FOURTH ATTEMPT TO CLIMB AORANGI
_We reach the Great Plateau at last—Defeat again—The Crossing of the
Ball Pass_
‘Perge et perage.’
Once again, on January 4, 1890, in company with Mr. Arthur Harper, a
gentleman who had then done two seasons’ climbing in Switzerland, I
left Christchurch to try conclusions afresh with the monarch of the
Southern Alps.
On this occasion we reached the Hermitage in two days from
Christchurch, riding from Fairlie Creek, and crossing the Tasman River
opposite Burnett’s Mount Cook sheep station. Here we were joined by
Annan, who had already conveyed the bulk of our impedimenta to the Ball
Glacier camp.
On arrival at this point I at once remarked that the ice of the
Ball Glacier had risen above its customary level, and seemed to be
encroaching in a lateral direction—a circumstance which undoubtedly
points to a cycle of advance in the great body of the ice, to be
registered at the terminal face in years to come.
It will not be out of place here to give a description of our usual
Alpine outfit, which may enable others to glean some idea of what is
requisite and convenient for Alpine work in New Zealand.
The most necessary gear for ice and rock work is suitable boots,
broad-soled and flat-heeled, shod well but not too thickly with heavy
hobs, wrought nails being preferable to cast. An ice-axe for each
man—not the light tourist’s axe, but a guide’s axe. Alpine rope
is quite indispensable, and Buckingham’s is the favourite make; we
usually take two or three 50-feet lengths. Two tents, 6 feet by 8
feet and 6 feet by 7 feet, the former for use at the head camp, the
latter a tent built after the ‘Whymper’ pattern with the floor sewn
in, but capable of being pitched on inverted ice-axes lengthened by
two 18-inch supplementary poles (an ingenious contrivance of Dixon’s).
Sleeping bags, 7 feet by 3 feet, made of blanketing, and covered
with an outside bag of oiled calico, impervious to water. Aneroid,
thermometer, prismatic compass, pocket compass. Goggles (neutral tint)
are invaluable, and save the eyes from the awful glare which is always
experienced on new snow and from the blinding sleet which drives in a
storm. Folding lanterns (Austrian pattern) often enable one to find the
way to camp when benighted or to make very early starts. A sheath-knife
comes in very handy in camp, and a supply of fresh nails for our boots
is never omitted, whilst a small ‘Aurora’ lamp stove is invaluable
above the line of vegetation, and a shanghai, or common schoolboy’s
window-breaker, is often useful in procuring birds for the _cuisine_.
[Illustration: THE TASMAN GLACIER FROM NEAR THE DE LA BÊCHE CAMP
[_From a Photograph by A. P. Harper_]
For clothing, woollen shirts and knickerbockers of warm tweed material
are the best, and great comfort is to be found in a loose-fitting
boating ‘sweater’ worn over the waistcoat.
For provisions we generally rely on fresh mutton, to be fried in the
pan or boiled in the ‘billy,’ bread, biscuits, rice, oatmeal, Liebig’s
Extract, chocolate, tea, and so on. A pound or two of fresh butter is
always a boon, and a few tins of marmalade, whilst to some men onions
supply the oft-felt want of a vegetable diet.
There is another indispensable, which here, as in the Caucasus, is very
necessary. I refer to the late Mr. Donkin’s naïve requisite at the end
of his Caucasus list—‘infinite patience’; and to this may be added
fixedness of purpose, determination, and perseverance.
* * * * *
Mount Cook, or Aorangi, from a climber’s point of view, is a very
difficult peak to climb, even to a height of 9,000 feet, which our
party attained on this occasion, chiefly on account of the length
and tiresomeness of its approach. It is simply part of a great ridge
which branches off in a southerly direction from the main divide of
the Southern Alps. From its three peaks, all situated on this ridge,
diverge four main spurs (or _arêtes_, as Alpine men call them). From
the lowest and southernmost peak (11,787 feet) descends to the Ball
Pass the southern _arête_; from the middle peak (12,173 feet) the
eastern _arête_, descending on to an enormous buttress which separates
the Ball and Hochstetter Glaciers; from the northernmost and highest
peak (12,349 feet) two _arêtes_ diverge, the north-eastern, separating
the Hochstetter and Linda Glaciers and terminating in the ice of the
Great Plateau; and, lastly, the northern ridge, connecting with the
main divide between Mount Tasman and St. David’s Dome. A comparatively
low rock saddle in this ridge occurs between the highest peak of
Aorangi and the junction with the main divide, leading on one hand into
the Linda Glacier, and on the other to the head of the Hooker Glacier.
Aorangi is thus quite cut off from the west coast, and has, in fact, no
‘western flanks,’ as is generally supposed.
It was an intensely hot day, and scarcely a breath stirred as Harper,
Annan, and I struck out on the now well-known route across the Ball and
Hochstetter Glaciers for the Haast Ridge, but the clear mountain air
seemed to rush into our lungs, putting health and strength into every
fibre.
The mountains were glorious in the noonday glare, and the foliage on
their lower slopes was in its gayest height of blossom. Now and then an
avalanche would thunder down in the ice-fall or from the higher slopes
above, or the whistle of a kaka down the valley could be detected.
These and the merry tinkling of the surface streams were the only
sounds to break the spell of silence and benignant peace which seemed
to reign over all. These are the scenes which go straight to the heart
of the true nature-loving mountaineer.
To reach the foot of the _couloir_ by which three years previously
Dixon, Inglis, and I had descended involved the usual amount of hot
scrambling up _tali_ or fans of detritus from the rocks above. Once
in the _couloir_ (which was snow-filled in places) we were not long
in reaching our old bivouac, where we deposited our first batch of
provisions, &c., our plan being to descend again that day and bring up
more supplies on the morrow.
Coming down, Harper had an almost miraculous escape from swift and
certain destruction. We were glissading on a snow slope when a mass
of rocks broke suddenly away from above and whizzed down the slope at
a terrific rate, passing within a few inches of Harper, who did not
observe them coming, though both Annan and myself had seen the rocks
start a hundred feet or so above him, and had shouted to warn him of
their descent.
This was a warning to us to be careful how we trusted snow _couloirs_
during the afternoon, after the sun’s rays had done their daily
work on the crust of the snow. It is by such lessons that we in New
Zealand have learnt without the aid of Swiss guides to understand, to
appreciate, and circumvent those dangers to which the Alpine climber is
always more or less exposed.
Another fine morning saw us off again with sleeping-bags, tent, &c.,
and by noon we were up at the bivouac with three days’ supplies. Only
resting for an hour or two we pushed on upwards, intending to cross the
Great Plateau—that ice-field of which we knew, but which we seemed
fated never to reach—and find some sheltering rocks under Aorangi’s
uppermost slopes where we might spend the night.
In a few minutes we reached Mr. Green’s sleeping-place, across which
now lay a rock weighing some tons (another warning), illustrating
forcibly the rotten state of the rocks.
We now roped and took to the snow, which led first on to a small dip
or saddle in the ridge (sloping off on the right to the Freshfield
Glacier and on the left to the Hochstetter ice-fall), and then on to
steep snow slopes leading up to the crest of the ridge overlooking the
plateau, now about 1,000 feet above us.
We proceeded cautiously over many half-covered crevasses, and crossing
the small dip or saddle took to the slopes beyond, now and then
taking to the rocks on our left. The climbing was somewhat dangerous,
mainly owing to the bad state of the snow, which would start away in
avalanches, or give way on the edge of a crevasse just at the moment
one put one’s weight on to spring.
At length we gained the highest rocks, which proved very bad going and
seemed likely to bring us to a stand; but the leading man going up the
last fifty feet alone, sent down a spare rope, making one end fast
above, by whose assistance the second man followed in safety, the last
man making the swags fast to the rope below to be hauled up. In the
act of hoisting them, however, one broke away, and commenced a furious
flight down the slopes up which we had so laboriously toiled. To the
swag was attached a pannikin and the tin cistern of our lamp stove, and
at every bound we could hear the rattling of the tin as we watched the
truant bundle leaping down, and we thought of what might be our fate,
were it not for our trusty rope and axes, should we start unexpectedly
down the steep slopes.
Still down went the swag, turning over on its ends and bounding over
crevasses in a manner which made us quite envious. At last it hovered
on a saddle. In breathless anxiety we wondered if it would stop, or
whether it would take the slope to the Hochstetter ice-fall on the
one hand, or the Freshfield on the other. One little effort more it
appeared to make, and then away it went, careering down again towards
the Freshfield ice-fall below.
Our hopes were shattered, and we were fast giving vent to expressions
of despair when the career of the swag was suddenly cut short in a
partially filled _bergschrund_, where it was brought up in some soft
snow.
We dared not risk staying out for the night where we were without
the lost swag, for no rocks affording any shelter were available, so
determined, after making a little further progress to get a view of the
plateau, to return to our bivouac at 7,400 feet—about 1,200 or 1,400
feet below our present altitude—and make a fresh attempt on the next
day, weather permitting. The last man came up the rope, and we made our
way up the final slopes of snow on to that great dome of glacier which
we had so often gazed on from below.
Ah, what a sight burst upon our astonished eyes as we gained its summit!
It seemed the very acme of mountain glory in all the glories around us.
A few hundred feet below lay that _terra incognita_, the Great Plateau,
rounding off southwards to the Hochstetter ice-fall, bounded on the
west by the giant form of Aorangi, on the north by Mount Tasman, and
on the east by Mount Haast and the ridge of that mountain on which we
now stood. The Linda Glacier could just be observed coming round the
north-eastern _arête_ of Aorangi, and on either side of it towered up
to the heavens the two grandest mountains in New Zealand—Aorangi and
Mount Tasman; the former a lowering fortress of black rock and hanging
glaciers, avalanche-streaked throughout, the latter an ice-clad mass
with three summits, covered thickly with hanging glaciers overlapping
one another as do shingles on a housetop, looking utterly unclimbable.
Only two masses of rock are visible, over which avalanches constantly
swept.
The sight is certainly the grandest of its kind I have seen in the
Southern Alps, and Harper tried in vain to recall its equal in
Switzerland.
After working our way upwards along the ridge to the nearest rocks we
deposited a note of our visit in a pannikin, and building a small cairn
over it, beat a retreat.
We experienced some difficulty in getting down the top rocks, but
eventually gained our footsteps in the snow, and following down the
route of the truant swag, recovered it from its snowy bed some 600 feet
below the point where it commenced its downward journey.
We arrived at the bivouac just before dark, and had scarcely finished
brewing a warm drink when down came a nor’-wester upon us.
Pitching the tent was out of the question, so piling stones upon it we
spent a miserably cold night, and by the time morning came all thoughts
of tackling Aorangi had flown, and soon we were speeding down to our
refuge at the Ball Glacier camp again.
Thus ignominiously ended my fourth attempt to climb Mount Cook.
In the afternoon Annan went down the valley with directions to join
us two days afterwards at the Hermitage, Harper and myself being
determined to cross the southern spur of Aorangi at the head of the
Ball Glacier, and work our way down the Hooker Glacier to the Hermitage.
THE FIRST CROSSING OF THE BALL PASS
Starting on a misty morning, we climbed what we call the Ball Glacier
spur—a ridge which diverges from the main ridge of the Mount Cook
Range at a point immediately south of the Ball Pass. It was by this
ridge that Mr. Green’s first and unsuccessful attempt was made, and up
this same route I had climbed the previous season with the photographer.
The major part of the climb is easy, good foothold being obtained on
the red sandstone rocks. In the upper part snow-fields alternate with
the rocks. The Ball Glacier lies couched in the valley on the right,
vast precipices going sheer down to it from the crest of the ridge,
whilst the slopes on the left descend to the Tasman Valley.
After four hours of climbing we reached the main southern _arête_,
and paused on the snow saddle for lunch and rest, and to admire the
splendid prospect of the eastern faces of the mountain, and the
ever-fresh, marvellous panorama of the Tasman Glacier.
Erecting a cairn on the rocks close by, and christening the saddle
after that father of mountaineering—John Ball—we commenced the
descent on a good snow slope towards the Hooker Glacier. All the
mountains on the western side were enveloped in mist, which, however,
fortunately hung high enough to enable us to discern the whole extent
of the Mueller Glacier and most of that of the Hooker.
Bearing away southwards to avoid the crevassed parts of the slope
below, we were soon enjoying a merry glissade—sometimes sitting,
sometimes standing, whizzing down in a cloud of snow which curled up
from our feet and showered down upon us.
Ah, the exhilaration of a good glissade! How you seem to fly through
the air and cleave the fast-speeding surface! How the snow hisses and
the axe grinds! How the excitement thrills you as you look out for
danger ahead, or rushing avalanches behind! There is nothing to touch
it—switchback railway, going downhill on a bicycle, skating—all are
far behind.
In a quarter of an hour we entered a rocky gorge, and still down we
sped on the snow, winding about in and out between magnificent rock
precipices, until before another fifteen minutes had elapsed we emerged
into the Hooker Valley, having come down 4,000 feet under half an hour.
Turning down the valley we kept to the old lateral moraine of the
Hooker Glacier (which stands 235 feet above the present level of the
glacier), and found it good walking.
Once more, however, fortune forsook us, and an enemy in the shape of
a south-west gale, accompanied with heavy rain, met us, against which
at times we could scarcely make any headway. But struggling on we
crossed the Hooker River on the ice of the Mueller Glacier, which at
that time spanned it, and reached the Hermitage drenched to the skin at
4.30—eight hours from the Ball Glacier.
This was the first, and up to the time of writing is the only crossing
of the Ball Pass, an excursion which ere long must become a favourite
one, for a track is just completed to the Ball Glacier, where a
two-roomed hut has been erected by the Government for the use of
tourists and mountaineers.
A finer point of observation than the Ball Pass would be hard to find,
as it commands the most comprehensive views of the Tasman, Hooker, and
Mueller Glacier systems.