Last year, the New Zealand Alpine Club (NZAC) began the process of establishing a position on bolting. The most recent development is that the club distributed a draft policy to club members in December 2009.

The gist of what I am going to say is: there shouldn't be a bolting policy. However, it is not that I disapprove of the efforts that the NZAC have made in discussing the topic – I was one of many who wrote a lengthy submission to the NZAC. It is always healthy to debate controversial subjects such as the use of bolts and aircraft access, even if consensus is unlikely. Furthermore, the NZAC have done a good job in canvassing all opinions. The overview that makes up the first section of the draft policy is a good reflection of the diverse opinions held by climbers.

However, I would argue that the overview is as far as the process should go.

First, there was never going to be any chance of achieving a consensus among climbers on the topic of bolting. You may argue that is the case for all things in life. However, the topic of bolting is one that is internal to the climbing community. Really, no one outside of the climbing community cares whether mountains are bolted or not, or would even know if they are. And this is reflected in the draft policy in that it lists the pros and cons of bolting in terms of climbing only. It would be logical for the NZAC to take a position on mining in Mount Aspiring National Park because the club could present the fairly unified views of climbers to the general community. It is not logical for the club to take a position on bolting.

Second, the draft proposal does not help in addressing some grey areas. For example, the draft proposal suggests that bolts should only be used at a historical trad crag (e.g., Charleston) if a new sport route is deemed worthwhile. This sounds sensible until you think that nobody would go to the effort of bolting a climb they did not think was worthwhile. So, this leaves the issue of bolting a historical trad crag as murky as ever. As another example, the draft policy states that bolting frequently used mountain routes may be justified if it provides safety benefits for the predominant user groups and/or eases congestion. However, the only routes that suffer from congestion are those that have been regularly climbed and guided for many years – in which case, the draft proposal also says that the bolting of existing mountaineering routes (for example, the Northwest Ridge of Mount Aspiring) is not justified. So, which is it to be?

Third, how is the NZAC position on bolting going to be viewed? If a climber chooses to bolt a route in the mountains where there is no natural protection, can they argue that they are justified in doing so because they are acting in accordance with the policy of the NZAC? Does it make the bolter immune to criticism? Can a climber who holds an opposing view still criticise the bolting of the route? How is that second climber going to be viewed if they remove the bolts to return the mountain to its original state? If I make a submission to the Department of Conservation about bolting in a particular area, will it be disregarded on the basis that only the New Zealand Alpine Club's position will be considered?

Fourth, the New Zealand Alpine club states that they wish to work with climbing clubs, the New Zealand Mountain Guides Association, the Federated Mountain Clubs and the Department of Conservation to foster wide support for the bolting principles in the draft. As discussed above, what is the purpose of trying to represent climbers' opinions as being one and the same?

Overall, the draft proposal largely legitimises the status quo. If you had asked me to predict what the draft would say before reading it, I think I could have written it almost word-for-word. But is the status quo correct? This of course depends on your views, but in what way will the debate and expression of views on bolting continue if the club formulates a position that is supposedly representative of the climbing community?

Click here to read the draft NZAC position on bolting. There is a contact email at the end of the document if you wish to send the club your feedback. Alternatively, you can leave it here.

I have been asked on three occasions recently about how to decide whether to solo or use the rope. By 'soloing', I mean putting the rope in the pack and climbing unroped next to your climbing partner – as opposed to heading into the mountains by yourself, which is the other type of soloing. The obvious advantage of soloing is that it is faster than using a rope to pitch climb or simulclimb. The more obvious disadvantage of soloing is that there is nothing to catch you when you fall.

One of the people who asked me about this described the scenario they had encountered. They had climbed the Linda Glacier route on Aoraki Mt Cook and had decided to simulclimb the summit ice cap (simulclimbing involves using a rope and placing protection – click here for a technique article). The summit ice cap is by no means difficult to climb. Unless the conditions are icy, it is a straightforward walk. After they had completed their climb, it was suggested to them by a climber in Plateau Hut that they could have soloed that part of the climb.

And thus we have an interesting question. When should we solo and when should we use the rope? And bundled with that pickle of a question is the expectation that we might feel that we are supposed to solo certain sections of a climb. For example, if everyone else is soloing the summit ice cap, then surely we are going to look like a bunch of no-hopers if we use the rope.

After a bit of reflection on my own decision making on past climbs, I came to the conclusion that there are four factors to take into account. The first is obvious. How difficult is the climbing? And I mean how difficult is the climbing for you, not anyone else? You have to be absolutely certain that you are not going to fall if you want to leave the rope in the pack. And of course there are no absolutes in life so we are talking about the same sort of confidence you have when crossing a busy road. In other words, if you are in doubt about the difficulty of the climbing in relation to your ability, then the answer is a firm 'don't solo'. Okay, that is all pretty obvious; I only mention it for the sake of completeness.

A problem, I feel, is that often the difficulty of the climbing is all we consider. If a section of a climb is easy then you are not supposed to use the rope. I can recall many a guidebook route description saying 'An experienced party won't use a rope' or 'An inexperienced party might want to use a rope'. Well, maybe an experienced party should also use a rope when there is death-fall potential, because my number 2 consideration is – what happens if I do fall? If conditions are such that you could easily self-arrest on the summit ice cap, then not having the rope in action may be a reasonable decision. However, if a slip is going to lead to certain death – whether over a 30m bluff or a 1000m face – that can be a reason to use the rope, even if the climbing is easy. Many an accomplished climber has fallen on flattish ground and off a mountain. Personally, I have tripped on more than one occasion and landed spread-eagle on the ice in a moment of inattention, fortunately in the middle of a plateau rather than on an icy ridge. If this can be guarded against, then why not? Consideration number 3 is – can something hit you from above? Soloing is sweet until you get hit by a rock or lump of ice that knocks you off the mountain and into the waiting 'schrund.

To summarise thus far, you keep the rope on because of any of the following three reasons.

1. The climbing is challenging

2. The consequence of a fall is not good

3. You may get knocked off the mountain

And if you follow those three rules then you'll probably end up never soloing a thing so you have to balance the rules with the one advantage of soloing, namely speed (consideration number 4). For instance, pitching a 1000m moderate route is going to take a long time. If you are comfortable with the climbing, why make a four-hour climb into an epic 16-hour climb?

I have used rules 2 and 3 far more in my latter climbing days than in my early days. I am now far more prepared to use a rope on easy ground than I once would have been. There are additional reasons for this: I am old enough not to care what other climbers think, I am happy to take longer on the climb than I once was, and I am quicker with my ropework and placing protection than I was in my formative days.

The last of those reasons is quite interesting. The better we become as climbers, the less we need the rope, but the better and quicker we can use it. The climber in their early years is still grappling with a rope that is insisting on tangling at every opportunity and ice screws that like to keep their distance from any sort of decent ice. They may be reluctant to use the rope if they think they can get away with it.

As a final side-topic and after suggesting that we shouldn't solo just because we can, I thought I would mention how to improve your soloing. It is interesting that one person can be happier soloing than another can, even if the latter is the more skilled climber. That is, some people take to climbing without the rope better than others. A lot of it comes down to how confident we are with our picks in the snow/ice. Many climbers consider a pick in ice as a secure attachment to the mountain – as long as you have your leash on of course – and it is. An obvious way to develop this trust in your tools is to go water ice climbing on top rope. After you find you can hang all your bodyweight off an axe that is only a centimetre into the ice, it is difficult to imagine you can fall off a mountain when your picks are sinking to half-depth on a 50-degree slope.

A second suggestion for getting used to soloing is to find 'safe slopes'. Obviously you are looking for something that isn't too steep for you, has a nice run-out and isn't icy; that is, twisted-ankle territory rather than broken-neck territory. For those in the North Island, some of the lower slopes on the Pinnacles are ideal.

The Scottish system for grading winter climbs has been developed over the past 50-odd years into one that allows climbers to gain an accurate picture of how hard and serious a climb is relative to others, irrespective of what the style of climbing is. It’s a system designed to be applied to more technical routes, and not to big alpine climbs. In many ways, the Darrans winter grading system is similar, albeit in what seems to me to be a younger and rawer state.

The main difference in principle between the two systems is that the Darrans system attempts to assess the overall commitment of the environment in which the route exists, while the Scottish system ONLY assesses the seriousness of the actual route itself. The Darrans tech component also seems to introduce a seriousness component in the higher grades. There are positives and negatives to both approaches and a system similar to the Darrans system WAS considered in Scotland in the late 1980s.

Please just bear with me while I go into a potted history of how the current Scottish system was developed. It may help give a better understanding of the issues that must be faced when implementing a grading system that can be used across the board for any style of technical climbing.

The first thing to take on board is that the Scottish system is relevant to climbs done in good style, i.e., ground up, natural gear placed on the lead, no pre-inspection, etc. The Darrans system doesn’t say as such, and there has been talk of the use of bolts over there in winter, but..... this is ethics, and they will evolve as more people climb there who can handle the style of climbing and the commitment involved. That’s for another discussion.

Up until the late 1950s, Scottish winter climbs were graded using the same adjectival system as was used for rock climbing, i.e., Easy through to Very Severe. With the advent of the big ice routes and more of the harder steep buttresses being climbed, it was apparent that a different system was needed. So a numerical grading system using the Roman numerals I–V was implemented, with grades having the following definitions.

Grade I Uncomplicated, average-angled snow climbs having no pitches under normal conditions. There may be cornice difficulties or dangerous runouts in the event of a fall.

Grade II Gullies containing either individual minor pitches, or high-angled snow with difficult cornice exits. Easier buttress climbs giving more difficulty under winter conditions.

Grade III More serious climbs with multiple shorter steep pitches or longer, easier-angled pitches. Buttress climbs of sustained difficulty. Should only be attempted by parties experienced in winter climbing.

Grade IV Routes that are either of sustained difficulty or climbs of the greatest difficulty that are too short to be included under Grade V.

Grade V Routes of sustained difficulty that provide serious expeditions and will only be climbed when conditions are favourable. A climb of this grade should be at least 400ft in length.

It has to be remembered that this system was developed in the days before front pointing and when there were relatively few people on the hills in winter, with even fewer on anything above Grade III. As an example, when I started serious winter climbing in 1972, Grade III was considered a good achievement. Most people would aspire to a few of the better known Grade IVs, few would even dream of venturing onto a Grade V.

With relatively few winter climbs, and even fewer climbers on the harder routes, it was quite straightforward to take both overall seriousness and technical difficulty into account. Seriousness generally meant how long, how sustained, and how protectable a climb was; given the state of gear of the day, the steep ice climbs were considered to be far more serious. How things changed!

Through the 1970s, as gear and techniques improved, so did the number of hard winter climbs being recorded and the number of people climbing them. Improved equipment also meant improved confidence and more people were venturing onto the known easier Grade Vs. The system worked well until the mid/late-1970s, when people at the sharp end started heading onto the steeper faces with thinner (or no) ice, encountering a new level of technical difficulty. In addition, a far higher degree of commitment was required for many of these climbs. Also, many of the classic, fat, icy routes became far more accessible to the average climber as improved tools and protection boosted confidence greatly. What resulted was a top-end grade becoming fairly meaningless and the assessment of difficulty becoming very subjective – depending largely on uninformed (but well meaning) reputation.

When you think about it, grading is supposed to be entirely objective and at that point we certainly didn’t have a grading system (in the higher grades) that was objective, or really credible. Around about 1980-ish, Grade VI was introduced for the REALLY hard routes. Yet we were still left with the problem whereby climbers coming to visit an area – not knowing the area or the locals – had no real idea as to whether a hard climb was technically easier but very serious, technically hard but very well protected, or middle of the road. Sure, there was information about this included in the route description (again, another discussion that wouldn’t go amiss) but with there still being an artificial cap on the grade able to be given, you still ended up with a wide variation of difficulty and seriousness within the top two grades. One of the major problems is people tend to forget that if they can put up a new route, they’re not grading it for themselves – it’s for everyone who follows, who in all probability will not be as capable as the first ascentionist and so NEED an accurate assessment.

The real problems with having a single-numeral grade attempting to take both seriousness and difficulty into account on more technical routes are pretty obvious. How do you know whether the bias is toward seriousness or technical difficulty? At about the same time as the Grade VI was introduced, discussion began on whether there should be a new, two-tier system. That discussion took almost 10 years to produce a result, and many, many people were involved. Not only the top-end new routers who had initially proposed it took part but mid-grade climbers and climbers from overseas too, and the arguments for and against went on. However, in 1991, Andy Nisbet – with growing support and a fair amount of help from Simon Richardson – took advantage of moving back into the role of the Scottish Mountaineering Club New Routes Editor to make it happen. A two-tier grading system for Scottish winter climbs was introduced, initially on a 'trial' basis – but hey, it’s still there, well accepted and working well.

The system as introduced consists of a Roman numeral denoting how serious the climb is overall, and an Arabic numeral denoting the technical difficulty of the hardest move on the climb. The overall grade takes into account every factor of the climb – protection, type of climbing, material normally found, technical difficulty, the lot. The tech grade is what it says. The artificial cap on an upper grade and route length was also removed, routes were re-graded and began to slot into their proper place. Another advantage of the new system was that split grades were no longer used, as had sometimes (often) been the case to identify an easier V (IV/V) or a harder V (V/VI).

To set a baseline for the technical grades, well known and often-climbed routes of different styles were chosen as benchmarks, and the relative grades of other routes set from those. Generally, the classic Grade Vs were set as the benchmark technical 5s. That being the case, it was a relatively easy matter to work out where other routes should fit in.

As far as overall grade went, the same principle was applied – on a standard route of any given grade, the tech grade and the overall grade are the same. A standard grade V with adequate protection would be V/5, a very well protected and safe grade V would be IV/5, and a scary run-out V would be VI/5. Funnily enough, most folk tend to keep on the routes with a tech grade higher or equal to the overall grade – but they now have the information to let them make that choice in an informed manner.

It has been possible to keep the grading system uncomplicated, yet cover all styles of climbing, by the straightforward method of making sure the route description covers that aspect. A simple statement like "steep mixed climbing" or "sustained but on generally thick ice" goes a long way. As a general guide though, the overall grade would be applied along the lines of:

V Sustained ice climbs, hard but straightforward mixed climbs and buttresses

VI Steep sustained or thin ice climbs, harder and/or sustained mixed routes

VII Sustained very steep or thin icy routes, hard steep and sustained mixed routes

VIII Hard steep technical climbing on snowed up rock

IX Harder yet

Do remember that this sort of classification can be applied because the technical difficulty is also included in the overall grade.

So, having by now lost everyone with my selfish nostalgia, where does this go? We’re probably fast approaching the stage where we need a uniform grading system, and what I was trying to illustrate is that it’s possible to have a single grading system that can cover all styles of climbing. No need for a separate WI, AI, M grade or whatever. I’m pretty sure that this is what Allan was trying to do when he devised the system in the Darrans Guide. Whether it needs further development and refining to let it be used all over the country is up for discussion – it IS a young grading system. There are questions that need to be asked and debated – should the commitment grade be relative only to the climb, or to the whole mountain environment the climb exists in? Should any winter grading system try to be absolute, based on angle or whatever, or would it mean more if climbs were graded relative to benchmark routes? Should a system be developed that also allows major technical alpine climbs to be included? I have opinions, I don’t have answers.

Personally, I think it’s a bit futile to try to compare Darrans/Scottish tech grades with the WI and M grades because the systems were developed independently, for different purposes. I firmly believe that any commitment grade should take into account the overall seriousness of the route only – my reasoning being that if you’re going climbing in winter you ought to either have the experience to handle the environment you’re heading into, or be with someone who can. Notes about terrain and so on are normally included in the guidebook anyway. I believe that a meaningful grading system should be relative to benchmark routes – I’ve seen it work very well in practise. My opinions only.

The whole point is that having a well thought out and mature two-tier grading system lets the climber know whether the climb they want to do is going to be hard but well protected and safe, or if they’ll need a 100m rope in order to find protection or belays. I’ve been around the whole way through the development and implementation of a good two-tier system and involved, fairly deeply.

Final wee story, we did a mixed route on Nevis back in the late 80s, we thought it was the first ascent but one of our friends had done the FWA a few months before and kept it to himself. Quite rightly, given the grading system of the time, he gave it a Grade IV. If it had just been given an M grade, it would have probably been about M4. I didn’t find the route too hard technically but it is the only climb I’ve ever got to the top of, put my arms around a block and literally cried with relief. That climb involved four pitches of tiptoeing up very steep holdless slabs with no runners and belays that wouldn’t have held a small pull from below, let alone a fall from above. The moral of the story is that either grade would have totally failed to inform me that we were dealing with a potential death route. I know where my preference lies.

Lastly, it really doesn’t matter what sort of system is employed, as long as it meets the needs of the people who employ it, is accepted by all as being the most practical, and is going to work in the future. I have great respect for the people who, in the absence of any uniform system, have put their necks on the block and graded climbs as they thought most appropriate. But it is time to have the discussion in an open-minded and constructive manner. We can learn from experience elsewhere.

So here goes.

The standards of top-level climbing in New Zealand are very poor.

Many disagree with that statement, and I’ll address that below. Others simply say to me ‘who cares?’ And so my justification for this topic begins. I am not saying that everyone has to aspire to be the best climber in the world. For instance, I drive a car without having the desire to become the F1 world champion. Climbing is something that gives a sense of accomplishment, but many climbers don’t try to be the greatest they can possibly be when lacing up their boots and that is fine. In the same way, not everyone who kicks a rugby ball is training to be an All Black. However, there would be concern if no one wanted to be an All Black. And this is where I am coming from – where are those with the desire to push the limits of what is possible in mountaineering?

Are our top-level climbing standards poor like I say? What evidence supports my claim?

The first grade 6+ climb was the right buttress of the north face of Mt Hicks in 1975. Thirty-three years later, the hardest climbs are still grade 6+. Yeah, there are the rock climbs in the Balfour that were graded 7 but they aren’t widely accepted as being our hardest mountaineering routes. There is also the argument that the grading of the more recent technical routes has been a bit conservative. The 1975 climb was an alpine rock climb in January, and as steep and as technical as it may have been, it sounds like a hell of a lot more fun than the two-bivy winter ascents that have been graded 6+ since (e.g., Weeping Gash (1986), Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure (1993) and God's Zone (2004)). However, I think it is fair to say that the hardest route that was climbed by 1986 is similar to the hardest route that was climbed by 2007.

‘But Glenn’, many would say, ‘the problem with your theory is that you assume there are grade 7, 8, and 9 mountain routes to be climbed in New Zealand’. Well, yes I do, but even if there weren’t, I don’t think it could be claimed that we have stopped at grade 6+ because of a lack of options. If that were the case, there would be queues forming up below the south face of Mt Hicks, with climbers hanging out at the belays complaining about how there is nothing decent to have a go at these days. Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure has often been touted as the hardest climb in the land. It is a route that requires the right conditions but there was hardly a bunch of young climbers devastated that they didn’t get a chance to have a crack at it last winter because of the lack of ice. The same can be said for all the other modern grade 6+ routes. Who is charging after Allan Uren up God's Zone on the north face of Torres Peak? There is one line in the Aoraki Mt Cook guidebook that always jumps out at me:

In the five years between 1975 and 1980, the Caroline Face of Cook had 20 ascents…

Man! When did we last have four ascents of the Caroline Face in a year? These days, we often don’t get four grade 5 climbs done in the entire Southern Alps in a year.

In any event, there ARE routes that are harder. I can show you a bunch of faces that would be extraordinarily difficult. You can start by climbing the north face of Marian Peak in winter, then move on to your pick of a hundred similar lines.

‘But Glenn’, many would ask, ‘what of the advances made in rock and ice climbing?’

There is no doubt that rock and ice/mixed climbing grades have advanced – but is this mountaineering? Let us take a closer look. Despite the fact that climbers as a group – whether they be gym climbers, boulderers, sport climbers, ice climbers or mountaineers – are today more technically proficient than ever before, this hasn’t translated to advances in climbing mountain routes. Those fanging up vertical columns at Wye Creek don’t put their ice climbing skills into practice half way up a 1000m face. Those who can sport climb grade 30 don’t turn their gymnastic strengths to a vertical mountain wall in June. If there were real crossovers among the different climbing disciplines, ‘pure’ mountaineering (for want of a better term) would be benefiting from the unprecedented levels of technical proficiency. But it isn’t. And no matter how impressive the achievements in other disciplines are, we can’t say that any are impressive in a pure mountaineering sense.

Some have mentioned that many of our top climbers head overseas, either to live or at least for their climbing. The only thing is, they don’t put up a whole bunch of hard routes when they come home, so it is questionable that they would be advancing New Zealand climbing if they were here permanently.

The technical grade is of course only one aspect of a climb. I have often said that the grade only comes into it when you are climbing in winter and climbing solo. Winter solo climbing requires physical and mental attributes far greater than those required for other types of climbing. The winter soloist has to plug all the steps and carry all the gear. They have to solo the route or protect themselves using highly technical ropework. As one winter soloist told me, ‘You know nothing about ropework until you are ropesoloing WI5 half way up a mountain’. There are no free metres for the winter soloist. No chance to walk in someone’s tracks, no pitches to second on. All this while enduring long nights, low temperatures, and being totally alone. There have only been a handful of dedicated winter soloists. Bill McLeod in the 1980s is the best known, Guy McKinnon holds the torch today, and the highest level of climbing in New Zealand was achieved by the Melbourne-based winter soloist Gren Hinton on the south face of Mt Hicks. Anyway, my point is that the pool of top-level alpinists in New Zealand remains as small as ever.

To say the standard of top-level climbing is poor in New Zealand implies that it is better elsewhere. Well, I am prepared to say that climbing may not actually be that great overseas either. There is grumbling about standards around the world, most noticeably in the Himalaya, where the fascination with climbing as many 8000m peaks as possible by the simplest route possible does nothing to advance climbing standards. There have been some outstanding performances; the Russian climbs on the north face of Jaanu, the north face of Everest and the west face of K2 in the past five years have been, perhaps, as close to superhuman as climbers have got.

Some are now trying to tackle one of the true frontiers of high-altitude climbing: climbing 8000m peaks in winter. Yet even this is only a return to unfinished business from two decades ago. The technical and committing high-altitude climbing that has featured in the most recent Piolets d’Or is a positive sign. However, if we were to remove the achievements of the world’s top 20 mountaineers, then the world climbing scene would be in a poor state. There are plenty of other mountain ranges besides those in Asia. What is happening in the European Alps? Just more speed ascents. What is going on in the Canadian Rockies? Well, there aren’t many Canadians inching their way up the Emperor Face of Mt Robson. Maybe this is a world problem. As for New Zealand, there are no climbers hanging out on portaledges for a month, sitting out snowstorms while taking on big faces.

I would now like to address why the top-level climbing standards are poor in New Zealand. I am aware I may still not have convinced the reader of my original premise. To make the following relevant to all, let us address why top-level climbing is not as high or prevalent as it could possibly be.

There are a number of theories.

More climbers are into gym climbing, sport climbing and bouldering these days. It is true that these disciplines are enjoying much popularity, yet I feel that such climbers were never really destined to be mountaineers. It isn’t like they have gravitated from the ‘mountaineering pool’ to the ‘sport climber pool’. Despite the obvious similarities between the activities, sport climbers and mountaineers are two different breeds. Sport climbers are at a crag to climb it in its own right. Their goal is to pull off the hardest possible rock climbing moves. Mountaineers are usually at the crag because they can't get to a mountain or they are in training. Their goal is to pull off hard moves half way up a mountain. So I don’t buy into the sport climbing theory.

Society today is more risk-averse. This is also undoubtedly true but is it the reason for a lack of high-level mountaineering? Contrary to popular belief, mountaineers are risk-averse. People who drive fast on public roads are risk-prone. People who can describe four different back-up systems for a particular rope technique are risk-averse. I can’t imagine that many mountaineers are thrill seekers. Indeed, adrenaline is of no use whatsoever when balanced on delicate ice while trying to place an ice screw.

Mountaineers are, however, prepared to manage risks that others would not be willing to face in the first place. Why is this? There is a well known bias in the mountaineering demographic towards scientists, engineers, and doctors. It is tempting to suggest that these people are successful and are looking for challenges in life – but then why aren’t there masses of architects, lawyers, accountants, and business operators charging into the mountains too? The common theme for scientists, engineers, and doctors is perhaps one of exploration, and that would be something that carries over to mountaineering. I don’t think we can argue that there are less people in these professions today, far more likely the opposite. Hence, the makeup of society doesn’t seem to be the issue. Indeed, there are likely more people interested in outdoor activities these days than ever before, whether the activity be cycling, kayaking, sailing, adventure racing, rock climbing, or mountaineering. So why isn’t top-level mountaineering rapidly advancing?

Is the problem that young climbers can’t afford to spend months every year climbing? University fees and the cost of living are higher now than they have ever been. The four-month break from November to March is a time to get a fulltime job to pay for the next year of studying, not for setting up camp at Mt Cook village. Similarly, an older climber with a career isn’t going to make a lot of progress with four weeks’ annual leave, which has to be split between climbing, partner and family. If I was ever going to offer one piece of advice to a climber who wants to set the world on fire, it would be: work out how to climb for six months a year. And then work out how to climb nine months a year. After all, there is no such thing as a professional mountaineer. (I say this because guides are paid to guide and tutor other people, not to climb their own routes.) I believe that the climbers who really want to do great things will make sacrifices to do so. The best climber I ever met would sit in his tent in the snow in the campground because it was a dollar cheaper than staying in the hut.

One ongoing problem is that the typical talented climber doesn’t continue to push the limits for long. Sure, they will remain technically proficient until the end of their days, but very few will look to outdo themselves for more than a few seasons. Soon enough they will be satisfied climbing new routes that are no more difficult than their last new route. That’s not a criticism in the slightest. There are many good reasons to climb at more comfortable levels, or give the game away altogether. That has always been the way, and is the same for climbers around the world. Think of the great names associated with pushing the limits of what is possible. Did they redefine the world of mountaineering last year? Or the year before? No.

Well, I’ve said a lot and got nowhere. What do I think is really limiting the development of our top-level climbing? The only explanation that feels right to me is the lack of competition. There are two aspects to competition: competition from fellow climbers and the challenge thrown down by the mountain. The former is self-explanatory. The latter can be best summed up as knowing what the next great problem is. If you look back through New Zealand alpine history, we always had ‘the next great problem’. First it was climbing Aoraki Mt Cook, later it was climbing the Caroline Face, and then it was climbing the south face of Mt Hicks. What is it now? Whatever it is, it is not something that is in the mass consciousness of the mountaineering community.

But what if it was?

Could it be that simple? If there was a next great problem on Mt Ruapehu, would a group of hungry climbers be pushing past each other to make the first ascent this winter? If we decided that the über-couloir on the west face of Mt Tutoko was the next great problem in the Darran Mountains, would there be dozens of climbers with an eye permanently on the Fiordland weather forecast? I can’t help but think that there would be.

Irrespective of the above rambling, there is much that can be done to improve mountaineering standards, whether we are talking about elite or introductory mountaineering. We barely train our climbers beyond how to use an ice axe and crampons. More advanced tuition, whether it be in the form of courses or mentoring, is needed at all levels of climbing. We presently have the mentality that climbers should just go out there and teach themselves, and I’m all for that too. All my alpinism was self-taught. But athletes in all sports receive training. Whether mountaineering is a sport or not, it is odd that mountaineer 'athletes' aren’t offered training. It is a terrible waste that we do not pass on the hard-earned knowledge and experience of previous generations. No doubt it is a case of the younger climbers not feeling they can approach the older climbers and the latter thinking that the former wouldn’t be interested in what they have to pass on.

We also need to promote winter mountaineering, for that is where the challenges lie. The ice forms, the temperature drops, and the climbs are no longer one-day climbs from base camp. The climber is tested in multiple ways, all at the same time. If those challenges are faced alone, then whatever is done will be remarkable.

That’s my extraordinarily long ramble over. No matter what level you are climbing at, or aspire to climb at, I am sure you will have fun this winter. And if some incredible things get done, I’ll be very happy.

So it is time for a little reminiscing and a few laughs about the formative years.

'How did it all start?' I don't hear you ask. Well, that's an interesting story. It started with a climbing friend coming round to my Mt Eden flat to tell me that he wanted to start a New Zealand mountaineering website. Alexander was born and grew up in the former USSR and I think he was somewhat astounded that he couldn't find a New Zealand mountaineering site.

So began a project to make our own site, although this was really Alexander's baby. I assume the first thing Alexander did was to come up with the name. And I know you are thinking that 'Mountainz' was an inspired choice. Funnily enough, the original plan was to simply call the site 'mountains.co.nz', but the domain name had already been taken. Hence, Alexander resorted to 'Mountainz', which ended up being a whole lot better anyway.

And thus I was standing at the NZAC Auckland section meeting in April 2004, announcing the launch of Mountainz. Goodness knows what the audience thought of it all or whether they drove home like maniacs after the meeting to have a look; all I can remember was that I spoke at 100 kph.

I then sent out emails to anyone I could think of to tell them about the site. This didn't get the enthusiastic reception I was hoping for. Indeed, the only reply I received was a strongly worded criticism of the site. Apparently we were promoting both freeloading and recklessness in the mountains. This was because our first two articles were about a climb from Mt Cook Village to the West Coast via the summits of Aoraki Mt Cook and Mt Tasman followed by a hitchhiking return, all done with only a $5 note (for the record though, the climbers did pay their hut fees), and a solo climb of the Caroline Face on Aoraki Mt Cook.

Anyway, the early days. Those who have been with us from the beginning will fondly remember the stable-as-a-serac server we were using for the first couple of years. Needless to say, we weren't paying for the 50% up-time. Still, wondering whether the website would be up and running always added some excitement to the day. The early days on the forum were pretty much me talking to myself, and if I was being particularly cheeky, I'd say the forum was never better. As a mark of the times in 2004, posters didn't even need to log in; it wasn't for a good couple of years that the Viagra-peddlers found us. Anyway, the first registered users were Alexander, me, Stretch, Rob, and Craig, all of whom are still around in one form or another. Writing the first news reports was quite exciting in that two of history’s greatest climbs were in progress at the time – the first ascent of the North Face of Jaanu and the first ascent of the direct line on the north face of Everest. Both climbs took two months. It has all been a bit quiet ever since.

You can have a look at snapshots of how Mountainz used to look at the Internet Archive.

Well, over time we have got a lot better at editing and organising the site. Francesca, who is a professional editor, has brought major changes in the past year as head of the editing team, making great improvements to the site's content and appearance. Most importantly, this has resulted in me now having time to take my dinghy out sailing. Yet there is still a whole lot to be done; one ongoing project is to re-edit and reformat many of our archived articles from the early days.

Now we turn to how the website works. You may hold the popular belief that it takes 10 minutes for us to whip a new article onto the site. Well, here is the breakdown. An hour is spent thinking of an article we would like to see on the site and then we encourage, badger, threaten and finally remind someone to write the article. General editing of the article takes another hour, sometimes two. If we actually write the article ourselves then we need to add a good day and a half. Reworking photos takes 45 minutes. Coding the article so that it is a series of .php files that magically come together to generate the page you see on your screen takes a further hour. Then we upload, fuss about and do further edits to make sure it all looks good on screen. So, each article you see is at least 5 hours work. In addition, a summary of the world climbing news is a 3-day (read 24-hour) job, an opinion piece takes a solid day if we write it, and a Moment in Time takes an hour. And yes, we do have day jobs and hobbies to fit all this around.

And what does the future hold for Mountainz? Well, we have plans, but it is important to let your children run free, never put the burden of expectation upon them, and let them become who they really want to be. However Mountainz turns out, we will love it anyway.

Referring to the West Coast névés, a wise and bearded friend proclaimed, 'If God had designed a climbing area – flat approaches to steep climbs!'

The Pioneer Hut area is frequently spoken of and beautifully rendered in photographs. Situated at the head of the Fox Glacier, Lendenfeld, Haast, Haidinger and the 'easiest' route on Tasman are some of the drawcards here, and winter ice on Torres, Barnicoat, Mallory and Conway attracts strong technical climbers. The Aoraki Mount Cook guidebook devotes over 20 pages to this small area and describes it as 'the most popular ... climbing area on the West Coast', offering routes that are 'generally demanding'. With the average route grade at around 3+/4, budding alpinists could be forgiven for thinking the Coast is off their menu, that it is essentially a 'hard' climbing destination. But is this true?

At the head of the Franz Josef Glacier is Centennial Hut. Its surrounds don't have the legendary status of the Pioneer area and fill less than ten pages in the guidebook, of which just over four cover the actual climbing. Several significant peaks lack any grades and are described in just a dozen or so words. It would be easy to flick through these pages and dismiss the area as inferior and lacking much worth doing, save for the Minarets. After all, why go to the Coast for a bunch of ungraded peaks invariably described as 'easy' when you can climb the big-name grade 1s and 2s at Cook?

I am going to say, don't be fooled by the guidebook. Budding alpinists – if you want to up your climbing a level in one trip, go to Centennial Hut.

The climbing around Centennial can accurately be described as mostly moderate – from grades 2 to 3. Like Pioneer, Centennial boasts an abundance of routes all within just 30 minutes to a couple of hours from the hut. If you are climbing in or aspiring to climb in the grade 2 ball park, you will find most routes technically challenging but of such a length that time will not be a major concern. It won't matter if you take an hour to lead a pitch when most routes are around five pitches in length. Furthermore, short weather windows or marginal days can be fully exploited. Plus there are all those glaciers to practise rescue whatnot on. Ideally, visit the area in spring, when the glacier travel should still be good and most routes in condition. Spring also has the advantage of having long daylight hours without being quite as unbearably hot or threatened by rock fall as summer. And going by the hut books, Centennial is far less crowded in the spring.

I went to Centennial in November with no real expectations. I would see what appealed once I got there. Nine days later, I'd ticked objectives every day on five fine days. I almost can't believe what I achieved. Each climb was unique and schooled me well – and there is more worth going back for.

*****

We spot the gully the day we fly in but it has gone to mush, so we put it on our list of 'climbs we fancy'. What is the appeal of a gully line? You know you'll be in the firing line but there is something irresistible about a snaking white pathway created by the mountain and the elements, the difficulty of which you can't always easily determine. Gullies just ask to be climbed. Everything about them shouts 'This way up!' and from the first swing, you'll be going nowhere but.

After the Minarets and before the storm blows in, we know we'll have one good day. So we opt for the gully and treat ourselves to a sleep in because we figure it'll be a nice four-or-so-hours jaunt. We end up staying out until dinner time and summit Jervois somewhat by accident. By the time we return to pack up camp under an intimidating sky, we've done a complete circuit.

The absence of any mention in the guidebook or in the hut books leads us to believe our gully line on the south side of the ridge between Centennial Hut and Jervois is a new route. The line is sustained 65-degree alpine ice from about mid-way up the first pitch until the end of the third pitch. The fourth pitch eases off and sees us topping out on the ridge. Looking for a way down with good anchors, we walk eastwards and upwards and do one pitch across an exposed traverse – axes hanging over one side of the ridge, feet kicking in on the other – before gaining the summit of Jervois. May as well, it's only 50m above us.

The intensifying winds chill us as the brilliant day fades to grey. I stupidly haven't brought my down jacket and Lars lends me his. After the first abseil I notice his juddering breath and huddle against him, trying to take the brunt of the wind. We abseil into the unknown, leaving one stake behind. Mustn't drop the ropes. The eastern sky is corrugated and ashen. We pray that the storm holds off for another two hours, hope that the névé isn't far below us now. I faff with my prussik, not confident enough to abseil without one but aware my climbing partners become ever-colder as they wait for me.

Four 50m abseils see us return to the névé. Determined to make up for my nervous downward progress, I lead the way, focusing on taking long strides, plunging up to my knees here and there in softer patches of snow. As we reach the flat section, I plunge up to one knee again. And then some more. I yelp involuntarily then stare, horrified and fascinated, into the ever-darkening tunnel below me, all glass-smooth sides and deep-ocean blue. For some reason, this thrills me, and seems a fitting end to the climb.

Centennial Hut - the facts

It costs around $150 per person to fly in, or a bit less if you have a larger group that fills one or two six-seater (including pilot) choppers. Walking in would realistically take 2–3 days, especially if you are unfamiliar with the terrain.

If you end up waiting out bad (but not too bad) weather in Fox Village before flying in, pass the time and work on your ice climbing technique on the Fox Glacier terminus. A 5 minute drive from the village brings you to the Fox Glacier car park. Follow the track from here for 20 minutes and then get onto the glacier.

Centennial Hut has 12 bunks and a nice sheltered camping spot just 10m down the slope to the north of the hut. It can get very busy with guided and independent parties in January and February. Bring a tent or be prepared to snow cave if you come during these times.

On a day forecast to crap out in the afternoon, head for the gullies on the south side of Jervois' west ridge (20–30 minutes' walk) or, if you're feeling keen and fast, Jervois itself, Aigrette or Rudolf (but be sure to get up early and use your discretion).

It's a 2–3 hour walk to Pioneer Hut from Centennial. Good route finding skills are required in misty/cloudy conditions.

Definitely check out the comic genius in the hut's 'The Little Book of Wrong Shui'...

When I told people I was going to spend a season winter climbing in New Zealand I was immediately asked, "But won't it be cold? Hard? Scary?"

Well, it's been all of the above. And more. It's also been totally incredible and something I'm glad I did.

Here are some reasons why winter climbing is, quite literally, so cool.

It's colder and the sun is less harsh...
- No peeling noses!
- You have to learn to deal with and live in the cold. This includes simple things like cooking, melting snow and keeping your gear dry.
- Colder temperatures mean things (like rocks) get frozen in (hopefully) so they don't fall down on you
- You don't sweat as much so it's actually more comfortable when you're moving
- You don't have to worry as much about the dreaded Southern Alps afternoon slush

There's more snow...
- Which makes it a nicer place to be around
- There's good cramponing (and glissading!) in the North Island and at lower altitudes in the South Island
- More routes are in condition
- Crevasses are more filled in
- There's more variety of snow/ice around so your reading and understanding of conditions and technique develops quicker (I walked through about four different types of snow/ice in less than 10m of travel on the slopes of Taranaki)
- Your photies look a lot cooler

It's more serious...
- You don't (and can't) just follow another party's tracks so your routefinding and navigation get put to the test more
- You learn to keep an eye out for avalanches, consider where you may be 'safe' and watch out for cornices, which all helps to develop your mountain sense
- You learn faster and will be more comfortable when conditions are more favourable
- And more intense. There's nothing like it

There's less daylight...
- You have to learn to climb/descend in the dark (and I don't just mean walking across a glacier) so your technique gets better and you learn to feel rather than just look
- And if you think the stars look nice in summer...

River crossings...
- Get easier with less water flowing through them (though what's left is often quite cold!)

Better and more routes...
- There's more variety
- Some routes only form in winter or are not quite as good in summer. Think Arthur's Pass, anything in the North Island, and the ice/mixed lines in the Darrans, and of course those south faces you've always dreamed of doing...
- Fresh tracks... You get the whole pioneering feeling because the greater snow and lower climbing traffic means there are literally no one else's steps around
- First ascents. Yes, there are plenty to be had. And there are many more routes that haven't been climbed in winter. In fact, there are whole peaks, valleys and ranges that haven't seen any winter climbing activity. So if you think the Southern Alps is climbed out, think again

Steeper lines...
- This will obviously improve your technique and skills faster, and your inefficiencies will be more obvious so you can work on them
- Often the descent is a downclimb rather than a walk off (and done in the dark)...so again, think what it does for your skill set and confidence
- The routes are not all hard though. I've climbed grades 1-4 this season and had just as much fun on the different routes

There's less people around...
- Both on the roads and in the hills so the environment is cleaner
- You get entire huts to yourself and don't have to worry about being kept up or woken up by other parties during the night
- You're often the only person or rope in the area so you get more of a wilderness experience. It is truly just you and the mountain.
- You have to be responsible for yourself

Don't get me wrong, there are moments during the winter season when you'll wish it were summer. Like when you get the barfies. When you're shivering it out at belays. When you have to swim through loose deep snow (lots of it). When you're just plain cold. When you have to downclimb in the dark because you ran out of daylight and there's no tracks to follow. When your bottle freezes. When you have to carry heavier jackets and sleeping bags. More food. More fuel.

But isn't it worth it if it brings you closer to the edge? When it allows you to discover a bit more about yourself? And if you wanted it easy you would have taken up tennis instead of mountaineering.

Well, that's what I think anyway.

I would like to pay homage to Australian mountaineers. Yep, the very same characters some folk in the NZ climbing community like to roll their eyes at.

Why would anyone pay homage to the 'stralian mountaineers, I hear you ask? Well, in my experience, they are always super friendly, never talk themselves up and they always make me laugh.

Back when I was a student, I did my first winter tramp up the West Matukituki. Upon arriving at Aspiring Hut, my friend and I found we would be sharing it with three Aussies. We said a quick hello then headed into the sleeping area to ditch our packs. One by one, the Aussie lads came in and retrieved their sleeping bags and packs, carrying them out to the living area. My friend and I watched in confused silence. It turned out they were Mount Aspiring-bound and planning to make an alpine start the next day. They didn't want to disturb our sleep the next morning. Now that's manners.

That evening, in their Occer drawls, they gave each other shit about which of them had the willpower to save their Cookie Time for the walk-out day. Whoever caved and ate his cookie early would later be tortured by the gustatory delight of those who had managed to hold off.

The Kiwi climber who stomped into the hut the following day was a far-cry from those guys. Penning his intentions in the hut book, he asked who had been about and I mentioned the Aussies. He snorted in disgust.

'Australians! Think they can climb everything!'

He stormed off, all bulging calves and teeny pack. I know who I would have rather climbed with.

I'll never forget the Aussie climber on Ruapehu who grinningly told me about his 'trough'.

'Your trough...?' I wondered.

He and his girlfriend had a big container full of cooked rice and other goodies they could chow down on anytime they needed an energy boost but didn't have time to cook.

'So eet's our trough!' he exclaimed, his delight in the genius of his trough evident.

After having known me for all of five minutes, said Aussie climber and his girlfriend invited me to climb with them on the Pinnacles. At the time, the climb was the hardest thing I'd ever done – and I can't imagine two better people to have shared it with.

So, cheers! To all the Ohstrahlyin climbers I've met and to those I'll be meeting soon.

You would think Mt Jervois (2630m) is too good to be true. Its 200m south-west face presents a dozen unclimbed wnter lines ranging from challenging to futuristic (that is, you'll need a jet pack to get up them). And all within 10-20 minutes walk from Centennial Hut. This makes a trip to Centennial at least as attractive as a trip to Pioneer for climbing the steep stuff. Although the routes are not as long as those on the likes of Mts Douglas, Mallory and Barnicoat, Mt Jervois has even quicker access, is easier to get off and offers greater climbing challenges.

John Kristiansen and I planned a week-long blitz of Mt Jervois back in 2004. We were going to do it all, we even had the new route names sorted, but weather kept us in Fox Glacier Village and in the end we only got to play on it for a few hours one morning before having to head back to work. The truth is that the routes were a bit steeper than we'd anticipated anyway so we would never have cleaned up like planned. The picture of the south-west face of Jervois isn't really affected by fore-shortening. It really is that steep. The rock that is bare is vertical.

The obvious route up for grabs is the line left of the large patch of lighter rock. I believe this has been climbed in summer as a rock climb and is the only established route on the face. We climbed the first pitch to have a look at it: it would take two pitches to reach the steep water ice at mid height (the crux), which would hopefully be only a pitch long (if I had 60-70m ropes I'd take them) and this leads to a couple of pitches of easier ground to the summit ridge. This would be a do-able climb for someone with water ice climbing experience.

The insane stuff is further to the right, where thin ice covers near vertical rock. This would be a project for the extreme mixed climbers out there.

If you are currently developing your ice climbing then there are plenty of options for you too. Further to the left (back towards the hut) the climbs shorten to 1-2 pitches in length and vary in difficulty. The three action shots were taken in this area. The left photo is of John playing on a 50m mixed line. The central photo is me on thin ice covering a rock slab on a 100m line. The right photo is me topping out on the hardest 50m lead of my life, somewhat relieved to have just grabbed a jug with my hand and within spitting distance of Centennial Hut.

If I had to offer one piece of advice to an aspiring mountaineer it would be this. Work out how to climb for most of the year.

If you want to be a very good climber then work out how to climb for six months a year. If you want to be great then work out how to climb for nine months a year. I have met a guy who climbed nine months a year. He chose to sleep in a tent in the snow instead of a warm hut 100 metres away because it saved him $1 a night. And he was by far the best climber I ever met.

I could occassionally put in a three month stretch, but it took me the rest of the year to financially recover. And I wasn't exactly saving for a house deposit. Looking back, I should have put more thought into how my job affected my climbing.

First of all, I should have realised that two-thirds of any climbing season is ruined by the weather. If I was at Aoraki-Mt Cook for three months then two of them were sitting around bored out of my nut. If I had had a job with flexible work hours that I could have done with a laptop and an Internet connection then I could have probably climbed in every good weather window over 12 months. Therefore I am going to suggest the most driven young climbers out there need to find jobs that are the most compatible to mountaineering - jobs that will let them sit at the foot of the mountain until the weather clears.

Okay - friends, families, partners and careers are more important than becoming the world's greatest climber to most of us. But we could still try the odd two month climbing season every now and then. Anecdotal evidence seems to indicate the two month Aoraki-Mt Cook stint is a thing of yesteryear - perhaps because being a student is a lot more expensive than it once was. So how is it done? Where do I find a nice cheap place to call base camp? How do I find a season's worth of climbing partners?

Let me tell you about Wyn Irwin hut owned by the Canterbury Mountaineering Club.

The absolute easiest way of finding a climbing partner at Aoraki-Mount Cook Village is to set up camp in the hut. Actually, it is pretty much the only way of finding a climbing partner. Highly important, Wyn Irwin is the kind of place you want to hang out in - it's no army barracks. The hut is super cosy with sofa, armchairs and a living room view of Aoraki-Mt Cook.

Being situated at the end of Hooker Valley Road, it isn't connected to the grid, but has solar panels, a generator and gas. If you are a club member the hut is $8 a night. This low rate combined with easy access to the Hooker Valley (a no fly zone with relatively easy access - hence the climber isn't tempted to blow $300 on a chopper ride up the Tasman) makes a two-month climbing season affordable. Members get free use of Empress Hut (or at least they did when I was a member) at the head of the valley - possibly the choicest hut in the park.

Photos are (top) Wyn Irwin hut at lower right with views of Mt Sefton at left and Aoraki-Mt Cook in the distance, (left, top) Tshering Phande Bhote in a rope and ski pole hammock, (left, bottom) Tim in the living area, (right, top) hut warden Cameron Mulvey and Martha (one of the resident ducks) and (right, bottom) cars snowed-in in June.

If you can't fly a Tibetan flag in Tibet or Nepal then you may as well fly one at the North Pole (Norwegian Inge Solheim). The inset is the shadow of Everest.

China announced a ban on climbing Everest from the Tibetan (north) side, effective April 1, in a letter to expedition companies from the China Tibet Mountaineering Association which stated: 'Concern over climbing activities, crowded climbing routes and increasing environmental pressures will cause potential safety problems in Qomolangma (Everest) areas. We are not able to accept your expedition, so please postpone your climbing.'

So, overcrowding and environmental damage on Everest are a problem only when an Olympic torch is being taken to the summit?

The closure speaks volumes about Chinese unease. All international climbers are banned from even Base Camp until the Chinese team stands atop the peak, holding the Olympic torch aloft. In a typical display of arrogance, this glorious event is scheduled to have been achieved by May 10, when the north side will finally 're-open'.

Even climbers on Everest's Nepal (south) side have been forced to sign papers issued by the Nepalese government, promising they'll follow rules and behave to get their permits. No team members may proceed above Camp II before May 10. Anti-China banners, pamphlets or any audio-visual devices that may harm 'bilateral relations between Nepal and China' are a big no-no and each teams' electronic gear must be locked in police storage at BC until May 10. Naturally, all expedition news will be approved by the Ministry of Tourism and Civil Aviation before it is broadcast.

Any climbers on the south side not intoxicated by big profits and/or the goal of the summit, and unwilling to turn a blind eye to genocide and forced censorship, will be kicked off the mountain. The Nepali government may also take action against them for breaching laws related to bilateral relations between Nepal and their 'friendly (neighbouring) country'. Funny they feel the need to stress China's affability.

I don't know if this is standard on Everest, but teams are also required to register daily attendance of all 'members and helpers' and report to the Ministry of Culture, Tourism and Civil Aviation.

News of the ban on the Nepalese side came in an announcement from the Nepalese Tourism minister Prithvi Subba Gurung, who said the closure was in response to a request from China. He also said, 'This is to prevent some people who could infiltrate and cause trouble during the time when they take the torch to the top.'

Why is Nepal going along with all this? Nepal, along with many others, has not been a friend to Tibet. Allow me to provide a little background. In 1989, Nepal ceased to allow newly arriving Tibetans to remain or seek refuge there. However, by informal arrangement with the Office of the U.N. High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), Nepal agreed to facilitate the transit of new arrivals through Nepal, typically to Tibetan exile communities in India. Yet, since 2000, Nepali authorities have handed over Tibetan refugees to the Chinese. Initially, only refugees arrested along the borders were sent back. Tibetans who managed to cross the border and reach Kathmandu, Nepal's capital, were handed over to the UNHCR.

However, on May 30, 2003, Nepali police arrested demonstrators in Kathmandu and called in the Chinese authorities. It is thought Kathmandu's handing over of Tibetan refugees to the UNHCR is resented by Beijing as US promotion of anti-China sentiment, as the US has provided funds to support the refugee programme.

In early March this year, China’s Assistant Foreign Minister He Yafei visited Kathmandu for bilateral talks with Nepal on developing diplomatic ties and greater cooperation. During his visit, He Yafei assured Nepalese authorities of soft loans for two power projects worth 121 million Euros. Soft loans typically come with low interest rates and can be paid back over a generous period of time. The money is part of a 130 million Euro concessional credit committed to Nepal by China’s state owned Export-Import Bank.

Soon after, the Everest closures were announced.

Closing an entire mountain, in both a neighbouring country and the one they invaded and annexed, to the rest of the world in order to carry, of all things, the Olympic torch to its summit, shows the Chinese are utterly defiant in their delusional convictions. And yet, it also shows fear. Fear of their country losing face in the build up to the precious games, yes; but also deeper fear in the knowledge the world is now watching as never before, and not because we too want to see the torch on the summit.

If the Chinese succeed in their iniquitous goal, what will it mean for the people of Tibet? Undoubtedly, they have endured and continue to endure far worse horrors in their daily lives. But by allowing China to host the 2008 Olympics and carry a symbol of international friendship to the summit of Everest, aren't we reassuring China their fears are nothing compared to our fear of taking a stand?

Now you are interested, don’t be misled into thinking that mixed climbing has to be desperate. I am writing to get people out there trying winter climbing. Often it is the more amiable ridges and buttresses that provide classic routes with varied coverings, and these lines may be the best places to start. Sure, you’ll often find harder sections on these climbs, but they will possibly be shorter and not so serious. Ridges and buttresses can often be better choices than gullies in that there is less risk of a big white woofer landing on your head!

There is another big plus to having a bent towards this branch of the sport. You don’t have to head away into the high Alps to do it. With a messy crag, a freeze, and a smattering of snow, you can get into this anywhere.

So, given you have decided to give it a go, and you have no need to savour the delights of bottomless powder snow in the high mountains, you head off for the likes of Ruapehu, The Remarks, or the ultimate venue – The Darrans. What gear will you need, how is it different? Here are some suggestions.

Crampons It is often better to have the front points a bit shorter than you would for snow or ice – you want a bit less leverage on those tricky rock moves. Monopoint or dual front points – your choice – monopoints allow funkier moves such as kicking high then twisting on the point whereas standard dual front points are more stable.

Boots Modern leather boots are best in that they give a lot more ‘feel’ than plastics – that is, you get a feel for what your feet are doing on the ice and rock. Plastic boots are, of course, warmer. If you think your feet will get cold in leathers then get a pair or super gaiters that completely encapsulate the boot.

Tools Your axe and hammer shafts shouldn’t be too heavily cranked as you will find you need to use the adze and hammer more than on a pure ice climb – the greater the bends in the shafts, the less useful are the adze and hammer. The likes of a Simond Naja is pretty versatile.

Rope Climb on two long ropes. Climb on two ropes because if nothing else think whether you’d prefer to do lots of 30m abseils, or fewer 60m abseils. The advantage of a 60m rope over a 50m rope is that you have another 10 metres to find a decent anchor - although even 60m may not be long enough. All the other advantages can be read about here.

Gear

It’s going to be frigin’ cold so we will look at insulation. For sure an Alaskan expedition down jacket and sleeping bag will make you the envy of basecamp on the Tasman Glacier, but you can perhaps make do by layering what you already have. I used to wear a polyester base layer, a tight but stretchy thick fleece, a looser microfleece windshell and an oversized microfleece vest over the top. By getting the sizing right, this arrangement worked well. The temperature changes dramatically depending on location and time of the day so a layering approach works well. Standing in the sun at midday actually feels quite warm and you may strip down to your baselayer even if it is -15 degrees. But the shade 10 metres away is another world. During winter, once that sun goes away, you can be plugging up deep powder in a down jacket and still feel the coldest you have ever been.

It’s the same deal with sleeping bags. If you don’t feel inclined to spend up large on a new expedition weight bag, just take a second bag to drape over the first. You may find the huts get pretty toasty in winter anyway, especially the small ones like Pioneer. If you bring a gas heater on the chopper everyone will love you.

What you will need is plastic boots. There’s not much getting around that. If you plan to use skis then you will need ski-mountaineering boots, which from all accounts aren’t that bad for ice climbing. If you don’t want to use most of your student loan to buy ski-mountaineering boots, bindings, skis and poles, then buy or hire snowshoes. You almost certainly will need either skis or snowshoes.

Gloves and mitts are the other important items. You need some big fat mitts for maximum warmth and a collection of gloves that offer various degrees of dexterity and warmth. Winter climbing is often a trade off between working the rope and keeping the fingers warm.

As I wrote earlier, you must be conscious of frostbite. In summer it is pretty much impossible to get frostbite. In winter frostbite is common. It’s not difficult to avoid, and most victims are surprised when they discover some damage. You can’t just let fingers go numb or kneel on the snow during belays as you would in summer.

Finally, leave your Platypus / Camelbak at home. Water will freeze unless it is kept in an interior jacket pocket. Dedicated cold winter jackets have a number of large interior pockets for food, water and camera. Small compressable water flasks work well. Take a fuelite stove and pot on the climb as it will be your only water source. Sitting out a storm in an emergency bivy without a stove would be pretty serious.

That’s enough to get you started, stay tuned for all the details on where you can go this winter.

With global warming and all it was probably inevitable anyway...

To convince you to take up winter climbing, I'm first going to diss summer climbing. You have probably just spent most of your summer holiday climbing. Sucked didn't it? Think of all that dodging of crevasses, leaping over gaping schrunds, rocks whistling past ears, lack of ice to swing axes into, dehydration, sunburn, mush climbing, mush descending, crowded huts, weeks of rain.

I want you to remember all the pain and frustration you have been through. Then say "never again!"

"But winter climbing is harder", I hear you say. Well, you shouldn't be so cheeky to answer back. But I shall address your concerns.

Yes, without doubt there are difficulties associated with winter climbing, namely lots of deep snow to wade through, very cold temperatures, very short days and the threat of some mean powder avalanches.

But all in all the objective hazards are perhaps no more threatening than those in summer, they are just different. There is pretty much no rockfall in winter, which is a major plus. And summer can be pretty avalanchey too you know - all those wet slides and slab releases. Furthermore, you are far far less likely to end up in a crevasse in winter.

Frostbite, which is pretty much unheard of in summer, is a risk to get used to in winter. But once you realise you shouldn't kneel on the snow during belays or climb in your thin gloves, it's easily avoided. It could perhaps be argued that getting caught out in a winter storm is preferable to getting caught out in a summer storm as it is too cold to rain so at least you don't get wet.

In addition, the weather is usually better in winter than in summer. It is not uncommon to get an entire month of blue sky weather.

The coldness is definitely something to get used to. But hey, just get warmer clothing. You always wanted to climb in Alaska anyway right? Well, it's a lot cheaper getting to Mt Cook Village than Anchorage. Being at the bottom of the mountain in winter feels like being at the top of the mountain in summer. Which is great - it makes our mountains a good 2000-3000 metres higher! And we still don't have to worry about altitude sickness!

It is true there is a lot of deep powder to slog through. Since it is cold, you don't get a melt-freeze cycle going on, and that means no crisp cramponing. But, you get to use snowshoes and skis - which are way cool. In the case of skis, you are likely to be charging around a lot quicker than you would in summer on foot anyhow.

Winter climbing is about the quality of the climb. Rocks are frozen in place and there is climbable ice everywhere for both the beginner and the super climbing dude. If you want to climb the best thing you have ever climbed then you need to go winter. There are first ascents to be had on half the obvious ice lines a climber can spot from the hut. There are first winter ascents (never climbed previously in winter) to be had from grade 2 to grade 6 and beyond. Entire valleys are without a winter climb. And if you get to the top of Aoraki-Mt Cook or one of the other 3000m you may well be the first to do so in a decade of winters or more. So fame and glory await.

Okay, you need to stay tuned as there are plans afoot for winter 2008. It's time to ask for more annual leave.

Descents
First, and I would say most important, is to realise how difficult the descents can be. By the time you are coming back down the mountain the snow may be a horrible mush - and often this mush sits on top of a firm layer so it feels as if you are walking down a hydroslide with plastic bags tied to your feet. If the slope is only at a shallow angle then these conditions are great for glissading but if you are still coming off your climb then progress requires a lot of care.

I have seen, and been party to, a number of very close misses with people taking slides and miraculously being saved by a protruding rock or small crevasse as they were about to fall hundreds of metres. No doubt a large percentage of fatalities from falls have occurred in these conditions. Even if climbers make it down safely, the descent ends up being mentally draining as care is required for each step. There is little chance of self arresting on this stuff - the mush layer is too soft and the base layer too icy.

So, if the going seems too dangerous then I highly recommend waiting high on the summit. The snow in the late afternoon will become a lot firmer - usually you only have to wait until the sun has been off a slope for 30-60 minutes before you'll find the slope a lot firmer. This will still allow you enough daylight to complete most of the descent, and even if you get back to the hut a bit after dark the return trip will have been a lot safer and more enjoyable.

Night is your friend
In summer, night is your friend - better cramponing, firmer snowbridges, less avalanches. Most climbs require an "alpine" start - which means getting up at some aweful time in the morning - 4am if you're lucky, 1am if you are about to climb something like Mt Cook or Mt Tasman, or occasionally 11pm if you have a long approach just to get to your mountain. As a rule of thumb, plan to be on the summit within an hour or two of sunrise, especially if climbing on the eastern side of a mountain - the slopes turn to mush very quickly after sunrise. In practice, we don't often achieve this - you may want daylight to climb some of the technical cruxes and climbs often take longer than we expect. If your route is mostly on rock then you won't be fussed about snow conditions anyway. But, in the main, you'd hope to be topping out sometime about brunch. The earlier you arrive at the summit, the better your descent will be (as explained above). If you get there later in the day, then consider waiting until late afternoon to begin your descent.

If you plan to start out before sunrise, then you may wish to do a bit of a recce of the approach the afternoon before so you aren't stumbling around in the dark wondering where the mountain is.

Water
Plugging up a snow slope on a sunny day is about as hot as it gets. You may be tired and hungry, but the thing that stops you in your tracks - unable to go another step without feeling dizzy - is dehydration. On a 16 hour climb I usually drink the 2L of water I am carrying early on and spend a lot of the climb trying to find water dripping from rocks or putting ice under my helmet. I'm a wreck by the time I get back to the hut. Something I would always do now is take a stove and small pot to melt snow during a climb - particularly on the descent. Whatever time and energy is used melting snow and carrying the equipment is more than made up for in terms of being able to skip merrily down the mountain later in the day. Furthermore, if you end up spending a night out (or many nights in an emergency situation) then having a stove is very important - so it may be considered as important as a bivy bag. The other option I've seen people take is carrying another 2L of water and stashing it at some point for the return leg.

Mountains are not supposed to be easy
Expect there to be obstacles. I will give a couple of examples.

First, many people gather around the hut radio listening to the next day’s weather forecast eager to know what the freezing level will be (lower freezing levels are good because the slopes will be firmer allowing good cramponing). I have seen some climbers deciding against climbing the following day because of a too high freezing level. Well, you shouldn’t even be listening to the freezing level forecast. The climb just takes as long as it takes. In good conditions a climb to the summit may take 6 hours, and in soft conditions it may take 16 hours. There is never a “standard” time that you are supposed to be back by.

Second, when an unexpected obstacle arises on the climb, we usually use it as a reason to turn around. However, the obstacle can almost always be negotiated. For instance, suspect avalanche conditions can be avoided by changing route or waiting for the snow to firm later in the afternoon. The major reason climbers have for turning around is that it is too late in the day to continue – obstacles or slow progress have meant they have not reached the summit by the time they expected. This is actually not a reason to turn around – considering that they most likely left the hut in the dark in the first place and night conditions are better for climbing than conditions at midday anyway. It is therefore important to overcome the fear of the dark that we naturally have, and realise that the experienced climbers out there are all having 20+ hour days, arriving back at huts at 3am and spending the odd night having a miserably cold bivy – all in the pursuit of a much wanted summit. When I understood this, I started getting up 7 out of 8 mountains rather than 1 out of 8.

Covering up
Probably not something that most people need reminding of, but you pretty much need to be completely covered by clothing to escape the sun in the mountains in summer – that includes thin gloves, hat with neck coverage, scarf, and if possible, face protection. Sunscreen sticks, rather than creams, don’t sweat off as easily and don’t get in your eyes.

But first to recap. The 'helicopter assist' versus 'valley climb' debate has been conducted in 'letters to the editor', around mountain hut tables and on Internet forums for many years. The arguments for climbing from the valley floor are numerous. Some do not regard a mountain to be climbed if the party has flown to a high base. A good example is Aoraki - Mt Cook, for which most climbers fly to the Grand Plateau at 2200m, which is half way up the mountain. There is a certain degree of logic to the argument of whether the mountain has truely been climbed. After all, the start and end of the Linda Glacier route on Aoraki - Mt Cook is determined by most to be Plateau Hut, which is a somewhat arbitrary location. Would we have issues with people getting dropped off halfway up the Linda, or at the Summit Rocks (where the technical climbing begins)? Perhaps we should all be heading down to the snowline on Haast Ridge to begin our climb? The practical reasons for using helicopters or skiplanes are, of course, that we can take weeks of provisions that allow climbs of more than one peak, that we can spend a spell of rare good weather climbing rather than walking in, and that the lower section of a mountain is usually not of much interest. It seems reasonable to argue that if we couldn't fly into high areas to spend most of our days climbing (rather than slogging in to sit out a storm then leaving when the weather clears) that the development of our climbing would suffer.

There is the argument that we could enhance the wilderness experience by having less aircraft buzzing around. Unfortunately, aircraft ferrying climbers are greatly outnumbered by scenic flights, so I'm guessing it wouldn't make much difference. Even no-fly wilderness zones such as the Hooker Valley have their serenity drowned out by scenic flights for the tourists and SAR and DOC operations. Having spent a day and a half slogging up the valley with a full load, I'm often left bemused that the no-fly zone is supposedly there for my benefit when in fact I'm the only one who has been put out and I'd rather use a chopper anyway. Furthermore, it seems a little odd that locations that boast the greatest concentrations of highly technical routes (that require a lot of gear to be brought in) do not allow aircraft landings - e.g., the Hooker Valley and Balfour Glacier. A related argument is that aircraft access is responsible for overcrowding, particularly in huts around Mt Aspiring. This I find a bit odd. It's like people sitting in a gridlock complaining about traffic - you are in fact part of the problem. The Southern Alps are one of the longest mountain chains in the world - if you are somewhere crowded you only have yourself to blame for going where everyone else is going.

The argument that we are all nature loving people and that we should be choosing less environmentally damaging modes of travel will probably surface in the not too distant future.

But I'd like to present two other arguments that don't really seem to have been voiced thus far.

The first is in response to 'only climbing from the valley floor is a true ascent of a mountain'. I have met a number of people who climb by this ethos - that using a helicopter is kind of... well, cheating. The odd thing being that these climbers are very happy to use huts. It seems that no-one has pointed out that huts are taken into the mountains and serviced by helicopters. Indeed, a hut is not a natural feature on a mountain and its presence is a form of 'cheating'.

Whether using a helicopter or using a hut, we are making the mountain a bit easier for ourselves, choosing to reduce some challenges and to maintain others. I find this concept quite fascinating. If you want to take the logic to the extreme, most of what we do in the hills is cheating. For example, wearing clothes eliminates one of the great challenges of the mountains - the cold. Even taking food eliminates the challenge of the mountains being devoid of life. I'm taking things to what may seem as the ridiculous, but it is interesting to note that there is a guy making a serious attempt to climb Mt Everest in only shorts and boots at present, and when crampons were first introduced they were regarded by the climbing establishment as a form of cheating.

Well, it's probably apparent that I'm all for using helicopters - anywhere and everywhere. I was quite happy that any argument from the 'don't use helicopters' section had been answered. And to those who argued that there should be a mix of helicopter access and wilderness zones I simply think they should just go somewhere other than Aspiring or Mt Cook to find their peace and quiet. But then a mate came up with one argument I didn't have an answer for. If we allow unrestricted helicopter access then we will see mass bolting of the mountains. Bolting in the mountains is something I don't like - I like the idea of some faces being impossible to climb - and what is 'impossible' anyway? It will not just be the alpine rock climbs, but difficult mixed (ice and rock) climbs too. Furthermore, within a generation there will be little left for young climbers to make a first ascent on. Making first ascents is an exciting part of climbing. We can no longer make first ascents of peaks in New Zealand (since all peaks have been climbed), but there is still plenty of first ascents for the adventurous. The argument is that these should be regarded as a limited resource.

One suggestion I will throw out there is the east face of the Footstool (centre left in picture). The Footstool is frequently climbed via its standard route, accessed from Sefton Bivy and gaining the Main Divide north of the summit. However, if you are a little more experienced there is a superb grade 3- route on the east face, 'Wombats in Love' (immediately left of the vertical strip of dark rock under the summit in the picture). This is an ideal introduction to a mountain face - consistent front pointing for several hundred vertical metres but nowhere steep. The views are awesome, particular looking back down the 2000m you have ascended from the valley floor. Four snowstakes and a few ice screws are all you need.

There is one major warning though. The right hand side of the face (under the east ridge) has major rockfall. You absolutely must be onto the left side of the face by dawn. This means a true alpine start (that is, 2 am at the latest) from Sefton Bivy. From the bivy there is a fair amount of steep glacier travel until the face. The first climbing proper is up and diagonally left through a bit of a mixed rock band. You must have this part of the climb finished before dawn. Then the route is straight up consistently angled ice/snow to the Main Divide, topping out immediately to the south of the summit. Take the usual descent route to get back to Sefton Bivy.

The face and most of the standard route are east facing, which is another reason to get the climbing done before things get mushy with the morning sun. As always, if the descent is tricky because of mushy slow, hang out on the summit and wait until late afternoon for things to get firmer.