THE ROUTE TO THE MOUNT COOK DISTRICT
_A short description of the route to the Mount Cook district, and of
the topographical features of the Mueller, Hooker, and Tasman Valleys_
From Timaru on the east coast the traveller may comfortably reach the
glaciers of Aorangi in a two days’ journey.
Leaving Timaru by an evening train, Fairlie Creek (the present terminus
of the railway line) is reached, where the night is spent. Two days’
coaching then are required to cross over Burke’s Pass into the great
Mackenzie plains, across this great ancient glacier bed, past Lakes
Tekapo and Pukaki, over the rivers of the same names, and up the valley
of the Tasman River to a comfortable hostelry called ‘The Hermitage,’
nestling right under the shadow of that wonderful pile of ice-clad
mountain glory, Mount Sefton.
Lakes Tekapo and Pukaki may both be aptly compared in one way to the
Lake of Geneva, in that they are of glacier origin, and purify the
rivers which now flow from the present glaciers, parting with their
waters again through channels cut in the ancient terminal moraines
which dam their respective southern shores.
They are both beautiful, each in its own way—Tekapo sunny, peaceful,
and calm; Pukaki awe-inspiring and grand—but they lack the charm of
chalet and pine tree, of vine and meadow, which so adorn the shores of
the Swiss lakes.
The immediate vicinity of the road is uninteresting, except from a
geological point of view, for it winds about amongst old moraines,
whose vegetation consists almost entirely of the brown tussock grass so
general in the South Island.
Yet the geologist or student of glacier phenomena can read on the
surface the history of the formation; _roches moutonnées_ abound,
and, in places, old moraines are spread over the bed rock for miles
together, whilst erratic blocks are dotted about in various directions,
evidencing how extensive has been the action of the ice in ages gone by.
Though the scenes contiguous to the road may fail to charm the eye, the
distant panoramas of the glorious Southern Alps cannot fail to draw
forth expressions of wonder from the most callous observer. As the
Hermitage is approached, and the great peaks and glaciers draw closer
and closer, the marvellous grandeur of the chain is gradually realised.
The sight of the reflection of Aorangi in Lake Tekapo, on a calm
morning, is something to remember for a lifetime. The subject has long
been a favourite one for brush and pen, but no one yet has done it
justice.
A substantial bridge spans the exit of the Tekapo River, but only a
ferry stage exists at the Pukaki River where it leaves the lake. A wire
rope, 450 feet long, is thrown across the stream, to which the ferry
stage floating on two punts is attached by runners. The coach and four
is driven bodily on to the stage, and by the aid of a rudder the punts
are slued so as to point across the stream diagonally. The force of the
water rushing obliquely on to the sides of the punts drives the whole
affair across in a space of about three or four minutes. This ingenious
plan is commonly adopted in the New Zealand rivers.
During the months of winter it is possible to reach the Hermitage
direct from Tekapo, and thus avoid striking south to go round Lake
Pukaki, by crossing the Tasman River. During summer, however, as a
rule, this river is impassable, for it rises so fast during warm and
nor’-west weather from rain and melting snow that sometimes the whole
bed of the river—two miles wide—is a network of rushing yellow
torrents quite unfordable by man or beast.
Readers of the Rev. W. S. Green’s ‘High Alps of New Zealand’ will
recollect that his conveyance found a last resting-place in the
quicksands of the Tasman. Von Lendenfeld also, the year after Mr.
Green, experienced an unhappy week’s delay on the eastern bank of the
river. I have myself narrowly escaped drowning at the same point, and
in years gone by the Tasman River has been accountable for more than
one life.
The river in full flood is a sight to see; the water in places runs
fifteen knots an hour, or even more. In the rapids it is piled up in
the middle from sudden contraction of the banks, and forms crested
billows four or five feet in height, whilst now and then a block of ice
from the glacier may be seen bowling along.
The ancient glacier-formed terraces of the Tasman Valley are
instructive and interesting. The highest of them are distinctly marked
all down the valley for a distance of forty miles from Sebastopol—a
large face of ice-worn rock near the Hermitage—on the eastern slopes
of the Ben Ohau Range. The story of the ancient glacier can be read as
the eye follows these strange terraces from their starting point 2,000
feet above the valley bed, down a gentle declination to the terminus of
the Ben Ohau Range.
Before going into the narrative of my five seasons’ climbing amongst
the peaks and glaciers around Aorangi, it would be as well for me to
describe, as concisely as possible, the general topography of the
Mueller, Hooker, and Tasman Glaciers.
We will suppose ourselves in the main Tasman Valley, into which all
these glaciers drain, close to the point where the valley first
branches. As we look northward, Aorangi and the range running southward
for twelve miles from the main body of the mountain bound the view,
and divide the valley into two branches. Let us take the one to the
north-west first. Proceeding up this valley of the Hooker for a few
miles, we arrive at a branch valley from the left or west—the Mueller
Valley—completely occupied by the glacier of the same name. Close to
the Mueller Glacier is situated the Hermitage, presided over by Mr. F.
F. C. Huddleston, a true haven of refuge and comfort for the wearied
tourist or mountaineer.
[Illustration: HOOKER VALLEY AND MOUNT SEFTON FROM GOVERNOR’S CAMP
[_Wheeler & Son, Photo._]
We step on to the Mueller Glacier, here completely covered by moraine,
and, turning westwards, strike up its course. On our right, 8,500
feet above us, clad in ice and snow and glittering in the sunlight,
rises the glorious mass of Mount Sefton, showering down avalanches
upon the glacier. On our left the shingle slips from the rotten and
crumbling crags of the Sealy Range. It is possible for tourists who are
good walkers to reach the head of this glacier, which is seven and a
half miles long and about one mile broad, in one day. The moraine gives
way to the clear ice some three miles or so from the terminal face. Now
we return and make a fresh start up the Hooker Valley due northwards
from the Hermitage.
Crossing the Mueller Glacier we walk through a perfect garden of
lilies (_ranunculus Lyallii_), celmisias, ‘Spaniards,’ and an endless
variety of sub-alpine plants, for a distance of about one mile from
the northern side of the Mueller Glacier, when we come to the terminal
moraine-covered face of the Hooker Glacier.
On our right rises up the bold and verdure clad snow-topped Mount Cook
Range, Mount Wakefield (6,561 feet), Mount Mabel (6,868 feet), Mount
Rosa (6,987 feet), and a nameless peak (7,540 feet) being the principal
points of interest. On our left is the northern continuation of the
ridge of Mount Sefton, known as the Moorhouse Range, part of the main
chain of the Southern Alps. Several secondary glaciers descend from the
slopes, but do not reach the bed of the valley below, which is filled
from side to side with the Hooker Glacier.
Proceeding up the surface of the glacier we get on to the clear ice,
and now on either bank the mountains rise to a great height. On the
right Aorangi suddenly rears itself, from a point known as the Ball
Saddle (7,500 feet), to 12,349 feet in one stupendous rocky ridge,
upon which the ice hangs wherever it can get any hold. This ridge is
known to climbers as the Great Southern _arête_, and has been found,
first by Mr. Green and secondly by myself, to be inaccessible. Right
ahead of us pour down from the highest crags the Mona, Noeline, and
Empress Glaciers, to join the Hooker, alternating with very precipitous
rocky ridges which present every appearance of being quite unscalable.
Several attempts have been made by surveyors and others to reach the
saddle at the head of the Hooker, but it was only in December 1890 that
the efforts of two climbers (Mr. A. P. Harper and Mr. R. Blakiston)
were rewarded. The expedition can only be attempted with any chance of
success in the early part of the season, when the numberless crevasses
are yet covered with the winter snow.
From the Hooker Glacier we turn our faces downwards to the south again,
and pay a visit to the north-eastern branch of the main Tasman Valley.
Crossing the Hooker River at the terminal point of the Mount Cook
Range, where a cage swung on a wire rope over the river now facilitates
the traveller’s passage, we strike north-eastwards up the valley.
For a distance of four miles our way leads over the shingle and boulder
flats of the Tasman river-bed, here some two miles wide. Patches of
good sheep-feed consisting of tussock and cocksfoot grass (the latter
sown by an early settler) occur on the western side of the valley, but
the river as a rule washes the opposite slopes.
[Illustration: AORANGI: MOUNT COOK AND THE HOOKER GLACIER.
[_Wheeler & Son, Photo._]
Arriving at the terminal face of the glacier we strike up a small
valley between the western lateral slopes of the moraine of the
glacier and the Mount Cook Range on our left, and for a distance of
about seven or eight miles force our way through dense scrub and loose
boulders from the moraine and mountain slopes, to the junction of the
Ball Glacier with the Tasman. This Ball Glacier comes from the Great
Southern _arête_ of Aorangi, and is fed almost entirely by avalanches,
there being no snow-fields—or _névés_ as they are called in Alpine
parlance—of any great extent at its head.
From this point upwards we strike out on to the ice on our right,
and another seven miles or so brings us to a further division of
the valley, Mount de la Bêche being the dividing peak. The glacier
of the left-hand or northern branch is known as the Rudolf Glacier,
whilst the main body of the Tasman stretches some six miles further
north-eastwards to the Hochstetter Dome, where it again divides. The
saddle at the head of the left-hand branch, again, has been reached
by Dr. von Lendenfeld and by myself in our respective ascents of the
Hochstetter Dome, and commands a superb view of the Whymper Glacier and
valley, and of the Wataroa River on the west coast. The head of the
branch to the right of the Hochstetter Dome has not yet been reached by
man.
Taking a retrospective glance again at the peaks on either hand, and
commencing at the lower end of the glacier, we have first on our right
the Liebig Range till opposite the Ball Glacier, when the _embouchure_
of the Murchison Valley occurs, followed by the Malte Brun Range, with
the main peak—the Matterhorn of New Zealand—opposite to Mount de la
Bêche, then the Darwin Glacier followed by the mountain of the same
name, and then the saddle between Mount Darwin and the Hochstetter Dome.
Now, again, on the left or western side of the great glacier we have
the Mount Cook Range for ten miles, the Ball Glacier, Aorangi, the
Hochstetter Glacier, Mounts Tasman, Haast, Haidinger, Glacier Peak,
Mounts Spencer, Kant, Rudolf (at the head of the Rudolf Glacier), De la
Bêche, Green, and Elie de Beaumont, the last followed by the Lendenfeld
Saddle, to which I have already referred.
From Mount Tasman northwards to this saddle all these mountains are
situated in the main chain. Aorangi itself, though popularly believed
to belong to the main divide, is in reality separated from it by a
rocky ridge and a saddle of about 10,500 feet, which leads to the
Hooker Glacier on the one hand and the Linda on the other, both being
east of the main divide. Aorangi itself, therefore, consists of a
divergent ridge, the whole of whose drainage goes eastward.
Though for some years I have believed this to be the case, it is only
quite recently that I have been able to substantiate the belief by
ocular demonstration, when the ascent of the mountain was accomplished
by Mr. Dixon and myself. To this expedition I shall refer later on.
The reader must picture to himself the great Tasman Glacier, nearly two
miles in width and eighteen to twenty in length, occupying the whole
of the bed of the valley, and fed on both sides by numerous tributary
ice streams from the mountains.
Of the Murchison Valley it is not necessary for me to speak just now,
as the topographical features will be described when I come to tell the
story of its exploration. Neither is it needful to refer in further
detail to the Tasman for the same reason.