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Tramper goes Alpine

4-6 October 2002

Tramper went to the ferry terminal on Thursday night for a three day Alpine Club trip to Mt Franklin.

It was a while since he had been out with the Alpine Club, and Tramper expected to meet a bunch of middle-aged men in jackets and ties and knickerbockers and nailed boots. But instead his companions were young and wore designer clothing made of PolarFleece. One had pinstripe trousers and shiny black shoes. There was a petrol-head boy racer. There was a 22-year old training to be an alpine guide. There was a geophysicist and a lighting engineer and a social policy analyst and a magazine editor and an old fellow who milked cows. And there was a woman who said, we're here to have fun.

Funny thing, thought Tramper, these people are very like trampers. And not a knickerbocker in sight!

Indeed, when they got to Lake Rotoroa in the middle of the night and camped right by the NO CAMPING sign, Tramper was hard put to it to see any difference at all between his Alpinist companions and ordinary Trampers like him.

The water taxi took them up the lake on a perfect morning. You could count the clouds on one finger. Back in Wellington, people in offices were having a cup of coffee and thinking about the weekend, but the Alpinists and Tramper had already started on theirs.

Aha, thought Tramper, this perfect weather is ominous sign. It means bad weather is coming. Years of observation had taught Tramper that bad weather invariably follows perfect weather. He said wisely to the Alpinists, you should go into the hills in bad weather, so when it fines up you're already there and you can embark on Great Enterprises. When you're walking up the Sabine filling your lungs with beech forest and leaf mould smells on a perfect morning with a puffy cloud which you can count on one finger, you know the weather is getting ready to pack up big time and it's all a terrible mistake.

But nobody listened.

So they walked up the Sabine filling their lungs with beech forest and leaf mould smells and stopped for lunch in a sunny clearing. Tramper badly wanted a cup of tea, but he feared that Fun-Having Woman, who was leading, might disapprove of the wasted time; and he made do with Raro.

Much later they arrived at Blue Lake Hut. Some of the Alpinists said, I'm stuffed. Others said, I'm knackered, or, I'm buggered. Tramper thought, is this what Alpinists regularly say after an Approach March? How will their bodily debilitation allow them to get up the hill tomorrow?

But Tramper did not realise what Alpinists are capable of.

On the ferry they had read a magazine article which said that in one day you can easily go up Mt Franklin and back down in loads of time to go over Moss Pass to Ella Hut in the D'Urville before dark, even with a major route-finding stuff-up on the mountain. So some of the Alpinists said, we can do that too. We'll be back at Blue Lake by afternoon smoko.

In the morning they went down to the river and took their boots and socks off and paddled across in bare feet. Tramper, who had never seen anything like it before, was amazed. He asked, do all Alpinists do this? The Alpinists said, we shall be in high and snowy places and we must keep our feet dry. But Tramper (who had been in snow once before) crossed the river with his boots on.

They walked through mossy clearings to a rocky valley which disappeared up past a waterfall into the clouds. Mount Franklin is somewhere up there, said the Alpinists. Lighting Engineer and Pinstripe and Fun-Haver said, this is where we got to by 10am on Franklin Attempt Number One. We were wading through chest deep snow and the avalanche danger was high so we turned back and went to the Maruia hot springs, they said.

Now, Tramper knew that the same weekend other Trampers of his acquaintance had climbed Mt Ella, which was almost as high and just as snowy. The Trampers had not given up and gone to the hot springs. But he said nothing, because he was a guest of the Alpinists. This was not a time to brag about Trampers and chest-deep snow.

Soon they were past the waterfall and had entered a huge snow basin. They put on crampons and looked at the map and decided which of the things above them was Mt Franklin and agreed they should be able to knock it off before lunch.

They put on helmets. Tramper had never worn a helmet in the mountains before, but Fun-Haver's instructions had said bring a helmet. So he'd brought an old bike helmet, and now he put it on hoping nobody would say, that is Not A Real Climbing Helmet. Fortunately Geophysicist wore a bike helmet too, which made Tramper feel OK. He was grateful to Geophysicist for this, even though her bike helmet was modern and streamlined.

At the top of the basin the snow got steeper, and after a while they had to cut steps. As they climbed Tramper thought, wasn't it lovely in the valley. If I was down there I could be making a fire out of beech twigs and boiling the billy for a cup of tea. But he said nothing aloud, because it would have seemed ungrateful to the Alpinists who had brought him along as a guest.

After a really steep bit they reached the ridge and Tramper said, shall we have lunch? The top of Mt Franklin, which the photo in the magazine had shown to be an easy snow plod covered with relaxed contented trampers, was only five minutes away and you could take your grandmother there. They might as well do it on full tummies. But Lighting Engineer, who seemed to have some authority among the Alpinists, said no, we should keep moving. Have a substantial snack, said Lighting Engineer.

After the snack Tramper walked round the corner to where the easy snow slopes in the magazine photo began. However, he found a rocky precipice with sheer snow on both sides. Tramper no longer wanted to go in front.

Then a funny thing happened.

All the people who had been buggered and stuffed and knackered the day before, suddenly found reserves of energy and enthusiasm and expertise. Out of their packs they dug shiny bits of metal and coloured rope which said look at me, I'm expensive. They were getting ready to do complicated alpine things which they understood. Lighting Engineer effortlessly scaled the precipice and said, wait, I'll see if this is the way. Twenty-Two Year Old galloped right along the very crest of the ridge. This is not the way for everyone, shouted Lighting Engineer from above. Go down on the sheer snow, he said, and sidle below the bluffs.

Magazine Editor and Cow Milker made steps on the sheer snow and Tramper followed gratefully, thinking about his fire of beech twigs and his cup of tea, and they got back on the ridge past the precipice. Then came another steep bit which was icy, and you had to use the front points of your crampons and your pick, like people in mountaineering books. Magazine Editor got out his ice hammer and used two tools. Pinstripe was right out there in front too. Tramper thought, this will give me something to tell the kids. If I survive, that is. He watched the others carefully and held his ice axe the same way and did it too.

In a gradual sort of a way he began to enjoy climbing Mt Franklin, and thought he might take a photo. For two days Tramper had been watching Magazine Editor using his camera and tripod. He was jealous because Magazine Editor's photos were probably better than his and would get published. So Tramper thought, here is a photo that Magazine Editor won't get because he is busy with his ice hammer, and he dug himself a step and got out his camera and pulled off his overmitts.

Then a most embarrassing thing happened to Tramper. The overmitts jumped right out of the safe place where he had put them. They slid down the sheer slope.

Tramper said loudly, S - - T ! He understood enough about climbing to know that to allow one's overmitts to do this is not only Poor Alpine Etiquette, but also potentially hazardous. He was grateful to the Alpinists for not telling him off. Twenty-Two Year Old walked right down the ice on his crampons and got Tramper's overmitts from where they had stopped fifty metres below.

They got to a place where you could look up to the top of Mt Franklin. The ridge was gentle and about a chain wide. The very last bit was a steep ice cap, heavily corniced on the East Sabine side. Fun-Haver and Lighting Engineer made steps and people followed carefully. Tramper went up too, step by step and getting plenty of shaft in and hanging on tight and thinking, isn't it good that I'm here with people who know what to do.

Some of the Alpinists started to set up a rope. Back a bit from the cornice Twenty-Two Year-Old poked his ice axe in to find a good place to hammer a shiny thing.

Suddenly a crack ran out from Twenty-Two Year-Old's ice axe. A rushing, whooshing sound broke the silence of the mountains. Several tonnes of ice cap fell into the East Sabine. On what was left of it were nine startled faces and one horrified one, belonging to Twenty-Two Year-Old.

That was a good experience, said Twenty-Two Year-Old when he had regained his composure. I am training to be an alpine guide, and now I know about cornices, he said. Also I am alive, which is a useful characteristic for an alpine guide.

We are happy to be alive too, said the other eight Alpinists and the Tramper. They said they would change their underpants back at the hut.

All around and far into the distance stood snowy peaks lower than Mt Franklin. Social Policy Analyst and Geophysicist took photos, and Cow Milker stood as near the top as he dared and shouted YEE HA THIS IS GREAT!

On the way down they stopped for another snack and waved to a sail-plane soaring along their mountain ridge, far from anywhere to land. Then they bum-slid down the snow basin and scrambled down the rocks past huge icicles hanging from the cliffs and walked back through the mossy clearings in the forest, which Tramper liked very much. There he felt safe and at home and satisfied.

When they got back to the hut Cow Milker said, that ice cap was as steep as the one on Mount Cook. It made Tramper immensely proud to think he had been somewhere like that.

However, it was too late to go over Moss Pass. This was hard to understand, because the people in the magazine, who were ordinary Trampers without helmets, had done it on the same day as climbing Mt Franklin by a harder route. Editor, whose magazine it was, said, those Trampers have gone up in my estimation. Tramper was secretly proud of them because the same Trampers were his friends.

But something funny was happening to Tramper. He was beginning to feel that the Alpinists, whom he had known for only two days, were becoming friends too. They gave him things to eat and laughed at some of his jokes. They didn't mind when he farted. Indeed, some of them farted too. They told him off for walking around on top of the mountain without his ice axe, but they did it almost apologetically because he was not a member, he was their guest. Some of them even admitted to being scared on the mountain, which made them very much like Tramper himself. He began to feel a liking for these people who were gentle in their tellings-off and got scared and farted.

So in the evening, when Cow Milker said, who's coming over Moss Pass in the morning? and Twenty-Two Year-Old and Magazine Editor both said, I will, Tramper said, I will too. Tramper wanted more adventures with these people he liked. Also Cow Milker had an unopened packet of Chit-Chats. Magazine Editor, who had been over Moss Pass before, said it would take eleven hours to the D'Urville jetty. So they set their alarms for 5 am and were away at six, in the dark because daylight saving had started.

It was the sort of morning you dream about, one of the Full Many A Glorious kind. Magazine Editor led the way. They came above the bush and put their headlamps away. The peaks all down the Sabine were etched against a golden sky, and Tramper felt that if he died tomorrow (or even today on Moss Pass, which was an inconvenient possibility) he would be happy. Magazine Editor's tripod came out. Tramper was so happy he didn't even worry that he was nearly out of film while Magazine Editor was still reeling through it by the metre.

They came to the basin below the pass, and put their crampons and windproofs on and guessed how long it would take. Maybe an hour, maybe one and a half, they said. But the cramponing was so good they zipped across the snow leaving hardly a mark and were on the pass in thirty minutes. Magazine Editor and Cow Milker took more photos and Cow Milker shouted YEE HA! again.

They wandered down into the D'Urville on the snow, sharing memories of other trips and feeling ever so pleased and thinking what a marvellous time Fun Haver and Petrol Head and Pinstripe and Social Policy Analyst and Geophysicist and Lighting Engineer had missed. Wouldn't it be fun, they said, if we got out before them.

So they hurried down the valley. The snowy peaks above were lower and easier than the one they'd been up yesterday. Everything was delightful, and the track so smooth it was suitable for legs and feet complaining about over-use. Even Twenty-Two Year old, who had the rope, felt a bit tired. He did not admit this because he was training to be an alpine guide, and alpine guides do not tire.

They got to the D'Urville jetty in ten and a quarter hours, and saw the water taxi taking the others down the lake from the Sabine jetty. So they waited in the hut drinkng cups of tea and eating Cow Milker's Chit-Chats.

Nothing seemed to matter any more.