Adventure #238

Nick Flyvbjerg belaying as Rachel Knott heads up pitch three of a new route
on a crag below Mount Syme, in northern Fiordland.
questionable gear. He committed, latched a hold, and
continued up to a perch at the base of a corner, which
I then climbed into a crack and chimney feature. But it
was, unsurprisingly, clogged with debris—not unusual for
terrain that climbers have yet to sample.
With my belayers around a corner and well out of the
line of fire, I was carefully discarding loose rocks to the
abyss below. Most were no larger than my fist, but near
the top of the pitch, I encountered a block the size of a
50-litre pack. It wobbled alarmingly when I reached up
and touched it. A metallic, echoey sound followed, familiar
to anyone who has witnessed massive blocks of rock
moving against each other.
It’s terrifying to be on the sharp end when you know a
fall will have serious consequences, but at least you
only have yourself to blame for being in that position. It’s
even more terrifying to be an inch from dropping a death
block on someone below you, knowing that anything that
happens will be triggered by your own hand.
The dilemma: leave the block as is, and hope my climbing
partners will climb up without any harm coming to anyone;
or dislodge it myself, and hope it doesn’t obliterate my
ropes, which would leave me stranded in the middle
of the mountain. One of these options was more in my
control than the other, so I opted for the latter.
The block was sitting on a flat ledge, spacious enough
for me to straddle it, facing out. I grabbed its lower love
handles, braced myself, and then gripped and trundled
for all I was worth. It was, of course, a heavy bastard, and
almost totally immune to my efforts. It barely scraped over
the edge before hitting something on the way down, and
exploding into a zillion pieces.
Dust rose up in the aftermath, as if a bomb had exploded.
When it cleared, I could see that the ropes I was leading
on seemed unscathed, thankfully. I also managed to keep
my stance, well above my last piece of protective gear.
Who knows what fate would have befallen me had I lost
my footing, having not placed a fresh piece of gear—as
would happen a few weeks later on Statue Wall.
The third in our climbing team trio, Rachel Knott, took the
ropes to the top of the wall via a series of cracks without
any further drama. From there, we descended the snow
slope back to our bags, and then hiked back to our bivvy
spot, taking our time with a dip in some natural pools on
the way.
Lying in the sun to dry off, I thought about all the elements
that have to come together to pull off a first ascent:
choose a line, hope it has enough gear placements to
keep you within an acceptable safety margin, deal with
any loose rocks without unduly endangering yourself or
your climbing partners, do the actual climbing that the
route demands, and hopefully get everyone up—and
down—safely before the weather turns to custard.
And just as importantly, learn any lessons in the aftermath
so you're better prepared for next time.
Nick Flyvbjerg venturing into virgin terrain on the first pitch of a new climb.
24//WHERE ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS/#238