where temperatures seem to be higher than in spring. For peaks below 22,000 feet, clothing remains the same as for Scotland in winter, save that three pairs of socks will be wanted. But if three pairs of socks are crammed into boots made for two, the result is the reverse of that desired and will induce frostbite.

In my opinion, moulded rubber soles are the best for Himalayan as for Alpine boots, but I cannot regard this matter as important. They should have nails in the heels to secure the descent of steep, wet grass, long slopes of which are encountered in the central Himalaya. This again does not apply to the Everest region.

For the biggest Himalayan peaks, the most valuable training we can have is of long snow and ice climbs in the Alps. The long Alpine rock-climbs, so much favoured by British climbers of recent years, are distinctly less important. The most important lesson of all, however, which we do learn in the Alps, is the need of perpetual vigilance and common sense. As a general rule, the pioneers and pundits-to-be of mountaineering do their best work when they are young and relatively inexperienced, not when they are old and wise. They live to become old and wise because an alert man with a basic common sense can safely go anywhere,

By Courtesy of the Editor of Mountain Craft

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