halted at the first sunlit spot and had something to eat, as it was now 9.30 a.m. and we had tasted nothing since leaving the hut at 3.30. The rocks we now ascended were steep and difficult, but nowhere impossible, and at 12.20 we at last gained the western arête.
We were disgusted to find that we were only at an altitude of 7,100 feet, which meant we had only accomplished 3,000 feet in eight hours, leaving the summit still 2,100 feet above us. We progressed up the arête a little, until we came to an impassable rock tower, which we could neither climb over nor round. The only alternatives were to descend a considerable distance, and climb back to the arête at a point beyond the aiguille, or to give up the ascent. Sitting on the arête, we discussed the matter; we had wasted so much time that our chances of reaching the summit that day were practically nil; the arête was regularly riddled with aiguilles, any of which might prove as impossible as the one we sat beneath.
Disgustedly the guides concluded that we had chosen an impossible route (a fate that may happen to the wisest on an unknown peak) and that we must abandon the ascent, as the time at our disposal was too limited to permit of us seeking out another one. I am afraid I was annoying enough not to look particularly damped at this news, and could not resist remarking, "How the Grahams will grin over this failure of ours"—a remark which was received with the silence it deserved. We had had a most interesting rock-climb, and the failure to reach the summit troubled me not at all, as I meant to return to the attack with the Grahams on the first opportunity; consequently I began the descent with no doubt aggravating cheerfulness. We managed to avoid the long traverse by descending to the glacier above the broken ice. This involved some exciting moments
