Transcriber’s Notes
Hyphenation has been standardised.
Note: The name Mattias (under Zurbriggen) in the index, is not
mentioned anywhere in the project except in the index as follows:
Mattias, 18, 22, 53, 160, 295.
Zurbriggen’s christian name was Mattias.
Words surrounded with underscores indicate _italics_ and words
surrounded with the equals sign indicate =bold=.
Changes made are noted at the end of the book.
A CLIMBER IN NEW ZEALAND
“The superiority of the mountains to the lowlands
is as immeasurable as the richness of a painted
window matched with a white one, or the wealth of
a museum compared with that of a small furnished
chamber.”
RUSKIN.
“The king of day lingers lovingly about his white
throne in the Southern Alps, and from there he
burns his brilliant fires in the heavens above and
along the level world below.”
RUTHERFORD WADDELL.
[Illustration: MOUNT COOK.]
A CLIMBER
IN
NEW ZEALAND
BY
MALCOLM ROSS, A.C., F.R.G.S.
FORMERLY VICE-PRESIDENT OF THE NEW ZEALAND ALPINE CLUB
AUTHOR OF “AORANGI”, “IN TUHOE LAND”, ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY THE AUTHOR
LONDON
EDWARD ARNOLD
1914
[_All Rights Reserved_]
TO
MY WIFE
WHO IN CAMP AND BIVOUAC
REJOICED WITH US IN VICTORY
AND CHEERED US IN DEFEAT
PREFACE
Some of the material contained in the following pages appeared in the
_London Times_. My thanks are due to the manager for allowing me to
republish it. Articles that have appeared in the _Alpine Journal_ and
in some of the leading Australian and New Zealand newspapers—notably
the _Otago Daily Times_, the _Christchurch Press_, the _Wellington
Post_, the _New Zealand Times_, the _New Zealand Herald_, the
_Melbourne Age_, and the _Australasian_—have also been used. These
articles have all been re-written or revised. I am indebted to Dr.
Teichelman for the interesting illustration facing page 296, and to
the _Otago Witness_ for the photograph of the Rev. Mr. Green, Boss,
and Kaufmann. The other illustrations are from my own photographs. My
thanks are also due to Mr. A. L. Mumm, late Secretary of the Alpine
Club, and author of _Five Months in the Himalaya_, for the special
interest he has taken in the publication of this book. Finally, I must
record my great indebtedness to Lord Bryce, the distinguished Author
and Ambassador, and a former President of the Alpine Club, for the
charming introductory note that he has written.
M. R.
LONDON,
_February 7, 1914_.
PREFATORY NOTE
BY THE RIGHT HON. VISCOUNT BRYCE
On the west side of the Southern Island of New Zealand there rises from
the sea a magnificent mass of snowy mountains, whose highest peak,
Aorangi or Mount Cook, reaches an elevation of 12,347 feet. Some of the
loftiest summits are visible in the far distance from the railway which
runs down the east coast of the island from Christchurch to Dunedin,
but to appreciate the full grandeur of the range it must be seen
either from out at sea or from points north of it on the west coast.
The view from the seaport of Greymouth on that coast, nearly a hundred
miles from Aorangi, is not only one of the finest mountain views which
the world affords, but is almost unique as a prospect of a long line
of snows rising right out of an ocean. One must go to North-Western
America, or to the Caucasus where it approaches the Euxine, north of
Poti, or possibly to Kamschatka (of which I cannot speak from personal
knowledge), to find peaks so high which have the full value of their
height, because they spring directly from the sea. The Andes are of
course loftier, but they stand farther back from the shore, and they
are seldom well seen from it.
In Southern New Zealand the line of perpetual snow is much lower than
it is in the Alps of Europe. It varies, of course, in different parts
of the range; but generally speaking, a mountain 12,000 feet high in
New Zealand carries as much snow and ice as one of 15,000 feet in the
Swiss Alps, and New Zealanders point with pride to glaciers comparable
to the Aletsch and the Mer de Glace. On the west, some of the great
ice-streams descend to within seven hundred feet of sea-level, and
below the line of perpetual snow the steep declivities are covered with
a thick and tangled forest, extremely difficult to penetrate, where
tree ferns grow luxuriantly in the depths of the gorges. The region
is one of the wettest and most thickly wooded in the world; and it is
a region that might have lain long unexplored, except in those few
spots where gold has been found, had it not been for the growth, about
seventy years ago, of the passion for mountaineering, which has carried
British climbers all over the earth in search of places where their
prowess could find a field for its display. The first who forced their
way into it were some New Zealand Government surveyors in 1862.
The first mountaineer to attempt Aorangi was my friend the Rev. W.
S. Green of Dublin (now one of the most honoured veterans of our own
Alpine Club), who had all but reached the summit when nightfall and
bad weather forced him to turn back. After him came some bold New
Zealand climbers and Mr. E. A. Fitzgerald. One of the former, Mr. T.
C. Fyfe, with his companions, George Graham and J. Clark, reached
the very top of Aorangi in 1894. Among these native mountaineers Mr.
Malcolm Ross has been one of the most daring and most persevering. I
had the pleasure, at Wellington, New Zealand, a year and a half ago,
of listening to a most interesting description which he gave of his
adventures and those of his comrades, and could realize from it the
dangers as well as the hardships which the climber has to face in New
Zealand. The weather, on the west coast especially, can be awful, for
fierce storms sweep up from the Tasman Sea, that most tempestuous
part of the Pacific, whose twelve hundred miles furnished the twelve
hundred reasons why New Zealand declined to enter the Australian
Federation. The base of operations is distant, for no alpine hotels
and hardly any shelter huts have yet been built, such as those which
the Swiss, German-Austrian, and Italian Alpine clubs have recently
provided in their mountain lands. The New Zealand climber, who has
been almost always his own guide, has sometimes to be his own porter
also. And the slopes and glens, when one approaches the west coast,
are covered with so dense a growth of trees and shrubs that progress
is always slow and often difficult. No finer work in conquering nature
has been done by climbers anywhere than here. But the guerdon was
worth the effort. The scenery is magnificent, with a character that
is all its own, for New Zealand landscapes are unlike not only those
of our northern hemisphere, but those of South America also; and the
youth of the Islands have been fired by the ambition to emulate those
British mountaineers whose achievements they admire, as well as by a
patriotic love for their own beautiful and fascinating land. I hope
that the fresh and vivid descriptions Mr. Ross gives of the charms of
New Zealand landscape, and of the scope which its peaks and glaciers
afford for the energy and skill of those who find that the European
Alps have now little that is new to offer, may draw to it more and more
visitors from Britain.
_February 2, 1914._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
DESCRIPTIVE AND HISTORICAL
PAGE
_Terra Incognita_—An Experiment in Acclimatization—The Volcanic
Mountains—The Thermal Region—Volcano of Ngauruhoe—The
Southern Alps described—Physical and Economic Aspects—Influence
upon Character—The Early Explorers—Green’s
Historic Climb—First Ascents—Immunity from Accident 1
CHAPTER II
IN THE OLDEN DAYS
Across the Mackenzie Plains—The Alpine Lakes—The Cuisine _en
route_—A Jehu in a Rage—The Old Hermitage—A Passing
Storm—Provisioning a Camp—A Huge Moraine—Sub-Alpine
Vegetation—Adding to the Larder—Crossing an Alpine River—We
bivouac in the Valley—Feathered Visitors—In Tent in the
Wilds 24
CHAPTER III
IN THE OLDEN DAYS—_concluded_
First Sight of the Hochstetter Ice Fall—An Alpine Panorama—Bad
Weather—The Musings of a Lady Mountaineer—A Storm
in Camp—An Acrobatic Feat—Return to the Hermitage—A
Scramble on Sealy—First Meeting with Fyfe—An
Avalanche from Sefton—On the Mountain-Side 39
CHAPTER IV
THE CONQUERING OF AORANGI
We arrange an Expedition—The Difficulties of Transport—Quicksands
in the Tasman River—The Manufacture of Ski—Flight
of our Porter—The Climb to the Bivouac Rock—Difficulties
with the Cooker—Preliminary Step-Cutting—Plans for a
Higher Bivouac 52
CHAPTER V
THE CONQUERING OF AORANGI—_continued_
The Joys of High Bivouacking—Caught in a Storm—Thunder
and Lightning—We lower the Tent—A Cold Repast—Retreat—We
lose our Swags—New Fashions at the Old Hut—Other
Arrivals—A Cook in Trouble—Another Storm—I return
Home 65
CHAPTER VI
THE CONQUERING OF AORANGI—_continued_
Another Attack—Digging out the Frozen Tent—Camp on the
Plateau—Finding a New Route—Blocked by a Wall of Rock—Some
Acrobatic Performances—Defeat once more—Finding
the Lost Swags—Return to the Hut—A Fourth Attempt—Back
to the Plateau—Climbing by Lantern-Light—Loss of an
Ice-Axe—The Final Ice-Cap gained—Retreat once more—A
Terrible Storm 77
CHAPTER VII
THE CONQUERING OF AORANGI—_concluded_
Green’s Route abandoned—Fyfe and Graham explore the Hooker
Side—Camp on the Ice—Serious Work at a Schrund—A
Long Couloir—Green’s Saddle gained—Difficult Rock-Work—Success
at Last—The Descent—Falling Stones 105
CHAPTER VIII
ABOVE THE PLAINS
The Tararua Range—A Mountain Railway—Our Unknown Host—The
Charm of High Places—Through the Beech Forest—Insects
and Birds—Mr. and Mrs. Kohoperoa—A Botanist’s
Paradise—The Old and the New—A Reverie on a Hill-Top 116
CHAPTER IX
DOWN IN THE VALLEYS
The Valley of the Mueller—A Trying Moraine—Our _al fresco_ Camp—A
Bivouac Dream—Retreat in the Rain—In the Valley of
the Tasman—Reflections on being one’s own Porter—The
Curious Kea—Dentistry at a Mountain Hut—An Evening
under a Rock 128
CHAPTER X
AN ASCENT OF HAIDINGER
A Glacier Tramp—The Penguin Rocks—A Fairyland Grotto—Second
Breakfast and some Reflections—Rock Avalanches—Beautiful
Schrunds—A Sharp Arête—Scaling a Precipice—Zurbriggen’s
Axe—A Difficult Ice Slope—A Problem solved
by Rubber—On the Summit Ridge—A Splendid Panorama—The
Descent—The Bivouac again 144
CHAPTER XI
AN INTERLUDE
Thunderstorm at the Hut—The Sun-bonnet Brigade—Our Habitation—The
Housing Problem—Cooking _al fresco_—Cards and a
Late Dinner—Memories of Boiled Mutton 158
CHAPTER XII
DE LA BÊCHE AND THE MINARETS
Mount De la Bêche—Early Attempts—An Historic Bivouac—Heroic
Pluck and Endurance—View down the Valley—Reflections
under a Rock—Caught in the Mist—Provisions
run low—Moraines by Candle-light—Breakfast on a Summit—A
Scene in Cloudland—Crossing a Bergschrund—First
Ascent of the Minarets—A Quick Descent—Return to the Hut 165
CHAPTER XIII
ACROSS THE SOUTHERN ALPS
We decide to make a New Pass—Bivouac at Malte Brun—A Start
by Moonlight—Early Morning on the Glacier—Dawn on the
Pass—Rotten Rock and Broken Ice—Some Difficult Climbing—An
Ice Fall and an Avalanche Shoot—We reach the
Whymper Glacier—A Cannonade from the Dome—We
explore New Country—West Coast Vegetation 178
CHAPTER XIV
ACROSS THE SOUTHERN ALPS—_continued_
An Uncomfortable Bivouac and a Frugal Meal—We start down
the Valley—Through the Virgin Forest—Grandeur of the
Scenery—An Interesting Discovery—Blocked by Gorges—A
Veritable Fairyland—We bivouac on the River Bank—A
Sleepless Night 193
CHAPTER XV
ACROSS THE SOUTHERN ALPS—_concluded_
An Adventure in the River—Dripping Mountaineers—The Sand-Flies
have an Innings—On Short Commons—Wild Cattle in
the Forest—Footprints on the Sands—Down the Broad Valley—A
Habitation at last—Fyfe goes into Hospital—An Exciting
Ride—Gillespie’s Beach—In a Miner’s Hat—Bivouac under
a Rock—I recross the Alps alone—Back at the Hermitage 202
CHAPTER XVI
IN KIWI LAND
Early Expeditions—A Lost Explorer—The Aborigines—The Great
Lakes—Primitive Navigation—The Grandeur of Te Anau—Over
MacKinnon’s Pass—Views from the Summit—Mount
Balloon in Dangerous Mood—A Bivouac in the Forest—Camp
Cookery—Down the Arthur River—In Milford Sound 215
CHAPTER XVII
IN KIWI LAND—_concluded_
Some Unexplored Country—Discovery of New Glaciers—Camp on
an Old Moraine—The Birds of Kiwi Land—A Spotless Glacier—Strange
Bergschrunds—Difficult Step-Cutting—Ice-Glazed
Rocks—An Exciting Glissade—Benighted—A Cold Bivouac—The
Southern Stars—The Cross and the Bear—A Dreary
Vigil—Camp again—Return Journey in the Rain—Countless
Waterfalls—A Concert in Camp—The Lost Explorers 236
CHAPTER XVIII
THE FIRST CROSSING OF MOUNT COOK
Incidents _en route_—Digging out a Hut—On the Liebig Range—Dawn
on Mount Cook—A Minor Peak—Elie de Beaumont—Defeated
by the Weather—A Splendid Sunset—Keas again 264
CHAPTER XIX
THE FIRST CROSSING OF MOUNT COOK—_continued_
Testing a Leg—A Moonlight Ride—We start for the Traverse—Avalanches—The
Rolling Mists—The Commissariat—The
Plateau by Moonlight—Schrunds in the Dusk—A 3000-Feet
Slope—On the Main Arête—Snow Ridges and Rocks—Magnificent
Views—The Final Slopes—The Summit gained 283
CHAPTER XX
THE FIRST CROSSING OF MOUNT COOK—_concluded_
On the Summit of Aorangi—We commence the Descent—An Ice-Glazed
Rock Arête—Suspended over a Precipice—A Sloping
Chimney—An Ungraceful Descent—Graham loses his Hat—A
Cold Wind—Down a Frozen Slope—Falling Stones and Ice—An
Accident—Cutting Steps by Moonlight—The Final Bergschrund—Crevasses
by Candle-Light—Our Second Sunrise—The
Hermitage at last 297
INDEX 313
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Mount Cook, from a Tarn on the Sealy Range _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
Ruapehu from Ngauruhoe, looking through the Rift at the Side of
the latter Volcano 6
Crater of Ngauruhoe, party on farther lip of Inner Crater
through which clouds of steam rise 3000 feet 10
Kaufmann, Rev. W. S. Green, and Boss in New Zealand 16
Jack Clark, New Zealand Alpine Guide 16
Peter Graham, New Zealand Alpine Guide 16
The Hermitage, Mount Cook 30
Crossing the Hooker River in the Cage 48
Crossing the Tasman River, Dixon driving 54
Camp Cookery at Bivouac Rock, De la Bêche 54
The Mount Cook Bivouac 66
The Hooker River, Moorhouse Range in background 74
Camp on Plateau, during attacks on Mount Cook 88
Crossing the Murchison River—Fyfe and Turner 88
Elie de Beaumont, from Malte Brun Bivouac 100
Mount Cook from the Upper Tasman 114
Mount Darwin 122
Mount Sefton; the short white line at foot of dark moraine in
middle distance is the Hermitage 130
Cooking Scones at Ball Glacier Camp 140
T. C. Fyfe, emerging from Murchison River 140
The Sun-bonnet Brigade, on Tasman Glacier Ice Cliff 158
On the Upper Tasman, Mount Darwin in background 158
De la Bêche Bivouac Rock 166
Crevasse on Tasman Glacier, from 400 to 500 feet deep 182
On Lake Te Anau 222
Homeward Bound, Sealy Range with Footstool of Sefton in
background 244
Mount Walter, part of Elie de Beaumont on right 272
Above the Clouds: view from Mount Cook Bivouac; Tasman
Glacier thousands of feet below; Leibig Range in background 286
Mount Tasman, from 11,000 feet on Mount Cook 290
A 3000-feet Slope, the dotted line indicates route to where the
Zurbriggen Arête is reached 296
Summit of Mount Cook: First photograph of it taken: Graham,
Turner, and Fyfe on summit 296
A CLIMBER IN NEW ZEALAND
CHAPTER I
DESCRIPTIVE AND HISTORICAL
We took the path our fathers trod,
With swinging stride, and brave:
The thews we have, the hearts we hold,
Are what our fathers gave.
Wandering through an English village, not so many years ago, a friend
chanced upon a dame’s school in which New Zealand was being described
as “some small islands off the coast of Australia, infested with
rabbits”; and only three years ago my wife was asked by a lady in the
Lyceum Club, in London, if the Maoris were still cannibals, and if
there were tigers in the jungle! It is not, perhaps, surprising, then,
that astonishment should still be expressed when the statement is made
that New Zealand has Alps and glaciers vieing in grandeur and in beauty
with those of Switzerland. Distant fields are green, but seldom white;
and New Zealand is a Far Country. The New Zealander, however, born and
bred fifteen thousand miles away, still calls England “Home.” Long may
he continue to do so! He knows more of England than England knows of
him, and in time of stress he will cheerfully give, out of his slender
means, a battle-cruiser as an object-lesson to the world; or, in time
of danger, dye the veldt with his own red blood. And there will be
nothing of selfishness in the sacrifice, as has sometimes been hinted
to me by the Little Englander.
But, reverting to the main question, this ignorance in regard to the
Outer Empire, which still prevails, reminds one of the story told by a
well-known author on mountaineering, who once saw in the parlour of a
cottage in England a wonderful erection of what appeared to be brown
paper and shavings, built up in rock-like fashion, covered with little
toy-box trees and dotted here and there with bits of mirror glass and
cardboard houses. “What,” inquired the visitor, “may this be?” “That,”
said the owner of the house, very slowly, “is the work of my late
’usband—a representation of the Halps, as close as ’e could imagine it,
for ’e never was abroad.”
Like this lady’s “late ’usband,” there are many people who have
heard of our Alps and volcanoes, yet have little idea of their size
and importance. Let me endeavour, by way of introduction,—which the
non-Alpine reader may skip if he likes,—to give some idea of the
character of these mountains and of their history from a climber’s
point of view.
The flora and fauna of the New Zealand mountains are especially
interesting, but it would need much more space than is available within
the limits of this book to deal adequately with them. Such references
as I have made are only the passing comments of the climber, and not,
in any way, the studied dissections of the scientist. But there is one
matter, partly of historic and partly of scientific interest, the facts
of which may very well be placed on record here. It relates to an
experiment in acclimatization that is, I believe, unique in the history
of the world.
I had often thought about the introduction of chamois to the Southern
Alps; but the difficulties of capturing a sufficient number and of
transporting them from the heart of Europe half-way round the world
and through the tropic seas seemed so great as to make the experiment
almost impossible of achievement. But some few years ago, when my
friend Kontre-Admiral Ritter Ludwig von Höhnel, then an honorary
aide-de-camp on the staff of the Emperor of Austria and King of
Hungary,—himself a famous chamois hunter,—was in New Zealand, we talked
the matter over. Höhnel then said to me that if he could get some of
the curious New Zealand birds, such as the kiwi, the weka, the kakapo,
and the kea for His Majesty’s Zoological Gardens at Schönbrunn, he
believed that the Emperor, in return, would send out some chamois for
the New Zealand Alps. This was too good a chance to be missed, and I
told him that, so far as the New Zealand Government was concerned,
I felt sure that our side of the project was already as good as
arranged. Von Höhnel replied that he could not, of course, speak for
the Emperor, but he would do his best to persuade him. Without more
ado I took my friend along and introduced him to Mr. T. E. Donne, then
the head of the Tourist Department, and he, being keenly interested in
acclimatization matters and also a sportsman, promptly fell in with
the idea, which was also readily taken up and sanctioned by Sir Joseph
Ward, at that time the minister in charge of the Tourist Department.
In due course the birds were sent to Austria, and eight chamois were
forwarded to New Zealand via London in 1907. The chamois arrived in
New Zealand on March 14th of the same year. They received the utmost
attention on the voyage, and stood the journey very well. I went to see
them on the arrival of the steamer, and they appeared to be in fine
condition. Afterwards they were sent by steamer and train and wagon to
Mount Cook and liberated in their new home in the Southern Alps. A few
years ago some of them were seen, by one of the guides, with young at
foot.
The other day, while in Vienna, I paid a visit to Schönbrunn, and
looked for the New Zealand birds. I found that all but one had died.
He was a sedate and venerable kea, and very sad he looked, confined,
as he was, in an ordinary parrot cage. I said a few words to him in
his own kea language, and he cocked his head knowingly on one side
and eyed me curiously as if he had heard the sounds before but had
almost forgotten them. For his own part, he seemed to have lost the
power of speech in kea language. I have no doubt in the years gone by
he was one of the young bloods of Kea land who used to come home with
the milk and rouse us from our peaceful slumbers in the mountain hut
on the Great Tasman Glacier, and that I myself had hurled both stones
and imprecations at his wise-looking head. But now I felt sad at heart
when I saw him cribbed, cabined, and confined in his little cage. It
seemed as if his death after all would be laid at my door, and I longed
to take him back with me to his friends and relatives in his home in
the Southern Alps. But with the chamois it is different. They have a
new home more glorious than their old one, and for years to come they
must be protected from the gun of the hunter. In these Southern Alpine
solitudes they can multiply and thrive in the land of the bird for
which they were exchanged, while he—poor fellow—pines in his foreign
cage.
The capturing of these chamois for New Zealand resulted in the
destruction of many others, which, in their wild flight from their
would-be captors, dashed themselves to death over the precipices of
their rocky fastnesses, while others were maimed. There was therefore
an outcry in Austria against their capture. Through the persistent
efforts of the Admiral, however, the experiment is to be repeated this
year on a small scale. I had the good fortune to meet him again in
Vienna the other day, and he was quite keen about it, there being now,
of course, a necessity for a change of blood if the experiment is to
be quite a success. New Zealand owes to the Emperor Franz Josef and to
Rear-Admiral von Höhnel its best thanks for their efforts in connexion
with this novel essay.
The mountain system of New Zealand is as varied as it is interesting.
In the North Island there is a series of volcanic mountains as
fascinating, almost, as are the Southern Alps. How the fire came to New
Zealand is told in Maori legend. The Maoris themselves looked upon the
higher volcanic mountains with superstitious awe, and they considered
them _tapu_, or sacred. No white man, and certainly no Maori, dared
set foot upon them; and the fact that they were _tapu_ prevented, for
a long time, the obtaining of scientific knowledge regarding their
craters and their summit configuration generally. Their origin was
attributed to a famous _tohunga_, or high priest, who piloted one of
the canoes of the early migrants from Hawaiki, the fabled home of the
Maori people. This man, with another high chief, took possession of
all the country between the Bay of Plenty and Mount Ruapehu. In order
to assure fruitful years, these two ascended the neighbouring volcano
of Ngauruhoe, and set up an altar to make the necessary incantations.
The cold then, as now, was very bitter,—for the winds blow keen from
the adjacent snows,—and it seemed as if the old _tohunga_ would die,
when happily the thought occurred to him of sending for some of the
sacred fire that was in the keeping of one of his sisters in far-away
Hawaiki. She straightway came with the fire. Wherever she halted in
her underground travels there fire remained, and where she came to the
surface to breathe there appeared boiling pools and geysers. Thus there
was a trail of fire and boiling pools all along her route from White
Island, down through all the thermal region to Ngauruhoe and Ruapehu.
The fire revived the old man, and, in commemoration of the event,
he left it burning in Ngauruhoe. As a sacrifice to the gods he cast
his slave wife down the crater, and the mountain has ever afterwards
been called by her name. The legend is picturesque, but unsatisfying.
Years afterwards a famous chief called Te Heuheu was killed in a great
landslip on the shores of Lake Taupo. His body was being taken to
burial on the sacred mountain, when a terrific thunderstorm, or an
eruption, came on, and the bearers, hastily depositing their burden
in a cave, turned and fled. This made the mountain still more sacred
and the early scientists dared not attempt to explore the range. Both
Hochstetter and Dieffenbach must have been greatly disappointed that
they were not allowed to set foot upon these sacred mountains, because
then, as now, Ngauruhoe was the real centre of volcanic energy in New
Zealand.
[Illustration: RUAPEHU FROM NGAURUHOE.]
It is, however, the thermal region in the vicinity of Lakes Rotorua,
Rotomahana, Tarawera, and Taupo that is best known to the great
majority of New Zealanders and to the sight-seers, who, from all parts
of the civilized world, flock to this truly wonderful region. All the
thermal phenomena possible seem to have been plentifully distributed
throughout this territory. The crowning glory of it all was the Pink
and White Terraces; but these, alas! are no more, for on June 10,
1886, they were either blown to bits or buried in the rain of mud and
scoria that came from the eruption of Tarawera, and made the beautiful
surrounding country a desolate wilderness. The story of that eruption
with its loss of life, both Maori and European, has often been told,
and there is no need to repeat it here. Nature is gradually reclothing
the scarred hillsides, and even the bruised and wounded trees have been
healed by the hand of time. The tourist wanders through the land just
as he did before the eruption, and the birds and the fish killed or
starved to death, as a result of the rain of mud and stones and fiery
bombs, have been replaced by others of their kind. In this particular
part of the thermal region the main centre of activity remained at
the site of the old terraces, but during later years it seems to
have shifted to the region of the famous but short-lived Waimangu
geyser. This huge geyser threw a column of boiling water, steam, mud,
and stones considerably over a thousand feet in air. In August 1903
the geyser was the scene of a terrible tragedy, an unusually severe
eruption resulting in the death of two young girls, another visitor,
and the guide, Joe Warbrick. The party had gone rather close in order
to get a photograph. The eruption suddenly became terrific, and a
great column of boiling water, shooting out at an angle, swept them
off the hill into the overflow from the geyser. They were carried
down in boiling water for nearly a mile towards Lake Rotomahana. The
bodies were recovered shortly afterwards. Within the last few years
Waimangu has become quiescent, but there is still great activity near
by at a spot that has been aptly named Frying-pan Flat. There is much
thermal activity too on what is supposed to be the site of the old Pink
Terraces.
The completion of the North Island Main Trunk Railway has now brought
the volcanoes within easy reach both of Wellington and Auckland, and
year by year Ruapehu, Ngauruhoe, and the Tongariro Range are becoming
favoured playgrounds for the more energetic class of holiday-makers.
Ngauruhoe is apparently entering upon a period of renewed activity, and
within the last four or five years there have been some fine volcanic
displays from its crater. It is a perfect volcanic cone, 7515 feet
high, and terminates the Tongariro Mountain Range to the southward—a
range that has, within comparatively recent times, been the scene of
tremendous volcanic energy. The desolate nature of the country on the
eastern side of the mountain, and the vast extinct craters of the range
itself, are now silent witnesses of the fiery activity of bygone ages.
There are still several centres of great thermal energy on the
Tongariro Range. At the lower and northern end Te Mari and Ketetahi
are in a state of almost perpetual turmoil, and clouds of steam rising
from their seething cauldrons are visible many miles away. The Red
Crater, near the middle of the Range, is still hot in places, and jets
of steam hiss through small vents in the gloriously tinted rocks of
its sides. At the extreme southern end of the range is the active
volcano of Ngauruhoe. In winter-time its slopes are clothed in snow
and ice. Occasionally, for days at a time, it sends a vast column of
steam fully 3000 feet in the air, and then it is a magnificent sight.
At the period of greatest activity the scene must have been almost
beyond description. Ngauruhoe was then, indeed, a hell unchained. A New
Zealand poet—Mr. D. M. Ross—has graphically depicted such a scene as
may well have been witnessed by the original inhabitants of Maoriland—
“O’er Vassal Peaks thy smoky banners spread,
Splashed with red flame as ever on they sped
In serried ranks, squired by the lesser hills,
To purple realms of mystery; the day
Failed of her sun when thy red furnace flamed,
And night was all aglow when earthquakes played
Beneath thy heaving breast of startled snows.”
About two years ago a geologist saw lava in the crater, and, later
still, when the mountain was particularly active, a glow as from
molten lava appeared in the sky. It would not be at all surprising if
at any time there were an eruption on a grand scale. Fortunately, the
surrounding country is so unproductive as to be but sparsely settled,
and therefore a serious eruption would be more spectacular than
destructive.
The Southern Alps extend in a series of ranges from the north to the
extreme south of the Middle Island. In the south, the ranges, which
run in different directions, are intersected by the splendid fiords on
the one side and by the arms of the long, deep lakes on the other. The
mountain masses, in some places, come sheer down to the water’s edge,
and their bases are far below the level of the lakes or of the sea.
Many of their lower slopes are densely wooded, while their summits
are capped with perpetual snow and ice. In the region of Milford Sound
they rise steeply from the water’s edge, and their solid and sometimes
smooth granite walls seem uninviting to the foot of the climber.
Going farther north we have another fine series of mountains in the
region of Lakes Wakatipu and Wanaka. Though not high, as heights go
in the European Alps or in the Himalaya, they are imposing mountains.
It is only within comparatively recent years that passes have been
discovered between the lakes and the sounds; and although these passes
do not lead the traveller beyond the sub-Alpine heights, they take him
through scenery that is no less remarkable for its beauty than for its
grandeur—a fitting introduction to those greater marvels in the heart
of the Southern Alps.
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.
[Illustration: 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.
[Illustration: PETER GRAHAM.]
[Illustration: KAUFMANN. GREEN. BOSS.]
Long before Mr. Green’s visit the early pioneers had done considerable
preliminary exploratory and geological work, though they did no
serious Alpine climbing. Many of these, including Dr. von Haast,
have now passed away. As an indication of the dangers these pioneers
had to face, it may be mentioned that out of quite a small band Mr.
Howitt lost his life in Lake Brunner in 1863, and Mr. G. Dobson was
murdered on the West Coast in 1866. Dr. Sinclair was drowned in one of
the branches of the Rangitata River. He was buried at a place called
Mesopotamia, in the words of his friend, Dr. von Haast, “near the banks
of the river just where it emerges from the Alps, with their perpetual
snowfields glistening in the sun. Amidst veronicas, senecios, and
covered with celmesias and gentians, there lies his lonely grave.”
[Illustration: JACK CLARK.]
Following in Mr. Green’s footsteps came the Canterbury Climbers. They
tried Mount Cook by Green’s route; but, like him, they failed, though
on one occasion Messrs. Mannering and Dixon made a heroic effort and
got within about a couple of hundred feet of the summit.
The season of 1893-94 will ever be memorable in the annals of New
Zealand mountaineering, for that was the season in which the first of
the great peaks fell. On March 7, 1895, Fyfe, by himself, made the
first ascent of that splendid rock peak Malte Brun (10,241 feet);
with Jack Clark and Dr. Franz Kronecker (a tourist from Germany) he
climbed Mount Darwin (9700 feet); and with George Graham he ascended
Mount de la Bêche (10,040 feet) and the Footstool (9073 feet). It was
a fine performance for the young New Zealanders, who had by this time
acquired not only the craft of climbing, but also of route-finding.
Meantime there had been no further serious attempt upon Mount Cook, but
early in the season 1894-95 the New Zealanders were again at work, and,
on Christmas Day 1894, succeeded in making the first ascent of Mount
Cook. Their struggles, under adverse circumstances, and their final
success, are dealt with in another part of this book.
That same season, Mr. E. A. Fitzgerald, a member of the English Alpine
Club, arrived with the famous guide Zurbriggen to climb Mount Cook and
other peaks. The visitors spent some time in Christchurch, and on their
way to the theatre of operations they met the victorious New Zealanders
returning from their conquest. Fitzgerald, however, continued his
expedition, and did some remarkably fine work, including the first
ascents of Mount Tasman (11,467 feet), Mount Sefton (10,350 feet),
Mount Haidinger (10,063 feet), and Mount Sealy (8651 feet). To Mr.
Fitzgerald also belongs the honour of having discovered an easy pass
from the vicinity of Mount Cook to the West Coast—a pass that others
had been seeking for some time but had failed to find.
There was no further serious climbing for a few years, until Mr. T.
C. Fyfe and the writer made the first ascent of the Minarets (10,058
feet), an ascent of Haidinger by the eastern face, and the first pass
between the head of the Great Tasman Glacier and the West Coast. In
1905 our party made the first traverse of Mount Cook. About the same
time the West Coast climbers Dr. Teichelman and the Rev. Mr. Newton,
with Mr. R. S. Low, a Scottish climber, and guide Alex. Graham, came
into prominence. They commenced a series of ascents from the western
side of the range, on which the scenery is more varied and even more
imposing than it is on the eastern side. They made the first ascent
of St. David’s Dome (10,410 feet), and made a new high pass over the
main divide to the Tasman. Some fine work was also accomplished that
season by Mr. H. Sillem, in company with the New Zealand guides Clark
and Graham. He ascended Mount Cook, Malte Brun, the Footstool, and
Sealy, and succeeded in making the first ascent of Elie de Beaumont
(10,200 feet) and the southern peak of Mount Cook (11,844 feet). In
1907 Dr. Teichelman and the Rev. Mr. Newton, with Alex. Graham, made
the first ascent of Mount Douglas (10,107 feet) and of Torris Peak
(10,576 feet). Mounts Haast, Lendenfeld, Conway, and Glacier Peak (all
over 10,000 feet) also fell to them. There were no high ascents made
in 1908; but in the 1909 season the guides were kept busy. Mr. Claude
M‘Donald, a member of the Alpine Club, made the first traverse of Malte
Brun (10,421 feet), and Mr. L. M. Earle, also a member of the Alpine
Club, with three guides, ascended Mount Cook by a new route from the
Hooker Valley. The climb was mostly on good rocks, and is probably the
easiest and shortest way to the summit of the mountain. Several first
ascents of second-class peaks were made. In 1909-10 Captain Head, an
Englishman, with guides J. Clark and A. Graham, made the first ascent
of Mount Aspiring, and, in company with Mr. L. M. Earle and the same
guides, Mount Sefton was ascended for the first time from the western
side.
No _résumé_ of the work done in the Southern Alps would be complete
without reference to the magnificent survey work and the measurements
of glacier flow made by Mr. T. N. Brodrick, C.E., of the New Zealand
Survey Department.
Mummery in his delightful book about his climbs in the Alps and
Caucasus says, humorously, that a mountain passes through three phases,
“An inaccessible peak,” “The most difficult climb in the Alps,” and “An
easy day for a lady.” His classification has been proved true in regard
to the New Zealand as well as the European Alps, and Mount Cook, which
baffled Green and his Swiss experts and the early New Zealand climbers,
has now been climbed by two women. Miss Du Faur, a Sydney girl, in 1911
made the ascent by the Hooker Rock route in company with the two guides
Peter and Alex. Graham, while Mrs. Lindon, an Englishwoman resident in
Australia, a year later, with Peter Graham and D. Thomson, made the
ascent of Mount Cook by Green’s more difficult route. The conditions
for both ascents were perfect. Miss Du Faur has also climbed Mount
Tasman (11,475 feet), Mount Dampier (11,323 feet)—a first ascent—and
several other peaks. This season (1912-13), in company with Graham and
Thomson, she has succeeded in making a traverse of the three peaks of
Mount Cook from a high bivouac on the Hooker side to the bivouac on the
Tasman side—a remarkable feat. On this trip the climbers were favoured
with glorious weather, and the conditions were also good; otherwise the
climb would have been almost hopeless. The writer has looked down the
long icy knife edge that, with its bends and steep slopes and cornices,
joins the three peaks together, and has realized the almost insuperable
difficulties in the way of success, except under ideal conditions. All
honour, then, to the two New Zealand guides and the young Australian
girl who have accomplished such a daring feat.
In connexion with this brief historical _résumé_ of mountain climbing
in New Zealand and looking back over this series of victories, won
without a single fatal accident, it remains only to pay a tribute—and
it must be a very high tribute—to the members of the Alpine Club,
whose precept and example we have so closely followed. When I first
started climbing, the Rev. Mr. Green sent me an ice-axe and an article
on the death-roll of the Alps! What two more appropriate things could
he have forwarded to an amateur anxious to learn the craft in a Far
Country? I still have the axe—a treasured possession—but I have long
ago lost the article! And it occurs to me, now, that by the reader
of these pages it may be laid to our charge that in some of our
expeditions we did not err on the side of timidity. My answer to that
will be that we were always, or nearly always, doing pioneer work,
and so had to discover the dangers as well as the routes, and that,
generally, when the weather failed, when the avalanches began to hiss
down the slopes or crash from the cliffs, or when the rocks began to
fall, we either waited or turned tail and fled. But, in any case, the
most critical would, surely, not have had us run no risks at all.
He is a poor soul—and there can be no pride of race in him—who will
shirk all danger. Two years ago it was my privilege—at the invitation
of my friend Lord Islington—to give a lecture at Government House,
Wellington, before a famous historian and ambassador who is one of a
long line of distinguished presidents of our Club, and, at the close of
the lecture, he—in one of those charming speeches which he so easily
makes—emphasized the necessity for the caution that I myself had been
preaching. But afterwards, at supper, his wife came to me and said,
“I like my husband’s preaching to you about caution! Why, when he
climbed Ararat his only companion was his ice-axe!” But she said it
with a smile, and with what I judged to be a feeling more of pride than
of reproach. So you see this fondness for a spice of danger is in the
blood, and cannot be altogether eliminated in the old country any more
than in the new. And I will even go the length of saying that it will
be a sorry day for the race when it is no longer a feature of British
character.
Mount Cook has now been climbed by four routes. It has been traversed
from east to west over the highest summit, and along the ridge from
south to north. The first ascent was made by New Zealanders who had
never seen a guide at work, and all the other ascents but one have
been made with guides who have learnt their craft, untaught by others,
in their native land. All the high peaks have now been climbed, with
or without guides, Zurbriggen being the only foreign guide who has
ever stood on the summit of a New Zealand Alp. And during all these
years there has been no fatal accident to mar the tale of success. But
what of the future? It is scarcely to be expected that this immunity
from accident will continue indefinitely. There may come a day when
some climber, caught in bad weather, or endeavouring to achieve the
impossible by some new and more daring route, will meet his fate on
the higher snows, or leave his bones among the beetling crags of the
great precipices. One can only express the hope that such a day may
be long delayed, and that, for many years to come, the steep white
slopes, the grim precipices, and the towering peaks will continue as
a health-giving playground, and resound with the laughter born of the
fun and frolic of the hardy mountaineer. And whatever the future
history of these mountains may be, it can scarcely provide a tale of
more absorbing interest than is furnished by the manly struggles of the
pioneers who have climbed, with some fair measure of success, in a Far
Country.