Ascensioni come Red point da Campbell Gome

I have never seen anyone’s ashes before and I find myself wondering about the minutiae. What colour are they? How big will the container be? I am standing outside my house; it is a little after five o’clock in the morning on ANZAC day. The Southern Cross is visible in the clear sky, which bodes well for our trip.

Although Simon and I haven’t climbed for a couple of years the road to Mt Arapiles is still very familiar. We notice small changes- the public toilets in Beaufort have been moved, there’s some funny graffiti on a sign just outside Horsham. We talk a bit, but not much, about some of Simon’s climbing trips with Morgan.

The only time I ever met Morgan was on a weeklong climbing trip to Mt Buffalo. He’d bought a big new tent and christened it the Taj Mahal. Simon and the others who knew him from school in Sydney teasingly called him ‘Big M’ (little organ), a schoolyard gibe that they all enjoyed.

On our first day there Morgan, Simon and I climbed Maharajah on the Cathedral, topping out in the afternoon sunshine as below us a storm raced down the Ovens and Buckland valleys. Later in the week we got up early and tackled Where Angels Fear to Tread, a stunning 300 metre crack climb up the southern wall of the gorge. Morgan’s climbing, like his humour, was effortless.

I would hear news of him from time to time over the years that followed- the writing, the surfing, the awards, but we didn’t ever meet again.

We get out of the car at the Pines campsite at the base of Mt Arapiles just before nine o’clock and start to rack up. We decide on a Joe Simpson-style ascent, keeping the weight down to maximise ease and speed. The ashes are in a little film canister in Simon’s pocket.

Amazingly, given its popularity, we are the first group heading up the Bard today. A guy on his own wanders up and asks if we mind him watching. He’s visiting because someone he knew died climbing here last year.

Morgan died in a plane crash in Indonesia.

Simon uses his knee while leading the first pitch, an uncharacteristic and unsettling display of nerves and poor style. I’m OK seconding but already feeling edgy about the lead. If Bard is the jewel in the crown for easy climbs at Mt Arapiles, the second pitch is a black diamond- a short traverse across a cramped but beautifully exposed ledge. I make my way out onto the ledge and get a couple of pieces of gear in. My mouth is dry and I’m breathing hard as I squeeze past the under-cling, but still a part of my mind is calm and confident. Physically I know that this is well within my range. I lean out and reach up to find the holds above the ledge and complete the pitch smoothly.

Simon comes across and joins me at the belay. We’re both still a bit freaked but have settled into our routine now. He runs the next two pitches together, giving me time to sit back, take in the view and reflect on why we’re here.

The beautiful duality of climbing is that you spend a lot of your time alone yet always responsible for, and trusting your life to, someone else. A bond is formed.

I join Simon on the ledge at the top of the Bard. The panorama before us takes in Mitre Lake, a vast curve of the Wimmera and the distant Grampians. This is the place we have chosen to say farewell.

Morgan’s ashes are a greyish brown dust. The wind carries them away.

He was a friend and climbing partner. We were lucky to know him. We will miss him.

Vale Morgan Mellish.

Love that smooth black wall

Rested at the crux when I seconded it, but got it clean and easy when I lead it about a year later.

Awesome location and exposure

I seconded XI with a rest on about my second ever trip to Araps. Lead it a couple of years later- very much a spur of the moment thing at the end of a long day's climbing. It was one of those beautiful leads where it all comes togerther- mind and body moving as one almost beyond conscious thought. Absolute magic!