‘Lucky I had these boots resoled and nailed at Chiavagno,’ was the only other remark he made till we had passed the seracs of the main glacier and turned up the lesser ice-stream from the Colle delle Rondini.

By half-past ten we were near its head, and I could see clearly the ribbon of pure ice between black crags too steep for snow to lie on, which was the means of ascent to the Col.  The sky had clouded over, and ugly streamers floated on the high slopes.  We tied on the rope at the foot of the bergschrund, which was easy to pass because of the winter’s snow.  Wake led, of course, and presently we came on to the icefall.

In my time I had done a lot of scrambling on rocks and used to promise myself a season in the Alps to test myself on the big peaks.  If I ever go it will be to climb the honest rock towers around Chamonix, for I won’t have anything to do with snow mountains.  That day on the Colle delle Rondini fairly sickened me of ice.  I daresay I might have liked it if I had done it in a holiday mood, at leisure and in good spirits.  But to crawl up that couloir with a sick heart and a desperate impulse to hurry was the worst sort of nightmare.  The place was as steep as a wall of smooth black ice that seemed hard as granite.  Wake did the step-cutting, and I admired him enormously.  He did not seem to use much force, but every step was hewn cleanly the right size, and they were spaced the right distance.  In this job he was the true professional.  I was thankful Blenkiron was not with us, for the thing would have given a squirrel vertigo.  The chips of ice slithered between my legs and I could watch them till they brought up just above the bergschrund.

The ice was in shadow and it was bitterly cold.  As we crawled up I had not the exercise of using the axe to warm me, and I got very numb standing on one leg waiting for the next step.  Worse still, my legs began to cramp.  I was in good condition, but that time under Ivery’s rack had played the mischief with my limbs.  Muscles got out of place in my calves and stood in aching lumps, till I almost squealed with the pain of it.  I was mortally afraid I should slip, and every time I moved I called out to Wake to warn him.  He saw what was happening and got the pick of his axe fixed in the ice before I was allowed to stir.  He spoke often to cheer me up, and his voice had none of its harshness.  He was like some ill-tempered generals I have known, very gentle in a battle.

At the end the snow began to fall, a soft powder like the overspill of a storm raging beyond the crest.  It was just after that that Wake cried out that in five minutes we would be at the summit.  He consulted his wrist-watch.  ’Jolly good time, too.  Only twenty-five minutes behind my best.  It’s not one o’clock.’

The next I knew I was lying flat on a pad of snow easing my cramped legs, while Wake shouted in my ear that we were in for something bad.  I was aware of a driving blizzard, but I had no thought of anything but the blessed relief from pain.  I lay for some minutes on my back with my legs stiff in the air and the toes turned inwards, while my muscles fell into their proper place.