Mount Cook, or Aoraki per the Maori, lies in the center of the eponymous national park. The portion of the park where we stayed has two adjacent U-shaped valleys, both funneling into Lake Pukaki. The right valley contains the Tasman Glacier, the longest glacier in New Zealand at approximately 20 km (13 mi). The Tasman Glacier - like most glaciers - is receding rapidly, and it has left a giant glacial lake in its wake. More on that later. The left valley is dominated by the Hooker Glacier, which parallels the Tasman Glacier. A "narrow" side fork extends off the Hooker valley at nearly right angles. The Hermitage Hotel - consisting of the hotel, a series of lodges, a Department of Conservation Visitor Centre, and a couple other facilities, are nestled into the base of the Hooker valley below the intersection with the side valley. Aoraki in its 12,000 ft of grandeur peered out from behind the mountains dividing the Hooker and Tasman valleys. This would be our playground for the next two days.
We had a slow start the first day. "Granola" - Grace, Stan, Pola - were a bit jetlagged coming from Australia and of course we'd had a late night stargazing, so we really ambled our way out of bed. After a delicious cafe breakfast (bacon quiche and a decorative flat white), we decided that we should do some light walks and save the big hike for the next day. So we donned our day packs and made for the Hooker glacier. When Sir Edmund Hillary became the first westerner to summit "Mount Cook", it's likely he followed this route up the Hooker valley. Today there's a well-delineated track for hikers to follow, including three suspension bridges that lead up to a lookout of Aoraki; In Sir Edmund's day there probably weren't such well-defined trails, but there were several teams attempting the summit and the Hermitage had already been established as the main base camp.
It would ultimately turn out that the Hooker valley was not the easiest means of summiting Aoraki and it took Sir Edmund three attempts to finally succeed. Indeed, we also failed in our attempt up the valley - but that was because they were doing trail reconstruction work between the 2nd and 3rd bridges. Better luck next time, but at least we had a decent view up the side valley from the point of the closure.
We returned to the Hermitage to complete the 6km out-and-back and decided we hadn't walked enough. So we hopped in the car and drove around to the Tasman valley. The parking area is at the bottom of Lake Tasman and a viewpoint provides views looking up the valley. But we didn't do that. Instead, we followed a gravel road up the left side of the lake. To our left, scree-ridden mountains perpetually threatened avalanche and signs forebade us from stopping in certain sections. On our right, a glacial morraine walled us off from the lake so we had no way of knowing that we were actually a few hundred feet up. That is - until we clambered up an unmarked path to a saddle in the morraine and witnessed the knife-edge drop plummeting to the milky blue water below.
Two tiny motor boats sped along the bank of the lake, each conveying maybe 20 people towards the glacier. Across the lake, the next mountain range loomed large and it too had countless scree slopes plummeting down into the lake.
After a few wind-swept minutes, we clambered down from the top of the morraine and continued along the gravel track. The walking was easy as we continued up slope. The track widened out as we followed the bottom of the slope; we noticed dry rivulets and gullies in the gravelly surface as evidence of past water flows. Finally the track reached the elevation of the top of the morraine and a sign warned us of the risk of landslides. A few hundred meters ahead, we were surprised to see that the road stopped - at a shear drop-off! We approached with caution as there were no barricades or fences. Ahead and to the right, the 30 m (100 ft) face of the Tasman glacier could be seen way way down below us. Cutting across our road, a giant gash had been carved in the landscape - the continuation of the road could be seen several hundred yards ahead across a deep ravine. We would later learn that a catastrophic landslide occurred in 2019, as a river coming from the mountain ridge on our left had obliterated a huge volume of the granular glacial till that we had been walking on. As we stood there in the wind, alone at the end of this road, a disconcerting realization came over us. The shear multi-hundred foot drop-offs on both sides of the cut made us quite uneasy and we realized we needed to make a move. It's never pleasant lingering in such eerie situations.
By the time we returned to the Hermitage, it was around 7 pm but the sun was still plenty high in the sky. Compared to sunsets in the northeast (4 pm) or Fiji (6:30 pm), we would be blessed with 9 pm sunsets in New Zealand. This would prove to be a real treat, enabling lots of great daytime hiking. In any case we showered up and hit the Chamois Bar and Grill at the Hermitage lodges. Salmon, pizza, and fried chicken burgers were on the menu; a delicious boysenberry soda hit the spot.
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The next morning we were primed and ready for our big hike - an attempt at the Muller Hut. Unlike the previous day, which was more distance (12 miles) than elevation (800 ft or so), attaining the Mueller hut would be a grueling hike gaining 3400 ft in a 6 mile out-and-back. The ascent had three sections. The first half of the hike consisted of a climb of 2000 stairs to a viewpoint called Sealey Tarn, which looked out over the Hooker Glacier valley. Then the ascent continued on rugged track until it crested the ridge of Ollivier mountain at a knob overlooking the side valley off of the Hooker. The third leg would consist of ascending a gentle tableland until reaching the Mueller Hut.
As we ascended rapidly from the Hooker valley we were primarily in the woods, so we didn't have too many views. Even if we did, there was considerable huffing and puffing going up the endless stairs, which required our attention. The trail was busy with hikers and tourists, as the Sealey Tarns is the premiere hike for most of the valley's guests. Before too long though, the trees started to thin and we had some gaps affording excellent views back toward the lower Hooker valley. The Hermitage was already looking kind of small off in the distance. At some point, Stan and I had a bit more momentum than Pola and Grace, so we pulled ahead. Thankfully I brought along a couple two-way radios I had used in my youth as a Boy Scout and these came in handy for keeping in touch on several of the trails when we split up.
A couple hours in we emerged at the Sealey Tarn, finally above the treeline. The tarn is perched at approximately 1000 m (3000 ft) elevation, on the side of the knob. The tarn is retained by a small outcrop that looks out at the Hooker valley where the side valley intersects it. We could see that there had been a morraine at the intersection of these two valleys and way up behind the morraine, the Hooker Glacier was visible. We could also see all three of the suspension bridges we hadn't been able to do the previous day. Of course, they were tiny tiny bridges due to the distance. Rising behind the Hooker Glacier was Aoraki with its snowy double peak. This vantage point up the Hooker valley gave us the best view of Aoraki from head to toe.
Aoraki, of course, was totally covered in snow since it was still springtime. But the unfortunate reality we would confront is that most of the lower peaks also had snow melt on them as well. Across the side valley from Mount Ollivier, which we were climbing, was Mount Sifton. This was the closest tall peak to the Hermitage and even from our lodge, we had seen that the peak had vast amounts of snow clinging to its rocky cliffs.
So as we left Sealey Tarn on the next leg of our ascent, it was no surprise to look up at the hike before us and see a steep slope totally covered in snow. The good news is that we had visited the DOC visitor information and we knew there was snow at elevation. However we did not know what the conditions would be like. The previous week had seen additional snow fall and the entire pack had been icy. But the last couple days had been extremely sunny and so we were met with very soft snow. Unfortunately, it was impossible to tell the depth of the snow and given the park's overall Medium Avalanche Risk rating, I was not too thrilled about what was in store. As my intrepid hiking partners forged ahead into the snow, I weighed up the situation and decided that literally tons of people had already done this walk this week and ultimately the slope wasn't that steep, and based on what I could see the snow likely wasn't more than 8-10 ft deep max. So on I went.
The task before us was probably about one kilometer in the snow to gain maybe 200 m of elevation to crest the knob. The mountainside was parabolic in shape and the trail (such as it was) ascended diagonally along the slope. Since plenty of people had gone in advance, there was a neat stairway in the snow that we could follow. Still, we had to toe in with each step to ensure decent footing. We also quickly learned that the couple of rock outcrops looked tempting but were folly. This is because the heat of the rocks would melt out the snow beneath the surface and as you approached, you couldn't be sure if you were standing on a solid bit of snow or if you'd punch through.
Up and up we went, picking our way through the snow. Our feet were soaked with the freezing ice but on we tramped. Thankfully orange trail markers on tall posts made the way easier to follow. The sun was bright and the sky blue. It was cold but still plenty above freezing. Regardless, we were hot with sweat. In one remarkable moment, we heard some squawking towards the end of the knob. Looking up, we saw three threatened Kea - the world's only alpine parrots - soaring directly overhead in military formation. The bottoms of their wings shown bright orange and green, as if brightly painted for an airshow. An amazing spectacle to witness.
The views we were gaining were incredible, but nothing could prepare me for what we were to behold when we crested the knob. Indeed, as we emerged from the snow at the knob, there was an extremely jagged outcrop that we clambered up like the top of a mountain in a cartoon. As I planted my metaphorical flag, I stood in total and complete awe at the 360 degree view laid out before us. Behind us, down the snowy slope into the bottom of the Hooker valley was the wee tiny Hermitage nestled against the mountain. To the right was the Hooker glacier thousands of feet below, with Aoraki rising behind it. But straight in front and stretching to the left was the new awe-inspring view: Mount Sifton was the end of a wall of jagged mountains with a shear face plummeting down into a bottomless basin, the side valley that ended at the Hooker valley. Even though we were above elevation 5000 ft, Sifton stood well above us like an imposing big brother. Enormous sheets of snow dangled perilously from its imposing slate-grey facade and behind it some clouds struggled and failed to overtop the impenetrable ramparts. These battlements stretched off to the left and behind us indefinitely, the vast majesty of the Southern Alps laid bare.
Our trail also went to the left and back on the far side of the knob we had just climbed. After passing around a few bluffs, we were met again with snow, this time in the form of a wide snow-covered tableland. Rather than a single track, hikers had clearly spread across its width as the entire tableland was covered in footprints and "post holes" where the deteriorating snow had given way under hikers' weight.
At the top of the tableland against a yet higher bluff, there was perched a red shed on stilts: the Mueller Hut. This final kilometer through the not-quite-slushy snow in the sun was in equal measure exciting, tedious, and exhausting, but we did it! At long last, 4.5 hours in, we stepped directly from the snow bank onto the 6 ft high porch feeling extremely accomplished and ready to enjoy our lunch with a view of Aoraki and the range that ended with Mt Sifton.
The way down was a joyous experience. We occasionally heard the boom of a massive avalanche in an adjacent valley, but our valley was quiet. Upon reaching the steep snow slope, it was evident that most hikers were utilizing a deep trough to slide all the way down the slope. Granola opted for this route, but I decided to bound down in the soft snow (for my safety and that of my DSLR). Our feet were wet and cold with the snow, but we were all having a great time.
That evening we returned to the Chamois for more well-deserved burgers and, this time, a pint. We recounted the magnificent scenery and the day's adventures as the sun set. Not only was I so proud of the group, but I'm so excited and grateful for these, my friends, with whom we could share such an amazing experience.
Before bed, Stan and I drove back to the Tasman valley. This time we took the short viewpoint trail under red lights up to its overlook of the Tasman Lake. In the blackness, the red light caught the eyes of a couple possums, who silently checked us out before slinking off. With Leonid meteors over head and Orion standing on his head over the opposite mountain range, we shot the night sky and picked out our new favorite constellations: the Southern Cross, Grus, Eridanus. The Milky Way gleamed and my photos even turned up the Aurora Australis in red and green at the southern end of the valley.
The next day we'd follow this southern route out of the valley, on to our next set of adventures.
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