18.12.2007: Approaching 3033m - Day One.
A huge walk-in means departure by vehicle at 5am, on foot from Raspberry Flat at 8am - 300m elevation, strolling along the valley floor to the base of French Ridge, following it to Mt French via the NZAC’s French Ridge Hut and the Quarterdeck - 2300m elevation, arriving at 9:00pm. Roughly 20km distance in plan view. By the next evening we planned to have climbed all of the 3033m to the top of Mt Aspiring and be sleeping somewhere on the return journey.
Chopper in? Judging by the frequent echoes of thwacking chopper blades, there were many who did during our stay. With a perfect 5 day weather window, which is more than ample for Mt Aspiring, allowing one to climb all the way from where the mountain starts, the car park/ valley floor and return, why would you fly in? Having been this way before I knew to expect a sudden change in gradient. Smooth trail to steep rock steps and root pulling, climbing abruptly and thankfully out of the sandfly zone. This was where the mountain started for us.
We had agreed to reassess the “weather” and continue on above the hut and either over the Quarterdeck or Breakaway. These overflows of the Bonar Glacier which surrounds Mt Aspiring/ Tititea, being the 2 most common crossing points onto the Glacier itself, are the scenes of frequent accidents. Late in the day and season, the Breakaway isn’t a good option (whilst descending the Quarterdeck we later saw there had been a major avalanche across the path to the Breakaway). The Quarterdeck looked in good nick, on our late arrival at about 7:00pm, so onwards we plugged, passing and chatting with a couple that I recognised as customers from Mountain Equipment in Sydney. Their glowing limbs reminded us how glad we were to be sun-smart.
After finishing the wind through crevasses, over ice and snow bridges, amongst occasional brown discolourations, we topped out over a schrund onto the ridge leading up Mt French and the edge of the Bonar. Footsteps led along this towards Mt French and we assumed these would lead eventually to the other party bivvying in the area. We dropped down onto the Bonar sidling around towards the first rocky outcrop on Mt French’s flank and booked the first bivvy spot available.
After the necessary shuffling of bedding and drinking of pasta strainings, our nightly “broth” of filth with herb-salt and chickpea powder, we settled in for a cringeful vid diary entry with the most extravagant set, Mt Aspiring/ Tititea – a monumental pyramid impressed upon so many mountaineering imaginations, including our own. As the sun set the scene slowly turned to silvery shades of black, grey and white, leaving us feeling miniscule in our garishly coloured gear as we surveyed the well defined South West Ridge.
Not a cloud, or one of doubt, that we would be crunching our way towards that route come 5am. Would the conditions of the crux (gully in the upper rock band) allow us through? Would we be benighted or worse yet, have to down climb the ridge? Reports had indicated a thin layer of verglass over the rock. Local guides recommended against trying the route after having thoroughly rubbed their noses against it. Had they been successful? Would we have success? A popular grade 3 route - surely it’s within our limits? Who knows with the ambiguous NZ grading system. 6hrs of sleep between us and a daytrip through classic NZ mountaineering history, to the answers that would mould our immediate future.
19.12.2007: South West Classic & North West Poo - Day 2.
Both of us were feeling similarly fatigued and insufficiently rested, a common emerging theme. To enter the dark glacial world from the warmth of our sleeping bags seemed wrong, yet to stay within them at 4am would have been sacrilege as we stared at the universe above, and rolling over to a view of the S.W. Ridge, we knew for certain it was time to move. Thoughts that breakfast still wasn’t tasting good that early, the previous 20 km approach day, or night of restless sleep passed, became inconsequential. We had been looking forward to this climb and expected it to be one of the highlights of the summer if conditions were right. Were we right?
Our, until now, out of earshot neighbours crunched off into the morning darkness passing below our platform as we hurriedly packed our what ifs and must haves for the day (a guide, who’s partner we had met two days previously in Wanaka, and two clients had bivouacked nearby - Vaughn shouted greetings after I located them from above and waved – familiarity in a vast expanse of abstract ice pierced by the occasional rock). Did they think us a little over enthusiastic in the evening, or perhaps our slowness in the morning gave away more? Without having experienced the setting, many “normal” people would think us mad for just being there. Roped up and racing the rising sun, off we strode across the top of the frozen snow towards... headlamp beams darting around at the base of the ridge. We had company. Amiable, outspoken, clumsy, experienced? Questions begot questions, inviting yet more questions, all soon to be answered during the impending day with unfamiliar companions.
At the base of the ridge there is a long ship sized protrusion of rock, upon it scattered rubble and around it a bergschrund, like the depression left in the tide washed sand of a wreck. This schrund is frequently used as bivvy spot by climbers intending on climbing the ridge, but on this day it was a point of intersection. Head lamps off, brief introductions and a cornstarch bag stop, before negotiating a way over the schrund to a short ramp leading to the deck of the rock protrusion. From here our new company, Eric and Lucie, were first away through a moderate rock step, some pieces of pro in here and there through easy scrambling to the start of the “Styrofoam” ridge.
Here things really become abstract. The ridge drops to climbers’ right across the South Face with its blocks and planes of rock surrounded by steep glistening ice. Left, the expanse of the West Face. Airy and terribly aesthetically pleasing. The other two continued to pitch out the climb (roped together & using snow pickets) for the length of the ridge to the crux gully. Ourselves? We preferred the soloing together option, side by side or diagonally above/below one another. Frequently we would stop for a rest beside one of the other two, exchange remarks, encouragement and route observations before plodding on using a variety of techniques. All conditions were in our favour. We followed this giant arête and would occasionally climb right and peer down the slopes of the South Face again, marvelling at the idea of climbing through its intricacies, as has been done before, solo in mid winter!
Maintaining three points of contact with the mountain is the usual approach on any steep terrain. In this case we would switch between a traversing walk and front pointing, and at times the only need for technique change was to allow a different set of muscles to take on the burn. Ice-a-size, left leg & right pick, now right & left, continue 2, 3, 4… and breathe… too easy… right crampon & left pick - same time (2 point contact!)… you’re an animal 2, 3, 4… now kick a stance, scrape scrape right, scrape scrape left. Feel the burn. Walk it out now… that’s it… just missing a synthesizer sound track. Thankfully Bony M was as far from mind as it had ever been.
Crux:
On it went. Back to the edge for some sun and back to the shade. All of a sudden there we were, in the shade at the base of the crux, an icicle adorned rock step over which who knew? Closer inspection was my job. Rope on, rock gear and slings handy, axes clanging from my wrists like cow bells on the verglas covered rock, crampons points scratching like forks on a plate, teetering and shaking as I searched for ice free cracks to place rock gear. No place here for ice screws, if we had any. My fingers let me know how inadequate my liner gloves were as I grasped the rock. Some bridging and a bit of a layback, I soon found myself not too far from some inadequate patches of snow and ice, no bigger than a chilli bin lid, amongst rock on the right.
First I had to traverse using shallow verglas covered cracks for pick placements (left pick popped out), then find at least one rock placement (smashed ice from crack to reveal dry depths, fumbled to deeply place finally a zero Friend) as below me I had only clipped an existing and relatively solid old piton. With that psychological crutch I plunged and re-plunged the right pick until it felt as though I would have enough friction with downward force to get my feet high. Clanging and grunting, I soon reached the gully snow and ice, which wouldn’t seem to take good enough axe placements for anchors. I chipped out the ice from the back of a large boulder on my left to allow a cordollette to drape nicely around it. Anchor done, safe. I glanced around and there was blood on the snow. Nice touch.
Eric and Lucie had been waiting with Vaughn and within a couple of minutes Eric was beside me, clearly a master of the mixed and vertical terrain, a severe contrast to the pair’s uneasiness on the ridge below. Vaughn arrived and continued on directly above not spending time checking out further right, likely in the interest of simply saving time and generating heat. After a couple of mixed mantling moves, on snow covered variable rock ledges and another anchor, up I came for pitch 3. A great lead on Vaughn’s part. But tensions from us were audible by Eric and Lucie, as they easily ascended to our right with good ice screw runners through the true final gully section. We let them have the easy side.
My final anchors consisted of a barely half sunk snow stake and both picks (not shafts) into hard ice. I told Vaughn not to fall – a great way to heighten the experience for someone seconding, the usually more enjoyable relaxed job. He cursed me after he removed the one friend placement from under a sloping flat boulder, on a seemingly easy yet off putting sloping rock section. I had headed for it in the hope of finding solid pro of course, and gaining a relaxing stance.
As Vaughn led out onto the glimmering steep ice of the summit ridge, tiny shards clinked down around me, as he moved silhouetted through what was to be another one of many classic mountaineering scenes we experienced that day. Vaughn banged in a stake and I continued passed towards the summit without thinking to untie the rope.
As we moved together across the slope above the N.W. Ridge, sastrugi (wavelike ridges caused by wind on the surface of hard snow) continually caught the rope like downward pointing fingers. At least twice these brought Vaughn to his knees, as his end of the rope pulled down slope whilst I continued up. Finally, we unroped beside the summit for photos, snacks and some brief reflection before looking to our descent down the N.W. Ridge. It was getting on, Mt Cook was obscured from view and we had made short work of our Leda Bars.
Descent:
Eric and Lucie began steady downward progress, pitch by pitch, from the summit ice, whilst below Vaughn and I soloed, down climbing the first steep solid section before continuing on foot to the shelter of a rock alcove at the top of the “Ramp” (popular climbing route to approx half height and alternative to the N.W. Ridge). Here we stopped for our usual and all important lunch ceremony; avocado, tomato, hummus and tuna - on pita bread for myself and rice crackers for Vaughn. As we looked around for stones to prepare our lunch on we quickly decided packs and laps were healthier.
When travelling this way in 2005 I had used the same spot to rest during the ascent and descent, as had most of the other 11 people on the mountain that day (there had been a bout of gastro going around the hut, likely the result of poo/r hygiene, I miraculously held on until back at the hut). It was early Nov. then and the same area must have been under 1-2m of snow. Not a corn-starch bag in sight then and it showed during lunch on this day. We sat back and soaked up some sun, balanced our lunches and generally watched our feet as the other two drew nearer. They disappeared out of view and during later discussion we learned of their “blue bagging”, the Nth American version of D.o.C.’s cornstarch bags.
Descending the Ramp in the afternoon is not usually a fun option when it’s in condition, and during our approach we noticed its discoloured slopes. Descending the rock ridge and buttresses would leave the onus on me, as I was the only one of our four who had been through this terrain. I recalled only two abseils compared with our four(with Eric having beefed up the tat on our shared abseils), but we made it safely to a low point, roped up and exchanged rock for glacier. After a steep section on hard ice over some bridges, Vaughn and I branched off, ascending languidly to true left, following the obvious highway through the middle of the Bonar towards Mt French. Eric and Lucie headed outwards and arced left to their tent past Bevan Col. We had exchanged web addresses and that was that. We arrived content, tired and zoned, with enough light to de-Kea proof our gear (a hollow cairn cache) and get dinner made. Big days make exposed sleeps easy.
20.12.2007: A Lie In - Day 3.
Breakfast, photos, sun, packing and we were away by 11am towards the Quarterdeck. We took a side trip to scope the Flightdeck around the base of Mt Avalanche, a possible traverse start point onto the Maud Francis Glacier on route to another objective, Rob Roy. Emptying our poo-pot became priority and we quickly put afternoon glacier plugging on hold. If going light meant one poo-pot then so be it we thought – definitely could have had dire consequences if I had fallen on the filled cornstarch bag in my wand pocket. The Quarterdeck descent proved uneventful, after which we glissaded snow slopes above the hut to arrive for Caroline’s cuppas and bikkies at the French Ridge Hut, a perfect interlude with Kea and tourist watching included. We encouraged her to bring in some poo pots and bags for those coming unprepared and heading above the hut, also informing her of the mounting motion problem spot.
1-2 hrs passed as we discussed all things outdoors including a possible route to a bivvy below Rob Roy. Caroline, having worked as a D.o.C. warden in the area for three years, described a route that she had been on. Ascending directly from the lower end of Shovel Flat it gained the two rock bivouacs we had read about in the guide book. With this recommendation and more good weather we had no excuses. Off to the valley floor for more river crossing fun, boots over shoulders, and a planned bush bivvy. Rob Roy… were we rested?
21-22.12.2007: Rob Roy & West Face - Days 4 & 5
After such a cruisy day we put in a rapid descent effort and reached the river crossing for the route to the Rob Roy bivouacs. It looked deep and swift to say the least and as Vaughn seemed keen to cross I volunteered him for the mission. He walked to the river side once we had both repacked essentials into our dry pack liners, including boots, and quickly returned with a large pebble, onto which he had scratched an x and an o on opposing sides with a smaller stone. Ultimately, it was me who would decide the outcome by the flip of the pebble... "Tails turn, heads head on across".
I gave it a mighty toss with plenty of spin. We were both tired and depleted. In retrospect, the last thing either of us needed was to be cold, wet and fighting a river in the dark...
Written by Jamie Anderson
