Aspirations for more - Five boys on a journey to Mt Aspiring

Aspirations for more – Five boys on a journey to Mt Aspiring On a Friday afternoon, mid-November 2002: Assembly at the ferry terminal, after having just handed in PhD thesis and picked up somewhat confused parents from Sweden, explaining that I ought to be back in a week. A group of sturdy mountaineers gathered in a red Ford Falcon on the wharf, with their packs full of evil-looking devices and boxes of food. Strengthened and team-built by a trip to the Mt Hopeless South Col a few weeks before: John Duggan, Keith Gerritsen, Paul Jennings, Craig Jones and undersigned.

As we left the bouncy crossing of the Cook Straight we headed south into an approaching southerly front. Around the time that we passed an inconspicuous brown triangular sign declaring the start of the Pacific Alpine Triangle, the sun setting on the dark clouds to the east made it look like the southern North Island had become extended with a high range of snowcapped peak. That triangle should soon be blamed for some other obscure phenomena, and maybe this vision of imaginary mountains was the first remainder of its namesake, the Bermuda Triangle. That dark front that we headed straight into made rippled clouds, looking like the lazy waves lapping the Kaikoura coast as we passed.

The mystery of the magic triangle materialised beyond these mere visions once darkness had set. As Keith set out to pass a car somewhere on a straight Canterbury road, the usual roar of the Falcon suddenly died off and we lost all power. We pulled over on the shoulder and walked out into the dark warm night. In the light of our headlamps we poured through the wires of the distributor, but to no avail, so time to call the AA. While we waited we played hacky-sack in the dwindling light of the headlamps of the dead Falcon. Eventually a gum-booted, smoking, beardy man turns up in a 1950's Morris pick-up. He fiddles through the same wires, but, being a local, he knows how to deal with the triangle effects and soon the roar returns to the Falcon.

After a short night in Christchurch (thanks to Fiona Pratt for letting us use her house) everyone repacked their pack at least three times before we headed out, asking the question whether the Falcon would roar today? But the beardy guy with gumboots had done a good job, and thus we left Fiona's cat to be by itself in the intensifying cool drizzle. Last provisions were picked up at the Cookie Monster Factory Outlet, so that we were prepared to make a sacrifice to the triangle powers if demanded. Soon we could feel these powers take control of us and forcing us to eat many triple chocolate cookies.

Burke Pass and beyond brought us cookie-size (this was the morning theme) snow-flakes that started to settle on the ground, preparing us for the wintery expanses we were heading for. Visions of being stuck at Lindis Pass kept the stop at snow-clad Tekapo brief. The snow and cloud proved to be an eastern Tramping & Mountaineering 2003 Gabriel Ossenkamp phenomenon, so that when we arrived in Wanaka, both the sunshine and the smile of Craig Jones, just arrived by plane, greeted us to complete the last part of the trip with the whole group.

Strengthened by the completeness of the group, the sunshine in the beautiful Matukituki Valley and the immanence of the roadend, Keith proved his West Auckland past. Some judder bar and ford speed records were broken, relegating us to petrol heads in the minds of the tourists whose immaculate rental cars we passed. This was concluded by placing a big doughnut into the gravel of the carpark under the staring eyes of a family. I think Keith's argument went something like "the powers would lose track of us and get caught up in that circle". Five already slightly smelly individuals soon-to-be-transformed-to-climbers poured out of the car and tackled their big loads. Interestingly, we established that four of us were in a state of flux, with only John being the solid anchor. Keith had quit his job in preparation for the trip (that is real commitment!), Craig was in transit from his old job to a new life in Queenstown, Paul was waiting for teaching school to commence and I had just handed in my PhD.

The gravel trick worked on the forces and our senses were now singularly concentrated on the task ahead. We spent the first night in Mt Aspiring Hut, with the usual difficulty of overcoming the big-hut anonymous atmosphere. We left the hut at a leisurely time in the morning and regrouped where the climb up to French Ridge Hut commences. Here some of the group's focus was lost to two young blonde Dutch nymphs who appeared out of the steep scrub to express their astonishment for our venture and proceeded down to the river, took their pants off and performed a noisy crossing. This made parts of the group re-organise their attention, and lead to a race up to the hill to try and be first to discover their names in the French Ridge hut book… Late lunch at French Ridge hut at the edge of some icy snow and relaxation afterwards left time for the snow flurries and wind gusts to intensify, to underline the quick transition from the green valley with its sheep and bouncy rabbits to this expanse of windswept and snow-covered rock. The hut gradually filled with climbers looking a lot more serious than us, explaining their goals of a light, quick in, quick out

Mt Aspiring, ”The Matterhorn of the South” Keith Gerritsen tour to the summit via the South West Ridge in a weather break imminent for the coming 12 hours. Seemed a bit unlikely to us, dragging our food and piles of gear, while they ate a few biscuits and had the second brew from a recycled teabag.

The strong winds and greyish outlook allowed another leisurely start to the following day, just in time to meet the people returning somewhat bedraggled from their abandoned South West Ridge attempt. We trundled up the French ridge and sidled under Mt French in a line for the Breakaway. This route worked well and a little frontpointing took us up the short steep snowslope of the Breakaway, and immediately we were rewarded by a frontal view of Mt Aspiring rising out of the flat white expanse ahead of us, the Bonar Glacier. The weather had cleared, leaving blue sky but high winds. The vast Bonar lay at our feet gently sloping to the north, leading naturally towards the Colin Todd Hut, which we thought we could see on the ridge in the distance. Mt Aspiring stood defiantly in front of us, rising to its lofty heights that poked sturdily into the strong southerly wind blowing. Somewhat awkward, as I normally associate wind with clouds, but here none were to be seen. The wind was strong enough to send a noticeable plume of snow and ice off the top of the mountain, accentuating the exposed nature of things up there. However, the gradient of the slope above the ramp, the North West Ridge, leading straight to the summit in an unbroken line, looked less intimidating than initially imagined. A reassuring thought as we took the obligatory photos, had a snack and then roped up for the walk over to Colin Todd.

Tramping & Mountaineering 2003 As that afternoon progressed at Colin Todd hut, the crowds were congregating. The sound of helicopters by Bevan Col was followed by the view of yet another little train of ants down on the Bonar, slowly growing in size and turning from black silhouettes to sweaty climbers working in wind and sunshine, some of them even towing banana boxes full of food! When darkness fell we counted 21 people in the 14-bunk hut. Three guided parties and a couple of individual groups. One of the guided groups even had a cheerful Japanese man in his fifties, just flown in straight from Tokyo, wearing crampons for the first time in his life. Later, the toe part of his boots fell off, causing various problems eventually fixed with ample duct tape. Those who were not actively preparing meals were condemned to sit in the bunks and keep out of the way, something most seemed to be rather content with. To escape the crowds and get some bearings, a few of us left the hut in the evening, ventured up some 350 m altitude from the hut along the little ridge that it sits on, to the point where this ridge meets the main North West Ridge curving up to the main summit. The Tasman Sea is astonishingly close, giving a flat blue contrast to the surrounding alpine landscape. We thought could see tops in the Darrans, maybe even Tutuko in the far distance. To the north, the ridge rises one more time before plunging down towards the brownish green valleys. A few jumbled peaks, Rolling Pin and Stargazer, form the spectacular end of this grandiose ridge that commences with Rob Roy in the South, goes via Mt Avalanche and Pope's Nose to culminate in Mt Aspiring and ends in a crescendo here. One of the guides in the hut dryly called those peaks "real tiger country", and that sums it up.

A good feed on rice, lentils coconut cream and raisins followed by a stew of dry fruits, to the tune of an excellent weather forecast for the next couple of days set us up contently in our sardine tin bunks. We presumed that the periodical rocking of the hut was due to the wind outside, and not the one caused by the meal. Ice and snow blowing through the hut ventilation chimney made it rustle and rattle rhythmically. Although the sky was fine and clear, winds as high as this would keep us from climbing any big peaks tomorrow. But were prepared to stay for at least four days, so we could do nothing but, as ever in the mountains, take it as it comes.

As John poked me at four the next morning the hut was still rocking periodically, so back to that squashed sleeplike state. No-one else made any moves to go outside into the darkness either – nor did they for most of the day, despite the considerable crowdedness. By lunch time the wind was still lifting up the icy surface off the snow and threw it against the hut, making it sound like we were inside something being sandblasted. Despite sumptuous sandwiches and glossy magazines on the part of some groups, the faces were getting longer and longer inside the hut. In a way, high winds, cloud and precipitation all together is fine, because that at least gives clarity. All odds are against going outside. But when there is not a cloud in the sky and yet the wind is prepared to almost sweep one off ones feet, and even more intimidating, makes the lid of the long drop flatter up and down so that it looks like a fish on dry land, then it is different. The high wind is out of touch Morning view from ”The Ramp” Keith Gerritsen Tramping & Mountaineering 2003 with the rest of the weather, and experience is not used to this particular constellation of things. More pulses-and-weird-grains-stew set us up for another warm night in the hut. However, outside the wind was dropping noticeably, and by sunset it was quite calm. Then Mt Aspiring rose like a lighthouse behind us: straight, towering high, shining red and showing the way. Peace was over the land and in the minds, knowing that we very shortly would go climbing.

Not many hours later the hut broke into a frenzy of activity. As I slowly woke up eyes and time perception seemed to be out of sync. A lot of jerky, hectic movement in the stroboscopic light of focussed headtorches. Slowly my senses agreed, yet people still seemed stressed in their movements. Seeing that we were still well an hour before the agreed time frame, we waited until the first lot had left the hut, before getting ready. Outside: A cloudless sky from which only Orion and the Southern Cross were shimmering bright enough to be seen over the big full moon casting a greenish silvery light over the landscape. No wind and the very reassuring crunching from the crampons in the snow, set us off in good spirits with the moonlight to lead the way.

We soon passed the first guided groups on the approach to the Ramp. Although we knew this was going to be the steep and potentially difficult part of the climb, it sort of more sneaked up on us, rather than presented itself in full clarity. The climbing became steeper and steeper, and soon we were frontpointing upwards, with the full moon providing ample light. But the slope never flattened out to give way to the hoped-for resting place. Instead we all worked our way upwards each at their own pace.

Mechanically moving two feet and two axes with utmost concentration on each and every move, not shifting the weight until the new hold felt solid, the world shrunk from the spectacular surrounding scenery to the immediate patch of sloping, featureless and crunchy snow at arm's length, into which the metal prickles attached to our extremities bit reassuringly. A tiny sphere of attention and allencompassing focus, which was not even really touched by the occasional view of the rest of the group between my legs further down. A very small world in a very big one.

A relief from the grinding leg-work and a chance to fully appreciate the surroundings came as we topped out the Ramp to the main North West Ridge. By this time the sun was about to replace the moon in the sky. The east was bright under the cloudless sky, and in the west the moon had now swelled to a big yellow ball slowly sinking into the Tasman Sea. The pointy shadow of Mt Aspiring projected onto the horizon next to the moon, providing a dark intrusion into the layers of muted orange, red, purple and blue that formed to bath of colours the moon was settling into. At the same time the very first daylight hit the surrounding summits, making the glow in deep red. The world exploded from the miniature version a few moments before into a colourful expanse of mountains along the dark blue Tasman Sea. Far away to the north the square bulk of Mt Cook rose above the horizon as sturdy as an anvil. Closer, the view north over the Therma and Volta Glaciers, the aforementioned Rolling Pin and Stargazer, with their icefalls shining red and clinging precariously to the rock before disappearing vertically into the abysses and the lake at the bottom, still in the dark shadow of the night. A convenient (and flat!!) spot half-way to the summit to regroup and refresh while the sun changed the lighting of the surrounding minute by minute. Those who want to see the starting scenes of the second instalment of the Lord of the Rings in their true splendour must come here at sunrise on a day like this, as this is the view that was filmed. Now, looking up the broadish ridge leading straight to the summit, it did not quite as look as flat as it had done in the side view a few days earlier. We wandered on upwards, encountering a surprising amount of Taranaki-like sastrugi and ice. Just after 8 am we summited after a good hour's work up the second slope. This was South Island geography in a nutshell: Aoraki in the north, the Tamsan Sea, Wanaka and Otago on the other side and a seemingly endless string of mountains to the south. Craig's cellphone had had good reception which prompted each of us to call our baffled better halves, who had presumably just entered their Wellington offices. The atmosphere was such that one was almost expecting proposals from those of us who had not yet taken this step. Later, we learned that Nicola Noble and Andrew Chinn used this very spot for that purpose a few weeks later, but they were both there in person (congratulations on the double achievement!). The summit was big enough for all of us to sit down, and there was also another guy who had solo climbed up Tramping & Mountaineering 2003 the South West Ridge sharing the space with us. In total we spent about an hour on the windless summit, and after several pictures, some snacks and sardines we started the descent. The legs felt a bit wobbly at first, getting our heads around this different sort of movement on the icy snow. From then on it proceeded very well, carefully stepping down the slope. On the way we met some other climbers who had successfully come up the South West Ridge, and by the top of the Ramp we had also met some of the guided parties making their way to the summit. By now the sun was glaring down from the sky looking almost blackish from under the sunglasses and the surface was softening quickly. Fortunately, the ascending guided parties had left their anchors in, so we could use them for abseiling down the Ramp. Wrapped up like a beduin with a polyprop top around my head, so as to not melt in the intense midday sunshine, we trudged back the flat slopes below the Ramp to the hut through ever softening snow, to arrive in time for a late lunch.

As the sunny afternoon progressed we sat on the hut veranda regularly looking up the slopes, and commented on the progress of fellow climbers. A steady trickle of people returned, the last ones earning applauses by the ever growing crowd, as they coped with the last bit of tiring wet snow in the final uphill to the hut. Enthusiastic stories were exchanged about the various routes and experiences, ranging from the guided ascent of the first-time climbers to the very seasoned two French mountain guides from Chamonix who had just pioneered a new route up the South Face. The good thing about a mountain like that is that it lets everyone be challenged to their own limits, and in the end all can rejoice in their achievements. All but two of the people who left the hut in the morning had summited, in addition to various people coming directly via the South West Ridge and French Ridge hut, making about 25 people see the elating views from the summit of Tititea that day. The two from Colin Todd who had not made it were from Australia, working on their fourth attempt in the last 6 months. Apparently they had run out of gas at the bottom of the ramp, picked out the satellite phone and called in a helicopter to take them out promptly, as we learned when we met one of them in Wanaka later. That had the advantage that we could dig into the large amounts of food they had left behind, a thing that pleases the ever-underfed mountaineers almost as much as the climbing itself.

The achievement of Craig that day deserves special mentioning. We don't quite know what he was promised during that phone call from the summit, but he was intensely determined to get out to the roadend as soon as possible. Neither intense sunshine nor wet snow could stop his striding pace. Thus he had already left the hut by the time the rest of us arrived there, and as we later learned he had walked all the way to the Aspiring hut to conclude what would then have been an 18 hour day.

Four boys on the summit Keith Gerritsen We all enjoyed having a little bit more space for the ensuing log-like sleep. The next morning greeted us with different scenery – the not too uncommon view of being inside a dense cloud brought in by a northwesterly. We decided to go home this day, as we were content with our achievement and were hoping to use the extra day for a more leisurely return to Wellington past some hot pools. After having forced down some of the leftover egg and bacon for breakfast we set off out into the murk, following the steps we had made a few days earlier. Somehow the march out in the deteriorating weather took on the air of a funeral march; the silence only broken by our regular heavy steps and Keith's deep guttural coughing like an old man. We plodded on following compasses and old steps to reach the Breakaway. The snow had now turned wet, corny and slushy in yesterday's sun and today's drizzle. We worked down the Breakaway and around the crevasses, fumbling and stumbling somewhat in the deep slush trying to get in some protection – just under the steep slopes that were regularly sending down showers of snow and ice breaking off from somewhere higher up in the murk that we could not see. This stress seemed to increase the fumbling rather than accelerate the moves as would have been preferable.

Tramping & Mountaineering 2003 We got around the crux with no more drama than the increased heartbeat, and continued out over the less steep and more open snow-covered rock slabs we had traversed a few days earlier. Now the snow had done wholesale slips to reveal the wet dark rock underneath – not a pretty sight! We were relieved to reach the relative safety of French Ridge after this route that in hindsight should not have been chosen and proceeded to a late lunch at French Ridge hut. We continued down to Mt Aspiring hut that evening, reaching it in a tired state. Strange to be back in the green again, to smell the wet earth, and shortly thereafter to encounter washed and nice-smelling young backpackeresses. Among some members of the group this unleashed still hidden reserves of energy as they explained their mountaineering exploits.

By taking a detour via Maruia Springs on the way home we escaped most of the dreaded Alpine Pacific triangle and its bizarre effects, apart form a few innocent crop rings. Thus we could relax into and reflect upon our achievement as we drove through the green summer landscape. Certainly an experience that begs for more. A great thank you to the whole team that made this experience possible!