Trip Reports

This is a proper flashback, one of those trips that I probably won’t ever forget.

In August 2023, our little crew of three had come off a strong start to the winter. We’d climbed plenty of steep ice and mixed routes in Wye Creek and on the West Face of Remarkables, and we felt strong; ready for something bigger.

The forecast was looking excellent. A large and slow moving high-pressure system was moving over the country, with calm weather and no obvious bad days on the horizon. We flew into Tasman Saddle Hut with eight days of food, alpine climbing gear and skis.

As it turned out, we would end up spending five days up there without a single bad-weather day. It was myself, Justin: a strong and reliable climbing partner of mine for many years, and his good friend Pat. Pat was less experienced than Justin and I, but he was capable, motivated and keen for the adventure.

We flew in during the afternoon, dropped our gear and went out for a recce. We skied up towards the south base of Mt Walter to check out the ice conditions and were happy with what we found. The plan for the following morning was obvious: Ice Creme, the classic ice line on the face.

Ice Creme is around 400 metres long and graded Mt Cook Grade 4+. The ice is aerated and neve-like (hence the name), making for excellent first time placements for the climbing but providing less-than-ideal confidence in your ice-screws. The next morning we climbed it in good style, Justin and I swinging leads all the way up.

We were climbing efficiently and having a great time. After topping out on Ice Creme, we made our way back down to the col between Mt’s Elie and Walter. By the time we reached the saddle, we’d climbed with enough enthusiasm and efficiency that we still had plenty of energy left.

So we made a spontaneous decision. We ditched the heavier gear and made a dash for the summit of Elie de Beaumont. We soloed the remaining terrain to the summit and were rewarded with one of the most special summit experiences I’ve had.

There was no wind. The light was incredible, the clouds were sitting beautifully across the landscape, stretching far out into the Tasman Sea in a layer of white, luminous fluff. After the effort of the day, and the ease in which everything happened, it felt like we were completely at home up high. Eventually, we tore ourselves away from that special palace and made quick time back to our bags and skis. The following day, Justin and I wanted to go skiing, so we headed towards Mt Green’s well-known east face.

After assessing the snowpack deciding the conditions were stable enough, we boot-packed up a steep snow slope. This leads to a fantastic snowy arete, like a catwalk in the sky, it leads you up on to the basin under Mt Green’s east face. We then re-assessed snowpack conditions, and decided it was good enough for us. After a short but steep bootpack up to the summit, we skied the east face before continuing down under the south face. Around 1,000 metres of boot-deep powder from the top of Mt Green to the Tasman Glacier. This felt like a significant ski for us.For me, it had even greater significance. It was the final ski I needed for my ski guiding logbook.

After a huge day of climbing, summiting and skiing, getting back to the hut and cracking a beer was a pretty satisfying feeling. 2 awesome days out of 2!

Upon planning for the next day’s activities, I suggested to Justin that we go and try a smear of ice on the south face of Mt Green. It was as far as I knew, unclimbed.  I’d never seen it in this condition, and I’d never seen it mentioned in any guidebook or trip report.

But there it was: what looked to be a roughly 40-metre smear of ice forming on a steep slab. It linked the lower face and rock band to the upper slopes, allowing one continuous line from top to bottom, in an area where no other route was known. I showed Justin some photos and suggested we go and have a look. Justin didn’t take much convincing. 

Pat was feeling more rested and wanted to come along, either to climb it himself or support us on the journey. The next morning we woke before dawn, and made our way back towards the saddle below Mt Green’s east face.

Once we reached the saddle, Pat, after having looked at the climb, decided he would take photos.We ditched our skis and descended onto the glacial ramp that provides access to the south face.

We roped up. I took the rack, and led the first pitch, around 30 metres, with a couple of steep moves immediately off the ground before easier gully climbing above. I brought Justin up, and we looked up at what we expected to be the crux. The ice was forming over a steep slab that reared back dramatically. The underlying rock was probably just off vertical, but the way the ice had formed made it feel almost overhanging.

The ice was fascinating. Large blobs provided the best tool placements and the occasional opportunity for an ice screw, but between those features the ice was thin. That meant some sections had to be run out, and the climbing demanded a delicate touch.

Justin took the lead and climbed it in excellent style. Following him was an absolute joy. It was technical and pumpy, and you definitely couldn’t afford to overswing your tools or climb aggressively.

When I reached the belay, we gave each other a big high five. We knew the route was going to go. From there, I took the lead and we simul-climbed around 100 metres of WI3 before branching right through some rocky terrain.

Justin chose to lead directly up a rock step, around M4 to M4+, before handing the lead back to me. I continued towards the base of the summit headwall and upper snow slopes. The climbing became a little trickier again, only around M3 but with powdery snow and relatively poor protection. Justin then led a short WI3+ step before we transitioned onto easier ground and post-holed the final 100 metres of snow slope to the summit. Mt Green summit in two days and from two different ways!

The crux was definitely the money pitch, but the rest of the route was engaging without being relentlessly difficult. That combination made it particularly appealing, interesting climbing, a standout technical pitch but a relatively low commitment overall. We thought it was a really good route.

Afterwards, I checked through the available information and spoke with members of the climbing community. As far as we could tell, there was no record of the line having been climbed, and nobody has disputed it being a new route. So, we believe we’d found a new line.

We called it Chocolate Cake, Mount Cook Grade 5. We felt it was a fitting name to the other route we had climbed and I had also crammed a chocolate cake into my food box at the last minute, and it became a bit of a joke the whole trip.  The descent was straightforward via the east face of Mt Green, followed by a ski back to the hut. We were home after around ten hours.

For Justin and me, though, the route represented something much bigger than simply another day out. Putting up a new route in Aoraki National Park had been something we’d both wanted to do for a long time. To do it in winter, on an alpine peak, was a genuine bucket-list objective.

It felt like a culmination of a lot of what I’d been working towards as an alpinist.

We’d spent the previous seasons building fitness, skills and experience, and suddenly we were standing underneath a line we’d never seen formed before, climbing it in good conditions and putting our own route into the mountains.

There was something so complete about the whole trip. The perfect weather, classic ice climbing, a summit in beautiful evening light, deep powder skiing, good people in the huts, and finally a new route.

A pretty good way to spend five days in the high places I love.

Mt Ward is a striking peak. As you enter the Hopkins Valley near Ram Hill, it stands out as a square-edged summit ridge, the prominent feature, center of frame. Its steep southern aspects stand dark against the sky, the glint of a remnant glacier hanging from its side. It looks distant, but it also looks proud, like a small reflection of its much larger northern neighbour.

I’d been eyeing Mt Ward for a couple of seasons and knew I’d eventually give it a go. The real appeal was a west-to-east traverse, climbing the Northwest Chimney, which supposedly offered good-quality rock and moderate climbing before following the beautiful summit ridge.I knew the eastern side would be considerably chossier, but suspected it wouldn’t be too difficult to descend on-sight. Eventually, everything lined up.

I’d been spending some time learning to ride a motorbike well enough to travel up river valleys, and Mt Ward felt like a pretty good culmination of that process. I’m certainly no motocross rider, but by this point I could hold my own through relatively deep New Zealand rivers on my 250cc farm bike.

Grace and I took one bike, while George and Brooke took the other.

We made quick time up to Elcho Hut, taking around two hours to ride a journey that would roughly be a full day’s travel on foot. The river crossings were the trickiest part. You don’t want to get a motorbike stuck in too strong or deep of a current, dropping the bike can quickly turn an efficient approach into an engine-recovery exercise.

From Elcho Hut, we continued on foot up North Elcho Stream. After around six hours of boulder hopping, stream crossings and general route finding faffery, we made camp about 600m below Elcho Pass.

The following morning, we rose early and started towards the traverse. We made reasonable time up to the saddle, although it was hard work on steep scree and tussock. From there, open basins led us around towards the western aspects of Mt Ward and Mt Dundas.

The terrain became more technical as we scrambled upwards and then onto an unnamed remnant glacier on the western slopes of Mt Ward. It is essentially a patch of very firm, old ice. The glacier travel was a little awkward, but there were no particularly deep or daunting crevasses and the obvious obstacles were easy enough to navigate around. By the time we reached the base of the northwest chimney, we’d already been moving for around five hours.

The technical climbing was about to begin.

There was around 150 metres of technical climbing in the chimney. We believed we were following the line of least resistance, although I would assume there are several possible variations, depending on your skill, and equipment.

The climbing itself wasn’t particularly sustained, but it was often runout and good stances for anchors weren’t easy to find. There was one standout Grade 16–17 move, essentially a one-move wonder, which probably felt a little harder than it otherwise would have in mountain boots with a heavy pack. Fortunately, I found one good piece of protection for it.

After the chimney, another short section of scrambling brought us to the final pitch to the summit ridge. This was the standout pitch of the route. A beautiful hand crack climbed up and around a small rooflet, with excellent rock and great protection. It was exactly the sort of pitch you hope to find high on a mountain. Once we topped out, we packed the rope away and started along the summit ridge.

The guidebooks describe parts of the ridge as being wide enough to park a bus on. Depending on what sort of bus you’re talking about, I reckon that’s probably true. For the most part, though, it felt more like walking along a comfortable footpath, albeit one suspended high above the surrounding valleys. It genuinely felt like walking on top of the world.

What followed was one of the most incredible views of the Main Divide I’ve witnessed.

A bank of West Coast jungle mist was spilling over the divide, while above us the sun shone brightly in a completely windless sky. Standing on the broad summit ridge, it felt as though we’d climbed onto the tower of some enormous natural wall.We took our time wandering along the ridge, spending around 45 minutes to an hour enjoying it. Eventually, though, the ridge became more technical again.

There were some tricky sections of downclimbing and rappelling through an area where it appeared that part of the ridge had fallen away. The rock quality varied considerably, with the northern side tending towards loose choss while the southern side generally offered better rock. Eventually we reached the true summit. From there, it became obvious that the east-ridge descent was going to be considerably looser than the climbing we’d done on the western side.

The group was starting to feel the length of the day, but we rallied and decided to make the most of the remaining daylight. The plan was to tackle as much of the technical descent as possible while we still had light, then find somewhere suitable to sit out the night.

On the final tricky section, there was a roughly 10-metre traverse over a gaping void. The handholds were big and positive, but the feet were little more than scrabbling around on gravel. One of the handholds blew out. I fell away from the face until my protection caught me. I was fine, but it was definitely a scary moment.

Thankfully, we’d soon made it through the technical climbing and were left with fairly easy but fairly exposed downclimbing through hanging benches of scree.

Eventually the daylight disappeared and the head torches came out. About an hour later, we found what looked like our best option for the night. It wasn’t exactly a bivy I’d mark on the map, but it would do.

We were able to sit with our backs against a sloping wall, and our legs hanging out over the edge. Each pair built their own anchor, and we clipped ourselves, our gear and everything else in for the night. Fortunately, it was a relatively mild, windless evening, so we weren’t too cold.We managed to scrape together a few hours of sleep.

Sleeping high on a mountain has certain benefits. The sunset and sunrise were spectacular, not necessarily because of any single view, but because of the colours, the atmosphere and the unexpected awesomeness of our predicament. There was something pretty special about waking up perched on the side of Mt Ward, being exactly where we were and knowing what we’d just climbed. The following morning, we continued down towards tussock country.

We crossed the remains of the Foster Glacier, which was straightforward enough, and from there the terrain became mostly walking and scrambling.

George and Brooke had another plan.George had carried his paraglider all the way across the mountain, and with conditions looking good, they pulled it out. Happy Birthday Brooke! They launched right in front of us, taking some of our heavier gear with them, and were down in the valley barely ten minutes later.

Grace and I continued our descent on foot. A couple of hours later, George met us on the motorbikes and took us back to Elcho Hut, where we’d left some food for dinner. The following morning, we rode the bikes back down the valley to the car.

Mt Ward was a fantastic trip, easily one of the highest-quality mountain adventures I’ve done in the last few years. I think what made it so good was the breadth of the experience.

The motorbike approach, having Elcho Hut as a base, the remote walk up the North Elcho and finally climbing a summit ridge I’d been staring at for several seasons all added something to the trip.

The climbing itself was engaging and fun, the summit ridge was spectacular, and the descent provided just enough uncertainty and adventure to keep things interesting.

Throw in an unplanned bivouac high on the mountain, a spectacular sunrise, and two friends flying a paraglider off the descent, and it becomes a pretty hard trip to beat.

Mt Ward is a stunning mountain with a stunning climb, and in my opinion it deserves to be considered a classic.

Twin Stream has always been on my list of places to go and explore. I knew that, in terms of New Zealand greywacke, it was considered some of the best around, with a number of classic climbs in the guidebook and plenty of lines that looked worth trying.

Eventually, everything lined up, a weather window, a partner and some time off work.

Jess and I flew in one morning and headed straight towards the Southerly Front area. I particularly wanted to try Pulp Friction and see how it felt before committing to anything else on the slab.

We climbed Moon Struck on Half Moon Slab first, a really nice Grade 17. The second pitch is particularly memorable,  rather runout, but with secure climbing on incredible rock.

From there, we traversed across to Pulp Friction.

Pulp Friction is a very heady route. Sustained Grade 20 slab climbing with bolts sparingly placed. An outrageous lead by Murray Judge, who bolted this on lead. 

The moves are insecure and there are few good rests for your calves. It’s the sort of climbing where you have to commit to the movement rather than constantly looking for somewhere to shake out. It felt harder than the grade suggested, largely because of how sustained it was and how few opportunities there were to properly gather yourself.

The climbing is technical, committing and slightly improbable when you look at the slab from below. It definitely lived up to its reputation and was a great introduction to Twin Stream.

Afterwards, we headed back down to camp for lunch before spending the rest of the afternoon looking for another route.

We ended up climbing a line between Peanut Slab and Wily Spaniard. I couldn’t find any record of the line having been climbed, so for a brief moment we wondered whether we’d stumbled onto a new route.

I wouldn’t make any claim to that, the Twin Stream cliffs have seen plenty of development and it’s entirely possible someone has climbed sections of the line without ever documenting it.

Either way, it was a really good route. The climbing followed a series of flakes before finishing with a beautiful, roughly 20-metre, left-facing corner with easy protection. The route was around three pitches. On the way down, we also managed to score a pretty impressive piece of booty: a complete bail anchor consisting of a brand-new sling and three lockers.. Probably a little over-engineered.. But we’ll take it.

Back at camp, we settled into an easy evening in the basin. It is a great place to camp, as its easy to find somewhere to pitch the tent, straightforward access to water and, importantly, the sun hits early in the morning.

We watched the sun disappear, and the last glows slide off the rocky buttresses. We enjoyed a pretty perfect end to the first day in Twin Stream.

The following morning, we planned to head down Shindig Gully, climb one of the routes down there and then walk out. We descended the gully and climbed Hungry Heart, a really cool Grade 16.

It’s a solid 2 stars, with some unfortunate sections of loose rock marring what is otherwise an enjoyable route. It has a fairly committing crux start before settling into some really enjoyable and well protected climbing higher up.

The descent provided one small dose of faff when our fixed knot got stuck while we were trying to rappel. We ended up having to climb a couple of awkward pitches back up to unfix the rope before we could continue. Once that was sorted, the rest of the descent was straightforward.

We packed up our gear and started the walk out. The track through the bush on the true right is the way to go. It’s overgrown in places, but if you find yourself following what looks like a flagged trapper’s line, you’re probably heading in the right direction. The important thing is not to descend back towards the river.

Following the beta in the guidebook makes the exit relatively straightforward, with only short sections of genuine bush bashing. All up, it took us around three and a half hours to walk out.

Twin Stream was every bit as good as I’d expected. The quality of the rock, the variety of climbing and the remote setting made it a really enjoyable couple of days. There’s a huge amount of climbing packed into those walls, and plenty more lines I’d like to try.

I came away with a massive amount of admiration for the people who developed these crags. Finding, cleaning and establishing routes in a place like Twin Stream is a serious undertaking, and we’re lucky to have that work to benefit from.

As usual, the problem isn’t finding things to climb, it’s finding enough time to climb them.

Mt Dixon had never really been a peak that sat particularly high on my hit list. I’d heard people talk about it, but I hadn’t given it much thought and certainly wasn’t aspiring to climb it anytime soon.

That changed in the first months of 2026 when I climbed it as a client on a guide’s course for my friend Brendan, who was working towards his final guiding certification. I got the “top-rope treatment” on Mt Dixon.

Brendan was leading the route as part of his assessment, Dean was the assessor, and I was the faux client. It was an interesting experience being on the other side of the guiding equation, following rather than leading and being able to watch the process from a client’s perspective. We left the hut around sunrise as a party of three.

The first challenge was the lower rock step, where the winter’s snow had retreated and left the bergschrund only just viable. We’d even dragged a ladder across with us as a hedge against the schrund proving impassable. Apparently, previous parties had needed it to get through this section. In the end, we didn’t.

We hurried across a small snow bridge and Brendan led up the rock step, around M3+ to M4, before gaining the steep snow slopes above. The conditions on the snow were good, and we made steady progress towards the ridge.

The climbing itself wasn’t particularly demanding. All three of us were experienced and competent mountaineers, and the steep snow, around 50 degrees, was simply good travel.

There were a few pitches  of daggering as we climbed higher, but the ridge was mainly straightforward cramponing. After an hour or two of this, we reached the final summit slopes.

The terrain steepened into once last exposed traverse and then onto a narrow, knife-edge snow arete. Technically, the climbing wasn’t particularly difficult, but it was a noticeable change in exposure from everything that had come before. Easy moves suddenly felt significantly more consequential, with steep ground falling away on either side.

It was a fitting culmination to the climb. From the arete, we made our way onto the summit, where the reward was an incredible panorama across the Southern Alps.The Grand Plateau stretched out below, with Aoraki and Mt Tasman dominating the skyline.They looked magnificent from that perspective and definitely planted a few ideas.

There were also incredible views down into the Tasman Glacier and across towards the east face of Haidinger.

It took us around eight hours to reach the summit, followed by another four or five hours to descend. The descent involved a number of rappels and a little route-finding between the various stations, but we eventually made our way back down without too much fuss. Overall, Mt Dixon turned out to be a fantastic climb.

It might not get talked about as much as some of its much larger neighbours, with Aoraki and Mt Tasman naturally attracting much of the attention, but Dixon deserves plenty of consideration in its own right. A classic warm-up to the larger 3000’ers. 

It’s got glacier travel, steep snow, a little sprinkling of technical rock, lots of exposure and a spectacular summit. For me, it was a good reminder that some of the best objectives aren’t necessarily the ones sitting highest on your list. Also, well done to Brendan who achieved his IFMGA badge, in big part, as a result of his performance on this day. 

Mt Annan had been on my radar for a while. Viewed from the Tasman Glacier, it has an imposing presence, a massive sweep of rock, with ramparts running from top to bottom. I’d always wanted to see what the view looked like from up there.

The trip started as a mission to Kelman Hut, although we weren’t sure how much the weather would allow us to do. We were also dealing with a high freezing level, so we expected the snow conditions to be soft and punchy. That meant travel on the glacier was likely to be slow and probably pretty limited.

We flew in late one afternoon, but the pilot wasn’t able to get us all the way to Kelman Hut. Low cloud was hanging around, there was very little wind to move it. The pilot, with some skill, managed to get us to within about 300 metres vertical of the hut. From there, we had to drag our gear uphill to the hut. It was hot, sweaty work in the still conditions.

Once we’d dropped our bags, we headed out for a quick recce towards Red Buttress on Mt Abel to get a feel for the conditions. The snow was certainly punchy, but the bergschrund was passable. We climbed a couple of pitches up to warm into the trip, before bailing off.

The following morning we woke to light drizzle, with clouds moving slowly across the head of the Tasman. Rather than committing to an early start, we postponed things and spent some time outside working on anchors and crevasse rescue skills. It was particularly useful for Jess, as it was her first time travelling on a glacier.

As the weather started to improve, we headed back out towards ‘Red Buttress’. The base of which is a mere 200m from the hut door. 

The climb involved around five pitches of mainly scrambling, with the occasional trickier move. It was a pleasant route and had some great views from the top. To think only a stone’s throw from the shelter of the hut. 

We rappelled back down, returned to the hut for lunch and a quick refresh, then headed straight back out.

Mt Kain was the next objective, only around 400 metres from the hut. We climbed a steep snow slope to the bergschrund, made a tricky little step across it and established ourselves at the base of ‘Zero Politics’.

The route gave us two or three really good pitches of rock climbing around Grade 16, on lovely featured orange greywacke. The corner pitch at the top is awesome! The descent is the same way you come. 

It was another rewarding little route and a fun way to finish the day. We were back at the hut before dark, and over dinner started thinking seriously about the following day.

Mt Annan was the objective.

We had planned to make a concerted push for the summit, but there was still plenty of uncertainty around the route. I was confident we’d get close, but I wasn’t assured that we’d reach the top easily.

The high freezing level remained the main concern. We didn’t want to spend the day travelling through snow-covered terrain without a refreeze, so the plan was to stay on rock wherever possible. 

We left early, making our way down the glacier by moonlight.

As dawn arrived, we started plodding up the large snow slope. After about 400m vertical we arrived at the base of the ridge. The snow was exactly as expected, soft and punchy. Jess put in a great shift putting steps up the slope. In most places we were punching through to our calves or knees.

By around 9am we reached the base of the ridge and took a short break.

From there, the character of the day changed.

The climbing itself wasn’t particularly difficult, but it was exposed and the rock was consistently poor. That meant one could never quite relax as much. Every movement needed to be deliberate and intentional, every foot and hand hold well inspected. The difficulty wasn’t necessarily in the individual climbing moves, it was in maintaining a high level of focus for hours at a time on terrain where you didn’t want anything to break.

It was the sort of climbing where you only really relaxed once you stopped.

I did a lot of short pitching, combined with sections of simul-climbing. Route finding was mostly straightforward once I’d worked out the natural lay of the land. 

The rock quality, however, made for slow progress. We kept moving steadily upwards, and around five hours after leaving the base of the ridge we found ourselves roughly 20 vertical metres below the summit. The summit itself sits perched on top of a steep, vertical block. Cracked and fractured. A few different options exist.

By this point, though, I was conscious that I had been doing all the leading and route finding. I needed to save some mental energy for the descent. The final section just seemed  like it would take more effort than it was worth.

We’d already had a great day, we’d climbed high enough to get an excellent perspective of the surrounding mountains, and the weather was improving. Rather than pushing on simply to stand on the highest point, we decided to stop and enjoy where we were. And the view was exactly what I’d hoped for.

After taking some time to enjoy the vista, we started the descent. It took around three hours, including two rappels, and required just as much concentration as the ascent. The loose rock meant we had to remain deliberate all the way down. Knowing the way certainly alleviated a lot of decision making. I do like climbing ridges for this reason. Especially before I try an ascent of the mountain’s western face. Knowing the descent is a massive advantage. 

By the time we returned to the glacier, we’d had a long and enjoyable day. We were both thrilled with what we saw and climbed. The sunset and then the bright rise of a full moon over the glacier, cast displays of light and shadow that made the whole experience feel extra special. It was a wondrous atmosphere as we made our way back up the glacier to the hut.

The trip had started with a poor weather outlook, a high freezing level and questionable glacier conditions. Yet it ended with 3 great climbs. 

And I’d finally got to stand high on that enormous castle wall I’d been looking at from for so long!

I can’t say I’d necessarily recommend Mt Annan unless you really like chossy ridges (I seem to have developed a bit of an affinity for them), but the mountain is striking, the views are exceptional, and the experience gave me a much better understanding of the terrain and, importantly, the descent from Mt Annan.

That knowledge will be valuable if I get the opportunity to return and climb one of the west-face rock routes.

A lot of the time, not quite reaching the summit, has no say in the overall experience of a day in these high places.

I’d wanted to climb Mt Sealy via Sebastopol Ridge for a while. The route had always appealed to me, particularly the idea of heading straight up from the village to the Annette Plateau.

Eventually, everything lined up,  the right weather, a great group of people, and everyone having time off at the same time.

At the time, I was living in the village, so the trip literally started from my back door. There was something pretty satisfying about putting a pack on, walking out of the house and heading straight into the high mountains.

The track out of the village is straightforward and climbs directly towards Sebastopol Ridge. Route finding is simple, the scrub bashing is fairly minimal, and once we gained the ridge the terrain became much more enjoyable.

We cruised up the ridge in good time, leaving the rope in the pack. The rock was solid, the climbing secure and the scrambling genuinely fun.

At one point, a group of around a dozen kea joined us on the ridge. They followed us for a couple of hours, eventually catching up as we stopped for a break. They hung around and circled above us for a while before eventually disappearing off into the mountains.

The final 200–300 metres of elevation gain on the ridge are particularly good. The rock has more of a schist character than the greywacke found elsewhere in the area, giving the ridge a slightly different feel as it steepens towards the plateau. Eventually the ridge leads onto a snow slope that provides access to the Annette Plateau.

We put the rope on for a couple of pitches, partly to give some of the less experienced members of the group some experience climbing on snow. It was a useful opportunity to practise moving on steeper terrain. Once we reached the plateau, we packed the gear away again.

Most of the elevation gain is concentrated in the climb from the village to the plateau, so from there we were able to settle into a much more relaxed pace and wander across the alpine plain towards our planned camp at the top of Sladden Saddle.It was cloudy and warm, but we made good time across the plateau. We made camp on Sladden Saddle that evening, preparing for the west face of Mt Sealy the following morning. It was a bitterly cold night.

The previous day we’d spent a fair amount of time travelling through wet snow, and come the morning our boots had frozen completely solid. Getting our feet into them was painful enough that we definitely all questioned our life choices for a few minutes. The cold also meant that it took us longer than expected to get moving.

We’d arranged for a helicopter to pick us up around midday, so the slow start meant we were cutting things fairly close.

Once we finally got moving, we made our way towards the west face. A short approach from the saddle, maybe 30 mins before we put the rope up and began climbing the western snow slopes. 

The climb itself was enjoyable, three or four rope lengths up a moderately steep snow slope, followed by an easy but exposed traverse towards a final little rock step onto the summit slopes.

By the time we reached the top, we’d fallen behind our original schedule. Fortunately, we were able to contact our pick up and arrange a delay. That changed the feel of the summit completely.

Instead of immediately turning around and racing back down, we could actually sit, relax and enjoy being there. And it was spectacular. Mt Sealy surely has a high seat at the table. 

We were sitting in the sunshine with incredible views stretching along the Main Divide, north and south, and across the surrounding ranges. 

Eventually, we had to start heading down.

The descent gave everyone another opportunity to use the skills we’d been practising. We used a combination of lowers, downclimbing and rappelling to make our way back down the route.

It was a good experience for the whole group, not just climbing the mountain, but getting to practise and experience the different skills that make up a mountaineering day. Back at camp, we packed everything up. Around half an hour later, the helicopter arrived and picked us up.

Thirty minutes after that, we were back in the village enjoying a cold beer and hot, salty chips! There was something particularly satisfying about this trip. I think particularly the way it was so close to the village. 

I’d wanted to climb Mt Sealy for a while, and the idea of going straight from the village, up Sebastopol Ridge and onto the plateau had always appealed to me.

It was simply a really good crew, a good mountain and a good couple of days out.

Classic New Zealand mountaineering. A trip I’d fondly recommend.

Coming soon..