A Grand Traverse

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A Grand Iraverse Matt Comeskey Biting cold air and twinkling stars greeted us as we stepped out of the hut. We closed the door quietly behind us SO as not to wake Sean and Anna, who were catching a few extra winks before their climb. Standing on the balcony of Empress Hut, looking up the west face of Mt. Cook, I knew that it was going to be our day. few wispy fingers of mist were creeping across cramped and frustrated at having to sacrifice the freedom Harper Saddle, but they were the only clouds I of unbridled movement for the security the rope offered. could see in the clear night sky. We roped up si- We crossed paths with Sean and Anna; they had climbed lently. Muffled up against the cold, we switched on our a different route and were returning to Empress. We headlamps and soon we were mentally focused on the agreed to swap stories in the pub on our return. They small circle of light illuminating our footsteps. descended back into the Hooker. We crossed the upper Empress Shelf, a flattish table top The summit approached. The ridge has been hacked to that bisects the west face of Aoraki. The bergshrund dis- an abrupt, jagged edge after the massive landslide of secting the bottom of the North West couloir provided 1991. In places, the ice overhangs the crumbling rubble our first real obstacle. We traversed the length of it un- beneath. The highest point in New Zealand is crudely til a semi-collapsed snow bridge gave access to the exposed as a pile of steeply stacked crockery held tobroad slope above. We quickly gained height as we as- gether with dirt. We steered a conservative path away cended the wide couloir. from the edge. I felt and heard the ice crack violently. immediately froze. A truck-sized chunk of the ridge Night gave way to morning. The peaks and ridges in the carved off in front of us and rumbled out of sight down Hooker Valley fell away below us and a warm sensation the East Face. I threw my two ice tools fully into the ice of pleasure began to take hold of me. I tried to imagine and braced myself for a ride into oblivion. Icould hear Freda Du Faur making the first Grand Traverse of Mt. and feel the avalanche's progress through my body as Cook in 1911 with Peter Graham and Darby Thomson. the ground beneath me rocked and shook in a sicken- Long ice axe, no crampons, heavy wool clothing, plac- ing fashion. briefly contemplated unclipping the rope, ing her feet carefully in the steps cut in the ice. I rea- lest we pull each other off in the next collapse. It felt soned that I don't have the skill to do this climb in the imminent. Silence returned. Words were exchanged. In style it was done then. an adrenaline-charged flurry, we scrambled beneath the true summit and to safety, noting another fifteen metre Thel West Ridge was gained in good time. A broad shoul- long crack well below the ridge line. New Zealand would der of snow provided an easy romp to the South Sum- get shorter again before the end of the summer. mit and low peak of Aoraki. Below the ridge was a small platform stomped out by the A sit-down, a snack; we slapped on plenty of sunscreen climbers who sensibly finish their ascent here rather than and began to traverse the ridge to Porters Col. One foot go to the precarious tippy-top of New Zealand. We sat in the Hooker Valley, the other in the Tasman. The rope down and ate the last of our cold cooked sausages and came out; iti is no place to make a mistake. Belaying gave jelly beans, and marvelled at the view before us. The sun me the opportunity to enjoy the view as the sun crept on the spread of ridges radiating from the summit of slowly across the floor of the Tasman Valley. I was neighbouring Mount Tasman looked like a giant white pleased to put the airy climbing behind us; this was bird spreading its wings to catch the last of the afternoon going to be a fun outing. I wanted us to romp our way sun. Beyond lay the sprawling Fox and Franz Josef glaacross the top of the mountain, not creep along hesi- ciers; the forests leading down to the Tasman Sea; a thin tantly. line of surf stretching northwards, separating the land from the polished sea beyond. And romp we did. The rope came off for the easy waltz up onto the Middle Peak andl revelled in the joy ofjust We lingered and philosophised, reminisced, and dreamt being there with Pete on the perfect day. Life doesn't get up new adventures until time pressed us to move. Then much better. followed a short climb down to the top of the summit rocks and a series of abseils off a collection of bleached Too soon the slope we were traversing above the West and frayed slings, mixed with more recent and margin- Face steepened and the surface became gnarled with ally safer abseil anchors. A quick sprint under the sastrugi ice. We played safe, placing ice screws and "Gunbarrels" with a wary look-out for debris falling belaying. In places the sastrugi's icy fingers hooked onto down the steep gullies under the summit ice cap, and the rope and refused to let go. I wanted to let rip and felt finally the slog down the Linda Glacier. Tramping and Mountaineering 1997

Mat ala7 The snow on the glacier was water-logged, more suited Plateau Hut was stuffed full of people and even worse, to kayaking than walking. We plugged our way drunkenly stuffed full of their accumulated odour. Bleary faces in the dusk. Bogged down in the sticky snow, weaving poked out from sleeping bags before shuffling back into around gaping black crevasses and through small ice sleep. Some were getting up to begin their climbs. I sat falls, we were steadily losing height until the last decep- sipping tea, surveying the disarray spread from one end tively long stretch across thel Plateau to thel hut, the lights of the hut to the other, when one person asked us what of which beckoned us, promising a cup of tea for our peak we were about to head for. dried-out bodies. The water tank was empty, the toilet was full, our food Just when it was all but over, Pete found a well-hidden was eaten. It was no place to linger. We snatched a few crevasse by plunging intoi it up to his armpits. congratu- hours of sleep under a pile of blankets; we'd left our lated him on his skill at finding a hole where nobody else sleeping bags behind to save weight. As we packed in the would. Mentally slapped myself for being complacent morning we thought about the great breakfast we would and we continued on. Thankfully we were roped and no have had ifwe had any food, and departed. We had got harm was done. what we had come for, the perfect day out. Tramping and Mountaineering 1997