Mount Cook Grand Traverse in a day

Inspiration

Spending time in Europe, I was fascinated by the speed records set on the classic peaks of Mont Blanc and the Matterhorn, both by Kilian Jornet in just under 5 hours and 3 hours each, blisteringly quick times. I also loved that the de-facto style was to start in the early hours from the church at the centre of town, race up to the summit, and run back to the church to finish. A nice symmetry made possible by the proximity of European towns to the high peaks.

I tried this myself: Mont Blanc via Gouter from the church in Les Houches, and Matterhorn via Hornli from the church in Zermatt. You witness rapid changes of eco-systems as you gain height: from urban to forest to rock to snow, and all again in reverse as you race back down from the summit to the valley in a matter of hours.

It was an exhilarating experience and returning to NZ I dreamed of replicating this style on our own highest peak. Aoraki - in a day.

Previous climbs
In 2014 I climbed Aoraki/Mt Cook via the Linda with Elisha Nuttall, then in 2015 I climbed ‘White Dream’ on the South Face with Michael Eatson & Tawny Wagstaff. From a bivvy at the toe of the West Ridge it took us 20 hours to climb the south face and traverse from Low Peak to the infamous ‘Middle Peak Hotel’ – a deep crevasse in the mountain where we slept, at 3500m.

The following day it took 7 hours to traverse just 1 kilometre of icy ridgeline to the high peak. The ridge was hard ice and riddled with blobs of sastrugi – shards of ice - insecure enough to warrant using the rope. The rope made it marginally safer, but all the more time-consuming and exhausting spending extra time on the front points. I spent the following day in the hut peeling layers of burnt skin from my face. The whole trip from car to car took us 6 days.

Sunrise from the Hooker Valley

Route choice
For our one day trip, we had originally thought of climbing the Sheila Face from the head of the Hooker glacier, but recent snowfall meant the upper rock face might still have been icy so we opted for a pure snow-ice route.

The most aesthetic and logical route Rose and I could dream of was a full circuit, traversing the three peaks from the Hooker and returning via the Tasman. That's up the Northwest Couloir to Low Peak, along the top, down the Linda, and out via Cinerama Col and Ball Road. To complete the loop was a final 9km of tarmac and gravel back round to the Hooker Valley carpark. A total distance of 53km and 4000m of vertical gain.

Although we could have stashed a bike we decided the purest style was to complete the whole trip on foot, carrying the pack start to finish and no pre-caching of gear.

Rose climbing the icy NW Couloir

Preparation
Unlike running races, there’s no set date for a Mount Cook climb so you always have to be ready when the weather window arrives. But in the month or so beforehand we built up the fitness on progressively longer runs in the mountains with lots of vertical gain, things like the Manakau-Uwerau traverse, Three Passes in Arthurs Pass, and the Tararua SK traverse. These missions also helped work out the type of foods I could handle eating for 24 hours straight. Previous experience of 24-hour rogaines and Godzone adventure races also helped.

History

The Grand Traverse from Low to High peak was considered in its day one of the most impressive feats of world mountaineering, that is, in 1913. It was first done by cutting steps across its length and without crampons.

Freda du Faur, first woman to climb Aoraki/Mt Cook in 1913 with guides Peter & Alec Graham
Ref: MNZ-1296-1/2-F. Alexander Turnbull Library, Wellington, New Zealand

But the shape of the ridge has changed drastically over the last decades, including the 1991 collapse of the high peak, and even changes shape year to year as it is battered by storms from the west. There are many ways up to the Low Peak; the West Ridge, South Face, Caroline Face. These are all more technical routes. We chose the easiest and therefore fastest route up, the Northwest couloir.

Adventure
What excited us most about this trip, like any true adventure, was the thrill of the unknown. We didn't know whether we would by stymied by difficult glacial passage past Pudding Rock in the Hooker valley or slowed to a halt by blue ice on the summit ridge. The conditions are ever changing around each storm cycle and so hard to predict. Even the recent huge washout at Husky Flat on Ball Road provided a question mark. And could it all be done back to the Hooker in 24 hours?

Reaching the West Ridge of Low Peak

Altitude
There was no single ‘crux’ as it turned out, it was a challenge of endurance. As I’ve often experienced with other rapid single push ascents, sleep deprivation and altitude sickness can be a toxic combination. With only 2 hours sleep before our midnight start and rising from sea level to 3000m in about 15 hours, I started to feel quite dizzy as we made our way up to Low Peak. We had not factored any acclimatisation into the compact schedule. This dizziness was compounded by blazing sun and no wind on the summit ridge, glorious yet dehydrating conditions. I was glad to have plenty of electrolyte drink to gulp down as I traversed the ridge, accessible on the front pockets of my Macpac adventure racing vest-style pack.

Nearing the end of the Grand Traverse

Navigation
The most difficult route finding is on the descent, navigating the scree and moraine between the Buoys glacier and Ball hut. We were bluffed out numerous times before we finally found the access onto the huge scree slope down to the Tasman moraines. We lost an hour here. Climbing up the loose lateral moraine to Ball Road is also tricky. You’re 20 hours in and have to rack your tired brain to remember the correct route up the sea of choss.

Gear
20L running vest style packs.
Running shoes (LS Bushido II) for the approach + running socks
¾ shank boots (LS Trango Tech) for the snow + mountaineering socks
Mini gaitors
BD sabretooth 12-point steel crampons
One Petzl Gully axe and one BD viper
Leki trail stick poles with snow baskets
A ski mountaineering harness (BD Couloir)
60cm dyneema sling each (tether)
40m of 8mm Beal Ice Line
4 aluminium ice screws with one Camp nano snap biner for each
Belay device + prussic + carabiners
Petzl Meteor helmet
Headlamp
A one-piece thermal vest suit
Macpac t-shirt
Macpac Prothermal
Macpac transition rain jacket
Macpac dash gloves
Spring energy gels
OSM bars
Fried bacon
A bag of cereal and protein powder
Tailwind electrolyte & energy powder for water
Two 500ml soft flask bottles for pure water and electrolytes
Two 750ml water bladders for refills to make 2.5L total
PLB (personal locator beacon)
First aid kit
SOL emergency bivvy bag
GoPro for filming.

I love my ‘onesie’ thermal suit: integrated fleece leggings and vest. My version of racing lycra. This is my default base layer for winter climbing, but in summer it’s the perfect warmth on its own without softshell pants. Having no extra baggy layers on the legs makes you feel like you can move twice as fast.

The Petzl Gully ice axe is an amazing lightweight tool. It feels weightless (280g) yet still penetrates ice and has a moveable hand-rest to adjust depending on the steepness. Next time I would climb with just two of these.

Light & Fast style
It’s about moving quickly but more so efficiently. Compressing a huge adventure into a short time frame increases the intensity. A shot of whisky rather than a pint of beer. It’s also about progression, improving on your previous style of ascent.

Going light enough allows you to go fast enough to enter the realm of a single push, and suddenly you can forego all overnight gear, clothing, extra food. Suddenly you can move really fast. That opens up so many options and allows you to take fuller advantage of short weather windows. It’s a useful tactic in harsh places like Patagonia.

But since this style has a lower safety margin in terms of being caught out in a storm, we make sure to only travel this way in perfect weather. The climbing itself actually becomes safer because you are less encumbered by a heavy pack and feel fresher. We still carry just enough gear to pitch out an icy section - a 40m rope and 4 ice screws in this case.


The style can be limiting though; there are many interesting routes further afield that require a heavier approach. Technical routes need more gear and more time. Both have their place.

Traversing the summit ridge of Aoraki/Mt Cook

Partnership
A small team makes logistics so much easier. If you’re trying to seize a short weather window mid-week around your job, efficiency of logistics is everything. Wasting an hour driving around could mean an hour’s less sleep. You’re operating on tight time frames.

Having a partner with similar goals and fitness on a trip like this is important. Rose and I have done a lot of previous climbing trips together, so we know how the other works and what we’re comfortable on.

On the High Peak after 13 hours from Hooker Valley carpark

In classical mountaineering you’re often simul-soloing most, if not all, of the route, so it’s important to have equal skill levels. If one person is much more confident than the other, they might be inclined to solo a more difficult section rather than bother getting the rope out, which will pressure the more inexperienced person to also follow without the rope. That can be a dangerous situation if not managed properly.

Aoraki is still a very special peak and the experiences I’ve had on this mountain rank alongside anything else I’ve found overseas. It’s inaccessibility and fickle, difficult-to-predict conditions ensure it’s never an easy tick. That makes it all the more satisfying.

Midnight, back at Wyn Irwin. A little scorched.

The Edgar-Sealy Traverse

Bruised and blistered feet. The Tasman Glacier marathon had wrecked havoc on our feet on the return trip from Malte Brun. While we dreamed of zipping down the road to climb Aspiring, Owen and I realised our feet would not handle another mammoth walk in up the Matukituki Valley, French Ridge, and to the base of the SW ridge.

Owen climbing from the gorgeous saddle on the start of the East Ridge. Aoraki/Mt Cook absorbs the backdrop.

Gleaming our eyes over the Mt Cook map and guidebooks, we decided on a challenge with a short walk in, a few summits to bag, and more precipitous ridge to traverse. Just down the road from the Hermitage stood the stately Mount Edgar-Thompson, first climbed via the East Ridge, our intended route, by Mrs Jane Thompson in 1915. Her son Edgar died as a result of an injury sustained while playing football. Sad. 

The guide book mentioned that the connecting ridge to Mt Sealy provides excellent alpine rockclimbing. Perfect. We'd finish with an easy walk along the Annette Plateau and the Sealy Range to our favourite Mueller hut and whip down to the Herm for a beer. The Edgar-Sealy Traverse was set. 

Scrambling up a side stream of the Hoophorn to the saddle

We aimed to make our camp on the ridge between Edgar and Sealy in the evening, allowing us a leisurely afternoon start up the Hoophorn Stream. A refreshing boulder hop along the stream invited us into the valley, and our blistered feet were not complaining. The simple sound of a rushing river was incredibly relaxing. The streambed turned dry as we turned towards the saddle, but so warm was the little water we had, that upon reaching the snowline of the east ridge, an entire bottle of snow was absorbed. Chilled water on an evening climb, and in hearty abundance on the south-facing slopes.

Steeper snow slopes wind between rocky sections

The snowfield steepened as we climbed higher, hacking into the thousand metre climb. But never did the gradient require roping up, this was a relative stroll compared to the higher challenge of Malte Brun several days earlier. It was good to taste a solid grade 2 climb to get a feel for the difficulty scales of other mountains in NZ. A lot of factors are incorporated into the grading system; access, exposure, technical difficulty, protection, gradient. Other factors like weather and snow conditions only add to the apparent difficulty.

But today at about 6PM we stood comfortably on the summit of Mount Edgar-Thompson, happy and satisfied to finally have a true alpine summit under our belts. My experiences on The Footstool and Malte Brun were fantastic, but a mountaineer's ego is never fully satisfied until at the ultimate high point. We down climbed from the summit fifty metres to find a handy square spot of snow - more than sufficient for the night's camp - high altitude camping with all of Mount Cook spread out before us - a delectable alpine experience!

On the summit of Mt Edgar Thompson, 2379 metres

Soaking up the evening over dinner

The sharp teeth of Mount Sealy at the end of the ridge looked intimidating from camp. The ridge rose abruptly to the summit at the very end, and from our far-off perspective it was difficult to see an easy route up as we melted snow for dinner. 

The evening was cooling off, but I was still in shorts and t-shirt. One lesson I learned - don't leave skin exposed in the mountains. I slipped in some soft snow and gashed my shin on a sharp rock. Right to the bone, 3cm wide. We tried to close the wound with our limited first aid supplies, but without stitches it would surely be a lasting scar. A souvenir to take home from Mount Edgar-T.

Panorama from the superb campsite at sunset

SUNSET

SUNRISE

Preparing for a cold night... 

In the interest of minimising weight at all costs for the climb, I left behind my synthetic-down jacket, Owen didn't carry a sleeping bag. Owen's single skin tent weighs just 1kg. I was keen to experiment in the ways of lightweight alpinism and develop a tolerance to the cold. I thoroughly suffered during the night as the temperatures plummeted. I woke at 3AM at the night's coldest, huddled deep inside my thin, 7degC bag, and struggled to find sleep again for the remainder of the night... This was what mountaineering is all about.  It's the sort of suffering I'd better get used to, this was, after all, summer! 

Owen soloing a steep and loose section. Typical of the day

In exchange for the lesser load, I was dealt the card of sleep deprivation, which lingered with me throughout the climb. This made the gnarly ridge traverse all the more tricky. I fought a tough battle to stay awake, my mind numbed to the exposure. I forced myself to not be complacent with every bouldering move. My coordination was lacking at times but we couldn't afford any mistakes. It was exciting and terrifying at the same time.

Abseil or down climb? Expensive slings make the decision

  It  began from the first step away from our frozen campsite. The ridge was assembled of a mixture of splintered argillite rock and sparse sections of solid greywacke. Sprinkled here and there with powdered scree, turned muddy by the rapidly melting snow. We hauled ropes through the climb, but never had a chance to use them, loose rock making any reliable protection hard to come by. The ridgeline was frequently covered in a soft snow arete, keeping our fingers warm as we repeatedly strapped on and off the crampons. 

Owen rests on the snow arete, staying well away from the corniced edge

Plugging back up to the ridge through soft snow

After five hours labouring on the crumbling ridge we finally reached the base of the first steep rock steps leading to the Sealy Range. Owen took one look at the climb, sampled yet more rotten rock, and spat at the guidebook promising excellent rock climbing. It would have been possible to down climb and plug up snow to bypass the climb. Nearing midday, soft wet snow was inevitable, ain't nobody got time for that. The climb was at that point aborted. At once my body received the message, it gave in to the call of fatigue, and I quickly fell asleep on our resting ledge. Owen woke me half an hour later, fearing that my twitching might be dangerous on the slope. I was roasted by the sun, and feeling sick from eating too much snow. I felt dehydrated with an unquenchable thirst. Such are the sufferings of the mountain - I have many lessons to learn.

The Dark Ridge of Rotten Rock

We descended a fortunately bluffless snow couloir into the Hoophorn stream, four thousand feet to drop to the Mount Cook road. It was a slog, and there were many silent tantrums as I slipped in the rock-riddled snow. An adventure of mixed emotions - the ease and joy of reaching Mount Edgar met by deep cold in the night, and a frustrating climb on poor rock, lacking the beautiful fluidity that we'd tasted on Malte Brun. The overall mountain experience was genuine and views second to none. A Sir Ed burger and glass of Speights at Old Mountaineers Cafe healed the wounds, of which there were many. Farewell Mount Cook!      

Descending down the Hoophorn's endless snow gut