Sean Waters & Jorian Kippax

INTREPID: How did you guys get into mountaineering?

Sean: I never stood a chance, really. I lived at the NZ Outward Bound School until I was 12. We were always off tramping, walking up to ski at Mt Robert, kayaking and generally mucking around in the outdoors. My Dad hauled me up a peak called Scotts Knob, south of the Wairau Valley, which I remember as being terrifying and exhilarating at the same time - that seems to sum up most of my mountaineering ever since. So I guess I grew up with a pretty good sense of independence in the outdoors from a young age, but the real start of mountaineering was when I got taken under the wing of a Marlborough local called Murray Chapman. He seemed to know one end of an iceaxe from the other and had the generosity of spirit to drag a few of us testosterone-driven teenagers at Marlborough Boys College down to Arthur’s Pass to channel our energies into plugging steps and digging snow caves. A few trips and adventures followed but I didn’t really embrace it until I got to the university years, when we sewed up our own fleece jackets and didn’t let pesky things like lectures get in the way of heading out of town to the hills and crags. The saying ‘good judgement comes from bad experience and bad experience comes from poor judgement’ pretty much summed up our approach and we were lucky to have survived that apprenticeship of self teaching and adventure/misadventure. Getting involved in courses and teaching the finer arts of flailing around in the snow and rivers, to people who knew only slightly less than I did, led me slowly but surely to a career in the outdoors.

Jo: Well, I guess, much like Mr Waters, I’ve got my family to thank. I had a reasonably unconventional kind of childhood, much of which was spent on a yacht somewhere between Sydney and Va’vau with considerable periods ashore in New Zealand and Fiji. I had always been aware that my father, Russell Kippax, had been a very active Sydney rock climber back in the early 60’s and that he’d climbed with Heinrich Harrer (of Eigerwand fame) on the first ascent of Cartenz Pyriamid in PNG, so I had been pestering him for years to “show me the ropes”. It sounded like a cool thing to do. So, at 15, and much my to mother’s disquiet, my first alpine experience was on the East Ridge of Mt Taranaki on a breezy winter day with Dad boot-axe belaying me on an ancient wooden shafted traditional axe and an equally ancient hemp rope. I was scared shitless and we didn’t repeat the experience for quite some time.
However, I started hanging out at the local rock-climbing crag in Mt. Eden, Auckland and “caught the climbing bug”. I spent the next summer hitching down to Mt Cook National Park living a hand-to-mouth existence waiting for the weather, where I met up with Peter Dickson, who had a crazy plan of dragging a mountain bike up Mt Cook for a summit ride and needed someone suitably naïve for the project. The magical experience of pottering about on the (in those days, much flatter) summit of New Zealand’s highest peak had me hooked for life -- even after I inadvertently rode straight over my upturned crampons and blew out both tyres, much to Peter’s disgust.
My passion for climbing continued through my University career in Otago, where I first met Sean whilst flatting together at a seedy damp climber’s dive known as “the Herm”. Climbing often seemed to take precedence over my Med School lectures and more than one vital exam came and went with Sean and I still working out how to get off some peak.
Now, twenty something years later the magic is still there, and while I’m sure my physical abilities have waned somewhat, I’m now infinitely more adept at the more subtle and important skills of staying comfortable in the mountains, and sleeping in later. Sean is a master in this field and is a constant source of inspiration.

INTREPID: What’s your greatest mountaineering achievement?

Sean: That’s a difficult question to answer - but, probably, an ascent we did in Tibet in 2005. The Nyenchentanghla East area is a really remote and unexplored maze of ranges and has possibly the biggest collection of unclimbed, un-photographed amazing looking peaks anywhere on the planet. Jo Kippax and I were privileged enough to nab a first ascent in there of a peak called Birutaso (6550m)- the end result of climbing attributes that Kiwi climbers seem to be particularly good at, hard work and persistence. Right from the start everything was a real adventure in exploratory mountaineering. We had permits granted for 2004, which were revoked after we had left New Zealand, just as we were getting on the plane in China to fly to Tibet. That resulted in a wonderful, completely unplanned off-the-cuff expedition in the Daxue Shan Range of south-western China. When we finally got to Tibet the following year, it proved quite the adventure getting to the correct valley and then just finding an access route to the mountain took weeks. Half way through the trip we discovered we’d been trying to access the wrong mountain! Then once we had found our access to the base of the peak, weather and snow conspired against us to produce some memorable moments of digging our way to the peak. Luckily New Zealand apprenticeships had us well trained up for persistence and we reached the summit well after midnight, 14 days after leaving base camp.
It seems like it’s always the hard or scary trips that stick in your mind and Birutaso had a bit of everything, along with incredible travel and the wonderful people of the Lawa Valley.

Jo: I agree with Sean. That’s a toughie – so many fantastic experiences, places and people. Increasingly, climbing becomes a fine excuse to hang out in extraordinarily beautiful and fascinating places in company of good friends. A stand-out vivid couple of hours were had on a few pitches around 6500m on the South Face of Aconcagua, an imposing alpine wall in a desolate corner of Argentina. This 3km high face is improbably loose and steep and after five days of constant rock fall and towering ice-cliffs far above Sean and I were pretty strung out, desperately looking for a valid excuse to turn back - even though this course of action would have been reasonably desperate too. We had just hauled our aching, gasping lungs onto a ledge with an utterly homeopathic belay and contemplated the next six pitches of high-angle unprotectable slab. After 21 rounds of “paper-scissors-rock” Sean had a clear margin and I lead off with much fear and trepidation. Now, almost a decade later I can still clearly remember every detail of the rock, the hazy sky, the short terse communications and Sean’s concerned looking face. I wondered at the time whether he was considering the rope, the belay and figuring how quickly he could get to his knife? I guess it’s a combination of the enforced commitment, the trust in both your partner and yourself that makes such experiences unforgettable, but that’s what makes climbing so special.

INTREPID: What’s your favourite mountain or area to climb in NZ and why?

Sean: Probably Empress hut at the head of the Empress valley, Mt Cook. I haven’t even been there for years but it feels like its own little corner of the world, where you really have to earn your entry. There no easy way into it, you can’t fly in and it’s a long old trudge up the Hooker - it’s nice to know there is still somewhere like that in the heart of the biggest alpine area in NZ. It’s also a place that is astoundingly beautiful when things are going well and horribly intimidating when they’re not. You feel like you’re a speck in the presence of giants.

Jo: Has got to be the Darran Mountains in the Milford region. It’s sheer granite rock walls dripping soggy tussock, awe-inspiring valleys and ferocious weather make this region into the most wonderful yet intimidating turf imaginable. Even the drive in was intimidating, and thinking back for many trips the car park was about as far as we got with rain, snow, extreme avalanche conditions, flooded rivers and vertical tussock conspiring to end many ill-conceived plans. Often a combination of all these factors at once came into play which eventually prompted us to start the drive from Dunedin with a variety of toys and plans in an effort to get further than Homer Hut. You know you’re in an extreme environment when you find yourselves seriously discussing the merits of wearing avalanche transceivers whilst white water kayaking.

INTREPID: Did you have anyone you aspired to as you progressed through the sport and why?

Sean: I’ve probably always been most inspired by the polar explorers. Reading the accounts of Shackleton, and Scott and most of all Apsley Cherry-Garrard and Mawson. I just find it astounding how much those guys put up with and, on top of surviving, continued with their explorations. That said when I was a kid we had a poster on the wall from the 1975 SW Face of Everest expedition, so people like Doug Scott were huge heroes along with Pete Boardman and Jo Tasker. And then of course there’s our own, Ed Hillary and Norman Hardie in particular- all men of incredible character and strength.

Jo: Like I guess like many kids of outdoorsy families I grew up surrounded by the works of Tilman, Shipton, Hillary, Bonninton et al, which enthused me with dreams of the romantic adventure, stoic glorious suffering and all that stuff. To be honest though, I’m far more likely to be inspired to push myself by friends and climbing buddies. It’s all too easy to consider the achievements of heroic figures to be impossible for mere mortals, but harder to ignore the achievements of those you hang out with when you know they face the same impediments of work, lethargy and sore knees.

INTREPID: Can you recall the hairiest moment you’ve had?

Sean: Probably the luckiest I’ve been was on Sabre in the Darren Mountains. Graham was climbing directly above my belay, probably 30m out, when a piano-sized rock decided it had had enough and peeled off the mountain about 20m above him. Somehow it missed him and plummeted into the face just above me. When I opened my eyes again there was an almighty cloud of dust and that was it. The boulder had exploded into a zillion pieces all of which had missed me and all of which left our rope completely untouched. Then you read about someone dying tripping over the doorstep - we live in a random universe!

Jo: Hmm. There’s been a few. I took an unfortunate tumble on the Bonnar Face of Tasman while attempting a new line with Jeremy Strang. Our admittedly contrived line took in a large and reasonably steep ice pillar towards the right side of the face, which looked fun at the time and more importantly was out from under the direct line of fire of the ice-cliffs. We had decided on a single 8mm 60m rope to save weight, which also seemed a good idea in the hut but increasingly seemed absurd as I heard the “five metre” call without having managed to get any runners in since the belay. My crap titanium ice screws weren’t a match for New Zealand bullet hard ice.
With enormous relief I poked my nose over the top of the pitch and looked up at the easier slopes leading up to the summit. Perfect belay, just in time, almost out of calves. I placed both tools on the top ice bulge and mantled over – only to hear a soft “pop” as a splintering ice dinner plate released both tools at once. I toppled backwards and plummeted head first down the pitch. It all seemed very slow, I clearly remember seeing Jeremy’s face as I passed by, thinking he looked petrified. Fortunately, most of the rope held. I stopped. My pack kept going along with our bivvy gear and all was well – other than two shaken lads who thought better of continuing with a stripped and ragged looking rope. Although I don’t remember being scared while falling, I still wake up thinking about those few moments and I’ve kept the frayed section of rope as a reminder of our fragile mortality.

INTREPID: What would be your recommendations to someone looking to get started?

Sean: Ease into it slowly. I reckon a good ability to look after yourself when the weather’s grim or you’re really tired, is key to enjoying the mountains. A good tramping background which gets extended into alpine tramping is the best preparation you can get. After that, heading off on a course with good instructors should teach the right way to do business right from the start. If you’ve got the money, go with a professional outfit who will have Mountain Guides showing you the ropes, literally. Your Guide will have years of the most important ingredient to a successful climbing career, experience. They should also be a good teacher of the trade who will take you to the best spots to learn and practise. If you don’t have the disposable income to splash around, various clubs also run really good courses and often employ mountain guides to instruct on them. The New Zealand Alpine Club runs excellent courses in the North and South Islands, which cater to varying levels of experience.
If you’re new to any club you’re going to do a course with, it’s probably worth enquiring about the experience level of the instructors running it, and make sure that you are happy that they have the smarts to look after you. I shudder to think about my inexperience when I first started instructing.
Once you’ve picked the brains of some good instructors and you’re ready to head off into the hills, try and go with people with experience. Again many Clubs run good trips catering to all levels. Watch and learn from people who know what they’re up to, and be prepared to serve a lengthy apprenticeship before you jump on all those gnarly desperates. The mountains seem to have a habit of slapping those folk who get a bit big for their boots.

Jo: I completely agree with Sean. In the past I would perhaps have said “just go for it”, but now I’d strongly suggest gaining sufficient skills and knowledge from reputable instructors before heading off. Perhaps my opinion is skewed by my work in Emergency Medicine, but I can say that evolution is a powerful force acting on poorly trained people in the hills.

INTREPID: What’s your favourite piece of gear and why?

Sean: My thermorest- its sooo good lying around on it during pit days at basecamp. When I think back to the skinny bits of foam we used to try and sleep on, it’s a wonder I ever went more than 10m from my bed!

Jo: Although I’m pretty taken with my SkiTrab lightweight touring skis (particularly when faced with a heavy pack and waist deep powder) and my old DMM predator axes smash through just about anything including chossy rock it’s still hard to beat the feeling of snuggling into a warm dry sleeping bag at the end of a hard day. My Macpac XPD 700gm down bag could only be improved in this regard if it came with helicopter attachment.

INTREPID: What are your future aspirations or goals?

Sean: I seem to have inadvertently retired from climbing in NZ - life seems to have gotten all busy. But I have re-discovered ski touring in the last few years so there are plenty of tours which have got me really excited – most of which seem to include sipping cocktails back at an alpine hut in the late afternoon.
There also seems to be an endless list of exploratory type trips overseas which look incredible. Every time you do one expedition it spawns plans for dozens more.

Jo: That’s actually a little bit of a sensitive issue, requiring considerable diplomacy back home… Sean and I do have a few ideas though.

INTREPID: Obviously your climbing partner is the most important part of any team. You and Jo have been climbing together for 17 years - what makes him so good to climb with? What are the responsibilities of being a part of a tem like yours?

Sean: Responsibilities is a heavy word, but I think maybe the most important thing to get sorted with a partner in adventure is what degree of commitment you have to the undertaking. By that I mean how much you are willing to push when things get a bit rough. Are you there just for a good time and if it gets a bit tricky you’re off to the hut for a cocktail, or does success mean enough to you that you’re willing to put up with all sorts to pull it off. Different people adventure for different reasons. Its all valid and it also changes from one adventure to another, but I think it’s really important to sort that out. If you’re mismatched you’re in for an awful lot of disappointment on one side, and fear and discomfort on the other.
Jo and I work really well together for all sorts of reasons but one of them is certainly because we’re usually on the same wavelength about our commitment. Certainly in the last ten years or so we’ve been really careful to talk about exactly that stuff before and during the trip.
We also foil each other really well. I tend to be the conservative, softly-softly guy while Jo tends to be much keener to push the envelope. We both know that and probably overplay our roles when we’re yarning about a decision. Sounds weird I know but we seem to always arrive at decisions that we look back on and think ‘that was spot on’. Sometimes it’s to give it a nudge and push on, and sometimes to back off. There is always lots of nattering about our decisions, both during and after them.
We also try not to take it all too seriously. Half the fun of the adventures of the last few years has been the travel component and the people you get to hang out with, especially in the remote valleys of China and Tibet. In many ways the climbing is just a good excuse to go and live in those places for awhile. Jo is really good at keeping the fun in it all. The last trip we did to Patagonia, I had all sorts of stuff going on and when the wheels started to fall on the weather front I started to get a bit Eeyore-ish - Jo was great at reminding us both that it was all a bit of a giggle and not to be taken too seriously.

Jo: I first started climbing with Sean somewhere back in the early 90’s which seems disturbingly distant. We’ve made the perfect climbing team and however corny I guess that’s based on friendship and trust. We’re so similar in so many ways and after years of hanging out together we know each-others foibles pretty well. From my perspective, growing up as a single child he’s the brotherly figure I never had, down to the obsessive division of the last chocolate macadamia. We’ve been there for each other during some trying times and many great times. He was a fantastic best man at my wedding and I struggled to match his speech when I was best man at his. He’s a fantastic friend as well as a fantastic expedition partner.

Be it ever so corny the trust thing is so important in a climbing partnership, not just with the obvious matters of rope work but more subtle things like hunches or the leadership role. It can be a big call on an expedition when one wants to back off a route simply “because it feels wrong”, and by now we trust each other’s judgement implicitly (barring taste in music, of course.) Trust extends to leadership too. Who leads? Well, usually decisions are democratic but often one of us is stronger or more positive on the day and that person makes all the decisions. We’ve never been particularly competitive and the only time I can remember getting short with each other was when Sean needed to stop for his headlamp and my toes were freezing – literally, as it turned out. Most of the time we know each other’s thoughts well enough by now that very little communication is actually required on the climb.

INTREPID: You guys have spent a lot of time together over the years, does Jo have any particular little habits that drive you nuts?

Sean: Jo has a wonderful ability to potter about tinkering with things that are already working perfectly. I remember being in a somewhat cramped snowcave in Tibet where we had a really good cooking area set up next to one of the sleeping platforms. Each day we were in there, we would swap sleeping platforms so the other guy could do their turn cooking. It was all set up sweetly but Jo got it into his head that it could be improved upon. So while I was snoozing he set about building a benchtop extractor chimney. When I woke up to swap into the cooking position I discovered that the extractor concept had gotten a bit out of control and rather than a chimney, Jo had created a wonderful funnel which directed periodic avalanches of spindrift from the storm outside, directly onto my head. We went from having this wonderful stretched out cooking bench to a cramped contorted kitchen next to a growing cone of snow.
The other thing Jo is terrible at, is mornings. This is unfortunate, not only is getting away early one of climbings golden rules, but it’s a trait he shares with me. We are shockingly incompetent at getting up and going. We may well hold all sorts of records for managing to climb things despite not leaving the hut before morning tea time.

Jo: We’re pretty tolerant of each others idiosyncrasies, which is a damn good thing when you’re trapped in a 4’ wide tent for five days straight. Little issues like where the stinking socks get hung to dry take on a new and very grave significance when you’re top-and-tailing, and I recall a lengthy discussion on just how bad the storm needs to be before an indoor crap is justified. Sean of course has more idiosyncrasies than I, one of the weirder of which regards his feet. Now, I grant feet are useful critters that take a hammering on a climb but watching Sean going through this ritual of drying, powdering, nail clipping all the while extolling the virtues of these rank manky fungal ridden appendages that really should just be shoved back in the boots and preferably left there is always a tad disturbing. Must remember to ask Dallis whether it’s some kind of fetish.