PLUNGING INTO SPACE

Then came my own special thrill. Going down the steep wall I slipped—or better say the snow fell away from under my left heel—and I set out for the ocean some twelve thousand five hundred feet below at a rate which simply terrified me. The guide enjoyed it. He let his coil of rope out the entire distance before he checked my slide, for otherwise I would have still been close to the path and outside of a slight scare had nothing to tell about. Even when I got over my first panic I still didn't see what could be done! The slope, if you could call it such, on which I was suspended by a rope under my arms, dangling in mid-air, feet waving, was almost solid ice. The pitch of the "slope" was such that I was off the path so there were no foot holds. I had no ax and lying on my back as I was, I don't know yet how I would have used one if I had had it. By holding out his stick, K. managed to pull me back over toward the path. Then it was a question of getting into it. My back was against the wall literally and figuratively! Eventually I wormed myself over and around and into the toe holds, but my heart skipped several beats and stopped once in the process.

I was now out of order in the procession. So T. had to make his way around me, with all the difficulties which I had just enjoyed.

A final slide of some hundreds of feet brought us down to the snow field and relatively prosaic tramping. I say "relatively" for an attempt to stop for snapshots (and rest) brought a sharp reminder from the guide that the snow field, already breaking away from the shoulders above us, was likely at any moment to start further and faster down its inevitable path toward the Aletsch Glacier below us.

Back to the hotel in time for the late afternoon train down to the valley, all the way reliving the events of the day which was the high spot of a summer's touring, wondering just how bad the combined sun and snow and wind burn would be, and promising one another to try the Matterhorn the next time.

And age still cherishes appreciation of and thankfulness for youth's confidence in its own visions.

THE SADDLE With its overhanging snow ridge