100 Years Ago: June 1926

[George Thomas Wilson]

 100 Years Ago: June 1926

 

This is the 137^th entry in my series of abridgements of 100-year-old National Geographic Magazines.

 

 

The first article in this month’s issue is entitled “The Conquest of Mount Logan, Canada’s Loftiest Peak” and was written by H. F. Lambart, B. Sc., D. L. S., Deputy Leader of the Mount Logan Expedition and Member of the Geodetic Surveys, Department of the Interior, Dominion of Canada.  It has the internal subtitle: “North America’s Second Highest Peak Yields to the Intrepid Attack of Canadian Climbers.”  The article contains forty black-and-white photographs, of which seven are full-page in size.

Mount Logan, the loftiest mountain in the Dominion of Canada (19,850 feet) and ranking second only to Mount McKinley (20,300 feet), the highest point on the North American Continent, was situated in the extreme southwestern corner of Yukon Territory, only 21 miles from the Alaska boundary.  Its summit was only 60 miles from the shores of the Pacific, and although on clear days it could be seen from a point 125 miles out to sea, the existence of that great mountain remained unknown until 1890, when Israel C. Russel, leader of the National Geographic Society-U. S. Geological Survey Expedition, saw it from a point of vantage on the foothills of the St. Elias Alps to the south.  [See: “An Expedition to Mount St. Elias, Alaska,” May 1891, National Geographic Magazine.]  Apart from the South Polar Ice Cap and the island of Greenland, this region, of which Mount Logan was the predominant feature, presented probably the most intensely glaciated district of the globe.  In its eternal solitude, its awful silence, its absence of any form of life, vegetation, or running water, one saw a picture of the utter desolation which once existed during the great glacial periods of earth’s history.  Though rather difficult to define with accuracy, the region comprised some 12,000 square miles of Alaskan and Canadian territory, extending back from the Pacific coast more than 100 miles, and reaching from the Bering Glacier on the west to Disenchantment Bay on the east, a distance of 125 miles.  The main mountain system of that region was referred to as the St. Elias Range, or Alps, since that peak was long considered the monarch of all the vast, nameless heights which made up that range.  Mount Logan, now known [in 1926] to be the crowning peak of them all, lied 26 miles farther in from the coast, and difficult to make out from the sea.

Mount Logan rose 14,000 feet above its surrounding glaciers, in a colossal mass of rock which appeared, from specimens taken at 18,500 feet, to be chiefly a coarse-grained granitic rock.  The north and south walls presented gigantic precipitous cliffs of sheer rock, so steep that no snow could lodge upon them, while the east and west extremities of the mass were marked by two subsidiary peaks, one on either side – McArthur (14,400 feet) on the east and King (17,130 feet) on the west.  It was not, however, until the publications of the photographs taken on the Duke of the Abruzzi’s expedition, which conquered Mount St. Elias, that any true conception was obtained of the immense bulk of the Logan massif.  If one could cut the top off at the 16,000-foot level, the resulting plateau would be 11 miles long east to west and 30 square miles in area.  On that great mountain mass was a complicated system of glaciers, snow fields, ridges, and peaks, rising from 18,000 feet at the extreme western end to the very summit on the eastern.  As soon as Mount Logan’s existence was known, the mountaineers of this continent began to dream of its conquest.  It was not until 1922 that Prof. A. P. Colman presented to the Alpine Club of Canada the suggestion that a serious attempt should be made to conquer the mountain.  In autumn of 1923, that club appointed a committee and tentatively named members of the climbing party.  The sister alpine clubs of Great Britain and the U. S. were asked to send representatives, and the expedition assumed an international character.  The expedition leaders had hoped to make the attempt during the summer of 1924, but time was against them they delayed it for a year.  That delay enabled the leader, Mr. A. H. MacCarthy, to make a preliminary reconnaissance, which was of incalculable value to the enterprise.

The first duty of the expedition was to find a point of attack.  Three avenues of approach presented themselves: First, the Kluane Lake Route, by way of White Pass and Yukon Railway, to Whitehorse; thence to Kluane Lake by wagon road.  That route proved impractical, as a gap of 60 miles of unexplored and glaciered terrain existed from the lake to the eastern end of the mountain.  Second, a route similar the duke’s in reaching the summit of St. Elias – a straight course up the Malaspina Glacier direct from the Pacific coast near Yakutat Bay, 60 miles to the Seward glacier, and then by that glacier to the foot of the Logan Massif, and from there around to the southwestern side.  Photos taken from the summit of St. Elias showed the route to be not feasible with too much danger of avalanches along the south face.  There remained the third course, by way of Cordova, on the Alaskan Coast, over the Copper River and North Western Railway, 191 miles, to the little frontier town of McCarthy, and then by way of the Chitina River Valley, 88 miles by pack train, to the foot of Chitina Glacier.  From that point the approach led across the Chitina and Walsh glaciers, to the smoother surface of Logan Glacier, which carried a straight course to its source, beyond the steep north face of the Logan Massif.  The Chitina Valley and Logan Glacier rout was well known from the International Boundary Surveys of 1912 and 1913.  Both leaders of the expedition (MacCarthy and Lambart) decided that the third route offered the best chance of success.  It was one thing to plan a route on a contour map and quite another thing to follow it trough the actual territory.  To test the feasibility of the plan, Mr. MacCarthy went over the route in advance.  During June and July of 1924, he traversed the Chitina Valley with pack train to the foot of the Chitina Glacier.

Abandoning the horses, he and his men, packing on their backs the bare necessities, ascended the glacier for 50 miles to the foot of Kings Glacier, which lied at the western end of Mount Logan.  By covering 552 miles in 44 days, Mr. MacCarthy confirmed the decision at to the route.  Owing to the distance to be covered before reaching the mountain, it was decided to employ a winter freighting party to lay down advanced caches of supplies along the route and deposit the bulk of the equipment as near to the base of the mountain as possible.  On February 15, 1925, the freighting parties departed McCarthy with 19,000 pounds of supplies, equipment, and fodder (over 50% of which was cached or consumed enroute).  It was an arduous journey in the depth of winter, over difficult terrain, enduring Arctic cold and biting gales.  The first 88 miles to the foot of Chitina Glacier were accomplished in 17 days using horses and dogs.  Once the ice was reached the party relied on the dog teams alone, and the wearisome business relaying loads across moraines and around crevasses began.  The glacier had only been traversed following its northern shore.  They decided on the southern route.  They discovered that between the wall of the glacier and the land there was a deep canyon, through which flowed an icy stream.  As the winter wore on, the stream receded leaving ice shelves at its former height.  On those ice shelves the entire equipment was relayed during the month of March.  Eight camps had been established from three to seven miles apart.  The equipment was cached at the junction of the Ogilvie and Logan glaciers, and an advanced base camp was set seven miles nearer to the foot of the mountain.  In April, Mr. MacCarthy and his men were back in McCarthy.  The news of that success heartened the climbing party, which was ready to depart.

On May 2, 1925, the Mount Logan Expedition sailed from Seattle.  The party, comprised Allen Carpe, Lt.-Col. W. W. Foster, R. M. Morgan, Henry S. Hall, N. H. Read, H. M. Laing, biologist (and the author), were confident and full of hope.  After an uneventful but magnificent voyage up the Pacific coast, the party arrived at Cordova on May 7 and joined Mr. MacCarthy.  The following day they proceeded to McCarthy over the Copper River & North Western Railway.  The author doubted any railway on the continent passed through scenery of such majesty and beauty.  The glaciers, the mighty peaks, and the snow fields all added to the vista.  At McCarthy the party was completed by the addition of Mr. Taylor.  After three days of preparation, on the morning of May 12, a pack train of six horses and four mules passed through the streets of McCarthy, and the Mount Logan Expedition was on its way.  The sixth day out from McCarthy they reached the end of the trail.  From there they had to carry everything on their backs.  The bade farewell to the pack train, which disappeared in the direction of McCarthy.  On May 19, a steady grind of three hours brought them to Chitina Point, where they made camp at the cache deposited by the winter freighters.  They further reduced the dead weight of their packs.  They followed along the margin of the Walsh glacier, managing to get good footing on game trails and through stretches of Alpine meadow, and were only forced out on the rough moraines near the end of the day’s journey.  Their camp that night was in the last timber and verdure they would see until their return.  Three days later they made 16 miles up the Logan Glacier to another advanced cache, which included snowshoes, which were indispensable for the coming journey.  Thet night they spent on open ice, the first of 44 thus passed before their return.

Fron that point it was necessary to use the early morning hours to travel, in order that they had the hard rust of snow which had frozen overnight, for the noonday sun caused such melting as to make sledging impossible.  After breakfast, at 1 o’clock in the morning of May 23, the sledges were loaded, snowshoes adjusted, and they were off.  The next day they came to rest on one of the medial moraines of the Ogilvie Glacier, two miles above where it joined the great lateral moraines of the Logan.  At that place they found new comforts in the cache of stores and equipment left by the winter expedition.  For the first time, they slept that night on air mattresses, which proved effective insulators against the ice.  Being inflated by a light pump, they were easily made ready and gave them no problem even in the severest weather.  Following a day of needed rest in camp, they left the broad valley of the Logan and struck out on the surface of the Ogilvie Glacier, which swept down 12 miles from the south, where it rose in a basin fed by a number of small glaciers.  At its head was an ice cataract 2,000 feet high.  A short run of seven miles brought them to the last main cache established by the winter party.  There they found the bulk of their equipment and stores sufficient to sustain 10 men for more than 60 days.  For eight days (May 26 to June 3) they were busy transporting the greater part of those supplies five miles further up the glacier to the Cascades, from which point the actual ascent of Mount Logan was to begin, the first effort being a relay of their loads 1,000 feet above, to a point they erroneously named Quartz Ridge.  They had reached “the jumping-off trench” for the actual assault on the mountain.  After long consultation they allotted themselves 28 days for the attack on the mountain.

The selected the necessary supplies and packed them into sacks, each containing eight men’s rations for two days.  Their equipment included 1,000 willow wands to mark the trail.  About 3 feet long, they were stuck into the snow at intervals of about 100 feet, on the right side of the trail.  They proved veritable beacons on the snowclad slopes of the mountain.  It was from the Cascades Camp (7,800 feet) they could determine that the route they had chosen did indeed lead through to Mount Logan.  From earlier photos, the entire route could not be ascertained and could have led to a cul-de-sac of ice cliffs.  A reconnaissance party left the camp, skirted the icefall, and came to a point from which a clear view of the King Glacier was to be had.  They were elated!  They saw that the way was clear; by the narrow trench of the glacier the heights could be reached.  The spirits of the whole party soared at the news.  With increased vigor they set to the heavy labor of transporting their supplies up to a site on the King Glacier which they called Observation Point.  By June 4 they were consolidated at that new height, full of confidence, but weary and suffering from sunburn.  Under ideal weather conditions they began the ascent of the Kings Glacier on June 5.  For four and a half miles, they had good going, with their loaded sledge; then a great fall of ice blocked further progress.  Abandoning the sledge, they took their packs and made their way up the icefall.  They had reached the top and were almost to the saddle, or col, which marked the head of King Gacier, when the weather shifted and a blizzard hit.  They abandoned their packs and returned to Observation Camp.  The next day, with a fresh load of supplies, they succeeded in making the King Glacier col.  But there they received a disconcerting shock.

Instead of connecting to the heights above, the saddle brought them to the foot of a tremendous face of ice and snow.  They made a reconnaissance, ascending the east arete of King Peak to see if there was a route over the barrier.  Upon their return, the party reported that the ice slope was not unscalable and that a feasible route could be worked out.  Camp at 13,875 feet was finally consolidated in the open sweep of the col.  In the distance rose King Peak.  The eastern end of King col terminated in a precipitous drop of over a mile of sheer cliffs to the surface of Seward Glacier.  The surface of the ice was clear of snow and the reconnaissance party made rapid time, using crampons and picking their way through the chaotic ice.  After climbing more than 1,000 feet, the were barred by a great crack.  They discovered a point where, under a great overhanging block of ice, the chasm was bridged with snow.  They called the bridge MacCarthy’s Gap for their sturdy leader.  They passed over and, still climbing, came at last to the upper plateaus, at 17,000 feet.  Between June 11 and 13 they transported the remaining supplies from Kings Glacier to the col and took one small load to a point 1,200 feet above.  The last rope left camp on the King col at 7:15 a. m. June 14.  They had not gone far before a storm hit.  Progress was slow.  At 6:15 p. m. they made camp on the open plateau at 16,500 feet.  They called it Ice Cliff Camp.  There, they waited out the storm.  At 8 a. m. on June 16, they made a general advance and made steady progress till noon, when a dense fog enveloped them.  The reconnaissance party picked out a route through a chaos of ice blocks and across a huge crevasse.  At 6:30 they made camp at a spot to be known as Windy Camp.  During the night, the temperature dropped to 32 degrees below zero.

A 3:30 a. m. they made ready to start, but did not get underway until 9.  The whole party succeeded in advancing to an elevation of 18,500 feet.  They hoped to spot the top of the Logan massif, but after an hour, returned to Windy Camp.  That night was the coldest they recorded – 33 degrees below.  They were now camped at an elevation of 16,700 feet, with but one day’s provisions left (the bulk being 2,000 feet below them).  It was decided to split the party – part to bring up provisions from the King col, the other to advance to where the summit could be observed, as well as the intervening terrain.  Most o the day’s plans were realized that day.  The reconnaissance beyond 18,500 feet was made successfully and the members of the carrying party made it to King Col Camp, where they spent the night.  June 19, the carrying party labored through deep snow, and were relieved when the reconnaissance party came down from Windy Camp to lend a hand.  Just beyond their old Ice Cliff Camp the storm reached the height of its fury.  They struggled on, ant at 9 p. m. reached Windy Camp.  There still remained the effort of digging out the camp, which was almost obliterated by the drifts; but at last, it was done and night closed in on the exhausted party.  At 2:30 in the afternoon they continued their advance with supplies, reaching their 18.5 Camp – a little saddle in the upper group of peaks, where their feet touched open rock for the first time since leaving Quartz Ridge – and returned to Windy Camp.  Most of the next morning the party slept while a storm raged, but at 3 p. m. the sun suddenly came out and the wind died away.  They immediately advanced on snowshoes.  They reached 18.5 Camp at 9:30, set up their tents, and after a wonderful meal, they crawled into their bedrolls for a night of warm rest.

At this their highest camp, and they believed the highest camp ever pitched on this continent, they recorded a minimum temperature of 17.5 below zero, but in the late afternoon sun, it was 5 degrees above.  Their respiration was labored and their movements were slow to distraction.  It was almost noon before they resumed their advance, with eight days’ provisions and their camp equipment.  The day was short and they battled against snow and wind, advancing hardly more than four miles.  They entered their new camp at 5 o’clock and pitched their tents on the outskirts of a vast plateau of snow which sloped gently northward.  June 23 broke in a storm, but at 8 o’clock they were awakened by MacCarthy saying that this was “the day.”  With a bright sun and a temperature of 15 degrees above, they made their preparations.  They set out at 11 o’clock.  They moved around the margin of a great basin of snow, then, dropping slowly to a lower level, climbed to the summit of a long, projecting north shoulder of their “double peak,” which rose 1,500 feet above them.  They had lunch and decided to climb the summit directly above them.  Having changed from snowshoes with crampons, they made the summit by 4:30 in the afternoon.  There, stood Mount Logan, two and a half miles away, an intervening depression, 1,000 feet below, laid in between.  The whole of Seward Glacier at their feet, and the St. Elias Range were in full view; but they were more interested in what lied ahead.  At the bottom of the depression between the two peaks, they rested on the rocks.  They nibbled at their “iron rations,” anxious to conquer the summit, which seemed very close.  Snowshoes and all unnecessary weights were cached and they began the slow grind up the gentle slopes, which soon gave way to a steep, triangular icy slope running back to the apex.

The surface was of the hardest flinty ice, carved into fantastic forms by the incessant winds.  Those irregularities added to the ease with which the ice was climbed.  MacCarthy wove back and forth and finally stepped out upon an easterly arete, which was less steep. They now made good progress, but lost a little ground in descending into a small hollow from which rose steeply another sharp arete leading to the final summit.  With a strange feeling of unreality, they came to the culmination of all their months of planning and weeks of labor and stepped out onto the small, triangular summit, the highest point in the Dominion of Canada, and the second highest on the continent.  They set foot on the summit of Mount Logan at 8 o’clock in the evening, with a storm approaching.  Carpe deposited a small brass tube containing their record; they took measurements; and they began their downward journey after a stay of barely 25 minutes.  They retraced their steps down the steep arete and along the icy slopes at accelerated speed.  The arrived at their cache of snowshoes without mishap, but the storm was full upon them.  They had used up their willow wands before reaching the summit of the first peak, and they groped along, guided only by the general slope of the ground.  After stumbling forward for an hour in an effort to locate the trail, they gave up and bivouacked for the night in a snowdrift.  As nearly as they could judge, their elevation there was about 19,000 feet.  The party was in deplorable condition, from frozen fingers to snow blindness.  Up to noon of the 24^th conditions had not changed.  Should the hazard another night in the open or strike out into the snow and fog, hoping against hope that just one little guiding twig might show itself?  They decided to that the latter chance.

Changing their direction now half left and climbing on a heavier slope, they came suddenly upon a willow wand sticking out of the snow.  Their joy was unbounded; their situation changed from one which bewildered climbers were fighting for their lives in fog and storm to one of almost certain security, leading back to shelter, food, and rest.  Their pace quickened, as they followed from twig to twig, not allowing the last man on the rope to leave the rear twig until one forward had been found.  They were nearly spent.  The 25^th was a glorious day of rest.  On the 26^th, they decided to get off the mountain and reach their camp at the King col.  During a day of blizzards, the willow wands kept them to the trail, and footing was good and the snowshoes could be used, until they came to a rise through a rocky gorge – the site of their 18.5 Camp – and there the surface became glare ice.  Snowshoes were taken off and crampons substituted.  Some of the party suffered from frozen fingers.  Thanks to the efforts of the stronger members, all arrived, after what seemed like hours, in the shelter of the granite crags flanking the 18.5 summit.  After a short rest, they moved down the southern slope of the mountain, and, despites some heavy wind and driving snow, they had left behind them the severest storm area.  Upon reaching deep snow, they deposed of the crampons.  At the Windy Camp site all was completely buried in snow, and they stayed only long enough to dig out a few personal effects, leaving the rest behind.  On the slopes immediately above the site of Ice Cliff Camp the snow was so deep that they floundered along in a very disorderly manner.  Then came hours of toil, wallowing through deep drifts that had accumulated among great blocks of ice.

Changing from snowshoe to crampons over and over was wearisome work, but steady, sustained effort brought them safely through the ice cliffs and MacCarthy Gap.  The sight of the three tents still standing away below them on the King col brought a solace one could not describe.  June 27 was a day of complete rest, during which Col. Foster’s efficient clinic gave relief to frozen parts.  Their way laid straight down King Glacier. And, with a good surface, they reached the sledge they had left at the base of the King icefall.  After some digging, they got it out, and for the first time in many days they moved forward with free backs.  At Observation Camp they tunneled for some few articles left behind and pressed on.  Amile farther down, coming to the ice dome, their first stop above Quartz Ridge, they abandoned the sledge with many articles and again submitted to the toil of backpacking.  From the summit of Quartz Ridge, they saw the tents of Cascade Camp 1,000 feet below, and after two hours of through deep, soft snow the came to the wreckage of their base camp.  The surface of ice had dropped leaving the tents perched on ice pillars.  One big tent was repatched, and in the early hours of the next morning they finally had the camp in order and had consumed astonishing quantities of food.  They still had 138 miles separating them from the railway at McCarthy.  Two blessed days of rest passed in that camp.  There they celebrated the conquest of Mount Logan by dining upon every delicacy that had been canned, and by sleeping at great length.  They started their long homeward trek across the glacier on July 1.  On July 4 they crossed over the Baldwin-Fraser cache, where their feet once more touched terra firma, after 44 days on the ice.  At that camp they found that a bear had made off with most of their provisions; so, they had a slim meal.

At Hubrick’s Camp material and tools had been left to whipsaw lumber and build two boats to take them down the swift Chitina River.  With only two members fit enough for the work, it was decided to build two rafts instead.  They were each five logs wide and 16 feet long.  The dunnage was lashed on an elevated rack in the center, and the rafts were ready to take to the water on the 11^th.  With some few forced stops, when they grounded violently on the gravel bars, the exciting run of the swift waters continued the whole afternoon.  An Alaskan glacial stream was excessively cold and carried great quantities of silt.  They floated down the Chitina River through the wide, open valley at six miles per hour.  On July 12 they set out on their long walk of 32 miles into McCarthy and arrived in high spirits at 1:30 the next morning.  Sailing from Cordova on July 22, they left behind the bleak shores of Alaska and turned their faces to the south – and home.

 

 

The second article in this month’s issue is entitled “The Beauty of the Bavarian Alps” and was written by Col. Fitzhugh Lee Minnigerode.  The article, two full pages long, sandwiches a block of 16 plates, each containing a full-page color photograph taken by Hans Hildenbrand. The plates are numbered I through XVI in Roman numerals and represent pages 633 through 648 in the issue.

The Versailles treaty-makers stripped Germany of much of her territory and much of her pride.  They trimmed her horizontal dimensions north, east, south, and west; but they did not lessen her height, for the highest peaks that were ever included within the old empire – her rugged Alps, her eternal snows – were still her own.  The Bavarian Alps had been less talked about, and therefore less visited by foreigners than any other section of the mountainous country of Central Europe.  Switzerland held out her arms in welcome to the visitor.  No visas were required, customs regulations were lax, and the traveler was made to feel at home immediately.  The Italian Alps and Northern lakes ran Switzerland a close second in being advertised and therefore visited by outsiders.  On the other hand, Bavaria until very recently threw many difficulties in the path of foreign visitors.  Happily, most of those restrictions were now [in 1926] a thing of the past; but even so, the Bavarian Alps seemed more remote, more inaccessible, than the mountain districts of the neighbor states.  That was due to the fact that we read and heard less of them.  In Bavaria, the author took the unbeaten track, stayed in clean little pensions at the foot of some rugged pile, preferred slower coaches to motor cars, and, when he wished, stayed somewhere as long as he wanted.  It wasn’t always the natural wonders that drove him to stay but the little villages with the walls of their little houses painted in many colors and adorned with scenes from Biblical history or legends of the country.  Their window sills were gay with flowers, on the outside in summer and inside during winter.  Every turn in the village street added charm to the jagged skyline that hemmed them in.  On cloudy days, when the mountains were obscured, the still remained the lure of the streets and dwellings.

There was also an attractiveness about the native dress.  It blended so perfectly with house and hill that mountains, woods, dwellings, and peasants seemed each in perfect harmony with the other.  There was a clear appreciation of art among the classes and all classes were intelligent.  Even the smallest villages had specialized in some artistic endeavor.  Music, painting, etching, drama, wood carving, pottery, sculpture, and photography – all the arts and crafts, in fact – had innumerable patrons and students.  Oberammergau had its marvelous Passion Play.  The 1,500 villagers kept busy during the intervening years with other historical productions.  But Oberammergau did not stand ahead of other Bavarian villages from an artistic standpoint, and the Passion Play was not its only pride.  The wood carvers and potters of the village were artists, not laborers.  Mittenwald was a town of less than a thousand inhabitants.  With the exception of a handful of foreigners and violinists, it was little known.  Yet that unheralded village produced violins that were exported to every country in the world.  Violin-making was an exacting art.  In Mittenwald it had approached perfection.  Garmisch lied in the shadow of the Zugspitze, Germany’s highest point, and directly in front of the town the Alpspitze reared its snowy cap.  The town was a popular winter-sport resort for the city folk of Munich and other large Bavarian towns.  As a winter resort, Garmisch was practically unknown beyond the borders of Germany.  But if you entered a fine-art shop anywhere in the world and went through a collection of fine etchings, you would likely find many pieces by Paul Geissler.  Those etchings and the artist were the products of the artistic environment of Garmisch.

In the gorges, especially the Partnach-klamm and the Hollental-klamm, countless little streams plunged down the walls as waterfalls and halfway down they dissolved into mist.  When sunlight shown on that mist, a miniature rainbow was born.  So frequent were those fairy waterfalls in Partnach-klamm that umbrellas or raincoats were recommended on even a cloudless day.  And the lake!  It was difficult to say whether there was greater beauty in looking aloft at the snow-covered Zugspitze stabbing the blue sky than there was looking into the clear waters of Eibsee and seeing it all reflected in the placid depths.  The Bavarians had provided devices and aids for the mountain climber.  Along the sheer rocks trails had been cut in the solid granite, and, to protect some handiworks of God, tunnels had been constructed at great labor.  The routes to the highest peaks were clearly marked, and, if followed, one could safely climb to the roof of the world.  Here and there along the routes were hospices, where rest and often meals might be had.  Ludwig II built a number of castles and lodges throughout that mountainous section of his kingdom, the two most imposing palaces being Schloss Linderhof, not far from the village of Ettal, and Neuschwanstein, close to the Austrian border and overlooking Alpsee, a jewel lake.  A distinguished American novelist declared Neuschwanstein the most beautiful spot in the world.  After his journeying through Bavaria, the author agreed with her.

Here is a list of the caption titles for the “16 Autochromes Lumiere by Hans Hildenbrand”:

• “St. Bartholoma on the Konigssee”
• “Autumn Crowns the Konigssee with Color”
• “Oberammergau Has Kept Faith for 300 Years”
• “The Embowered Shrine of a Peasant Home in Oberammergau”
• “Mellow Autumn on the Schliersee”
• “Castle Neuschwanstein, Pre-eminent in Beauty”
• “The Schliersee Nestling Among Its Peaks”
• “An Idyllic Spot Near Berchtesgaden, a Favorite Winter and Summer Resort”
• “A Staunch Bavarian Farmhouse at Tegernsee”
• “Skiing on the Kitzbuhler Horn: Tyrol”
• “A Rest and Chat in the Sunshine of the Kaisergebirge”
• “Where the Mountains Blush”
• “On Their Way to the Kitzbuhler Horn”
• “A Geological Fantasy – the Dolomites: Campitello”
• “A Home of Peace in Northern Tyrol”
• “Castle Tyrol, a Mountain Eyrie Old in Story”

 

 

The third and final article in this month’s issue id entitle “Through the Deserts and Jungles of Africa by Motor” and was written by Georges-Marie Haardt.  It has the internal subtitle: “Caterpillar Cars Make 15,000-Mile Trip from Algeria to Madagascar in Nine Months.”  The article contains a whopping ninety-five black-and-white photographs with a full twenty-four that are full-page in size.  One of those full-page photos serves as the frontispiece for the article.  There are an additional twenty-six pages that have two half-page photos on them, meaning that there are fifty pages with no text other than the photo captions.  The article also contains a sketch map of Africa on page 652 showing the author’s route through the continent.

Sketch Map courtesy of Philip Riviere

Fifteen thousand miles by motor through the heart of Africa read almost like a figment of Jules Verne’s fertile imagination, but it represented the actual accomplishments of the Citron Central African Expedition, which the author led from Algeria to Mozambique and on to Madagascar.  Their original purpose was to demonstrate the feasibility of motor transportation in those wild regions, and to trace a route for a French railroad to connect its two greatest provinces, in 1926 separated by thousands of miles of desert and jungle.  That was soon broadened to include official missions for the Colonial Office, the Air Ministry, the French Natural History Museum, and the French Geographical Society, all of which added to the complexity of the trip.  Since a detailed account for all their adventures was too voluminous to be included in this article, the author decided to include the more interesting incidents of a journey which daily revealed the mysteries and beauties, and in some instances the terrors, of a little-known world.  The personnel of the expedition included the author’s two assistants, M. Louis Aodouin-Dubreuil and Maj. A. Bettembourg.  A motion-picture producer, M. Leon Poirier, was in charge of cinematographic work, with M. Georges Specht as camera operator.  M. Alexandre Jacovleff accompanied them to make sketches, while Dr. Eugene Bergonier provided medical attention and taxidermic supervision.  M. Charles Brull was in charge of both their mechanical department and mineralogical and geological research.  Nine mechanics, all experienced in Saharan travel, completed the party.  Their eight 10-horsepower Citroen cars were equipped with a caterpillar system in addition to regular front wheels.  Because of the great amount of equipment, each car was equipped with a trailer with extra water, gas, and oil tanks.

In order to not upset the economy of the remote places through which they were to pass, and to assure their sustenance, they sent from France nearly all their supplies.  Depots were established at intervals along the route and more than 80 tons of foodstuff and supplies were distributed to them before they started.  After 10 months of painstaking preparation, they left Colomb Bechar on the morning of October 28, 1924, to cross the desert and penetrate the jungles, some of which had never been traversed by mechanical means.  The initial stage of their journey took them across the great Sahara to Burem, on the Niger River, but they were not the first mechanically transported party to make that trip.  Nearly two years before, the Citroen Caterpillar Tractor Expedition crossed from Tuggurt to Timbuktu, besting the camel on his on turf by making the 2,000-mile journey in 20 days instead of the usual three months.  [See: “The Conquest of the Sahara by Automobile,” January 1924, National Geographic Magazine.]  After leaving the magnificent oasis of Beni Abbes, which stretched its palm trees along the bed of the Wadi Saura, they encountered what they thought at the time was rough going; but when, on November 10, they embarked on a desert, the Tanezrouft, compared with which the wilderness they had already crossed was nothing.  It was a country utterly devoid of resources: no water, no wood, no grass, nothing.  In crossing from Ouallen to Tessalit they traveled more than 330 miles without finding a drop of water.  It was in that stretch of desert, some 50 miles out from the Ouallen well and still within sight of the mountains that surrounded it, that they found the dried skeletons of several travelers who had died of thirst.  Those bleached bones were all that remained of a caravan from the Sudan that had miscalculated its water supply.

After driving for five days in the Tanezrouft their nerves began to feel the effects of the monotony.  They used more gasoline because of soft sand requiring second gear.  The blinding sun, the intense heat, and the foul smell of gasoline, caused by a rear wind, led to anxiety over their water and gas supplies and whether they would reach the oasis at Tessalit.  Their fears proved groundless, for they sighted waving palms before their supply of either ran low.  As they approached the oasis, they took precautions to guard against robbers who frequented it.  At night their camp became a war bivouac.  They parked their cars so as to form a hollow square and mounted machine guns in positions to command all approaches.  The members of the party took turns doing guard duty, but their improvised fortresses were never attacked.  They had as one of their guides a Tuareg who claimed not to have been over parts of the way since he was two years old, but he was able to retrace his journey accurately enough to bring them to the well they sought.  After replenishing their water tanks, they set out again; but their guide had never crossed that part of the country, before two hours had passed, they came to a great heap of impassable rocks.  The guide said to turn back to Tessalit.  While they were deciding their course, a strange Tuareg popped up from behind one of the impeding rocks.  At first, he claimed he did not know the way to Tabankort, but, after a few silver coins, he not only knew the way to Tabankort but to Timbuktu as well.  His name was Ikenen and he was good guide, and they soon reached the Tabankort well where a Tuareg camp was established.  The men wore a veil which covered the whole face.  Each tribesman carried a spear, a saber held at the wrist by a leather thong, a cross-shaped guard sword at his side, and a shield made of antelope hide.

The Tuaregs were divided into castes.  The imochars were noblemen from among whom the leaders were recruited.  The imrads were vassals who, like their lords, were Caucasian.  The bellahs were servants, of negroid stock.  Each vassal tribe depended upon some noble tribe for protection, paid taxes to it, and provided warriors when called upon.  The castes never intermarried.  Women occupied a favorable position, living independently and, as opposed to the Arab custom, going unveiled, while the men covered their faces.  Just three weeks after taking off from Colomb Bechar, they reached the fort of Burem.  That post rose rather impressively on a hillock overlooking the Niger, 2,500 miles long and a mile wide at that point.  There, the Administrator of the Niamey District met them on behalf of the Governor of the Colony.  He was surrounded by a group of men, some on horseback, others on camels, and all with drawn swords in hand.  They were River-Tuaregs under the command of their chief, Ngouna, and were astonished at their cars, which showed no signs of weariness after crossing the desert.  Following the course of the Niger to Niamey, the administrative capital of the region, they were accorded a royal welcome by a large crowd.  They left the Niger at Niamey and skirted the border of British Nigeria.  At Dosso they came across a hunter disguised as a bird.  Once, between Dosso and Tessawa, they drove all night to gain time.  As they entered an open space, a hyena jumped out in the road in front of the last car, which was lagging behind.  The drier stopped the engine and put a searchlight on the snarling beast.  Blinded, the hyena stood motionless, its eyes glowing like balls of red fire.  Within a few seconds, M. Poirier put a bullet between them.

Under the escort of 3,000 of Sultan Barmoa’s Hausa riders, they arrived at Tessawa amid the noise tom-toms and trumpets.  Barmoa was one of the few men who claimed to have 100 wives.  He was once a very powerful prince and still maintained a considerable retinue.  His wives did nearly everything but breathe and eat for him.  At Zinder, where they stayed for several days, the observed an interesting ceremony of the Peuhl tribe, known as flagellation.  It was a ritual performed by youths who had reached the age of manhood and wished to take wives.  Stripped to the waist, he was struck with a branch by an old man, while another old man watched the boy’s feet closely.  If the boy didn’t flinch after a dozen blows, he was considered a man.  Maj. Bettembourg, who had been in this part of Africa before, arranged a treat for them when they came to the Komadougou River.  He organized a series of unique water races among the natives.  The contestants were couples (a man and a woman), given a device made from two large gourds connected by wooden spars.  They sat across the spars, back-to-back, with their feet in the water, and at a given signal, arms and legs rapidly sent the craft across the stream.  The caterpillars having skirted the southern end of Lake Chad to Fort Lamy, they boarded the steamer Leon Blot for a cruise.  They rocked heavily in a choppy sea, much to the discomfort of some members of the party.  Except on the south and the southeast, the lake was bordered by swamps and its shores studded with islands, some real and some floating.  The real ones were inhabited by a pastoral people known as Boudoumas.  The floating islands were of papyrus or ambach, an extremely light wood used by the natives for boat-building, both because of its lightness and because of the ease with which it could be worked.

At Mogorom, on the banks of the Shari, which flowed into Lake Chad from the southeast, they passed from Mohammedan territory into a region of fetishism which gave Africa its sobriquet Dark Continent.  There, clothes were not considered a necessary part of a native’s equipment, men and women alike disdained them.  The Mazzas, living in the region around Mogorom. Had a hedious custom of mutilating the lips of their women by piercing them and inserting wooden disks.  Those disks were gradually made larger.  A merry, noisy crowd surrounded their cars and began dancing, men on one side, women on the other.  Near Fort Archambault they first came across the Yondos, a secret sect whose members were mostly of the Sara strain.  Colthes were unknown to them.  They painted their bodies in ocher clay and wore glass beads, copper and iron bracelets, and an ostrich-plume headdress.  There were several thousand Yondos, and their fellow citizens treated them with respect tinged with fear.  Before they left Fort Archambault the natives organized a beauty contest for their benefit.  Since the women were slender and supple, this was quite a treat.  All the young women who entered the contest were lined up – more than 500 of them in all.  The two town chiefs were the judges and inspected each maiden.  The deciding factor which proclaimed the fairest beauty of Fort Archambault was her fine feet.  A native funeral provided an interesting spectacle at Bangui.  The deceased was adorned in a belt, a necklace, and a feathered hat, and placed on a stool with his head. resting against a stake.  The whole population of the village gathered around him playing weird music, old men sang his praises, old women cried and gesticulated in grief, all to start him off on the right road into the Kingdom of Shadows.

At Yalinga they were near a region that abounded with game, and since nearly half their long journey was completed, they decided to hunt for some zoological specimens.  They headed north toward the Am Dafok swamp, where they were assured were antelope, lions, and elephants.  They were not disappointed.  They hired twenty expert hunters of mixed black and Arab blood.  They had 12-foot spears, made of light wood, fire-hardened, and tipped with a sharp iron head.  Taking advantage of the fact that elephants feared horses, those hunters went galloping among the animals.  They selected their victim and drove their spears into its flanks, aiming for the heart.  The animal usually escaped, but by following the trail they would come upon it a day or two later, dead from loss of blood.  In all, their safari numbered 120 men.  First came the native hunters followed by the European hunters, mounted, each followed by servants carrying rifles and ammunition.  Other natives carried cameras, food, taxidermy equipment, and other supplies, while 12 laden asses, carrying tents and camping outfits, brought up the rear.  They pitched their camp between the Am Dafok swamp and the forest, in a grove of palm trees.  Vultures and marabous flew about above the camp ceaselessly, getting nearer until they perched on the trees around them.  A few flew down and stole meat that their men had hung up to dry on nearby bushes.  Not far away roamed great herds of antelope, and while much of the other animal live kept out of sight by day, it announced its presence soon after sunset.  Jackels began to yelp; the wild laugh of the hyena echoed through the night; the jungle was vibrant with life.  Finally, all lesser noises died out before the majestic roar of the lion, fresh from his kill and come to drink.

Occasionally, they caught a glimpse of a flitting shadow or the opalescent red or green of animal eyes in the darkness beyond the circle of their firelight.  When a truly impressive roar sounded near the camp, the natives renewed the smoldering fires and kept them blazing until the light of day drove the great cats to seek cover at a distance.  While returning to Yalinga they passed a swamp where about 40 hippopotami were wallowing in the water and mud.  The native hunters sprung into action and killed three of the ungainly creatures.  Two members of their party, wishing to study the habits of those great pachyderms, spent the night near their swamp.  As soon as darkness fell, the great “river pigs” came out of the water and noisily grazed on grass.  Once finished eating, they disappeared in the woods and were gone for several hours.  On their return, they again dined on grass.  At daybreak they were all back in the water, but they had done it so noiselessly, that the observers were unable to say when it took place.  On reaching Yalinga, the Governor of the Colony arranged for them to observe the spectacle of an elephant hunt by fire.  His purpose was the get their help in stopping that barbaric practice.  The natives cut a circular path around the places where elephants foraged.  When the great beasts had entered the circle, the villagers were posted around the edge about eight yards apart.  Armed with torches, on a given signal they lit the bush and grass within the circle.  Soon there was a wall of flames surrounding the unfortunate animals.  Defenseless and blinded by smoke, they huddled together, while the natives killed them with spears or waited until the fire had destroyed them.  The night before that “hunt by fire,” incantation ceremonies took place in the native camp.

On the 1^st of March, 1925, they left French territory and, entering the Belgian Congo, soon found themselves in the midst of the Equatorial Forest.  The beauty of that part of the country was awe-inspiring.  The thick foliage made a roof above one’s head, and the intricate roots and tangled branches lent themselves to a vivid imagination.  What surprised them the most in that great forest was its silence.  They had expected there would be a noisy and entertaining animal life, but not a bird call or a monkey yell broke the stillness.  They were relieved when they reached the glades, where cultivated lands and villages were to be found, after traveling 375 miles over a trail cut through the forest.  It was planned by the Belgians for their use.  It was built in less than a month by 40,000 natives.  It was a trill to take their cars over the wooden bridges.  They were made with slender branches tied together with lianas and reclined on light buttresses.  They were from 80 to 130 feet long and often 15 to 35 feet above the river or ravine.  The natives of the Equatorial Forest had their own “radio” system.  It was affected through an instrument made of a hollowed block of wood about 6½ feet long and 3 feet thick.  A player struck the instrument with two wooden hammers, with ends covered with rubber.  Various sounds were obtained, according to the place and strength of the strokes.  The instrument was placed in the middle of the village, in front of the chief’s hut.  When a message was sent the sounds could easily be heard six miles away, and, when produced on the bank of a river would carry for nearly ten miles.  News was forwarded that way over incredible distances.  They tested the device.  They had a chief send a message ahead ordering four chickens.  Three miles past the village was a native with the four chickens they ordered.  They were convinced.

At Stanleyville a fine reception awaited them.  The Governor and most of the European colony came to meet them in motor cars some miles from the city.  As they entered through a triumphal arch, they were rendered military honors and the school children sang choruses.  They witnessed a native trial.  The accused was accused of fishing in a part of the river denied him.  The judge acquitted him saying there were plenty of fish in the river, but when he found out that it was in his part of the river, he changed his mind and sentenced the defendant to 15 days in jail.  The African elephant was not as easy to domesticate as his Asiatic relative, but the Belgians had had some success in training the great beasts at a station maintained especially for that purpose at Api.  There, they saw 55 elephants, including a dozen young ones, four of which had been recently captured.  The young captive was tied to a stake near a tamed elephant.  Food was brought by the animal’s future human guardian, who remained near him, quiet, so that the elephant would get accustomed to his presence.  Later, the man patted the animal’s neck with a palm branch while he crooned a native melody.  This was repeated for many days.  The animal permitted the trainer to approach nearer over time.  When judged sufficiently domesticated, the elephants were taught to pull up and transport trees, to plow, and to drag heavy cars.  The Mangebetou whom they encountered in the Nyangara region had an odd way of dressing their hair, with a result that the skulls of both men and women were distorted and drawn backwards.  When small, bands of giraffe hide were tied around the child’s head.  As the head grew larger and longer, new bands were added.  When the women married, they set their hair on a wire or wooden mounting, which gave them a halo of hairy glory around their heads.

Lake Victoria, which they reached on April 20, marked the parting of the ways for their Expedition.  In deference to the President of France, they pursued several of the known routes from the Great African lakes to the Indian Ocean and Madagascar.  From Kampala two cars set out to try to reach Mombasa by way of the Ripon Falls, Nairobi, Mount Kilimanjaro, and Tanga.  Their six remaining cars embarked on Lake Victoria enroute to Tabora, some distance south.  There, two cars set out for Dar-es Salaam through the Tanganyika Territory, following the route of Stanley when he left Bagamoga in search of Livingston.  The last section to break away consisted of two cars which proceeded toward Cape Town via the Belgian Congo and Lake Tanganyika, passing through Ujiji, the place where Stanley found Livingston.  They completed their journey successfully, but, due to the greater distance covered, it took them nearly two months longer than any of the other parties to reach their destination.  The author’s car and one other, the only remaining units of their original Expedition, set out for Mozambique.  They encountered many difficulties crossing swamps and rivers in that part of the country.  At the Ruaha River, their only means of crossing was a ferry made of three native canoes connected by boards.  Luckily, both cars made it across.  The ferry sank almost immediately after the second car was landed.  They finally arrived on the shores of Lake Nyasa, where they saw a peculiar phenomenon.  Great clouds rose from the surface of the lake, glittered for a moment in the sun, and then suddenly disappear.  They discovered that those were minute flies, issuing from larvae in the water.  They took flight, lived but one day to reproduce, then fall again into the water.  The natives gathered them and made a paste, which, when roasted, was considered a delicacy.

Down the length of Lake Nyasa, they traveled, and finally, after eight months of struggle through swamps, bush fires, rivers, and jungles, a sea breeze brought them the invigorating tang of salt air.  Looking through a screen of palms, they saw the blue line of the Indian Ocean and Mozambique.  They lingered at that the chief seaport of Portuguese East Africa, only long enough to make passage to Madagascar.  Landing at Majunga, they made their way across the swamps, marshes, bush, and rice plantations that laid between the west coast and Tananarive, the capital, where they were received by the Governor.  After a short stay they set out for Tamatave, on the east coast, whence they took ship and rounded the north end of the island back to Majunga to meet their comrades who had come through Mombasa and Dar-es Salaam.  Madagascar was as large as France, Belgium, and Holland combined and had a population of about 3,400,000.  It was rich in minerals, timber, and agricultural products and offered a tremendous field for development.  With the crossing of the big island, their great adventure was nearing an end, but the work of their Expedition was in no sense complete.  Their task would not be accomplished until they had given the world a report on their experience.  They had obtained about 90,000 feet of extraordinary motion pictures and more than 8,000 photographs while crossing Africa.  Those, together with M. Jacovleff’s many sketches, must be exhibited and an account written of their adventures and observations.

But despite the magnitude of the work remaining, as they boarded a ship to take them up the Indian Ocean and through the Mediterranean Sea back to France, theirs was the satisfaction that came to pioneers, and they thought with pride and pleasure of the achievements of their nine-month motor trip through wilds which never before had been so traveled.

 

At the bottom of the last page of the last article in this issue (Page 720) there is a notice regarding change of address.  If a member wanted the magazine to be mailed somewhere else, the Society needed a month’s notice in advance, starting on the first of the month.  If a member wanted the August issue redirected, the Society needed to know by July first.

 

 

Tom Wilson

[Scott T. Shier]

love the Citroen expedition Africa map....