A Winter Visit to Mount Angelus

A Winter Visit to Mount Angelus Alpine climbing is no laughing matter. Between the blizzards, white-outs, ice-block feet, cracked skin, being trapped for days in freezing huts with only yellowing editions of Reader’s Digest for entertainment, it’s easy to lose sight of the reasons for getting involved in this form of physical endurance.

However when the plan comes together, it’s surprising how fast the hardships fade and all memory of foregone miseries retreat. The splendour of virgin white against vivid blue, stark splendid rock formations touching the Gods, the rush of sharp air leaving the senses giddy, this is the stuff that makes aiming for the heavens worthwhile.

And the plan came together during the August trip to Mount Angelus. We set out Thursday evening, stopping in Picton to devour fish ’n’ chips before heading to St Arnaud in Nelson Lakes. We slept on wooden benches in an open shelter in sub-zero temperatures. Coming from Ireland, a country whose past may be a story of struggle but whose present is very much a fairytale of hot showers and central heating, this particular pursuit of weekend pleasure is inconceivable. But rough it we did, and there were no howls of disbelief as there would be back home. Whinging is a sign of weakness and has no place in the hardy world of alpine climbing. It was a long cold night. No one snored.

Sunrise the next day was promising, a sharp frost and blue sky hinted at an enjoyable tramp to Lake Angelus Hut. We took the Speargrass Track and walked through the dappled bush, stopping for a brew On top of Mt Angelus (Max Thomas)

Tramping & Mountaineering 2004

Niamh McManus and a bite at Speargrass Creek. Not long after, we donned the crampons and trekked as far as the top of the ridge around the basin. The alpine-style hut lay almost buried at the foot of a frozen lake, enclosed by a large almost circular protective ridge. Our weekend goal, the summit of Mount Angelus, rose majestically behind the hut. Not that majestically; at 2075m it is a modest goal, but a goal nonetheless.

After the usual domestic tasks, lighting the stove, shovelling snow from the porch and toilets, reheating frozen feet, we prepared dinner and turned in for an early night. The dessert is worth a mention here. Lyndsay, a veteran mountaineer recently moved to Nelson, presented us with - not one, not two, but three - fresh-from-the-packet cheese cakes. In exchange we grilled him for details of his alpine career, in particular the 6-month stint in the Southern Alps when he was a fearless young mountaineer. All said it was a satisfying end to a pleasant day.

Next sunrise, Lyndsay almost lost his cachet as Mr Everyman when he announced the summit attempt should be called off. The sky was blue, the sun shone and the mountain was calling. What??! Give us a good reason. He pointed to the spindrift on the mountain top and the thin lines of black filth forming

Celebrating the success (Max Thomas)

on the east horizon. Bugger.

The heavy weight of disappointment lifted when Grant, team leader par extraordinaire, stomped up, dismissed any notion of heading back, and charged onwards. We steeled ourselves against the icy blasts as we crossed the exposed saddle before reaching the foot of the mountain. We climbed the West face which offered some protection against the icy Souwester.

And we made it. Looking back on the photos, they don’t do the experience justice. After gasping up the mountain, concentrating on not making any false moves, to reach the top and drink in the expansive world around you is an exhilarating high. Perhaps it’s the mix of cold air, the heady sense of feeling ‘on top’, the humbling views or just the satisfaction of all these things. From where we stood, we had a 360 degree vista of jagged snow-capped peaks against a clear sky as far as the eye could see – to the west, Kahurangi National Park, 1000-Acre Plateau, Mt Owen and Mount Arthur, to the north lay the Tasman Sea and the Richmond Range. The Kaikoura Ranges lay still and silent to the east, and behind us the ranges seemed to go on forever, at least all the way down to Queenstown in the far south. It is an uplifting panorama, best enjoyed from an elevated point and surrounded by vast blue sky. To the foreground, Mount Hopeless stood tall and seductive; I believe it was calling my name but maybe it was just the light breeze.

After the pictures and the snacks and the triumph we trekked down, at one point bum-sliding part of the Tramping & Mountaineering 2004 descent. Following the basin ridge, we became paparazzi for the day, gluttonously snapping the views from every conceivable angle, aware that such perfect photo opportunitiess are limited. The day’s climbing was rounded off by a monster bum-slide from the top of the ridge. This is the mother of all bumslides. At about 300m, with a steep gradient, it offers the optimum mix of speed and length. Note: tuck jacket into over-trousers to prevent a bed of snow from lodging up your back.

Next day the South Island sparkled in style. The sun was high, the wind was low and the climbers were happy. Robert Ridge offered more pleasant views, and also some cramponing challenges. Crossing a steep slope with only steel spikes and skill between you and certain injury offers a satisfying adrenaline flow.

We lunched on stale bread and sunshine at Bushline Hut and discussed the merits of weight-distributed ergonomic alpine packs. After a leisurely tramp back to the van, we realised we’d left one of the party meandering around Rotoiti Lake. Could the ergonomic pack have affected his sense of direction? It didn’t matter, we were tired and happy and lay on the grass, soaking up the rays and stretching the last few hours of a glorious trip.

Many thanks to everyone there for making it such a great trip. Special thanks to leader Grant Newton, for making it all happen, and Lyndsay, for nearly not making it happen but offering invaluable insights on ‘knocking the bugger off’!