At just 14 years old, Elke stood on the summit of Aoraki / Mount Cook, New Zealand’s highest peak, beside her father, IFMGA mountain guide Gottlieb Braun-Elwert. What began as a childhood dream became a defining moment of courage, trust, and transition. In this intimate and reflective story, father and daughter recount their shared climb — through swirling cloud, biting wind, and silent doubt — toward a threshold that marked more than just altitude.

On the 12th January 1998, at the age of 14, Elke Braun-Elwert became the youngest person to climb Aoraki Mount Cook. This is her and Gottlieb's account of the ascent.

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"What's that mountain up there, Dad?"
"That's Mount Footstool."
"It looks like a nice mountain."
"Maybe we could climb it this summer, if you want."
"Wow, that's such a big mountain. That would be awesome."

This was way back in October last year. We had just come back from a ski tour up to Ball Pass. As we were driving into Mount Cook Village to sign out I looked up at Mount Footstool. It was lovely and white and had really impressive glaciers.

Weeks passed and the school holidays arrived. The spring nor-westers slowly died out and the weather became more settled. Perfect conditions for climbing but not much time left before Dad was going to be busy again. Dad suggested to attempt Mount Dixon instead. That meant flying into Plateau Hut.

"How about we do Mount Dixon as a 'practice climb'  for Mount Cook?"

I couldn't believe it. Mount Cook! Even just the thought of staying in Plateau Hut made me tremble with excitement. Since first seeing Mount Cook from Caroline Hut I had wanted to climb it. A dream all of a sudden seemed to become a reality.

There appeared to be a distinctive unease as Elke settled into Plateau Hut. The male macho of hardened mountaineers was hurt. Sideways looks and pointed questions revealed their silent disapproval. I could have just about run a light bulb on the charged up atmosphere. Was I not grossly neglecting my parental duties by taking a child up here? What if the unthinkable did happen? How many times had I myself been confronted with the elements in turmoil?  How many times had I myself been close to the edge of life? More than on any other climb before I listened to the whisper of the wind.

A full blown southerly moved in and rattled the hut. The cables holding the hut in place were  clanging on the iron, all afternoon and well into the night, until finally they fell silent and let me sleep a little.

I sensed Elke's excitement as we dressed up and got ready. The step into darkness, the crunch of the crampons, the dancing light of the head-lamp on the snow were all a new world to her. I had the advantage of the routine and the comfort of familiarity, grown over years of tramping around up here, I had a good idea of what to expect. The southerly was on the retreat. Though there was still this ominous roar high up on the rocks of Silberhorn and Cook. The clouds were still swirling around and spin-drift came rolling down the crevasse-ridden Linda, biting our faces. Big holes, dark and uninviting, careful balancing across some narrow bridges. Plod, plod, plod, slowly we were making progress uphill.

"You can go a little faster, Dad, if you like". 

John (Entwisle) and Chris (Jillett) with their clients had long overtaken us. They were a good half hour ahead of us. We followed their footsteps across the Shelf, across the schrund and gratefully clipped into their anchors on the approach to the rocks. I wondered how Elke would take to the steep ice, swinging her axe and hammer to find a purchase. Climbing up the ropes in the gym was probably the closest to it she had ever done before. Elke climbing up with ease probably wondered what I was wondering about. Memories flashed back to when I was here with her mother Anne in winter 1989. Anne found this first part of the Summit Rocks particularly hard. It was her first climb after bringing up two children.

Quantum leaps are just small jumps for youngsters, yet the unfamiliar can rock them with surprise and test their strength. Screaming cold fingers when painful warmth came rushing back did exactly that to her. Just as it happened to me on the East Ridge during my winter ascent with Erica,  I almost fainted then, desperately holding onto my ice axe. Felt good for Dad to put a comforting arm around his daughter and to tell her the story of just across the mountain.

"Nearly there", I thought, taking the last few steps to the top of the Summit Rocks. I could hear the voices of the rest of the group - they didn't sound happy. 

"I've had enough", a sharp voice barked from behind the iced-up rock.

I rounded the corner; John's beard was all frosted up and full of icicles. It was very cold and windy, the cloud was coming in quickly, and he and the others wanted to head back straight away. 

"Are you coming down now too, Gottlieb?", he asked my father.

"I'll see, having a rest first", he said, while looking at my rather disappointed face.

"Well, we're off", the other guide said, and abseiled down the rope.

We had been climbing all day since 2 o'clock in the morning. It had been very dark when we started, with a slight breeze whispering over the snow. Now it was about half past ten, and the wind had picked up quite a bit. We were standing near the top of the Summit Rocks and only about two hours away from the summit. Once the others were all gone, Dad asked me,

"How do you feel, do you still want to carry on?"

I must say, at this point I was feeling a little disappointed, because the others had turned back, and I thought that we'd have to follow them. After all the effort and hard work, I felt it would be such a shame to abandon the climb this close to the summit, when we had been making such good progress.

There were a few stray beams of  sunlight filtering through the cloud, and I could hear the planes buzzing around, so the cloud can't have been that thick, besides earlier, half-way up the mountain, we had had a clear view right along Lake Pukaki - there wasn't anything serious coming.

"I want to go to the top", I replied.

I very clearly recall Elke's words today, full of determination, but also a little anxious about my own opinion. Trying not to be influenced by my peers' decision I was keen to come to my own assessment of the situation. It was still early in the day and we were positioned in a relatively sheltered spot, we were definitely at the tail end of the southerly and not at the edge of a new front. There was time to have a rest, have a drink and a bite, and wait and see. And most importantly, I knew my 'client' very well. Years of tramping, climbing and ski touring  together with my daughter gave me confidence in her. 

"Well, let's give it a try". I set up the belay and cramponed over bulging sastrugi to the ridgeline proper. The southerly was pushing the clouds out of the East Face across the crest of the summit ice cap. Only a few steps to the right and we were in the lee. The sun tried hard to send its warmth through the fog.

"Safe, on belay". Pitch by pitch, a few rope lengths on short coils. Familiar terrain, yet it had changed a lot since up here the last time. That was just a week before the big avalanche off the summit in 1991. The altitude started to have an effect. A crevasse, a short stop. Amazing how well Elke cruised up the final slopes. And here was the final schrund, "The Chandeliers" as this place is being aptly called now, beneath the summit ridgeline. An ice-screw and a second one for protection, some loud encouragement for Elke, and the southerly had full control of us for one last time. We crouched  and crawled along the crest of pinnacles towards what we now declare to be the summit. Where once you walked the elating final steps, you now stare down the icy abyss and up the blue sky. This'll do, back to the red-taped snow-stake on the edge and down to shelter, warmth and a mouthful of fruit-tea with honey, in the sun below "The Chandeliers". Wafting clouds to the east and a clear view to the silver ribbon of the West Coast surf.

"Congratulations", a big hug and tears of emotion. "Well done".

"Hello Mum!"

"Where are you?"

"Calling from the top of Mount Cook". Wonder of technology meets the wonder of youthful ease and discovery.

Somehow I felt like being in a dream world. I simply couldn't believe that I had been at the top of Mount Cook, the highest point of New Zealand, had looked down to the Tasman Sea, across to the fine lines of Mount Tasman as the first day light was touching the mountain. And now I was looking down to the mangled mess of the Linda Glacier. We could just see  John and Chris with their clients as tiny dots walking across the Plateau Glacier. We were so high up here and they were so far away.

"Down, down, down", I was telling myself. "Make no mistake. Getting to the peak of a mountain is great, but getting down is just as important." 

I had to concentrate on every step now. Dad lowered me down the Summit Rocks. It was so easy abseiling past the icy steps of my early morning struggles. Traversing the Linda Shelf was nerve wrecking. The snow was balling up on my crampons every single step. I was really worried that I could pull Dad off if I made a mistake here. The crevasses of the Linda Glacier were pretty dark and scary, good that I hadn't seen the full size of them when walking up at night. 

"What about a rest down there in the sun, once we are out of the Linda?" Dad suggested. I think he was quite tired by now. I was keen to get to the hut. Besides when we got down to the Plateau, the sun had just beaten us to it , had disappeared behind the mountains and left us sitting in the chill of the shadow.

How different it was to step into Plateau Hut this time. There was a genuine feel of warmth mixed with a little envy not to have been up there themselves on such a fine day. With a big smile John and Chris silently passed us a cup o' tea.

A long and testing day followed, up and down the moraine, many rocks, small and large, fresh water tumbling down and the smell of tussock, they all reminded us of the full scale of Aoraki's great size.  What a world, what a life!  Little did I know it, it was my last good-bye to Chris.

There are always highlights that will stand out as the seasons turn around and as the years roll past. The climb of Mount Cook with Elke was a threshold in our lives. For me it was the realisation that a child had turned adult, for it was her who made the crucial decision to continue to go up when I was ready to turn around. For Elke it became the starting point of a new focus in her life.