Arthur Range, Kahurangi National Park

Our friend Peter shared his photos from his last sections of the Arthur Range in Kahurangi. Over a number of trips he had tramped the whole ridgeline from Mt Campbell in the north, over Crusader, Mt Arthur, the Twins, Baton Saddle, Sodom, Gormorrah and Mt Patriarch, about 100 kilometres of wild backcountry travel with no track and a proper grade 3 rock scramble over the Twins.

Marta suggested it would make a great adventure.

We set dates and made a plan with the help of a long video call with Peter. There were a few big challenges: limited water, steep terrain with no-fall zones, and long exposed ridgelines. We couldn’t find many reports of parties completing the full route. We hoped four to five days would be enough and waited for a weather window big enough to matter.

We postponed once. Then again.

When it finally looked workable, not ideal, but good enough, we flew to Nelson and left at 6am for the 4WD trip to Mt Campbell. From Peter’s place we could see most of our route, with a fresh dusting of snow on Mt Arthur and the Twins.

Day one was blue sky and easy optimism. The travel was better than expected. A hailstorm rattled the hut windows at Mt Arthur Hut and then cleared. We ate, slept, and reset.

Day two started in cloud. We climbed Mt Arthur in the clag and found the high route toward the Twins. As we got closer, the cloud lifted in patches.

We packed our poles away for the scramble. The rock was excellent, grippy, solid, full of good holds. Chains and bolts guided the way. We climbed North Twin and got our first look south, where the route drops into the most exposed ground.

We down-climbed using the chains, reached the last buttress, clipped our short rope into the bolts and stepped onto the saddle. I was relieved to get there. The terrain was better than expected, but intimidating.

Beyond the Twins the ridgeline stayed rough and untracked. The weather worsened. We missed the tarn at Baton Saddle and pushed on with limited water. Late in the day we dropped off the ridge and camped on a flatish slope. The night was cold and noisy. At 5am the tent collapsed in a gust and we packed up and kept moving.

The forecast was deteriorating. We decided to bail off the ridge at Cowin Spur.

I can’t know what Marta was thinking. What follows is what it looked like from where I stood, and what I believe she was dealing with.

The terrain was steep but felt manageable, the sort of ground where you move carefully and deliberately.

When she stepped onto the loose rock, her foot slipped.

From my angle it was fast and violent a slip, then a slide that accelerated instantly. She hit grass, sped up, tumbled over a bluff and disappeared from view.

The sound she made when she landed wasn’t a shout for help. It was pain uncontrolled and immediate.

When I reached her she was conscious and alert. Every movement made things worse. The pain wasn’t localised. It was everywhere.

She pulled on her emergency bag herself. She focused on breathing. She answered questions when she could.

As time passed, the pain didn’t stop; it drained her. Her grip weakened. Her voice softened.

The first messages

At 08:09, I set off the inReach SOS and texted Anna:

Marta has fallen.

A few minutes later she replied:

Is she ok
I’m on the phone with Garmin

At 08:26:

Chopper is being dispatched.

At 08:39, a message came through from RCCNZ:

RCCNZ arranging help. Is the patient conscious and breathing? What are their injuries?

I replied at 08:53:

Yes yes broken ankle rib arm

At 08:57, another message arrived:

Helicopter on the way. Arrive in 15 mins (0910am). Make yourself visible and secure ALL loose items including hats, packs etc.

For a moment, I was able to breathe.

the wait on the slope

Getting to Marta without falling myself took time. The slope was steep and slippery. When I reached her we kept slowly sliding, centimetre by centimetre.

I got her into her sleeping bag and wrapped the emergency bag over the top. I gave her tramadol and panadol. It made no difference.

At 09:23, the next message came:

Helicopter cannot reach you. Will be arranging a LandSAR team. How much battery left on your phone?

At 09:49:

Helicopter cannot reach you. LandSAR team being arranged. Is the terrain you are on steep? Will it require a rope rescue?

At 10:32, I replied:

No rope required

From that point on, the messages changed tone. Less hope, more logistics.

At 11:01:

In lots of pain
Given temadol and panadol

At 12:25:

Having trouble breathing might have lung damage

We built a shelter using the tent like a bothy bag and stacked sleeping mats around Marta to insulate her from the slope. It helped, but it was still cold, and we still kept slipping.

Hours passed.

Marta faded. Her screams softened. Her grip weakened. She told me she didn’t think she could make it. I told her she was a fighter and help was coming.

Arrival

Message At 12:31

LandSAR have been dropped off and are walking in. Arrival in approx. 1 hour.

At about 2pm, six hours after the fall, we heard voices above us.

LandSAR arrived first — calm, efficient, straight to work. They checked Marta, stabilised her and focused on warmth. Not long after, the Alpine Rescue Canterbury team arrived with a doctor and medic. I could finally breathe.

Weather held them there overnight. It would be another long wait before a helicopter could winch her out the following morning.

At 15:41, I texted Anna:

Help is here

After

I walked out with LandSAR late that night and was driven back to Nelson. I didn’t sleep. I replayed the fall over and over.

The next morning I got the call: Marta had been flown to Nelson Hospital. The rescue team were safely off the mountain.

Waves of emotion washed over me, I was so grateful.

Marta had a dislocated shoulder, seven broken ribs, a lacerated liver and a collapsed lung. She spent ten days in hospital.

Reflection

I feel shaken and ashamed for the worry caused and the risk carried by others.

There are many what ifs.

What I learned isn’t new

• Be even more careful in exposed country
• Listen to your gut, and when in doubt find another path
• Carry enough gear to emergency bivvy
• Carry your PLB or InReach on your body, not in your pack

Marta survived. Everyone got home.

That is what matters.

It is hard to express how grateful I am to all our rescuers. We are fortunate to have the services of LandSAR, Police, RCCNZ and Alpine Rescue Canterbury. Thank you for all that you do.

Marta

What I remember how I remember.

Wharepapa traverse from Mt Campbell to the bottom of South Twin was good. Nice scramble on good rock.

From there on wasn’t nice, slow going on hard, overgrown, unstable terrain, with weather turning to shite (as it was forecasted)

When we got to Baton Saddle on the evening of day two I thought about going down to Flanagans hut for the night: next day weather was supposed to get even worse so we would have had an easy walk on tracks to roadend. 

Andy had said before he was “in for a rough adventure,” and i didnt want to hold him back, so we kept going along the ridge, and after two hours of fighting the ridgeline, I told him I had had enough of that rough adventure, so we camped somewhere down the slope. Needless to say, that wasn’t a restful night and off we went: decided we needed to get out, so it was another couple of kms along the ridge before getting onto Cowin Spur, where a track was going out.

The ridge was bad, gnarly and unstable, and the sidling was very overgrown, wet and slow. After a lot of fighting the sidle we decided to stay on the ridge. I think I was just metres from the last knob going to the spur and I couldn’t find a way to go: no footholds nor handholds, lots of gravel on top of steep rocks, tried downclimbing without success, I turned back and said ” this is shite, we need to find another way” and then I slipped.

Down on my bum, sliding on gravel first, getting faster and faster soon. I was tumbling a few times, I hit the side of my head, and I thought, “Well, those are my teeth gone” I rolled and rolled and finally stopped on some grass. The pain made me scream; it was overwhelming: I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, I was trapped in my backpack.  Behind me, my gear was scattered along the slope, no signs of Andy. From my torn pack, I pulled out my survival blanket and got inside it.

Andy arrived, got my knife and cut me free from the shoulder straps. Helped me into my sleeping and then waited with me. I felt those hours were very, very long. We used our sleeping mats (deflated as we were slowly sliding down the hill) and the tent to protect us from the weather but we were def getting cold.

When the Landsar team arrived, they put me under a bothy bag (nice) and gave me Panadol and ibuprofen (zero effect) and then after some more time, the medical and alpine cliff rescue teams arrived. Adrian ( an amazing flying doctor with his own incredible story of survival) started giving me the good drugs.

When I came back, I found myself under a bothy bag wrapped like a tight burrito on a rigid stretcher, the only thing I could move was my right hand, where an IV line had been inserted (when I was screaming too much, that was used to pump me with Fentanyl). And that’s where I stayed until 6 am the next day. With the other seven brave and generous souls who spent that cold night out there with me.

After a few tries, the chopper could finally winch me out and take me to Nelson hospital, where I stayed for five days before being transferred to Wellington. I ended up with a dislocated shoulder, a lacerated liver, seven broken ribs and a collapsed lung. Not too bad, given the circumstances. My guardian angel is top-notch.

Fun not so fun facts:

– My watch recorded a maximum speed of 45 km/h down the slope that morning. Think i got a crown.

– If you are fit and healthy, there are more chances you will survive something like this.

– When you think ” it’s my choice, I do it, I will take on the eventual consequences” …it’s not. Many other people are involved, and they didn’t ask for it.

– Gear that was destroyed/lost/cut by doctors and that had to be replaced: backpack, rain jacket, short and long merino tops, overtrousers, knickers, waterproof gloves, survival blanket, walking poles, water bottle.

– Bad trips down the Ketamine hole: 2. 

– The mountains are not a place for people pleasers.

– ICU is like the Hilton.

– Friends are important.