With Axe and Rope in the New Zealand Alps

by George Edward Mannering

Mount Cook, or Aorangi, from a climber’s point of view, is a very difficult peak to climb, even to a height of 9,000 feet, which our party attained on this occasion, chiefly on account of the length and tiresomeness of its approach. It is simply part of a great ridge which branches off in a southerly direction from the main divide of the Southern Alps. From its three peaks, all situated on this ridge, diverge four main spurs (or arêtes, as Alpine men call them). From the lowest and southernmost peak (11,787 feet) descends to the Ball Pass the southern arête; from the middle peak (12,173 feet) the eastern arête, descending on to an enormous buttress which separates the Ball and Hochstetter Glaciers; from the northernmost and highest peak (12,349 feet) two arêtes diverge, the north-eastern, separating the Hochstetter and Linda Glaciers and terminating in the ice of the Great Plateau; and, lastly, the northern ridge, connecting with the main divide between Mount Tasman and St. David’s Dome. A comparatively low rock saddle in this ridge occurs between the highest peak of Aorangi and the junction with the main divide, leading on one hand into the Linda Glacier, and on the other to the head of the Hooker Glacier. Aorangi is thus quite cut off from the west coast, and has, in fact, no ‘western flanks,’ as is generally supposed.

It was an intensely hot day, and scarcely a breath stirred as Harper, Annan, and I struck out on the now well-known route across the Ball and Hochstetter Glaciers for the Haast Ridge, but the clear mountain air seemed to rush into our lungs, putting health and strength into every fibre.

The mountains were glorious in the noonday glare, and the foliage on their lower slopes was in its gayest height of blossom. Now and then an avalanche would thunder down in the ice-fall or from the higher slopes above, or the whistle of a kaka down the valley could be detected. These and the merry tinkling of the surface streams were the only sounds to break the spell of silence and benignant peace which seemed to reign over all. These are the scenes which go straight to the heart of the true nature-loving mountaineer.

To reach the foot of the couloir by which three years previously Dixon, Inglis, and I had descended involved the usual amount of hot scrambling up tali or fans of detritus from the rocks above. Once in the couloir (which was snow-filled in places) we were not long in reaching our old bivouac, where we deposited our first batch of provisions, &c., our plan being to descend again that day and bring up more supplies on the morrow.

Coming down, Harper had an almost miraculous escape from swift and certain destruction. We were glissading on a snow slope when a mass of rocks broke suddenly away from above and whizzed down the slope at a terrific rate, passing within a few inches of Harper, who did not observe them coming, though both Annan and myself had seen the rocks start a hundred feet or so above him, and had shouted to warn him of their descent.

This was a warning to us to be careful how we trusted snow couloirs during the afternoon, after the sun’s rays had done their daily work on the crust of the snow. It is by such lessons that we in New Zealand have learnt without the aid of Swiss guides to understand, to appreciate, and circumvent those dangers to which the Alpine climber is always more or less exposed.

Another fine morning saw us off again with sleeping-bags, tent, &c., and by noon we were up at the bivouac with three days’ supplies. Only resting for an hour or two we pushed on upwards, intending to cross the Great Plateau—that ice-field of which we knew, but which we seemed fated never to reach—and find some sheltering rocks under Aorangi’s uppermost slopes where we might spend the night.

In a few minutes we reached Mr. Green’s sleeping-place, across which now lay a rock weighing some tons (another warning), illustrating forcibly the rotten state of the rocks.

We now roped and took to the snow, which led first on to a small dip or saddle in the ridge (sloping off on the right to the Freshfield Glacier and on the left to the Hochstetter ice-fall), and then on to steep snow slopes leading up to the crest of the ridge overlooking the plateau, now about 1,000 feet above us.

We proceeded cautiously over many half-covered crevasses, and crossing the small dip or saddle took to the slopes beyond, now and then taking to the rocks on our left. The climbing was somewhat dangerous, mainly owing to the bad state of the snow, which would start away in avalanches, or give way on the edge of a crevasse just at the moment one put one’s weight on to spring.