A CLIMB UP MOUNT TORLESSE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIV, Issue I, 5 January 1895, Page 4

A CLIMB UP MOUNT TORLESSE.

GLISSADING

(UY THE WARRIGAL )

WE are going to climb Mount Torlesse,’ said J. J. Kinsey, as I met bim in Cathedral Square.

‘Join our party? Ollivier, Fisher, Hill, and Carter are going first train to-morrow. Mannering, Marshall, and Andrews follow by evening train.* The invitation was attractive. An expedition to high altitudes is exhilarating after a long spell on the plains. Besides, I knew the party would be a pleasant one. At something to eight the next morning we met on the Christchurch station with multifarious baggage—blankets, alpen stocks, ice axes, cameras, ropes, tents, and enough provisions for a small army, two of the party in climbing rig, the remainder as immaculate citizens. The train moved off on its westerly journey across the great Canterbury Plains. All signs of civilization save an occasional wire fence were left behind us, and we were heading for what seemed an unbroken line of bills, but as we progressed we struck the clear stream of the Little Kowai, and following it up entered its winding valley — Happy Valley they call it—a most picturesque place. Clumps of black birch trees clung to the bill slopes, and here and there stretched down to the river. These clumps grew thicker as we advanced, until they formed a dense forest, broken only in places by glades of yellow tussock grass, or by the shingly bed of the river. Happy Valley did not belie its name, though it greeted us with a steady drizzly rain that threatened to spoil our expedition. The valley grew narrower until the dark bush rising steeply to the roof of mist seemed like a gorge. We reached a place where the trees met thickly on either side of the rushing stream and barred the way for any vehicle, and here we camped. Tents were pitched, a big fire made, and a feed spread for the hungry campers. Some of us tried to dry ourselves at the fire, and by nearly roasting ourselves got one portion of our garments uncomfortably warm whilst the other portinn got wetter than ever. Turning and shifting our position produced only the same result, so the party retired to the tent, and the citizens having, with that English love of pleasure, forsaken

their luxurious beds in town, lay down to rest on birchen leaves. I was pursued through the night by a most determined oversized twig that speared me mercilessly, but did not prevent me resting. Somewhere about two o'clock I beard an earnest appeal to come and look at the stars. I didn’t respond, but I believe most of the party ventured out in the chilly air in their pyjamas for that purpose and saw the orbs of night—through a flash. Before sunrise we were all up. It was a fine morning, though cold. There had been a sharp frost through the night, which considering our camp was some 2,000 feet above sea level, was not wonderful. The subtle fragrance of fried sausages filled the morning air, Ollivier, most accomplished and genial camper-out, acting as chief cook. About seven o’clock, Mannering, Marshall, and Andrews rolled up. They had stayed at the hotel the previous night

and had walked over since daybreak. Soon after they came we made a start—cameras, prog, grog, goggles, and alpenstocks. Our way led through the bush, then up a ravine partly filled with shingle, through more bush, and out on the grassy slope of the mountain. Here the first and easiest of the real ascent began. The party straggled somewhat. Ollivier and Minnering, by virtue of previons ascents and by their experience as Alpine climbers, took the leadership of the party and counselled easy work. This mandate was as rigidly obeyed as was possible under the circumstances, for few of us were in training, and we yearned not just then for fame as sprinters. We found

pleasure in rolling rocks down the slopes, seeing them leap and bound, then go crashing to the forest. One energetic man of law nearly annihilated two of the party, who were a tew hundred feet below him, and caused such a display of activity as must have pleased his forensic soul had be seen it.

We moved slowly upward over tussocks, moss, loose shingle, and at last reached a wintry altitude—the first

snow. Here we halted, and the camera was put to work. After this halt the work grew more serious, for the slope grew steeper and the way rougher. We halted frequently, and fed nearly as often as we halted. Feeding whilst climbing is the fuel necessary to supply energy, so we fed at least every thousand feet. It refreshed us and lightened our packs. Somebody bad brought lamb and mint sauce. We left the mint sauce in the camp, but we did not want it. A mountain appetite finds piquant flavours. The higher we climbed the wider grew our view, until we saw the vast Canterbury Plains sloping down to the sea and the vaster sea sloping up to the sky. Great river beds with terraced banks showing pages of glacial history— geometrical arrangements of fences, clumps of white dots that represented towns, and a long straight line that was said to be the railway. We reached the snow line at about 4,000 feet, and then we knew what climbing meant. Every few

yards we sank np to onr thighs The heaviest of onr members had a tough time of it. In places we found outcrops of loose shingle, and here we rested for a while and an icy wind cooled us. Then we left all signs of rock, and climbing up a smooth pure white incline—snow and nothing but snow. How deep in places we could only guess I Marshall and myself being light and lightly burdened, made better progress than the rest. Mannering and Ollivier, skilled mountaineers, helped to keep the main party together, and played their part as leaders nobly. Soon the rope was bronght into use. Loops were made in it, and nearly every man harnessed. Then the stronger helped the weaker, and the

whole party gradually moved up the smooth white face like a long centipede. Our fourteen stone man had a hard time of it. He sank to bis thighs nearly every step, and was ont of training, yet he stock to the work with grim determination. Every few yards meant severe exertion, and every few yards fourteenstone cried * Whoa,’ and the line stopped a moment for breath, then at * Right ’ moved on again. We got on to a comparatively narrow ridge that rose steeply up in a grand curve to the peak we were striving to reach. One side of this ridge was almost perpendicular, descending in cliff like faces to great depths. The other side of the tridge was steep as the roof of a church. The ridge above us seemed to be entirely composed of snow, and appeared in the distance so narrow that it was easy to think of it crumbling away under us, and letting ns slide down that terrible abyss. It was safer than it looked, bigger wider, but still if one wanted to slide into eternity they need only have sat down, lifted their heels, and they wonld have slide—l don’t know how far,but

far enough and fast enough to prevent them ever climbing again. At last we reached the summit, every member of the party. This lam prepared to swear on oath, to the confusion of those scoffers at the Club, who profess to think some of the party never made the big ascent. We stood nearly 7,000 feet above the sea, and looked on as grand a scene as man could wish to behold. Westward, south and north, stretched the magnificent Southern Alps—south, almost to Mount Cook ; northward to the Kaikouras—over 200 miles of mountain scenery, snow-dad, majestic. The vastness of it—the heights, the depths, the innumerable peaks—cannot be described. Such a sight robs a man of his words. The very immensity of the view prevents comparisons. I have seen a similar view from the summit of Ben Lomond in Otago, but I think the view from Torlesse surpasses it. To think such a view is only a two days’ journey from Christchurch, and that any fairly active man or woman can obtain it, makes one long to rush into word painting, but the grandeur, the sublimity, the wonder of the picture can only be felt. The peak on which we stood was only one of the four peaks of Torlesse, for the mountain is not a mere cone, but a huge range in itself. The top of a cairn just showed itself, and by this we knew that there was somewhere about 10ft of snow on the summit. It was frozen quite hard, and our footsteps made scarcely any impression on it. Mannerinsr and Ollivier were photographed standing on the cairn. A fierce and bitter cold wind was blowing at the time, and the effect of this wind can be seen on the clothes of these men. The wind was so intensely bitter that one could easily realise the American blizzard,) and imagine why men die when they are exposed to such a thing. We stood this wind as long as possible, then fled before it, making the first part of the descent in splendid stjle. When we reached the first patch of shingle a halt was called to allow the camera to be brought into action. The legs were planted in the snow, and some of the party stood round the instrument to prevent the wind shaking it. That bitter wind, I confess it, went right through me—through clothes and flesh, and I suppose it went through others too. The photographer found an impatient audience. Finally it rebelled before that terrible wind, and once more we commenced to descend, then another halt was called, and again the camera went to work. This time the wind was worse than before. Some of us curled up on the snow to escape it, others tried to warm it with heated language. We were all anxious that the photographer should get pictures, but O, he will never know how much we endured for his sake ! We were to descend to the camp by a different route to the one we had climbed, and this route led us to the most exciting part of our adventures, for it brought to us the glory of glissading. We reached a smooth face of snow that sloped at an angle of 45 degrees, went down withont a break for nearly 2,000 feet, and seemed to end in a viewless precipice. Manning and Olliver told us we could slide down this slope. We believed them, but some of the more practical and older members wanted to know how they could stop. One man let loose his alpenstock, and it went sliding down at a tremendous rate, down, out of sight, and a man could do likewise, and what he would be like when be stopped nobody cared to imagine. The staider members of the party were once more put in the rope. Ollivier was at its head and Mannering at its tail, and the members were asked to sit down and elide. They jibbed. Kinsey, who was not in the rope, took the lead. He went down that slope in a manner calculated to raise anybody’s admiration for his agility. Heels up, head down,

head up, heels down—the most reckless and devil-may-care sort of descent. Luckily the snow was very safe, and Kinsey’s method was only taken to inspire confidence. Kinsey had complete control over his movements, and settled down as soon as he cared to do so. Mannering followed Kinsey, and I followed Mannering. Mannering is an adept at glissading, and I watched him shooting downward like a rocket, then 1 sat down and glissaded. I kept the alpen stock point downward in the snow above my shoulder in the orthodox fashion, and could hear it whistling as it cut through the frozen particles. Sometimes snow gathered around me and elided with me in an avalanche, then I wriggled out of it somehow and got into a new track. The alpenstock was my rudder, anchor, everything. Without it I felt I should be hurled to destraction. Soon danger, thonght, everything, was forgotten in the exhilaration of that mad slide. I wished it to go on forever, to increase in rapidity, to become a still more exciting rush. I saw Kinsey and Mannering mere black specks on the white snow far below, and the next moment I heard Mannering say, * Steer to the left; there's a hole in the snow,' and 1 steered to the left and brought up in a sort of hollow, and the best of the glissade was over. We started off again and saw two rocks jutting out of the snow. Kinsey shot toward them, spread his legs just at the right moment, and brought himself up abruptly at the edge of a precipice. If he had missed the rocks with his feet he would have shot over into a snow torrent a good distance below. The three of us halted here. I can’t remember how long that glissading lasted. It could only have been a few minutes, yet we came down somewhere about 2,000 ft. After the excitement of the glissading, the roughness of descending a precipitous water course,amidst rocks and earth and arches of snow seemed strangely uninteresting. We struck the course of an avalanche which had levelled a strip of birch trees some acres in extent, and then struck the bush again, Mannering leading the way with wonderful directness, going straight thtough thick country to the tents. It was worth the climb to see that grand view from the summit; it was worth another climb to glissade down that slope. If mountaineering consisted of glissading nearly every active man would be a member of the Alpine Club, and nearly every woman, too, because lady-climbers are even more greedy of glissading than men once they have tasted it. The effects of glissading last some time. When Mannering, Ollivier, Kinsey, and myself were descending the razorback embankment to the Kowai Bridge in the darkness, Ollivier slipped and shot out of sight. * Where are you ’’ cried Kinsey. * About twenty-five feet below,’ was the reply.