Through South Westland/Appendix

by A. Maud Moreland

APPENDIX.

THE CLIMBING OF THE SILVER CONE, ASPIRING RANGE.

The second season after I was there, the central peak, by many believed to be unclimbable, was conquered by Captain Head, R.A., with New Zealand guides. The year before it had been attempted by an experienced climber, Dr. Teichelmann of Hokitika, who brought back a unique series of photographs. His attempt was made from the west, where so many days were lost in cutting a track through heavy bush country, that for lack of time the central peak had to be abandoned. Much of the range was, however, explored by him in company with Alex. Graham of the Waiho gorge. This young guide, with Mr. J. Clarke of the New Zealand Geological Survey, discovered the route by which Captain Head made the ascent of the highest peak, 9,975 feet.

I append some extracts from a letter I received from him, giving a graphic account of the climb:

“Our first attempt was made up the east branch, but in this we were destined to disappointment, for after establishing a base-camp, in bad weather, and then waiting for several days for it to clear, we found that it would be impossible from that position. The Pope’s Nose (which is really a shoulder of Aspiring) stood boldly up from the head of the valley, presenting almost sheer rock faces, and so plastered with icicles that any attempt from this position was quite out of the question so early in the season. So we were forced to alter our plan of attack. Looking from where we were now located, we concluded that the south face of Aspiring was drained by the western branch of the Matukituki; and as our only hope now lay in that direction, we decided to waste no time about starting for the western branch, and accordingly struck camp next morning, and with the help of Macpherson and his horse we took all we required with us. The first night we pitched camp opposite the Rob Roy glacier, where we were detained for two days by bad weather. On the weather again clearing we went on to the edge of the bush above the cascade, where we established our base-camp.

“On the following day we started with a flying-camp for the head of the river, with six days’ provisions. After passing the Ice-caves we again got into bush and much rougher country, and after a weary day’s march with heavy swags, we found ourselves in the open river-bed and old moraine heaps, which were literally snow-white with mountain lilies and celmisia. That night we took our well-earned rest in our little alpine tent surrounded with beautiful mountain flowers, within sight of the head of the western branch, but to our dismay instead of it rising from the southern face of our mountain, it ended abruptly in a snow-saddle. We now knew, however, that what lay between us and Aspiring must be the head snow-fields of the Bonar glacier, from which rises the Waipara, a tributary of the Arawata river, which empties into Jackson’s Bay (West Coast). On rising early next morning we decided to make the col at the head of the river, and were rewarded by a beautiful view of the Waipara valley, and also of the main ice-fall of the Bonar glacier; but we found it impossible to get to our peak from this saddle. Our one hope now lay in returning some distance down the river and trying another saddle, which we hoped would give us access to the “névé” of the Bonar, over which we trusted to pick a route that would bring us to Aspiring.

“Accordingly, next morning we started on our final attempt, taking all camping gear with us. We climbed slowly up a good leading spur for some hours until reaching a height of between five or six thousand feet, where we decided on a spot suitable for a bivouac. The day was beautifully fine, with scarcely a cloud in the sky. After having made all preparations for camp, Clarke and I went on in the afternoon to the high saddle we were making for, and on which all our hopes lay in gaining access to the peak. We were all struck with the wonderful and beautiful views that surrounded us on all sides; and the amount of Alpine country, and the fineness of most of the peaks was much beyond what we expected, and we often paused on our upward way to admire to the full the glory of that afternoon. Looking down the valley we could plainly see Mount Earnslaw and the Dart valley over a low saddle in the dividing range.

“As Clarke and I neared the top of the saddle, you can imagine we were quite excited and anxious to see whether disappointment or a hope of success was in store for us. So you can imagine our joy to find, when we at length reached the col, that we practically stood on the border of an immense snowfield some two-and-a-half to three miles across, and which afforded us a clear route to the foot of Aspiring, standing up grandly in front of us.

“After picking a route for the final climb of the peak we returned to camp, and reported to Captain Head that everything seemed favourable for success.

“The following morning we rose at 12.30, starting an hour later by lantern-light, and by following our steps of the previous day reached the saddle just as day was breaking. Our hopes, however, did not rise with the day, as a sudden change of weather threatened, and thick mist started to drive up from the north, and we were soon enveloped in a dense and cold fog. However, to our joy, as the sun rose, it again cleared, and we were able to proceed; and we started off across the great snow plateau at a brisk walk, and after an hour-and-a-half we stood at the foot of the real climb. We had been roped together since leaving camp, so, after a short halt, we started on more serious work. Our route lay up very steep snow-slopes for about 3,000 feet, which required step-cutting all the way—the final 600 feet to the summit was along a sharp snow arête. All rocks were so plastered with icicles that it was impossible to tackle them, so that it was just a matter of step-cutting, and we at last stood on the highest point of Aspiring. The wind, however, had again risen, and clouds started to drive up thickly again from the north—so the view, which would undoubtedly have been a magnificent one, was hidden from our eyes; Mount Cook could just be discerned away in the dim distance, jutting through the cloud-bank. With the weather threatening, we could not afford to linger more than a few minutes on the top. The descent was made in good time, retracing our steps made in the ascent. Misty clouds enveloped us occasionally during the descent and also crossing the snow-field. . . . I am afraid you will get weary of this rather rambling account, but still trust you may find something of interest in it. . . .

“Sincerly yours,

“Alex. Graham.”