We’ve all got one, haven’t we? The peak, trip or objective we were aiming for that was denied to us for reasons of health, fitness or sheer bad luck, perhaps even with the goal in sight.
It can be gutting, but if good sense tells you to go no further, it’s always the right thing to do. Here, our team of writers and experts recall the U-turns they’ll never forget.
By Sam Harrison
It had long been a goal of mine to summit Tapuae-o-Uenuku (2885m), its snow-capped massif teasing me from across Cook Strait. We climbed without incident from the Hodder Huts, following cairns. The climb was steady as we ascended snow on what we thought was the route to the summit. However, when we reached a saddle we discovered the terrain in front of us did not match our map. It began to sink in: we had gone the wrong way. Looking ahead, we could see our intended route across a steep, icy slope.
Before we even set off to traverse this, someone dropped their ice axe. It skidded down the hill but luckily not too far. As we traversed we struggled to get purchase on the smooth ice, but with perseverance we regained our route.
Regrouping, I saw someone else drop a glove. It was soon hundreds of metres down the mountain. In shock, I watched him send another down after it. Despite this, we continued and were soon ascending a steep chute, a task that required our full concentration. By the time we had climbed past 2700m the wind was rising, trying to force us off our perch. The summit ridge stood before us.
It was here that the reality of our situation dawned on us. We huddled against the wind and began that hard conversation. Our navigational folly had cost us time and energy. A dropped glove here, a lost ice axe there – it was evident that we needed all the energy we had left to get back to the hut. With a heavy heart I looked at the summit one last time. Another day.
By Victoria Bruce
Soft fingers of dawn slid across the dark blue shelter of Top Tuke Hut, brushing the cheeks of three tired trampers. I blinked awake, heart quickening as I remembered the mission: my daughter Emilie, our friend Paul Kilgour and I planned to climb the tussock-clad bluffs above the hut, ascend through a hanging basin of waterfalls and traverse Galena Ridge to reach Healey Creek Hut.
I boiled water while morning softened the jagged skyline. It was going to be a big climb – steep, exposed, beautiful. But inside the hut, stillness. Paul hadn’t stirred. “Are we still doing this?” I asked gently. He looked up, pale. “I’m a bit dizzy,” he said. “Could you message the helicopter guys? I think I worked with them years ago – be nice to see them again.”
Unbelievable, I thought. But also – of course. Tramping with others, whether young or old, demands more than route-finding and fitness. It means tuning in to how everyone is feeling, adjusting expectations, and putting group safety first.
So we made the call, and several hours later we were flying above the very ridge we’d planned to climb. It was incredibly scenic and – for now – unreachable.
Galena Ridge will be there another day. Our job as leaders, parents or friends isn’t to push on at all costs but to ensure everyone feels safe, capable and included in the decision making.
Turning back isn’t failure. It’s a kind of wisdom – earned not at the summit but on the trail.
By Mark Watson
On fresh legs, our pace was lively despite heavy loads as we approached the Ōtoko Valley. We were carrying five days’ food and climbing gear with the intention of exploring an unclimbed ridge.
After two rain-saturated camps, we woke to lifting cloud and snow well below the bushline and abandoned our planned climb in favour of the east ridge of Mt Hooker. We continued up-valley, finally escaping the disorienting forest and scrub for a snowy trudge to Lower Ōtoko Pass.
As I waited for Richard to join me, I surveyed the snow-smothered landscape; two long days of difficult, untracked travel now lay between us and the road. Like a widening chink in my armour, our isolation and vulnerability began to bear on me. It was the time before lightweight PLBs; we were alone, without comms, and no-one knew where we were.
Intent on traversing the mountain, we left camp at 4am next day and postholed upwards, negotiating rock steps. What would normally be moderate scrambling became an insecure wallow. Dawn broke, delivering both a divine view and the stark reality of how little ground we had covered. My toes were numb, and when I removed my boots I discovered the ends of my socks were frozen. Richard asked, “Are we doing the right thing?”
It was a rhetorical question. Buoyed by ambition, our plan was bold but increasingly unrealistic considering the deep snow, avalanche risk, limited supplies, uncertain weather and the probability of frostbite. We’d stayed positive and given it a crack, but conditions were too slow and too dangerous. Importantly, we’d maintained awareness as we travelled and knew when to reassess and pull the pin. A tramping party that communicates well and voices concerns is a safer party.
By Heather Grady
We stood by the Mt Hector memorial cross feeling deflated, aware that we had to turn back.
Three of us had set off the day before, excited to complete the Southern Crossing of the Tararua Range. It was my second attempt and I was eager to get there this time. The weather forecast looked promising before we left, but the report received on the mountain radio that night wasn’t so positive. Gale-force winds were forecast for the following evening. We decided to leave early so we could be at Alpha if the wind came a bit early.
The next morning we noticed a freshening wind soon after leaving the hut, and this strengthened steadily. It wasn’t too strong when we got to Mt Hector, but we would be very exposed for hours from there. It was a hard decision to turn back, made harder when another group from the hut said they would carry on. They were doing a key exchange with a party coming the other way and felt they “had to go”.
With heavy hearts we descended to Parawai Hut. The winds increased through the day and we wondered how the second group had fared. We met the party they had exchanged keys with, who told us of crawling on hands and knees and how frightened they had been. Yes, we had made the right decision.
By Hazel Phillips
On a frosty winter’s day I went climbing in Tongariro National Park with a couple of friends. We couldn’t decide between Ngāuruhoe and Tongariro, so postponed the decision until we got to South Crater. From a distance the day before, I’d eyed the snowpack on the northern slopes of Ngāuruhoe and assessed it as probably slim and fragile with a risk of punching through, so I already had a gut feeling that it wasn’t the right day for this venture.
At South Crater we met person after person coming down from Ngāuruhoe who’d experienced challenging conditions, including one chap who, rattled by the ice and exposure, had sat down halfway through his icy ascent and phoned a friend, who advised him to turn back. Another climber had made it up high but said it was tough going – then informed us that she climbs Taranaki on a weekly basis.
We chose a much more mellow circuit around Red Crater and Hardman’s Ridge on Tongariro instead. Sadly, later that evening, we heard that someone had perished on Ngāuruhoe that day.
I try to listen to other people’s intel but also to my gut instinct, and to trust my own reading of conditions. The mountain is always there for another day.
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