Sacsarayoc Conquered By Peter Farrell

Press, Volume CI, Issue 29937, 26 September 1962, Page 20

Sacsarayoc Conquered By Peter Farrell

This is the second of two articles by Brian Hearfield, leader of the 1962 Neto Zealand expedition to the Andes in South America

The successful expedition climbed 16 peaks in the Vilcabamba region of Peru, near the border with Brazil most of them 16,000 to 19,000 ft high. Eight ot these mountains had never b„en climbed before.

In the previous article, Hearfiela described how two attempts to climb Sacsarayoc (19.760 ft a stark, jagged peak protected by towering ice walls, ended in failure and nearly in disaster. Here he described a third and successful attempt.

We decided on a new approach, from the eastern side this time. although this would mean shifting our base camp and making a long trek into completely unknown territory.

Ten mules were hired from the Indian settlement of Paocha, down in the valley below the base camp; and, after a steep climb over a pass in the mountain chain, we dropped 2500 ft into the Yanama Valley and then back up into the eastern basin. There, we set up our new camp.

Three of the party—Lyn Crawford (who had a badly frostbitten toe), Donald Mackay and Hans Furndorfler—stayed behind, leaving Peter Farrell, Victor Walsh, Bruce Naylor, and me as the assault team.

We bundled the equipment into four loads of 751 b each, and staggered off in the direction of our proposed high-level camp. But we were not the men we had been six weeks before. The long, sustained struggle of high packing and climbing had badly sapped our reserves of stamina. Just to place one weary foot after the other called for a tremendous amount of willpower.

I cannot recall a time when I was so dangerously exhausted. We stopped at dusk on the second day, far short of our destination, but physically incapable of more effort. Our height was 17,500 ft.

Any climbing the next day was impossible, even though we had packed only six days’ meagre high-camp rations. The rest day meant that three days out of the six were already gone. We left early in the morning for our third attempt on Sacsarayoc, although the weather was unsettled, with cloudy skies and high winds. Through the thickening mist and light snow, we climbed quickly towards what appeared to be our main obstacle—an ominous 60ft vertical face of hard ice. with three huge overhanging boulders on it.

Above this was a royal road to the summit. Four-hour Climb

It was impossible to bypass this section of the ridge, as both sides were simply great overhanging bulges of ice. There was nothing for it but to climb the ice wall, using all the technical aids and skills we could muster.

Tliis job felt to Farrell, one of New Zealand’s most accomplished technical climbers. For four long hours he progressed inch by inch up the ice wall, until, just on 6 o'clock at night, he clambered on to the broad snow shelf above.

He was completely exhausted. as this technical

climbing is strenuous work even at low altitudes—and we were battling at more than 19,000 ft. Farrell’s ascent was an achievement of the highest order—'but this was not quite time for salutations. Darkness would be upon us within half an hour, and all four of us would have to sit the night out and freeze. I suggested to Walsh and Naylor, on the other rope, that they descend about 200 ft, to where we had passed an ice wall, at the

foot of which they could flatten out a shelf in the snow and so receive a little protection from the piercing wind.

Farrell and I would not be so well off. Farrell would have to sit the night out perched on the shelf above the ice wall, while I remained at the other end of the rone, anchored below him. We were in a terribly exposed position, with no shelter at all; and already it was snowing heavier than it had been ail day. We would just have to grin and bear it, and hope that the weather did not become too bad—otherwise, at our height, we could be in a very serious predicament indeed. We changed into a spare pair of dry socks, put our downfilled jackets on under our waterproofs, and prepared ourselves for the long, bitterly cold, Andean night. We were each alone with our thoughts. Farrell and I. although we occasionally shouted rude remarks to each other. But we had no communication with the other two. as they were out of hearing. Fortunately, the snowing stopped early in the night, and we were treated to a bright display of moonlight —which made the already cold atmosphere seem somewhat colder.

Every hour or so. it was necessary to take off our boots and restore the circulation to our dangerously cold feet. Sleep was imp-js-sible. weary though we were: and it was probably just as well, as we would almost

certainly have suffered from frostbite. Not that we minded putting up with this.,We knew we were battling against a very difficult mountain and this was just part of the price we had to pay if victory was to be ours.

After what seemed an eternity of waiting, a faint glow appeared over the mountains to the east—in the direction of Brazil—and the long awaited warmth from the sun seemed near at hand. But luck was still running against us. Before the sun’s rays could start to thaw our frozen bodies, a cloud blanket had swept in over the entire mountain chain and snow began to fall again. We each ate two squares of chocolate and a few nuts for our breakfast and I prepared to climb up and join Farrell.

The short lengths of rope ladders which Farrell had used were now fastened high up the ice wall and we had none left. Without them. I was not able to surmount the first difficult overhanging bulge of polished ice, as hard as glass. I tried again and again, but without success. I realised 1 was wasting valuable time, so I came down to the foot of the wall, unroped and asked Walsh to try. He, too, found the bulge impossible without rope ladders. We were so near and yet so far—only this last ioe face before an easy climb to the summit.

I yelled to Farrell to ask whether he thought the final ridge looked safe for going it alone to the summit. From far above us came his answer “It looks quite good.’’ So I told him to give it a go, while we three waited at the foot of the wall. He disappeared into the mist. Two hours later, he was back, reporting an hour’s climb up in soft snow, half an hour on the top for photographs and half an hour to return. The peak that had cost us so much effort had relented just sufficiently to allow one man to tread its virgin summit—and nobody deserved that honour better than Peter Farrell. Members of the expedition will arrive in Wellington on September 28 on the Oranje.

Boy Cyclist Badly Injured

(N.Z. Press Association) NAPIER. September 25. A boy fractured his skull when his bicycle clashed into a concrete wall in Goldsmith road. Napier, aoout 8.30 a.m. today. His condition is serious. The injured boy is Bren* Holder, aged 12, son of Mr and Mrs R. Haider, of Milton road, Napier.