New Zealand Experiences

Henry S. Hall, Jr.

THE Mt. Cook district in the Southern Alps of New Zealand might well be said to resemble closely the mother Alpine range of Europe on a three-fourths scale, just as the Caucasus impresses one as a four-thirds edition of its Alpine prototype. The New Zealand comparison with the Alps does not hold quite as well, below treeline, as the Caucasian, in fact its relation in that respect is far closer, on both sides of the range, to the coastal mountains of British Columbia. Above the vegetation zone there is a similarity of rock structure, mountain type and snow and ice formation between New Zealand Alps, European Alps and the Caucasus, which however the British Columbia Coast mountains hardly share at all.

In New Zealand Alps and Coast Range one finds the dense, luxuriant, temperate rain forest type of vegetation, quite different in actual species of tree and plant life, but remarkably similar in its impenetrability for the mountaineer and climatically. The inland sides of these two ranges are extraordinarily alike, except that the contrast between east and west slopes in New Zealand is even more pronounced, but the total area involved is much less. In both ranges from the high summits there can be seen at a glance the two utterly different physiographic, climatic and vegeta- tional areas. In the European Alps there is no such contrast. In the Caucasus the contrast is very marked, far greater than that of the Alps but less than that of New Zealand. Caucasus and European Alps are strikingly similar as regards vegetation and human settlement.

Except in one or two limited areas the mountain types of the Coast Range do not remind one much of the other three ranges. In New Zealand, Caucasus and Alps the snow fields, condition of snow, hanging and valley glaciers are all of a type which one might call alpine. In these respects again there are comparable exceptions in North America, but it is the prevailing type which one is interested in while attempting to show comparisons and contrasts, not the exceptions however notable.

Climbing procedure in the Mt. Cook district because of the relation of hotels, huts and peaks is almost entirely European. There is one important hotel on the E. side of the range, the Hermitage (2500 ft.), from which six or more good climbing huts are available, and on the W. coast there is the hotel run by the well-known retired guides and pioneer climbers, Alec and Peter Graham, at Waiho (300 ft.), an hour’s walk from the Franz Josef Glacier, and another hotel near the almost equally famous Fox Glacier, from both of which huts can also be reached.

Although practically all of the peaks of any importance in the Mt. Cook district have been climbed the thrill of finding new and entirely legitimate routes is by no means fully exhausted. One of the potentially greatest climbs in New Zealand, the main S. ridge of Mt. Cook is still awaiting its conqueror. In this vicinity the range may be crossed between hotels and huts by several high glacier passes and by the traversing of a number of important peaks. The crossing generally takes three days but can be done by fast parties in two days, the distance averaging 30 to 40 miles. The huts vary from 3500 to 6500 ft. above sea-level, the passes from 7000 to 9500 ft. The snow line in midsummer (February) averages about 6000 ft. In February, 1937, there were four snowfalls below 5000 ft. and during one of these storms three or four inches fell around the Hermitage (2500 ft.). The Tasman Glacier, 18 miles long and therefore larger than any in the Alps (the Aletsch being but 15 miles), rises in snowfields over 9000 ft. and ends in a huge stagnant moraine-covered lobe at 2500 ft. On the west coast the 8-mile-long Franz Josef Glacier tumbles in superb icefalls to only 600 ft. above the sea.

In the New Zealand mountains the old adage of “striking quickly to secure the fruits of victory” is very well remembered at all times. If there is any chance of good weather go up to a hut and be prepared—either for a climb or for the famous nor’wester, in which latter case either go down again to the hotel or be ready for a fierce storm of from two days’ to a week’s duration, following which there can be a brilliant period of days on end. At the huts are generally to be found blankets and often more or less of a stock of food which has, of course, to be paid for and probably supplemented from one’s own pack which has been filled at the hotel. At the Hermitage and at Waiho there are stationed several professional climbing guides, mostly capable men, whose charges are reasonable, and who are good companions in the mountains. A visiting climber will often be able if he has been in touch with officers or members of the New Zealand Alpine Club to join a climbing party, though this is much the same as elsewhere, bearing in mind, however, that New Zealanders are a friendly people who very soon take you at face value.

Away from the Mt. Cook district climbing and conditions of travel in the mountains are much like those prevailing in British Columbia coastal mountains. Horse travel is often possible in the E. valleys. Backpacking is the rule on the short, sharp W. slopes of the range and in certain interior virgin areas. Almost everything in the way of climbing and camping equipment and clothing can be bought in New Zealand, which is a useful thing to know if one must fly, as is soon going to be possible, from the United States in just under and from Europe in just over a week.

The New Zealand Alpine Club, a very live organization of some 300 members, publish an excellent Journal annually, maintains some of the huts, conducts small parties into the mountains, and has been and continues to be chiefly responsible for a large proportion of the new and other important climbs done each year. Its members are to be found in the four chief cities and in fact almost throughout New Zealand but more especially in the South Island. It has been the experience of all visiting climbers that the New Zealand climbers are cordial, friendly and helpful when once they have learned that a kindred spirit is in their midst. In the last few years the club has developed quite a large number of able and competent guideless climbers, some of whom have already shown up very well in comparison with first-rate amateurs in the Alps and elsewhere. Unlike the majority of amateurs in other countries the New Zealander is generally as good on snow and ice as on rock, since there are more difficult snow than rock peaks in his country.

Travel and hotel accommodation in New Zealand is not expensive and is simple but clean and comfortable. There is adequate rail, bus and air transportation. The climbing season is from the middle or end of December to the end of March. In 1937, January saw the best climbing weather.

Landing at Auckland on January 18th, 1937, I went the second day by rail in eight hours to National Park where there is a good new hotel. Mt. Ruapehu (9176 ft.), the highest summit on the North Island, gave me both a fine view of the whole central part of the island including Mt. Egmont, a perfect cylindrical cone 80 miles W., and a terrific sunburn after about six hours on old snow with some wind at the top. Climbers who know the Alps and other high mountains all agree that sunburn is more acute in New Zealand.

Sleeper to Wellington, where I met Mr. Arthur P. Harper, pioneer of New Zealand mountain climbing and exploration, overnight steamer to Christchurçh, rail to Timaru and bus thence brought me to the Hermitage by January 27th. Guide Mick Bowie and I left the next morning for Haast hut (6300 ft.), above Tasman Glacier, not however without a warning from Mick that a nor’wester was brewing. It came: we retreated. Three days later at the kind invitation of Miss Christina Irving who had engaged Mick for two weeks, I found myself scrambling up the steep trail to the same hut, not entirely free from a rucksack load, though Mick’s pack was much larger than mine. The view from this hut perched on a ridge above Hochstetter icefall is very fine. In front one has the full length sweep of Tasman Glacier and all the snow basin at its head, rock peaks across it including Malte Brun (10,400 ft.), and a view for miles down the main valley. Behind rises superb Mt. Cook (12,350 ft.) in one direction and in the other Mt. Haidinger, its glacier-clad flanks thousands of feet high frequently swept by booming ice and snow avalanches.

In perfect weather the next day we climbed Mt. Dixon (just over 10,000 ft.) wholly on snow, steepish in places and with a nice little arête near the top. This is a good viewpoint for Cook, Tasman, Haidinger and over to Harper Saddle and the head of Fox Glacier. We basked in the warm sun for over an hour before thinking of the descent, which was accomplished rather cautiously in places, the whole day having been about twelve hours. The next day I stupidly felt rather seedy as we got up on Snow Dome en route for Mt. Lendenfeld adjacent to Tasman. I dropped out and watched the others make a perfect ascent, and was none too pleased with myself later in the day when Mick said upon their return that had we all three made Lendenfeld he would have considered going on to Mt. Tasman (11,400 ft.), often called the most exacting ice climb in New Zealand and at that time in the best condition he had ever seen it.

At the Hermitage there turned up a party of three strenuous young climbers who had driven by night from Dunedin and asked me to join them, but I had in the meantime arranged to cross the range by Copeland Pass with two ladies and their guide to Waiho, and so, luckily as it turned out, declined their kind invitation, because I later heard that bad weather prevented them getting a single climb in two weeks. With Miss Scott from Dunedin and Miss Du Beer from London, with the Maori guide, Jack Fluerty, and Colin Pearson, a medical student from Dunedin, after a day in heavy storm at the Hooker hut, I made the crossing, the first day in lovely weather up to the pass, then down among the chamois from 7000 ft. to 1100 ft. in Copeland Valley to a hut with warm sulphur springs for the evening bath; and the next day in cold, driving rain by foot, horseback and car to Waiho, an interesting and varied day nevertheless, including an experience with quicksand in Cooke River when fording on horses.

Five days at Waiho in dubious weather gave me the opportunity for a flight with Captain Hewitt down the W. coast as far as Haast River and Landsborough Valley during a brief interval of fairly good weather. In a few minutes we had reached the divide between Franz Josef and Fox Glaciers which we crossed at 8000 ft. quite near Mts. Cook and Tasman, then diagonally across Copland Valley and towards the coast, getting perfect views all the way of the high peaks, glaciers and deep valleys. In Landsborough Valley, where we landed with some freight, were herds of wild deer competing with domestic cattle for the feed. These, as well as the chamois, of which there are estimated to be several hundred thousand on the Southern Alps—the latter all sprung from four pair sent by Emperor Franz Josef of Austria in 1907—are now being systematically shot off by government “cullers” to keep their numbers in control. Deer and chamois here have no natural enemies. They destroy the vegetation, cut the turf on ridges and slopes, causing landslips, and in general give the visitor from other parts of the world a completely new viewpoint on wild game. Returning we flew low along the coast and saw the few evidences of man there, a whitebait canning plant near the mouth of one stream, a gold dredge working on the beach gravels not over 150 yards from tidewater, and occasional tiny settlements. At Waiho River mouth we turned inland and landed in five minutes at the hotel airfield. Directly behind the hotel rise very abruptly the densely beech forested spurs of the range to over 4000 ft. before their crests level off for the more gradual rise to the higher peaks.

By pre-arrangement Mick Bowie had come across from the Hermitage and was accompanied by L. K. Murray, a school teacher from Oamaru who evidently spent much of his spare time climbing or skiing. Leaving Misses Scott and Du Beer for W. coast climbing, we three started back over the range. Rain drove us to Defiance hut for the first night, and the next day we went up the Franz Josef to Aimer hut. Here keas, the amusing, annoying, entirely absurd green parrots with red under wings so well known to New Zealand climbers, entertained us for the afternoon. All articles up to full-sized blankets laid out on the rocks to dry were menaced. Snowballing had little effect. You could knock a bird right off its feet, and in thirty seconds it came back for more. The hut was full that night, a young honeymoon couple and guide, a Swiss with guide Jack Cox, ourselves, and another party.

In cold just sufficient for a firm crust we set out the next morning for Graham Saddle. It is an easy but beautiful snow walk on this side. Behind us at intervals could be seen the other parties. In a nipping wind we tarried just long enough for photographs on the saddle and continued up the steep snow slopes to Mt. De La Bêche, negotiating one moderately troublesome bergschrund. From the summit we saw the long line of breakers for perhaps 50 miles up and down the W. coast, the entire main crest of the range where not cut off by the higher peaks, and at one time through a slight haze probably the sea to the E. “A view not everyone gets,” said Mick. Mt. Malte Brun, considered one of the best rock climbs in New Zealand, stood up boldly across Tasman Glacier, and through the glasses the Malte Brun hut could be seen 6000 ft. below at its base perched on a moraine crest. As complementary climbs we did both the Minarets, all three peaks being just over 10,000 ft., and lunched on the more easterly of the two. Mick pointed out the route followed by D. A. Carty’s party in a new traverse of Wilczek Peak and Mt. Elie de Beaumont earlier the same season, a good effort and typical of what can still be done in these mountains.

The descent involved a winding route among the broken névé E. face for the first 4000 ft. and then down a snow gully to the bare surface of Tasman Glacier and scramble up its steep moraine to Malte Brun hut.

After a day of rest in glorious weather (generally a mistake in New Zealand) during which Murray started home, Mick and I started for the climb of Malte Brun in the face of a falling barometer, sultry air and sporadic wind murmurings. The climb, mostly on rock and steep snow or ice gullies, is a good one, not particularly difficult by alpine standards but there is a narrow ridge, the cheval, a few hundred feet below the top which gives opportunity for sensational photographs if one is not otherwise occupied. The weather became more threatening as we straddled cheval ridge. At the summit we had about two minutes to look around before the storm descended, a nor’wester. First Cook and Tasman peaks were cut off. Then the wind began to blow. We started down rapidly. A cool rain, just not freezing, driven by the howling wind was not particularly enjoyable on cheval ridge. The rain increased. Once off the rocks in three hours we raced and glissaded down snow-covered glacier slopes, I getting out of control once and doing a triple somersault much to Mick’s amusement. At the hut, clothes which were hung to dry had rivulets running from them in no time. The storm, with wind so terrific that pools of water in front of the hut were blown off into the air, gravel rattled onto the corrugated iron roof, and the hut itself strained at its moorings under strong cable supports, continued for thirty-six hours. In a false clearing we retreated to the Hermitage the next day. Mt. Cook, which I had hoped to climb, was now becoming plastered with new snow. Rain began again that night and after three days of it I gave up, and started by bus for the S. end of the island.

At Queenstown by lucky chance I met Miss Gardiner who had had surprising success despite the weather. (See preceding article. —Ed.) At Lake Te Anau the launch schedules were such that I wouldn’t have had time for the famous Milford track walk, and so after consultation with the bus driver I went up to the road camp at Homer tunnel, put up there in the original little N. Z. A. C. hut for four nights and did manage in the only few hours of clearing one day to scramble up to Gertrude Saddle (4400 ft.) and look down the amazing valley beyond at a corner of the sea in Milford Sound. During the three days of rain my time was filled interestingly in conversations in their cabins with some of the men working on the tunnel, which is to carry the road eventually under Homer Saddle, thence by a gallery such as that at Axen stein along the vertical cliffs on the farther side and so on down to Milford Sound. The entrance of the tunnel had been driven directly at the base of granite cliffs which are just at an angle to hold falling snow long enough to result in destructive avalanches.

In dubious weather I returned to Te Anau, took bus and train to Dunedin and thence back to Christchurch and by air past the Kaikoura mountains to Wellington. At all these places I had the pleasure of meeting many of the prominent climbers, and left on the Awatea for Sydney on March 9th with a very strong feeling that I should someday return to New Zealand.