The Weta Prowl of Steeple Peak

Eating a hearty lunch of Tarras loaf and butter at Lindis Pass after being dropped off by an Israeli lady, I didn't rate my chances of the next lift down the hill. The road was narrow and fast. Until I gleaned into conversation with an elderly man, a solo photographer, driving an old motor-home. "Heading that way?" "Yeah. Where you goin'?" "Mt Cook" "Mt Cook it is!"

Through the door of Wyn Irwin lodge, Mt Cook Village, in amazing time from Wanaka, I was stoked with my good turn of fortune. Chris Sillars and his Danish friend Sabrina Schmidt were sitting at the table perousing the Aoraki guidebook for inspiration. The forecast was dicey, but Cam Mulvey had recommended some climbs up the South Temple area by Lake Ohau for being most sheltered from the rampant nor'wester. The drive up beside Pukaki shows the difference 50 km can make. While warm wet winds are were pounding the divide, the plains were bluebird. The book was open on Weta Prowl, Steeple Peak. I recalled one of Owen's old stories about the route. A classic! Within an hour we'd packed for a light-and-fast mission and were back on the road, pysched for a fantastic spontaneous alpine rock climb...

Weta Prowl. MC 3+, rock 14

It was a cool clear late evening for the two-hour walk in to South Temple hut. The fire was blazing soon after we arrived on dusk, revibing the dank place with energy in an amazing setting. It felt like small-scale South Island; the valley and river was far more compact than the terrain further north, and plush beech trail was a welcome trade off from wild moraine.

Atmospheric conditions on the morning approach at the head of South Temple

The plush trail disappeared as we continued with the valley approach at before dawn the next morning, the river boulders lit up by headlamps for several hours until a manky sunrise illumed the gloom. Wallowing up the icy creek after wrestling the scrub felt far less than 'straightforward', as Cam had described. An almighty slog up several hundred metres of thin scree had us arrive at the base of our gorgeous rock tower, now being dusted in light snow by the chilly sou'west. Memories of that recent Darrans epic returned...

The Steeple Peak rises sharply to the right

First pitches in the shade and cold

She was a true 'Steeple', a block of solid rock emerging from the surrounding piles of debris, scored with a grid-network of cracks easing my nerves over our light alpine rack: 4 cams, 7 nuts. Confident that at rock grade 14 we could run it out, I led up the first pitch in two pairs of gloves, glad to have the digits warm by the time I'd belayed up Chris and Sabrina on each strand of the double ropes. With such a direct line up the great slab I revelled in being able to run out the full sixty metres of rope with minimal drag.

Gorgeous views from the climb, Sabrina seconding in style

The climb's namesake makes an appearance

Soon I was becoming attuned to the rhythm of the climbing. Pitch after pitch, belay after belay, the summit block slowly drew nearer. Looking for a challenge, I headed for a belay spot in a small cave beneath an aesthetic crack leading back onto the sunny face. It turned out to be extremely difficult with no protection, forcing a messy retreat and wasting valuable time... Back onto the route proper, within two pitches we had reached the summit ridge, and an outstanding view over to the Ohau valley...

Elation on the summit ridge!

The exposed summit ridge

But the job was not yet over. We now faced an exposed journey along the gendarmes of the summit ridge. Venturing onto the dark side of the ridge was a poor option, I found myself traversing fine ledges, patches of snow unwelcoming to climbing shoe rubber, and a large drop menacing below. I also experienced the crux of the climb on this deceivingly difficult traverse, an eerie and committing move with huge air below that left a huge grin once I had pulled through.

Finally the terrain relented with an easy scramble to the summit. Still roped up, I set a sling around the summit cairn as the tenth and final belay. It felt perfectly conclusive.

Summit time!

The afternoon was rapidly leading into evening, so while the view was tremendous over to Aoraki, we beat a hasty retreat down the broken south ridge to a saddle, and ran a long scree slope down to the Temple Valley. Despite our efforts, nightfall dropped as we began the return leg down the cold stream to the South Temple Hut. The 20 hour round trip tested each of us to our limits. Challenging tramping terrain with a long day on the rock. It was the type of adventure we craved and we recommend the climb to all.

Descending from the climb, Steeple Peak lit up with last rays

Chris stoked to be at the hut after 20 hours on the go

Disaster in the Darrans

The Darran mountains are the mecca for alpine rock climbing in New Zealand, home to the largest walls of most immaculate granite and diorite in the country. Tony had been treated a taste of Darran’s gold the previous summer, so together we returned the following January for round two. We hitch hiked to Homer Hut from Queenstown, the precipitous ranges still swathed in mist, waterfalls pouring off the giant faces. A mountaingasm swept over me - we had arrived. As a large high slowly moved over the Tasman towards Fiordland, we prepared for our first warm-up climb - a true Darran’s classic - the Bowen Allan Corner.

Tony beneath the Moir massif on the early approach. Moir's Mate is directly above Tony's head

The Bowen Allan Corner is an 8-pitch route situated high above the Homer Tunnel on the north-west face of Moir's Mate. The approach is no Froggatt womble; the three-hour 'walk' involves traversing the razor sharp Homer ridge line, making Malte's cheval look like a butter knife. Five hundred metres below, the first tourists were arriving for their own share of Fiordland glory.

The Homer Ridgeline, with Talbots Ladder and Macpherson above

Aware of the tricky approach, we left Homer hut soon after dawn, arriving at the base of the route by mid-morning. However, due to the sheerness and orientation of the rock-face, the sun was still nowhere to be seen, hiding just beyond the crest of the summit pyramid. The rock was soaking wet and streaked with verglas, reminiscent more of Patagonia than the warm summer alpine rock we were expecting. This is real climbing, we remembered. Determined to begin lest risk a cold bivvy on the long route, we picked a relatively dry line and climbed up in gloves, groaning through waves of hot-aches. Our slow, painful progress was to the bemusement of a group of onlookers, who happened to be some of NZ's top climbers. They had arrived later and relaxed in the sun watching us, before moving onto their own hard projects.

Unable to find the fabled rock horn belay, and sketched out by a very wet corner, I slapped in a few good pieces and brought up Tony. Forced to deviate from the true route, which as well as being vegetated also hosted a crop of icicles, Tony pioneered a new line up a very blank arête. 'My protection is crap!' he yelled, before scraping desperately up the coarse rock. If only he hadn't dropped the micro-offsets! Finally a beam of light, Tony spotted the horn: 2 hours in and 'pitch 1' complete.

I raced up an easy, but extremely wandering pitch, resulting in horrendous rope drag despite extenders and double ropes. From a comfortable belay ledge, Tony was again dumped with a difficult pitch. Despite a dry-looking corner to the right, Tony decided to tend left, following the guide book's apparent wisdom. Ten meters up, Tony found himself lay-backed precariously in a steep corner, the crack greasier than the juiciest of Te Anau's famous venison pies.

The corner system in dry conditions. Photo: Eric & Lucie's bus trip

Shaking on a smeary left foot and gripping the shallow flake, Tony calmly selected the #0.1 cam and inserted her innocent lobes into the slimy, flaring crack. The rope clipped. Tony was committed. One subtle adjustment of body weight was enough to upset the tender balance of climbing rubber traction and gravity. Feet cut, Tony plummeted. I locked the rope tight, watching in horror as the cam popped, and my partner continued falling out of view until the rope and slings jolted tight. Silently I waited. Long mumbled groans broke the cold Darran air. 'Aaaaaaañnnnnnnnnggggggggg'. Tony hobbled into view and beckoned me to bring him down, hardly caring about lowering off his next piece, desperate just to come down to safety.

At first glance he looked fine, if suffering from a bit of whipper-shock. Unraveling his OR cirque pants, I winced as yellow skin was now stained scarlet. More leg revealed more gore - a perfect V-gash two inches wide, skin stretching open to expose bloody tissue and bone. Serious. The stupendous view down the Cleddau Valley towards Milford was now a brutal reminder of the epic descent we now faced. I heroically retrieved Tony's gear from the killer pitch while he self-applied first aid. Two long abseils and the same harrowing ridge traverse eventually brought us to the road, Tony limping bravely just behind.

Retreating back along the Homer Ridge, Cleddau Valley far below

The sport climbers at Homer Hut gawped at the gore, quietly reminding themselves why they clip bolts on polished rock. Our friend Jude from Chamonix was fortunately also leaving to Te Anau, where Tony was quickly stitched up by the on-call doctor - also a fellow climber. A picture on his wall framed a climber traversing Madeline, Tutoko shining bright in the background; the jealously welled up. The Darran mountains are a tough nut to crack. There is a lifetime of climbing to be had in that small cluster of soaring peaks and ridges. We'll be back, better prepared, and with scars to prove it.

Mt Tutoko from Ngapunatoru Plateau. Photo: Ian Brown