Together by Norman Douglas — Read

There is nothing to tell of our walk to the Formarin lake which lies under the precipitous red crags (a kind of marble called _Adneter Kalk_) of the Rothe Wand and thence to the summit of the grass-topped Formaletsch -- nothing, save that the Alpine flowers, not so much the rhododendrons[20] as the yellow violets, were a source of considerable interest to my companion. I could have shown him the scarcer Edelraute (_Artemisia mutellina_) which grows on some rocks near the east foot of that hill, but preferred taking no risks and did not so much as mention the plant. Here, also, he was able to inspect a flourishing colony of marmots, a quadruped which, in spite of my assurances to the contrary, he had hitherto been disposed to regard as mythological or imaginary.

I chose the Formaletsch because it is from thence -- from its southern base; but Mr. R. rightly insisted on going to the top -- that, with the help of a good glass, a distant but clear view can be obtained of the scene of my father's accident while chamois shooting. It occurred, when he was only thirty-six years old, at the Gamsboden heights, so-called from the frequency of chamois to be found there; the place is about a mile off as the crow flies, and on one of its pinnacles you may detect a wooden cross which is perennially renewed by chamois hunters in memory of him; it stands as near to the actual site as most people would care to go.