With Axe and Rope in the New Zealand Alps

by George Edward Mannering

The night was spent in comparative comfort, for we were beginning to feel the effects of our desperate swagging, and could go to sleep almost anywhere. It is simply astonishing what a man can put up with, when he has to; I have slept soundly in all sorts of queer positions, even upon a mixture of ice and sharp stones, without a tent and with only one thickness of blanket, when the thermometer has been several degrees below freezing point.

We were early aroused in the morning by the persistent attentions of the keas; they even went the length of pecking at our sleeping-bags, so tame and unaccustomed to man are they in these parts. We all wanted more rest, but it was not to be thought of if we adhered to our original plan of crossing a supposed saddle at the head of the Murchison to the Tasman Glacier by Mount Darwin, and returning to our head-quarters after accomplishing the circuit of the Malte Brun Range.

We were soon off, and toiled up the small valley formed by the lateral moraine of the glacier and the slopes of the Malte Brun Range. About a mile or so up we observed another glacier lying in a comparatively low saddle above us on our left, beyond this a rocky spur, and then another and larger branch glacier which for a time we took to be the main body of the Murchison, as indicated by the maps. We made for it and climbed its enormous face of ice, and then we discovered our error, for there, a mile away across the moraine, lay the clear ice of the Murchison, and far, far away northwards, the valley extended completely filled with a magnificent mer de glace of pure white ice. We stood transfixed, for none of us had imagined that such a grand glacier lay beyond.

Now we saw what was before us, and for a long time debated as to our ability to face the work ahead.

Hamilton was shockingly out of condition, and a sinew in my leg was becoming painful, Nature at last rebelling against the strain to which she was being subjected. We had a very scanty supply of provisions, and evidently it meant spending another night out if we proceeded.

The temptation was too much for us. We could not let this prize slip through our fingers, so we decided to go on and put ourselves on starvation rations rather than turn. Away we struck over the moraine, and in an hour’s time reached the clear ice, here much crevassed. Crossing with some difficulty we lunched on the eastern side. Casting our eyes backward we could see splendidly all the fine peaks we had been passing under, and could observe the continuation of the range north-eastwards with five or six more branch glaciers, the final one northward leading to a snow-field with a saddle at its head. This, then, must be our saddle, we thought. But it seemed hopeless to cross it in our tired condition and with our heavy swags.

We set our teeth, however, and went doggedly forward, striking out on to the clear ice again and making a north-easterly course, at each step realising more and more the grandeur of the immense ice-field now gradually opening out and unfolding the wealth of mountain glory which encloses it.

We tried in vain to identify Mount Darwin or the most northerly peaks of the Malte Brun Range, which we knew were amongst those on our left, and, according to our reckoning by the maps—framed from Von Haast’s—which seems to have been compiled from guesswork as far as this locality is concerned—we should at this time have been on the Classen Glacier, which lies at the southern head of the Godley River, and, in reality, was some miles north over the Liebig Range.

Passing several branch glaciers on our left, and observing that those on our right were assuming larger proportions, we sidled obliquely across and made for the snow-field leading to the saddle which we had every reason to believe led into the Tasman. Altering our course to due north, and crossing the lower and sloppy part of the snow-field, which was flat and quite undrained by crevasses, we were soon on snow in miserable order, and putting on the rope we wound our way gently upwards amongst the crevasses now beginning to appear.

We had just six hours of daylight, and considered we could reach the saddle in four if all went well, which would leave us two hours to find a bivouac on the other side, provided the descent were feasible.