Somnus Couloir
- Mike Morelli
- Nov 15
- 6 min read
Updated: Nov 18
Date: Nov. 16, 2024
Location: Humboldt Mountains, Mount Aspiring National Park, Glenorchy, Otago, New Zealand
Total Trip Distance: 19.8 mi / 32 km
Total Elevation Gain: 5,979 ft / 1,822 m
Trip Duration: 14 hrs
Team: Rob Fraser
Field Notes: A mega classic. Access is up the North Routeburn. There is an excellent bivy rock at the base of the line - Hobbs Bivy. The couloir itself is roughly 900 meters. Some people may wish to head to the summit from the top of the line, which is an additional 300 meters. Although no steeper than 40 degrees, the couloir is very prone to avalanches, icefall, and rockfall. Bergschrunds form in spring. It is also very common to find wind slab at the top of the line.
Grade: I, 2
The Somnus Couloir is an incredible line. When one sees it, one knows.
I tried to climb it two years ago and got a couple hundred meters from the top before turning around. Too warm, too many schrunds, too much risk — I bailed. I remember walking back down a bit disappointed when all of a sudden a massive piece of ice fell off the walls behind me and thundered into the couloir, maybe 50 meters behind me.
This is a line that, although not that steep, comes with big consequence. And I knew I’d be stoked to get to the top of it one day.
Fast forward to 2024, and a trip out there never happened. Maybe I was unmotivated — I’m not sure. But 2024 wasn’t the year. In 2025, I was definitely motivated to ski the line.
Winter didn’t really deliver the conditions I’d hoped for, and then September and October were nonstop storms. I remember texting my buddy Paul, who also wanted to ski the line, telling him, I just don’t think this is the year for Somnus.
After coming back from my Mount Cook trip, I figured there wouldn’t be much time left for skiing. I was very wrong. A friend sent me a message showing current conditions on the couloir, proving it was still in.
I hit up Rob to see if he wanted to ski it. We had talked about it multiple times and even viewed the line earlier in winter from the summit of Xenicus. As a bit of extra motivation, I said, if you don’t want to ski this line, I’m going to take your firstborn child.
Unsure whether he was motivated by excitement to ski a mega classic or fear of losing his firstborn, he said yes.
The next question: alpine-style in a day or an overnighter? On my previous trip I’d stayed at Hobbs Bivy — a perfect base at the bottom of the line. But the reality is: carrying heavy packs sucks. Carrying a heavy pack with skis and boots on your back sucks even more. So we opted for light and fast — done in a day.
I picked Rob up at 10:30 p.m. on Saturday and we drove to the Routeburn Shelter. We pulled in and started walking up the trail at 12:15 a.m.
On the drive, Rob and I talked a lot about expectations, which I think is one of the healthiest things partners can do before going into consequential terrain. Rob is one of my all-time favorite partners. His mindset is switched on. We don’t agree on everything — which has now sadly become a negative in modern society — but what I want to point out is the quality of these conversations when we do have different points of view.
When we talk through decisions, we express how we feel in a place of non-judgment, listening, and sharing perspectives. Even when we both agree, we still pick it apart to make sure we are not both blind. I can't think of a single time any discussion turned emotional, which is critical in these environments.
Rob is also very fit, which comes from an ultra-running and ski background. He is also very switched on with snow science, and I'll often find myself picking his brain.
As we expressed our concerns and views about the day, we settled on two words as our mindset for the climb: pessimistic and skeptical.
Pessimistic because we'd just received 30 cm of new snow on Friday. We were pessimistic that the line would be safe. We knew we’d encounter wind slab somewhere over 900 meters of terrain.
Skeptical because there were many unknowns. Skeptical of the weather — is it cold enough? Skeptical of the wind — is it transporting snow? Skeptical of the snowpack — is this safe enough to ski? If anything felt off, we’d bail.
From the trailhead to reach the snowline at the couloir took us about five hours.
Although I was pessimistic we’d be skiing the line, my confidence rose slightly. The sky was clear, stars shining, and it was cold. The day prior I’d also watched the Harris Saddle webcam and saw the snow go through a consolidation cycle.
We put on crampons and started booting up. A few things stood out: old avalanche debris (expected, but never comforting), and ugly snow for the first hundred meters — nothing skiable. But another positive: the snow was frozen hard and firm.
We continued upward. I felt energized and we moved quickly. Any time either of us noticed a change in the snow, we stopped and talked about it.
The couloir isn’t that steep — maybe 40 degrees max — and it’s wide enough to make actual turns. However, the consequences are huge. It’s the perfect angle for avalanches. It’s south-facing and holds instabilities longer. It’s 900 meters long, so the variability is enormous.
There’s rockfall, icefall, and debris everywhere. The top walls of the couloir get more sunlight than people realize. And as I wrote above, two years ago a chunk of ice fell 50 meters behind me — something that would have had serious implications had it hit me.
About two-thirds of the way up, we hit a massive schrund. On both sides, though, there appeared to be a passage. We spent about 10 minutes probing with a ski pole and inspecting.
If the bridge collapsed, the outcome would be very bad. We seriously debated turning around here. Eventually, I climbed the left-hand side, was satisfied with the snow, and climbed above it. Rob followed. We knew it was an added risk — one we’d have to ski above later.
We continued the long grind upward. Near the top — maybe 30 meters below — we encountered wind slab. After multiple hand shears and assessments, we weren’t thrilled about it but felt reassured that it was unreactive and not propagating. Still, another added risk.
Finally, at the top of the line, we looked toward the summit. Originally, we planned to tag it as a bonus. But seeing snow actively being transported onto the summit slopes — slopes now being hit by the morning sun — made the decision easy. That would be risk number three. We passed.
The wind at the top was strong. We layered up, organized gear, and clicked in.
Rob skied the first pitch to the safe zone we’d identified on the climb. After hearing safe, I met him there.
The next section was where the money was made. I watched Rob drop in. His first turn sent a plume of cold smoke into the air. Two turns, three turns — he was hooting and hollering.
This is what it's all about. I dropped in next, skied into the guts of the couloir, and linked turns through boot-deep, stable pow. I literally couldn’t contain myself. We regrouped, buzzing — skiing Somnus in stable boot-deep pow. Unreal.
From there, we skied conservatively, knowing the schrund was below. Near the lip, we chose skier’s right, where we could make one quick turn over the snow bridge to safety.
Rob went first, then me. After that, we leapfrogged down the couloir, mostly doing jump turns due to the variable snow. 100 meters above the end of the snow, we transitioned back to crampons and walked the final section over the rutted terrain back to our boots.
Finally back at safety, we did your classic bro hug. A truly special moment. This line is a mega classic — and we fucking nailed it. Not only did we nail it, we nailed it as a team: efficient, great judgment, and tons of fun.
For me, efficiency is one of the biggest draws in the mountains. I love the feeling of climbing quickly and smoothly and waking up the next morning still stoked.
We made the obligatory stop at Mrs. Woolly’s for coffee and food, sitting there bleary-eyed and talking about buying one of the wool blankets. After Mrs. Woolly’s, we jumped in the lake for a cold plunge — a ritual after mountain missions.
The cold zapped any remaining energy, and as soon as I got back behind the wheel my eyes crossed and Rob had to finish the drive. That night I slept for 13 hours straight.
I feel super grateful we were able to ski this line — safely and in good conditions.
Happy days...
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