Mt Sefton - 3000m above Christmas Beach Cricket
22/12/19 - 25/12/19
Party: Torea Scott Fyfe and Maddy Whittaker
Eventually the sun moved off the slope and it began to instantly harden in the shadow of the peaks above us. In the late afternoon/evening cool we made our way quickly up to Welcome Pass and set up on the bivvy ledge as the most incredible sunset played out over the Landsborough, highlighting our mountain gold. This was exactly the place to be.
We were moving by 2:45am the next morning. The plan was to summit and descend quickly so we could cross the Tekano early in the day and not have the same problem. The West Ridge was magic. An elegant sharp rib of snow snaking it's way towards the summit. Pure type one joy and magic flow states beneath Christmas Eve morning stars. We watched the distant head torches of a party on the Sheila Face of Aoraki fade with the golden sunrise, the low cloud layer below us still shadowed by the silhouette of Aoraki and La Perouse.
The summit cap was icy. In places front points only going in a cm or two. We climbed in silence, in that wonderful space where you are so focused that everything seems to be ultra-sharp, bright and immensely present. And then we were on top. 3151m above sea level. The East Face plunging away into the low cloud which was blanketing any hint of civilisation below us. Plateaus and peaks islands in the cloud, stretching away in every direction. It was one of those moments that fills you up in a way that lasts for weeks after you're back in the valleys below.
Downclimbing always seems scarier than going up. We decided to down pitch the iciest part of what we'd soloed up. Hammering a snow stake didn't work, so out came the couple of ice screws we'd bought. Both of us were solid downclimbing but the rope was nice for confidence. And then it happened. I heard a clatter below and turned, watching as Torea's ice axe slid and then somersaulted and careened down hundreds of metres of steep icy snow and into the shrund below, it's leash sailing through the air behind it. There was a silence for a moment and then we started making another anchor. The down pitching would need to continue.
Down onto the Douglas below, we decided to walk back that way rather than the now softening ridge. The sun was higher in the sky than we would have liked, the downpitching having slowed our progress significantly. Torea and I had had a few pieces of chocolate since our 2am handfull of oats. We ate our last bit of food on Welcome Pass, wanting to be able to move quickly through the next section which had the highest consequences of what was left of our descent. It was dark by the time we got to Scott Creek again. This time we'd followed the track all the way down but had to pop back up the river a couple of hundred metres to find where we'd left our trail runners pre-bushbash. Jumping between boulders in the dark. Realising Torea's phone was somewhere behind us in Scott Creek, deciding it was gone. Walking along the washed out Copland river. Wishing each other Merry Christmas as it ticked over to Christmas Day and we crossed the bridge to Welcome Flat. A blur of hours.
Party: Torea Scott Fyfe and Maddy Whittaker
It was 9pm lying in Rowan's lounge in Wanaka, looking at met vu at the stretch of good weather between us and Christmas. My plans to attempt Aoraki had fallen through, but big peaks were very much still on my mind. I turned to Torea, "How about Sefton?" At 4am the next morning we left for the West Coast.
Setting off at the start of the Copland Track at around 9am, a cloud of sandflies chasing us and our 30L packs, which we were trying to pretend were as light as they were small. It's beautiful forest and mostly flat track which made a great backdrop for a good long catch up yarn with Torea. Having both been working with DOC in remote places (Anchor Island and the Haast Ranges) for December, it'd been too long since our last trip together.
Despite the immaculate met vu forecast, it rained that afternoon. We flew up Scott Creek, didn't find the start of the Bluewater Track, started bushbashing, found it eventually and continued skyward. The track through the bush is in amazing condition. Through the scrub, not so much. I imagine at some point there was a cut track in the scrub, but the Coast has mostly claimed that back now, leaving a token Permolat marker or a sawn tree trunk every 300m or so. Torea had some leftover smoked salmon which she'd bought as she didn't want it to go off in her fridge. And so we sat in the scrub eating salmon on crackers, feeling incredibly luxurious. The higher we got, the more it cleared. The light faded, the stars came out, dew settled on the scrub and on us. 11pm approaching the rocky gully up to the snowline. Maybe it was the salmon, but Torea was feeling sick, almost throwing up behind me in the scrub. We found a hole with space for 1.5 people in the tussock. The perfect size for two bivvy bags to cram into.
Another 4am alarm, under starlight we made our way up the rocky gully, rock wren emerging with the sunrise. Up onto the snow, lovely firm conditions despite the streaks of harsh ashy orange. After spending weeks on a Fiordland island with the highest point at 400m, it was joyous to be back above the snowline.
This was where things stopped going to plan. 9am crossing the Tekano Glacier, any hint of firm snow was gone. It felt like we were wading through thigh deep snow. Halfway across, we tucked in underneath a rock face which was clear of falling hazards. We felt like we were walking through wet slides waiting to happen. Not wanting to go forward to back, we cut ourselves a shelf in the snow piled on a rock ledge and chilled out, watching as within 20 minutes of us stopping, the wet slides began coming down the slope every 10 minutes or so. We watched the snow slide off the huge cliff below us and were glad of our decision.
 |
| Torea below the Tekano Glacier (Maddy Whittaker) |
This was where things stopped going to plan. 9am crossing the Tekano Glacier, any hint of firm snow was gone. It felt like we were wading through thigh deep snow. Halfway across, we tucked in underneath a rock face which was clear of falling hazards. We felt like we were walking through wet slides waiting to happen. Not wanting to go forward to back, we cut ourselves a shelf in the snow piled on a rock ledge and chilled out, watching as within 20 minutes of us stopping, the wet slides began coming down the slope every 10 minutes or so. We watched the snow slide off the huge cliff below us and were glad of our decision.
 |
| Drying out our socks in the sun while waiting for the avalanches to stop on the Tekano (Maddy Whittaker) |
Eventually the sun moved off the slope and it began to instantly harden in the shadow of the peaks above us. In the late afternoon/evening cool we made our way quickly up to Welcome Pass and set up on the bivvy ledge as the most incredible sunset played out over the Landsborough, highlighting our mountain gold. This was exactly the place to be.
 |
| Torea crossing the Tekano in the evening (Maddy Whittaker) |
 |
| Sunset over the Landsborough as seen from my sleeping bag (Maddy Whittaker) |
We were moving by 2:45am the next morning. The plan was to summit and descend quickly so we could cross the Tekano early in the day and not have the same problem. The West Ridge was magic. An elegant sharp rib of snow snaking it's way towards the summit. Pure type one joy and magic flow states beneath Christmas Eve morning stars. We watched the distant head torches of a party on the Sheila Face of Aoraki fade with the golden sunrise, the low cloud layer below us still shadowed by the silhouette of Aoraki and La Perouse.
 |
| Sunrise on Aoraki (Maddy Whittaker) |
 |
| Torea silhouetted on one of the most straightforward parts of the West Ridge (Maddy Whittaker) |
The summit cap was icy. In places front points only going in a cm or two. We climbed in silence, in that wonderful space where you are so focused that everything seems to be ultra-sharp, bright and immensely present. And then we were on top. 3151m above sea level. The East Face plunging away into the low cloud which was blanketing any hint of civilisation below us. Plateaus and peaks islands in the cloud, stretching away in every direction. It was one of those moments that fills you up in a way that lasts for weeks after you're back in the valleys below.
 |
| Maddy on the summit, Aoraki behind (Torea Scott Fyfe) |
 |
| Views towards the Annette Plateau from the summit (Maddy Whittaker) |
Downclimbing always seems scarier than going up. We decided to down pitch the iciest part of what we'd soloed up. Hammering a snow stake didn't work, so out came the couple of ice screws we'd bought. Both of us were solid downclimbing but the rope was nice for confidence. And then it happened. I heard a clatter below and turned, watching as Torea's ice axe slid and then somersaulted and careened down hundreds of metres of steep icy snow and into the shrund below, it's leash sailing through the air behind it. There was a silence for a moment and then we started making another anchor. The down pitching would need to continue.
 |
| Torea downclimbing just before the axe incident (Maddy Whittaker) |
Down onto the Douglas below, we decided to walk back that way rather than the now softening ridge. The sun was higher in the sky than we would have liked, the downpitching having slowed our progress significantly. Torea and I had had a few pieces of chocolate since our 2am handfull of oats. We ate our last bit of food on Welcome Pass, wanting to be able to move quickly through the next section which had the highest consequences of what was left of our descent. It was dark by the time we got to Scott Creek again. This time we'd followed the track all the way down but had to pop back up the river a couple of hundred metres to find where we'd left our trail runners pre-bushbash. Jumping between boulders in the dark. Realising Torea's phone was somewhere behind us in Scott Creek, deciding it was gone. Walking along the washed out Copland river. Wishing each other Merry Christmas as it ticked over to Christmas Day and we crossed the bridge to Welcome Flat. A blur of hours.
Having now been awake for more than 22 hours and having had a decent climb and descended roughly 2800m (on not much food), we decided that walking all the way out tonight was not going to be a good time. Rather getting in the hot pools and then having a couple of hours sleep first would be conducive to actually being able to drive away from the road end to get reception to explain to our families that we were fine, and that we were sorry for accidentally missing Christmas morning.
At 3am when the alarm went off however, we were so smashed we could hardly move and so at 6am we got up, radio called our parents to say we were fine as they were expecting us to be out late the night before (thanks to the hut warden for being okay with being woken up at 6am on Christmas morning) and got moving along the track, carrying the one apple we'd each been kindly given by someone in the hut as our only food. We got back to the car, each of us 5kg lighter but absolutely buzzing.
At 3am when the alarm went off however, we were so smashed we could hardly move and so at 6am we got up, radio called our parents to say we were fine as they were expecting us to be out late the night before (thanks to the hut warden for being okay with being woken up at 6am on Christmas morning) and got moving along the track, carrying the one apple we'd each been kindly given by someone in the hut as our only food. We got back to the car, each of us 5kg lighter but absolutely buzzing.
Christmas day 2019 really ended up being one of the most special Christmases yet. 4.5 hours of walking through beautiful forest, fresh bread, ginger tea and a wonderful Christmas welcome in Fox from Rob Frost, swimming at Ships Cove in West Coast sun. One of those days where things are just incomprehensibly good.
Here's to more days like these.
Here's to more days like these.
Comments
Post a Comment