THE CONQUERING OF AORANGI—_concluded_
“At length, upon a sunny day,
They started off once more,
And climbed as they had climbed before,
Till, all their troubles past,
With scarce a halt upon their way,
They reached the top at last.”
_Another Fragment._
All the attempts by Green’s route having ended in failure, Fyfe and
George Graham now decided to try the western side of the mountain for a
more direct route to the summit. Fyfe had always held the opinion that
a practical way to the summit might be found from the upper part of the
Hooker Glacier. On December 11th, about a month after our first arrival
at the Hermitage, they started off one day to explore the Hooker side
of Mount Cook. Fyfe eagerly scanned the mountain, and, on the way up,
had picked out two routes by which he rightly thought the summit of
the mountain might be reached. One was by way of the western spur of
the lowest or most southerly peak, and thence along the ridge over the
middle peak to the northern or highest point. The other route was from
the head of the Hooker Glacier and up a nasty-looking couloir leading
to Green’s Saddle and thence by the arête direct to the highest peak.
The latter was the route by which they were eventually successful.
They left the Hermitage on December 16th with a tent and five days’
provisions. On the 18th, after camping for a couple of days in the
valley, they made their way up the Hooker Glacier through badly broken
and crevassed ice. In one place they found a wide crevasse where a
snow bridge had fallen in and wedged itself lower down. It was so
wide that their 60-feet rope would not reach across it, and, to make
matters worse, steps had to be cut on the upper face of the crevasse.
Camp was pitched on a rib of rock above the glacier on the right, and
a reconnaissance made. On the following day, taking with them only
blankets, provisions, and a little firewood, a second camp was made
farther up the glacier.
First the ground was levelled alongside a big rock, and all the larger
stones were carefully picked out. Then a rubble wall was built at each
end, and the remaining side was sheltered by a mound of snow scraped up
with a billy. All was snug by 7 p.m., and as the two climbers lay in
their blankets they chatted over the chances of the morrow or groped
underneath for some particularly prominent stone that was likely to
disturb their repose. For the elevation (6400 feet) the night was not
cold, and they rested fairly well. They were astir at 1.30 a.m. for
their first attempt via the middle peak. Dawn appeared at 2.45, and,
roping up, they started on their climb. They had to cross several
crevasses on snow bridges before reaching the true western spur, an
offshoot of which runs in a more northerly direction. The arête,
however, was so difficult and irregular that they were forced on to the
snow slope again. Mr. Fyfe, in an account published in the _Otago Daily
Times_, gives the following account of the climb:—
“On coming to its head some slight difficulty was experienced in
finding a place to get on to the spur; but, once gained, it proved
good, and for about 500 feet an easy grade. After this it became much
steeper and gradually narrowed in to a sharp ridge. After some 2000
feet of rock-climbing the lowest peak came in sight, and at 10.30 a.m.
we stood on the true western arête running up to the same. We had
now the choice of cutting steps up on to the crest of the arête or,
by keeping down a little on the northern side, of skirting along the
rocks. We chose the latter, and found that, although owing to their
being partly buried in snow they were difficult, still they were much
easier and quicker than step-cutting. We had now been in the sun some
time, and a short halt was cried for ‘tucker.’ Vain efforts were made
by one of the party to melt some snow, but even the sultry language
he indulged in had no effect on its icy coldness. It is a strange
sensation this, being surrounded by snow and ice, and, though ‘dying’
for a drink, unable to obtain a mouthful. Skirting along these partly
buried rocks, and cutting a few steps here and there across slippery
patches, nothing stopped us, and at 11 a.m. we stood on the highest
rocks. We were now at an altitude of 11,700 feet, and our prospects of
doing the remaining 600 odd feet looked ‘rosy.’
“From here it was necessary to descend about 400 feet to reach the
saddle which separates the first and second peaks. This we had little
difficulty in doing, good rocks running right down. The sun was now
very powerful, and we took advantage of it to melt the snow and drink
to our hearts’ content. Step-cutting commenced at a couloir which runs
from the Empress Glacier right up to this col, and the axe was kept
steadily going until the summit of the middle peak was reached. On
nearing the crest of the arête we soon had ample evidence that it was
heavily corniced, the axe going right through when we were several feet
from the edge. Keeping about 20 feet away from the true crest, we cut
steps along the face of the ice-cap, thus practically making a long
traverse. At 1 p.m. we stood on the top of the second peak, only 176
feet lower than the actual summit of the mountain. A glance, and we saw
that our chances of doing the remainder were remote. Although only so
little in actual height above us, it was still a long way off, and the
arête was so corniced, and took so many turns, that to ‘do’ the summit
would require a long traverse involving many hours’ work.
“Having the other route to fall back on, we decided not to expend our
energies further on this one, and so again calmly accepted defeat. The
view from the second or middle peak was exceedingly grand.”
The descent was quickly accomplished, and they had some splendid
glissading back to the Bivouac. Where the slopes were not steep enough
for glissading, ploughing through the snow was the order of the day,
and the man coming last on the rope had a rough time if he made a false
step, for he involuntarily received from his companion plunging on in
front a jerk that generally pulled him off his feet, and caused him to
take an unwilling header into the snow. Fyfe had a vivid recollection
of Graham’s legs on one occasion waving in mute supplication, whilst
he for a few moments vainly endeavoured to extricate his head
and shoulders from the snow. All the smaller crevasses were shot
glissading. While shooting one of these crevasses the rope, somehow,
became entangled, and pulled one of the climbers up with a sudden jerk
fairly across the fissure, his feet resting on one edge and the back
of his neck on the other. He was, however, equal to the occasion, and,
stiffening himself, he lay there in perfect composure until assisted
across by his companion. The hardy climbers now returned to the
Hermitage, after twenty-one hours’ constant going, and were glad to get
into comfortable beds again.
At the Hermitage they fell in with Jack Clark, and he readily agreed to
join them in an attack on the highest peak by the other route. Clark
had climbed with them the previous season, and his enthusiasm gave new
life to the whole affair. Finally these three left the hotel with six
days’ supplies, and made their first camp on the evening of December
22nd.
“Next day,” continues Fyfe’s account, “we toiled, painfully swag-laden,
through the ever-widening crevasses to a second bivouac farther up the
glacier, narrowly escaping a fall of rocks that came bounding from
the Moorhouse Range. We arrived sore and tired, although the actual
distance covered and height gained were trifling. Little inclined as
we were for another day’s swagging, 10 a.m. next day found us again
wearily plodding on our upward course. We pitched the tent under the
lee of a huge block of ice that had apparently fallen from St. David’s
Dome at a height of about 8000 feet. An arch was cut into this block,
a break-wind built round, and so sheltered were we that I believe we
could have weathered a severe storm. Leaving Clark in camp, Graham and
I proceeded up the glacier with the double object of breaking steps and
of exploring the large bergschrund at its head. We kept to the true
right of the glacier going up, but found it very much crevassed and
swept by avalanches from St. David’s Dome and Mount Hector. We passed
some enormous crevasses. Some we estimated as being fully 200 feet
across and of great depth. Another uncommon thing so high up was a
vertical shaft descending into the glacier. Graham anchoring, I crawled
to its edge and peered down, but could see no bottom, its blue sides
shading away until lost in impenetrable darkness.
“Two hours brought us to the bergschrund, and our worst fears were
fully confirmed. No bridge of any description spanned its gaping
depths. Our only chance was to find a passage where it ran out against
the rock face of Aorangi. Traversing to this, we saw that it was
possible to descend right into the bergschrund and reach the rocks at
its end. These looked barely practicable. We kept to the left side of
the glacier going back, and found it much simpler, only one crevasse
of any consequence having to be dealt with. Our bleak bivouac was
regained just as the sun sank behind Mount Stokes. After some food
and a refreshing drink of hot tea we lay down on our icy-cold couch,
fondly hoping to snatch a few hours’ sleep. Vain hope! On going to rest
at these high camps the usual plan is not to undress but to crowd on
everything obtainable; and anyone leaving an article of clothing lying
about is sometimes greatly surprised at the mysterious manner in which
it disappears at night, but always religiously turns up again in the
morning in time to be rolled into the owner’s swag.
“At 2 a.m. Graham, shivering and growling, arose to prepare breakfast.
We had brought a good supply of dry firewood from our first camp, and
breakfast was ready much too soon for Clark and I, who were making the
most of the blankets. Getting on our boots with great difficulty—they
being turned, apparently, into something akin to cast-iron—we packed
up everything we were likely to require, and, roping together, moved
upwards at 3.15 a.m. The snow was very hard, but the steps we had
broken the previous day were of great assistance, and an hour’s
climbing saw us standing on the lower lip of the bergschrund. Letting
out the rope to its full length, one of the party descended into the
bergschrund and squirmed along the ledge of rocks as far as the rope
would reach. Then the others crossed on to the rocks. Clinging as we
were to a narrow ledge, with scarcely any hand or foot hold, and with
an almost perpendicular drop into the chasm below, our position was
far from enviable; and, as the leader slowly and with great difficulty
made his way upwards, a slip seemed, to say the least, not altogether
improbable. Some snow lying on the ledge had to be shifted, and caused
a little delay, and for forty minutes the excitement and suspense
were too intense to be pleasant. However, we managed to get across
in safety. Above we found the snow hard, and we kept well against
the rocks for hand-holds. This slope gradually converges into a deep
ravine formed by the frowning crags of Aorangi on the one side and by
Mount Hector on the other. Beginning at Green’s Saddle and running out
in the slope just above the bergschrund, a rib of rocks divides this
ravine into two narrow ice-filled couloirs. As we got higher up, the
amount of snow lying on the slope became less and less, and at last
the clear blue ice was reached. Cutting steps across a little branch
couloir, we decided to cross the couloir lying between us and the rib
of rocks, and to endeavour to keep along its ridge. At first these
rocks proved difficult, a rotten slaty rock having to be dealt with,
but they improved towards their top end. As we neared Green’s Saddle
the arête of these rocks became very sharp, with precipitous sides, and
in two places was capped with ice. We had to cut steps up these places,
and without further bother reached a point a few feet below Green’s
Saddle at 8 am. Here we were stopped by a break in the rib which
completely barred direct access to the Saddle. Turning a little to the
left, we climbed up over what was perhaps the worst rock of the whole
ascent, on to the southern arête of Hector, and from thence descended
to the Saddle. The arête which runs from here to the summit of Aorangi
is, with the exception of one slaty stratum, composed of good, sound
rocks. This slaty stratum, about 30 feet in height, was most difficult.
Half-way up the leading man got into difficulties, all holds being
just beyond his reach, causing him to make an awkward traverse by
hand-holds only to a little chimney, up which he writhed his way. Above
this, the going was good, and we rapidly rose. Looking back at 10.30
a.m., we could see that we were far above all the surrounding peaks,
and, although the top of Aorangi could not be seen, we knew it could
not be far distant. One wall of slate brought us to a standstill, and
we had to descend a few feet, leave the ridge, and work our way round
the obstacle. The wind was now piercingly cold, and we were glad to
muffle our faces in anything to protect them. A few minutes’ respite
from its bitter blast and a slight snack were now very acceptable, and
we climbed down to shelter on the sunny side. What with consulting
maps and sketching, the ‘few minutes’ were prolonged into an hour and
a half, and it was just midday as we filed off upwards. At 12.30 the
slope of the arête became easier, and shortly afterwards the final top
appeared about 400 feet above us.
“I am afraid that the reckless way in which we romped over those last
rocks was very foolhardy; but one would indeed need to be phlegmatic
not to get a little excited on such an occasion. The slope of the final
ice-cap was easy, and only required about a hundred steps, which were
quickly cut, and at 1.30 p.m. on Christmas Day we exultantly stepped on
to the highest pinnacle of the monarch of the Southern Alps.”
They stayed only twenty minutes on the summit, and then commenced the
descent. The first rocks were soon reached, and there they built a
cairn, underneath which they left a tin upon which they had scratched
their names and the date. They left these rocks shortly after 2 p.m.,
and Green’s Saddle was passed at 5.20 pm. Just as they got a few feet
below it, a rock avalanche shot past, making the ridge tremble as the
blocks ricochetted from crag to crag down the mountain-side. During the
whole time they were on this ridge stones were continually clattering
down on either side. Going down some slaty rocks Graham lost his
ice-axe. He thus describes the incident—
“We were just getting on to the snow to cross the couloir when a
hand-hold broke with me, and the sling of my axe slipping over my wrist
the axe slid away down the slope, stopping above a small schrund. Going
down the rocks to the lowest point Fyfe secured himself and paid out
all the rope (100 feet), and then I, holding on to the rope, slid down
to the end, and, scrambling across the slope, was just able to reach
the adventurous axe.”
This incident caused a delay of nearly an hour—a delay that could be
ill afforded, as it would soon be dark. Fyfe, continuing his account of
the descent, writes:—
“When nearing the bergschrund an ominous, not-to-be-mistaken whiz above
warned us that danger was coming. Crouching close into the rocks,
several pieces of stone went pinging over us at a pace that rendered
them invisible and buried themselves feet deep in the soft snow. This
particular place is, in my estimation, the only dangerous part of the
whole route, but fortunately only so in the afternoon. All the way down
I had been anxious to get across the bergschrund before dark, and, but
for the dropping of Graham’s axe, we would have done so. It was with
great uneasiness I saw that we should have to stand out all night or
risk climbing down in the dark. The latter was preferred. Too dark to
see either hand or footholds, our sense of touch was all we had to rely
on. One at a time we moved on, the other two endeavouring to anchor;
but, judging from the holds that I myself could obtain, a slip by one
would have ‘done for’ us all. However, the schrund was left behind, and
with it the greatest difficulties of the descent. Now for the first
time we gravely congratulated each other on the ascent and descent of
Mount Cook. We reached the Bivouac tired and wet, only to find that one
side of our snow break-wind had fallen on to the tent, and, melting,
had soaked everything. It was very cold, and it is not all joy pitching
a tent with the thermometer down to about 28 degrees. We turned in
supperless: no one volunteered to face the cold and melt some snow.
So cold did we become that at last we were forced to burn a candle in
a tin can underneath the blankets, while the hours of darkness passed
wearily away. Day dawned at last, and, hastily packing up, we plunged
away down the glacier. We reached our first camp at 7 a.m., and were
glad to rest till 10.30, meanwhile basking in the sun and making great
inroads into a bag of oatmeal. As we lay, idly watching the north-west
clouds swirling overhead, our trials were all forgotten, and I
regretfully thought—there is but one Aorangi.”
[Illustration: MT. COOK FROM UPPER TASMAN.]
Thus was the conquering of Aorangi, after many heroic struggles,
accomplished by the pluck, endurance, and initiative of the young New
Zealanders, who, in a far country, had taught themselves the craft of
mountaineering.