What is Success?

Mt. Earnslaw

What is success? Sounds like a straightforward sort of question. And maybe it is when you are talking about solving a math problem or shooting a basketball into a hoop. Success is defined as accomplishing the goal – getting that swish or answering that smattering of long division. But what happens when the pursuit is something that isn’t defined with the same rigid parameters? What happens when success isn’t a linear equation where the answer is easily defined? Perhaps that’s what I love about adventurous activities – more often then not the act of the pursuit is worth exponentially more then the sum of its parts – meaning that sometimes the real joy and beauty is found in the process and not necessarily the result.

This past weekend I went on a fantastic mountaineering trip with three friends into the mountains of the New Zealand Southern Alps. The plan was to climb Mt. Earnslaw – at 2819m it is one of the most coveted summits in the range noted for both its aesthetics and the variety of terrain that encompasses a climb of it. On Friday we blasted out of town after the 9-5ers could escape from work and made the 40min drive to the little town of Glenorchy. At the foot of the mountains; GY is usual jumping off point for mountainous adventures. We stopped at the pub, had our last proper meal for a few days and laughed about the climb to come. Soon it was back into the car and another 40minutes down the valley, over a few creeks, and well beyond what a Toyota should be able to do. Eventually we ended up near an un-drivable river and camped for the night. The autumn air was cool as we settled down into our tents, resting for the day ahead.

The next morning we woke to fields of hoarfrost and breath you could see. Hastily we packed up, separating out food and stuffing unneeded tents into the car. Shouldering our packs we struck up the valley, towards the peaks. Soon enough we were reminded that we were in NZ – we had to cross the river. Wet feet is never the way you want to start a mountaineering trip, but that’s just the way that climbing works in this country. Rivers bisect the valleys and there aren’t bridges to cross. This is a primordial land where the conditions you find today are the same as the pioneers encountered a century ago. Wet feet and happy we worked our way up the valley mindful of the trial to our left that would lead us to the alpine.

Soon enough we found the track and began the upward push. First through towering beech forest and soon through lush ferns – this was south island hiking at its best. The chirp of birds and the creek of swaying trees played a tune as the deep rich smells of the forest filled my nostrils. I did my best to drink it all in as we pounded ever skyward towards our goal. Higher still the rainforest thinned and the trees dissipated to become rolling tussock. The track was relentless switching back and forth and always gaining altitude. Snow began to appear on the ground – as we gained altitude we began to pass from autumn to early winter. In the shade the snow was deep and thick; water was frozen into a veneer of ice that reflected the midday sun. The tussock gave way to scree and rocky ledges and the climbing steepened. The trail convoluted around rock outcrops and bluffs. Winding a path around difficulties the snow became more prevalent and a part of our existence. Steps were taken with measured commitment – snow covered ledges had to be treated with respect.

Progress was slow – the conditions took some of the wind out of our sails and the day was starting to fade. We still had ground to cover as the light showed it first sign of fading. We had one more challenge to get through getting to the small hut we were aiming for. We had to cross the Birley Glacier and pass over Wright Col. Leading to the glacier we encountered the first sections of ice. A shield of frozen boiler plate 50m wide, 30degrees steep and in need of traversing. The run-out was ugly a jumbled bit of talus and bluffs. It was the sort of terrain where a fall wouldn’t be spectacular but the result would be mortal. Strapping on our crampons we made gingerly progress across. The ice was solid and unyielding. As a climbing team we all brought or strengths. Some of us had climbed allot and others glaciers were a new prospect. Halfway across the shield Brett made the call – he was man enough to say the words nobody likes to say. He wasn’t comfortable. Looking at the fading light and the terrain that still had to be covered before reaching the hut, plan B needed to be found.

Up or down? Up was too challenging in the near dark conditions and the thought of walking all the way down was too much to take – so for the first time in along time, it was time for the unplanned bivouac. Sleeping rough on a ledge under the stars can either be a dream or a nightmare – it all depends on warmth. If you can stay warm then it’s great, it you’re cold it’s torture. We found a good ledge and got down to business. We made a rock wall to shield us from the building wind and starting melting snow for eating and drinking. The hiss of the gas stove filled us with hope that full bellies would keep us warm through the cold cold night. I was lucky I had my winter bag and a bivvy bag to cover it – I would be warm. But my companions weren’t so prepared. Steve had a summer bag and Adrian didn’t have a bivvy bag – but we were all up for it – we knew it wouldn’t be pleasant but we’d survive.

Sleep came slowly for me and barley at all for some - but the crest of dawn over the eastern peaks brought us back to life and filled us with warmth. The night was cold, REALLY cold – after the trip we found out that it was -2c in town that night, town is 2000m below where we slept and we caught the full brunt of the wind. A safe bet would have been that we slept through a -10c night. Hungry and cold we started slow and weighed our options.

Up or down? We could run away with our tails between our legs or we could give this old girl another nudge – up it was. In the light of day we found a way to sidle around the shield of ice and scrambled on rock ledges ever higher. After another couple of hundred meters of height gain we got to the edge of the glacier proper. Gearing up we put crampons on and roped up for the crossing. We could see several crevasses on the plateau of frozen snow and ice and knew that the fresh snow had covered others. I lead through forging a path on the white world. We zig-zagged around holes and under objective hazard making our way steadily upwards towards the col. Near the top we had to cross the bergshrund – the transverse crevasse that stretched from one side of the ice to the other. The gaping hole was intimidating to the eye. It dropped down far too deep to contemplate plunging into. We found a suitable place to cross and I made the committing step onto the other side – safe and sound I moved upwards so that Adrian would have tension on the rope for his crossing.

I stopped and looked back as Adrian made his step. As he planted his right foot over the void the points of his crampons dig into the ice – but not evenly. I could see his weight shift to the inside and the weight of his pack took hold. In an instant he was airborne falling to the side right towards the gaping crevasse. Somewhere out of instinct Adrian swung his ice axe into the lip of the crevasse and miraculously caught himself. Looking down all I could see was his ice axe, his had gripping it and the very top of his helmet – the rest of his body was hanging in space in the void. Powered by adrenaline he kicked his feet into the ice and powered his way up and out. Knuckles bashed and bloody he stood safe and we all took our first deep breath in quite some time.

Soon enough we made it over the col and down to the tiny hut. Stopping for lunch we weighed our options. We could sit and spend the rest of the day wishing that we’d given the peak a try or we could drop the non essential gear and go give this summit a go. There wasn’t much of a decision to make – shouldering lighter packs we bashes op the scree towards the first rock band. Slicing our way up a gully we made it onto the bench and cut across to the next challenge. More steep steps all snow covered made the climbing challenging and exhilarating. There was running water all over everything the midday sun was melting the snow and everything was soaked. The climbing was straightforward but the soaking conditions made it unnerving and the daunting exposure only acted to exacerbate the issue. A few more rock steps and we made our way to the crux – a narrow chimney, near vertical with a huge chalkstone wedged into it. The rock was saturated and the holds all sloped downwards – the climbing was intimidating and sketchy. A previous party had left a length of fixed cord in the gully to help – but relying in the old piece of rope was a whole other thing to worry about. One by one we made it over the chalkstone and to the top of the gully. Looking to the west I could see that for the second day running we were running out of time. The shortened autumn days were working against us – it was decision time once again.

Adrian climbing the crux

Up or down? We were a scant 300m from the summit but topping out would mean descending in the dark – darkness would transform that water to ice and the odds of an epic were spiralling out of control. It didn’t take a debate or even much of a chat – we were going down, now. Retracing our steps we made it back to the col just as the sun dipped below the horizon – putting on the best sunset that I’d seen in a long, long time. It was a fitting end, a beautiful sight to end a spectacular day. In the hut we ate and drank and revelled in the warmth. We laughed and joked and relived the day.

In the morning we woke early, crossed the col, over the glacier once again and onto the snowy ledges. Down the steps, around the bluffs, down the scree, wound our way through the tussock, past the tarns, into the forest and eventually out onto the valley. My legs ached from the pounding – 2500m of elevation lost in one morning all over the course of 4km of walking. About as steep a trail as you can get.

So was the trip a success? We didn’t summit the peak - it would be easy to call it a failure for those reasons alone. Many would, the summit or plummet attitude is rife in the climbing world – but not in my world. The choices that we made on our trip – to bivvy, to turn back from the top are all tough decisions to make, decisions that we all learned from. That is what truly I love about adventure – the outcome is never known. Nothing is a forgone conclusion and nothing is set in stone. If we’d gone up there in ideal conditions when we had more hours in the day and waltzed to the summit would that trip had more of an impact? I don’t think so – I think that this trip was more of a success, because it was by the traditional benchmark unsuccessful. What we gained from failure, hardship and experience far outweighs standing on the very top of a mountain. Besides, now we have an excuse to go back!