The days following my arrival at Pioneer Hut were supposed to mark the start of my New Zealand climbing adventure and see me "bag" at least one of New Zealand's classic peaks. Unfortunately, my bag remains empty. I do, however, have a decent story to tell.
My first objective: Grey Peak.
Grey Peak is the small mountain, second to left if looking at the picture. The approach follows the glacier to the left of the large mountain in the middle of the picture to Pioneer Pass, and then up an unseen ridge to the summit. Mt. Tasman is the largest mountain in the picture, on the far right.
March 22
The previous night Katie and her friends kept asking, "Is the weather still looking bad for tomorrow?," and each time we replied, "Well, we're not sure, because we thought the weather supposed to be good." Turns out they had the right forecast and we had the wrong one. Each night at 6:05 p.m. a woman who talks much too quickly -- and I'm not sure she works for -- comes over the hut radio, requests information on its inhabitants, and reads the two-day forecast for the area. Last evening her weather report confirmed today's weather as cloudy with periods of rain, "at times heavy," and, sure enough, that's exactly what we found.
We set off regardless, thinking we'd at least try to do something climbing related. We quickly found, however, that we had limited visibility up to around 20 meters; past that the glacial ice, snow, and fog blended into one big haze that veiled everything around us (crevasses and rock-fall hazard included). To make matters worse it was raining and the temperature was dropping.
Given our limited visibility we cautiously followed a previous group's footsteps in the hope they would lead the way to our intended destination: Pioneer Pass. They did not (which we learned when a large, unexpected rock wall suddenly came into view) and thus, after two hours -- off course and fairly soaked through -- we decided to call it a day and head back to the hut.
The rest of the night involved a sustained effort to dry out my gear -- which I knew was hopeless given the lack of sun/heat (in fact, my gloves (read: Paul's gloves) never recovered from this first day and were "wet" to varying degree for the rest of the week).
Then we waited for 6:05 p.m. to hear tomorrow's weather. My notes of the forecast read as follows: "3/23: Winds at 1000 to 3000ft, NW 50 increasing; freezing level 3200ft; drizzle turning to rain @ night. 3/24: NW gales; Freezing level 1800ft; rain heavy; snow to 1500 ft." (For reference Pioneer Hut sits at 2400 feet and the surrounding peaks range between approximately 2800 feet to 3500 feet.)
All this meant we had to make tomorrow count, because bad weather was coming after that.
March 23
The plan: Ascend the Fox Glacier to "Pioneer Pass," then climb a few hundred meters due east along steep rock/snow to the summit of Grey Peak. We were expecting weather to come in at some point during the day but at 6:00 a.m. woke to mostly clear skies.
All went according to plan and Simon and I took turns navigating the way across the glacier to Pioneer Pass.
And then the plan changed.
Arriving at the Pass we looked over our shoulders to find a large mass of dark clouds moving in quickly from the northwest and the wind blowing quite hard at our backs. We didn't want to be caught out in the storm and, after long debate, a decision was made to turn around: we didn't have enough to time to complete the 3-4 hour traverse of the mountain before the predicted storm arrived.
But as we descended back to the Hut a funny thing happened. The clouds that caused us considerable anxiety at the Pass began to dissipate and before long we found ourselves retreating on a clear, sunny day. In fact, I found the setting so moving and impressive that I thought to myself (again), "This makes it all worthwhile. I'm glad I came." And then the plan changed again:
"Hey, Simon, you don't want to give it another shot, do you?"
"I'm game if you are."
So we changed direction once again and climbed back up the mountain -- now four hours after setting out from the Hut. My decision to continue was based largely on the fact that, with a storm moving in, I wasn't sure we'd get another chance to climb something.
For the rest of the day the sky remained clear; it wasn't until early evening that we saw storm clouds once again brewing over the Tasman.
The wind, however, became quite strong -- particularly once we got back to the Pass. We decided to push on, continually assessing the situation as we went.
The route ascends a moderately angled snow slope (perhaps 50-55 degrees), complicated only by the need to navigate patches of New Zealand's famously loose rock and deal with the fact that on the upper slopes, a few feet to your right, there is a 2000 foot cliff. All this is fine in good weather but, when the wind is gusting from your left, things become slightly terrifying -- or at least they do for me.
Approximately 100 feet from the summit, we decided enough was enough. We'd been "simul-climbing" the route -- with Simon in lead and one piece of "protection" in between us. But, as we moved onto the final pitch, I looked up and saw Simon struggling with the wind on pretty exposed ground, searching for a spot to place a snow picket. The wind, however, had blown the ridge mostly bare and the snow wasn't deep enough to hold the stake.
"Simon, come on back," I yelled over the wind. I don't know if he heard me but he returned to the last anchor and said, "I just don't think it's going to happen." I agreed and we hurried back to the Pass, having missed our goal by a mere 100 feet.
Alas, my ascent to Grey Peak would have to wait. (Simon later guessed the wind near the summit at 70-80 kms/hour or "severe gale" strength, which I must admit made me feel a little better.)
We arrived at the Hut around 5:30 p.m. -- approximately 10 hours after we set out -- completely spent and just in time for the 6:05 p.m. weather report:
"Mar. 24: NW gale winds gusting to 110 kms/hour at 3000 feet; rain, heavy; snow to 1700 feet."
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