Again I was on Ruapehu’s slopes and back on the Whakapapa [Fa-ka-papa] side where I had spent all of those weekends learning alpine skills to memory. Although the nerves of fear still had not worked their way out of my spine, I was determined to attempt again (jury was out on whether I might bail for an easier route). Again Jenna, Jordan, SK, myself, and a Brit mountain femme named Helen had driven the five hours up to Ruapehu. In the car Jordan had laid out his plan for what he referred to as ‘Girdlestone Revenge’: day one, summit bag as many of the less technical peaks we could in a day. Day two: Girdlestone. I clapped aloud at his ingenuity. Who knew warming up before a challenge could come off as rocket science to an ex-athlete?
Early Saturday morning we had set off to summit Peretetaitonga [perry-tay-thai-tong-ga] (Pere), a strolling peak overlooking Whakapapa’s ski field. On this peak we were slightly pushed out of our comfort zone (there was a bit of an ice wall thing to shimmy along, but it was only a couple meters high and if you fell it would just be down a long slope of crusted snow – so not the end of the world). The cloud danced around us, allowing us flashes of views as its veils of cloud shuttered open and close. We walked along Pere’s ridge until we met her highest point. I smiled, almost bashfully, as I realized Pere had become my first peak to summit. Elated, I felt a pressure lifted as I broke the previously seemingly smelted association between summiting and mind pounding fear. As we traversed Pere’s summit, I finally saw Ruapehu’s crater lake amongst the uneven summit plateau.
After a lunch, we wandered along Ruapehu’s western ridge summiting a few more of the smaller of Ruapehu’s twelve peaks: Dome (which doesn’t actually count) and Glacier Knob (also doesn’t actually count). We left the mountain with the sun’s final embers trailing us down, nerves settled from our snow practiced gallivanting.
And then it was Sunday.
The benefit of the day before was we were quite familiar with the snow conditions and so had an idea of what to expect. Avalanche rating was at 1 Low (unheard of good luck) and so it was with curbed enthusiasm we retraced our footsteps back to the bottom of the south face of Girdlestone. With snow conditions perfect and spirits high, I struck out up front and relished the perfect amount my crampons sunk into the snow: just enough to feel secure but not too far as to use up precious energy. Our switchbacks rose us to the height of our previous attempt’s turnaround point two hours earlier than our previous attempt. We exchanged timid smiles, feeling signs pointing to summiting and yet not wanting to create a promise to our endorphins that we could not keep. After all, the ice wall rose ahead in the same place it had before.
We drew closer, examining the conditions and seeing that the weeks and weather had softened its unsociable ice facade to a more approachable snowy consistency. Helen led the way, the points of her crampons and the picks of her ice axes raising her like a mechanical spider on spindled metal spikes. She struck the snow again and again with her right foot to create a step to raise herself up. Weight on her newly placed foot, she repeated the refined method with her left: plugging us a ladder on which to ascend.
We reached a small saddle and SK, Helen and I paused. Looking up the path continued at much the same degree, but the consequences of the fall had suddenly increased to include ice coated rocks and a few bluffs. Jenna and Jordan made the decision to continue soloing up the mountain (not using rope). Helen looked unsure and SK, whose boots were a bit soft to be on the level of climb we were on in the first place, seemed wary. I looked at the clouds coming in, as they were forecast to do in the afternoon, and felt reluctant to slow our pace with a rope. But truly, I knew my impatience did not matter. What mattered was that one of my team (on this occasion it was a threesome between myself, SK, and Helen) wanted to use the rope. And so without ado: we got out the rope. I do not believe in debating these things. In my opinion: the single most important thing on an alpine trip is that everyone within your particular team (who you are roped to) is within their comfort zone to the extent that can be made possible. To me, the loss of confidence in one’s steps, in one’s abilities, in one’s placement on a ridge is more dangerous than anything else. Loss of confidence could mean stumbling on a perfectly flat plateau.
Two pitches later, we crested the last ridge and our eyes caught sight of Girdlestone’s perfect summit pyramid. It rose with pride and classical posture, a giant of elegance caught and summarised into one range of illustration. Awed in its beauty, my heart nearly broke with the desire to feel alive at the vertex of earth and sky. Clouds curled over Ruapehu’s summit plateau and I offered a: “Do you think we have time to make it before the cloud comes in?”
Helen responded: “Yes, if we hurry.” And then I let loose my internal exhilaration, for I finally knew the day would not end before I had reached the top of Girldestone.
We set up a t-slot anchor and I lead the route up and settled into a fifty meter rhythm: step, step, axe, axe, step, step, axe, axe. As I began to rise, I became conscious of unsettling sensation coming from the corner of my eye. I glanced and realized the foreign feeling was that of the ground giving to air as I made my way to the top of Girdlestone’s pyramid. The realization of being surrounded by emptiness: air that is unshaped by tree, nearby building, or hill; to be the thing most tangible for hundred of meters around is uniquely unnerving. The summit close, just two meters away: and I reached the end of the rope. Thoroughly tantalized at how close I was, a snowball’s throw, I set up an anchor and readied to belay SK and Helen up the final pitch.
As I sat belaying, joy spread through my fingers and a smile born of soul stretched across my face. I could not take my surroundings in enough and my eyes watered as I opened them still wider to print to memory the ground falling away so steeply to dramatic, romantic nothingness. The ridge of Tahurangi glared its hard beauty under the cloud’s shadow, daring the last of the sun’s light. SK and Helen joined Jordan, Jenna and I at the summit. We secured ourselves to the anchor and cautiously danced amongst ourselves on Girdlestone’s perilous peak and stood in awe of ourselves and the mountain; of lessons learned and objectives attained. And as much as I wanted to, we could not sit there forever for the clouds would no longer be stayed by Ruapehu’s crater ridge and made clear their goal to engulf Girdlestone.
SK and Helen went down first. I followed, very conscious of the fact that if I fell, I would fall the length of the rope, and the length of the rope again past our anchor set up (100 meters [328ft] in total). As it was my turn to climb down, the clouds triumphantly closed in. At the same inconvenient instant, I realized the rope had caught on a belligerent ridge of ice. I tried in vain to flip the rope over to the correct, safer side: but failed. Panic began to rise as I realized I would have to climb over the ice to the other side where the snow was fresher and less stable. Thoughts of having SK look on as I slipped, stumbled and careened down the mountain passed him reminded me to calm my overactive imagination. I looked at the caught rope: well, Jade, that’s just the way it is. Mind focused: I dug my ice axes firmly into the ridge and kicked my crampons into the ice: no steps to be mistaken for there was no ground to carry me a stumble. The descent to SK and Helen seemed to last forever, as the clouds rolled and the wind rose, haunting stories of fast changing weather and unexpected fatalities played at the edges of my mind. I reached SK and Helen, grateful and shaken. With perfectly timed coincidence, the clouds began to clear.
We switch backed our way down an easier slope, unconsciously spacing ourselves to process our own silent world of endorphins and mixed emotions. Taking up the back of our group, I watched as each one stopped several times to turn around and look at Girdlestone. I never asked them what it was that made them look back, what emotions rose untamed beneath their surface, forcing them to take one last glance. On my own look-backs, I can tell you it was for love. Love of the mountain and all its slopes had forced me to be and to become in order to join its presence at its peak. Cresting the final ridge that would finally take Girdlestone’s view beyond my sight my heart broke a little, and a piece left to rest with Girdlestone as a gift: in return of the gift it had given me.
We made the last chair down and joined together reunited in celebration with a well earned beer at the local bar in Ohakune. “What do you guys want to drink?” Jordan asked.
I pointed to one on tap: “We don’t have a choice, Speights Summits all around.”
Following the ridge to Peretetaitonga’s summit. Ahead of our group is the ice wall we shimmied along with our ice tools, probably the crux of the route (crux = rock speak for hardest part).
Me being bashful in my first summit photo. You can tell I am a bit freaked as I am not doing the standy-raised-arms-king-of-the-hill pose. Nah, just kneeling, with an awkward thumbs up…
Looking back at SK on the summit of Pere as the cloud rolled in.
Lunchtime! Crater lake to our left and Tahurangi (Ruapehu’s highest peak) somewhere in the clouds beyond. Girdlestone, if it were clear, would be somewhere to the left of this photo.
SK and I at the “summit.” of Dome peak. You can tell I have progressed in comfort quite significantly from the Pere photo… Goes to prove this is really more of a well located hillock than a peak per say.
On top of Dome “peak” you can find this guy: the Dome “shelter”. Maybe now that I’ve said it’s a hut, you can make out the A-frame of its roof. and see that the ice frozen wind is where the front door should be. God forbid you are ever in the level of serious conditions and need to find shelter in this – although maybe you’ll prevent hypothermia with the effort it would take to ice-chip your way in!
… and the side view of the Dome shelter. Or it could be a frozen Sonic the Hedgehog. Either or.
Walking along the ridge to Glacier Knob.
At the summit of Glacier Knob “peak.” Jordan on the left with Jenna, me and Helen to his right.
We practiced some steep rope work in preparation for Girdlestone the following day. Here Jordan sits belaying a seemingly sneaky Jenna up the shoulder of Te Heu Heu (another peak of Ruapehu’s twelve).
And so we start up Girdlestone. We moved so quickly, we forgot to take photos: this is Helen (front) and me (behind) on the ice wall at which we turned around two weeks prior. This is also what “front pointing” looks like. Photo credit: Stoked for Saturday.
At this point, Helen and SK (below) were ready to rope in. I (at the top of the rope) felt fairly comfortable at this stage (yeah, I don’t know why either – normally I’m the first to loose confidence) so I decided to lead the pitch (length of rope). Leading always has a bit more of an edge to it because if I fell just after this photo had been taken, I would have fallen the length of the rope back down to Helen and SK, and then that entire length again below them. Which, as you can see behind Helen and SK, could potentially have a few consequences! Photo credit: Stoked for Saturday.
The summit pyramid of Girldestone! Jenna and Jordan are just ahead on their way to set up an anchor to belay the last 60 meters to the summit. The little gremlin at the bottom of it is actually another student from our TTC course (we later found out he got serious frost bite during this trip!).
Me belaying SK and Helen up from the summit of Girdlestone as the clouds swirl around us. Photo credit: Stoked for Saturday.
Our very organized safety set up as we balanced on Girdlestone’s summit. Photo credit: Stoked for Saturday.
An adventurous snowboarder met us up here and we were able to snap a group photo of our Summit Team. From right Jenna (red coat), Me (dark purple coat), Helen (turquoise), SK (orange), and Jordan (blue in back).
On our way down: SK wraps up the rope as we put it away as the slope smoothed its way back to level ground.
Our trail leaving Girdlestone via the southwest face.
Spaced apart and lost in our own thoughts we head back to Turoa’s ski field: physically and mentally processing the day’s adventure.
My lovely sketch of our route up and down Girdlestone. The light blue to the right is our route up the south face while the darker blue is our return route down the south face.
travelingrealblonde 