A climber in New Zealand

by Malcolm Ross

First the ground was levelled alongside a big rock, and all the larger stones were carefully picked out. Then a rubble wall was built at each end, and the remaining side was sheltered by a mound of snow scraped up with a billy. All was snug by 7 p.m., and as the two climbers lay in their blankets they chatted over the chances of the morrow or groped underneath for some particularly prominent stone that was likely to disturb their repose. For the elevation (6400 feet) the night was not cold, and they rested fairly well. They were astir at 1.30 a.m. for their first attempt via the middle peak. Dawn appeared at 2.45, and, roping up, they started on their climb. They had to cross several crevasses on snow bridges before reaching the true western spur, an offshoot of which runs in a more northerly direction. The arête, however, was so difficult and irregular that they were forced on to the snow slope again. Mr. Fyfe, in an account published in the Otago Daily Times, gives the following account of the climb:—

“On coming to its head some slight difficulty was experienced in finding a place to get on to the spur; but, once gained, it proved good, and for about 500 feet an easy grade. After this it became much steeper and gradually narrowed in to a sharp ridge. After some 2000 feet of rock-climbing the lowest peak came in sight, and at 10.30 a.m. we stood on the true western arête running up to the same. We had now the choice of cutting steps up on to the crest of the arête or, by keeping down a little on the northern side, of skirting along the rocks. We chose the latter, and found that, although owing to their being partly buried in snow they were difficult, still they were much easier and quicker than step-cutting. We had now been in the sun some time, and a short halt was cried for ‘tucker.’ Vain efforts were made by one of the party to melt some snow, but even the sultry language he indulged in had no effect on its icy coldness. It is a strange sensation this, being surrounded by snow and ice, and, though ‘dying’ for a drink, unable to obtain a mouthful. Skirting along these partly buried rocks, and cutting a few steps here and there across slippery patches, nothing stopped us, and at 11 a.m. we stood on the highest rocks. We were now at an altitude of 11,700 feet, and our prospects of doing the remaining 600 odd feet looked ‘rosy.’

“From here it was necessary to descend about 400 feet to reach the saddle which separates the first and second peaks. This we had little difficulty in doing, good rocks running right down. The sun was now very powerful, and we took advantage of it to melt the snow and drink to our hearts’ content. Step-cutting commenced at a couloir which runs from the Empress Glacier right up to this col, and the axe was kept steadily going until the summit of the middle peak was reached. On nearing the crest of the arête we soon had ample evidence that it was heavily corniced, the axe going right through when we were several feet from the edge. Keeping about 20 feet away from the true crest, we cut steps along the face of the ice-cap, thus practically making a long traverse. At 1 p.m. we stood on the top of the second peak, only 176 feet lower than the actual summit of the mountain. A glance, and we saw that our chances of doing the remainder were remote. Although only so little in actual height above us, it was still a long way off, and the arête was so corniced, and took so many turns, that to ‘do’ the summit would require a long traverse involving many hours’ work.

“Having the other route to fall back on, we decided not to expend our energies further on this one, and so again calmly accepted defeat. The view from the second or middle peak was exceedingly grand.”

The descent was quickly accomplished, and they had some splendid glissading back to the Bivouac. Where the slopes were not steep enough for glissading, ploughing through the snow was the order of the day, and the man coming last on the rope had a rough time if he made a false step, for he involuntarily received from his companion plunging on in front a jerk that generally pulled him off his feet, and caused him to take an unwilling header into the snow. Fyfe had a vivid recollection of Graham’s legs on one occasion waving in mute supplication, whilst he for a few moments vainly endeavoured to extricate his head and shoulders from the snow. All the smaller crevasses were shot glissading. While shooting one of these crevasses the rope, somehow, became entangled, and pulled one of the climbers up with a sudden jerk fairly across the fissure, his feet resting on one edge and the back of his neck on the other. He was, however, equal to the occasion, and, stiffening himself, he lay there in perfect composure until assisted across by his companion. The hardy climbers now returned to the Hermitage, after twenty-one hours’ constant going, and were glad to get into comfortable beds again.

At the Hermitage they fell in with Jack Clark, and he readily agreed to join them in an attack on the highest peak by the other route. Clark had climbed with them the previous season, and his enthusiasm gave new life to the whole affair. Finally these three left the hotel with six days’ supplies, and made their first camp on the evening of December 22nd.

“Next day,” continues Fyfe’s account, “we toiled, painfully swag-laden, through the ever-widening crevasses to a second bivouac farther up the glacier, narrowly escaping a fall of rocks that came bounding from the Moorhouse Range. We arrived sore and tired, although the actual distance covered and height gained were trifling. Little inclined as we were for another day’s swagging, 10 a.m. next day found us again wearily plodding on our upward course. We pitched the tent under the lee of a huge block of ice that had apparently fallen from St. David’s Dome at a height of about 8000 feet. An arch was cut into this block, a break-wind built round, and so sheltered were we that I believe we could have weathered a severe storm. Leaving Clark in camp, Graham and I proceeded up the glacier with the double object of breaking steps and of exploring the large bergschrund at its head. We kept to the true right of the glacier going up, but found it very much crevassed and swept by avalanches from St. David’s Dome and Mount Hector. We passed some enormous crevasses. Some we estimated as being fully 200 feet across and of great depth. Another uncommon thing so high up was a vertical shaft descending into the glacier. Graham anchoring, I crawled to its edge and peered down, but could see no bottom, its blue sides shading away until lost in impenetrable darkness.

“Two hours brought us to the bergschrund, and our worst fears were fully confirmed. No bridge of any description spanned its gaping depths. Our only chance was to find a passage where it ran out against the rock face of Aorangi. Traversing to this, we saw that it was possible to descend right into the bergschrund and reach the rocks at its end. These looked barely practicable. We kept to the left side of the glacier going back, and found it much simpler, only one crevasse of any consequence having to be dealt with. Our bleak bivouac was regained just as the sun sank behind Mount Stokes. After some food and a refreshing drink of hot tea we lay down on our icy-cold couch, fondly hoping to snatch a few hours’ sleep. Vain hope! On going to rest at these high camps the usual plan is not to undress but to crowd on everything obtainable; and anyone leaving an article of clothing lying about is sometimes greatly surprised at the mysterious manner in which it disappears at night, but always religiously turns up again in the morning in time to be rolled into the owner’s swag.

“At 2 a.m. Graham, shivering and growling, arose to prepare breakfast. We had brought a good supply of dry firewood from our first camp, and breakfast was ready much too soon for Clark and I, who were making the most of the blankets. Getting on our boots with great difficulty—they being turned, apparently, into something akin to cast-iron—we packed up everything we were likely to require, and, roping together, moved upwards at 3.15 a.m. The snow was very hard, but the steps we had broken the previous day were of great assistance, and an hour’s climbing saw us standing on the lower lip of the bergschrund. Letting out the rope to its full length, one of the party descended into the bergschrund and squirmed along the ledge of rocks as far as the rope would reach. Then the others crossed on to the rocks. Clinging as we were to a narrow ledge, with scarcely any hand or foot hold, and with an almost perpendicular drop into the chasm below, our position was far from enviable; and, as the leader slowly and with great difficulty made his way upwards, a slip seemed, to say the least, not altogether improbable. Some snow lying on the ledge had to be shifted, and caused a little delay, and for forty minutes the excitement and suspense were too intense to be pleasant. However, we managed to get across in safety. Above we found the snow hard, and we kept well against the rocks for hand-holds. This slope gradually converges into a deep ravine formed by the frowning crags of Aorangi on the one side and by Mount Hector on the other. Beginning at Green’s Saddle and running out in the slope just above the bergschrund, a rib of rocks divides this ravine into two narrow ice-filled couloirs. As we got higher up, the amount of snow lying on the slope became less and less, and at last the clear blue ice was reached. Cutting steps across a little branch couloir, we decided to cross the couloir lying between us and the rib of rocks, and to endeavour to keep along its ridge. At first these rocks proved difficult, a rotten slaty rock having to be dealt with, but they improved towards their top end. As we neared Green’s Saddle the arête of these rocks became very sharp, with precipitous sides, and in two places was capped with ice. We had to cut steps up these places, and without further bother reached a point a few feet below Green’s Saddle at 8 am. Here we were stopped by a break in the rib which completely barred direct access to the Saddle. Turning a little to the left, we climbed up over what was perhaps the worst rock of the whole ascent, on to the southern arête of Hector, and from thence descended to the Saddle. The arête which runs from here to the summit of Aorangi is, with the exception of one slaty stratum, composed of good, sound rocks. This slaty stratum, about 30 feet in height, was most difficult. Half-way up the leading man got into difficulties, all holds being just beyond his reach, causing him to make an awkward traverse by hand-holds only to a little chimney, up which he writhed his way. Above this, the going was good, and we rapidly rose. Looking back at 10.30 a.m., we could see that we were far above all the surrounding peaks, and, although the top of Aorangi could not be seen, we knew it could not be far distant. One wall of slate brought us to a standstill, and we had to descend a few feet, leave the ridge, and work our way round the obstacle. The wind was now piercingly cold, and we were glad to muffle our faces in anything to protect them. A few minutes’ respite from its bitter blast and a slight snack were now very acceptable, and we climbed down to shelter on the sunny side. What with consulting maps and sketching, the ‘few minutes’ were prolonged into an hour and a half, and it was just midday as we filed off upwards. At 12.30 the slope of the arête became easier, and shortly afterwards the final top appeared about 400 feet above us.