Gertrude Saddle

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Typing from Te Anau again. Went to see a screening of Ata Whenua (Shadowland - local film made celebrating the awesomeness of Fiordland) again last night in the wee specially built cinema here. Still a wonderful experience - would happily go again but I probably won't this time around.

Anyway, this morning I decided to drive to Milford Sound for breakfast and then head back for a scoot up to Gertrude Saddle (just this side of the bizzareness that is Homer Pass). Milford Sound is just as commercial and coach-ridden as always and just as sandfly-ridden as always but still one of the most beautiful sights if you can ignore the people.
The worst version of bacon & eggs I have ever experienced (0.1 on the SEBI) but at least the coffee was good. I escaped to drive back up to Homer Pass - a breathtaking set of hairpins and a stunning view back down the valley as the clouds lifted gently, stroking the tearing faces of the massive walls of granite all around. It still amazes me that anyone looked at this place and thought they could build a road through it.

Anyway, back through the tunnel and then I'm at the wee car park at the foot of Gertrude Valley and next to Homer hut. This is another NZAC (NZ Alpine Club) hut, so my vague questions about the condition of the saddle brought only "dunno, only just got here mate" answers from the assembling kiwis who were unloading what looked like a year's worth of supplies from their four-wheel-drives (it appeared to be beer and cheetos mostly but I'm sure there must have been some real food in there somewhere) .

I left them to it and headed up the valley. Brushing through wet tussock and bush for the first hour brought me face-to-face with a wall of rock and snow dead ahead and a tumbling snow-melt watefall to my left. A hint of what might be round the corner in the distance above the melt-fall.

The mountain's faces up here have a sobering scale and stature about them. Their dark rockfaces shoot straight up out of the valleys, unashamedely unscalable. Ice and snow clings to them where it can but even that looks as if it could be shrugged off with ease whenever the mountains chose to.

I scrambled up the side of the waterfall and exposed a view of what appeared to be a saddle up above, moodily skulking under the misty clouds. A couple of wee snowfields lay beneath it and they looked inviting but first I had to tackle one of my least-favourite tramping tasks. I had to cross this gushing river of snowmelt without getting too soaked. There was a wee cairn on the other side that somebody had kindly placed to show where they had crossed but I didn't fancy the look of their route - I think they must've crossed when the waters were lower.

I eventually found what looked like a pair of sturdy stepping stones leading to a jump of acceptable distance to the other shore. I sized it up and decided all was well going this way. Wasn't sure about coming back as the jump was a step down this way, which makes it easier but much harder to jump and rise on the return. I decided I'd go for it and might just have to get wet on the way back, especially as the sun was doing its best to break through and that would cause more snowmelt, higher waters on the way down, so a different plan might be in order anyway. Skip - done. Not too bad - I reckon I might make that back the way too.

Onwards and scrambling some more, the calves warming up nicely until I reach the brow of a crumbly ridge where a young lady is sitting patiently waiting for her partner to return -he's the one who's beaten me to it and is currently to be seen on what appears to be the saddle up ahead.

I bid her farewell and scuttle across the first snowfield, noting the crevassed areas and avoiding them in preference to a longer route round but on firmer snow. Perhaps I should mention at this point that my quizzing of the guys in the hut was the result of a comment from the DOC lady in Te Anau yesterday when I asked her about Gertrude saddle: "The approach is fine but the ice at the top is not safe and you don't want to be there when that goes". So this was popping into my mind every time I saw a tell-tale wormhole in the snow or an obvious section of snow that had serious amounts of water running under it (this was all snow, not ice - she was wrong on that front).

Anyway, across the first ice field and here the steep slabs of rock, rubbed flat by the glacial ice of many a season past. These would be impossible without serious kit (crampons, ice screws, ropes etc) were it not that everything is so dry here at the moment. There were small streamlets of water in a few places but otherwise, the grip was good. There are steel cables placed here to help you get up there but I decided I would use them only as a safety device, not as a climbing aid. I've never climbed anything assisted and I don't feel like starting.

Up the first set of slabs and a glorious, ice-ridden lake appeared - black lake. Beautiful calm, icebergs sitting still in the dark waters, the mountain peak above reflected, if a bit too wobbly to be real. I paused for far too many photos and then walked up the next set of slabs - steeper and longer but quite good fun. Atop them, two more snowfields. Same process with the addition of having to kick some snow-steps to scale the last hundred feet or so.
The saddle was magical. On a clear day, one gets a partial view down Milford Sound from here. However, this saddle is part of a long range of mountains that act as a weather stop. The weather rolls in and tends to stop for a while trying to work out how to get over them. It's usually wet on the milford side, could be anything on the homer side. And, today again, what met me as I came up onto the saddle was a wall of cloud. It stood only feet from me and there was no way of telling how far back it might extend. Turning back to the lake below me, the sun was out and the weather was clear. Turn back to face Milford and it's a wall of white cloud. A wonderful experience and well worth ignoring the DOC lady for.

And then there's the descent. Back down to the lake without too much problem though I must learn to put my gaiters on BEFORE the third time I fill the top of my boots with snow crystals. Stopped for too many photos again (and allowed myself a sandwich and an apple) - the reflections kept clearing and tempting me to stay. Eventually convinced myself I probably should go down, tempting as it was to stay. Across the next snowfield and back in the rumble-strips of the mountainside. Pass a trio of worried looking people; "do I need an ice axe?" "can I drink this water?" "is this the hardest bit?". Tell them enough to make them realise they have to focus, not enough to scare them back down the mountain.

And so to the river crossing. I spend a bit of time looking to see if there is a different route down then decide it's time to cross. I decide on the reverse of what I did on the way up. The waters haven't risen much but that leap across is indeed a good foot up. This makes any jump harder. I hasten to add the only risk here really is that one gets very wet with very cold water but there can be worse side-effects to slipping - pulling muscles, breaking bones, etc. Doesn't bear thinking about when you're planning a jump from one wet rock onto another wet rock but one's brain chooses not to allow one to ignore it.

I jumped. My left foot leading the way so my stronger right can provide the velocity. Left foot lands where it was supposed but the velocity hasn't quite carried the rest of the bodyt far enough yet. The right leg is on the way but it hasn't made it yet and the left foot does not have good enough purchase to hold me up when all of me is below lower than it should be. Would've been no problem at all if my left leg wasn't also trying to pull my body up. A lean-stumble to the right and what seems like an eternity later my right foot arrives on the same side of the river as the rest of me and I clumsily scramble myself onto the rocks on the dry side of the river. Dry as a bone but now there's pain. The right leg's ok, the left leg's ok, no ankles busted. The left leg however has pulled way too hard and there is a warning bell chiming deep inside my left groin. It'll be ok. Walk it off. I start walking, shaking slightly.

I stop, have a bite to eat. Stand up and feel the unhappy twinge. Stretch, stretch, stretch - we have weeks of walking ahead of us - beginning again tomorrow - cannot afford an injury. I scramble down the rest of the route down - stunning sights all around me as the sun begins to toy with the summits all around. Walking is ok, the odd leap down brings another twinge. Reach the car, dump the pack. Stretch against the side of the car as far over as I dare and an audible pop does something to my left hip that seems to put something in a more comfortable position. Still don't know what that something is but it's not complaining now, so I'll take that as good news. I can only hope it still feels ok in the morning.

Tomorrow morning I drive back up the Milford road but detour onto the Hollyford Road. Planning a 3hr scale up to the mountain lake of Marian, then on to the end of the Road and begin the first day of the Hollyford trail. Probably pause for the night at Hidden Falls hut (3hrs in). Next day out to Alabaster hut (another 4 hrs) and perhaps scoot along the edge of Lake Alabaster as far as my legs will carry me and/or treefalls will allow. Then back to the car and back to Te Anau the next day.

Perhaps an overnight in the Takitimu mountains on Friday night before heading back to Queenstown on Saturday. And then the adventure that is the Cascade Saddle begins. Strangely, everything I'm doing now is really just training for the Cascade so I'm aware I'm putting a bit too much pressure on that one. I only wish the training for anything else I do was this amazingly inspiring.

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Photos

Milford Sound
Milford Sound looking glorious even without Mitre Peak visible

Tasty Car
Kea chewing on my Jucy car...

Gertrude Valley
The start

Black Lake
And misty peak

Gertrude Saddle
And its wall of cloud

Comments

[Rob]

Phew
Where did the last week go... never mind catching up again. Bit worried about the 'sporting injury' me old fruit, but by the time I catch up, all will be revealed. Obviously needed much more training at the 'Old House at Home' I feel. Not enough ale down you to relax the joints:-)