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Aleister Crowley Diary Entry Tuesday, 10 June 1902
It rained and snowed all night, but in the morning I decided to go in spite of it, so got off about 7.30, and went up the left bank of the glacier to a big lake, which had to be turned by climbing the moraine—job involving three or four steps. Soon after this we got to the camp. I, trusting to the improved appearance of the weather, pitched my tent on a high hill. Hardly was I settled when it began to blow and snow with great violence for two hours. At three o'clock, however, it was quite fine, and I went and basked in the sun. I had dinner out-of-doors by a nice fire, and smoked while a coolie cleaned my plates, etc. I had put some hot water (of which I had plenty) into a pot, and showed the Balti (who did not seem to be sure whether it was food or to-be-poured-away, but saw no other possible use for it!) how to remove the grease by its means. He did so with great satisfaction and success, but seemed amazed when I showed him that the outside of the pot could be best cleaned in the same way, and I think he began to suspect me of unholy arts when the same happened with all the vessels. I had just finished this job when, without any warning, the wind came down with tenfold fury. "I never can work hard just after lunch," it observed, "but I'm in fine form now; just you see me blow that tent other side of Jordan!" I reasoned with it calmly—having tied every available string and made myself snug. "O, Brother wind," I said, "this is simply foolishness. You are young yet—I can excuse you—abut you really don't know the sort of job you've taken on. These tents are absolutely pukka (the name is Edgington, near London Bridge—Southwark side—you may know him) and just such a one as I've got here we had on the Schönbühl [Glacier in July 1898]. There you, or a cousin tried for three days and nights to blow away Eckenstein, and never got a hit nearer. Now, I'm going to-morrow—it's not giving yourself a fair chance. Go away and get into some sort of training, and come back when I'm fixed up in one place for a week!" The wind simple whistled—just the rudeness of youth, and showing how perfectly impotent it was—for that very reason I shall consequently (like Miss [Marie] Corelli) treat it with silent contempt in six consecutive novels.
Later.—Learn, my children, never to misjudge motives rashly on insufficient evidence. The wind has just explained that its sole desire was to help me, and to prevent my suffering from that formidable enemy of the adventurous traveller to fearful heights like this (13,000—14,000 feet)—stagnation of the atmosphere! I forgot to mention that Pfannl [Heinrich Pfannl] arrived about eight a.m. from O.E. [Oscar Eckenstein] with a literary stomach-pump—but the lost burners were not to be found in any of my things.
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