A Crazy Day with Crazy Dave

December 7, 2018

Mt. Stuart - 1906 m

Phipps Peak - 1965 m

Mt Temple - 1913 m

***Disclaimer: This report was originally for the time I was studying abroad at the University of Canterbury in Christchurch, NZ. Each uni's tramping club publishes an annual TROG (trip log) and this was my submission. I apologis(z)e for the mostly obscure references, but I reckon a at least a few of you out there would appreciate reading this

As it was nearing my last week in the Land of the Long White Cloud after five great months of tramping and frothing about, I was keen to end my time with a bang. After being shut down a measly handful of kilometers into a 100 kilometer, four day mission out-and-back to Westies Hut by a tender hamstring the week before, I was desperately searching for a big mission and contacting everyone in my small list of contacts. CUTC? Nope. CTC? Nope. CMC? OUTC? NZAC? Nope, nope and N O P E . Hopeless and on the verge of resorting to city walking like the rest of all the tourists here, I stumbled upon a Meetup Group with an upcoming trip to Mt. Harper that weekend. I was stoked! I immediately created an account and sent a message to the admin, Dave.

Within a few hours, I had received a reply from the aforementioned Dave asking if I had any previous mountaineering experience as this would be a tough trip with a long approach up the Waimak, a bivy on Camp Spur, and finally a tough snow ascent to reach the summit knob. As a Coloradan, vastly superior to some silly kiwi, I scoffed at the question and proceeded to lecture him how Colorado’s 4000m peaks, called 14ers (remember the US uses a dozenal system as a measure) are obviously harder than tiny these 1000 metre peaks. 14ers are taller; it’s common sense that taller are more difficult. I then gave him my mountaineering resume of some of my toughest ascents like The Brutal Bierstadt, the Infamous Shermanpangma, and the airy summit of Mt. Bross. And with that, I was in. As the week progressed, I spent my time getting into top shape by taking my kayak surfing at Sumner Beach and by sticking to a strict diet of fish and chips, Milo cereal, and Wakachangi. However, a couple days before the trip, bad news came: The warm weather meant that the steep snowfield near the summit of Harper had not been freezing and had evidence of wet slides (thanks to the spotting scope of the legendary Graeme Kates!). Despite this, Dave had a back up plan: to do a ridge marathon from Mt. Stuart all the way to Blimit, paying a visit to Phipps and Temple along the way. All geared up, I turned in my flat key forever, and met Dave at the Upper Riccarton Countdown early Saturday morning subsequently making our way to Arthur’s Pass, picking up another climber named Vincent, and a South African with an odd Dutch Hanno. Never meeting Dave before this, I was quite surprised by his outward appearance. He wore a faded death metal shirt, the kind where the calligraphy looks like it was written by an illiterate two year-old, camouflage cargo pants, and he topped his bald head with a bucket hat. All along his arms were tattoos and there was a sword tattoo on his neck. Swedish Metal played in the background of typical mountaineering banter in the meantime. I guess I was wishing for a crazy trip, so climbing with Crazy Dave and the crew is what I got.

Pulling up to the Temple Basin goods lift, we quickly unloaded and immediately started bashing our way up the West Ridge of Phipps. As far as bush bashes go, this one wasn’t so bad and within an hour of hiking we were already at Point 1728, a kilometer away from the Phipps summit, ready to drop down the 600 metres into South Pegleg Creek. Now I have done my fair share of bush bashes, but what I had never done is a bash where the bushes you step on have nothing but air underneath them because of the steepness. After doing some Grade II bush downclimbing and completely soaking my pants from the wet bushes (which was probably good because it hid my terrified peeing in my pants), we finally bottomed out at the creek. There we stopped for a wee feed and a water refill before heading up the southwest ridge of Stuart. It was on this ridge that I learned why Crazy Dave is truly crazy.

Speeding up the incredibly steep bush, Dave would fly uphill before finding a perch and snapping a few photos of us struggling behind. He would also try to find the most difficult way up the mountain, surely pushing some sections up to grade III while the rest of us opted for the path of least resistance, which still eked its way to grade II most times. Crazy Dave was also a bit reckless. In a country known for rock quality akin to “Vertical Weetbix”, Dave never wore a helmet; just his bucket hat. He also didn’t test his holds very well, as while we were on an incredibly exposed section, he pulled off a mini-fridge sized boulder, and was able to leap off of it back onto the ridge, leaving him with a nasty bloody finger. The boulder on the other hand careened its way downhill; the smell of burnt rock in the air. Recklessness aside, Dave sure did love the mountains. He could point out every mountain in the surrounding Aicken Range, the Polars, and just about every feature on the Rolleston massif. He had learned mountaineering from some of the best too. A past member of the CMC, he got fed up with the organisation’s reluctance to let newcomers in and left to make this Meetup group so that anyone could join. He sure did have a point. In all of my attempts to join a CMC trip, they shut me down with excuses and non-answers, all with an air of elitism. I mean, did they even know that I had climbed Mt. Bross?

So while Crazy Dave hopped up the 700 metre ascent, we dragged along, taking care to test each hold on the airy ridge. And with that, we had made it to our first summit of the day: Mt. Stuart, coming in at 1906 metres with an excellent view of the Tasman Sea, the prominent Mt. Franklin, and the iconic Mt. Rolleston. After a quick feed, we downclimbed to a col and brought out our ice axes for the descent onto the ridge for Phipps. Even though the snowfield was south facing, the December heat had turned the snow into slush. A slip would send you sliding into back into Pegleg Creek hundreds of metres below. Thankfully, everyone made it safely and we were able to stash our axes and make the long ridge walk to Phipps. Besides having to sidle around point 1820, we made quick work of the ridge slog, finding ourselves with one of the most classic ridge traverses in Arthur’s Pass ahead of us: The Phipps-Temple traverse. While only at Grade II, this ridge has extreme exposure and some sketchy downclimbing that several climbers protect. But since we were with Crazy Dave, there were to be no ropes and no pro.

To make things spicier, clouds had started filling up the Deception Valley below, threatening to reach the ridge and spill over the other side. So getting a move on, we carefully descended off of Phipps to intimidating gendarmes and knife edges. Slowly, but steadily, we made our way through the challenges, taking the time to pull on every hold, test every rock, and double check move after move. Every step we got lower, the clouds in the valley raised up higher, until the point where the clouds completely obscured every feature to the east. However, they never started pouring over, which was very fortunate, because the hardest section was yet to come. To reach the saddle, we had to downclimb an extremely slabby staircase section with only a rail offering a solid anchor to the rock and next to no solid feet. But it wasn’t over yet. After traversing across the rail to the bottom step, we had to make their way over the edge to a flake in the rock that offered an easier traverse. As I creeped my way down, I looked down and saw I was hundreds of metres above the ground, with nothing but infinity in between. With the utmost care, I finally made it down, my stomach a bit uneasy from the crux of the entire day, but with that, we had finished the toughest part of the day. With the easy scrambling, we made our way up to Mt. Temple, descended down to Temple Col, and scrapped the plan for Blimit and opted to go down the ski field back to the goods lift where we had started. At the bottom, we shared high-fives and shouts of excitement as we tore off our soaked clothes for dry ones and munched on crisps and sandwiches. On our drive back to Christchurch, we listed to the same death metal and gazed at the Torlesse Range towering above the Cass Basin until we made it back to the Countdown where we had started. We said our goodbyes, talked about future trips when I come back, and to keep in touch.

And with that, Crazy Dave was gone. I, having returned my apartment key earlier that morning, was now homeless and would be for another eleven days, running, hiking, kayaking, and couch surfing to fill in the time. As I walked to the rec center for a shower, I was in no rush. The intense summer sun warmed my skin and the gentle breeze weaved through my tangled hair. Afterward, I called my mate Hamish asking if I could stay the night, him answering with a cheerful yes, and with that I drove over and began my homeless adventures.

The next day, I would find myself hiking up Avalanche Peak followed up by a terrific climb up Mt. Philistine, wrapping up my grand adventure at Arthur’s Pass. There, I would live in Bealey Hut for a couple nights as I explored the area before heading back to the city for one last bit of fun.