Four Aspiring Pilgrims

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FOUR ASPIRING PILGRIMS Boxing Day dawned fine and bright. We crossed the glacier to stand covetously admiring the South West Ridge mantled in a shroud of virginal whiteness. Dare we mere mortals trespass and defile such purity? Yes, but with humbleness and in trepidation, aware of the honour bestowed upon us and our good fortune. Crampons bit deeply into firm crisp snow. There is music in the sound of the axe and the tinkling of ice, exhilaration in the climb, overawed by the beauty and form of our Snow Princess. Hold! A fall checked - a wave of relief. Still she holds her crown haughtily aloof, can it be of the stuff that dreams are made then we shall never reach it. No Cook, Earnslaw and Tutoko beckon in the distance, Aspiring Hut is just visible, the western hills are cocooned in white mist. We are on the summit. What have we achieved? There are bigger and better and more difficult mountains, who cares. We are four happy pilgrims, enchanted under a spell cast by Mount Aspiring, and we have consummated our ideal. March 1962 Jack McConchie

Mt. Cook/Westland