To be caught in a thunderstorm on a high mountain is an impressive and terrifying experience, for this is a mood of nature we know little about. Wind, hail, rain, and snow we understand both in origin and effect; these we can contend with, though the fight is sometimes a stern one; but the mountaineer in the focus of a thunderstorm on an Alpine peak experiences a feeling of complete helplessness and a very near danger.

Fortunately the death-roll directly attributable to lightning in the Alps is a comparatively small one. The worst disaster on record was that in which a party of four were killed on the Wetterhorn in the Bernese Oberland. Thus did the Peak of Storms live up to its reputation. The Oberland peaks have always struck me possessing a singularly apt nomenclature. What more fitting than the "Maiden," the "Monk," or the "Ogre," whose vast battlements frown down on the villages of Lauterbrunnen and Grindelwald ?

brotherhood," made the first ascent, accompanied by three Grindelwald guides. He described his experiences in that charming mountaineering classic, "The Playground of Europe.'

The Schreckhorn is now frequently climbed, but it has never become a popular tourist ascent like the Matterhorn or the Jungfrau, one reason for this being its isolation in the heart of the snowy wastes forming the core of the Oberland; yet there are few finer peaks and none offering a more worthy or interesting ascent in this district.

The mountain has always exercised a fascination for me, and has twice suffered me to stand on her sharp rock summit. On both occasions the weather conditions were good, and on the first a lighted match scarcely flickered, so calm was the day.

The weather in 1925 was uncertain. Storm succeeded storm, and my climbing companion, Mr J. H. B. Bell, and I were able to make but few ascents. For some days we made our headquarters at the Strahlegg hut of the Swiss Alpine Club, which stands by the Eismeer glacier some 5000 feet above Grindelwald, and for the first three days of our stay were subjected to every

variety of bad weather. On 27th July, however, we were able to make a traverse of the Schreckhorn and its neighbouring peak, the Lauteraarhorn. This expedition, which is among the longest in the Alps, took nineteen hours, and the following day was, of necessity, an "off day." The weather was now glorious, and we basked in the sun, admiring the cirque of beautiful snow peaks and glaciers in which the Strahlegg hut is situated.

The sunset that evening was one of the finest it has been my privilege to witness in the High Alps. Bars of cirrus cloud lay athwart the heavens glowing with indescribable colours, and long after the sun had disappeared behind the grim ridges of the Eiger their light was reflected downwards, until the peaks were lit by the weirdest afterglow that we had ever seen. Long we stood outside the hut watching the aerial pageantry as the last lights died from the peaks and the cloudy banners melted mysteriously into the stars.

Who would suspect evil to lurk in such a sunset ? We went to bed feeling assured of fine weather on the morrow.

We arose at 3 A.M. next morning intending to attempt a previously planned route up the peak of the Klein Fiescherhorn, but Bell discovered that one of his ankles had mysteriously swollen up to nearly twice its normal size during the night. Try as he would, he found it impossible to don

his boot, and we were forced to admit defeat.

Meanwhile two other climbing acquaintances, Mr C. K. M. Douglas of the Meteorological Department of the Air Ministry, and Mr Alexander Harrison, Chartered Accountant, Edinburgh, who arrived on the previous day, had set off for the Schreckhorn, and Bell suggested that I should join forces with them. Unwilling to miss what promised to be a perfect day I accepted his proposal, and hastily packing my rucksack set off from the hut after them.

Going hard, I scrambled up the easy rock slopes above the hut, and soon caught them up. They were bound for the ordinary route up the Schreckhorn, but I suggested that we should ascend by the more difficult south-west rock ridge-the route Bell and I had followed two days previously. They gladly agreed to this, and we forthwith started traversing the Schreck glacier in the direction of the ridge.

The morning was fine and calm as we trudged over the glacier. Yet there was a warmth in the air boding ill. The dawn was wild and hurried, and scarcely had the sun's first rays lit the snow wall of the Fiescherhörner when it was superseded by a weird greenish glow. Douglas is a meteorological expert, and I asked him what it meant. He did not know. None of us had seen such a sunrise. Far beyond the foothills of the Oberland

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the plain of Bern was drowned in a green haze. Everywhere we looked the green colour predominated. It was a portent beautiful but evil. We were foolish to disregard it. I have since spoken to Dr A. Russell, F.R.S., the noted expert on thunderstorms and their attendant phenomena. He told me that these green ray sunrises," as he termed he termed them, them, are not unknown to scientists, who do not, however, understand their cause. One thing is certain, they invariably precede exceptionally bad weather. It is a curious fact that the colour in question was identical with that emitted by a "Crookes vacuum tube, though whether there is any connection it is yet impossible to say.

The weather appeared reasonably good otherwise; only a few smooth oily clouds, far detached from the world, suggested evil, while away in the far south a massive range of cumuli brooded over the Pennine Alps.

The south-west ridge of the Schreckhorn falls steeply from the summit of the mountain for a considerable distance, before ending abruptly in a huge precipice. It is necessary, therefore, to attain the crest of the ridge high up above this precipice. A wide gully, set at a steep angle and over a thousand feet in height, affords the quickest and easiest route.

A gaping crevasse or "bergschrund" defended the foot of the couloir, but the recent

heavy falls of snow had slipped down from above, bridging the formidable obstacle. Over this we moved delicately, while admiring the baleful green depths beneath us fringed with giant icicles.

Above lay ice, and we proceeded to cut steps up and across to the gully over the steep little rock wall at its base. base. Conditions had changed considerably during the two days since my previous ascent. Where Bell and I had found easy snow and dry rocks, there was now far too much ice. Progress over the slabs forming the bed of the gully was slow. It was a place not so much technically difficult as requiring unremitting care. A slip on such ground is difficult to arrest, and may result in destruction to the whole party. We mounted steadily to the foot of a long snow patch. This snow patch helped us considerably for a while, but eventually thinned down to ice. The rocks at the top of the gully were more pleasant than the slabs lower down, but they were steeper and more difficult, and though there was far less ice, what there was usually concealed the best holds.

At 7 A.M. we gained the crest of the ridge and sat down to a meal. The weather did not look promising. In the south the clouds were massing in ugly grey battalions; but over the Oberland the sun smiled kindly as yet. Bad weather was undoubtedly in the offing, but everything pointed to its

holding off for some hours. By the time it did come we confidently expected to have traversed the mountain and be off all difficulties. The morning was still remarkably warm and windless.

We did not linger over our meal, and were soon off again. The south-west ridge of the Schreckhorn is composed of sound and rough rock. It is indeed a joy to climb. In places it is steep, but the holds are always there in bountiful profusion. Climbing quickly and, for the most part, all together, progress was rapid on this splendid ridge.

The storm came with incredible rapidity. We were less than 500 feet from the summit when we heard the first roll of thunder, and looking round saw a dark wall of cloud, with leaden hail trailing at its skirts, rushing up from the north-west. We at once looked round for shelter, and were able to climb down to a small ledge, partially protected by an overhanging rock, a few feet below the crest of the ridge. Our ice-axes-an obvious source of danger-we left behind lying in a patch of snow.

Within ten minutes the storm was upon us. First we heard the bombardment as the stormclouds reached the isolated peak of the Eiger. Without a pause they rushed across to wreak their fury on the Schreckhorn. They came with an insane squall of hail and tremendous cracks of thunder. Every few seconds the lightning struck the

ridge a few feet above with a rending tearing BANG! After one particularly brilliant flash that flamed all round us, accompanied by a terrific report, there was another crash, and a mass of rock-dislodged by the lightning-fell to the left of us. We looked at each other and smiled-a trifle wanly. All we could do was to hope for the best. An appreciable time after the initial bang of the discharge would come the long roll of echoes from peak to peak, booming in tremendous waves of sound from the cliffs of the Lauteraarhorn. It was terrible, but it was also magnificent.

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Meanwhile hail fell steadily. The air was full of it; could see but a few yards. Our ledge afforded but slight protection, but the weather as yet was warm, and we were reasonably comfortable.

The storm lasted for about an hour. When it had gone we climbed back to the ridge, where we were greeted by a glimpse of blue sky and a wan fugitive sun. Our ice-axes we found uninjured, much to our relief.

On the ridge we held a short council of war. If we went on we should have an easier descent, but we would be on an exposed ridge for at least two hours. To be caught by another thunderstorm on or near the summit of the Schreckhorn was not to be thought of. The rocks, moreover, were covered with newly fallen hail, and progress must of necessity be slow. To retreat by the way

we had come would be the more difficult but shorter. We therefore started down the ridge moving as fast as possible.

We had nearly reached the point where it is necessary to turn down off the ridge into the gully, when again stormclouds blew up from the northWe had barely time to leave the crest of the ridge when the storm was upon us in a blinding tourmente of snow and hail, snarling wind, and crashing thunder. There was no previous indication of the electrical tension. Ice-axes and metal objects did not hiss as they usually do. The charged clouds were blown at great speed against the mountain and, as soon as they were near enough, discharged their electrical energy.

Douglas and Harrison were below me, moving carefully over the difficult rocks, when there was a blinding glare and a terrible explosion. I received a stunning blow on the head as if I had been sandbagged. For a second or so I was completely knocked out, and but for the rope, which I had previously fastened securely round a rock, I might have fallen and dragged the party to disaster. When I had recovered my wits sufficiently to move down, fits of trembling supervened, and it was only with difficulty that I could control my limbs. No doubt the nerve centres were affected. Considering the violence of the discharge, and the terrific report that accompanied it, the shock

I received was without doubt only the secondary effect of the flash. A direct hit must have been fatal. Even the secondary or "corona "effects of a lightning discharge may be fatal. Dr Russell tells me that had my clothes been dry, I would in all probability not have survived such a powerful shock. Fortunately we had been well damped by the first storm, and the electrical fluid naturally ran down my wet clothes in preference to my body. As is well-known, a high frequency current utilises only the surface of a conductor. This peculiarity is known to engineers as the "skin effect.” In my case my "skin," for electrical purposes, was represented by my clothes.

For the next hour or so our progress was painfully slow, perhaps less on my account than the ferocity of the storm, which reached a pitch that I had never before experienced in such a situation. We were in imminent danger of being blown off the mountain, and for minutes at a time we could barely cling on, while the wind roared by beating us with hail and snow until we were sheathed in ice from head to foot. Worst of all, the hail left by the first storm had partially melted, and now the bitter wind was freezing it on the rocks in sheets of ice which, in turn, were being covered by evil flour-like snow. The only alternative to the horrible icy slabs was the ridge forming the west wall of the gully,