Cascade Saddle - Day Two

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Rise early trying not to wake the German couple who decided to sleep in the main room despite the fact that I had the bunk room to myself. Need to get out early in the hope of completing the punishing ascent before it gets too hot (it's another clear day and the sun is bright).

The challenge for the day:
1. Climb a Munro (nearly 4000ft ascent) with a 20kg pack on, reaching the Pylon (4 hours?)
2. Cross a wee glacial valley, fording a creek that may or may not mean wet feet, depending on how the day's melt is doing to reach the top of the Cascade Saddle and look down on 1000ft of sheer rock (1 hour?)
3. Hike down a massive glacial valley (the Dart valley), skirting the Dart glacier itself - not looking fwd to the exposure levels for this bit - to reach Dart hut on the other side of the mountain range (5 hours?)

So, the ascent begins before the sun has risen over the mountains to the east of the valley. Through bush for the first hour or so, a single creek to be crossed necessitating a wee scramble down some rocks and back up the other side - not too hard but a coupple of moments of pause. One thing I decided while having a chat to myself this morning was that I am not allowed to slip today. Every step must be certain.

Now, as some of you will know, I almost always get afflicted by an earworm-style song during an ascent. This time it's different - I impose one on myself. To the tune of Monty Python's "Every Sperm is Sacred":

Every step is sacred
Every step is great
If a step get wasted
I gets quite irate

Slightly annoying but I use it mantra-style to keep my mind focused on the task at hand. I cannot afford a slip, a fall, or a twist of an ankle - I must keep the dear old legs going all day today.

A couple of hours in, already drenched in sweat and I'm above the bushline into the bright sun. Reach for my shades only to realise they're not there. Ah. Think back. I had them before the creek. They probably came off when I was scrambling up or down to cross it. Hmm. That's at least a half hour back. Nope, not worth going back for them - I may not be able to find them anyway. Oh dear. Squinting it is for the rest of the day then.

Two more hours of ascent and some rather worrying scrambling. I catch up to a trio of teenagers who are looking hesitant. They decide to leave their packs here, go up and then reclaim them on the way down - the climb is a bit much for them with big packs on. Slightly envying them, I let them press on ahead.

As some others of you may know, I do have some rules about ascents. Never make a move you can't reverse, never go up anything you don't want to come down. This ascent is different. I know I don't need to reverse this - I'm going out the other side, not back down here. Despite this, the instinct is still there - I assess every pitch of rock as I approach it. Can I come back down this? Probably. Do I want to? No. I'm used to scrambling up rock like this with thin ledges for foot-holds and hand-holds but not with a heavy pack on. This makes quite a difference. Twice already I've felt the weight of the pack pull me backwards as I teetered on a steep piece of track. I fight the instinct and proceed up scrambles I do not wish to reverse, a slight tug at my stomach at the commitment that brings - it means whatever I find further up this ascent, I'm going up it.

Sweat pouring off every part of me as I continue the ascent, legs beginning to feel it, knees twinging slightly as I have to over-stretch a couple of times. I wrench my left shoulder on a particularly long reach and it sings at me for a few minutes before returning to silence. 4,763 steps, zero slips, 73 "it's a good thing that bit is there" holds, 17 blind "thank you" holds (usually called "thank god" holds - the ones where you think there might be a hold further up but you can't see it, you go for it, and it is there - I thank the mountain for these, not god) and only 4 sanity checks later I reach the summit ridge and breathe freely for the first time in about two hours.

Rest briefly on the summit ridge before heading down into the first wee glacial valley. Down to the left away from the saddle feels wrong and is a fair way off course but it's the only safe way to ford the river where it's shallow enough not to be dangerous. Stop for a moment to chat with "H" (that's all she divulges of her name to anyone) who is on day 32 of her "no roads allowed" walk which will take in the entire length of the south island. She's on her way down the ascent I just came up and is carrying a 26kg pack that extends about a foot above her head. I warn her as gently as I can of the steep descent she faces and she responds only with a slightly tired "yeah, I heard say, eh?" She has no choice. Two days of rest and a food drop await her at the hut below before she then heads over the much hairier prospect of Rabbit Pass.

I descend to the river and ford it with no problem other than wet feet - probably should've taken my boots off there - never mind. Another half hour march and I'm atop the Cascade Saddle looking down at massive, beautiful rock faces and the valley far, far below. I turn away eventually to face the most beautiful glacier I have ever seen - the Dart glacier. It is tiny compared to what it used to be but it's enormous. It stretches for about a mile from the head of the valley down to its muddy, rubbly face. It creaks and groans as it moves. To human ears, each slight movement sounds like a massive avalanche but the movement is not visible to the human eye other than through the dislodging of the odd stone or rock.

I move slowly (it's very hot now) along the side of the glacier, passing a number of "day-trippers" (day trip from Dart Hut, not from civilisation) heading the other way. I pass about 15 of these people before I reach the hut and am already dreading how over-crowded tonight is likely to be. My day is a demanding 11 hour trek by the time I bump into the warden (Owen) doing some track clearing near the hut. His eye widen slightly when I tell him I've covered the distance in a day. "That's a abit hard-core mate. Get to the hut, get that pack off and get some water in you mate" (yeah, he's an aussie). I'm no doubt looking somewhat fatigued by this stage and am still dripping with sweat. The walk down the valley is amazing but very hot and completely exposed - not a drop of shade since I rose above the bushline eight or nine hours ago.

I did walk to the face of the Dart Glacier. It's a mud-covered, rubble strewn face but mighty impressive. Rocks roll down from the face constantly - the invisible movement dislodging anything from grains of sand up to car-sized boulders. I tentatively walk up to the dripping face and place my outstretched palm on the muddy ice. I picture the thousands of tonnes of ice above me pushing down on me. It's an amazing experience but a very brief one - the glacier brings me back to earth by flinging a couple of stones past either side of my head, warning me away. I step back, chastened but so happy.

As I turn to walk back out of the valley, I'm saddened instantly but how far this glacier has receded. About two hundred feet above me stands the lip of the carved valley where the glacier's surface was only a few dozen years ago. The vast amount of ice that has been lost here is hard to imagine. The glacier I see today is enormous, humbling, majestic. But it's so, so tiny compared to the vast expanse of ice that was here not so long ago.

The hut is ridiculously busy. There are 37 people by the time everyone arrives. Problem here is that parties come in on the Rees valley and then stop in Dart hut for two nights in order to do a day walk out to the glacier. That means this hut is always over-full but Owen says he's never seen it this bad. People pull together fairly well and those who have managed to claim a bunk pass on their sleep-mats to those who don't have either. I'm one of those and Ruth (Kiwi I got chatting to when I arrived) is saving her mat for me (she claimed a bunk early and her aging bones require it). However, when the warden comes in and does the rounds (record everyone's movements, take hut tickets etc) he conspiratorially says "I'll sort something out for you mate". He's not allowed to let people into his staff quarters (health and safety - DOC must guarantee the safety of their staff) and he's not allowed to hand out any of the staff mattresses within (health and safety - can't guarantee the cleanliness of the mattress after it's been with the public). Once everyone has managed to spread themselves all over the place (all three bunk rooms full to the brim, half a dozen out on the deck, half a dozen in the kitchen area), he re-appears with a mattress for me ("just one I found hanging around mate" 😉.

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Photos

Long way up
That's the summit ridge up there - 4000 feet above me.

Long way down
That's the floor of the valley I started from four hours ago down there. And that's Mt Aspiring standing proud in the distance.

The first wee glacial valley
Wet feet ahead.

From the saddle
That's a lot of rock down there

The Dart Glacier
Well, the top part anyway - it continues beneath that rubble

Comments

[Rob]

Not much snow then?
4,763 steps? Goodness gracious how audacious! You actually counted them. I think I would have become bored after a little while. 'H'elen 'H'ortensia see a bit of mystery gets the old synaptic links ticking. You sound somewhat anti-socially odured by this point.