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Mt Whitcombe – a non-ascent

January 2004, by Pete McGregor

In the second week of January, Wellington Section members Terry Crippen, Andrew Lynch and Pete McGregor teamed up with overseas (Bristol, UK) member Jonathan Astin for an attempt on Mt Whitcombe. We flew in to Smyth hut at the head of the Wanganui River on a brilliantly fine, hot afternoon, reconnoitred the route as far as Vane Stream, and the next day battled our way up to the moraine flats below the Evans glacier in progressively deteriorating weather. Faced with a grim forecast, we squelched, waded and scrub-bashed back down to the hut the next day, soaked our tired bodies in some of the best wilderness hot pools in the country, and woke the following morning to a brilliantly fine day.

So, we set off back up the river to climb Mt Lord. The ascent proved to be a simple trudge, with the only semblance of technical climbing being among the Evans river boulders. The rewards were spectacular views of Snow Dome and Whitcombe beyond the distinctly unmenacing Menace Gap; a direct view of the impressive north face of Dan Peak; an airy panorama across the beautiful Lord Valley to Mt Stoddart and the edge of the Garden of Allah; and valleys, peaks, glaciers and glittering, thread-like streams and rivers far below. During the descent and return to the hut, mare’s tails and wispy cirrus thickened into a darkening, overcast sky, but the rain held off until after we’d soaked weary bones in the hot pools.

Two days of rain, hail and sleet-watching followed. During that period, Whataroa received 378mm of rain in 24 hours; the Collier Gorge swingbridge in the Whitcombe was washed away; Ferguson Bush reserve just north of Harihari was devastated by floods; and thunder from lightning was drowned by the thunder of huge boulders rumbling down the violently flooded river. Pancakes and rolled oat pikelets were made and eaten, lunches shared, innumerable brews drunk, the dangers of square-cut tararua biscuits discussed, and the hut library well-utilised.

The walk downriver to Hunter’s hut proved eventful when were negotiating the unstable face of a high river terrace. We picked our way carefully across unstable, porridge-like scree and boulders, nervously watching the trickle of stones and muck from above; a nervousness that was confirmed as fully justified when I heard a thump and rumble and looked up to see huge boulders – some the size of a coffee table – hurtling down towards Jonathan and Terry. Jonathan scrambled back towards me, but for a horrible moment I thought Terry was about to be killed. Fortunately, the leaping and bounding rocks missed him. Faced with the prospect of being pulverised, Andrew promptly put his helmet on. He then bolted across a particularly dodgy-looking section, seconds before the face released even larger boulders, bouncing and thundering down between him and us. It carried a whole tree partway down the face, rocks and debris continuing to fall long after the main event. Yes, that helmet was a good idea.

By now, any attempt to join Andrew on the far side would have been suicidal. We abandoned the idea, and instead climbed a more stable section of the face, negotiating a final, tricky lip to gain the bush on top of the terrace. We then bush-bashed around the top of the slip and down to rejoin Andrew (who by this time had lured immense squadrons of sandflies from the surrounding bush). Hunter’s hut that evening seemed very tranquil.

We walked out the next day, and drank beer and ate pizzas at the Harihari pub under the glaring, dusty eye of a stuffed ferret, snarling from the wall. Below it, on a badly hand-cut piece of paper, was the stencilled word, “FERRET”. Just in case you didn’t know. The perfect end to a memorable West Coast trip.

Pete McGregor

Dan Peak

Evans River in flood

Evans River in flood at swingbridge

Campsite, Evans River