“It is not the mountain we conquer but ourselves.”
– Sir Edmund Hillary
Why do people climb mountains, I wondered to myself as Michael and I set off on to scale Mt Fyffe one sunny Saturday morning in July, layered up against the cold, our daypacks filled with supplies.
Is it a wish to deepen your relationship with nature, breathing in the fresh air of a new day filled with the promise of adventure, far away from the cities or routine of everyday life?
Perhaps it’s a challenge to expand your own mental and physical limitations, and feel that sense of growing confidence and achievement – whether alone, or in the presence of other like-minded adventure seekers.
Maybe the experience for many is meditative, a chance to slow down and disconnect from worries and problems, and allow the mind to quieten and be fully in the moment.
My reasons were a mix of these. It’s a fairly rare opportunity to be able to climb a snowy mountain overlooking the sea and after seeing many incredible photos of the view I decided I wanted to experience it for myself – standing up on the summit, looking down over the little seaside town of Kaikoura with the Pacific Ocean beyond.
Mt Fyffe is part of the seaward Kaikoura range – a branch of the Southern Alps that rises almost directly out of the ocean in places. The mountain gained its name from the first family to settle in Kaikoura, the Fyffe family, and stands at 1,602m tall (almost a mile vertically) with the highest mountain in the range being 2,610m tall. The popular Mt Fyffe track is one of several walking routes you can do up and through the mountains, taking between six to eight hours return – dependent on conditions.
We set off for the climb just after 10am, giving ourselves a little over seven hours to hike to the summit and back before dark, as sunset was scheduled for 5:08pm. Being in the middle of winter we were unsure what conditions would be like further up the mountain, but we decided to assess them when we got there. The morning was clear and calm, the sun was beaming and the air had a cold tingly shiver to it, although I’m sure this was part-excitement on my side.
The hike started off on a simple yet persistently steep four-wheel drive track, zigzagging up into the mountain through low native forest. Benches and lookout areas were dotted along the way, revealing the stunning peninsula below and offering occasional respite from the strenuous climb. The sun warmed our faces and we took our time covering the ground and admiring the views as we climbed higher.
The four-wheel drive track
Views of the peninsula along the way
Around one hour and 40 minutes in the track became more rain-washed, rocky and off-road, disappearing in places under a thin cover of snow. Gradually we lost sight of the peninsula as grey foggy cloud moved in to obscure our view. The air was quiet and clear apart from the chirping and trilling of birds in the trees around us, and rustling in the bushes from whatever small animals were concealed.
The temperature dropped and the snow became thicker under foot, to a couple of inches deep, spreading out like a soft fluffy blanket. It was smooth and unspoilt apart from the odd set of little animal tracks – no larger than a small dog, making their way up the mountain ahead of us. In the absence of any human tracks, we realised that whoever had owned a couple of cars we’d seen in the car park earlier that morning must have either taken a different track to us, or hiked up the night before to the hut that was located further up the mountain at 1,103m. We wanted to keep up a good pace until we reached the hut ourselves, where we’d assess if we had enough time to scale the summit.
After two and a half hours we reached the hut, looking very small and quiet, nestled under the snow-capped peaks of the mountains behind. The snow again was smooth and untouched around it – no footsteps to be seen, and upon entering the hut we found it to be completely deserted with no people or belongings in sight. We realised at this point we might be the only ones up the mountain, and I felt nervous excitement wash over me. It’s not often you get to climb a big snowy mountain by yourself! Looking around we found the hut had a toilet shed, wood burner, water supply, and eight beds. After a short rest and snack we set off for the summit around 12.30pm.
The empty hut at 1,103m
Past the hut the path was narrower and climbed up through dense snow-covered pine and birch forest, which I’d read had been planted by the Department of Conservation to help stabilise the land. The whole place looked and felt like a magical winter wonderland!
The air was cold and sharp in the shade and made us shiver as we walked. White fluffy evergreen branches stretched out across the path, some coated with thick glistening silver icicles. A couple of trees had fallen over completely blocking the way, so we carefully climbed over them.
Everything was silent except for our breathing and crunching of hiking boots over the snow–now two to four inches deep, and which twinkled with golden lights in places hit by the afternoon sun.
Winter wonderland!
As we clambered up the snow steadily got thicker and deeper. Each footprint felt like walking in sand, two steps forward and one step back, and I sometimes slipped or tripped on hidden rocks. Every turn revealed a new breathtaking sight that left us standing there in awe at the beauty and magnificence of the landscape, and we stopped often to admire the views as the mountains loomed up around us, the clouds now far beneath us in the valley.
Finally, we emerged through the branches and thought the summit must be near, until we saw another nugget of the mountain waiting for us, rising beyond the periphery. As the trees melted away we found ourselves out on a mountain ridge, and an altitude marker for 1,500m in sight.
The path we walked along on the ridge can be seen on the left
It was very cold and the icy wind whipped up fiercely around us. Walking in the broken-snow footsteps of Michael made it easier for me to move forward, although the relentless wind continued to blow fresh lines of snow across the path to fill his tracks again as I stepped into them.
We pulled our snoods up around our faces and dipped our heads down, walking slowly with baby steps up the steep ridge. Here the wind met us face on as we edged slowly through the six inch snow up the mountain. If we wanted to rest there was no shelter – we just had to stop in our tracks and wait for the ache in our legs to subside. By now I was feeling a little weak with hunger, but we had agreed to reach the top before eating our lunch and there was still some climb to go.
The way to the top
Suddenly, Michael called back to me – exclaiming he could see the pole that indicated the summit! We were both happy and relieved, and he held back for me to catch up before we walked side by side, up to the top together. As I stepped foot on to the summit any tiredness subsided and my body felt like it was bursting with energy – the feeling was incredible!
The breathtaking views stretched out all around us. The whale-tail peninsula and the Pacific Ocean lay out far below on one side, and the snowy peaks of the Southern Alps rose up on the other. It had taken us four hours to reach this point, but the phenomenal views were well worth the exhausting climb!
Stunning views of the surrounding mountain range
Some of the summit shrubbery
The wind whistled all around us and across the top of the mountain, whilst the summit shrubbery played a little tune as the icicles on it jangled together. I excitedly took off my gloves to take some photos, but within 20 seconds my hands were throbbing with pain as the icy wind drilled my fingers! The temperature was so cold, in minutes both of our phones had switched off, but we managed to get a few quick shots with the SLR. However, the photos really don’t capture the true beauty of the surrounding landscape or the feeling we got standing on top of the mountain, it’s something that must be experienced in person.
We sheltered behind a bench to eat our lunch in an attempt to escape the full force of the summit winds tearing through us. The food filled us with new energy and after a short rest we strapped on our bags again and happily began the descent. Although our muscles now ached we felt elated, each filled with a glowing feeling of accomplishment.
Coming back down the mountain at the 1,500m marker we encountered one lone male hiker making his way along the ridge towards us. However, arriving back at the hut we were met with a multitude of footprints and at least one set of dog-paw prints, but not one actual person! Whoever had come up the mountain whilst we were up at the summit, had already left and long gone back down.
Admiring the views on the way back down
Descending the mountain the pace was quicker but a strain on our knee joints. The snow had started to melt creating a different scenery to the one we had been met with earlier that day, and we had to be careful not to slip or slide on the steep downwards track.
Gradually, the air warmed up the lower we went, and we watched as the shadow of the mountain slowly crept its way across the plains as the sun went down behind the vast range. After just under seven hours since beginning, we arrived back at the car park and were met with the group of people plus dog whose footprints we had seen up at the hut, and who we merrily chatted to about the hike.
Sore, aching, happy and relieved, we drove back to our accommodation looking forward to a long, hot shower and delicious hearty dinner in the evening ahead.
Random thoughts about mountains
There may be many routes and many different ways to get to the top of a mountain, but to do so you must choose a route and make a commitment, and have faith that the summit exists – even when you can not yet see it. So in life, when you have a goal you must commit to a way of achieving that goal, having faith that eventually you will reach it – even when your goal is not yet in sight.
When the going gets tough you can decide to keep going or turn around. To reach the top requires putting one foot in front of the other, no matter how slowly, and the same thing can be said in life. If you stumble or fall you need to pick yourself back up, keep on climbing and never give up. As on a mountain, the journey becomes harder and steeper the higher you climb, but when you reach the top the rewards are far greater.
Although the goal is to reach the top, you can climb the mountain at your own pace, picking your steps carefully and noticing the wildlife, and beauty of nature all around you. As in life, when working towards your goals it’s important to take it slow if you need to, pick your decisions carefully and appreciate the journey and all you are learning along the way.
Far below on the ground looking up at the magnificent mountains towering above me that morning in Kaikoura, I felt very humble, and small and insignificant in relation to the great scale of the earth–and perhaps too in the grand scheme of life. On the other hand, when I finally reached the top of the mountain and saw the views stretching out far into the distance I felt filled with a new confidence, motivation and self-assurance, knowing that if I put in the work I could accomplish big things no matter how small I felt to start with.
We can all do and accomplish more than we think.
Please feel free to leave any thoughts you may have below. What were your experiences of climbing a mountain, or undertaking something you felt was challenging? Have you climbed Mt Fyffe, or have any plans to? I’d love to hear any stories.
Anjuli x
“It’s always further than it looks. It’s always taller than it looks. And it’s always harder than it looks.” – the three rules of mountaineering