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mentioning that he had been up the Matterhorn, some tactless person interrupted, "Did they tie 
your legs!" 
Mummery, Collie and Hastings from England, with Eckenstein and one or two minor lights on the one 
hand, and Purtscheller, Blodig and others from Germany on the other, were setting up an entirely 
new standard of Alpine climbing. They were men of education and intelligence; they had studied 
the physical theory of mountain conditions; they had practised the various types of technique 
required to meet these conditions in detail. They were doing climbs which had never been dreamt 
of by any Alpine guide. The first-rate amateur was to the professional as a rifleman to a man with a 
flint axe. 
In '95 I was not yet aware of what was going on. I discovered independently the facts of the case. I 
found that I could go pretty well anywhere without the least danger or difficulty, whereas all the 
people I met were constantly on the brink of disaster. I began to think that solitary climbing was the 
safest form of the game. The one problem was the snow-covered glacier. I began to study that 
question by itself. I soon noticed that when I looked down on such a glacier from a ridge, I could see 
the covered crevasses quite plainly. They appeared as lines of shade. Descending to the glacier, I 
found that I was still able to detect the slight differences in illumination. So much for the theory. 
But the question still remained, "I see it, but can I cross it safely?" My experience with chalk helped 
to give me confidence. I was accustomed to estimate the breaking-strain of rotten material. Now, 
given a night's hard frost, it stands to reason that a bridge which has not fallen through by its own 
weight during the previous day would support my extra weight in the early morning. I began to test 
my theory, being, of course, careful to arrange my routes, so as to avoid having to cross snow-
covered glaciers after sunrise. I noticed, however, that a great deal of care was necessary to avoid 
accidents; and this made for slowness. There were also many other occasions on which 
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a second man would be a safeguard, and some when he might be of active assistance. 
The question of a third man is quite different. He diminishes the mobility of the party; the middle 
man is deprived almost completely of any freedom of action. Whenever the ground is so difficult 
that only one man can move at a time, a party of three takes not half as long again but twice as 
long as a party of two, since the operation of pulling in a section of rope is duplicated. The speed of 
a party means a great deal to its safety. As regards nightfall, weather conditions, and avalanches or 
falling stones, two is evidently much safer than three. Another point is that it is at least twice as 
hard to find two competent companions as it is to find one. 
The combination of Mummery, Collie and Hastings could hardly happen again in a century. Mummery 
had a genius for rock climbing and an uncanny instinct for mountain problems in general. Collie was 
brilliant all round and had an absolute scientific knowledge of materials and a feeling for 
topography. Hastings was a tower of physical strength and endurance, an ideal second man either as 
a hoist or an anchor. All three were acomplished technicians and had experience of every kind of 
ground and conditions. 
In the absence of so miraculous a combination, the best thing to be hoped for was one other man 
who would possess all the qualities which one lacked oneself; and it was my supreme good fortune 
in 1898 to find what I sought in Oscar Eckenstein. 
In the meantime I went on climbing in the Bernese Oberland during the summer of 1895. Certainly 
the Lord must have been leading me, for I hardly ever went out on a mountain without striking some 
episode which directed my thoughts into the right channel. 
To return to psychology. It is hard to summarize the general effects of my queer education. But it 
was terribly uneven. In some respects I was a long way ahead of most boys of my age; in others I 
was little better than an imbecile. I was practically prevented from acquiring the habit of normal 
relations with other people. My associates were, for the most part, much older than myself.