I first caught a
glimpse of Percy Smith at dusk in the winter of 2004. Kynan Bazley
and I had just topped out on nearby Ward, in the Hopkins Valley,
after snaking up a dozen pitches of virgin ice on its south east
face. Greeted by one of those glorious winter alpenglow sunsets that
never fails to mesmerise, we were still driven by a need to lose
considerable height before nightfall.
But I did take the time
to look north, searching for a remote peak that I’d heard and read
intriguing things about. Just over the shoulder of Williams’ west
ridge, the southern flank of Percy Smith swept down into the
gathering shadows of Baker Creek. Even from the distance of a few
kilometres, I could make out a broad snow/ice gully just right of the
summit, and steep runnels of ice beneath it. According to someone who
tends to know about these things – Bill McLeod – a winter ascent
of this face would likely be a ‘rather stiff’ challenge.
McLeod, along with
Peter Dickson, ascended the 800-metre-high south face in February
1993 – a two-day, 23-pitch affair that Dickson described as harder
than anything on the north face of Hicks. At around pitch 18, the
pair searched for a suitable site to hunker down for the night.
Dickson found that the ensuing sitting bivvy was ‘the worst I have
experienced out of perhaps 50 in my career, and there was rockfall on
us all night.’ The crux, a grade 17 overhang, came the next
morning, two pitches before the top. Dickson recalled that, upon
reaching the summit ridge, he and McLeod discovered it to be
knife-edged and heavily guarded with gendarmes. ‘Although the
actual summit was only 200 metres away, it would have been another
serious day’s climbing,’ Dickson said. Instead, the two opted to
descend the unclimbed west ridge, which took another day relying on
Thar tracks to guide them through ‘the maze of gendarmes and steep
scree’.
Even getting to the
base of Percy Smith’s south face is a prolonged undertaking. McLeod
and Dickson traversed north from Elcho Pass, across typically
combative alpine shrubbery, to reach Baker Creek. McLeod later wrote
that ‘every climber should have their first view of Mt Percy Smith
from that corner above the Baker Creek. I remember Peter sitting
there with his back to the mountain, and a big tussock gripped in
each hand, claiming some disability’. Dickson recalled unavoidable
Spaniards during the traverse and descent to the route as ‘the
worst and biggest I have ever experienced’.
Alternately, Baker
Creek can be reached by climbing directly out of the Landsborough
Valley, avoiding at least one waterfall en route. Possibly there is
also a way to drop down from the western side of Williams, once
gaining height up Thomson Stream, and at least one party has crossed
over the eastern saddle between Williams and Percy Smith from the
Hopkins Valley. Reportedly, the team that crossed the saddle was so
daunted by the prospect of climbing that it turned around and headed
straight back to civilisation. Whichever route is taken, allow for a
minimum two days to reach the south face. And, in the snowy depths of
winter, this could take longer still and be threatened by various
avalanche-prone slopes. Being part of the Landsborough catchment, the
area is a no-fly zone.
Once reached, the Baker
Creek valley is flat and user-friendly. Dickson remembered finding an
impressive bivvy rock ‘big enough to stand up inside and room
enough for at least a dozen people to sleep.’ With a little TLC, he
figured the bivvy could be second only to the famous ‘Phil’s Biv’
in Fiordland in terms of commodious comfort.
Prior to McLeod and
Dicksons’ climb, Percy Smith had only been ascended by its north
ridge. The March 1936 climb by Lloyd Divers, Gordon Edwards, Russell
Edwards and Ernie Smith has since been described as particularly
‘bold’, especially for that generation of climbers, involving
‘hand traverse chevals’ and large gendarmes. Dickson went so far
to describe the 1936 climb as possibly ‘one of the greatest feats
of mountaineering at the time that hasn’t been properly
recognised’. The south ridge was reportedly descended in December
1966 by Dave Brown and George Edwards, after they too climbed the
north ridge. Both the east face and northwest face have not been
successfully ascended.
So, to the south face
route itself. While McLeod was rather circumspect about the climb in
winter – he never saw it in ‘condition’ – he described it as
likely to be steep and sustained. He also cautioned about how and
where to descend from the summit. And to be caught by bad weather
would be a serious proposition.
Dickson was more
forthcoming: ‘The face is to the south-southwest so would get hit
directly by inland southerlies and more importantly would get the lee
spindrift from northwest dumps of snow. The top section can hold a
lot of snow so the avalanche danger could be very significant. The
bottom two thirds of the face looks like 80-90 degree steep water ice
with absolutely no rests or bivvy ledges. The face is at least 800
metres high, maybe more. I would describe it as 700 metres of steep
water ice followed by steep avalanche-prone snow, with an unexpected
surprise at the top.’
The evening I spotted
Percy Smith from near the summit of Ward, I could see that it was in
condition – at least for the top two thirds of the south face. The
ice looked to be in as good a nick as the enjoyable runnels Bazley
and I had discovered on Ward. The problem seemed to be, first,
getting to the face, and then getting off it again.
I’ve since tried to
reach the south face in summer to scope for possibilities. Both
McLeod and Dickson told me of the potential for more summer routes
there. But both times I was thwarted by the weather and, quite
probably, nerves. I’ve also been round to eyeball its eastern
aspect, but this too would need to be a winter climb. For a mountain
that’s less than 2500 metres high, it certainly packs a hefty
reputation.
Ironically I flew in there by chopper when I took that photo Paul, working as a field assistant for Jonathan Aitchieson.
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