Harry Ayres: epitome of park qualities

Press, 26 December 1987, Page 18

Harry Ayres: epitome of park qualities

By

TRISH McCORMACK,

of the Depart-

ment of Conservation, Hokitika.

Harry Ayres, who died during this centennial year of national parks in New Zealand, was one of the finest advocates of the lifestyles and values implicit in the creation of those parks. He was a great mountaineer and guide. His most famous client, Sir Edmund Hillary, spoke for many in this appreciation: “... Harry Ayres was the outstanding mountaineer of his generation — and perhaps of any New Zealand generation... as a guide he was patient, encouraging and very secure — responsible for getting many people of modest skills to the summits of the greater New Zealand peaks...” Scrambling in the Port Hills near his home town, Christchurch, gave Ayres his first taste of the outdoors. During the Depression he came to the West Coast on relief work on the Buller railway. He then worked on the road between Franz and Fox. His meeting with the Sullivans of Fox led him into the mountains.

At first he packed supplies up the Fox, building materials for the first Pioneer Hut. That would have daunted many. Ayres later looked back on it as one of the most dangerous parts of his climbing career. Packing trips were often made solo and that danger was emphasised when one of the team was killed.

Then came his first major mountaineering expedition into the head of the Mahitahi, South Westland — an outstanding trip — the party making many successful climbs, some of them first ascents.

A keen gold prospector, Ayres’ most audacious quest was an expedition into the rugged Callery, near Franz Josef, with a mate and a canvas canoe in the the vain hope of getting into unprospected country. Then followed many other prospecting expeditions — in between times — and he revisited the Callery in 1970 with a film crew on another, alas equally unsuccessful, quest. Always one for a new adventure, Ayres and a friend decided to attend King George Vi’s coronation in 1936. They would work their passage on a boat which brought phosphate from Nauru to New Zealand before carrying on to England. This proved an epic trip with appal-

ling conditions on board. They signed off at Auckland, later discovering that the boat was nicknamed the “Hellship of Fiction.”

Ayres then spent a period in the North Island, guiding at the Waitomo Caves. He found that to be the antithesis of mountain guiding — cave guiding in a boat. It was totally unvaried — in mountaineering no two trips were ever the same. His heart was in the Southern Alps and he was glad to return to the Hermitage to work under Vic Williams, learning the high-guid-ing craft. After completing a three-year training programme he was competent to take clients up any peak in the alps. Guides were highly regarded, and few people would contemplate a high climb without one then. Step-cutting in ice was the criterion by which a guide was judged and in that Ayres was a master. Crampons were around but not often used by guides. Ayres later estimated having once cut 2000 steps to get V/ 2 miles up a glacier. He felt that climbing without crampons encouraged caution and helped develop far greater balance. Caution was important. Strong in his feelings about accidents in the mountains, he maintained they were the direct result of negligence. They didn’t have to happen, and they didn’t with him in command — he had no fatalities. The pre-war period was the golden age of guiding. After the war an upsurge of amateur climbers led to a decline in guiding. Ayres entered the Army in 1941, spending time in the Pacific where he contracted malaria, and had to be invalided home. He returned to Franz Josef where, in sight of the mountains, he had to endure a slow and frustrating return to health. He recovered, however, to do some of his best work. By 1946 he was working at the Hermitage under Mick Bowie, who was undoubtedly the other great guide of Ayres’ generation. It was then that he met Edmund Hillary. Hillary acknowledged it as the most important

step in his mountaineering career. He saw Ayres as “New Zealand’s outstanding climber with a tremendous reputation for brilliant icecraft, and a formidable ability to complete the biggest and most challenging climbs.”

They did many climbs together. With Mick Sullivan and Ruth Adams, they made a first ascent of the south ridge of Mount Cook — a many obstacled and long sought climb. That was followed a few days later by the greatest New Zealand mountain rescue. Ruth Adams was injured near the top of La Perouse, and Ayres was one of the main coordinators of the rescue team which carried her over the top of .that mountain and down the heavily gorged and bushed Cook River to the West Coast road — there was no helicopter assistance then.

Harry Ayres was in his prime as a guide. Between 1948 and 1954 he climbed Mount Cook eight times and Mount Tasman five times — as well as doing many other climbs. The early 1950 s saw him based at Franz Josef, but commuting to the Hermitage fairly regularly. Around this time he met and married Jeanne, who for the rest of his career lent important zest and character to the Ayres story.

Peter McCormack then came under the Ayres guiding craft and its associated philosophy. They climbed Cook, Tasman and other mountains together. Climbers like Ayres were always happy to share their knowledge, and were concerned by secrey among more modem climbers. Above all, Ayres recognised the importance of the mountains to self-knowledge and the fact that hazardous situations bring out hidden resources.

If his client left with a deepened confidence and ability to face life, Ayres had succeeded. Harry Ayres had his disappointments, too. Fate always seemed against his participation in overseas climbing expeditions. Probably the greatest blow of all came when his invitation to join the successful 1953 British Everest expedition was with-

drawn after a change of leadership. The decision was made ostensibly because there were already too many New Zealanders in the party, but more probably because he was a true professional and could diminish the amateur status of the expedition.

However, his chance came later that decade when Hillary became leader of the New Zealand Antarctic expedition — Ayres was the first member named. The aim was to establish Scott Base and to lay support depots for the Trans-Antarctic expedition by dog teams. As he had a great affinity with dogs, Ayres was to be the handler, which involved a preliminary trip to Mawson Base to familiarise himself with the huskies, before bringing them back to Mount Cook to train them.

Ayres and the dogs arrived at Harewood via Bristol Freighter. Being flanked by snarling huskies ensured him a rapid passage through customs. He acquired a wrecked car and got it to Mount Cook. The dogs then had the daily exercise of towing this to and from Ball Hut, which became one of the most unusual tourist attractions seen in the area.

Preparation completed, the party departed in fine style, first dining with Prince Philip on the Royal Yacht Brittania, and going on to a highly successful expedition. One of Ayres’ adventures down on the Ice involved the epic recovery of a dog team which had fallen through a crevasse with a sledge.

He returned to New Zealand and a new job — chief ranger of the new Mt Cook National Park. Unfortunately, this was a difficult time. He was not a good delegater, and tried to do all the work himself. He was a moun-

taineer, not an administrator. He recognised the difference and resigned three years later. Mick Bowie said simply, "There goes the end of an era.” How can Harry Ayres’ many achievements be summarised? There are so many people with so many memories. His greatest feats probably lay in guiding clients up New Zealand’s highest peaks, often people of modest skills. His greatest climbs? His double traverse of treacherous Dampier and St David’s Dome in one day with June Ashurst must rate fairly highly; his 16 ascents of Mount Cook, the last at the age of 63 with Brian Hearfield; his formidable list of ascents of all the major and many minor peaks of the Southern Alps — some of which he climbed many times. Twelve hours out on the snow in 1986, aged 74, climbing Hochstetter Dome for the “Journeys in National Parks” series is another fine achievement. His humble attitude came through there in his genuine interest in what someone else could teach him — Jos Lang, a guide of the present generation. Harry Ayres was in many ways enigmatic — quiet, unobtrusive, not one to tell the world of what he had done. But he accumulated a wealth of mountain lore and wisdom over his lifetime, and those who knew him were fortunate.

In 1980 Harry Ayres was awarded the 0.8. E. for “services to mountaineering.” What did it all mean to him? He should have the last words:

“... It’s not getting to the top of that mountain or glacier that’s important. It’s pitting yourself against the elements and winning. It’s the feeling that the human spirit can conquer any difficulty that nature throws against it...”