A New Yorker cartoon of some months ago pictured a perpendicular mountain peak, with two puffing, heavily loaded climbers just reaching the top. Standing at the summit was a third gentleman, dressed in business suit and Alpine hat. He was shouting excitedly into a walkie-talkie.

"Here they come, folks," were his words, as I remember them. "The first expedition ever to reach the top of Mount (Whomply)."

Besides being funny, this cartoon accurately illustrates two important points. In the first place, there were two men; in the second place, somebody had got there ahead of them.

And therein lie two main reasons why mountaineering classifies as a major sport; it is competitive, and, while very much dependent on the technique of the individual, a team affair on any expedition.

It is unquestionably the best, the most rewarding, and the most intricate sport around, as any one of the 70-odd members of the Harvard Mountaineering Club will testify.

For instance, during last summer's rugged schedule, club members met, and in some cases defeated such rivals as Alaska's Brooks and Mather, various peaks in the Alaska Range (off the Richardson Highway), and 21,000 foot Mt. McKinley itself. Opponents are often even more formidable.

Cagey club-members, like football coaches, sometimes refuse to reveal offensive programs. "Somebody else would pick up our plans," says Harry Francis, Club president. "They might get there ahead of us, too."

Coutests in this sport, however, always end in victory, and victory not dependent on, say, the flight of a little ball. Coming back alive was a notable in for six members of the summer's McKinley group, trapped for two days at the head of Karstein Ridge (14,500 ft.), not daring to move for fear of starting an avalanche in the fresh snow.

The Brooks (11,900 ft.) and Mather (12,000 ft.) expedition of four men, got, in a sense, a triple victory. They made the first ascents of these peaks, collected valuable botanical data, and set up a survey station on the summit of Brooks.

The whole business takes plenty of practice. Training groups clamber on the rooks of the Quiney quarries on weekends. The team, in varying numbers, has played around on Washington, attempted two New Hampshire ledges, and Schwangunk, in the lower Catskilla, this season. Another trip leaves for Schwangunk this weekend.

Practice also includes an extensive course in first aid, which 15 men are taking this fall. The Red Cross lecturer, says Steve Den Hartog gives the standard helpful hints, as well as subtle anecdotes. Such is the tale of the man who leaped from a cliff after being bitten by a rattlesnake, thus solving the problem of a mountainside cure.

Whether in first aid or in climbing, ability is always vital. For instance, four men had to rush down 1000 ft. White Horse Ledge last weekend to assist in carrying to North Conway a hunter who had been shot.

"We only got 19,500 feet up McKinley because of the weather," says Francis, on the question of savoir-vivre, "but we learned what it takes to survive. His men were capable of playing chess for six days while stranded in a blizzard.

Chills, drama, lasting achievement--this sport has them all, for the individual concerned. It's too bad the rest of us can only admire in retrospect.