A gripping account of a guided ascent of Aoraki / Mount Cook, led by Gottlieb Braun-Elwert, culminating in a triumphant summit climb with double amputee Phil. Through storms, setbacks, and stunning alpine beauty, this story captures resilience, risk, and the fulfillment of a lifelong dream.

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Early last January we (Phil and I) did an attempt on Aoraki. This was straight after a big snow storm dumping lots of snow on the mountain. We took a helicopter to Plateau Glacier and set up camp. Equipped with snow shoes we set off early next morning. Good progress was made up to the Bowie Ridge, the only safe place on the Linda Glacier where one could camp or rest for any length of time. Phil was simply running out of steam. It was a combination of lack of fitness and lack of acclimatisation. We returned to Plateau and flew straight out again. A bit disappointing for Phil but nevertheless a good assessment of his climbing fitness. I suggested to him to start a serious get-fit programme. He did exactly that over the next year.

We had set aside another date in August, but weather never came right for a serious attempt.

Then we settled on a date in mid December, hoping for a good snow cover on the Linda Glacier as we often get in early summer.

On 11 December we (Phil, myself as the lead guide and two other guides to assist, Gary Russek from Lake Tekapo and Les Lloyd from Albert Town) took a ski plane to Plateau first thing in the morning and started straight up the Linda for a bivouac on the Linda Glacier / Bowie Ridge. The Linda Glacier was in good shape, with only a couple of tricky crevasse crossings. A hot fine day saw us on the Bowie Ridge at 3pm. We set up camp and sunbathed for the rest of the day. Great scenery, watching Mount Tasman in the evening sun. It was a sad reminder seeing a couple of packs right across the snow slope below the Linda Shelf ice fall. They belonged to the four Latvian climbers who had fallen off the Linda Shelf just a couple of days before, descending all four on a single rope coming back from the summit. They had just been 50 metres away from easy ground. A sombre reminder of the seriousness of our undertaking. 

Overnight wind sprung up from the NW, certainly a bad sign. Some occasional gusts first, but more frequent later on in the night. Came morning we could hear the constant roar of the wind high up on the rocks of Aoraki. The message was clear: return to Plateau Hut. Arriving back at Plateau I could sense Phil's disappointment. It appeared still a very fine day, there was not a breath of wind at that level and no clouds high up. Had we bungled our chances? Not so, came evening and a full blown Nor'wester developed. Extreme winds first, then heavy rain. That lasted all of 13 and 14 December. Later on the 14th it cleared from the west and we enjoyed a fine afternoon. However, there was no change of wind direction and still very low pressure. My experience told me that there was more to come. Surely that night it started to blow again, this time with much colder temperatures and all the action of thunder and lightning, a typical cold front, often bringing fine weather behind it.

It finally cleared in the evening of the 15th, the wind high up changed to the SW and then to the S, forecast was for 50km winds from the south next day and perfectly fine weather the day after.

After some debate we decided to give it a go next morning, all the way from Plateau to the summit and back. Everybody was well rested and acclimatised by now. Les had to return to Tekapo for another guiding job, leaving me and Gary to take Phil up the hill. This time Phil was not to carry any pack, to make things a bit easier for him.

16 December midnight, wake up call. Well, hardly anybody has slept, there was too much excitement in the air. Brief breakfast, the usual bowl of muesli and a cup of tea, the thermos filled with "jet fuel", fruit tea with honey, and we are ready to roll at 1.00am. A perfectly clear night, a few snow streamers high up on the mountain are indicating some southerly wind. It is a cold night, with a good feeze, perfect cramponing conditions. The route up the Linda is gone with the new snow and so is a big snow bridge that has collapsed in the lower ice fall, necessitating some scouting for a new route through the maze of crevasses. There are big holes in the glacier that can easily swollow up an entire train. Progress is good, Phil is in remarkably good shape, moving up the glacier without stopping. It almost worries me that he may burn himself out at that speed. When asking him whether he wanted a rest at the Bowie Ridge he prefers not to stop and we carry on up towards the Linda Shelf. By now the moon has come out and illuminates the mountains, shortly after the first daylight arrives. Being almost the longest day of the year, we only have a very short night. Now we can clearly see the way ahead and, of course, the spindrift on the Summit Rocks...

Acutely aware of the ice cliffs above we take a route far to the right and quickly traverse across the slope that connects to the ice shelf. At the shrund there is some safe and level ground for a good rest, it is time to readjust our clothes and change the roping-up method. Now it is in proper climbing mode, fixed belays and a long rope. The shelf is a sheet of ice after the rainstorm and the frost that followed. There is no question that the entire shelf has to be belayed. A tedious job, safe, but very time consuming. Glorious colours on Mount Tasman as it is being painted by the morning sun. I watch everyone of Phil's steps as he traverses the notorious "gun barrel" a section of the Linda Shelf that is exposed to falling ice from an ice cliff high up on the summit ice cap. Phil's footing is remarkable secure, not once on the entire trip he misplaces one of his feet. Considering that they are just artificial extensions to his amputated legs I can't help but being completely amazed at the total control he exercises over his movements. On the glacier section of the climb he used two ski poles to support himself, now on the steeper ground he uses one ice hammer in one hand and a ski pole in the other. I often simply forget that he has no legs, he is moving so competently and smoothly. The sun is tantalizingly close, but still out of reach, so we simply have to put up with the cold wind and aim for the shrund at the end of the shelf. It is there where we can finally soak up the first warmth of the day. However, the cold spin drift whirling around our necks is a bit of cold comfort and a subtle reminder that the southerly has not quite given up yet. At the same time it is reassuring to know that there is always some fine weather after a southerly. So, should we be delayed for one reason or another and run late, there would be not too much of a worry having to spend a night up high.

The thermos is being shared around and the last of the "jet fuel" finds its customers. After that it will be cold drinks only. Two pitches up the steep ice is the first real test for Phil's stamina on crampons' front points. Once again my fears are groundless, he manages with a little rest here and then. His upper body training comes into effect, an ice tool is needed in each hand to move efficiently. Every step the pick of the hammer swings into the ice, hardened by the recent rain and the solid freeze that followed. The rain storm has also plastered all rocks with a layer of verglas, a bit like glazing on a cake. Icicles are hanging from every little nook and cranny glittering in the morning sun. A spectacle out of a wonderworld, soon to be melted away by the heat of the day. The sun and wind loosen the ice and we are frequently showered by millions of pieces of shattered ice flying through the air. Good to have a hard-hat at such moments.

While the ice on the rock is a feast for the eye it is a serious obstacle for climbing up the Summit Rocks, the bastion that separates us from the Summit Ice Cap. Everything you want to lay your hands on needs to be chipped free of its ice cover, so it makes for tedious and slow progress. As I am traversing the first five metres of icy rock to get to the chimney that leads up, Phil just asks: "And how am I supposed to get up there?" Is this going to be the undoing of all our efforts? I assure Phil that he needn't worry, he will have a top rope and a second guide behind him who can secure his traverse. And sure enough Phil manages without a hitch. One more steep section and we are on the "chicken run", at least that is what he is being told.

1.00 pm we top out at the Summit Rocks to move onto the Summit Ice Cap. Does not look too inviting, long ice fingers, Sustrugi, all the way to the summit, that promises some fun I suppose. Short rope again, Gary free-climbing, we move on up. Should be there in two hours. The weather is fine and promises to hold for at least one more day. No matter what, we will get there, secretly eyeing up various shrunds for bedding-down options should the need arise. Wasn't this the trap Phil and Mark ran into 21 years ago, costing them their legs? But the weather was different then. I am counting the hours 'til nightfall, maybe 3 o'clock on the summit, 4.00 pm back at the rocks, 7.00 pm on the shelf and 9.00pm on the Linda Glacier again. Should be able to make it without a bivouac.

After the first hump of the summit ice cap I spot a line that takes us across to the north ridge at an easy angle and on good snow, hurray, we move on at a steady pace without having to pitch. Step by step we gain height steadily and soon reach the ridge line that allows us the look down to the West Coast. What a spectacular vista, memories of other mountains and rainforest, rushing waters, canyons, surf and sandflies come flushing back, excitement pumps through our bodies. "Just another 50 metres, Phil!" One more belay and we reach the top, or at least that place that climbers now regard as the summit, leaving the very highest point, still some 20 metres along a knife-edge ridge and some 3 metres higher to the spirits of the air, to Aoraki itself.

"Congratulations!" It's hard to hold the tears back. "Well done, Phil!" I remember the last two times that I stood here, it was with my daughters Elke and Carla, both aged 14 at the time. Emotions know no age, there is no limit to the dreams and the aspirations of man and there are no limits to the quantum leaps that are born from such dreams.

We are within our time frame. A quick handshake and we are on our way down again. It is too breezy and exposed up here to linger around. We simply turn around and follow our tracks we climbed up just minutes before. Going down is a lot harder for Phil than going up, he needs frequent stops, needs to sit down and take his legs off to adjust the fittings. "Don't drop your legs down the mountain", I joke, "would be a little embarrassing having to lift you out of here, can't carry you". Soon we reach the Summit Rocks again. Five long abseils take us down to the Shelf again, we pick up the thermos and then it is across the Shelf. The sun of the day has softened the ice, so I short-rope Phil, while Gary climbs free, one more belay at the steep section and we are on the easy ground of the Linda Glacier, half an hour ahead of nightfall.

My headlamp throws a cone of light in front of me, bumps up and down and along the crevasses searching for the crampon marks that we left on the hard ice the morning before. More than once I loose the trail and have to strain my memory trying to recall the way out of the maze. Here's the avalanche debris from the whopper that came down from Clark Saddle, there's the dodgy bridge with a gaping chasm on either side. Don't make any mistakes now. Another rest, another readjustment of legs and a suck on the water bottle, trying to separate the cold juice from the mush of half-frozen liquid. It's better than nothing, I suppose. Haven't eaten anything for 22 hours. Always on the go. We pick up the snow shoes that we deposited on the lower Linda in case the snow across Plateau was bottomless on the way back. It's all plain sailing now. A string of lights emerges from Plateau Hut, a new wave of climbers who want to pay Aoraki a visit trickles across Plateau. They follow our trail from the morning before. Where memories and hopeful thinking merge, we shake hands, congratulations all over again in the middle of the night, two more climbers from Tekapo, young climbers from the nearby stations, several guided parties and the Aussies who sat out the storm with us. As we trod up the slope to Plateau Hut, our lonely tracks have found company, have become a wide path. The mountain is busy again, 24 hours after setting off a very long journey has come to an end and a life-long dream has found its fulfillment.