Growing Old and Pacing Yourself - of Mountains and Valleys.

This February marked the opening of a print exhibition I shared with two other artists (potter and a painter) at Darfield. It was stressful because I worried excessively about how the glassed and framed works would survive the air trip from Hamilton - they did.

Paradise - the Upper Waimakariri

After the opening and catching up with friends I made the most of my presence in the South Island and took off for the hills about Arthur's Pass for a few days with Mike White and Jim Wilson, 'old' climbing friends for more than sixty-five years. Sadly, Dave Elphick, the other of our climbing 'quartet', passed away a little while ago.

We spent much of the time based at Rough Creek Shambles, the Wilson family batch at the 'Pass'. From there we did day trips to the Upper Otira Valley, to the top of Avalanche Peak and had a three day excursion to the Pfieffer Bivi to the west of Arthur's Pass. There were heaps of stories from the past and we managed to even repeat a few of them during our trip! And the others would politely wait until you'd finished before telling you you'd told it two days ago!!

Mike and Jim

The Rocky Knoll

One of the Pfieffer Basins

Pfieffer Bivi

The highlight was probably our trip to Pfieffer. Apart from the return day the weather was magnificent and we spent the middle day resting and taking photos of the surrounds. The big lesson for us was finding that our times were more than double the guide book times. The suggested 4-6hrs in to Pfieffer took us close to 11hrs. This was a wake-up for us who (it seemed only a few years ago) prided ourselves on doing trips well under suggested times.

Our trip up the Otira Valley was full of memories - joint memories of both joy and sadness. It is still one of our favourite valleys.

In the Upper Otira Valley

And then there was a great lunch with John (Jim's brother) and Ash - full of good stories from Ash - and us. Isn't it great when folk who know one another well, get together - there is never a lost word.
And everywhere about Arthur's Pass was the hyperactivity of the Coast to Coast - in full swing as we climbed Avalanche - more memories.

We nearly didn't make it to the summit of Avalanche Peak - managed it by having a good rest and adjusting our pace downwards. On top it was like the United Nations - young back packers from Israel, France, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Switzerland, Holland, Germany, America, United Kingdom, several from Asia and a few Kiwis. And they were just the ones we found out about. All good company - as is usual when you meet like-minded folk in the mountains.

Slowly Upwards Towards Avalanche Peak

Edelweiss

Little Leafed Celmisia

A Kea scans our lunch with a wicked eye.

Mt Rolleston and Crow Neve from Avalanche Peak

We didn't seem to be going slowly - the others were just faster and the clock wasn't fibbing. I guess that out average age of over 82 had something to do with it. But we enjoyed ourselves and felt pleased with our achievements. Still planning more get-togethers in the mountains.

Here is a quote from something I read about 65 years ago :

… he who loves the mountains for themselves and for their eternal beauty will never grudge them their everlasting youth. He will turn to them again and again, knowing they will never fail him. And when he can no longer do more than lift his eyes to the hills he will still find that the promised strength is unfailing – not strength of body but of spirit, garnered from long days in nature’s tranquillity and peace.

Andre Roche “On Rock and Ice”

David Julian Elphick 1935-2018 - Recollections

Very early in 2018 an old climbing mate, Dave Elphick, from over 60 years ago, died in UK. His death set me musing about our past. I've cut and pasted it here as a tribute to him.

"Where to begin with you, Dave?  I've thought a bit about it and think it best to just start at the beginning.

After Pat Barcham mentioned that you, Jim Wilson and Mike White were looking for a climber to make a four – "Quartet" – you and I decided to do a familiarization trip together. The plan was to climb Rolleston and descend the Jellicoe Ridge as far as we could towards the Waimakariri River. We didn't quite make it to Mt Stewart (only Guinevere) and only just made our way down the bluffs into the lower Crow. In the dark we stumbled down the lower Waimak to Klondyke Corner and up to the Pass. It was a hell of a long day.

But we'd started before that. On the way to Arthurs Pass, at Springfield, while we waited for the train engine to shunt things about we went for a run – in our mountaineering boots. We both knew how to run and some 20 minutes later had the measure of each other. Back to the climb. 

Long Whisper

(for David Elphick)

We traverse the skyline

plunge down the last ridge

now cloud from the west

shuts down the stars

water from the last crossing

warms in our boots

brings a niggle of river gravel

even talk chafes at the edges

and the gravity of a long day

drags heavy on shutters of vision

we stumble moonless down valley

bump shoulders  again and again

feel the long whisper of water

the comfort of mountain talk.

Soon we were planning our first big trip into the Southern Alps. Preparing the gear and food we enthusiastically gave ourselves nicknames – after our heroes. There was Andre (.. Roche the French climber) – you, Dave; Jim was Willy after the German Himalayan climber, Willy Merkl; Mike became Heinrich after Heinrich Harrer – the Eiger climber; and I ended up as Herr Schmid after the Schmid brothers. The names have stuck for over sixty years!

Dave on Red Lion Traverse

Dave on Summit of Red Lion Peak

Our first long trip was into the Arrowsmiths and the Rakaia. There were many climbs but one with you stands out. You and I decided to climb Red Lion but, because of the big schrund below Red Lion Col decided to traverse to the col from Full Moon Saddle (ahh, those place names) – we climbed both Red Lion peaks but the big memory is of that traverse – one of the steepest I remember – cutting steps all the way – even with crampons – and worst of all the flying rocks – the ones we heard and never saw. And then on the return was the schrund below Red Lion Col – we definitely didn't want to go back across the face beneath Pascoe's 'piece de resistance'. So we jumped the schrund! You went first and I followed onto the lower lip. It was quite a drop and you managed to get a chip of ice in the eye. I bandage you up and you managed to do the next few days – and eventually down the Evans Glacier with one eye – not easy.

Dave on the Crux of Hicks

Dave sussing the Crux on Hicks

Next year our big effort was up the La Perouse Glacier behind Mt Cook. We had some wonderful climbs there but the one that stands out for me was our first ascent of the North Face of Hicks (or David's Dome as it was called). You led the crux of the climb and, sharing the lead, we struggled on (in good weather) reaching the top in time to see the lights of the Hermitage down below in the evening gloom. All night we shivered side by side in the cold as a storm developed, and struck at dawn. It amazed me that we managed to get down. For days all of us had cursed your long length of rappelling line and then at the crux of the descent amid hail and wind you pulled it out of your pack and saved our lives. We just made it back to the snow cave before we expired! Our journey back over the main divide to the Hermitage and the waitress from Bondi Beach was an epic in itself.

Our next season was ambitious – we planned to pack our gear over Teichelmann and climb everything in the Balfour! It was not to be. We were chased out of the Linda by a frightening ice avalanche and then the weather closed in. Just as it was clearing many days later we were summoned to help rescue another climber from the bottom of a crevasse. You and I were lowered into it and there, on the bedrock of the glacier, you splinted his broken femur. It all ended well and you were mentioned in dispatches for the amazing job you'd done. We had even greater ambitions for the following year – everything was directed towards one climb – a traverse of Tasman to Cook. It was not to be – having traversed Lendenfeldt we were turned back by the huge schrund on the north shoulder of Tasman. There were other climbs Dave. We had a great climb with Jim and Ivan, climbing Aspiring in a two-day weekend from Christchurch – one of those crazy things we set ourselves.

Dave at Chancellor Hut

Terry and Dave in Christchurch - This Time Dave Was Stonkered

You really get to know people when you live with them. I got to know you in huts, in tents, shivering together on mountain-tops and glacial moraines – to say nothing of the ice faces, gorges, dry riverbeds and aspiring ridges. You were a great companion during all those formative times – organized - prepared - disciplined – safe – energetic – thorough – generous and always seeking and striving. I often thought it was your thoroughness and intensity that held you back in some ways – probably from a good career in medicine.  But these characteristics served you well in your distinguished career in male psychiatric nursing. Like the other members of our 'Quartet' I loved you like a brother – and then suddenly you had to leave your three brothers - and your sisters and Terry of course.  Great journey, Dave."

Youthful beginnings - mountains - influences

Looking through an old NZ Geographic magazine recently I came across a short article called "Alpine Start" - someone's musings about the beginnings of his mountain climbing. I'd been thinking along similar lines myself of recent years so his article has prodded me into writing some of my own musings.

My main question seemed to be the eternal one about which was more important - nature or nurture - or some combination of the two - of course. After my father was away for almost four years during WW2 he returned to a well-mothered boy who was eager to break out. To his eternal credit he insisted that my mother "let him run free" - I was given a dog and together Chum and I roamed the paddocks, hunting and murdering rabbits about Hastings. When we moved to Kaponga, Taranaki, the prey became possums in the bush about the local mountain, then Egmont.

Mt Egmont (now Taranaki) from our house, Kaponga

One day when I was about 12 I biked from Kaponga up to Dawson Falls and started up the track towards the top of the mountain. Of course I didn't get to the top (about as far as the snow line in the photo above) but was amazed to discover that just by planting one foot after another you could get  above the bush and scrub line and into the tussock. I loved the changes in vegetation and in retrospect I think this was where it all started.

First Mountain Top 1952 - Torlesse (my father, centre)

When we shifted to Christchurch in 1950 the adventuring continued about Banks Peninsula. My father included me in his trips into the hills with some of his work mates. There were hunting trips after deer in the Canterbury foothills - mainly about Lake Sumner and Mt Thomas and several tramping and climbing trips up Mts Torlesse, Hutt, Cloudsley and Enys. Torlesse was an epic with us descending into the wrong valley (Staircase Gully) and having to climb up and out in rain.

I became quite driven about  my climbing ambitions and was soon under the wing of the CMC; going to their Easter Climbing camps up the Waimakariri.  Soon the peaks about Arthur's Pass were being climbed. From there it was just a matter of progression on longer and longer trips towards the peaks about Mt Cook and southwards. I also joined the New Zealand Alpine Club. My mother just kept herself back and worried about me until she heard my footsteps on the drive most Sunday nights. She always managed to find a train fare for me from the stressed family budget she operated.

Tasman Arete

Happy Climber - early 1950s

Along the way there were sprains and cuts and bruises but they all healed and from them and experience the skills of climbing developed. The mind seems to have a propensity for eliminating the unpleasant experiences of life and so my main memories are of glorious dawns and dusks, mists clearing to reveal snow and ice covered ridges and faces, moonlit valleys and mountains and happy laughing companions. Short or long doesn't matter; the important thing is the quality of your life. Life is so much better for having loved the mountains.  

Upper Waimakariri River - Mt Carrington

Old Mates Resting and Reminiscing

There were sacrifices of course. One was getting kicked out of the school choir for chosing to go climbing rather than attend the final rehearsal for the combined Christchurch schools' performance of Handel's Hallelujah Chorus arranged in many parts by Vernon Griffiths. My mother insisted that I went to the performance with her and, regretfully, I wished I was part of it.

Now, at 80, I'm still planning trips with the 'old climbing mates'. The peaks are lower. The jury is still out on how much nature and how much nurture was involved in those early alpine beginnings. Other views?

Flying With Godwits - Tapuae o Uenuku - 1998

Flying With The Godwits

The previous day we had slogged up the Hodder Valley- 50something river crossings – and we're now standing on the top of Tapuae o Uenuku (2885m) the highest peak of the Inland Kaikoura Range of New Zealand's South Island. This day in early March 1998 was perfect; blue skies, no wind, and Warren (my son) and I were congratulating ourselves on our effort and tucking into some food and drink when it happened - quickly.

A glance to the south revealed a dark fast growing small smudge. In a matter of seconds my eyes focused on it as it passed, heading northwards, passing about 20m from our perch on the summit.  It was a peloton of godwits – about 20 of them – birds drafting at speed, packed together, beaks extended, wings pumping, working, eyes fixed on the northern horizon. In a matter of moments they were gone.

"Did you see that?" I exclaimed to Warren. "Yes - what were they?" They were godwits and I was stunned and excited. I'd never dreamed of having a moment like this on a mountaintop. Once, at 7am on the top of another high inland peak, I looked up to find a seagull hovering directly overhead. I'd once ridden with the Morochucos in Bolivia too – special moments - but nothing like this. This time – for a split second – it seemed like I'd flown with the godwits. I've never forgotten that moment – a special moment in a good life. Moving.

Good Day for Viewing Godwits on Tapuae o Uenuku

Godwits in Flight (Photographer unknown)

Shorebirds April 2017 Miranda - most Godwits have departed.

The migratory flights of the godwits are one of natures great events. Recently several godwits flights have been recorded by satellite telemetry. When the first complete flight of one of these birds (E7) was recorded bird lovers from all over the world were riveted to their computers as they followed her flight across the pacific from NZ to the Yellow Sea - and beyond. And then, later, back again in a single flight! Click here to find out more about this amazing flight.

Early Climbing Days - Eight - Mt Hicks (North Face) 1957

North Face of Hicks - route marked (Photo DJE)

Mt Hicks proved to be a bit of an epic. Time was running out for our climbing season based in the snow cave we'd inherited and enlarged on the upper neve of the La Perouse Glacier, to the west of Aorangi/Mt Cook in the summer of 1956/7. We did some great climbs from this base so we decided at the end on an attempt on the, then unclimbed, north face of Mt Hicks. The weather was fine as we dropped from our snow cave and sidled south towards the base of the face. We'd intended to climb as far up as possible using the snow but a threat of ice- and rockfall from above had us scampering over towards the the base of the first rib on the face. We arrived on the rib about two or three rope lengths above its base and roped up.

At first there was nothing too difficult about the rock, but after a few hundred feet the big nose on the rib appeared more ominous. Jim Wilson and Mike White were ahead when we reached it and were investigating a shallow gully immediately to the left of the 'nose'. When Dave Elphick and I caught up they were scratching about on what seemed to be a steep smooth ice-worn part of a gully – and voicing doubts about its feasibility.

BLS on Lower Rib (Photo DJE)

We elected to investigate the rock further away from the ridge crest and soon found ourselves in a chimney, which offered a good belay point. Dave climbed on above me in the chimney and, discovering a route, backed down and traversed horizontally out onto a little face where he put in another belay – a good lead, given our ‘all purpose’ footwear of the time. I climbed through and extended our progress until we were above Jim and Mike. It was now getting late and via a lot of shouting into the cloudless sky we decided to separate, Jim and Mike electing to descend while Dave and I were lured on by our position above the crux and the clear weather.

We climbed onto the crest of the rib and continued, sharing the lead and leapfrogging belays up what was a superb rock arête, at times narrow, at others offering airy ledges and diagonally slanting open chimneys. Towards the top we sidled left and the afternoon was over when we finally reached the Dampier-Hicks ridge. A short scamper on crampons along the ridge took us to the summit soon after the sun set. The lights of the Hermitage shone up through the gloom of the Hooker Valley. It was 8pm and we were in for a night out. Despite the clear sky, a cool breeze had sprung up and we settled down behind a little rock sangre, rapidly built in the last of the light. We had no warm gear other than our jerseys and parkas; we tucked our feet and lower legs into our roomy Mountain Mule packs. The night was spent shivering, turning every few minutes to give relief to our outer sides and checking the time.

Our equanimity was disturbed about four in the morning as the moon rose beyond Dampier and we could see hog’s backs starting to form nearby over Mt Cook. The wind was steadily rising. At four we switched on our torches and nervously made our way back down the ridge to the top of our rib. Here we awaited dawn and enough light to climb. Right on the cue of dawn the storm struck. We had no choice but to go down and from the very start the rocks iced up. Every foot placement was deliberate and the wind, rocketing up the face, had the rope between us arching up into the sky. The ice and rock made short work of my woollen gloves. We continued for hours, each of us encased in our little sphere of concentration, all sense of exposure lost in the storm. All along we wondered how we’d manage at the 'nose' on the rib.

DJE in Chimney (Photo BLS)

Crux of Climb (Photo BLS)

For several of our trips Dave had argued, one against the three of us, for the inclusion of a 200 ft thin rappelling line in the party gear. Now in the icy gully beside the 'nose' Dave, bless him, unpacked his ‘bloody rope’ (as we called it) and arranged a good sling on one of our two precious pitons. In sleet we abseiled down our crux of the previous day. At the bottom of the abseil I was going up and down like a yo-yo on the thin line. Luckily I had just enough rope to make it to a stance. Dave joined me and we down-climbed and abseiled once again, now in torrential rain and hail, before heading off onto the snow. We were moving very slowly now, not because of deliberation, but because we were bloody cold. Speech was difficult; slow and blurred. We wasted no time, packed the ropes away, and moved out onto the snowfield and the La Perouse Glacier with as much vigour as we could muster. We managed to warm up a little and just kept moving on up the neve hoping we wouldn’t miss the cave. At about 1pm we heard a shout and there in the sleet were Jim and Mike, starting to move away from the snow cave entrance. They had decided to go looking as far as the bottom of the face. We all dived back into the cave and they helped us out of our sodden gear and into dry clothes and sleeping bags. Ah, that hot brew. We'd been out from the snow cave for over 29 hours.

BLS Above Crux (Photo DJE)

BLS on Upper Rib (Photo DJE)

We emerged from the snow cave the next morning. The face of Hicks was plastered with snow and we contemplated our narrow escape. The following morning we went out over Clarke Saddle to the Hermitage in one day, a 21h epic. And I could write a book about that last day - my next blog post.

Climbing Mt Hikurangi - New Zealand

At last and not without some regret Mike White and I, old mountain men of over 60 years together climbing mountains, kayaking and traversing valleys in NZ headed for Mount Hikurangi. The regret being the absence of Jim Wilson (of similar vintage) who was in the middle of getting the last of his leg joints (ankles) repaired. Mike and I, with an average age of 80, decided we couldn't wait another year - who knows what 12 months might do to us! And we did promise Jim that we'd do it with him next year - if we were all able and willing.

Hikurangi (1752m) is the highest non-volcanic peak in the North Island of New Zealand and the first to see the sunrise each day of our global time system. It is located north of Gisborne and about 25km inland from Ruatoria on the Ruakumara Range. The mountain is of special significance to NZers, especially the Ngati Porou Iwi.

Early on the 17th January 2016 we headed east from Hamilton in my faithful Boris around the top of East Cape and up to Pakahiroa Station, the start of our exertions. For the rest of the day we climbed the gentle farm tracks to the local tramping club hut. That evening we spied two deer about 100m above the hut on our track to the summit.

Whanokao (a nearby peak) from Hut

Next morning we were away by 0630, climbing steadily through tussock and bush, then more scrub and tussock around the back of the mountain. It was misty/drizzly and we were soon drenched by the soaking tussocks. The weather held (but never cleared) and eventually we emerged from a steep gully onto the final ridge and then the viewless summit. The best part of the climb was in the upper reaches where the alpine flowers were spectacular - among the best I'd seen in over 65 years of climbing throughout NZ. The Ranunculus were past their best but the white flowers were in full bloom - even edelweiss on top.

Edelweiss (Leucogenes leontopodium) on Summit

Spaniards and Celmisia at top of our Gully

We descended without incident, packed up at the hut (where Mike realised it was his birthday - 81) and returned to the ever faithful Boris in heavy showers. On the way down we visited (just below the hut) the Ngati Porou whakairo (sculptures) - erie in the mist and drizzle. Late in the night we crept back into our beds in Hamilton - well satisfied with our efforts.

Mike White Amid the Sub-Alpine Vegetation

Spaniard on Lower Mountain

Figure in the Mist

Some of Whakairo

Early Climbing Days - Nine - Mt Tutoko

One of the great peaks of southern New Zealand is Mt Tutoko, named after a Maori chief in the area during the early days of colonisation. It is one of the bucket-list peaks for many mountaineers - and it is hard to ascend because of its difficult access, steep bluffs and the notorious weather in the area - as I found it to be.

Tutoko from the South (stolen from internet - unknown photographer!)

Rodda Route on Tutoko - Bluffs from Grave Couloir

I had four attempts on Tutoko before finally getting to the top. The first in the 1950s was via the Tutoko Valley, as were the rest. We walked in to Pawnbroker bivvi and next morning in reasonable weather started up the steep face opposite, known as the Rodda Route. We reached the glacier under the summit ridge late in the evening before opting to descend to the top tussocks for a night out. Our aim was to complete the climb the next morning. Without shelter or any gear the night was cold and uncomfortable but things became dire when a southerly storm hit us with hail and rain in the small hours. Our dry under surfaces became chilling rivulets.

The next morning we decided to descend the very steep bluffs, the most difficult part of the whole climb - and the most frightening. Back to town and so we failed.






My next attempt never got much further that Dave's Cave in the lower Tutoko Valley. The heavens opened again and I woke to find myself lying in about four inches of water and the beginnings of a stream racing down a side branch of Leader Creek. So much for a nice hollow for my hip. Once again we retreated from the valley.

Jim Wilson who'd been with me on the previous attempts asked, in 1965, if I'd come on a tent testing (Sears) expedition with Ed Hillary. For a pipe opener we all ascended Mt Madeline, an enjoyable climb. The next day we set off from Turners Bivvi for Tutoko in excellent weather. At the bottom of the SE Ridge Jim and I looked at one another. Both our wives were pregnant with our first children. With hardly a word between us we opted out of the climb. Mike Gill and Mike Hutchins continued on and did a fine traverse of the mountain - albeit a long one. Jim and I scuttled back to Turner's Bivvi where our hero, Ed, was keeping the keas from the tents. I can't remember if he was given any explanation for our defeat, but we were comfortable with our decision.

Tutoko from top of Grave Couloir

Finally some years later four of us - me with Jim Wilson, Mike White and Gordon Hassell - set off for Pawnbroker Bivvi where we spent a rather wet night and day sheltering from the usual rain, The weather started to clear the next morning so we headed to the top of Grave Couloir where we bivvied in a high position ready for the next morning and with steps plugged up onto Ngapunatoru Pass.




In the morning we were away early and made good time across the plateau towards the Tutoko massif. Over half way across Mike and Gordon decided to return - they were apprehensive about the time. Jim and I continued and late in the afternoon, after a nice climb up the final ridge, reached the summit. Below us we could see the bottom of Grave Couloir and, at its top, our bivvi site. Our return was uneventful and the light was starting to fade when we arrived at the top of Grave Couloir. The other two had descended to Pawnbroker and had very generously left us a hot soup in a thermos - wrapped in one of our sleeping bags. We settled down for the night with warm thoughts about our friends below.

Jim Wilson on the Summit Ridge of Tutoko

Next morning we made haste to get down to our friends below. All went well until a massive rock broke free of the ice at the top of the couloir and, with huge majesty, rolled past two very frightened climbers clinging to the edge of the couloir snow. It was with relief that we joined the others at the bottom, packed up and headed out to the road. Our excitement was not over yet. At one stage in the lower valley a big tree finally fell to its fate - across the track in front of us. Strangely - we felt safe all the way home in the car.

Jim Wilson on Summit of Tutoko

Book for Sale

Well, I’ve done it - and I’ve just finished cleaning up the blood and sweat from the floor about the computer at home.

This is just to announce that I’ve just published “Mountains ... Only Mountains”, my first Ebook, a book of reflections on climbing in general and including some personal recollections.  I’ve published it through Blurb, a US Publishing Company. If you want to have a look at it you can go to the blurb website (www.Blurb.com), search for it. It is available as a book and that costs – between NZ$55 and NZ$71). For those of you with ipad or iphones it can be down loaded for a lot less (about NZ$5.73). And both forms can be previewed at the Blurb website.

It has also been submitted to Amazon but I wont know for a couple of weeks if they have accepted it.

And incidentally it is not all in the glorious technicolour that these books now offer - all in black and white - all seventy odd photos - I like it, you may not!

Here is a cut and paste about it from the Blurb website

In "Mountains ... only Mountains" Barry Smith comments on and describes his approach to the culture of mountain climbing. This book describes some of the ups and down of his climbing, his reflections on climbing, and celebrates his life-long love of the mountains and valleys of New Zealand. He has included some of his poems and photographs from his times in the hills from the 1950s.

Hope you have a good read.

East Face of Mt Crookneck, Queensland.

Back in 1962-3 when I was living in Brisbane, my friend Pat Conaghan, suggested that he take me up the East Face of Crookneck.  He, Ron Cox and John Comino had pioneered the first ascent of the face in 1959. I think our ascent was the third. We trundled up to the glasshouse mountains in my old Chevrolet and set off on the climb.  Pat led the climb, I merely acted as a belayer.  The climb took us most of the day.  I don't want to belittle our climb but I often look back at some of the early climbing we did in the 1950s and early 60s - given the primitive nature of our "tramping" boots and the protective gear we had and our fitness for rock climbing we didn't do too badly. What typified the climbing of the crux of the climb was how Pat managed to get up the last overhang.  With me belaying up close behind him I was astounded to see him reach into his pack and pull out a big wooden chock with a rope threaded through it.  This he managed to attach to some etriers he also had in his pack.  But first he managed to swing the chock up into a crack in the overhang until it jammed (somehow!) into the crack.  With huge (I thought) faith he then stepped into the etriers and swung free into the space below to overhang.  With a lot of struggle and effort he managed to get above the overhang and up to a decent belay position.  From there he belayed the nervous wreck that I'd become up to join him.  This was my first experience of Australian rock climbing at the sharper end.  I'd done some rock climbing on the Port Hills near Christchurch and on the long climbs in the Southern Alps but this was something quite different.

East Face Crookneck (Coonowrin)

But it was getting late in the day and, because the rest of the climb was an easy scramble to the top, we decided to abseil down.  I went first.  All went well until half way down from the overhang. While I was hanging free from the face my parka jammed in the carabiner and I was stuck.  It was getting dark and the prospect of hanging there for the night did not appeal. I managed to lift myself up with one hand to relieve the pressure and half tore the parka out of the carabiner.  I resumed my way to the bottom and Pat joined me there. We drove back to Brisbane with some fellow Kiwis who'd, mysteriously, managed to secrete a few pineapples into the boot of my car while Pat and I had been wasting our time up on the mountain.

Have a look at http://climbinghistoryoz.blogspot.co.nz/2012/02/crux-columns-ghosts-and-glass-houses.html

CMC Picnic

In my early youth my mountaineering beginnings were closely intertwined with the Canterbury Mountaineering Club (CMC).  I went to two of their Easter instruction courses up the Waimakariri River and joined the Club at the tender age of 15 - after some debate within the committee, I gather. I went on many of the club trips and made many lifelong friends through the CMC.

CMC Logo (Brian Chrystall, sculptor)

Occasionally, usually just before Xmas the club had its annual picnic.  I remember one very well. It was held on the stoney riverbed of one of the rivers to the south of Christchurch, probably the Rakaia.  There was a prize for the best dressed person and it was won by someone dressed only in a top hat, a jock strap and mountain boots (without socks).  A barrel of beer was supplied and after sufficient beer had been drunk a game of rugby was played on the stoney riverbed. The "best-dressed-man" was in the winning side as no one was game to tangle too closely with him.  However there was considerable bruising suffered by both teams.  After the rugby game concluded, the next event - to numb the bruising - was to have one on one battles on a log over a side flow of the Rakaia.  Contestants were armed with water soaked kapok pillows with which to batter their opponents off the log and into the chilling but refreshing water.  The winner stayed on the log to accept the challenge of the next contestant and as the log became wetter staying on the log became more and more difficult - in addition to the battering.  Vivid memories remain to this day - almost 60 years later.

CMC Rugby Field and Aquatic Sports Centre

The CMC was also sometimes jokingly referred to as the Canterbury Misogynists Club as its membership was limited to men, one of the last such clubs in NZ. As the years passed young members peppered the AGMs with motions to allow women (usually their new girlfriends) to join the club.  These AGMs were packed with members and the arguments and debates highly entertaining. Some of the reasoning should now be forgotten.  Eventually change occurred but without the anticipated worries about the lack of freedom to pass wind in mountain huts on windy nights. Some stories of members girlfriends being offered accommodation in the wood or coal bins of mountain huts on stormy nights are surely exaggerated.

Early CMC Member's Partner Enjoys Club Hospitality In Coal Bin - early 1950s

Early Climbing Days - Five

The year after our long climbing trip into the Arrowsmith Range and upper Rakaia the four of us decided to tackle some of the unclimbed areas to the west of Mt Cook.  Early in 1957 Dave Elphick, Mike White, Jim Wilson and I set off up the Cook River towards the La Perouse Glacier with heavy packs. We'd hardly gone an hour when disaster struck - a cage I was in while crossing the Cook River collapsed and I plummeted into the river.  Luckily it was in the shallows and after a 30ft fall all I suffered was a flattened pack frame and a very sore back for a few days.

We continued up the river and after a few days established ourselves in a snowcave not far below Clarke Saddle on the main divide.  From here we made some good climbs, some of them first and second ascents. These included Tasman, Silberhorn, Teichelmann (five ascents! and saw the sun set from its summit a couple of times), Magellan (third ascent), Drake (second ascent and new route) and Mt Hicks (first ascent of the north face).

Returning from Magellan

One of the highlights was the day on Tasman.  It was a long day with an exciting climb up the arete from Silberhorn.  The first ascent of Magellan had been first done two years earlier by Harry Ayres, Ed Hillary and two others so we had the feeling of walking on hallowed ground!

The highlight for me on this trip was the first ascent of the west face of Mt Hicks with Dave Elphick.

We had to spend a night on top and were very lucky to get safely down the face in a sudden storm.  We finally climbed over Clarke Saddle and walked out to the Hermitage in a long 21h day.

Dave E and Mike W on Tasman Arete

Returning From Tasman over Teichelmann

                
More about a couple of these topics in the next post.