Some clouds came floating up over our pass from the north-west, and hung menacingly on the white shoulders of the Dome. It was an ominous sight, and our spirits fell. We were soon in the region of covered crevasses, so we put on the rope. The eastern light gradually brightened, and we watched the moon-shadows on our right grow fainter and fainter till they disappeared, and the sun-shadows took their places on the left, growing slowly in boldness of outline with the advancing sun. As we mounted the final slopes towards the saddle, the sun was bathing the higher snows of the western range with a golden glow, and by the time we were fairly on the pass, his slanting rays fell athwart our way.
The pass did not look inviting. The glacier fell away on the other side in a broken ice fall, and great chasms yawned immediately below us. It was not possible to get straight down, that was clear, so we climbed a snow-slope and got on to some rocks on the left, higher up. “Don’t say a blessed word till we’ve had a smoke, and then we’ll look round,” remarked Fyfe. I acquiesced, and we sat down on the rocks, munched a few figs and some chocolate, and then had our smoke and the look round. We were not enamoured of the prospect. The panorama certainly was magnificent, especially towards the north-east; but the getting down—that was the trouble. Far below us we could see the Whymper Glacier, much crevassed in its upper parts, and farther on entirely covered with moraine. “How far below do you think it is?” asked Fyfe. “Three thousand feet,” I hazarded. Fyfe thought four thousand. But even four thousand feet would have been nothing on good rocks and unbroken ice slopes. The rocks, however, were very rotten, and the ice was just about as bad as it could be. Away down below us on the left—a long way it seemed—was a track where the avalanches had completely swept away the snow, and loose blocks of ice had filled up the crevasses. If we could get into that we could get down. It was our only hope, and everything depended on speed; for it would never do to be caught in that narrow ice-gut after the sun had acquired strength and the ice-blocks were hurtling down. We rose deliberately, shouldered our packs, shortened up the rope, and started down the first ridge. The rocks were fearfully rotten, and the last man on the rope had to exercise the greatest caution lest, by starting a block, he should crack the leader’s skull. But we got down the first bit all right, and at the foot of the rocks encountered a snow slope, which, though beautiful enough, was, from a climber’s point of view, altogether uninviting, because in two places there were clear indications that it was swept by avalanches that poured over a precipice immediately above on our left. But we knew there was not much danger at that early hour of the morning, and we started across. One of the avalanche tracks was scooped out to such an extent that the farther side was a perpendicular wall of snow some ten feet high. Up this we had considerable difficulty in climbing, as the steps we made repeatedly gave way. But we went at it doggedly, and in due course it was vanquished. The final avalanche shoot for which we were making was still a distressingly long way off, and a great ice fall, through the séracs of which we should have to thread our way, now began to loom large in front of us. We made a traverse across the last bit of the soft snow slope on which we were now climbing, taking good anchorage with our axes in the difficult places. Near the end of the slope was a schrund which was partly filled with avalanche snow, but we jumped it, and, crossing a little more snow, got on to good solid rocks. There was ice above, and the rocks were dripping. The débris of avalanches lay below. We crossed on slippery rocks right underneath a great wall of ice, and then climbed downward, more to the right, to gain a rocky ridge of a peculiar reddish-brown colour. There we halted for two or three minutes, and enjoyed a deliciously cool drink of the ice-water that was trickling over the rocks in several places. We then saw that one strand of the Alpine rope, about midway between Fyfe and myself, had been cut through by a falling rock. The cut was as clean as if it had been made with a knife. Having repaired the damage with a “fisherman’s bend,” we began to climb down on easy rocks. Good progress was now being made, and, if we could only get down this ridge of rock, and on to the snow slope at the foot of it, it was apparent that the back of the climb would be broken. But, in mountaineering, as in many other things in this life, it often happens that, just as we are nearing the goal of our ambition, some unexpected obstacle bars the way. So, now, our hopes were quickly dashed to the ground—we were face to face with a precipice down which it was impossible for man to climb. We thought we should have to give it up as hopeless, but we pondered the situation, and then began to scan the ridge immediately behind on our left. Here an almost vertical slab of wet rock, between thirty and forty feet, led into a narrow gulch or chimney, down which a waterfall was pouring. There were no hand-holds to speak of—only one or two cracks in the rock—but one of the climbers thought he could get down. It was truly a case of hanging on by one’s eyebrows, but it was managed somehow, without putting much strain on the rope, and the one stood patiently waiting under the waterfall till his clothes were quite wet, and until the other had scrambled down. The descent of this chimney, which was dripping all the way down, did not take us many minutes, for two pinnacles of ice loomed threateningly overhead, and there was also some danger of falling stones. We kept in the shelter of the cliff as much as we could. The passage under the great sérac and the little bit of work into and down this chimney were somewhat sensational, and put all thoughts of return by the same route out of our heads. An hour or two later it would have been absolutely dangerous to go that way. We had burned our boats behind us, and must needs push on. That wretched invention, “a line of retreat,” had, by this time, to all appearances, been shattered, and, save for an occasional turn of the head to see if there was danger behind, our glances must be ever forward. In a few minutes we had reached the ice fall, and, without further hesitation, we commenced to thread a way through it.
Had we not known our work we should have been afraid. The toppling séracs looked dangerous. Higher up the fall, two enormous pinnacles of ice towered splendidly in all the glitter of the morning sun. One felt so fascinated with them, and with the surroundings generally, that one needs must occasionally indulge in a momentary halt to gaze on the scene, greatly to the vexation of Fyfe, who always remonstrated and kept urging the necessity for greater speed. We threaded our way down that ice fall in a way that we felt sure would be a credit to any guide, and in due course arrived at the avalanche shoot. It had been raked by blocks of falling ice and masses of snow, but at this early hour of the morning, when King Frost still held the situation in his icy grip, there was no business doing. Later in the day, after the sun had been at work for some hours on the snow slopes and ice pinnacles above, it would have been a veritable death-trap. Even now there was no time to waste, for the sun was gaining strength every minute. Without a word we got into the shoot and started down. I am free to confess that when we were on the other side of the overhanging ice cliff an hour before, I should have been quite glad to have turned back. Now I was keenly enjoying the adventure. There is something intoxicating in danger once you are fairly in it, and once you are keyed up to that point of daring and alertness at which you begin to feel the spin of the blood in your veins, as, exultant, and with every confidence in your own prowess, you go forth into the battle. Whether man be at close grips with Nature; whether he be batting with opponents in sport; or pitting his wits against rivals in commerce—in play or in work, in love or in war—it is under such circumstances that his greatest successes are made. And so it was that our dash and daring pulled us through.
For a time everything now depended upon rapid climbing, and we started off down the shoot, jumping half-filled crevasses, scrambling over solid ice-blocks, and even glissading on hard névé in a way that would have made the hair of the authors of the Badminton book on mountaineering stand on end. We slid down places where, under ordinary circumstances, we should never have dreamt of going without first cutting steps in the ice. Sometimes I found myself slipping down at an alarming rate, only to be pulled up by Fyfe with a jerk of the rope. At other times Fyfe came hurrying down after me, and I had to hold on with my axe and set a stiff back to check his descent. It was splendid fun and we were making wonderful progress, albeit the destruction of our nether garments was not exactly in inverse ratio to the rapidity of the descent. There was a succession of steps in the ice shoot at the foot of which there were invariably loose blocks or masses of avalanche snow, and these, also, assisted us in checking a too-long-continued and precipitate glissade. Thus, frequently, just as an unnecessary and somewhat alarming amount of friction was being developed, were we by the aid of the avalanche snow in front, and the ice-axe acting as a brake behind, pulled up and brought to a sudden stop. The shocks from the unexpected interposition of an avalanche block and from the sudden tightening of the rope around the most boneless part of one’s anatomy came in about equal proportions, though, occasionally, the effects were somewhat modified by a combination of both; but the moment we had recovered from the surprise of the former or the tension of the latter, the process was commenced again de novo. Thus did we make a truly wonderful, albeit a somewhat undignified, progress. Once only, during this stage of the proceedings, I looked behind, and saw the great séracs and pinnacles poised aloft. After twenty minutes of fast going, for such a place, we came to a point at which we could see the foot of the shoot, filled with avalanche débris, bulging out in fan-like shape as it reached the more gently sloping part of the glacier. Without further adventure we made our way down to this débris, which, as it had no snow on it, made somewhat difficult walking. But we were now out of danger, and could afford to slacken our pace. Soon we had crossed the last bit of avalanche, and had gained the gently sloping solid ice of the Whymper Glacier. There we approached each other, and, solemnly shaking hands in that wonderful terra incognita, with the everlasting hills as witnesses, vowed that whatever happened we should not attempt to go back by that route. I thought a little ruefully of the long walk I should have from the Hermitage on my return to get my camera, and I wondered, also, if we could get down to the coast from where we were. But of this surely there could be no doubt. After what we had just accomplished, no West Coast river, nor gorge, nor forest could possibly stop us, though the question of food might cause us some little anxiety.
We halted a few minutes to scan our route. Looking back at it, no one would have imagined it possible for human beings to come down that way—the rocks seemed so steep and the ice so terribly broken. As we gazed, a few small blocks of ice started down the avalanche shoot. We had got out of it none too soon. Old Sol was making his influence felt. The ice was followed by a large piece of rock, that broke away above the shoot and came hurtling down in our tracks. On it came, in great leaps and bounds, till at length its progress was arrested, and it found a resting-place, half buried in the débris of the avalanche at the foot of the shoot.
Rock avalanches continued to start from the Dome, which on this side was a series of magnificent ridges and precipices. At one time there was a regular cannonade, but we were well out of the line of fire. To the left of this mountain the range continued round the farther side of the Whymper Glacier. There was one sharp rocky peak next to the Dome, and, adjoining that, on the other side of a long snow couloir, some enormous slabs of slate, sloping up to the summit of the range. Then there were two glaciers, joined at the bottom, where they poured their tribute into the Whymper, but separated, higher up, by a ridge that came down for some distance between them. Beyond this, the range was very rotten. Farther away still, on the right-hand side of the Wataroa, we could see other rocky peaks and a ridge with a flat-shaped glacier on the top of it. The Whymper Glacier went straight down the valley for some distance, and then took a fine sweep to the left. An effort was made to follow it down, but, after going some way, dodging one or two crevasses and jumping others, we came upon some enormous rents in the ice, very deep, and extending right across the glacier. There was nothing for it but to retrace our steps. There was a possible route on the left by way of the rocks above the ice. Threading our way through some more crevasses, we climbed this ridge, and having gained its crest, were delighted to find that, so far as the ice-work was concerned, all our difficulties were now at an end. We sat on the warm rocks and smoked. The ridge below was studded with numbers of beautiful yellow ranunculi, the wax-like petals of which glistened like burnished gold in the sunlight amongst the dark rocks. From this ridge we scrambled down some slopes of séracs, and gained the glacier again. Here, beside a stream that ran in a channel in the ice, we stopped for lunch at 11 a.m. We had been going without food or rest for nine hours, and now took off our wet things, and dried our putties, boots, and stockings on the warm rocks that here almost covered the glacier. How we did enjoy that lunch! We stopped for nearly an hour, dozing for part of the time in the sunshine. Then off down the glacier for fully a mile over moraine—in some places composed of small rocks, in others of great erratic boulders—then up the face of a great ancient lateral moraine, on top of which there was a luxuriant growth of vegetation; thence down to the terminal face of the glacier, where the Wataroa River came forth in majestic volume from a cave of clear ice. A creek flowed in from the left, fed from some beautiful waterfalls that came over the precipices from the everlasting snows beyond. It was fringed with fine trees and Alpine plants, and one ribbon-wood tree was gay with beautiful white blossoms that peeped out from amongst the tender green of its leafy branches. It was so different from the eastern side of the Alps, and altogether such a charming spot, that we were tempted to halt a while. A cold wind sprang up, so we made a fire and boiled our little billy to make bovril. We put a whole pot of bovril in it, and this we ate with dry bread. In half an hour we were on the march again down the left-hand side of the river, finding our way through scrub, over enormous boulders, and on through dense bush. The river was now a seething torrent, roaring over and between the great rocks, and the mountains towered above the sombre vale. We seemed to make but slow progress, and hour after hour went all too quickly by. At 6 p.m. we camped for the night beside the turbulent torrent that went roaring down the unexplored valley. We had been on the march since two o’clock that morning, and now, after our sixteen hours’ toil, during which we had carried swags over by far the roughest pass ever made in New Zealand, felt we were entitled to a well-earned rest. Tea; then bed; and soon the crackling of the camp fire mingled with the rumble of the river, which was ever present, and seemed to haunt us in our dreams.
CHAPTER XIV
ACROSS THE SOUTHERN ALPS—continued
“Good Luck is the gayest of all gay girls,