Avalanche Peak
& Mt Rolleston
Mostly solo, with occasional company from Keas and others I met along the way.

My second drive in a month from Christchurch to Arthur's Pass was made in brilliant sunshine. Madonna's Music pounded from the car stereo (I only had the one tape kindly brought along by Caroline) and my lousy singing drifted out the window disturbing the sheep in the fields of Canterbury. The Alps loomed in the windscreen and the poor hire-car engine started to stammer on the gradients.

A visit to the Dept. of Conservation in Arthur's Pass was most fruitful thanks to the friendly assistance of Hamish and another young gentleman whose name I didn't catch. Armed with copies made from an out-of-print guidebook to the region, I headed for the NZAC lodge - what luxury!

The weather was too good to squander. Despite the late hour (6pm), I stuffed some gear into a daypack and bolted out the door for the path to the summit of Avalanche Peak which lay immediately behind the lodge. The well-marked path headed steeply through the beech with no time for a warm up. I clambered as quickly as I could up the rocky track beside a gorgeous cascading stream and occasionally glanced behind me for views of the tiny township below.

A circling kea kept me company as I huffed and puffed out of the trees. The tussock and scree slopes made for easier running, the cool breeze also had me scurrying along a little more quickly.

Up on the summit I could see two figures silhouetted against the early evening sky, no doubt enjoying the view of Mt Rolleston - my aim for tomorrow. I stopped for a quick swig from a water bottle. Whilst I stood, the inquisitive kea came to keep me company. It perched on a nearby rock, watching me cautiously from one eye, then turning its head to make sure I looked the same through the other. I love these birds, as frustrating as it can be when they steal your spoon, your Teva sandal (poor Andrew) or use your tent (not good for it) or car windshield as a slippery slide - they are a marvel of the New Zealand alpine landscape. These highly intelligent winged companions have provided hours of entertainment for climbers ever since people started to explore the regions above the tree line. Pete James, a guide living in Wanaka, had a thought, "I reckon they're the spirits of climbers past come back to harrass us." A great and comforting thought. Perhaps this was Paul Scaife come to say hello? RIP Super Scaife - I'm pleased to have met you in human form, however briefly, and wish I could have learnt more from you during your time here.

So, back to the climb... The kea cawed and swooped from its perch. With an effortless flap of its wings it landed on an outcrop further up the mountain, still keeping me in view. I continued on my merry way towards the 1833m summit as the sun ducked behind the ridge and the shadows spread across the face on which I was scrambling. The climbers I'd seen in silhouette appeared above me and one headed over for a chat. They'd just done a complete traverse of the ridge from Bealey to Avalanche Peak - what a perfect day for it!

W.K. Jones' Ice Axe - An unsolved mystery
My first visit to Arthur's Pass DOC office lead to my discovery of a display of antique climbing gear and photographs from the region. In particular I was keen to hear of the first ascent of the Rolleston Low Peak, a climb I hoped to replicate solo since I was short of partners for the last week of my stay (see text at left). The axes used on this first ascent were pinned to the wall, a photograph of the climbers was nestled between them. "Where can I find myself an axe like that?", I wondered as I sipped coffee with Caroline, Greg and Sophie in Oscar's Haus, a historic chalet/cafe in the town.

Caroline and I were wandering through a junk shop in Christchurch a couple of weeks later. As chance would have it, jammed into a bit of ceramic drain pipe, along with an old spear and a couple of walking sticks, was a well worn antique axe just like those in the photo. Some discussion followed with Caroline. She twisted my arm, I bought it, and soon we were marching down the city streets with the axe, its head wrapped in newspaper so I didn't look like a complete dill.

The fun was just beginning. The next day I spent a couple of hours in the Canterbury museum archives trying to find out about the axe's owner.The name W.K. Jones C.M.C. (Canterbury Mountaineering Club) was engraved into the head. Also visible were the words "Made in Switzerland", the characters "OSC..." and the place "Arthur's Pass". There were also some other characters barely visible, possibly the maker's name.

I could understand why somebody would have their name engraved on the axe. It was a popular thing to do, especially in the days when axes were imported to NZ from Europe or made especially by local smithies for young climbers. I couldn't understand why the axe had "Arthur's Pass" engraved on it though. The only place I've seen climbers have their gear stamped with a place name is Japan. Climbers on Fuji can elect to have the various height stations stamp a mark onto their walking stick as they ascend. Why would somebody have Arthur's Pass engraved on the axe? All the more reason to head back to Arthur's Pass to find out.

I didn't have much time for chatting as I had to reach the summit rocks and scree before sundown or there'd be no view of Rolleston and no beta for tomorrow. My hurry turned out to be quite unnecessary. The route was an easy stumble and I made the top well before sundown in a respectable 1hr 20mins.

The views were superb. Why is it that these easy, unplanned climbs so often result in the most spectacular views? When I actually plan days in advance to climb something I'm left standing on the summit (if I make it at all) in drizzle, sleet, snow and/or howling gales. Typically there is no sign of a clear view for miles. Such is life in the mountains. At least I could really appreciate the scenery on this occasion.

The bergshrund on the Crow glacier / south-west face of Rolleston gaped wider than I'd expected - not the kind of slot I'd like to solo above with my limited experience. Nevertheless, leaving aside thoughts of the morrow, the views expanded in a full 360 degree panorama. This was the kind of sight which pushes the frustration of cloudy ascents quickly to the back of one's mind.

After pottering around on the summit admiring the view, munching on a block of chocolate, snapping some photos and being chilled by the breeze, I headed back down the way I'd come. The shadows lengthened as I approached the cascade which supplied the drinking water for the township of Arthur's Pass. About three hours after I'd sprinted out the door, with plenty of time to lounge around on the summit, I was back in the hut cooking up a storm in the well-equipped lodge.

As I cooked, I chatted to some newly arrived lodge inhabitants - an Israeli couple, Alex and Roni. Israelis on snow? Now I've heard everything! They were keen to head up Mt. Rolleston the next day and whilst they planned on leaving much earlier than I did, I figured I'd go along with them. This was against my cardinal rule of not climbing with people I didn't know on a climb I had set my heart on making. However, after today's look at the Crow glacier I felt the added safety of three was worth the chance that we'd not make a good team. It was 11pm before I was packed and ready to sleep. Who needs sleep anyway?

At midnight four more climbers stumbled into the hut waking me up. I don't think I slept again prior to the 3.30am beeping of my alarm. I struggled out of bed to stuff down some food, dress and head out the door with Alex and Roni. We drove up the road in their vehicle through the early morning fog. The Otira valley was dark and quiet as we clambered out of the car, donned our torches and packs and followed the path through the alpine vegetation and rocky streams. Bonus - Alex and Roni had been this way the day before so they knew where we were going. A good reason to have hitched up with them.

Roni's torch batteries went flat after 15 minutes or so. Was that an omen? We followed the path and then stumbled over the moraine until finally the gradient started increasing. Unfortunately a serious speed mismatch developed in the group. At least the climb was short enough that there was little need to hurry. We saddled up and I started stomping up the Otira slide through the semi-frozen snow. An evil sunrise flooded the sky with blood.

The recent mild conditions had shortened the snow slope, exposing a 15m section of rock before the ridge at the top of the slide. After getting myself into a spot of bother on some loose choss I managed to extricate myself from an embarassing spread-eagled position and continue with some style up onto the ridge. Here I perched au cheval and snapped photos in the chill breeze. Storm clouds brewed in the distance as I munched on a Mother Earth Baked Fruity, Oaty Slice. Yum! Why did they stop selling these in Australia?

Back down the glacier, behind Roni and Alex, I could see four black dots making an approach. Could this be the party who arrived in the hut late last night? Whilst they may have slept in, they were now making up ground speedily on Roni and Alex and myself as I chilled out (literally).

Alex waved from below for me to continue (before I turned into a popsicle) whilst they negotiated the end of the slide and the rock. I jumped off the back of the ridge and climbed the top of the Goldney Glacier to regain the ridge towards Rolleston's low peak. In a spot of sun I camped my backside once again and waited for the others to follow.

The obelisk

I love New Zealand! Two cars later and my muddy, smelly self, sharps and pack were crammed into the plush leather seat of a BMW speeding towards Arthur's Pass township. To top it all off the two guys in the car were computer science postgraduates taking a day out from a conference. One of them even knew who I was! Its a small world. I can never escape. I scratched my sunglasses on the car door as I thanked them for the ride. Drat. Drat.

After a hot shower in the lodge, I headed over to have apple slice and coffee in Oscar's Haus. Alex and Roni joined me later as it rained outside. It poured rain on and off for the next few days. At least the waterfalls were full of life, shame about the climbing. I did manage to (i) get in a spot of caving at Cave Stream (ii) slip off a few wet boulders at Castle Hill. The latter was done with Meg (Scotland) and Stein (Norway), both of whom I had met earlier on the NZAC camp. Both of whom also just happened to show up whilst I ate my lunch in Arthur's Pass. "Life's full of coincidences" my mother likes to say.