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This was published in the Alpine Club of Canada
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Since the original plan was to go just as far as Arnica Lake the first night, we were well satisfied with our progress when we stopped and made camp about an hour and a half west. It was Pete’s birthday (24) and I had packed a can of India Pale Ale which, after cooling in a snow patch for some minutes, produced a fine end to a good day.
Some time after midnight we awoke to the sound of light rain, which increased to a heavy drumming by 4 a.m. This did not auger well, and the morning found us cloud-bound, with scotch mist soaking everything. We set off into a world both unfamiliar and confusing, following a compass bearing across broad snow patches and clumps of dwarf mountain spruce. Bumps and dips appeared out of nowhere as we approached. Along the ridge we encountered the pair who were attempting the Hinde in 3 days. They were retreating.
A map with 40m contours can hide a great deal of topography, but we made some good decisions and by 10 a.m. were on the ridge leading to Mt Phillips, with cairns in front and behind, something that had been notably absent earlier in the morning.
It’s always folly to laugh at the gods, and this was no exception. A steep pull to the summit of Mt Burman, while straightforward enough, was hard going after what had already been a long day. We topped out feeling wrecked, although not without the satisfaction of looking back to see that our snow patch descent route had been much the most elegant line to have taken.
Descending the north ridge of Mt Burman, the trail dropped over steep quartzite bluffs, and at the ultimate one we found the way blocked. Although clearly cairned as the only route through the cliff band, the crack was coated in wet slime and running water. Further, the snow patch below, which earlier in the year would have offered an easy jump to safety, had melted away from the rock, leaving a gaping chasm.
Backing up, we debated on what to do. The Hinde was now so close; there was no turning back. We chose to rappel down and inspect the route, to see if a climber without a pack could get up what we currently were unwilling to climb down. After all, we might need to come back this way a day later.
This was quickly done, our 20m of 7mm rope coming in handy for just such a problem. Having confirmed we could up-climb if necessary, Pete lowered the packs, and shortly joined me on the grass terrace. Another half an hour brought us to a spot above Burman Lake where small tarns and copses of trees offered a good campsite.
The original plan had been to continue to the south bowl of the Golden Hinde for a shorter approach on the morrow, but tired muscles voted otherwise. We pitched the tent as the clouds came and went most of the evening.
Day 3, and we awoke at 5:30 to find a world enshrouded in mist, but no wind. A hasty breakfast, and we descended the slippery trail into the slot that is at lake level, before the steep climb out on the other side. Silent thoughts wished the Park authorities would install a suspension bridge, to avoid the futility of dropping 50m into a crack, only to clamber out again.
Once across the chasm, a good path led in an hour into the bowl under the Golden Hinde’s south face. The clouds had burned off the upper levels, leaving the valleys in mist. Above, a blue sky promised a perfect day. It was 7 o’clock and decision time: We could choose the standard SE Gullies route, and play it safe. The alternate was the West Ridge, which, although longer, was (according to Philip Stone’s excellent Island Alpine) also grade 4.
We opted for the latter, and were at the foot of the ridge at 8:00. The first section was easy scrambling on quartzite amid heather terraces, and went quickly. Then the first gendarme appeared, with a large snow slope sweeping up from the left (north) side. To the right (south), the smooth south face dropped away, offering little that was close to Class 4. We opted to climb 10m up the spine of the gendarme, before stepping left into a metre-wide alley between the rock and snow. We emerged onto the upper, gentler-angled snow, which brought us out at a notch in the west ridge.
While the notch offered no possibilities, as it opened onto the south face again, a 20m gully to its left led onto a quite different aspect. True, we were on the south face, but a long and relatively wide terrace ran away and up, providing an easy scramble across what would otherwise have been a serious rock wall.
After several hundred metres of progress, our way was blocked by a steep snow slope that had no comforting alley behind it. Reminding ourselves that this was, after all, “only Class 4”, we realized that some 30m above us, a red terrace offered the only alternative. The challenge was how to reach that terrace.
A white quartzite slab allowed us to gain height, after one or two thin initial moves. Mind you, when you are doing un-roped thin moves, it’s always best that they be at the start, rather than the finish, of a pitch. Above, a steep but easy chimney required great care not to dislodge loose rubble, and then the red terrace was ours.
The Golden Hinde is a geologist’s dream, with a multitude of different rock types – quartzite, basalt, gneiss, granite, limestone, even marble. The red terrace turned out to be a band of iron-rich material, and it rose at a steady angle up and across the face, making a perfect, though airy, pathway.
Half way across, at its narrowest, Pete announced he was running on empty and needed a snack. Under normal circumstances I would have opted for a somewhat less vertical site to stop, but he was adamant, so we spent a breezy ten minutes standing against the wall, packs firmly clasped, eating and drinking, and trying hard not to look down.
Finally, we moved off again. The terrace broadened, with scrub grass and heather cover. Ahead, a spur ran up to the south summit, cutting our path. Just as we were wondering how to turn it, a white quartzite gully cut back left to the West Ridge’s crest. From there, a short scramble brought us to the south summit itself.
Crossing a narrow snow ridge above the SE Gullies, we reached the final 30m to the true summit. So it was true, the West Ridge went as a Class 4 (and in just 90 minutes). There had certainly been times along the route when we’d wondered.
On the summit, there was an unhappy lack of a summit register. A note, stuck in a rubber ducky, and dated August 2002, complained of the same problem. We, alas, had neither pen, paper nor canister. Instead, we took photos on a pristine day, with blue skies above, and all the 1500m-plus peaks standing out of a sea of cloud below. It was perfect.
Then down the SE Gullies, the snow patches steep, climbed facing in for some distance before turning round and heel-booting rapidly. Lower, the lucky find of a cairn took us down the right gully back to the basin below the south face and into familiar territory, with nothing but the awful chasm down to Burman Lake separating us from camp, which we reached at noon.
An hour to recover, and then it was time to start the long trip home. We had already ruled out going back over Mt Burman with its wet gully to climb. Instead, we opted for a traverse on snow patches under the NE flank of Burman. It was a good line, well cairned, and got us to the north end of Schjelderup Lake in short order. However, there our luck ran out. The trail leading SE up onto Phillips Ridge petered out, and we spent an hour thrashing first up, and then down through alder, before traversing an old avalanche slope on the E shoreline, to regain the strip of land between Schjelderup Lake and its unnamed southern partner.
From there, we knew the way up, having descended that route two days before. The bottom section (below the snow patches) however, had been steep and messy - fine for descent, but an ugly proposition for climbing. Instead, we chose the talus next to the cliffs on the left (N), which avoided the vertical forest, regaining the snow higher up without pain. Thereafter, a slow and steady plod up the couloir saw us back on the ridge, 350m above.
Like every other day, this had been a long one, and we’d little left to give as we hiked up and down the interminable ridge bumps. As 6 o’clock approached, I called a halt. We made camp on a level spot and were in our sleeping bags and in the land of nod by 8:00, long before the sun had set.
Day 4, and the morning brought good weather. We packed up and headed south over more saddles and peaks, crossing Mt Phillips and turning east for Arnica Lake. The zigzags down to the car were a relief in the shade of the tall trees, and we arrived at the car park almost exactly 3 days after we’d left.
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