# With axe and rope in the New Zealand Alps/Chapter 7

We reach the Great Plateau at last—Defeat again—The Crossing of the Ball Pass
'Perge et perage.'
Once again, on January 4, 1890, in company with Mr. Arthur Harper, a gentleman who had then done two seasons' climbing in Switzerland, I left Christchurch to try conclusions afresh with the monarch of the Southern Alps.
On this occasion we reached the Hermitage in two days from Christchurch, riding from Fairlie Creek, and crossing the Tasman River opposite Burnett's Mount Cook sheep station. Here we were joined by Annan, who had already conveyed the bulk of our impedimenta to the Ball Glacier camp.
On arrival at this point I at once remarked that the ice of the Ball Glacier had risen above its customary level, and seemed to be encroaching in a lateral direction—a circumstance which undoubtedly points to a cycle of advance in the great body of the ice, to be registered at the terminal face in years to come.
It will not be out of place here to give a description of our usual Alpine outfit, which may enable ​others to glean some idea of what is requisite and convenient for Alpine work in New Zealand.
The most necessary gear for ice and rock work is suitable boots, broad-soled and flat-heeled, shod well but not too thickly with heavy hobs, wrought nails being preferable to cast. An ice-axe for each man—not the light tourist's axe, but a guide's axe. Alpine rope is quite indispensable, and Buckingham's is the favourite make; we usually take two or three 50-feet lengths. Two tents, 6 feet by 8 feet and 6 feet by 7 feet, the former for use at the head camp, the latter a tent built after the 'Whymper' pattern with the floor sewn in, but capable of being pitched on inverted ice-axes lengthened by two 18-inch supplementary poles (an ingenious contrivance of Dixon's). Sleeping bags, 7 feet by 3 feet, made of blanketing, and covered with an outside bag of oiled calico, impervious to water. Aneroid, thermometer, prismatic compass, pocket compass. Goggles (neutral tint) are invaluable, and save the eyes from the awful glare which is always experienced on new snow and from the blinding sleet which drives in a storm. Folding lanterns (Austrian pattern) often enable one to find the way to camp when benighted or to make very early starts. A sheath-knife comes in very handy in camp, and a supply of fresh nails for our boots is never omitted, whilst a small 'Aurora' lamp stove is invaluable above the line of vegetation, and a shangai, or common schoolboy's window-breaker, is often useful in procuring birds for the cuisine.
For clothing, woollen shirts and knickerbockers of warm tweed material are the best, and great comfort is ​to be found in a loose-fitting boating 'sweater' worn over the waistcoat.
For provisions we generally rely on fresh mutton, to be fried in the pan or boiled in the 'billy,' bread, biscuits, rice, oatmeal, Liebig's Extract, chocolate, tea, and so on. A pound or two of fresh butter is always a boon, and a few tins of marmalade, whilst to some men onions supply the oft-felt want of a vegetable diet.
There is another indispensable, which here, as in the Caucasus, is very necessary. I refer to the late Mr. Donkin's naïve requisite at the end of his Caucasus list—'infinite patience'; and to this may be added fixedness of purpose, determination, and perseverance.
Mount Cook, or Aorangi, from a climber's point of view, is a very difficult peak to climb, even to a height of 9,000 feet, which our party attained on this occasion, chiefly on account of the length and tiresomeness of its approach. It is simply part of a great ridge which branches off in a southerly direction from the main divide of the Southern Alps. From its three peaks, all situated on this ridge, diverge four main spurs (or arêtes, as Alpine men call them). From the lowest and southernmost peak (11,787 feet) descends to the Ball Pass the southern arête; from the middle peak (12,173 feet) the eastern arête, descending on to an enormous buttress which separates the Ball and Hochstetter Glaciers; from the northernmost and highest peak (12,349 feet) two arêtes diverge, the north-eastern, separating the Hochstetter and Linda Glaciers and terminating in the ice of the Great ​Plateau; and, lastly, the northern ridge, connecting with the main divide between Mount Tasman and St. David's Dome. A comparatively low rock saddle in this ridge occurs between the highest peak of Aorangi and the junction with the main divide, leading on one hand into the Linda Glacier, and on the other to the head of the Hooker Glacier. Aorangi is thus quite cut off from the west coast, and has, in fact, no 'western flanks,' as is generally supposed.
It was an intensely hot day, and scarcely a breath stirred as Harper, Annan, and I struck out on the now well-known route across the Ball and Hochstetter Glaciers for the Haast Ridge, but the clear mountain air seemed to rush into our lungs, putting health and strength into every fibre.
The mountains were glorious in the noonday glare, and the foliage on their lower slopes was in its gayest height of blossom. Now and then an avalanche would thunder down in the ice-fall or from the higher slopes above, or the whistle of a kaka down the valley could be detected. These and the merry tinkling of the surface streams were the only sounds to break the spell of silence and benignant peace which seemed to reign over all. These are the scenes which go straight to the heart of the true nature-loving mountaineer.
To reach the foot of the couloir by which three years previously Dixon, Inglis, and I had descended involved the usual amount of hot scrambling up tali or fans of detritus from the rocks above. Once in the couloir (which was snow-filled in places) we were not long in reaching our old bivouac, where we deposited our first batch of provisions, &c., our plan being ​to descend again that day and bring up more supplies on the morrow.
Coming down, Harper had an almost miraculous escape from swift and certain destruction. We were glissading on a snow slope when a mass of rocks broke suddenly away from above and whizzed down the slope at a terrific rate, passing within a few inches of Harper, who did not observe them coming, though both Annan and myself had seen the rocks start a hundred feet or so above him, and had shouted to warn him of their descent.
This was a warning to us to be careful how we trusted snow couloirs during the afternoon, after the sun's rays had done their daily work on the crust of the snow. It is by such lessons that we in New Zealand have learnt without the aid of Swiss guides to understand, to appreciate, and circumvent those dangers to which the Alpine climber is always more or less exposed.
Another fine morning saw us off again with sleeping-bags, tent, &c., and by noon we were up at the bivouac with three days' supplies. Only resting for an hour or two we pushed on upwards, intending to cross the Great Plateau—that ice-field of which we knew, but which we seemed fated never to reach—and find some sheltering rocks under Aorangi's uppermost slopes where we might spend the night.
In a few minutes we reached Mr. Green's sleeping-place, across which now lay a rock weighing some tons (another warning), illustrating forcibly the rotten state of the rocks.
We now roped and took to the snow, which led ​first on to a small dip or saddle in the ridge (sloping off on the right to the Freshfield Glacier and on the left to the Hochstetter ice-fall), and then on to steep snow slopes leading up to the crest of the ridge overlooking the plateau, now about 1,000 feet above us.
We proceeded cautiously over many half-covered crevasses, and crossing the small dip or saddle took to the slopes beyond, now and then taking to the rocks on our left. The climbing was somewhat dangerous, mainly owing to the bad state of the snow, which would start away in avalanches, or give way on the edge of a crevasse just at the moment one put one's weight on to spring.
At length we gained the highest rocks, which proved very bad going and seemed likely to bring us to a stand; but the leading man going up the last fifty feet alone, sent down a spare rope, making one end fast above, by whose assistance the second man followed in safety, the last man making the swags fast to the rope below to be hauled up. In the act of hoisting them, however, one broke away, and commenced a furious flight down the slopes up which we had so laboriously toiled. To the swag was attached a pannikin and the tin cistern of our lamp stove, and at every bound we could hear the rattling of the tin as we watched the truant bundle leaping down, and we thought of what might be our fate, were it not for our trusty rope and axes, should we start unexpectedly down the steep slopes.
Still down went the swag, turning over on its ends and bounding over crevasses in a manner which made us quite envious. At last it hovered on a saddle. In ​breathless anxiety we wondered if it would stop, or whether it would take the slope to the Hochstetter ice-fall on the one hand, or the Freshfield on the other. One little effort more it appeared to make, and then away it went, careering down again towards the Freshfield ice-fall below.
Our hopes were shattered, and we were fast giving vent to expressions of despair when the career of the swag was suddenly cut short in a partially filled bergschrund, where it was brought up in some soft snow.
We dared not risk staying out for the night where we were without the lost swag, for no rocks affording any shelter were available, so determined, after making a little further progress to get a view of the plateau, to return to our bivouac at 7,400 feet—about 1,200 or 1,400 feet below our present altitude—and make a fresh attempt on the next day, weather permitting. The last man came up the rope, and we made our way up the final slopes of snow on to that great dome of glacier which we had so often gazed on from below.
Ah, what a sight burst upon our astonished eyes as we gained its summit!
It seemed the very acme of mountain glory in all the glories around us. A few hundred feet below lay that terra incognita, the Great Plateau, rounding off southwards to the Hochstetter ice-fall, bounded on the west by the giant form of Aorangi, on the north by Mount Tasman, and on the east by Mount Haast and the ridge of that mountain on which we now stood. The Linda Glacier could just be observed coming round the north-eastern arête of Aorangi, and on either side of it towered up to the heavens the two grandest ​mountains in New Zealand—Aorangi and Mount Tasman; the former a lowering fortress of black rock and hanging glaciers, avalanche-streaked throughout, the latter an ice-clad mass with three summits, covered thickly with hanging glaciers overlapping one another as do shingles on a housetop, looking utterly unclimbable. Only two masses of rock are visible, over which avalanches constantly swept.
The sight is certainly the grandest of its kind I have seen in the Southern Alps, and Harper tried in vain to recall its equal in Switzerland.
After working our way upwards along the ridge to the nearest rocks we deposited a note of our visit in a pannikin, and building a small cairn over it, beat a retreat.
We experienced some difficulty in getting down the top rocks, but eventually gained our footsteps in the snow, and following down the route of the truant swag, recovered it from its snowy bed some 600 feet below the point where it commenced its downward journey.
We arrived at the bivouac just before dark, and had scarcely finished brewing a warm drink when down came a nor'-wester upon us.
Pitching the tent was out of the question, so piling stones upon it we spent a miserably cold night, and by the time morning came all thoughts of tackling Aorangi had flown, and soon we were speeding down to our refuge at the Ball Glacier camp again.
Thus ignominiously ended my fourth attempt to climb Mount Cook.
In the afternoon Annan went down the valley with directions to join us two days afterwards at the Hermit​age, Harper and myself being determined to cross the southern spur of Aorangi at the head of the Ball Glacier, and work our way down the Hooker Glacier to the Hermitage.
Starting on a misty morning, we climbed what we call the Ball Glacier spur—a ridge which diverges from the main ridge of the Mount Cook Range at a point immediately south of the Ball Pass. It was by this ridge that Mr. Green's first and unsuccessful attempt was made, and up this same route I had climbed the previous season with the photographer.
The major part of the climb is easy, good foothold being obtained on the red sandstone rocks. In the upper part snow-fields alternate with the rocks. The Ball Glacier lies couched in the valley on the right, vast precipices going sheer down to it from the crest of the ridge, whilst the slopes on the left descend to the Tasman Valley.
After four hours of climbing we reached the main southern arête, and paused on the snow saddle for lunch and rest, and to admire the splendid prospect of the eastern faces of the mountain, and the ever-fresh, marvellous panorama of the Tasman Glacier.
Erecting a cairn on the rocks close by, and christening the saddle after that father of mountaineering—John Ball—we commenced the descent on a good snow slope towards the Hooker Glacier. All the mountains on the western side were enveloped in mist, which, however, fortunately hung high enough to enable us to ​discern the whole extent of the Mueller Glacier and most of that of the Hooker.
Bearing away southwards to avoid the crevassed parts of the slope below, we were soon enjoying a merry glissade—sometimes sitting, sometimes standing, whizzing down in a cloud of snow which curled up from our feet and showered down upon us.
Ah, the exhilaration of a good glissade! How you seem to fly through the air and cleave the fast-speeding surface! How the snow hisses and the axe grinds! How the excitement thrills you as you look out for danger ahead, or rushing avalanches behind! There is nothing to touch it—switchback railway, going downhill on a bicycle, skating—all are far behind.
In a quarter of an hour we entered a rocky gorge, and still down we sped on the snow, winding about in and out between magnificent rock precipices, until before another fifteen minutes had elapsed we emerged into the Hooker Valley, having come down 4,000 feet under half an hour.
Turning down the valley we kept to the old lateral moraine of the Hooker Glacier (which stands 235 feet above the present level of the glacier), and found it good walking.
Once more, however, fortune forsook us, and an enemy in the shape of a south-west gale, accompanied with heavy rain, met us, against which at times we could scarcely make any headway. But struggling on we crossed the Hooker River on the ice of the Mueller Glacier, which at that time spanned it, and reached the Hermitage drenched to the skin at 4.30—eight hours from the Ball Glacier.
​This was the first, and up to the time of writing is the only crossing of the Ball Pass, an excursion which ere long must become a favourite one, for a track is just completed to the Ball Glacier, where a two-roomed hut has been erected by the Government for the use of tourists and mountaineers.
A finer point of observation than the Ball Pass would be hard to find, as it commands the most comprehensive views of the Tasman, Hooker, and Mueller Glacier systems.