Adventure Magazine

hell for the next hour-and-quite-a-bit.
We ticked off all the pointers to mark the
beginning of the descent: the scree slope
slid all the way to the valley floor, the full
Devils Punchbowl falls visible behind us
and a steep ridge to Mt Rolleston on our
right, and we were at 1658m- Tick.
For some reason we all seemed reluctant
to start. Perhaps some primeval instinct
was warning us against this venture. It
just didn’t look that easy. With technique
fresh in my mind – pole out, lean slightly
forward, and dig the heels in, I stepped off
onto the loose fist-sized rocks.
Within seconds I was losing control. This
was no scoria mound of Mt Ngauruhoe
or the slightly more difficult Mt Taranaki,
where one step can send you over a
metre down the slope. Instead of the
rounded stones of the volcanoes, these
were ice-shattered rocks ranging in size
from dust to boulders over a metre long,
all with flat faces and sharp edges. Most
of the rocks on the surface were fist sized
but hidden underneath the surface were
larger flat rocks which acted like loose
platforms for the smaller rocks to slide
randomly, leaving you to guess how far
each step would take you.
Every step was a series of uncontrolled,
unpredictable slides and recoveries.
Behind me I could hear others following
tentatively, so I felt the need to keep
going. Within a few minutes our energetic
leader slipped, staggered and skidded
past me, clearly with very little respect
for his well-being. Half an hour later, after
uncountable near falls and recoveries,
I had to stop. I was exhausted. My abs
and shoulders ached from the tension of
endless, continuous bracing, waiting for
a slip to become a fall onto those jagged
rocks. My mouth and eyes were full of fine
dust and the temperature seemed to have
risen another 10 degrees as the overhead
sun beat down on us, radiating heat off
the scree slope and onto sun-burnt faces.
Swivelling around, I had the crushing
realisation that the top was still a lot
closer than the valley floor. I slumped