THE FIRST EXPLORATION OF THE MURCHISON GLACIER
_Hard Swagging—Erroneous Maps—The Struggle for Starvation
Saddle—Exhaustion and Hunger—Return_
‘Fresh fields and pastures new.’
I had often cast a longing eye in the direction of the Murchison
Valley, and desired to explore those unvisited scenes which were as
yet unknown and unseen by man. We had frequently during this visit to
the district spoken of making an excursion in that direction should
Mount Cook prove too heavy metal for us. Now was our chance, and we
determined to take it.
Leaving the Hermitage with an addition to our party in the shape of
Messrs. Wells, Timson, and Hamilton—the former two only intending to
visit the Tasman Glacier, and the latter anxious to accompany us on the
Murchison trip—we made the Ball Glacier camp, after the usual hard,
hot grind over the moraine, by evening.
The next morning breaking fine, Wells and Timson went for an hour’s
excursion on to the glacier opposite, returning enchanted with
the grand view of the Hochstetter ice-fall and the surrounding
peaks, whilst the rest of us—viz. Harper, Hamilton, Annan, and
myself—prepared swags for a two days’ excursion up the Murchison
Valley, whose mouth could be discerned some two miles distant across
the Tasman Glacier.
It is a fact worthy of notice that with the exception of mountaineering
parties equipped for climbing—and the numbers of these could be
counted on the fingers of both hands—Messrs. Wells and Timson were
the first two tourists to venture so far up the Tasman as our camp,
and since that time only one other has succeeded in reaching the same
point, that gentleman being his Excellency the Earl of Onslow, Governor
of the colony, whose practical penetration regarding all matters
connected with New Zealand entitles him to the respect and gratitude of
those subjects over whom he exercises vice-regal control.
Since the visit of Lord Onslow a track which had then been formed
within two or three miles of the Ball Glacier has been completed,
making the task of reaching the spot one of comparative ease and
pleasure. Further conveniences for tourists and mountaineers in the
shape of tracks and huts are now in course of construction by a
far-seeing Government, who recognise the fact that New Zealand is fast
becoming the playground of Australasia and the Switzerland of the South.
From careful inquiries made at the Survey Office, from Mr. Sealy—a
gentleman whose early work of exploration amongst the New Zealand
glaciers is too readily forgotten—and from the run-holders and
station hands in the district, we had every reason to believe that the
valley had only once been entered (by Mr. Burnett of Mount Cook sheep
station), and that the face of the glacier had never been reached; only
in one case could we hear of the clear ice having been seen—viz., by
a shepherd of Mr. Burnett’s from a peak of the Liebig range.
There was therefore little or no doubt that we had a virgin field
before us, and it was with feelings of intense eagerness that we
pressed forward across the moraine-covered part of the Tasman Glacier,
and up the shingle flats of the river-bed beyond, towards that massive,
moraine-covered terminal face which fills the valley from side to side,
five miles from the eastern lateral face of the Tasman Glacier.
The valley appeared to be a little over one mile in width. On either
hand rose up most beautifully grassed slopes thickly covered with every
variety of sub-Alpine foliage decked in the gayest height of blossom.
What a place for an artist’s holiday! Flowers innumerable dotted
amongst the richest shades of green—lilies, celmisias in great
variety, Spaniards of many kinds with their golden and spiky heads of
various shapes and sizes, from the orange-coloured dwarf to the great
blue Spaniard with stalks occasionally ten feet in height; snow-grass
with its graceful seed-stalks gently waving in the morning zephyr,
which seemed to fan all Nature into a soft and dreamy repose—such
wealth of colour, such variety of form, such grandeur of outline in the
looming peaks above!
Yes; here the artist might fairly lose himself in delight amongst the
subjects for his brush whilst drinking in the pure sympathy with Nature
which seems to float in the very air.
It is no dream, this lovely valley, though it seems as one. But its
flowers go with the warm geniality of summer, and when the cold winter
comes round it dons its white garment of snow, hiding its beauties
until the hand of gentle spring once more wakens them to burst forth
anew in all their resplendent glory.
Proceeding up the valley between these magnificent mountains we kept
moving onward in a north-easterly direction under the flanks of the
Malte Brun Range, on to whose slopes we were now and then forced by
encroaching streams from the meandering river, and we arrived early in
the afternoon at a large boulder-fan issuing from a rocky gorge above,
whence a magnificent waterfall descended. Here we boiled the ‘billy’
and lunched, making an inspection of the scene, which is one of the
grandest beauty.
Far up in the heavens stands out a noble peak of the Malte Brun Range,
rising out of a glacier which nestles in a basin of rock and bristles
with _séracs_ and pinnacles of blue ice pouring into the gorge below,
from whence issues an imposing waterfall of seventy or eighty feet,
sending up clouds of spray and drenching all within its immediate
vicinity. From long action of the water an almost semicircular cylinder
about ten feet in circumference has been worn into the solid rock, and
the force of water descending this strange funnel seems to drive out in
one direction a current of air which carries the spray with it.
All around this fall the vegetation is most luxuriant, and the rocks
are covered with flowering plants in great profusion, and, in parts
where the spray falls, plants, rare elsewhere, notably the myosotis,
flourish in the abundant moisture.
Taking a more northerly direction we came to the terminal face of the
glacier, which by aneroid measurement we made 3,640 feet—much the
same altitude as our Ball Glacier camp. The survey of the glacier has,
however, since been effected, and this point determined as 3,305 feet.
The moraine is composed of unusually large polyhedral masses of rock,
and is 200 feet in height at the main exit of the river, which is
situated about the middle of the terminal face.
A backward view down the valley revealed but one distant peak—Mount
Sealy—the northernmost of the Ben Ohau Range. This peak was evidently
the only one from which the clear ice of the Murchison can be seen, if
we except those of the Liebig and Malte Brun Ranges, and as none of
these peaks have been ascended, this fact probably accounts for the
Murchison Glacier, which is the second largest in New Zealand, having
lain so long unexplored.
Proceeding up on the western side of the moraine, a new branch glacier
descending from the Malte Brun Range opened out on our left, its lower
ice forming a fine frozen cascade, whilst a waterfall of some 200 feet
descends over a rocky face from its southern and hanging portion. To
this glacier and fall we have given the name of ‘Onslow,’ in honour of
his Excellency the Earl of Onslow.
As it was now getting dark we decided to bivouac for the night, and
selecting a bed of small gravel amongst the larger stones of the
moraine, we dined scantily on cold mutton and tea, and wriggling into
our waterproof blanket-bags were soon ready for sleep. At first all our
attempts at slumber were rendered futile by a congregation of keas, who
hopped around within a few feet of us, jabbering and swearing in their
own peculiar language at such a party of intruders on their domain.
The night was spent in comparative comfort, for we were beginning to
feel the effects of our desperate swagging, and could go to sleep
almost anywhere. It is simply astonishing what a man can put up with,
when he has to; I have slept soundly in all sorts of queer positions,
even upon a mixture of ice and sharp stones, without a tent and with
only one thickness of blanket, when the thermometer has been several
degrees below freezing point.
We were early aroused in the morning by the persistent attentions of
the keas; they even went the length of pecking at our sleeping-bags,
so tame and unaccustomed to man are they in these parts. We all
wanted more rest, but it was not to be thought of if we adhered to
our original plan of crossing a supposed saddle at the head of the
Murchison to the Tasman Glacier by Mount Darwin, and returning to our
head-quarters after accomplishing the circuit of the Malte Brun Range.
We were soon off, and toiled up the small valley formed by the lateral
moraine of the glacier and the slopes of the Malte Brun Range. About
a mile or so up we observed another glacier lying in a comparatively
low saddle above us on our left, beyond this a rocky spur, and then
another and larger branch glacier which for a time we took to be the
main body of the Murchison, as indicated by the maps. We made for it
and climbed its enormous face of ice, and then we discovered our error,
for there, a mile away across the moraine, lay the clear ice of the
Murchison, and far, far away northwards, the valley extended completely
filled with a magnificent _mer de glace_ of pure white ice. We stood
transfixed, for none of us had imagined that such a grand glacier lay
beyond.
Now we saw what was before us, and for a long time debated as to our
ability to face the work ahead.
Hamilton was shockingly out of condition, and a sinew in my leg was
becoming painful, Nature at last rebelling against the strain to which
she was being subjected. We had a very scanty supply of provisions, and
evidently it meant spending another night out if we proceeded.
The temptation was too much for us. We could not let this prize slip
through our fingers, so we decided to go on and put ourselves on
starvation rations rather than turn. Away we struck over the moraine,
and in an hour’s time reached the clear ice, here much crevassed.
Crossing with some difficulty we lunched on the eastern side. Casting
our eyes backward we could see splendidly all the fine peaks we had
been passing under, and could observe the continuation of the range
north-eastwards with five or six more branch glaciers, the final one
northward leading to a snow-field with a saddle at its head. This,
then, must be our saddle, we thought. But it seemed hopeless to cross
it in our tired condition and with our heavy swags.
We set our teeth, however, and went doggedly forward, striking out on
to the clear ice again and making a north-easterly course, at each step
realising more and more the grandeur of the immense ice-field now
gradually opening out and unfolding the wealth of mountain glory which
encloses it.
We tried in vain to identify Mount Darwin or the most northerly peaks
of the Malte Brun Range, which we knew were amongst those on our
left, and, according to our reckoning by the maps—framed from Von
Haast’s—which seems to have been compiled from guesswork as far as
this locality is concerned—we should at this time have been on the
Classen Glacier, which lies at the southern head of the Godley River,
and, in reality, was some miles north over the Liebig Range.
Passing several branch glaciers on our left, and observing that those
on our right were assuming larger proportions, we sidled obliquely
across and made for the snow-field leading to the saddle which we had
every reason to believe led into the Tasman. Altering our course to
due north, and crossing the lower and sloppy part of the snow-field,
which was flat and quite undrained by crevasses, we were soon on snow
in miserable order, and putting on the rope we wound our way gently
upwards amongst the crevasses now beginning to appear.
We had just six hours of daylight, and considered we could reach the
saddle in four if all went well, which would leave us two hours to find
a bivouac on the other side, provided the descent were feasible.
We found it necessary to change leaders again and again to distribute
the arduous task of breaking steps in treacherous snow, just in the
condition to let us through knee-deep as we put our weight on it, and
we had to observe the greatest caution in crossing the crevasses,
which were very deep and almost invariably half covered, or had edges
fringed with cornices of soft snow, which at times had to be removed or
trodden down to enable us to obtain a sound footing on the hard edges
concealed beneath it.
The grade steepened, and we all felt the hard work, more especially
Hamilton, who was sadly out of form, but stuck to his work like a
Trojan, despite the cruel punishing his swags were giving him.
Now we had to make our way across a slope where an avalanche had
recently come, and, worse than all, a thick mist accompanied by a keen
wind began to come over our saddle.
Still we pushed slowly upwards, resting every few minutes. Thoughts of
turning began to arise in our doubting minds. But this would not do
with the col so nearly within our grasp, and the cry was almost one
of ‘Death or victory!’ as we plodded laboriously upwards. Sometimes
we could not see fifty feet ahead, and were compelled to steer by the
compass, taking bearings of crevasses and ice blocks as we proceeded.
Now and then the mist would lift for a moment and we could catch a
glimpse of the longed-for saddle, and at last, when within a couple of
hundred feet, Annan and I cast off on a separate rope, made a rush—as
much of a rush as we could muster up—for the goal, hoping at least to
get a glimpse of the other side ere the mist became too dense.
Hurrah! the saddle was conquered! But what lay beneath? Mist! Mist!
Nothing but a thick impenetrable mist.
The other men arrived, and simultaneously, as if by some providential
magic, the fog began to dissipate.
As it cleared we looked in vain for the familiar points at the head
of the Tasman, which Annan and I knew full well. ‘Where’s Darwin?
Where’s Elie de Beaumont? Where’s the Dome?’ No point in sight could be
associated with the prominent features of the Tasman. As the low-lying
portions of the mist disappeared, we observed that the glacier below
flowed to the right! The Tasman should have flowed in the opposite
direction.
The truth flashed upon us, and a great cry of surprise went up, ‘The
Murchison! The Murchison!’ The very glacier whose middle parts we had
left three hours previously.
Then, leaving Hamilton exhausted on the saddle, the rest of us struck
up to some rocks 300 feet higher on the right, and once more a great
shout arose as Annan and I saw coming into view the unmistakable double
top of the great Hochstetter Dome, whose proud summit we had trodden
the previous season.
From these rocks we observed that the course of the glacier commenced
under a peak on our left (which must be Mount Darwin itself), and
running in a northerly direction for some four or five miles, turning
round the end of the spur upon which our saddle was situated, assumed a
south-westerly course.
The true saddle between the Murchison and Tasman lay across the glacier
below, north-west. Straight ahead of us, north by west, visible over
a rocky and unnamed peak on the opposite side of the valley, lay the
Dome, then to the north another snow saddle, evidently leading into
the Whymper Glacier, and so on to the Wataroa River of the west coast.
Following round the range to the right a very fine mountain stands
boldly up; to the right of this, again, is situated yet another snow
saddle, which we concluded must lead into the Classen Glacier.
The result of the Government survey of the Murchison Glacier, just
completed (1891), confirms our surmises regarding the topography of
this interesting district.
We were astonished at the great length which the Liebig Range assumes,
for it bounds the glacier throughout the whole of its eastern side,
diverging from the main chain of the Southern Alps some distance north
of the Hochstetter Dome.
Any attempt at a description of the panorama from our saddle would be
useless to convey an adequate idea of the view. Harper classed it as
similar in character to the views obtained at high altitudes in the
Bernese Oberland. An aneroid reading gave our height as about 7,900
feet, but this was much out, as by the recent survey the height of
the saddle has been trigonometrically determined as 7,194 feet. Our
estimate of the length of the glacier at the time was twelve miles, and
the survey has now fixed it at eleven and a half, whilst the average
width is as nearly as possible one mile.
[Illustration: MOUNTAIN LILIES (_Ranunculus Lyallii_)
[_Wheeler & Son, Photo._]
Reaching the saddle into the Tasman was now quite out of the question,
for it would involve a descent to the valley below, the crossing of the
upper parts of the glacier, and the scaling of more snow slopes, which
appeared to us to be impracticable owing to the numerous crevasses.
In addition to this, one man was lying _hors de combat_ on the snow
suffering from exhaustion and vomiting. Evidently the only course we
could pursue was to retrace our upward route, and that as quickly as
possible, for there were but three hours of daylight left to reach a
bivouac in the rocks lower down.
After erecting a small cairn, depositing a record of our ascent, and
giving three cheers for nobody quite knew what, we roped up and began
the descent.
It is astonishing how one’s spirits revive when a fresh set of muscles
is brought into action, aided by the force of gravitation, and though
we had been defeated in our attempt to reach the Tasman, what did that
matter? Though we were half-dead with starvation—‘Starvation Saddle’
is now the name of our _col_—and though a real weariness of the flesh
had taken hold of us, what matter? We had explored (I might almost say
discovered) the great glacier we had come out to see, and would be able
to settle all sorts of topographical errors in the maps, and could
speak with authority about many square miles of Alpine country hitherto
entirely unknown.
Our spirits rose as we descended, despite our hungry and tired state,
and we once more wound our way down among the crevasses, and reaching
the glacier again made for the lowest point we could before night
closed in. But we had an hour’s cruel moraine work in the dark ere we
found a sleeping-place on a bed of lilies, where we boiled our last
drop of Liebig and divided our remaining crust of bread.
It rained a little during the night, but we did not care for that with
our oilskin bags, and sleep visited our weary eyelids as it had never
done before.
Hamilton’s condition had improved, but his feet were sore and he was
very weak when at 4.30 A.M. we once more set off for our home on the
glaciers—the Ball Glacier camp. The prospect of boiled rice and fresh
chops lured us on as we made our way down the valley, and putting forth
our last remaining energy we made the ever-welcome refuge in eight
hours, Harper, who had most left in him, going on ahead and preparing a
substantial feed for the stragglers behind.
Oh, that tin plate of rice, _and_ those chops, _and_ that tea!
How came an exhibition of pluck rarely seen. After two hours’ rest
Hamilton said he must reach the Hermitage that night; despite our
dissuasions he determined to go on, and Annan generously volunteered
to accompany him. These two men actually reached the Hermitage that
evening at 8.30. It was the pluckiest day’s work I have ever seen done
in the mountains.
Harper and I came down next day in a snow storm, with fifty-pound swags.
Many people seem to think that a visit to the Alpine regions
necessarily entails contact with very cold weather, even in the summer
time. This is quite an erroneous idea, for on this occasion the
thermometer readings at the lower camp varied from 42° Fahr. in the
morning to 72° in the evening, and I should think that even during
the coldest night the instrument did not register much lower than the
first-named figure. We frequently went about in shirt and knickers
only, and the usual complaint is of the heat, not of the cold. Some
men suffer a good deal of discomfort from sunburn. I myself am a victim
in this respect. It is the upper and freshly fallen snow which is so
ruinous to the epidermis, the reflection from the new and unmelted
crystals being so great as to cause the skin to assume a dark chocolate
colour even during one-day’s work amongst it.
Sometimes blisters form, after which the skin puckers up and eventually
peels off in patches. The noses of persons possessed of aquiline
features are usually a study in themselves after a day or two’s
exposure on new snow.