The SW Ridge of Mt Aspiring
Party: Owen Daniell, Alastair McDowell, Tom Hadley
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| Alastair descending the NW Ridge after a successful climb of the SW ridge (Tom Hadley) |
“You guys keen for Southwest ridge?” We’d been hinting at it for the last day or so, but neither of us really thought it in the cards. I had known Tom Hadley and Maddy Whittaker would be in Wanaka for some time during the break, and had tactfully based myself there in hopes of an invitation. Tom and Maddy arrived back in Wanaka from a pioneer hut mission and we were soon joined by Alastair McDowell. Maddy unfortunately had to return to Dunedin for some study. Tom and I were originally thinking of Mt. Avalanche, Popes Nose or Rob Roy. The unexpected addition of Alastair’s ice leading experience opened up the Southwest ridge of Aspiring as a potential objective.
The mention of such an objective sent pangs of nervousness through Tom and me. Each of us had somewhat minimal ice climbing experience, and the three steep pitches of 80 degree ice just below Aspiring’s summit hardly seemed the place to learn. I had precious little New Zealand mountaineering experience, having spent most of my mountain life on the frozen volcanic slag piles of the Northwest US. Nonetheless, we felt our pure ability to suffer mixed with Alastair’s knowledge would allow us to give the mountain a decent nudge.
With the objective decided upon, we set about packing. Tom and Alastair introduced me to the doctrine of “fast and light” and seemed to get some sort of pleasurable release every time they handled a piece of Macpac gear. With their overloaded 40 litre packs lined up next to my somewhat underloaded 75 litre pack, we went to bed in backpackers Wanaka, the long mission ahead in the forefront of our minds.
The next morning brought a hurried breakfast and we all piled into my Subaru for the journey up to Rasberry Flat. With the dulcet tones of country music serving to the background to our drive, we discussed proper, manly things such as trucks, beer and women.
We didn’t have much company as we ambled up the Matukituki in the frosty morning air. Stopping at Aspiring hut for a snack, Alastair read a beautiful poem from 2015 antics. We had our first peek at the objective, just visible from the hut. After Aspiring hut, we crossed the swing bridges, which were interesting with skis and boots protruding from the sides of our packs. I particularly crossed slowly and nervously, hindered by my long skis, and fearing my expensive touring boots would be knocked off by the bridge and fall into the torrent below.
Reaching Pearl Flat at a decent hour, we walked across the cold river and had a small feed, readying ourselves for the steep track to French Ridge hut. The track contained the odd boulder problem, which was once again made interesting by the skis and boots. As we climbed above the bushline, the wind blew harder, and the odd flake of snow fell. A quick look backwards revealed the cloudy mass of Barff outlined against the steely grey sky. We gained the hut at around 3pm, happy to put on warm dry clothes and have hot food.
The next morning was to be a reconnaissance day. We awoke to sunny but windy conditions, raising concerns about windloading on the Quarterdeck and the Southwest ridge itself. Strapping on our skis and skins, we headed up the ridge, intending to go as far as the quarterdeck and then ski down. After Tom was instructed in the art of kick-turning we made our way through some involved skinning to where French Ridge flattens out ahead of the Quarterdeck. The wind here was truly buffeting, and we elected to ski down, as there was not much point going further. When we were nearly back to the hut, we spotted two figures heading up toward us. It turned out to be Ruari Mcfarlane and George Loomes, ahead of their new route on the South Face. We returned to the hut to rest up for the long day ahead of us. Time was passed reading out of 2018 Antics, enjoying Cam Jardell’s stories of epics and examining Jaz Morris and Sam Harrisons obsession with Punter culture.
The next morning saw us up at 330am. A quick breakfast of Oats was scarfed down, despite insufficient sugar making it somewhat hard to stomach. We started up the skin track from the day before, making quick work back to our previous high point. We roped up just below the steep part of the Quarterdeck, and began our climb up the steepening snow. With increasing amounts of blue ice present, and knowing the significant exposure that lurked below us in the inky blackness, we elected to boot-pack the final section to the col. My ice climbing crampons didn’t fit on my ski boots, only my mountaineering boots, so I was forced to dodgily follow Tom and Alastair up the final icy slope without crampons. Upon reaching the top of the Col, we stared off into the darkness toward the big black shape which was presumably Aspiring. Alastair made a comment about “maybe being a little early”. We clicked back into the skis and glided across the Bonar towards the base of the ridge. Far off across the Bonar we spotted Ruari and George heading out from their bivvy near breakaway. It felt a bit like we were one party on the surface of the Moon, staring across at another.
Arriving at the bottom of the ridge we transitioned to Mountaineering boots and melted a couple litres of water. Walking around the odd crevasse, we headed up the West Face side of the ridge. Alastair seemed quite comfortable and steamed ahead. Tom and I were a bit scared as the exposure increased, and upon encountering a steeper, more icy section we requested Alastair throw us a rope. He did, belaying off a snowstake (picket for all the non American folk) and a plunged ice tool, and giving us the confidence to cruise through the steeper icy section. As we gained the ridge, the going got easier and we found a spot flat enough to have a snack. The sun was getting high in the sky, and we still had the ice pitches ahead of us. Continuing up the ridge, we found the promised steep ice section. Alastair built an anchor off a small cam and nut and commenced leading the first pitch. Most parties would have used a 60m half rope for such an objective, but we endeavored to use only one 35m. The result was short pitches and Tom and I climbing at the same time while Alastair belayed us both. The anchor consisted of a bomber 22cm ice screw backed up with a hammered-in ice tool. After two pitches Alastair decided to “teach you guys about simul climbing with microtraxions and tiblocs”. Heading up the now more gently sloping gully, we saw the summit ice cap within our grasp. A quick stop to take the rope off and we were back on our way. I led the charge, slowing close to the summit so we could all step on it together. The view was incredible, looking up to Aoraki and Sefton, and down to the Darrans, with Madeline and Tutuko standing formidable above the Hollyford valley. After 10 or so minutes in which I managed to delete half a salami and some pita bread, we headed down the Northwest ridge.
The ridge was easy at first, a broad, relatively gentle snow slope that Tom and Alastair all but ran down. Accustomed to skiing off my mountains, I took a bit longer. A few short minutes of easy walking brought us to the top of The Ramp. I had heard bad things about this part, and wasn’t particularly excited for it. The first bit was easy enough, a quick downclimb and walk through a large snow gully, but soon the pitch steepened and the conditions became more icy. The exposure was extreme, and the climbing was tedious. The obvious thing to do was to front-point and dagger the picks, one step after the other, until one got down. After about half an hour of this, following Tom and Alastair’s footsteps, the rock formations which looked to be about halfway down didn’t seem much closer. A quick look upward revealed how ruefully slow the going was and how long we had to go. After about an hour of downclimbing, my mind was resorting to its favorite haunts during fear and discomfort. Asking why I was doing this, why I did things like this in general, missing my girlfriend, et cetera. After a quick rest on a rock outcrop to delete yet more salami, we continued down the ramp. I began to conclude that people die on the ramp due to them losing the will to live during its length and suffering. At long last, the tracks I was following terminated at a wide bergschrund. I peered over its depths to see a skid and self arrest mark on the other side, indicating Alastair had jumped over it. Not real keen to do such a thing, I instead walked around the schrund to join my comrades for the walk back across the Bonar to the skis in the gathering dark.
The walk back across the Bonar seemed tame after our recent experience, but some active crevasses prompted us to put the rope on just before reaching the skis. Once at the skis, we melted some water and changed boots once again, watching the moon rise over the Coxcombe ridge. With the skis back on, we glided quickly back across the Bonar towards the Quarterdeck. Upon coming to a stop Alastair and I began our transition to skinning mode for the push back up to the Quarterdeck. However, we were not promptly joined by Tom. Fearing the worst, and with the thought of our friend Liam Pyott’s fall into the Bonar last spring fresh on our minds, we expedited our transition and ran back towards where we had last seen Tom. Alastair quickly spotted a ski sticking into the snow, and soon I spotted tom, slowly downclimbing a section of blue ice. We retrieved Tom’s various lost implements from his apparent crash and returned them to him. As he got set to skin to the Quarterdeck, we saw head torches high on the Coxcombe, which were in fact Ruari and George, having just completed their new route on the South Face. The skin up to the Quarterdeck caused us all pain, we were only spurred on by the knowledge that once we reached it there would be nothing but a bit of skiing between us and the hut and hot food and a bed.
After the arduous journey up the quarterdeck in the moonlight, we finally ripped our skins and set about preparing for the ski down. Tom elected to crampon, which I didn’t fault him much for after his crash on the Bonar. I set about side-slipping down the icy slope. With horrendous ski technique due to being on the go for 17 hours, we slowly made our way down French ridge, with Tom cramponing down hot on our heels. At one point, I slipped on some blue ice and had to make a self arrest with my whippet. I followed Alastair down the last bits of French ridge and arrived at the hut. Finally, we were back safe. I was surprised to hear a girl’s voice inside the hut, and was greeted by Torea who had made some hot drinks that I gratefully accepted. Finally allowing ourselves to succumb to the exhaustion that had been with us since the Ramp, we ate as much food as we could stomach and went to bed.
The final day was a speedy walk out. We stopped briefly at Pearl Flat and Aspiring hut for snacks, but the real feed didn’t come until we returned to Wanaka that evening, where Alastair and I demolished a family pack of fried chicken. Tom, in his infinite health, started saying something about eating broccoli and turmeric. I’ll stick with my fried chicken, thank you very much.
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