I love getting on Google Earth and exploring places. The 3-dimensional imagery come into their own in mountainous areas. I've found this a great way to do reconnaissance ahead of a big trip. For some, I imagine it would be a much cheaper and safer way to explore remote mountain ranges.
After my trip to the European Alps in 2017, I researched the mountain ranges of the world, exploring different peaks from the convenience of my laptop. I was trying to find out how to get the skills for alpine climbing, and not just the experience. The internet led me to "Technical Mountaineering Courses", (or TMC's), in the Southern Alps of New Zealand. It wasn't even that far away from home!
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I was gaining valuable rock climbing experience at Mount Arapiles, but I longed to be in the snow. After email exchanges with a few companies, I booked a spot on the Adventure Consultant's 10-day Alpine Climbing Course. Deposit paid, flights booked, and I was off!
New Zealand
1st of February 2018; I arrived in Queenstown. My first job was to run the 30km Queenstown Skyrunner event. Over four hours I toiled away in the hot sun, running and hiking along the ridges of Ben Lomond, and cutting laps of the steep Tiki trail. It was an amazing course, but the day was a battle against dehydration, calorie deficit and fatigue.
After the run, I went to Wanaka and recovered for a few days before heading to the Adventure Consultants HQ. Here I met the small group of people I would be spending the next ten days with: Alex and Kingsley from Australia, Neils from Belgium, and our French guide, JB.
Since I had left the French Alps 6 months ago and was now 18 thousand kilometres away from Mont Blanc, being shown around the New Zealand mountains by a French guide was the last thing I was expecting.
After a gear check, we reviewed the promising weather forecast and learnt from JB what the next 10 days had in store; we planned to catch a helicopter up to Tasman Saddle Hut at the head of the Tasman Glacier and stay there while the weather held out. Sweet!
The next morning in Mount Cook village, we received a quick safety brief before loading into a helicopter and taking off, flying past Mount Cook, and up the Tasman glacier.
The helicopter climbed effortlessly up the glacier. At just over 2300m elevation, we could see a rocky outcrop and the red box of Tasman Saddle Hut soon came into view—an island refuge in the icy sea. The terrain near the hut dropped steeply, and the glacier flowed over the edge, forming huge icy cliffs. The helicopter dropped us nearby; we waved goodbye to the pilot and took in the surroundings. I was blown away by the scenery.
WHAT I LEARNT ON SNOW
The first few days were filled with lessons on snowcraft and ropework. JB took us through self-arrest*, crampon** and ice axe techniques, rigging of complicated pulley systems for hauling, and crevasse rescue.
*Using an ice axe to stop yourself slipping down a steep slope
**Metal spikes that are fitted to your boots, to bite into the ice and provide traction
An experience I'll never forget was during crevasse rescue practice; we took turns catching another team member falling into a crevasse—with a backup anchor. Feeling superbly confident in my ability to hold a fall, my "brace" position was a little too casual. Once Niels jumped off the edge, I was pulled off my feet and dragged along the ice—the rope barely biting into the lip of the crevasse due to the firm snow. JB caught me on the backup anchor and stated "If that were real life, you'd be dead". And then we were on to the next topic. This bothered me until I practiced crevasse rescue extensively on my next trip to build my confidence back up.
Our time up at Tasman Saddle Hut finished with a bivvy at Lendenfeld Saddle, followed by a traverse of Hochstetter Dome. This was a fun objective that put our newly learnt skills to the test—just serious enough to keep us on edge—just relaxed enough to have a great time.
Niels and I roped up together—this let us practice the skills we had learnt over the previous days, still with the security of our guide nearby to yell out advice. I felt at home on the snow. Something about the rhythmic repetition—the "chnk" "chnk" "chnk" of metal hitting snow. It was a cathartic release.
We flew out of Tasman Saddle Hut on the 10th of February. I had a great time in the mountains, practising the skills that would form the basis of my education in climbing. But the time had taken its toll—being in the mountains was stressful, and I wasn't yet accustomed to it. The cherry on top came during the walk down the glacier on our last day: a 30cm-wide bridge spanned many metres across a deep crevasse and was the only passage through the maze; it is still the most sketchy snow bridge I have walked across. After we were all on the other side, JB said, "That was a good one!" I was glad to know I wasn't the only one who thought it was ridiculous.Â
WHAT I LEARNT ON ROCK
The next stage of the course focused on rock—this is where I would get my real punishment.
I lead^ my first rock climbing route during this part of the trip: a grade 15 sport climb. This was the most terrifying experience I had encountered yet—frozen in fear at the crux above the last bolt—unable to move upwards—legs shaking like I was auditioning for an Elvis Presley tribute show. I found out later that climbers refer to this phenomenon as "Elvis leg"—no wonder!
After a long, drawn-out ordeal that left emotional scars on every witness, I summoned up something within me to go on and reach the anchors. When I touched flat ground again, I was spent.
I didn't take naturally to the movement of rock climbing, but I was inspired by the opportunities and adventures it could open up to me, and that was motivation enough to stick with it.
On the same day, after a comprehensive lesson from JB on trad gear placements, I subjected myself to further punishment—my first trad climb was a grade 13 crack. This went no more smoothly than the last climb; the feeling of imminent death kept me holding on for dear life—I was certain that my last piece of gear would spontaneously fall out of the crack and leave me unprotected.
Climbing is not always like this. Today, my experiences of "imminent death" (real or perceived) are few and far between. In the years since my first lead climb, I have learnt to separate real from perceived danger. Sometimes I forget though.
^When lead climbing, you climb ground-up and are protected by anchor points spaced incrementally up the wall. This means a fall will send you flying through the air, past the last anchor point until the rope goes tight and your belayer catches you using their bodyweight and the rope running through a friction device. There are no pre-placed ropes!
THE FINAL EXAM
Our "final exam" was to be a Grand Traverse of the Remarkables. To allow us to put our newly learnt skills into practice, we would have minimal input from our guide. We were responsible for everything, from making a strategy for the day, to getting familiar with the climb and descent.
High above Queenstown, we simul-climbed° most of the terrain, moving together, and pitched some of the more difficult sections. It was a long and slow day, but the experience let us consolidate the skills learnt over the last week.
°Simul-climbing is where both climbers move together with a rope between them and gear placed sparingly to protect against a fall. It is much faster than normal belaying tactics but does not offer the same security. It is a good strategy for low-difficulty climbing where an unroped fall would have high consequences.
I recall climbing a sport multi-pitch route on the last day of our course and feeling mentally exhausted. I had spent most of the time on the course being terrified and pushing my limits—both physically and mentally. On day 10, after living on the edge of new and scary experiences, my brain could take it no more. I was quietly relieved when the suggestion of calling it a day and heading down was brought up.
The course taught me the fundamentals of alpine and adventure climbing. More than anything though, the experience scared the bejesus out of me and gave me a deep respect for the mountains. It made me appreciate just how serious and wild these places can be.
For anyone getting into climbing and wanting to learn the ropes, I cannot emphasise enough the benefits of hiring a qualified guide. For the beginner, it can be difficult to tell the subtle differences between good, safe setups, and dangerous habits that could expose you to an incident. Learn it right the first time, and you will be set to have some incredible experiences in amazing places!
