With axe and rope in the New Zealand Alps/Chapter VI
CHAPTER VI
THE ASCENT OF THE HOCHSTETTER DOME
Camp under De la Bêche—Twelve Hours on Snow and Ice—The Pangs of Hunger
Thursday, April 4, was a memorable day, for Annan coming up from the Hermitage with a further supply of the ever-welcome 'tucker,' we started on one of the finest mountain expeditions I have seen in our New Zealand mountains.
It was not part of our original plan to ascend the Dome; we merely intended to reach the Lendenfeld Saddle and get a glimpse of the opposite coast and the western ocean, and it was with this object in view that Johnson, Annan, and I shouldered our swags and tramped off to the foot of De la Bêche, which was made in three hours' hard walking.
Here we camped in a snug hollow between the lateral moraines of the Tasman and Rudolf Glaciers. Small shingle composed our bed, and a snow patch close by provided us with water, which we boiled in our 'Aurora' stove, as no firewood was to be found so far up the glacier.
A fine Friday morning found us at a quarter to seven on the rope, and making hard work of it amongst the crevasses of the Tasman Glacier.
The distance from our De la Bêche camp to the saddle must be about six or seven miles, but in the soft and treacherous snow it seemed more like sixty or seventy.
The glare was something dreadful, and soon our faces and hands were of the peculiar chocolate colour which invariably comes under such circumstances. We could not bear the goggles off for an instant. Gradually we rose as we plodded away, now and then stepping over an open crevasse or making a détour to find snow bridges. There are but few crevasses, however, for several miles, only when in the proximity of the saddle where the gradient increases they once more begin to occur.
On either hand fresh beauties opened out; De la Bêche on our left presenting the most wonderful face of sérac ice, streaked here and there with avalanche slopes, whilst on the right Mount Malte Brun—the Matterhorn of New Zealand—reared his great red precipices heavenwards, and further on the Darwin Glacier and Mount Darwin showed in a glorious light their magic splendour.
Now on our left we passed Mount Green, a fine precipitous cone of rocks and ice, and then we rose faster and faster as we edged on to the slopes of the great Hochstetter Dome on our right, whilst opposite, Mount Elie de Beaumont showered down his ice streams to join the Tasman.
Taking turns at leading, at last we came to what looked like the final rise. An exclamation broke from Johnson as he espied the new moon appear over the saddle ahead. It was a small matter, but it seemed to revive our failing energy and to call us on to victory to see the silver crescent apparently awaiting us on the snow ridge. Then a distant peak appeared—a wild cheer broke from us; another peak, and yet one more, followed by groups of twos and threes, dozens, hundreds—glaciers! forest! a river! the sea! the boundless ocean! 'Hurrah!' we shouted, 'our tramp has not been in vain.'
Here we were in the heart of Nature's solitudes, where only once before the foot of man had trodden the eternal snows.
We spent forty-five minutes refreshing the inner man and drinking in the glorious view, consulting maps, and reading the aneroid. The saddle was 8,600 feet high; the Dome was but 9,315 feet. Should we try it? Yes, we would.
At it we went, cutting many steps and crossing several awkward bergschrunds, until we reached a level plateau. Crossing this field we attacked the final slopes. It was terrific work, and the last pinch required 280 steps, all cut with the spike of the axe and deeply graven, as a slip in such a place would probably have meant the loss of the entire party in one of the crevasses in the slope below.
My hands were blistered with the axe work, but at 3 p.m. we were able to walk on the fast rounding-off slopes without steps, and soon we were on the summit, happy and flushed with victory. The mountain has a double top and we were on the western and slightly lower one.
What shall I say of the view from the Hochstetter Dome? It is comprehensive and wonderful. The whole country lay like a map before us. Westwards Elie de Beaumont and the western ocean, at our feet the Whymper Glacier, from which flowed the Wataroa River, threading its way through forest- and glacier-clad mountains to the sea, twenty miles away. Northwards and eastwards extended in glorious and shining array the magnificent chain of the Alps; glacier upon glacier, peak upon peak, range upon range of splendid mountains. Eastwards a fine rocky peak without a name and Mount Darwin, and looking south-westwards down the Tasman Glacier, from whence we had toiled our laborious way, the eye could follow the course of the great ice stream for twelve or thirteen miles, flanked by the grand mountains which sent down their tributary ice streams to join the mass in the valley below.
We gave three hearty cheers for her Majesty, and three for our proud little colony, and commenced the descent, going down backwards in the steps, and taking firm hold with our axes at every movement.
Time was precious, and on leaving the steps we ran down most of the less crevassed slopes, and soon found ourselves at the foot of the conquered mountain. Away we plodded down the glacier again—a hard, monotonous grind—till we arrived in the failing light at the system of crevasses on the outside of the turn of the glacier, close to our camp of the previous night.
This time we kept further out from the edge; but it was six of one and half a dozen of the other, for soon we were completely entrapped in a perfect maze of transverse and longitudinal crevasses, over which the only mode of progression was continued jumping.
This work in the dusk was anything but pleasant, yet had to be accomplished, and thanks to the aid of the rope, after leaping hundreds of them, we at length found our way off the side of the glacier to our tent.
How we watched the slowly warming 'billy' with eager eyes, and drank in fancy over and over again the pannikin of hot Liebig. How we shut the wind out and nursed the stinking kerosene stove! Alas for our hopes and our hungry stomachs, the lamp went wrong somehow, and the oil flowing over, the tent was on the verge of catching fire when Annan gave the whole concern a kick which sent flaming lamp, 'billy' and all outside. I hope the strong language and expressions of disgust have long since been forgiven us; but I really think they were justified.
Twelve hours' hard going did the Dome require. Von Lendenfeld took twenty-seven from the point of Malte Brun just opposite this camp.
Three hours' walking the next morning saw us back at our head-quarters, the Ball Glacier camp, where we found Dixon in active preparation for an assault on Aorangi, though not so strong as we could have wished.
Now a great council of war was held, the main point of discussion being as to whether we should attempt our long deferred ascent of Aorangi, which was, as usual, the chief object of our visit to the glaciers.
Here we were, with provisions for four or five days longer, the mountain apparently in good order, the weather perfection, and we were not pushed for time. The mountain had been inspected by various members of the party from different coigns of vantage. We had seen from a distance the névé fields leading on to the Linda Glacier.
Against this we had first to consider the state of Dixon's health. He was quite prepared, and anxious to try the ascent. We thought that it would be too much for him. Then there was the accident to the lamp, which was now useless, there was no firewood at the bivouac, 7,400 feet up, and no sure means of procuring water. Annan, too, had to leave to attend to his work down country, and I think, if the truth were told, that Johnson and I felt as if we had had enough of mountaineering for a time.
Yet we were very loth to turn our faces away again from the grim giant who had defied us so long, and it was only with much reluctance that we decided to abandon the project. So for the third time I retired from the ramparts of Aorangi unsuccessful, on this occasion without even so much as an attempt.
We came down to the Hermitage once more, and after a day or two's quiet rest yoked Dixon's celebrated tandem up, crossed the Tasman River, thus cutting off thirty miles of our homeward journey, and reached Fairlie Creek in two days. Here I took the train, whilst Dixon and Johnson drove home. The drive down and back—500 miles—was accomplished in twelve days' travelling with the same team of horses.