The Ascent of the Similaun Peak in Schnals on August 27, 1839 (Continuation)

Appendix.

The Ascent of the Similaun Peak in Schnals on Aug. 27, 1839. 2/3

(Continuation.)

From the north things looked even worse; beyond our wall, only a few feet away from us in a fearful abyss, we saw a glacier slope with its fissures and chasms, until the mists before us and in the depth itself blocked all visibility. They drifted swiftly over our heads towards the south, later concealing that side as well—the only one we still had clear, as towards the north we could not even see the nearby Wildeisspitze.

Here we resolved, sheltered from storm and wind, to await the parting of the clouds. My two thermometers showed +6.3, thus more than 6 degrees above the freezing point.

Without entering into geognostic observations in detail, which I must leave to specialists, I merely note briefly that I found no solid mountain core; it was alluvial ground. Porphyry, sandstone slate, and quartz interspersed with limestone—the latter being rarer specimens—appeared piled into walls between earthen layers, as if fashioned by human hands. Along the path we were obliged to take, the entire mass looked like a deposit from a great mountain range, without our being able to fathom where these diverse fragments had actually come from. Since I did not find weathered lava in abundance here, as on the Schlern last year, I could infer no volcanic origin for them, but can attribute their existence only to a diluvian revolution, with full justification. We refreshed ourselves and, having spent two and a half hours here, continued on our journey. It was 11:15.

If the way up to this point had been bad, it now grew even worse! High stones piled atop one another formed a ridge, hemmed in on both sides by the glacier, which glared at the traveler with its dizzying depth and crevasses. We had to help ourselves along not merely with feet and hands, but often with knees and elbows as well. We resembled chamois! Woe to anyone who had been seized by vertigo, or struck by a loosened rock from the man ahead of him; he would have settled his worldly account! To crown this discomfort, a by no means gentle zephyr whistled about us; the mists obscured every view, save that into the dreadful depths. Truly, it demanded extraordinary physical exertion; yet what cannot man achieve to reach an objective he has earnestly set for himself!

After scaling these rock masses with unspeakable toil, which lasted nearly an hour, we came to an extension of them in the form of a crest running almost perpendicularly towards the peak lying to the east before us. We were now only a quarter of an hour from our journey's destination and here stepped upon the glacier for the first time.

We fastened our crampons, took up the leading ropes of the man before us, and thus, with the aid of the mountain stock, stepped precisely into his footsteps; and so, under the ever-present danger of slipping to the right or left and being buried in the deepest abyss, enveloped in darkness by mist and buffeted roughly by the wind, we hastened toward the summit. I reminded my companions of Schiller's Mountain Song.

A clear cheer announced that someone in the traveling party had reached the destination; it was the fearless Fuchs. After a few minutes, I too arrived with my excellent guide and lead man Rafeiner, after crossing a crevasse three feet wide that runs from north to south and offered at most five inches for the foot to tread upon. With this final step we stood at the goal of our desires, atop the head of the mountain giant, which measures at most 40 paces in length from west to east, where a gentle slope lies along it; the breadth, namely from north to south, could hardly exceed 10 paces. Unfortunately, everything was so shrouded in mist that at 20 paces I could indeed make out human figures, but by no means identify any of my companions. A few feet below the ridge was an area a few fathoms wide and equally long.

It was 12:30 when we reached the summit. On the most commanding point, Fuchs laid down his jacket; I sat upon it to write. The instruments I had brought along were unpacked: three mountain sticks were driven into the ice in front of me, with my thermometers affixed to two of them and my barometer to the third, which I always carried myself to protect it from any possible damage.

The secondary purpose of the journey, namely an immeasurable view into God's wide world, was denied us, and for that I pitied my fellow travelers. To me remained the better part: carrying out the barometric altitude measurement, since previously neither this nor a trigonometric survey had taken place.

My companions were unusually pale, complaining of chest tightness and ringing in the ears, symptoms that I felt as well. They did not manifest to the same degree in each of us. Our pulses registered 120 beats per minute.

The wind blew from the north and west, causing a violent vortex in the clouds above our heads. An imposing spectacle! I confess, an unnamable feeling seized me. Nature, revealing itself here terribly in its torpor and deadliness, surrounded us. Calmly, like my companions, I saw that no further view was to be expected, and we readily resigned ourselves to our inevitable fate.

The thermometers stood at -2.1, thus more than 2 degrees below zero, whereas both Thurwieser and his predecessor on the Ortler had found several degrees above zero. The cold was severe.

The barometer stood at 18, 2.0; while at the same hour in Innsbruck it read 26, 9.91. Thus, according to my calculation, the elevation of the Similaun Peak above the level of the Adriatic Sea should be taken as 11,780 Parisian feet or 12,109 Viennese feet.

My companions were shivering from the frost, and at 2 o'clock we gave serious thought to our departure, having toasted the human race dwelling below us with the remaining Cyprus wine. I then handed to one of my companions a rolled-up sheet written by me, containing the account of our excursion on the Similaun and signed by everyone, save for two whose frost-numbed hands refused to write and were therefore signed for by Veithaler and Rafeiner; it was placed into a bottle whose neck received a mountain stock, planted on the summit so as to protrude four feet above it. (Conclusion follows.)