You Win Some, You Learn Some – A Grand Traverse Story
Jonathan Coppi shares a hair-raising account of misadventure on our biggest hill.
The Grand Traverse of Aoraki/Mount Cook needs no introduction to those reading this newsletter. This mile long ridge has been contemplated by nearly every mountaineer that has laid eyes on it and I am certainly no exception. Although the prospect of successfully completing a GT seemed like a bit of a stretch goal, I spent plenty of time visualizing the tactics and logistics needed to tackle this pinnacle of kiwi mountaineering. As with any good objective in the Southern Alps, the right weather window, favourable route conditions, and a reliable partner would be needed for a safe attempt.
Fortunately, through a good friend of mine in the States, I had connected with a keen mountaineer looking for some adventure during his 6 month stay in New Zealand. Kyle arrived in Christchurch in the middle of October and our climbing compatibility quickly became evident during ventures on the SW Ridge of Aspiring and the Rome Ridge of Rolleston. Kyle has more experience than I in the dark arts of ice and mixed climbing and has climbed some formidable peaks in Alaska and Peru. He doesn’t mind a good bit of slogging, has the technical proficiency to safely move in big terrain, and has the right mindset to make an ideal partner for the GT. When the stunner weather window came about for Show weekend it felt like the perfect time to give it a crack.
The goal was straightforward and the logistics not all that complicated: saunter up the Hooker Glacier to Empress Hut on day 1, ascend the NW couloir of Low Peak, traverse the ridge, and descend the Linda Glacier to Plateau hut on day 2, and walk out the Tasman on day 3. Contingency plans, including lightweight bivy kits, were woven into our strategy. If we needed to spend a night out, it would have been cold but not life threatening.
We started the approach up the Hooker Glacier with one of those crisp clear mornings that sets off a trip just right. We reached Hooker Lake just as Low peak of Aoraki was being kissed by the early breath of the sun’s first rays. Stoke was high. It proceeded to be a spectacular day with no route-finding issues up into terrain I had been looking forward to seeing for years. At Empress Hut we were greeted by 2 members of Aoraki Mountain Rescue who provided some great banter, some experienced route insights, and even some aerial photos of the west side of Low Peak from that very same day. Our confidence grew. We smashed down as much food as we could and crawled into our sleeping bags well before the sun set behind La Perouse.
Heading up the Hooker Glacier
Iconic view of Empress Hut, with Mt Hicks the backdrop
The midnight alarm seemed to come just minutes after I laid my head down to sleep but the excitement for the day to come had us both up and scrambling to get things together without hesitation. We were out the door and roped up by 12:45 am.
I was a bit stiff from the 20km walk the day before, but feeling quite good about what was to come. The approach from the hut to the base of the couloir felt slow due to an annoying punch crust but we managed to make it to the intro bergschrund without much trouble. Once in the couloir we enjoyed some good punching and daggering conditions through the calm quiet darkness.
The steady crunch of crampons and ice tools was interrupted every so often by the eerie booming of falling seracs somewhere high in the valley. We rounded out of the main couloir onto the west face and were greeted with a chossy rock step that I reckon on normal snow years would have been completely hidden under snow and ice.
Pitching out this section slowed us down a bit, but we were able to steadily move through the rest of the couloir and onto the West Ridge. We finished the last slog to the top of Low Peak in increasingly firm conditions by 8:30 am. The rope work earlier had slowed us down a bit, but we felt like we were making good progress and now we had the whole unabated breathtaking view of what was to come.
The sun was shining, the wind was almost non-existent, and the path seemed laid out in front of us so clearly. The only disconcerting thoughts were of how firm the conditions were at this altitude, the bloody rime ice, and how to efficiently move along the rocky, corniced, exposed ridge in front of us. We roped back up and Kyle dropped into the first set of rocks but after a few moments he backtracked.
“F*** that man, the whole ridge is cornices and loose blocks” he said as he got within ear shot.
“But there looks to be a bit of a bench just below the ridge on the west side where we can stay on snow” he surmised.
So, we dropped down to the west off the main ridge and kept the rope out in simul-climbing fashion with Kyle leading the charge. The rock-hard rime ice made what would have been a reasonably chill albeit steep and exposed undulating traverse a calf screaming, ice tool gripping, frustration inducing suffer fest.
The rope would naturally get hung up on the rime ice anytime there was any looped slack in the rope. Rests were incredibly hard to come by as the crampons couldn’t do much to kick any steps in. After an hour of cursing our way across the slope we reconvened at a marginal belay to work out the next block of simul-climbing.
After a transfer of gear, Kyle took off upward to regain the ridge. By the time the rope had come tight, Kyle was out of view. I transferred out of the belay and prepared to follow.
I had taken maybe 4 or 5 steps away from the belay stance when I was suddenly and violently dragged across the face and upwards about 10 meters. The rope above me was going straight up to the ridge and out of sight. I knew immediately what had happened. Kyle had fallen over the other side of the ridge down onto the other face.
Judging by the amount of distance I was dragged, I had to imagine he was quite far down the face. There was no way to know what kind of condition he was in or if he was even conscious, but there was still tension on the rope, so he surely was on the other end.
I had just started putting together my ascension system when I saw Kyle pop up onto the ridge. He was OK enough to get himself back onto the ridge and was able to take in rope as I climbed my way to join him. Shook up and bruised but alive and conscious.
His helmet sustained a sizable dent from the headfirst pinballing he did through a series of blocks. A small cornice had given way on him as he had reached the ridge. Just enough to send him for a terrifying ride down the Caroline Face. Fortunately, it was a relatively short ride that ended with him on the other end of a rope and not at the bottom of the gnarliest face in NZ.
"One close call is more than enough for me," I admitted as we assessed the situation. It was clear that our goals would not be achieved on this venture.
Our contingency plan had us descending the Porter Col route back to Empress Hut. However, with more ridge to navigate and the looming spectre of massive seracs over our escape, doubts crept in. The time was 11am, and the west faces were beginning to see a lot of solar activity. Confidence in ourselves and the conditions had dwindled significantly.
Moreover, the extent of Kyle's injuries remained uncertain. Even if we safely returned to Empress Hut, could he endure the 20km walk back out? Questions and doubts swirled but the obvious solution was just a button push away.
Kyle and I both have been very active in technical alpine terrain all over the world for more than a decade. Maybe it is a mix of ego and naivety, but I certainly have always expected that I would be able to get myself out of a situation that I have put myself in. It’s on very rare occasions that I have brought myself this close to the edge of my risk tolerance. To be faced with the decision of calling for help was very difficult, but we concluded that the risks were just too great.
So, with the SOS button on our InReach pressed, we began to prepare for our eventual extraction from our little perch. It was an honour to witness first-hand the adeptness of the Aoraki Mountain Rescue team and the pilot that day. The efficiency and skill at which this team operates are something to behold.
In New Zealand we are fortunate to be able to recreate in some of the most challenging and inspiring landscapes on the planet and moreover we have top notch professionals that put their own safety on the line to help us when our recreational pursuits go tits-up.
While I never expect to put someone else’s safety at risk to get me out of a situation that I put myself in, the safety net that is the SAR professionals of this country is something that cannot be understated or taken for granted.
Ultimately the choice on this day was clear but gut wrenching and one that I have played over in my head a hundred times since. I don’t think I’ll ever really feel great about bailing off the GT in such a fashion. I am however extremely grateful that with the help of Aoraki Mountain Rescue we made it home in one piece and can continue to climb in these places that bring us so much joy.
By Jonathan Coppi