Kosciusko [plus Cook and Aspiring]

Quick trip up Kosciusko

After a great trip to New Zealand I headed to Australia to meet up with my Everest partner Rex, “climb” Kosciusko, and travel for a bit in Oz. It was hard to leave New Zealand because it was such a great experience, but off I went.

The flight went smoothly and I rented a car and blasted down to the Snowy mountains in about five hours. I kept telling myself “drive on the left, left, left, left.” The more tired I got, the more I tended to drift off to the right side of the road. After a near miss with a bunch of deer that turned out to be kangaroo, I bivyed between Jindabyne and the park. The next morning after sorting out permits, camp fuel and a bit of extra food I headed into the park.

This can hardly even be called a “climb”. It’s not even a difficult tramp by New Zealand standards. By the direct route, which is a *road* from the trailhead, it’s about 7 miles with very little vertical gain. Just a casual walk. You can make the hike a loop by walking out toward the lakes and looping back, which I decided to do. I set out to beautiful weather and perfect temps for hiking.

After finding camp near the Blue Lake, a beautiful glacial lake, I cooked some dinner and watched the sun set over a nice glass of scotch and reflected on the experience of the seven summits. From wandering up Kilimanjaro as a young dirtbag traveler to steep technical climbing on the Polish Glacier to the overpowering, all encompassing experience of Everest. It seemed in so many ways like a season was coming to an end... not just an end to the seven summits journey, but maybe to a lot more than that. Anyway, the wind picked up to a gentle breeze as I crawled into my tent, pitched on a beautiful meadow overlooking a peaceful lake. Life is very, very good.

At about three in the morning I woke to the howling wind intermittent pattering of rain. My Bibler was more than capable of the worst the Snowies could dish out, but... it was somewhat annoying as I drifted in and out of sleep. Morning came and cooking out was a chore in the 50mph winds. As I packed up to wander up to the peak it started to rain... lightly at first and then quite hard. Super, I thought, what a fitting end. There is no way I am going to miss getting all seven on my first try on Kosciusko! I leaned into the wind and resolved to get wet. About mid-way through the hike I passed a group of rangers heading back to their truck. “Nice day for a walk, mate,” one snickered. I glared back.

Sooner than expected I came to the main trail, and then to the summit marker. As I walked up to the small cairn and tapped the top I smiled. “Seven.” I hung out up there for a few minutes while the rain cleared a bit and took some pictures. A short prayer of thanks. I shrugged, put on my iPod, and began the stroll back to the trailhead. There is a certain lightness that comes with a mountain accomplished, and I felt, not as if Kosciusko was done, but that a load had been lifted somehow, the landscape opening for whatever climbing was to bring next. For now, a hot shower and a glass of scotch awaited.

The mountaineer returns to the hills because he remembers always that he has forgotten so much.

Geoffrey Winthrop Young

Mount Cook

A few weeks before my stroll in the Snowies I got to attempt Mount Cook in New Zealand. We’d heard stories of violent weather and a merciless glacier, and while the weather mostly held the mountain was every bit as nasty as reputed.

After a few days chilling our heels at the climber’s hut at the base of the mountain, the weather cleared enough that we arranged a flight up to the Plateau Hut at the base of the Linda Glacier. After scoping the route, we decided to take a run at the Zurbriggen Ridge, a long, beautiful snow and ice ridge visible from our base camp. My partner, Anne, was headed to Peru to take a run at Artesonraju and the Zurbriggen was like a little Arteson... 800 meters of perfect 40 degree ice and snow up to Summit rocks, where it joined the normal route (the Linda Glacier) for the last several hundred meters.

Long story short, we sent the Zurbriggen in really good style, pitching out a few crux sections around the bergshrund and in some hard mixed ground, and short roping the rest. I was really happy that we were moving really well, with very few breaks, although we were both pretty tired when we got to the rocks. After a long break for food, water, warm jackets, and some rest we ultimately decided to bail. I was really bummed, because I was feeling strong and amped to go, but Anne felt like she was too tired to move up safely. Ultimately I think we both learned from the experience... and both wish we’d made a different decision. But in the end, Cook will still be there, we had a great day of climbing, and we lived to fight another day.

As it turned out, it was nearly a tragic day on the mountain. High above us one of the Aussie climbers that we had been hanging out with took a huge fall and slid something like 200 feet down this couloir. He was incredibly lucky to stop on a ledge before a 3000 foot drop (which would have killed him for sure). His partners called in a rescue (which was the highest altitude rescue in NZ ever) and it looks like he is going to be okay. At the time I remember thinking, God reminds us that grace takes many forms. How right I was… but not how I thought. Or maybe exactly how I thought, but it was about to get a lot more personal.

Until one is committed there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness. Concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elemental truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans: that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one's favour all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamt would have come his way.

W.H. Murray

Mount Aspiring

After a refreshing break in Wanaka (the Jackson of New Zealand) where we gorged ourselves on steak and good beer, we headed a little further South to climb Mount Aspiring. It's one of the most beautiful peaks in NZ and has a pretty easy route up, the Northwest Ridge, that was really fun. Basically it’s a third and fourth class rock scramble along a long, aesthetic ridge up to an easy summit icecap. Our early morning departure saw such fabulous conditions that I was climbing in my shirtsleeves for a bunch of the time. We didn’t even rope up on the ascent. In short order we got the summit to perfect skies and amazing views... all the way to Mount Cook to the North and to the ocean in the West.

Anyway the story of Aspiring is really about the trip down, not up. Most accidents happen on the descent, after snow conditions have deteriorated and climbers are tired, and that's what almost happened to me. I'm still trying to figure out exactly what it means...

The route up Mount Aspiring is mostly on rock until the summit ice cap with the exception of two short traverses across steep snowfields. On the way up what little snow we encountered was nice, firm, and safe (because it was still cold enough). After summiting we sauntered down

the ice cap, took off our crampons and made our way carefully down the rock sections. About halfway down we put our crampons back on for a traverse across soft snow that was about 300 feet long. I was leading but we were unroped so that we could move quickly and efficiently over

what was actually pretty easy terrain. Anyway, I climbed for about twenty feet moving mostly horizontally on very, very slushy snow. It all happened so quickly that I'm not exactly sure of the sequence of events, but here's what I do remember... I planted my axe above me, handle down for safety, placed my right foot, and my crampon popped off (I had been having some trouble with the attachment with the boot). I promptly started sliding down the 40 degree slope. My axe popped out of the soft snow and slid like a hot knife through butta. I dove into self arrest mode... and kept sliding for a scary amount of time before I managed to stop myself. Everything was in control, but I was uncomfortably close to going for the big ride. My experience and instincts definitely played a role in keeping me safe, but I think at the end of the day God himself decided that today was not going to be the day that we met personally. Oddly enough, I was never that scared.

So I am trying to figure out what the whole experience means. I have come close to meeting the Grim Reaper once or twice before... but this is the closest I've ever come, I think. For sure, God was reminding me who is God. What else I am supposed to take from such a tangible manifestation of grace? Stop climbing and start serving? Life is short? Be more careful? Get serious about your life? Stop being so prideful about your skills, it can happen to anyone? God is a loving, faithful God? Grace can be real and tangible? A bit of all of the above, and more.

Anyway, without being melodramatic, it was definitely a reminder how precious and fragile life is. Which, rather than deterring me from the mountains, reminded me how important it is to experience life in its brightest, purest form.

You cannot live sheltered forever without ever being exposed, and at the same time be a spiritual adventurer. Be audacious. Be crazy in your own way, with that madness in the eyes of man that is wisdom in the eyes of God. Take risks, search and search again, search everywhere, in every way, do not let a single opportunity or chance that life offers pass you by.

Arnaud Desjardines