John Tyndall to Sarah Faraday   23 August 1858¹

August 23, 1858.

My dear <->, - I now sit down to wipe away the reproach of having written a letter to you and not sent it². I reached this mountain wild the day before yesterday. Soon after my arrival it commenced snowing, and yesterday morning the mountains were all covered by a deep layer. It heaped itself up against the windows of this room, obscuring half the light. To-day the sun shines, and I hope it will soon banish the snow, for the snow is a great traitor on the glacier, and often covers smoothly chasms which it would not be at all comfortable to get into. I am here in a lonely house, the only traveller. If you cast your eye on a map of Switzerland you will find the Valley of Saas not far from Visp. High up this valley, and three hours above Saas itself, is the Distil Alp, and on this Alp I now reside. Close beside the house, a many-armed mountain torrent rushes; and a little way down a huge glacier, coming down one of the side valleys, throws itself across the torrent, dams it up, and forms the so-called “Matmark see.” Looking out of another window I have before me an immense stone, the unshipped cargo of a glacier, weighing at least 1,000 tons. It is the largest boulder I have ever seen, is composed of serpentine, and measures 216,000 cubic feet. Previous to coming here I spent ten days at the Riffel Hotel, above Zermatt, and explored almost the whole of that glorious glacier region. One morning the candle of my guide gleamed into my room at 3 o’clock and he announced to me that the weather was good. I rose, and at 4 o’clock was on my way to the summit of Monte Rosa. My guide had never been there, but he had some general directions from a brother guide, and we hoped to be able to find our way to the top. We first reached the ridge above the Riffel, then droped down upon the Görner glacier, crossed it, reached the base of the mountain, then up a boss of rock, over which the glacier of former days had flowed and left its marks behind. Then, up a slope of ice to the base of a precipice of brown crags; round this we wormed till we found a place where we could assail it and get to the top. Then up the slopes and round the huge bosses of the mountain, avoiding the rifted portions, and going zigzag up the steeper inclinations. For some hours this was mere child’s play to a mountaineer, - no more than an agreeable walk on a sunny morning round Kensington-gardens. But, at length the mountain contracted her snowy shoulders to what Germans call a kamus - a comb; suggested, I should say, by the toothed edges which some mountain ridges exhibit, but now applied to any mountain edge, whether of rock or snow. Well, the mountain formed such an edge. On that side of the edge which turns towards the Lyskamm there was a very terrible precipice, leading straight down to the torn and fissured névé of the Monte Rosa glaciers. On the other side the slope was less steep, but exceedingly perilous-looking, and intersected here and there by precipices. Our way lay along the edge, and we faced it with steady caution and deliberation. The wind had so acted upon the snow as to fold it over, forming a kind of cornice, which overhung the first precipice to which I have alluded. Our track for some time was upon this cornice. The incessant admonition of my guide was to fix my staff securely into the snow at each side, the necessity of which I had already learned. Once, however, while doing this, my staff went right through the cornice, and I could see through the hole that I had made into the terrible gulf below. The morning was clear when we started, and we saw the first sunbeams as they lit the pinnacles of Monte Rosa, and caused the surrounding snow summits to flush up. The mountain remained clear for some hours, but I now looked upwards and saw a dense mass of cloud stuck against the summit. She dashed it gallantly away, like a mountain queen; but her triumph was short. Dusky masses again assailed her, and she could not shake them off. They stretched down towards us; and now the ice valley beneath us commenced to seethe like a boiling cauldron and to send up vapour masses to meet those descending from the summit. We were soon in the midst of them, and the darkness thickened; sometimes, as if by magic, the clouds partially cleared away, and through the thin pale residue the sunbeams penetrated, lighting up the glacier with a kind of supernatural glare. But these partial illuminations became rarer as we ascended. We finally reached the weathered rocks which form the crest of the mountain, and through these we now clambered up cliffs and down cliffs, walking erect along edges of granite with terrible depths at each side, squeezing ourselves through fissures, and thus by jumping, swinging, squeezing, and climbing we reached the highest peak of Monte Rosa.

Snow had commenced to fall before we reached the top, and it now thickened darkly. I boiled water, and found the temperature 184.92 deg. Fahrenheit. But the snow was wonderful snow. It was all flower; the most lovely that ever eye gazed upon. There, high up in the atmosphere, this symmetry of form manifested itself, and built up the exquisite blossoms of the frost. There was no deviation from the six-leaved type, but any number of variations. I should hardly have exchanged this dark snowfall for the best view the mountain could afford me. Still, our position was an anxious one. We could only see a few yards in advance of us, and we feared the loss of our track. We retreated, and found the comb more awkward to descend than to ascend. However, the fact of my being here to tell you all about it proved that we did our work successfully. And now I have a secret to tell you regarding Monte Rosa. I had no view during the above ascent, but precisely a week afterwards the weather was glorious beyond description. I had lent my guide to a party of gentlemen, so I strapped half a bottle of tea and a ham sandwich on my back, left my coat and neck-cloth behind me, and in my shirt-sleeves climbed to the top of Monte Rosa alone. When I see you I will tell you all about this ascent, which was a very instructive one. I expect to remain here a week. The house is cold, and at present the wet comes through the ceiling. I have caught a slight cold, which I hope will soon pass away, as I want all my vigour upon the ice. When I quit this place I shall make my way to Chamouni, where I expect to be eight or nine days. With kindest, &c..

Most sincerely yours, | John Tyndall