I
Was Eager, And Had Not Yet Felt The Awful Grip Of The Cold.
We left
the Nufenen on our left, a hopeless steep of new snow buried in fog,
and we attacked the Gries.
For half-an-hour we plunged on through snow
above our knees, and my thin cotton clothes were soaked. So far the
guide knew we were more or less on the path, and he went on and I
panted after him. Neither of us spoke, but occasionally he looked back
to make sure I had not dropped out.
The snow began to fall more thickly, and the wind had risen somewhat.
I was afraid of another protest from the guide, but he stuck to it
well, and I after him, continually plunging through soft snow and
making yard after yard upwards. The snow fell more thickly and the
wind still rose.
We came to a place which is, in the warm season, an alp; that is, a
slope of grass, very steep but not terrifying; having here and there
sharp little precipices of rock breaking it into steps, but by no
means (in summer) a matter to make one draw back. Now, however, when
everything was still Arctic it was a very different matter. A sheer
steep of snow whose downward plunge ran into the driving storm and was
lost, whose head was lost in the same mass of thick cloud above, a
slope somewhat hollowed and bent inwards, had to be crossed if we were
to go any farther; and I was terrified, for I knew nothing of
climbing.
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