Another bold, would-be mountaineer, Mr. P. H. Johnson, accompanied us with the knocked-up leader, and following in the coach was Mr. F. Cooper, a photographic operator from Messrs. Wheeler and Son of Christchurch, who was to join our party for a week’s work amongst the scenes of the Tasman Glacier.
The morning of the 24th revealed the flats around the Hermitage all snow-covered, and the day was devoted to completing preparations for a fortnight’s camp on the glacier.
On the 25th, the weather improving, our party left the Hermitage, being joined by James Annan and William Low, the former a boundary keeper on the rabbit fence, the latter engaged to help us with the swagging. Two better men over rough ground never put swag on back, and both entered into the spirit of the expedition and worked like Trojans to make it a success.
We drove our dog-cart down to the Hooker River at the usual crossing-place—the point of the Mount Cook Range—over two or three miles of boulders which tested the merits of the coachbuilder’s art to the utmost, as also the driver’s ability to stay in the cart. Here we found that a wire rope, some 200 feet in length, had been thrown across the river to facilitate the work of the rabbiters, who were engaged in keeping back the hordes of ‘silver-greys’ which were making their way northwards and ruining run-holders right and left. On this wire rope is slung, on runners, a rude box, travellers entering the same pull themselves across, and almost invariably take the skin off their knuckles with the runners. Crossing by this rope we piled our swags on to Annan’s packhorse and walked three miles up the valley to a patch of Wild Irishman scrub, where since our last visit a small galvanised iron hut had been built. A day’s delay here with bad weather, and then we shouldered our swags, and on the evening of the 27th reached our well-known Ball Glacier camp.
Our plans were as follows: To do a few days’ work with the photographer, so as to settle his business first, and then be free to tackle Aorangi during the following week. We wished to give the photographer every assistance in our power, as such scenery does not often come within reach of the photographic artist, however energetic he may be, and can only be approached by a properly equipped Alpine party, strong enough to carry a good supply of provisions and all the necessaries for preserving life in such out-of-the-way parts.
Our first excursion, then, was to cross the Tasman Glacier and make for the point of the Malte Brun Range at the turn in the glacier just opposite the point of De la Bêche. Here it was that Dr. von Lendenfeld had made his bivouac for his remarkable ascent of the Hochstetter Dome in 1883, when he was accompanied by his wife and one porter—an ascent that took twenty-seven hours of constant ice and snow work. This excursion would effect the double purpose of giving us some practice in ice work, and of securing a fine set of views.
The day was gloriously fine, and we felt our spirits rise as we scrambled over the massive lateral moraine of the Ball Glacier, across the glacier itself—which, by-the-by, shows very dirty ice at this point, being laden with rocks brought down many years since in the avalanches from the great ice-seamed crags of Aorangi, which towered in lofty grandeur above us—then over the medial moraine between the Ball and Hochstetter Glaciers, where a halt was made, and views of Aorangi and the Hochstetter ice-fall were secured.
Once more we stood before this marvellous piece of Nature’s handiwork, again we heard the thunder of the avalanches, again we saw the glinting, bristling séracs, and gazed in silence and admiration on the ice-fall of the Hochstetter.
Crossing the Hochstetter we struck up the medial moraine between that and the Tasman, straight for the point of De la Bêche.