A climber in New Zealand

by Malcolm Ross

Northwards, from Mount Aspiring, which is at the head of this jumble of southern mountains that spreads itself through fiordland and lakeland, the Southern Alps proper extend in an almost unbroken chain along the western side of the Middle Island of New Zealand to where Mount Cook, or Aorangi, rears his snow-crowned ridge above the grim precipices and flanking glaciers, and, dominating the landscape, gives an outlook from sea to sea. Here we are amongst the monarchs of the range, and the views are indescribably grand. There is a glorious Alpine panorama stretching north and south, and, though all the highest mountains have been climbed, there are hundreds and hundreds of untrodden peaks and passes still awaiting the foot of the climber.

Crater of Ngauruhoe.

Travelling over the level lands in the south-bound train from Christchurch on a summer’s day, one sees wheat fence-high and golden in the sun, the grey-green of oats in ear, the darker green of well-tilled root crops, interspersed with clumps and lines of English and Australian trees, making relieving splashes of colour against the purple haze of the foothills, and indicating a fertile soil. At intervals we rumble over the long bridge of some snow-fed river, with its great shingle flats and islands, and its opalescent water forming many interlacing streams, and we realize that the work done in the giant laboratory of the Frost King, in the heart of the Alps, is here finding its full fruition. We know also that the planing glacier, the eroding torrent, and the crumbling moraine are still at work. They are the Mills of the Gods, slowly grinding, and though they grind exceedingly small, they have made, in time, through the agency of these great snow-fed rivers, a land that is of a verity flowing with milk and honey—a land that is already the granary of the islands. Thus the Southern Alps have an important bearing upon the economic possibilities of the country. Their never-failing rivers, by means of irrigation, will make possible a still more intense cultivation on the plains of Canterbury and Otago. But beyond all this there are possibilities almost undreamt of in the enormous power from lake and river now running to waste. In short, the Southern Alps may one day make New Zealand not only the playground of Australasia, but its manufactory as well. A return recently compiled, giving the more important available water powers in both islands, shows an average of 3,817,180 horse power and 2,854,470 kilowatts. A considerable number of these powers are suitable for general industrial development, but the largest ones, being mainly in the unsettled portions of the Middle Island, and near the deep-water sounds, are particularly suitable for utilization in connexion with electric-chemical or electric-metallurgical industries. Finally, the Southern Alps must not be despised from the tourist point of view. They already bring many visitors to New Zealand from all parts of the world; and in years to come, when torrid Australia and the sweltering Pacific number their population by many millions, this splendid mountain chain both in summer and in winter will have become the playground of the new nations under the Southern Cross.

But apart altogether from the physical aspect and the economic aspect, a splendid Alpine chain, such as forms the backbone of the Middle Island of New Zealand, is almost certain to have some influence upon the character and physique of the nation, and more especially upon the character and physique of a nation endowed with those qualities of hardihood and adventure that are such predominant features of the Anglo-Saxon race. In an interesting article on “Mountaineering as a Sport for Soldiers,” published in the Times in 1907, the writer—Mr. L. M. S. Amery—pointed out that “there can be few better tests of the essential qualities of leadership than a really critical moment on a mountain. The man who can retain his judgment and confidence, and keep up the spirits of his party, when the way has already been lost, when all the rocks are coated with new verglas, when fingers are numb with cold, and when the guides begin to lose their heads and jabber furiously in incomprehensible patois—he is the man who (in warfare) is no less certain to keep his nerve and sustain his subordinates when casualties are heaviest, and the hope of support faintest.” Where there are mountains and where there are British people there will, of a surety, be climbing, and the sport develops character and brings out qualities that are of first importance in the affairs of everyday life as well as in warfare. From this point of view, therefore, as well as from the others mentioned, New Zealand has a valuable asset in her mountains. It is an asset, too, that is already being developed to some purpose.

The splendid mountain chain that forms the back-bone of the Middle Island was, during the early period of colonization, a terra incognita to all but a few New Zealanders, and it is only within recent years that the sons of those bold pioneers who travelled over so many leagues of ocean to build themselves new homes and to lay the foundation of a new and sturdy nation have ventured into the heart of the Southern Alps to wrest the secrets of the higher snows. The age of conquest has been long delayed, but once started, the conquerors have marched to victory with even greater vigour than did their forefathers in the European Alps. It took some little time to gain the necessary experience, for the Antipodean climbers had not only to learn the craft untaught by others, but they had to be their own guides, their own step-cutters, and even their own porters. With the first taste of victory came the lust for other conquests, and, one by one, the great peaks have fallen, till now there is not one first-class mountain left unconquered, and already “traverses” and new routes up old peaks are becoming the fashion. Though the New Zealanders have won for themselves many of the higher summits, there are a number that have fallen before climbers from the Motherland. The New Zealanders, however, did their work without assistance, and it says much for the courage, for the endurance, and for the resource of the race that the sons of the pioneers have accomplished this remarkable record without a single fatal accident, and indeed without serious misadventure of any kind.

To an Englishman, and a member of the Alpine Club, the Rev. William Spotswood Green, belongs the credit of having initiated Alpine climbing in this the farthermost part of our Outer Empire. It was his work in the Southern Alps that fired the imagination of that hardy band of young Colonial pioneers who, like their forefathers in the Alps of Switzerland, were destined to lead the way in Alpine conquest. Green came with two experienced Swiss climbers,—Emil Boss and Ulrich Kaufmann,—and though he was not successful in reaching the actual summit of Mount Cook, he very nearly got there. The story of his adventures is simply and graphically told in his book, which must ever remain a classic in New Zealand mountaineering literature.

Mr. Green had many difficulties to contend against before he got to Mount Cook. To begin with, his wagonette came to grief in the Tasman and was swept bodily down the river. Birch Hill station was then the last human habitation on the way to the glacier world, and it took a long time before a camp could be established at the foot of the spur where now stands the Ball Hut. The attempt to climb the mountain by the main arête failed. The party got on to a narrow arête along which they came to the first rock-tooth of tottering splintered slate, which was climbed with great difficulty and danger. The ridge connecting this with the next spike was so loose that it trembled beneath their feet and made further climbing madness. An attempt by way of the eastern face of the mountain also failed. The warmth of the sunshine caused many avalanches, one of which nearly buried the party. A route by way of the Great Plateau and the Linda Glacier was, however, discovered. On March 1st the party spent the night on the spur near the Bivouac Rock, subsequently so much used by the New Zealanders. They started next morning on their historic climb via the Linda Glacier, and after some difficulties they found themselves close to the foot of the arête connecting Mount Cook with Mount Tasman. As the party advanced along their route many avalanches fell from Mount Tasman. A halt was made for breakfast, and some of the impedimenta deposited. The crevasses were numerous, and but for the fresh snow would have barred the way. Three hours’ work brought them to the head of the glacier, after which they turned to the left, and, crossing the arête, reached an ice-filled couloir, to gain which they had to do some severe step-cutting. Here the real work began, and the first and last view was got of the western sea. After climbing up the couloir, they reached a wall of ice, and decided, after a council of war, to try to cross the couloir, which at first had been rejected as too dangerous. The setting of the sun lessened the risk, and, though it was an anxious time, the opposite side was reached in safety. After all, the rocks were inaccessible, and the party had to climb through a notch, and thus reach the ice-slope beyond, down which swept a stream of detached ice; and, as it was thawing and getting late in the afternoon, the question of advancing was discussed. But as the bivouac could not be gained before dark, and what was presumed to be only an hour’s work lay before the party, it was decided to go on. Keeping close to the rocks, an icicled bergschrund was reached but avoided by a detour to the left, and at 6 p.m. Mr. Green, Boss, and Kaufmann stepped on to the crest of Aorangi. This was, they thought, too late an hour to permit of their going on to the actual summit. As there were no rocks at hand, no cairn could be built, and they were forced to retreat, leaving no record of their ascent. Until the rocks were reached they had to descend backwards, with faces to the ice. Beneath one or two fragments of rock were placed Mr. Green’s handkerchief and Kaufmann’s match-box. With great difficulty, and some danger, they lowered themselves down the lower end of the ice-slope, and as they crossed the couloir to the opposite rocks, night closed in. In a little time the moon rose, enabling the three men to find a partial shelter beneath the rock-ridge, on a little ledge less than two feet wide and sloping outward, and there they spent the nine hours of darkness, stamping to keep up the circulation, and talking and singing to drive away sleep, which would have been fatal to them. Every quarter of an hour an avalanche rumbled, there being a warm north-west wind, which probably saved them from being frost-bitten. At 5.30 the descent was recommenced, and the snow was found to be very soft, one crevasse being almost impassable. The plateau was completely changed in aspect by an immense avalanche, but they found the knapsack where it had been left, and enjoyed its contents (although the bread was twenty days old), for they had been twenty-two hours without food. In the séracs they found their track obliterated, one avalanche having covered an area of two hundred acres and filled up a large crevasse. While they were crossing the Great Plateau a grand avalanche fell from the Tasman cliffs with a deafening crash. At 1 p.m. the bivouac was reached, and a welcome cup of tea and half an hour’s rest enjoyed. Then they returned to their camp at the Ball Glacier in the Tasman Valley.

Peter Graham.