Mt Hutton South Face - the First Ascent

Four years ago in 2014, I spied the 500-metre tall South Face of Mt Hutton on the topo map, and discovered it was unclimbed. I recruited two adventure racing friends, we mountain biked up the Cass Valley out of Tekapo and made an attempt on the face, but we were defeated after only two time-consuming pitches up the chossy, ice-streaked face. The route was beyond my experience at the time, more than we expected or could handle. Fortunately it was only two abseils back to the ground, because I had forgotten to bring a V-threader. I managed to equalise some shallow V-threads using my ice axe as a tool. To climb technical routes like this in the future I realised I needed good mentors and a pool of more experienced climbing partners. The following year I joined the New Zealand Alpine Team and found just that.


Since then several other parties have made attempts, mostly friends of mine, but each time they failed, repelled by sugar-snow covered greywacke lacking the crucial ice, and each time I breathed a sigh of relief. Moving to Australia made this alpine project even more inaccessible, and the face was never in condition when I returned briefly to the South Island each year. Every year the South Face of Mt Hutton haunted me.

The South Face of Mt Hutton

Finally this August, I returned for a second attempt, just after the Remarkables Ice & Mixed Festival. This time I was joined by fellow NZAT members Caleb Jennings and Rose Pearson who were frothing at the prospect of a new route in their backyard, the Canterbury Alps. This time 4WD access to Memorial hut instead of mountain bikes made the 5 hour snow-plodding approach up the Faraday Glacier a much more casual affair. However, comparing photos of the face to the previous Spring-time attempt showed the face was in much leaner condition, which would make the first two pitches accessing the main face more difficult. Success was far from guaranteed.

Comparison between Sep 2014 and Aug 2018 conditions

Alastair and Rose fuelling up before the climb with Wild Alaskan Salmon and Mediterranean Chicken

Plugging up to the face in the ellipse of the full moon's shadow, I set out to repeat the sketchy traverse diagonally upwards on snowy rock ledges towards the main ice gulley. Tenuous slabby moves, rotten ice and psychological protection made it a heady start to the route.


Off the belay is an exposed down-climb on small rock edges, with techy dry-tooling moves to pull around into the ice gulley, then followed by a rope length of thin ice. These desperate moves had left a deep impression when I had clawed my way through four years ago. It was rewarding to return to this spot four years later with a much deeper bag of experience in ice, mixed, rock, aid and alpine gained through the last three years of being in the NZ Alpine Team, to be able to negotiate the same moves, this time with even less ice, with much more control. It was good to see all the time spent dry tooling and scratching up the West Face of the Remarkables does pay off in the bigger mountains.

The first pitch. Rotten snow, poor rock, imaginary protection. A Mt Hutton classic.

Rose took on the next two technical pitches; slow difficult leads, we watched loose rock and ice cascade down the gulley as the rope inched upwards. But in the process she had surpassed our previous high-point and we were through the hardest climbing. We were ecstatic. Every turn of the corner revealed an exciting new view of the climbing that lay above, and from this point upwards it only got better and better. Rose was then treated to an incredible 40-metre pitch of pure, fat, plastic water ice - unheard of in New Zealand!

Setting out on another sugary traverse, Rose's speciality

Caleb seconding the crux pitch that had evaded me four years earlier

Rose climbing squeaky, plastic water ice. A classic pitch

Caleb, our packhorse from Darfield, carried the team onwards to the summit ridge, two moderate pitches and a long simul-climbing block to the top as the gradient relented. As always, the summit was still far beyond the top of the face, involving one 50m abseil and much deep snow plugging. By this point the Canterbury Alps were bathed in moon-light, a spectacular sight. Headlamps were unnecessary.

Stoked to be on the top of Mt Hutton with a full moon shining down on us

Reaching the summit revealed the mighty view west to the Aoraki/Mt Cook range, and unlike my previous climb with Caleb on Punta Herron, this time there wasn't a breath of wind. While climbing overseas provides amazing experiences, for three Kiwi mountaineers, nothing really beats the joy of climbing a new route in your own backyard, the New Zealand Southern Alps.

Sunset panorama from the summit ridge line

Approaching the base of Mt Hutton South Face, with the line of ascent marked

Canada Ice - A Winter in the Rockies

It was 1998, I was stranded in Los Angeles airport, on a long haul flight back to New Zealand. Killing time, I stared at a world map. I still remember thinking, "I want to live in Canada in the winter."



Pilsner Pillar. One of the classic ice climbs in the Canadian Rockies

Almost twenty years later, that strange wish came true. Previously, I have always dreamt up my own trips and adventures in the homeland. Since becoming part of the New Zealand Alpine Team, the team commitment has included several overseas trips to world meccas of ice, rock and altitude to boost our mountain skills. Pencilled in over three years, these trips have made life planning easy.

Ben Dare on Louise Falls

Beginning with three weeks of ice climbing in the Canadian Rockies, I awoke my dormant dream of a Canadian winter and decided to stay on for four months after our compatriots had returned to NZ. Though risky, with no secure income guaranteed, the gamble would prove to pay off...

Myself on Bourgeau Left

Over three intense weeks, our group of ten climbers indulged in more frozen waterfalls than the average kiwi enjoys in a decade. While NZ has prolific mountaineering terrain, and we become skilled on rough approaches, exposed snow slopes and loose rock bands, we are rarely treated to columns of pure vertical water-ice.

Gemma Wilson on Weeping Wall

Adding to the challenge in Canada are debilitating temperatures, especially in the coldest month of January, with temperatures as low as -30 celcius. The screaming pain of thawing frozen hands was our inevitable companion on our first brutally cold climb of Louise Falls, and almost every other outing. Double boots designed for Himalayan altitudes were necessary to prevent frostnip on the coldest days of the season.

As the flick of our ice axe improved, our tick lists of the classic ice climbs grew, increasing in length and difficulty. A few weeks after the Alpine Team returned to New Zealand, I joined two new friends for a trip back up to the Icefields Parkway in the northern Rockies. Artem, from Russia, and Alexis, a Canmore local.

We started our ice fiesta with Murchison Falls, the perfect warm-up with four pitches of soft plastic ice up to WI4+. Conditions on this huge ice fall can vary wildly between the start and end of the 5-month Canadian ice season but we quickly realised how easy the climbing was in the relative warmth of late February compared to the cold, brittle ice in January. Alexis led her first pitch of WI4 from a cave belay at half height, having mentally recovered from the guilt of forgetting half of the quickdraws an hour earlier.

Myself, Artem and Alexis on Murchison Falls

All the hostels were fully booked that night so were forced to bivouac in the snow on the side of the road below our next objective: Curtain Call.

The majestic Curtain Call

Despite camping at the gate, we were still beaten to the base by a three man Spanish team. Improvising, I stretched a 70m pitch up the left-hand side of the massive pillar into a cave behind the central pillar. Instead of curving around onto the outside face, I climbed up to the curtain, towards the mystical blue light, and smashed my way through the shield and peered through to the outside world.

Breaking through the backside of the curtain halfway up Curtain Call

Just then, an ice axe appeared: the Spanish team was climbing up from the other side. I laughed and waited for them to pass before breaking out onto the steep chandeliers, stemming up a gulley to the top.

Myself on the right side of Curtain Call

In January we had made several trips to the famous Weeping Wall, an impressive sheet of ice a football field wide and 200 metres tall, only five minutes from the road. We had climbed it left, right and central, but due to conditions and weather, we never managed to venture onto the upper tier, to climb the notorious Weeping Pillar. A further 180 metres of "the most difficult plastic ice you'll ever climb". The biggest challenge is hitting it before the sun turns it into rotten slush, as many climbers had warned.

We fired up Weeping Wall left-side topping out on sunrise, now treating it as "approach ice", continuing up tracks to the Weeping Pillar, an intimidating jumble of chandeliers, snow mushrooms and hanging ice daggers. The three pitches were long, requiring crafty excavation for still dubious ice screw placements. We topped out just as conditions were deteriorating in the heat, and we V-threaded the melting waterfall as quickly as possible.

Artem, Alexis and I after the descent of the monstrosity that is the Weeping Pillar

If there was one climb we had our eyes set on more than any other, it was Polar Circus. One of the longest ice routes, although it starts off rambling, the top five pitches are a masterpiece of the Rockies, set deep in a powerful cleft. The avalanche hazard on this climb is notable, and we weighed up the risk carefully before committing to it.

Setting off excitedly at 3:30AM, we simul-climbed the first four easy pitches in darkness, and linked rope-stretchers up the first half of the upper tier at dawn, switching off headlamps in time for the business end finale- incredible, steep, featured ice. We wasted no time on the descent, literally running between abseil anchors, pulling the ropes as we galloped. The adrenaline was still pumping when we arrived back at the cars a fraction less than 7 hours after starting.

3AM, Artem and I ready for Polar Circus

Artem firing an ice axe salute to the upper tiers of Polar Circus on descent

After that success, the momentum was hot. Artem and I opened our eyes and started to dream, buoyed by the giddyness of tasting those mythical ice formations. Our next move followed quickly. A return to the windswept Ghost Valley, home to the Real Big Drip. We both knew this 200m monster of hard mixed and ice climbing was beyond us, with an opening pitch of friable M8 going on M9 rock into bullet hard ice blobs, steepening into outrageous WI7 overhangs.

Artem sights the Real Big Drip from a lookout on the approach

Artme climbing the bullet hard ice of the Real Big Drip first pitch

Even the approach was a challenge, and the icy wind had no mercy as we neared the intimidating formation. It was like nothing I had seen before, drip ice adhered to the rock in wild shapes and structures, disappearing out of sight above. The first pitch alone took two hours to lead, and two hours to second. Huge chunks of limestone peeled off as we climbed, I feared the whipper as I negotiated cryptic moves on small edges between spaced bolts.

Peaking

Flash pump throbbed beneath my many layers of clothing. Shoelace thin ropes made seconding harder than leading, as every popped tool resulted in negative progress for Artem. We had tasted the next level, and decided to retreat. Humbled by the experience, and full of respect for the Real Big Drip, we vowed to return one day.

Retreat from Real Big Drip. The wildest & most inspiring ice formation I have ever seen

          

Soon after, the winter chill was replaced with unwelcome spring-time heat. Melting ice and ubiquitous avalanches drove us south to the Utah desert, in search of sun, splitter sandstone, and desert towers.

Fine Jade, The Rectory, Utah

On my return several weeks later, I was pleasantly surprised to find the icicles still hanging on. A sleep deprived welcome-back climb of Twisted in Field had me realise the spring conditions made for much easier climbing. The stage was set to take on some of the harder classics.

Twisted with Noburu Kiruchi. He later helped me land a job as a salad chef at the Grizzly Paw Brewery

Exploring new styles of dry tooling in a hidden cave above Canmore

Climbing a slender ice pillar accessed by bolted M7 choss-tooling, all while being pounded by spindrift

I soon found that the Stanley Headwall was in, and seeing action. Gemma Wilson and I attempted French Reality, but a snow storm blew in early and we made a hasty retreat.

Gemma skiing away from French Reality (right hand upper ice streak) as a storm rolls in

I returned a few days later with Michelle Kadatz, a super-keen ice & mixed aficionado from Calgary. We scratched back up to Gemma's highpoint, and proceeded to climb a hundred metres of the steepest, most sustained ice we had touched of the season. We couldn't feel too proud though, pushing into the mildness of April, it was practically a summer ascent. The same climb would be an order of magnitude more difficult in true winter conditions, a true WI6+.

Michelle Kadatz topping out French Reality

The season was closing, but Jason Dayman and I were frothing for a fierce finale. Michelle Kadatz had mentioned the mixed climb Man Yoga, put up a few years earlier by Jon Walsh & Jonny Simms on the Stanley Headwall. Something of a test piece it seemed. Steep M7 on trad, into a tenuous, thin M7 slab (not quite as heady with the retro-bolting), into a long pitch that culminates in an M8 roof pull. I made it through the roof on the onsight attempt, battling horrendous rope drag having run-out of long quick draws...

Jason Dayman approaches Man Yoga

Jason on the first pitch of M7 trad

Jason seconding the tenuous M7 dry tooling slab

Pumped out of mind, my picks wrenching rock loose from the wall, I felt I could peel off with the choss at any minute, but somehow hung on. "SLACK!!!" I yelled, tugging desperately at the tight ropes to clip the final quickdraw of the crux... I pulled so hard on those ropes, that I managed to pull myself off the wall, my grip finally failing, and I flew off into space. "Snap!" That was the sound of my umbilical leashes snapping. As I hung in mid air, dangling five metres below the roof, I looked up to see my ice axe wedged in a crack, the leash flapping around in the gentle breeze. I pulled back up and finished the pitch.

Jason coming through the M8 roof

Jason, a strong rock climber, followed up in bare hands. We bailed on the final ice pitch, which looked rotten. We needed the extra daylight to excavate Jason's skis, which had been buried by an enormous avalanche that had ripped overhead earlier in the day. Jason found his skis. We decided that was enough adventure for one winter in the Canadian Rockies.

Excavating our skis the day after the avalanche buried them

A week later I drove west to Vancouver Island, for six weeks of commercial prawn fishing around the beautiful inlets of west coast British Columbia. I was content to leave behind the winter of the Canadian Rockies, ready to start a new adventure...

Yosemite - a Month of Climbing on El Capitan

Yosemite Valley saw a true Kiwi invasion this spring season, swarming to the most famous big walls in the world. Our attention in this expedition was unequivocally focused on the greatest of them all, El Capitan. Over the course of the month, our group would go on to climb the Motherstone by six different routes.

El Capitan

Yosemite was the second of the NZ Alpine Team’s official training trips, the first being Canadian Rockies. These two destinations are the most convenient for kiwi climbers looking to gain mileage & experience ice climbing and big wall climbing as a foundation for larger alpine objectives.

I teamed up with William Skea for the expedition, a talented Australian climber looking to join the next NZAT intake. We decided to spend a week warming up in Utah, home of incredible desert sandstone spires, the perfect place to hone our crack climbing skills before hitting the Valley.

INDIAN CREEK, MOAB, ZION

We let ourselves enjoy one delicious handcrack at Indian Creek, then condemned ourselves to only focus on our weaknesses: offwidths. We thrashed our skin and sanity on as many heinous wide cracks as we could find, mixed in with our other nemesis, thin hands & ringlocks. All the while, we knew that if we broke a sweat on these limb-swallowing grovel fests then they would surely cry on the Monster Offwidth - one of the infamous cruxes of our main Yosemite objective, Freerider.

Moab also became the perfect pre-Yosemite training ground: aiding The Tombstone, a 120 metre formation famous for Dean Potter mega whippers, night-time hammering pitons & beaks up a thin seam, setting up the portaledge mid-route, and even dropping into a deep hole in Canyonlands to rescue a Romanian couple’s crashed drone.

Will on Shunes Buttress, Zion

A 24-hour stopover in Zion yielded two of the park’s classic free routes, Smashmouth (5.11-, 120m) and Shunes Buttress (5.11+, 300m). We were psyched and ready for Yosemite. Warmed up and rested, we would go straight to the Mother Stone, we plotted a one-day ascent of El Capitan via Lurking Fear, 19 pitches of up to C2+ aid climbing and 5.9 free climbing.

LURKING FEAR

As first light broke over our first morning in the Valley, we were already dwarfed by El Cap's Southwest face. To speed up the ascent we short fixed and used a Silent Partner (a rope soloing device) so the leader could continue climbing on self-belay while the seconder jumared below cleaning the previous pitch. It felt incredibly clean & efficient. No more belay clusters, the leader would already be 5 to 15 metres up the next pitch by the time the cleaner arrived to belay them upwards. It was thrilling to top out on El Cap in a glowing sunset, descending East Ledges by headlamp. First days in the Valley don’t come much better.


Will on Lurking Fear

WEST FACE OF EL CAPITAN

Foolishly, I failed to rest the following days, giving into the temptation of some deceptively tough offwidths and finger cracks around the Valley. So when Rose suggested we climb the West Face of El Capitan, a 16 pitch 5.11c free route, I was blood blistered and battered, but I could not bear to disappoint Rose, especially since it was her final day. At first light we found ourselves staring up the steep slabs of the West Face, with crux 5.11c pitches off the deck. Rose navigated with a steady precision the heady, thin, delicate and slippery.

Rose on the West Face

When I took over the lead at halfway, the challenges changed - route finding, run-outs and rain - afternoon storms finally released and forced out the pocket aiders to get up the last 5.10d steep crack. We topped out endless wet 5.3 grooves and slabs after sunset, and descended a very slippery and dark East Ledges to complete the 19 hour day. But whenever climbing with Rose, its hard not to finish every hard day with a laugh and smile.

The following day, Will spontaneously repeated the West Face with a new French partner in a scant 14 hours taking advantage of perfect weather.

But each of these climbs were merely preparation for our main ambition, free climbing (as much as possible) on a ground-up 5-day ascent of Freerider on the southwest face of El Cap.

FREERIDER

This had been our goal for months; we shaped our training around the specific cruxes of the route - desperate slab, endurance offwidthing, crimpy bouldering, and steep finger and hand cracks. Will’s friend Audrey also joined us from San Francisco, and we formed a team of three. We realised big wall climbing as a three would be more complicated, with extra ropes and heavier haul bags, but it would definitely be more sociable and fun, and require more teamwork. Audrey was super psyched, Freerider would be her first multi-day big wall.

As much as we felt we should pursue the purest ethics, using the 200m of fixed ropes to Heart Ledges was too convenient to pass up. A few days in advance, Will and I hauled our 100kg of food, water, portaledge and sleeping gear to Heart Ledges (pitch 10), making our first day of slab climbing up FreeBlast far more efficient.

Will, our wide climbing specialist, squirmed up the notorious Hollow Flake offwidth, 5.9 squeeze climbing with a #6 cam left maxed out, twenty metres below. Its fearful reputation is well deserved, but in terms of sheer physical brutality it was no comparison to the 50 metre vertical pitch above; the Monster Offwidth. But Will’s preparation served him well as he patiently heel-toe cammed and arm-barred his way up the surprisingly featured crack, bumping #6 cams the entire way for a proud onsight.


Will on the Monster Offwidth

Soon after, afternoon rainstorms drenched the rock, forcing us to set up our portaledge at an awkward hanging belay, and the three of us all crammed into the bowing ledge to wait out a wet night, frustrated by our slow progress. Fortunately, the granite dried quickly, and we progressed to the Alcove bivvy by the end of the third day, 18 pitches up. There we caught up with Daniel Joll and his Wanaka-based partner Jon Sedon who were also attempting Freerider.

The Huber boulder pitch was next, a desperate V8 bouldering sequence with dynamic throws between small crimps. Will solved the moves after a few attempts, suffering from cold fingers, but he couldn’t link through the traverse, and pulled through to keep the team moving upwards. Although we had dreamed of projecting the hard pitches, in the moment we felt the enormity of the route and the need to keep moving overweighed the desire to work out the cruxes. We would have to come back and target each hard section specifically.

After navigating the seeping Sewer pitch, I took back the lead for some spicy loose flakes, and the famous Enduro Corner.


Jon Sedon on the Sewer pitch

Back at the Block bivvy that night we savoured our position high on El Cap, our bodies and hands were feeling the toll from the days of effort. We charged to the top the following day, climbing spectacular hand cracks, finger cracks, offwidths, all sustained 5.11, all with nauseating exposure.

Finishing Freerider felt an order of magnitude more satisfying than any of our past ascents of El Cap. It was the hardest rock climb each of us had completed, and finally we grasped how much effort would be required to free-climb the entire route. Free climbing big walls in their fullness is no mean feat!


Alastair, Audrey and Will at the Freerider topout. Photo: W. Skea

NOSE IN A DAY

After inching up Freerider with our hordes of gear for five days, we felt a renewed need for speed. After a few days of rest, Dan Joll and I teamed up to start our work on the Nose. A practice day on the first 15 pitches allowed us to re-learn those tricky pendulums and stash 5 litres of electrolyte for the one-day push. Being overtaken by Tommy Caldwell and Alex Honnold simul-climbing was an eye opener into what real speed on the Nose looks like.

At 5.20AM a couple of days later, we started the stopwatch, and Dan started racing up the first 5.11d pitch. He pulled on almost every cam, because in this game, anything goes. “ROPE FIXED!” came the call, and I jumared like a man possessed. It was a huge rush. “34 MINUTES!” I yelled as Dan charged to the third anchor. With the gear beta memorised, Dan managed to stretch the rack to pitch 7 before I swung over to replenish him with gear.


Dan on the third pitch of the Nose

The Stove Legs passed in a mad blur as I accidentally swallowed all of our caffeine tablets at once, I’ve never felt so wired. We were lucky to pass several parties in one hit at the Texas Flake as three parties were starting their second day. “So sorry, coming through, can I clip in there? Thanks, we’ll be out of your way shortly…” were the awkward exchanges as we tried to balance politeness with urgency. The other teams understood, and even helped flake our ropes in the inevitable tangles, I struggled to keep up with Dan’s flaming pace.

Dan finished his block at the base of the Great Roof, pitch 19, just over 4 hours in. Dan beamed – we were 20 minutes ahead of his previous best. From this point on, the wall steepened and the grades shot into 5.11 and 5.12 for the most part. I stepped into my pocket ladders and started aid climbing as fast as I could.

The red and gold link cams were endlessly useful, with their many moving parts providing a much larger camming range. I leap-frogged the two pieces on the long sections of one and two inch cracks, only occasionally leaving pieces for protection. With solid placements all the way, I didn’t have to worry about the large loop of slack rope hanging below to the anchor.

Above the Changing Corners we passed a party that we had chatted with two days earlier on the Stove Legs, they graciously let us through as we pushed towards the summit bolt ladder.

Looking down the spine of the Nose from the end of the bolt ladder

Just before pulling over the final overhang, I paused for a moment to wipe the sweat from my eyes, trying to take in the sweeping expanse of granite below. My brain was still surging with adrenaline, the view was hard to absorb. Dan tagged the tree several minutes later before the clock rolled past 9 hours, we laughed and collapsed at the tree. We had hardly eaten anything all day.

That soon changed when we met a Canadian climber named Doug at the Zodiac top-out. He had finished two days early, resulting in a serious problem – he had two days of extra food that needed to be eaten.

MAGIC MUSHROOM

We had one last item on the agenda, a hard aid climb. We chose Magic Mushroom, a 30-pitch A3 aid route. Unfortunately, our last route was plagued by bad vibes. We pre-hauled our gear to the top of Mammoth Terraces, 10 pitches up, using the Heart Ledges fixed lines. The following day, nightfall caught us, off-route, two pitches below our gear, with only one head torch between us. It was well after midnight by the time we finally found asleep on our ledge.

We woke late to disturbing sounds below. Worrying yells and thuds that sounded like falling haul bags. We soon learned what had happened. Two expert climbers had fallen mysteriously while speed climbing the moderate terrain below Mammoth Terraces. We felt sick to the stomach, heads spinning.
We continued on indecisively, questioning our motivations, but felt we had no choice but to continue. We only managed five pitches that day, running into trouble on a convoluted series of traversing pitches, baking in merciless afternoon sun.


Will at our highpoint on Magic Mushroom

That evening, Will fumbled with the portaledge spreader bar, and we watched it fall in slow motion to the ground… Finally we agreed this climb was not meant to be. We were totally exhausted in body and mind and though we were 15 pitches up, the hard climbing was only just getting started. We abseiled down the next morning; our decision felt right. We had learned a huge amount in our month in the Valley, and needed some time to process the bewildering events of our last climb.

We left the valley with heavy hearts thinking about the two climbers who had fallen while speed climbing on the Salathe. Soon after we learned that the record on the Nose was broken again that morning. This, combined with our own speed climbing experience on the Nose, gave us a lot to think about on our sunny drive back to San Francisco.

Jon at the Alcove Bivvy. Photo: D. Joll

Four routes climbed on El Cap. From left to right: West Face, Lurking Fear, Freerider, Nose.
Magic Mushroom starts just left of the Freerider start, and continues straight up.