Olivine Ice Plateu or Patience Rewarded.

January, 1966.

The Rhodesian Crises.

Although it seemed important at the time, hitch-hiking from Christchurch to Queenstown was the least exciting part of this trip. Graham was first to arrive (by motor-bike) and a while after dark, Mike and Don hit the down. A few minutes later, Tom arrived in the crowded Oasis milk-bar with an enormously self-conscious clatter and we were nearly all there. The plan was to catch the "Earnslaw" next morning, but unfortunately Rhodes did not appear at all that night. Early in the morning, we wandered through Queenstown's deserted streets, bleating the lost one's name, but since he didn't respond, we had to watch sadly as the stoamer set up off the lake without us - the crisis had wrooked our first plan.

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However, John arrived by lunchtime, and we spent the day in civilised pleasures, putting on the mina-ture golf course, idling on the foreshore, and even rowing on the lake (oh shame!)

Hank had contacts in Queenstown, and we arranged for John MacIntrye, a moat hunter, who was to fly into the Forgotton Flats next day, to take 15 lbs each of our goar and feed with him. Lightened by leaving this behind, we drove to Paradiso in a van, hired after many arguments and discussions with local bus-drivers and taxi-man. By midday on Saturday, we were on our way up the Dart in fine but gusty weather (although two had to return after 20 minutes to collect a watch carelessly abandonde before the first river crossing.) These two then rushed so fast in pursuit that they passed the Rockburn lunching place and had to be chased and retrieved by the fantastic Hank. Later in the afternoon we reached the mouth of the Beansburn and began to push on up the river to the first campsite and we slept out under the clouding sky.

"It's not often you get a chance to camp in a place like this."

The next day we moved on up the Beansburn on the true right, sometimes sidling quite high, and were at the top flats and bivvy for lunch. It began to rain gently as we ate, but we pushed on quickly to the foot of Fohn [gap — reason: illegible] the fairly easy - an hour on snowgrass slopes and a few minutes on snow and rock brought us to the rusty keroseme tin which marked our first pass. Advancing and retreating [unclear: list] allowed occasional views towards the west Coast and stout Hank was photographed on a rock starting silently back in to the Beansburn.

We sidled across at the level of the Saddle to the beautiful Fohn Lakes at 5,000 ft [unclear: beneath] Sunset Peak. These [unclear: lakes were] surrounded by mist but quite enchanting with their dark blue water and large snow-floes. As we approached them, Hank began to say "It's not often you get a chance to camp in a place like this." This naturally became later an ironic catch-phrase, but since it was getting late and raining more and more heavily, we searched for a campsite by the upper lake and eventually settled on a sufficiently nossy place. Tents were pitched (for the only time on the trip) and rain contin-used to fall all night. Tom collected water for the morning's breakfast from a deep stone-hole inside the small tent, and we reluctantly packed our gear and left in cold rainy conditions.

King [unclear: Trog.]

Occasional [unclear: glimpses] of the Olivine River Showed page 25 us where it was, but not how to reach it. After the inevitable compass-based disagreements, we plunged down through the mist, always to find ourselves looking over sharp and steep ridges. Eventually one or two rocky guts brought us into the bush and we crashed down through it to the Olivine. By now it was raining heavily (of course, this was the famous West Coast) and we continued down stream on a ledge about two hundred feet above the river. Although there was no track, we happened to come on a large bivvy rock, where we had lunch (still raining) and went on about twenty minutes to the Termination side-stream. Here it was soon obvious that even this tributary was uncross-able (not even with crazy tree-felling tactics) and the main Olivine River itself was flowing high too. We reluctantly turned back to our bivvy rock and settled in.

This was a noble trog, a deer's house, probably unused by trampers before, with a dirt floor and fully sheltered standing room in front where we lit a fire and dried some gear. There was no real view here, but for two days we sat and gazed out on the dripping Westland bush. Engineering operations in the mud stopped the water from entering the sleeping quarters, and we passed the idyllic time eating, [gap — reason: illegible][unclear: ing], reading, speculating about our air lift, and trying to solve stupid mathematical problems. The two party Jeremiahs were already talking of rationing the food (only three day's left) when the rain stopped, we left a note for the deer, and set off down river, easily crossing our side stream and arriving two hours later at the Olivine Flats.

We spent two very pleasant hours drying out in the sun on the shingle bank where the Forgotton gorge and floated sideways and backwards, but with great dignity and calmness, down the rapids into the main river. After lunch, and a consultation with the loarned Doctor we headed up the well blazed track that leads through steep bush to Forgotton Flats. This climbs high above the very steep gorge of the Forgotten, and we reached the flats quite suddenly.

Forgotten?

To come out of the bush and see the golden tussock of the Forgotten spreading out, and the grey-blue river flowing through a miniature scalloped gorge before plunging into the bush, was an exciting experience, but romantics were soon forced to admit that we were not the first that ever buest into that lonely place, because a tiny air-strip and wind-sock were plainly visible. We hurried across the flats to the hut where our air-lifted gear should be but of course it wasn't there. The Jeremiahs didn't really enjoy their inovitable triumph, for we now had only two Days supply left. We cunningly broke into john's hut and wrote a note explaining that we had gone on up the valley but would return for our food.

The upper part of the Forgotten is fairly open, and page break easy going. We looked at Blockade and Angle, and as we rounded a bond the mass of Nt. Intervention and the Forgotten River Col appeared before us. Time was divided between picking out a route through the bluffs to reach the Ice Plateau, and hunting for the bivvy which Moir speaks so glibly of. After a while, we spied one 400 ft. above the river, right at the head of the valley on the true left, and unwillingly staggered up to it in the now overcast dusk. This great jutting prow of rock had room for 6 or 7 beneath it and gave a great view down the valley. We cut lots of snowgrass to soften the hard rock floor and this was our home for four days.

Thursday morning was drizzly and we knew the plane could not come, so we lay in our angle's eyrie, venturing out in the afternoon to rained. Hank made some chessmen and we all carved pawns out of candle-grease.

On Friday it rained but we returned down the river to John MacIntyre's hut, since we had run out of food. The plane was now 6 days overdue and prophecies and calculations were being made about possible escape-routes and forced hunger-marches. We made damper, ate some stale biscuits and ambled dispiritedly back to the bivvy with a supply of green onions, wizened potatoes and beof extract. Running out of Tararua biscuits also began to depress us.

Saturday morning was caln but drizzly. Don was getting pretty restive and the others agreed to humour him by going out to climb something, anything, before the ignominious retreat, but more rain discouraged us and we just clambered 500 ft. up a dirty snow couloir and sat under a dripping rock. Nobody could be bothered to have a lock at Intervention Saddle. We went back down and chopped half heartedly at some old ice in the riverbed and returned to our pits in the aery trog. January was the [unclear: cruellest] month. John and Don gloomed about the jobs they had to return to.

Suddenly 6 shots from down valley roused us - the plane must have come, the food (ah!) would be there. This time we rushed down to John's but and found him dragging in a [unclear: carcass] and a set of antlers in velvet. He'd been held up by bad weather in Queenstown for 6 days and only managed to fly in that morning after 3 previous tries. We were so glad to see him that we helped him eat lots of his food, and John and Hank even carried in a whole deer each over a mile, (and they weighed over 100 lbs.) to try out the life of a hunter. That night there was a minor scale celebration in the trog, since the plateau trip was "on" again.

Climax.

On Sunday morning after some impatient stampings in the trog, we paddled upwards into the misty rain, under full packs again. As we climbed through wet snowgrass and then above bluffs in scree and boulder page 27 piles, the rain grew heavier and colder. Nobody dared to make turning-back noises so we plugged across a snow slope to the foot of the schrunds boneath the Forgotten River Col. As we stopped here, the mist cleared and the sun shone warmly, encouraged, we roped to pass the schrund and at last walked up the smooth lip of the Olivine Ice Plateau. The mist blew gently back and forth so we stopped in the middle of the flat snow for lunch, and after a final look down the Forgotten we moved round into the basin to prospect for a cave site. Thore was some slightly seratchy discussion before a site was agreed upon by Hank, who immediately started di[unclear: g]ging the entry tunnel on the slopes of M[unclear: t]. Intervention at 6,300 ft. We began building at 1 p.m. and for most of the afternoon it rained and sometimes blew. We took turns in the narrow tunnel but only two could work at a time. Later we began the chamber and hauled out great blocks of solid crystallized snow on plastic groundsheets. After two and a half hours of shift work, all the aluminium plates had their rins bent off and the (ex coal) snow shovel broke off at the handle. Digging continued, (Scientific tests prove that nine out of ten Hollywood film stars use ordinary old enamel plate for excavating snow caves, and extensive researches by M. P. Heenan and others gave ample justification of this result under New Zealand conditions too.) By 6 p.m. the chamber was just big enough to hold five, and dinner was cooked outside in another tunnel. Mike and Don had climbed a steep slope to collect water dripping from the overhanging cliffs of Mt. Intervention, and did manage to bring home three quarters of a billy after attempting to glissade with two full ones. Fortunately, the rain stopped as we unpacked, blew up li-los and got dressed for the night.

The cave was crowded but comfortable. Mike provrd his much abused foan rubber was successful insulation and everyone slopt well. The morning dawned and at last it was proverbially crisp and clear. Don was first out and his excited crics soon brought out the rest. This was it. All the peaks were clear, the dark rock of Gable, the tiny snow cone of CJ. imax and we could see across the flat plateau to the edge of the Momorial Ice-fall. We laboured up softening snow to a point where we could see south of Mt. Tutoko, and then picked our way through small crevasses of the neve, which brought us to the foot of the Col. The final climb was less hard than hot and we easily passed the final schrund to reach the col by 1 p.m. Hardly stopping, except to dump packs on the pass, the party set out for Mt. Climax. 8,300 ft, highest point in the Olivine area. This was a straight forward climb up snow slopes avoiding some slots, and we soon came to a rocky ridge, a few more thumps of the feet into soft snow and we were on the top.

Although some cloud was drifting across the Plateau, we had a fairly clear view. Forgotten Valley page break was green below us in the west, and the tiny black dot of our cave visible beneath Mt. Intervention. To the North we Arawata Flats and we looked down five and a half thousand feet into the Joe and acress to Earnslaw and the Dart. It was most enjoyable to be en the top of one peak at least, and this was a genuine climax to the trip. However, when we had argued about the route through the crevasses down into the Joe we returned quickly to Solution Col, jumping the schrunds rocky pass. It was after 2.30 when we left here and once again we had to out back and forth, up and down, to find a way across not very steep, but broken sloes to the ridge off Destiny Peak which leads down to the Joe. Several times we crossed tracks of chamois who scened to have been rounded ridge it was fairly plain and soft going, whit a occasionally above distant clouds... few roped glissades 4.30 we reached the snowline and sat happily looking across to get down through the fantastic jumble of moraine to the Joe Glacier snout. Moving apart we came down to the "proninent bivvy rock" One of the day's great singhts was of the loader crashing through thick West Coast scrub trustingly clutched in one hand. This search was unsuccessful but since Hand had managed to cross (mostly by enforced swimming) the swift Joe, we all decided to crostaut rope, pendulum method all stumbling and going half under, and we were glad to be across. (Of course, it hadn't really been necessary, but we wanted to psychologically complete the day.) We slept out on a lovely slip, with a real feeling of achievement and fellowship. The night was perfectly clear and calm.

Arawata Bill Country.

The upper Joe is overhung by bottling cliffs and breakfasted leisurely in the warmth and later began to climb up bouldery Victor Creek into a large slip which we had gazed at from the other side of the river yesterday. At its top, this slip has an absolutely vertical wall of rock shelves and steep snowgrass. To get above the head of the slip we were forced to do some slinghtly hairy an hour or so we sat looking over the edge at the waterfall. It was at this impressive spot that threw sway his tattered shorts.

While we then sidled upwards along a naturally rising shelf, we talled of Arawata Bill, whose pass this page 29 was, and whose cairns were probably the first to mark this route. We felt that it was really possible to sense the compulsion and excitement of gazing over a perhaps, the golden nuggets might be sluiced and the colors fulfill their promise. We admired Bill tremendously for his tenacity in finding and following this way and it was another thrill (for romantics at least) to reach the divide and see the pass the main saddle) There worephotos of the large cairn and tarn on O' Leary's After lunch we wont ever the edge into the Pass Burn having to negotiate some awkwardly steep snow and glissading into the stream. From here, the tussock un the true left is beautifully easy and we soon descended from the tops through open bush to the Dart, the and the round trip was nearly done.

A new Forestry bridge took us across the Dart, and we camped at the bottom of Cattle Flat, truly satisfied with a fine trip. We ate lots of food, and watched Jupiter creep up in the bright night sky behind the Barrier range.

After Dinner Coffee.

Early on Wednesday morning, Graham and John rushed off to Paradise, arriving that evening, the rest of us pushed ourselves up the dart in the heart, finally staggering onto Cascade Saddle late in the evening to be on our fourth pass in as many days. Mt. Aspiring was spiring was sharp in the sky as again we way slowly down Cascade Saddle to the Matukituki, and very reluctantly forced ourselves to hurry to the road and in late up a night ride to Wanaka with some meat hunters and after a night picnicking in the lake front bushes, we separated to hike home.

..... Donald Frazer.

Leader: Mike Heenan

Party: Tom Clarkson, John Rhodes, Graham Hancox, Donald Frazer.