The air was thick and salty. It clung to the skin like a second layer of sweat, crept into the lungs and dried out the mouth. The wind raced between the crags, bringing the stench of rotting seaweed, stale water and swirling dust. The sea below them seemed to be talking non-stop – a deep rumble of waves rolling against the cliffs. Not a single cloud was left in the sky. The sun burned – mercilessly, relentlessly. The scorching black rock radiated heat like an oven. It didn't care that they were there. It didn't budge an inch.
Bryden Allen shaded his eyes with his palm and gazed upwards. Balls Pyramid – a black, jagged, lonely mountain. Something restless radiated from it. As if it shouldn't be here, in the middle of the ocean.
John Davis leaned against his pack and wiped the salt off his forehead. "This brute looks like it doesn't like us."
Jack Pettigrew deftly rolled himself a cigarette. "No wonder. Nobody's ever trodden on its neck like this." He took a drag, blew out a thin wisp of smoke and chuckled. "I just hope we don't annoy it so much that it shakes us off into the sea."
David Witham said nothing. He sat on a sun-warmed stone, elbows on his knees, watching the sea crash noisily against the cliffs.
"We'll see tomorrow," said Bryden. "We have to be on the rock before sunrise."
The night was sultry. They lay scattered among the rocks, trying to find a position that was at least a little comfortable. Each of them was covered in a sticky layer of salt, sand and sweat. They slept fitfully – seabirds circled above them and never stopped screeching.
They were up before dawn. The sea was still dark, the sky steel-grey. It was quiet – but only briefly, until the first rays of sunlight sliced through the horizon. Then the hell began. They climbed rock that looked solid at first glance – but in reality crumbled like dried mud. The heat slowly became unbearable, and the skin on their fingers was quickly wearing away.
Bryden reached for a new hold and suddenly felt the rock crumbling under his fingers. "This stuff holds about as well as stale, dried-out bread," he called down.
Jack, who was just pulling in the rope, growled. "Then try not to wriggle too much. Don't crush the whole pyramid in your hands."
John reached higher, searching for a hold – and his fingers found something slimy. He jerked back instinctively.
"What the hell is that…?" He turned his hand over. It was covered in white, stinking slime.
David burst out laughing. "Welcome to the nesting ground of thousands of birds."
In places the rock was so plastered with droppings that it was as slippery as a greased sheet of metal. Every move had to be thought through twice. A slip wouldn't just mean bruises. It would mean the end. Below them gaped the wild surface of the ocean, into which they would vanish like a crumb swept off the table of the gods.
They climbed for hours. Their skin was starting to suffer under the constant onslaught of salt and sun. There was no hiding from either. Their lips were dry and cracked. Every breath brought the smell of overheated rock and their own sweat.
"Are you lot having a lovely time too?" John called out.
Jack snorted and leaned against a ledge. "Like the morning after a bender in hell."
Five hundred metres below them the ocean heaved like a giant living organism. The waves boomed against the cliffs – the eternal rhythm of something that was here long before them and will be here long after them. Just below the summit they found a small rock ledge where they could spend the night. It wasn't wide, but it was enough.
Jack Pettigrew rubbed his neck and tipped his head back. "Possibly the worst bed I've ever slept in."
John Davis gave a bitter laugh. "And tomorrow we'll be clawing our way out of it straight into hell."
David Witham kept quiet. He could feel his muscles throbbing with pain. Suddenly he jerked violently.
"Bloody hell!" he yelled, and with all his strength flung something into the depths.
John raised his head. "What the hell was that?"
David wiped his hand on his trousers as if trying to get rid of something disgusting. "A centipede. It was crawling under my shirt."
John shuddered. They tried to sleep, but it was no use. The seabirds kept screeching and the wind whistled around them like the whisper of something that didn't want to let them go. Strange that so many animals considered this inhospitable place home – while man was a mere intruder here.
Morning brought no relief. Only more torment. David Witham woke with the feeling that he'd slept for just a few minutes. His head was pounding and his muscles protested at every move. His eyes were full of dust, his throat as dry as parchment.
"That was the worst place I've ever closed my eyes," he mumbled, running a hand over the stubble on his cheek.
Jack Pettigrew rubbed his stiff legs and grunted: "And that's putting it mildly."
They all felt the same. Exhausted, battered, coated in salt and dust. But they had no choice but to carry on.
Bryden Allen took a deep breath. "So… shall we get on with it?"
For a moment there was silence. Then John Davis slowly got up and nodded.
There was no other option. The sun beat down on their backs and the rock threw back a hellish heat. There was no comfort left – just raw reality: climb on, or give up. And they weren't giving up. The rock crumbled under their fingers – like old plaster. Every metre meant a new scratch, a new wound. Legs trembled, ropes went taut and slack again. Time lost its meaning. Only movement – reach up, shift your weight, a short breath out.
And then – at half past two in the afternoon – Bryden swung his leg over the last step. Suddenly there was nowhere left to climb.
They were on top. David pulled himself up after him, then John, and finally Jack. In an instant all the pain vanished. All the suffering. Below them the world kept turning at its own pace – dolphins raced beneath the surface, sailors crossed the ocean. But here, on the summit of Balls Pyramid, stood the four of them – the only people in the world who had ever made it this far.
No birds, no roar of the sea. Just pure, absolute silence.
Jack wiped the sweat from his forehead. "This…" he shook his head. "This was the craziest idea I've ever had."
Bryden reached into his pack. He pulled out a bottle of champagne.
John's eyes went wide. "You're joking, right?"
Bryden smiled. "I've lugged it all the way up. So we're bloody well opening it."
Jack took it and slowly eased out the cork. A soft pffff. The bubbles fizzed out and the wind carried them away at once, as if the island had taken the champagne for itself.
They built a stone cairn. Inside they placed a short note: CHAMPAGNE BOTTLE ON TOP – EMPTY.
Then they turned back to the descent. Because you can never take a mountain with you. You can stand on it, but it will never belong to you. Balls Pyramid went on belonging to itself. And the four of them had to go back down.
The descent was slow. Careful. They knew how treacherous this brittle mass of rock was. Every handhold, every foothold had to be tested twice. And still the rock kept crumbling at their touch. Burning muscles, exhausted hands, skin cracked by sun and salt. They had nothing left in reserve. They had to trust. The rock, the rope, each other.
As darkness began to fall, they stopped in a small cave near a spot they named Winkelstein's Steeple. They slumped down among the rocks and exhaustion overwhelmed them at once.
Jack wiped his face once more and breathed out: "Yeah. And tomorrow, with any luck, we'll touch solid ground."
John stretched out his legs and looked up at the sky. "We've already touched the stars."
The next morning they returned to base camp. The sun glittered on the water. The wind was the same as two days before. But they came back different.
Bryden tilted his head back towards the summit, which already seemed so far away again. Balls Pyramid towered above them like a silent witness. Now it knew that people don't give up. And the world would soon hear about these four.
Balls Pyramid is the tallest sea stack in the world. It rises 561 metres above the surface of the Pacific Ocean. It lies about 20 km south-east of Lord Howe Island, which is 700 km east of the Australian coast. It is the remnant of a shield volcano roughly 7 million years old. Balls Pyramid is one of the most extreme and inaccessible summits in the world – not only because of its steep walls and brittle rock, but also because of the harsh oceanic climate, which makes climbing even more complicated.
Henry Lidgbird Ball (1756 – 1818) was the first to discover and describe Balls Pyramid, in 1788. In the same year this British naval officer also discovered nearby Lord Howe Island. The mountain bears his name.
The first ascent of Balls Pyramid was made on 14 February 1965 by four climbers from Sydney: Bryden Allen (expedition leader), John Davis, Jack Pettigrew and David Witham. The expedition spent three days on the mountain, with the first night spent bivouacking high on the south ridge. The rock was extremely brittle and covered in bird droppings, and the climbers had to fix ropes carefully to get through the hardest sections. The descent was slower than they expected – so they had to spend another night in a small cave.
In 1982 climbing on Balls Pyramid was banned as part of stricter protection of the Lord Howe Island Marine Park.
In 1990 climbing was partly permitted again – under strict conditions and only with permission from the authorities.
