Knowing_dangers

Knowing all the dangers Two encounters with solo adventures in the Southern Alps have John Henzell pondering his ideas about acceptable risk. I felt a little guilty as Hunter headed away. If, as we feared, something happened to him as he crossed the glacier alone and without an ice axe, it would mean the last words he would hear would be: "You're a Darwin Award waiting to happen." It wasn't a cheery epitaph, even if the assessment was accurate that he could soon improve the gene pool by removing himself from it. We were on an ice plateau in a remote part of the Southern Alps and had been digging a snow cave in case our tents were shredded in the impending nor'west storm. Then Hunter emerged from the cloud. He was from Alabama . He had come up from the West Coast, didn't have a stove, and had just wandered over several kilometers of crevassed glacier after becoming disorientated when the weather came in. We felt like wimps in comparison, having roped up for glacier, equipped ourselves with a mountain radio , plotted our course by GPS in case we needed to reverse our route in a whiteout, and were now digging a backup shelter. Hunter seemed unperturbed when we told him that his intended destination of Perth Col, to get into the headwaters of the Rangitata, was in the opposite direction from where he had been heading, which was down the Beelzebub Glacier towards an icefall and into the Adams wilderness. The odd thing was that this was the second time in the space of a few days that we had met someone crossing this ice plateau on their own. Earlier we had met a German tramper called Bernd who had traversed the ice plateau as part of a trip from Arthur's Pass to Mount Cook Village , via a route in which he tried to stay on the western side of the Main Divide as much as possible. But solo glacier travel was about the only thing he had in common with Hunter. Bernd had already tramped the length of the South Island, from the bottom of Fiordland to Farewell Spit, on his own and was coming back to do bits where bad weather had forced him onto the eastern side of the Southern Alps. He made us look like wimps, too. Bernd would head out for three weeks at a time through seriously tough country. He, at least, had the mountain skills to maximise his safety. Judging acceptable risk is always the most subjective of assessments, and it's tempting to label anyone who takes greater risks than you as a suicidal fool and anyone who takes fewer risks a boring drone.	But we were surprised when Bernd's 40kg pack included a huge can of fly spray, for the sandflies, but not a rescue beacon, which would have weighed the same. He told us he had been offered a beacon for $200 - well under the usual retail price and we suspected a concerned outdoor outfitter had offered it to him at cost but he rejected it as too expensive. There's a growing group of people who eschew devices like GPS and rescue beacons when they head into the hills because the idea of being there is to get away from technology. But such principles would evaporate pretty quickly when you're lying on a riverbed with a broken leg. Ultimately, good mountain skills can enhance your safety, but you can't control all the risks in the back country. It was a lesson one of our group had had reinforced a couple of years earlier in the upper reaches of the Landsborough River, when a misstep caused him to land awkwardly and he fractured two vertebrae. As he put it, a beacon costs $200 but a coffin costs $700. At least Bernd knew what he was doing and was making judgments with an informed idea of the risks. Hunter was in a different category entirely. We fed him some soup the first hot meal he had had in several days and a step up on his freeze-dried meals to which he'd been adding cold water and gave him a run-down of the safe route we'd taken through Perth Col. We tried gently to suggest a rescue beacon might be a good idea but then I noticed that his equipment included an enormous tripod and a fishing rod but no ice axe. It was no longer the time for gentle suggestions, which is why when he headed away across the glacier, it was with the prediction that he would soon improve the human gene pool. When we retraced our steps a few days later, we were relieved to see Hunter's footprints, showing he made his way off the ice plateau, descended the Wee McGregor Glacier, down a tongue of avalanche debris, and onto the bouldery riverbed leading down to civilisation. Would he realise the thin margin of safety he'd had, learn from the experience, and be better equipped next time? We suspected he would merely be more proof that fortune favours the brave, but a large sub-group of the brave are those who don't even understand the risks they are taking.

Knowing all the dangers

Two encounters with solo adventures in the Southern Alps have John Henzell pondering his ideas about acceptable risk.

I felt a little guilty as Hunter headed away. If, as we feared, something happened to him as he crossed the glacier alone and without an ice axe, it would mean the last words he would hear would be: "You're a Darwin Award waiting to happen."

It wasn't a cheery epitaph, even if the assessment was accurate that he could soon improve the gene pool by removing himself from it. We were on an ice plateau in a remote part of the Southern Alps and had been digging a snow cave in case our tents were shredded in the impending nor'west storm.

Then Hunter emerged from the cloud. He was from Alabama . He had come up from the West Coast, didn't have a stove, and had just wandered over several kilometers of crevassed glacier after becoming disorientated when the weather came in.

We felt like wimps in comparison, having roped up for glacier, equipped ourselves with a mountain radio , plotted our course by GPS in case we needed to reverse our route in a whiteout, and were now digging a backup shelter.

Hunter seemed unperturbed when we told him that his intended destination of Perth Col, to get into the headwaters of the Rangitata, was in the opposite direction from where he had been heading, which was down the Beelzebub Glacier towards an icefall and into the Adams wilderness. The odd thing was that this was the second time in the space of a few days that we had met someone crossing this ice plateau on their own. Earlier we had met a German tramper called Bernd who had traversed the ice plateau as part of a trip from Arthur's Pass to Mount Cook Village , via a route in which he tried to stay on the western side of the Main Divide as much as possible.

But solo glacier travel was about the only thing he had in common with Hunter. Bernd had already tramped the length of the South Island, from the bottom of Fiordland to Farewell Spit, on his own and was coming back to do bits where bad weather had forced him onto the eastern side of the Southern Alps.

He made us look like wimps, too. Bernd would head out for three weeks at a time through seriously tough country. He, at least, had the mountain skills to maximise his safety.

Judging acceptable risk is always the most subjective of assessments, and it's tempting to label anyone who takes greater risks than you as a suicidal fool and anyone who takes fewer risks a boring drone.

But we were surprised when Bernd's 40kg pack included a huge can of fly spray, for the sandflies, but not a rescue beacon, which would have weighed the same. He told us he had been offered a beacon for $200 - well under the usual retail price and we suspected a concerned outdoor outfitter had offered it to him at cost but he rejected it as too expensive.

There's a growing group of people who eschew devices like GPS and rescue beacons when they head into the hills because the idea of being there is to get away from technology. But such principles would evaporate pretty quickly when you're lying on a riverbed with a broken leg.

Ultimately, good mountain skills can enhance your safety, but you can't control all the risks in the back country. It was a lesson one of our group had had reinforced a couple of years earlier in the upper reaches of the Landsborough River, when a misstep caused him to land awkwardly and he fractured two vertebrae. As he put it, a beacon costs $200 but a coffin costs $700.

At least Bernd knew what he was doing and was making judgments with an informed idea of the risks.

Hunter was in a different category entirely. We fed him some soup the first hot meal he had had in several days and a step up on his freeze-dried meals to which he'd been adding cold water and gave him a run-down of the safe route we'd taken through Perth Col.

We tried gently to suggest a rescue beacon might be a good idea but then I noticed that his equipment included an enormous tripod and a fishing rod but no ice axe. It was no longer the time for gentle suggestions, which is why when he headed away across the glacier, it was with the prediction that he would soon improve the human gene pool.

When we retraced our steps a few days later, we were relieved to see Hunter's footprints, showing he made his way off the ice plateau, descended the Wee McGregor Glacier, down a tongue of avalanche debris, and onto the bouldery riverbed leading down to civilisation.

Would he realise the thin margin of safety he'd had, learn from the experience, and be better equipped next time? We suspected he would merely be more proof that fortune favours the brave, but a large sub-group of the brave are those who don't even understand the risks they are taking.