The eastern Minaret viewed from the western Minaret with Mt Malte Brun in the distance. Photo: Daniel McGowan

The Minarets attract much interest as one of the easier mountains to climb rising above the magical 3000 m. They are a true mountain in terms of dominating their surrounds, being the eighth highest massif in the country. For this reason, many mountaineers attempt the Minarets in their first few years of climbing.

The Minarets are largely impressive from all angles in that bulky way, yet the twin peaks provide the summit area with aesthetic qualities. Given the twin peaks' location on the Main Divide between Aoraki Mt Cook and Westland National Parks, the views from the tops are naturally spectacular. There are great views of both national parks and the Tasman Sea; however, it is the view across the Tasman Valley to Mt Malte Brun that is often best remembered.

For such an imposing mountain, the lack of routes on the Minarets is perhaps surprising. It has standard routes from both the east and west, all around grade 2, but there is a distinct lack of more difficult climbs, at least in terms of what has already been done. But we will turn to that later. For now, let’s look at the standard routes.

The Minarets are typical of most mountains in the Aoraki Mount Cook region in that climbing the eastern slopes requires a much larger height gain than climbing the western slopes does. Indeed, climbing from the east is a very typical Aoraki Mount Cook adventure involving much arduous glacier travel, scrambling up moraine walls, and slogging up snow slopes. I am not trying to put you off, it is a very rewarding experience. After you've finished.

From the East

Daniel McGowan and John Kristiansen on De la Beche ridge in autumn. Photo: Glenn Pennycook

The standard route from the east is via De la Beche Ridge. It is a remarkably long climb, probably a 1 ½ day return trip from De la Beche Hut at the foot of the ridge, and that is after a hard day’s mission up the lower Tasman Glacier and a scramble up a moraine wall that has seen its fair share of injuries. The height gain of 1700 m is testing enough, but the real challenge is the length of the ridge at 5 km. The climbing itself is usually pleasant; first scrambling on enjoyable rock and then negotiating snow slopes on the eastern side of the ridge. In icy conditions, these eastern slopes can prove the trickiest part of the climb. Although not insanely steep, the slopes are crevassed. Climbers may well find themselves in two minds about how to negotiate the crevasses while at the same time not wanting to pull each other off the mountain in the case of a fall. If late summer conditions are encountered and crevasses impede travel across the snow slopes, it may even be necessary to gain the rocky outcrops of the ridge to access the summit area. Otherwise, the summit area is easily attained via the eastern snow slopes.

The east face of the Minarets in winter. Photo: Glenn Pennycook

Although often described as a plateau, the summit area isn’t exactly flat. However, the slopes are gentle enough to provide easy access to the final peaks, which can be anything from a steep walk to a one-pitch easyish climb depending on the snow conditions.

The other option from the east, and one rarely ever taken, is an ascent of the Ranfurly Glacier, which covers the broad eastern face of the mountain. This requires starting the climb further up the Tasman Glacier and then following your nose through the crevasse-littered eastern slopes, again probably over the course of 1 ½ days return.

It is the length of these climbs that makes an ascent of the mountain from the east special. Although it is possible to summit without getting on your front points for any sustained period, the climbs require some stamina, persistence and a period of good weather.

From the West

Ben Lee and Dominic Lo ascend the crux western snow slopes in strong winds. Photo: Lars Andersson

Like many climbs from Westland National Park, the standard route from the west is shorter (only a 650 m altitude gain from Centennial Hut), perhaps being a three quarter day return trip from Centennial Hut for most. The climb is graded a little harder from the west (grade 2+ compared with grade 2 for the De la Beche ridge route), but it could be argued that this is more indicative of the slight overgrading of routes west of the Main Divide rather than the western route being more difficult. There is a short section of steeper climbing on the western slopes, but the more modest height gain should also be taken into account.

Climbers descend towards the Tasman Sea. Photo: Glenn Pennycook

When climbing from the west, the Minarets deliver a straightforward approach (assuming you haven’t just slogged in from sea level), followed by a few pitches of moderate ground as a challenge, topped off with great views and a reasonably straightforward descent back to camp. Hard ice conditions or heavily crevassed access would make things tougher, but that goes for pretty much every mountain in the region.

Experience

So, how much experience is needed? As long as you are happy using crampons and ice axes and hammering in a few snowstakes, know the techniques required for glacier travel, and can simulclimb or pitch climb if necessary, then the mountain is well worth having a crack at. That doesn’t necessarily mean that you will top out (I took three attempts to summit for instance), but it would be a suitable challenge.

Climbs through the Ages

I have spent enough of my climbing career on the mountain to be able to give an account of the various routes, and what gaps I do have in my knowledge I can easily make up for using an over-active imagination.

Attempt 1 – De la Beche ridge

Daniel McGowan on the lower section of De la Beche ridge. Photo: Glenn Pennycook

We start with a 1999 attempt via De la Beche ridge with my good mates Dan and John, back when we were new to the game and highly excitable. We had youth on our side.

We make things difficult for ourselves by choosing to go climbing in autumn. As such, all snow slopes have melted back to hard underlying ice – generally bulletproof stuff that crampons barely scratch. We have already backed off the intimidating 30-degree slopes of the mighty Mt Aylmer earlier in the week.

After tackling the rock scrambling low on De la Beche ridge, we reach the hard eastern snow slopes. We make the classic mistake of keeping the rope on in case one of us falls into a crevasse but do not place protection. If one of us slips, he will pull all three of us off the mountain. Or more likely, into one of the waiting crevasses. Eventually we find the eastern slopes of De la Beche ridge cut off by crevasses and are forced to try to regain the rocky crest of the ridge. Whereas others may learn to rock climb at the local crag, I lead my first pitch and place my first wires at about 2600 metres above sea level, wearing plastic boots and with a gaping bottomless schrund immediately below my feet.

I hold my nerve through the rock section and we find a spot that we deem a good place to bivouac. Except it isn’t really. The rock wall we huddle up against offers no protection from the elements and none of us get much sleep in our claustrophobic bivy bags as snow falls that night. We wake to weather that although not a full-blown blizzard, has enough blizzard-like qualities to encourage a retreat. We abseil the rock pitch, and pick our way down the ridge back to the hut.

Attempts 2 and 3 – Ranfurly Glacier and De la Beche ridge

John Kristiansen checks out the view of the Tasman Glacier from a bivouac on the Ranfurly Glacier. Photo: Daniel McGowan

By the time attempts 2 and 3 come around, the three of us can loosely be described as mountaineering guns. At least the kind of guns that shoot plastic sticks with suction caps on the end. We have had a good time at the head of the Tasman Glacier, taking only a few hours to climb Elie de Beaumont, and are seeking to polish off the Minarets as the final course of our fine mountaineering feast. Since we are descending from the head of the Tasman Glacier, we decide to try the more direct approach straight up the Ranfurly Glacier.

Daniel McGowan crosses a snow bridge on the Ranfurly Glacier. Photo: Glenn Pennycook

We dump our tent and half our remaining provisions at the base of the route and start up the eastern face in the heat of the afternoon to find a good bivouac to launch our summit attempt from the following day. It is an afternoon of setting off one wet slide after another. Things are getting a bit nervy, with little chance to make snow anchors on the lower slopes, until we finally reach a rock step in which we can place a couple of pitons. We continue up more snow slopes, but at least they are snow slopes firm enough to use snowstakes in. We simulclimb 40-degree slopes using seven snowstakes, the odd ice screw, and even the shovel as protection.

We reach a relatively flat section and agree it's a good place to bivy. We find a crevasse we think will provide good shelter from the wind and, after much stamping to ensure its bottom is solid, we settle in for the night. We make a pre-dawn start and make good upward progress in great conditions. However, we eventually come to slopes that feel hollow underfoot. We feel faint vibrations with each step, indicating the presence of unsupported wind slab – a very unstable snowpack. Much discussion is had about whether to turn around or make for a rock ridge as an alternative route. The argument to descend wins. We plan to try again in two days' time via De la Beche ridge.

We are familiar with the route owing to our previous attempt. Yet it is also unfamiliar because snow conditions are much better. The snow is quite deep however. I plug steps like superman (except that superman would probably fly) but this is solely due to being two months into a climbing season whereas my poor companions have only emerged from their offices a few days previous. This time we aren't required to deviate from the standard line. The snow slopes take us straight to the summit area and then onto the summit peaks.

Attempt 4 – From the West

Glenn Pennycook and Francesca Eldridge appear as small dots on the western slopes of the Minarets. The path towards the icefall and the ice cliff we climbed are visible in the foreground. Photo: Lars Andersson

After a dump of snow we reason some serious snow plugging will be required to reach the base of the route. Lars, Ben and Dom head off first with the promise that Francesca and I will catch them within an hour to take over. Unfortunately for the lead party, we lose their tracks within a few minutes in the pre-dawn light. We head off in a different direction that I am convinced is the best option. An hour later we have been cut off by crevasses and are back at square one, five minutes from the hut. This is a blessing in disguise as we suddenly realise we have left half our gear behind. So an hour and a half late, we begin the slog across the neve.

By dawn we have a view of the lead party on the western slopes rising to the summit plateau. They have already taken an interesting route through the lower icefall, an icefall we are supposed to be circumnavigating. But it looks a good option to us too and we follow. We then run into a vertical ice wall that looked a lot mellower from a distance. Although not particularly on the lookout for such a challenge, climbing it is perhaps the highlight of the day.

On the slopes above, the lead fellas have split up and taken different lines. It is obvious from below they are grinding up some pretty icy slopes on their front points. They move well though, and by the time we pass the schrund on the lower slopes, they have already topped out and descended to meet us, keen to get out of the wind that has been blasting them for several hours. Somewhat unfairly for them, the wind abates as Francesca and I pitch climb for a couple of rope lengths to the plateau. We get to hang out on the peaks for a couple of hours before descending to our snow-chilled Coca Cola – the perfect antidote to a baking afternoon glacier slog.

The Future

The Minarets (far left) and unclimbed rock buttresses (centre) on Mt De la Beche. Photo: Francesca Eldridge

No doubt the standard routes will continue to see action in the late spring and early summer months, but what challenges remain?

The north west face. Somewhere there is the 1979 route that links snow ramps together, although it is not obvious in this picture. Photo: Guy McKinnon

"The best unclimbed route in the area". A spur running from the Spencer Glacier to the eastern Minaret with an altitude gain of almost 1000 m. Photo: Guy McKinnon

A climb from the east in winter would be a major accomplishment owing to the height gain and short days. It would take at least two days and likely involve climbing in snowshoes. The logistics of such a climb would be fascinating – what to take, whether to bivy or camp, how much can be carried.

There are technical climbing options from the west, of which the north west face is the only one to have been tackled thus far – and perhaps only once with no one returning since the first ascent by Dave Bamford and Jim Strang in 1979. There is another major feature in this area that has not been climbed – a prominent spur running out of the Spencer Glacier with a big buttress start. Regular visitor to the area Guy McKinnon regards the spur as the best unclimbed route in the area. The other features that have surprisingly not yet seen action are the steep rock buttresses rising to the summit of Mt De la Beche, the subsidiary peak of the Minarets.

It would be superb to hear of the new generation of climbers taking on these remaining challenges of the Minarets, as it will also be to hear of climbers ascending the Minarets as their first 3000 m mountain well into the future.

Photo Gallery

John Kristiansen and Glenn Pennycook on the eastern Minaret. Photo: Daniel McGowan

Climber approaching the summit with Aoraki Mt Cook and Mt Tasman in the distance. Photo: Lindsay Froggatt

Francesca Eldridge on the summit plateau with Mt Malte Brun as the backdrop. Photo: Glenn Pennycook

Climbers on the summit plateau. Photo: Lindsay Froggatt

Ben Lee, Dominic Lo and Lars Andersson at the base of the western snow slopes on the descent. Photo: Glenn Pennycook

The view to the Tasman Sea from the top of the western snow slopes. Photo: Glenn Pennycook

Francesca Eldridge on the return to Centennial Hut. Photo: Glenn Pennycook