The weekend after my return to Dunedin was coming up. The
Southern Alps were to continue experiencing amazing weather and Danilo (Italian
turned Kiwi who is well versed in the wild of the South Island) was scheming up
ideas for his weekend. Some of his
trips were partner dependant. I was keen to join but was also committed Friday
night to a potluck. Upon hearing my interest and dilemma, Danilo suggested we
do a two-day trip: the couloir on The Footstool. The what? Danilo handed me the guidebook. It’s a lovely 2764-meter mountain
in Aoraki National Park that can actually be done in two days (unlike other
peaks in the area which take 3 or more, without helicopter support of course).
It stands upon the northern shoulder of the dark and intimidating Mt Sefton
(3151 meters). From carpark to Footstool’s
summit it’s about 1900 meters with a mellow trail, a cobbled riverbed, slopes
with tussock, snow and loose rock, and crevassed glaciers in between. Upon
glancing at the guidebook and a picture of Footstool, I was in.
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| Sefton to the left and Footstool to the right. |
We returned from Debbi and Tim Lewis’s place Friday night at
a reasonable hour for our big weekend ahead. We awoke early (not quite alpine
early, maybe 4:30 AM), loaded the car, picked up two others (a young Swedish woman,
Hana and Jonas, Penzy’s Swiss partner) and drove to Aoraki National Park. It
was during a fuel stop on this trip that I received the call from Nate,
informing me that he had X-rays done on his heel and his foot was broken. I was
distracted that day from our mission, until I decided I needed to get a job
ASAP, Danilo said we could stay longer at his place, and I managed to get a
hold of a friend who gave me contact details for a possible job. Content with
having a basic plan for the next couple months, I turned the phone off for the
weekend.
We stopped in at the Mount Cook DOC center to see if we
could gather information about recent conditions on Footstool. The woman at the
counter handed us a huge binder with notes from climbers and rangers on the conditions
of various mountains in the area from this past year. Turns out no one had
climbed Footstool this year. A note mentioned that a large schrund had opened up
at the bottom of the couloir, that may make the couloir inaccessible for part
of the year. This news didn’t deter Danilo, who noted we will have a look for
ourselves, and if need be we will go the easier route.
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| The coulior is just within the shadow left and below the peak |
We arrived the road’s end in Hooker Valley a little before
lunchtime. It was sunny, clear and calm. Just down the valley on the Western
side I could see our goal, which was not merely a bump on Sefton’s ridge. Above
the steep glaciers towered a 70-90 degree triangular face with a sharp ridge
traveling off to the south; all still covered in snow. I could just see our
couloir route hidden at the edge of mountain’s shadow. My eyes however kept
being drawn to Sefton, with its dark sheer faces beneath broken glaciers. A
drastic, stunning peak to say the least. Might need to return and tick it off
later.
We set out on a mellow graveled trail. In less than an hour
we veered off the track near a moraine wall and began to navigate our way
through bush and a cobbled riverbed. Soon we were following cairns up a ridge.
We had lunch maybe halfway up the ridge from Sefton Bivy. There was a lack of flat
spots, so we made do with carefully placing our packs and ourselves amongst the
tussock on small shelves of dirt.
* * *
I would like to take moment here in my normal ADD fashion to
tell you that I’m writing most of this blog from the comfort of Homer Hut with
a woodstove burning hot behind me (drying my hand-washed laundry). Once again,
alone on a rainy day, but this time in the middle of Fiordland National Park
and far from any bars or people (probably 30km). Outside is like a monsoon and
the dry riverbeds you drive through to get to the hut have filled with
water-ankle deep or more. In fact, there are now two rivers where there were
none this morning. I am being flooded onto very small island of moss, trees,
and gravel upon on which the minimally solar powered alpine club hut stands.
Waterfalls are raging down everywhere on the 1500+ foot granite cliffs that
surround my temporary home.
* * *
On our journey up the ridge we paused to listen to the
cracking and rumbling coming from Sefton. Occasionally we had glimpses of giant
chunks of ice tumbling down past the cliffs, with a trail of snow just behind. What
a temperamental sounding mountain. Eventually we put our crampons on and
started up a short steep ramp of snow to the right of a crumbly rock step we
would have otherwise had to climb. We saw a couple of skiers navigating down
the glacier on Footstool. If I hadn’t heard the sound of their skis scraping
icy snow, I would have been envious.
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| Sefton Bivy and one of the glaciers behind it. |
Just as the sun began to fade (somewhere around 5ish), we
arrived at Sefton Bivy; the roof stuck out about half a meter above the snow. As
we approached we could see the water container and entrance had been kindly dug
out by previous visitors. Before the light was gone we examined our route and
discussed our plan of attack for navigating the glacier and then the schrund for
tomorrow morning (which would all have to be done by headlamp). We then started
cooking dinner and organizing gear. Water bottles were filled with hot water
and we were cuddling with them in our sleeping bags by 7:30. I’m fairly certain
I managed to fall a sleep before 8 pm.
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| Looking back halfway up the the first pitch. |
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| Daybreak and looking up at the couliour and the crevasse below it. |
My watched beeped too soon. Before 2 AM we were working our
way out of the sleeping bags and boiling water for warm breakfasts and tea. In
less than an hour we stepped our way up the icy snow, only hearing the crunch
of the crampons. We had only the light of our headlamps and we tried to
navigate our route based on how the ground dropped or rose around us; always
trying to stick to the ridge to avoid navigating the crevasses in the dark. Soon
however, we started to see the giant cracks in the ice that formed dark
cavities. Our progress slowed as we tried to find our way in the dark.
Eventually dawn began to break and we could see the coulior in front of us, along
with the schrund. I was happy to finally have some light stronger than my
headlamp; navigating a glacier in the dark was eerie, even when I was at the
back of the line. As we approached the base of the couloir we were almost
turned back by a exceptionally long crevasse. After some searching and cautious
testing Jonas found a small, angled, tiered bridged for us to cross over one at
a time.
Finally with the mountains glowing purple and pink in the
morning light, we were at the base of the couloir. I tied in with Danilo and
began leading, while Jonas and Hana went as a team and Jonas took their leads. All
the way up the couloir we intermittently post holed, kicked steps and front
pointed. On a couple of pitches Danilo snagged the lead. In the mean time I
thought about how nice sections of this couloir were for making turns. I would have to carry the skis up 1000
feet on my back before I could even put them on my feet.
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| A Top the Footstool looking West/Northwest |
The cream of the coilour was the final pitch; solid,
sustained alpine ice. Jonas had done the route finding before us, and was so
kind as to dig through the small cornice that had formed at the top and to cut
large steps in the meter of vertical. I was very thankful when I planted my two
ice axes over the top and lifted my head above to find a narrow ridge with a
steep drop on the other side. I carefully pulled myself on top, trying not to
slide off the ridge in either direction. It was a techy ridge walk to the dip
before the final climb to the summit. There Jonas and Hana waited for us. I was
anxious to go for it was well past noon and the sun was beating down
relentlessly on the Northern aspects- which was what we were to cross on our
way down. I waited as Danilo went to the summit, taking a moment for myself to
admire the feeling of being on top of the world and taking pictures in an
attempt to capture the moment.
Once Danilo returned we were off , heading down and around the
corner to find a steep snow face below rippled rime ice. A quick glimpse around
showed no easier route. With a step into the punchy snow, we new it was not something
we could protect or linger on. With every person for himself or herself because
time was of the essence, we traversed the slope as quickly as we could.
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| Danilo crossing the Northern rotten slope |
Clouds rolled in making the descent challenging to find, but
luckily we found footprints that led us in the right direction. With clouds
moving in and out, we worked to follow the steps (and not lose each other), occasionally
losing the faint prints and spreading to re-find them. Eventually they formed
in a continuous path and in the intermittent white out conditions this helped
us to navigate quickly across the lower glacier.
We arrived back at Sefton Bivy sometime after 4 PM. We had a long break where we ate, drank
tea and packed up the gear we had left there. Then once again we set out,
determined to at least make it to the parking lot. It was a long hike by
headlamp, a silent onward trudge, and the mellow track we had started on seemed
to go on forever. Finally around 11:30 PM we neared the parking lot. I was
fixated on bed and picked up the pace a little. WHAM!! Right on my ass. My one
fall the whole trip was caused by the one small patch of ice on the mellow
track, which I failed to see with my tunnel vision.
We were all sound asleep shortly after midnight on the
cement floor of a shelter at the roads end. Around 5:15 AM, with nothing to
eat, we all packed into my car once again and Danilo took the first driving
shift to get us back to Dunedin.
I guess it was really 2+ day mission.
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