NIGHT ON A BARE MOUNTAIN

The Duchess of Canons Park sweeps Baerenkopf in a litter

Austrian policeman sold a pup

The shades of night were falling fast, the footpath diminished to an inconsequential ledge of ridiculous proportions, 2,000 ft. of Baernkopf fell dismally into the lake, and Norah put her foot upon a stone that immediately gave up the ghost and beat it, without gathering any moss, to the lowest rock-cluttered rut that could be found above the Lake. It now lives in agony amongst its social inferiors. Mithras had once passed by that stone on his way to Cannon Street Tube Station, but he would rather have fallen down the escalator than place his foot upon that vindictive rock. Norah didn't mind half as much, but her ankle took the whole business rather badly and the footpath resolved itself without much further ado into a grassy sort of slope probably considered by people with a constant sense of proportion as a precipice.

Here, obviously, was the parting of the ways. Medical advise urged restraint in dealing with Norah. Bill conferred with Tony, who agreed to take the main party down, with the full understanding that those of us who remained with Norah would make the descent to Seespitz
in our own time, even if we had to wait until the Dawn. "Dieu et Môn Droit" said Tony and vanished down the precipice. 

There were seven of us left. Eileen Greene, Norah, Tom Buggy, 

John Wallis, Bernard McMahon, Bill and I. 

Bernard laid himself flat on the edge of the precipice, Bill lay beside him. We placed Norah like a piece of Dresden china on the top of both. The earth moved. I lay at Bernard ' s feet, face upwards,a shock absorber, Tom Buggy at his head - a drag. We worked ourselves down until we dangled into space - then John Wallis let go, and we all fell down the precipice - a human landslide, and John and Eileen, heavy with rucksacks, came tumbling after. We examined our posteriors. Considerable damage was reported, but not sufficient to prevent us all from wriggling down the next twenty feet, half way down, the sledge 

was reformed, but a rough passage of small boulders and sharp stones caused a hasty dissolution. We rubbed our posteriors sadly, and found ourselves upon a ledge immediately above a sheer stone, twenty-five foot drop, leading to a further precipice which fell way into the
steep pine forest beneath for five hundred feet or so. Darkness was due in five minutes, so with a certain amount of relief, we decided to stay the night on the bare mountain. The view was marvellous, from 1,500 feet above the Achensee, the lights of the hotel across the lake glimmered cheerfully as darkness rushed upon us, and the glow from Pertisau beneath gave the waters an eerie incandescence. Multitudes of glow worms sparkled down the mountainside, but the chill of darkness aroused us to thoughts of warmth and comfort. We had 

plenty of waterproofs for use as groundsheets, but very little in the way of overclothes, so the obvious thing to do was to build a fire. Bernard, Tom and John disappeared into nearby pine trees, which shortly ceased to exist. Bernard reappeared carrying several, followed by the
others similarly encumbered, and before you could say "strike a light" a camp fire was blazing merrily. 

"Ladies, turn your heads away please" was the re quest, for Bernard had to dry his soaking pants, meanwhile wearing a kind of toga, much to the amusement of all, including the ladies who of course turned their heads away only for a little while.

It was a wonderful evening, mild, starry and the harvest moon was due at 2330, so we assembled provisions in Eileen's larder, and our sleeping arrangements were to huddle together in one huge heap (“like 

manure" said John Wallis). All preparations had been finally completed when suddenly we heard voices echoing up from the valley. We stood on our hind legs and hollered that on no account were we to be rescued (spoil sports!). The voices continued and we discovered that they appeared to originate from a glow worm which wobbled slowly towards us up the mountain side. This glow worm spoke no English but muttered amongst itself in incomprehensible Deutsch and eventually appeared before us in the form of a large Austrian Politzei and a lesser individual in the clothes of peasantry. After the usual pile of Grusse Gotts (and Great Scotts from Wallis), our explanation in halting German with regards to our presence here on this berg eventually met with approval from them, but it was absolutely necessary that we go down, they said. There was a way, and they could find it. Besides we must not stay on the mountain at night because of the cold, the mists, the storms, wolves, snakes, and worse still the Gheists. Karl and Julius rolled their eyes.

After a quick consultation, we decided wistfully to accept their help. Thereupon, having helped us put the fire .out, Karl and Julius picked up Norah, as if to weigh her, muttered. “•••••• “and immediately hoisted her on Karl’s shoulders (The Politzei). Julius went on ahead with a little torch which was about as bright as a glow worm and we all followed.

Unfortunately Julius was no pathfinder and nor, unfortunately was Karl a St. Christopher. Bernard McMahon stepped into the breach and carried Norah like a baby along the narrow rocky path which eventually disappeared into the forest of firs. Despite a heroic effort, Bernard's legs eventually turned into jelly, and the path turned into the usual precipice. So Karl called for a stretcher and Bernard and I cut two pine saplings, and rucksacks, shirts, belts and coats were used as support. Eileen was stripped of her new windjacket and Norah was bundled unceremoniously on to the result of our labours.

The next three hours deserve a book to themselves. There was no path so we crawled slowly down the sheer, frost covered mountainside - 1,500 feet of it, bearing our fragile stretcher between us, The person in the worst position was our victim, and we alone know what she suffered. It was pitch black, and Karl's lamp was dim. Eileen did a man's job carrying four rucksacks, and everyone pulled his weight. If you ever find yourself in a nasty spot don't worry if Bill, Bernard, Tom, John, Eileen and Norah are with you, they'll get you out of it.

Twice we fell down precipices, sometimes about 40 or 50 feet at a time. During one of these falls I think Norah broke her leg, but eventually, somewhat exhausted, we reached the bottom. St. Francis Looks after his own.

Norah was slung across someone's old bicycle and wheeled back to the hotel, We followed on foot. Ain't it lovely when you are dead tired at half-past twelve in the morning and the country you are in has no licensing laws?

I know of no one else who would have survived the rescue treatment meted out to Norah Smeaton, and still be able to laugh with that snort of hers all the way down that inglorious Baerenkopf.

Jimmy Manuel