“I am afraid that the reckless way in which we romped over those last rocks was very foolhardy; but one would indeed need to be phlegmatic not to get a little excited on such an occasion. The slope of the final ice-cap was easy, and only required about a hundred steps, which were quickly cut, and at 1.30 p.m. on Christmas Day we exultantly stepped on to the highest pinnacle of the monarch of the Southern Alps.”
They stayed only twenty minutes on the summit, and then commenced the descent. The first rocks were soon reached, and there they built a cairn, underneath which they left a tin upon which they had scratched their names and the date. They left these rocks shortly after 2 p.m., and Green’s Saddle was passed at 5.20 pm. Just as they got a few feet below it, a rock avalanche shot past, making the ridge tremble as the blocks ricochetted from crag to crag down the mountain-side. During the whole time they were on this ridge stones were continually clattering down on either side. Going down some slaty rocks Graham lost his ice-axe. He thus describes the incident—
“We were just getting on to the snow to cross the couloir when a hand-hold broke with me, and the sling of my axe slipping over my wrist the axe slid away down the slope, stopping above a small schrund. Going down the rocks to the lowest point Fyfe secured himself and paid out all the rope (100 feet), and then I, holding on to the rope, slid down to the end, and, scrambling across the slope, was just able to reach the adventurous axe.”
This incident caused a delay of nearly an hour—a delay that could be ill afforded, as it would soon be dark. Fyfe, continuing his account of the descent, writes:—
“When nearing the bergschrund an ominous, not-to-be-mistaken whiz above warned us that danger was coming. Crouching close into the rocks, several pieces of stone went pinging over us at a pace that rendered them invisible and buried themselves feet deep in the soft snow. This particular place is, in my estimation, the only dangerous part of the whole route, but fortunately only so in the afternoon. All the way down I had been anxious to get across the bergschrund before dark, and, but for the dropping of Graham’s axe, we would have done so. It was with great uneasiness I saw that we should have to stand out all night or risk climbing down in the dark. The latter was preferred. Too dark to see either hand or footholds, our sense of touch was all we had to rely on. One at a time we moved on, the other two endeavouring to anchor; but, judging from the holds that I myself could obtain, a slip by one would have ‘done for’ us all. However, the schrund was left behind, and with it the greatest difficulties of the descent. Now for the first time we gravely congratulated each other on the ascent and descent of Mount Cook. We reached the Bivouac tired and wet, only to find that one side of our snow break-wind had fallen on to the tent, and, melting, had soaked everything. It was very cold, and it is not all joy pitching a tent with the thermometer down to about 28 degrees. We turned in supperless: no one volunteered to face the cold and melt some snow. So cold did we become that at last we were forced to burn a candle in a tin can underneath the blankets, while the hours of darkness passed wearily away. Day dawned at last, and, hastily packing up, we plunged away down the glacier. We reached our first camp at 7 a.m., and were glad to rest till 10.30, meanwhile basking in the sun and making great inroads into a bag of oatmeal. As we lay, idly watching the north-west clouds swirling overhead, our trials were all forgotten, and I regretfully thought—there is but one Aorangi.”
Mt. Cook from Upper Tasman.
Thus was the conquering of Aorangi, after many heroic struggles, accomplished by the pluck, endurance, and initiative of the young New Zealanders, who, in a far country, had taught themselves the craft of mountaineering.