Mount Barth and Heim Link Up

20th October-22 October

Views from Treble Cone

After the memorable Brewster trip I sneaked in a few more days of touring before Nate arrived. I’ll skip those stories though since they were simply touring in and around Treble Cone ski field (and let’s be real, I’d never catch up on my blog if I told every story and you’d be bored with the blog if you aren’t already However, a story worth telling you is my last attempt at touring in 2014. I joined the trip last minute and decided in the last second to bring my skis, much to my chagrin later on.

In mid October Nate, who was just starting to put weight on his foot, committed to work for an Otago Ph.D. student collecting soil samples from trees for five days. They were to leave the day after they made the agreement. I decided that I should take advantage of the opportunity to join on a mountaineering trip I had been invited to. When I called to say I was keen and they confirmed they had space, I had about 3 hours before they would pick me up.

It was a mission that held doubts for its success. A storm was supposed to be hitting the Southern Alps with a meter of fresh snow on the divide. We hoped to climb Mount Barth just after the weather cleared. Danilo had misgivings about our trip, concerned for us to even to hike into the terrain trap of a valley at the base of Mount Barth. Frazer, the young man organizing the trip, had hopes that we would be far enough East of the divide that we wouldn’t have much snow in our area. We figured it couldn’t hurt to walk in and have a look. At the very least we would have a good walk.

With all the talk about fresh snow in the mountains my mind turned once again to skiing. Ah, why not have one more tour for the season? I gave Jaz a call because he had been there before. “Yip, there’s some great touring off Mount Barth…The whole time I was there I was wishing I had skis.” That was enough for me; the skis and boots were packed. At the very worst, if avalanche danger is too high, I’ll have had a good weight-training trip to get fit for alpine climbing.

Soon I was packed in a small station wagon with 5 people, five packs, and my skis (which stuck out from the back next to my head. We were off toward the Ahuri Huri valley, just south of Aoraki National Park. After a long drive, that included adding a few scrapes to the bottom of the car on the dirt road, we arrived at a DOC hut a short ways before the road’s end. There we met 5 other people. Half of the group was planning to walk up Mount Heim, which sat on Mount Barth’s shoulder. Chatter was brief that evening. Before 11:30 PM all the college students in and around the hut were sound a sleep.

It was just about 5km to the end of the road, but we were well passed the “4-wheel drive only” sign in a low-riding two-wheel drive car. The ride was slow with folks unloading from the car at stream crossings, directing the driver and clearing rocks out of the way. We made it to the roads end with out oil and gas spewing out of the bottom of the car. Looking out from the car park, my eyes strayed past the open dry grass valley to the mountains that erupted straight up nearly a couple thousand meters. The tree line was only a third of the way up the steep slopes. Dense trees then gave way suddenly to golden tussock and then eventually a white blanket of snow.

Hiking toward Canyon Creek

The ten of us loaded our packs on our backs (mine with skis towering above my head) and started the walk along the barren valley floor. After an hour or two we entered some dense trees that quickly brought us up and over Canyon Creek. As we traveled high over the river, we could only catch glimpses of the canyon below through the trees. My progress was slowed with ducking and weaving as I attempted to not snag my skis on branches. Luckily the trees didn’t last long and soon we were walking out in the open on scree-slopes, a cobbled river, and tussock.

After a lunch with an optional swim break, we started up tight switchbacks that brought us up and around a wall of waterfalls. At the top we hopped across a field of boulders. We kept glimpsing up at the mountains around us. Even after gaining more than 500 meters vertical since the track’s start, the snow line remained far above us and the rock protruding from the snow hinted to us that fortunately/unfortunately our meter deep dump was really a centimeter dusting. Spring corn skiing it is then.

Late afternoon we came upon our luxurious rock bivy. A comfy nook for two with a nicely stacked rock wall on one side and on the other a short rock wall guarding an overhang we hoped to fit eight under. While the water boiled for the usual cup of tea most of us gathered dry grass to cover the damp ground under the overhang and put a tarp up that came out from the overhang. When camp was set I went into my normal backpacking routine of “bomb proofing” my stuff. I carefully repacked my gear into my small bag and attached my skis and boots to the outside. The rest I neatly packed away to avoid anything getting wet.

View of Mount Barth from the rock bivy

After dinner we walked further down the valley to scope out tomorrow’s route. Debris from old avalanches remained and even some patches of ice amongst the gullies in the cliff. Kind of wish I had the opportunity to be here in winter. Frazer and I discussed concerns (mine mostly being wet slides at this point since powder was lacking) and plans to avoid them. I was still skeptical of us summiting, thinking the snow would soften too quickly. Soon we all returned to camp to enjoy some more tea. By the time we went to bed, much of camp still looked like an explosion had gone off with food and gear scattered. A sure sign of newbie trampers. I’m sure they’ll learn soon enough with New Zealand being an unforgiving teacher.

At sunrise heading up Mount Barth. Can you see the foolish
that brought their skis?

All too soon 5 A.M. arrived. It was still dark out. Five of us dressed and ate by headlamp and started hiking our way up, trying to guess by the little our headlamps illuminated how to navigate around the cliffs. The other five (who were planning to climb Mount Heim) were slowly waking as we left camp. It wasn’t too long before we hit our first patch of snow. Hard packed and frozen. The others put on their crampons while I finally put on my ski boots and kicked steps. The skis remained on my back, the skins useless in this snowpack (note to self: ski crampons are worth the investment). We were finally on continuous snow when the sun poked above the mountains and hit our backs, illuminating the snow with a soft pink glow that was broken by our shadows. My shadow clearly stood out from the others, the profile of my skis a reminder of my foolish decision.

Frazer on a ridge of Mount Barth. Feeling Small...

We hiked nearly to the ridge to avoid the glacier and some of the steeper slopes. I stashed my hiking boots atop the ridge in a sheltered spot and then followed the others. The snow on our slope of concern was still far more frozen than I had expected so we cut across, no longer fearing the possibility of wet slides for the next couple of hours. In less time than I had expected, we were heading up the left most couloir on mount Barth, avoiding the shrundts at the bottom of the other routes. The couloir remained in the shade, and to my dismay and the others’ delight we were front pointing up hard-packed snow. I had hoped if it never saw sun, the snow might be like old powder, but this wasn’t the case and the skis remained on my back.

Views from my turn around point on Mount Barth

It wasn’t long before we topped out the ridge to find a wall of rock blocking our way. Frazer went to scope an alternative route. I was less concerned about the summit and more about making some good turns that were hard earned. So I began to prep myself for the descent and snagged some pictures in the process. Without rope and gear, the others were not comfortable to move any further. So we got a group photo and they took a moment to watch my descent before following behind. The scratching of my skis on snow at the top wasn’t promising. When I dropped down I promptly wished I had tuned my edges after my last trip. My skis and legs chattered down the chute. I had to rest halfway, my legs almost numb from the vibrations caused by chunky frozen snow. Even when I crossed out of shadow into sun, the snow still didn’t have time to soften and in the next dip down to the glacier, my skis continued to scratch and chatter. At the bottom I dared to put on my skins and tour back up to the ridge to retrieve my boots. At least I didn’t carry my skins for nothing. It was still hard going. I waited shortly before the summit of Mount Heim for the others to catch up while I watched the other group make their way up rolling hills of snow. I contemplated how long before the snow would be corn and how much longer it would be before it was rotten and grabby.

The crew a top Mount Heim

15-20 minutes later Frazer and the others caught up and we all made our way to the summit of Mount Heim or to the lower group to hike the final bit with the others. A top the flat summit we all took a moment to gather up, enjoy the views and snap a photo to capture the moment. I was antsy to get going, keen to convince myself that I didn’t carry the extra 8 kg of equipment for nothing. So once the others were prepping themselves to head down I bee-lined down the hill carving in perfect corn. The 1 km or two sped past in about 20 seconds as I enjoyed the thrill of spring skiing. The snow only began to grab at the bottom of the run. At the end of the snowline I changed out of the ski boots and waited about an hour for the others to come post-holing over the rolls (showing my efforts to be almost worth it).

My last turns of the year.

We arrived back at camp as a party of 10 after three in the afternoon. After lunch, tea, and a rest, we packed up and hiked the 4-5 hours back to the road’s end.

We arrived at the cars around 9, quickly packed and drove out, hoping to find somewhere open for dinner. I believe a Z gas station with its warm cheap pies was our savior that evening. We rolled into Dunedin about 1 in the morning.

Networking, Nature's Light Show, And Mt Brewster

Sept 13^th-Sept 18^th

With Nate arriving in a couple weeks with a broken foot I knew I needed to find work and if unsuccessful, cram in what adventures I could before he arrived. So I put in my five days of solid job searching for Dunedin. At the end of the week, with no success insight, I decided it was time to head to Wanaka. Of course, it was a responsible step toward getting a job. Wanaka was where I wanted to live for the summer time. So obviously being in NZ, I had to visit prospective employers and find backup job options (and sneak in some ski tours while I am at it).

So that’s just what I did. On my first full day in Wanaka I met with Dave Shotwell, an American turned Kiwi who owns Wanaka Rock Climbing. Over a cup of coffee in the morning we discussed our goals, my skills base, and my flexibility (may have hinted as well I’d be psyched if someone would sponsor a two year work visa for me). I then had the opportunity to demonstrate some of my skills by going crag climbing with him in the afternoon. Excellent networking. Fortunately/unfortunately I also learned from Dave that while he would like to hire me based on watching me and hearing about my experience, new NZ laws require me to have a rock climbing guide certification. Despite my degree, I don’t have that special piece of paper.

Coincidentally, that was the day solar flares were predicted to hit earth and create one of the strongest auroras recorded.  Danilo was on a big mission to find clear skis to photograph the phenomenon. While I was climbing with Dave, Danilo was hightailing it from Fiordland to Wanaka. He was going to hike up Sentinel peak, north of Lake Hawea that night. Seeing this as an opportunity for a photography lesson and seeing an aurora, I skipped out on having post climbing beers with Dave and joined Danilo on his adventure.

Danilo instructing me the morning after we tried to chase the aurora

 

There is not much to record about the hike itself. The trail was well developed, switch-backed, and not very exciting. It was well past dark when we found a spot on the ridge that we were looking for: a clear view of Lake Hawea (with Hawea township glowing at the far end) with some flattish ground for the tent and flat ground for Danilo’s tripod and camera. The flares had hit earth that morning (just in time for New England to enjoy it) but Danilo had hope that some more flares may still come that night. I stayed up for a couple of hours asking heaps of questions about taking night photos and cameras in general, When there wasn’t a glimmer of an aurora to be seen by 11, fatigue overtook me and I went to bed long before Danilo. I awoke the next morning to learn I didn’t miss out on seeing the aurora.

For the next few days snowstorms were hitting the Southern Alps. My excitement for skiing rekindled. I made plans with a skier I’d met previously (we’ll call him Mike) and a friend of his (we’ll call her June) for a ski trip during a brief weather window coming up midweek.  

Come Tuesday, the three of us piled into Mike’s van with all our gear and we drove up by Haast Pass to the start of the track for Mount Brewester. There was not a spec of snow around the parking lot. In fact, we knew we were unlikely to encounter any snow until we hiked up about 700 meters of vertical. This did not deter us. With skis and ski boots on our packs, we waded barefoot through the frigid Haast river and started trudging up a rooted and mud track in dense green forest. Maybe trudging is not the right word, for I did actually enjoy the hike. The forest was lovely with hidden purple mushrooms to be seen amongst the abundant moss and the 3 hours of hiking straight up was only making my legs stronger for skiing.

Just before we hit tree line, snow coated the trail. On the ridge we were post holing in fresh powder. My emotions were a bit split at this point. Part of me was excited for the skiing we had to look forward to tomorrow, and part of me was annoyed that I was foolish enough to hike up the track in regular pants and approach shoes, which were now sopping wet and filled with snow. I had to keep moving quickly to keep my feet and legs warm, so I broke trail through most of the snow. The mountains at our back were mostly visible amongst the clouds, but Mount Brewster remained shrouded in cloud.

We arrived at Brewster Hut just as the final shreds of light dimmed behind the jagged peaks to the West. We quickly settled into the hut, putting on dry clothes, examining the map, and discussing plans for the approach and descent. After dinner, we had ample time to practice setting up a crevasse rescue system before crashing early.

Top Heavy from the Hut on the first night

The next morning we awoke to find Mount Brewster was still lost in the clouds. Surely the weather window did not pass in the night? We slowly put on our ski gear, hoping that we hadn’t missed our opportunity. Our excitement rekindled a bit with being able to leave the hut with skins and skis on our feet, as touring should be. The snow was lovely and soft, but even at this elevation we had to step daintily to avoid the rock and tussock beneath.  

The terrain we had to negotiate was challenging at times. We were not on a gentle slope by any means but switch backing among tiers in the tussock and having to cross steep chutes. The June and I were hesitant to cross some of the shoots. With heaps of fresh snow we did fear avalanches and had been hoping to stick to mellower terrain. Mike, having just completed his NZ Avi 2 course was hesitantly confident in our route selection. He hesitantly explained how “he thinks” the wind direction, speed and amount of precipitation should have only left small pockets of wind slab we should easily be able ski cut. Probably our greatest delay in our progress was the discussions on our route, our observations, concerns about the return journey (possible alternative routes should it keep snowing or warm up), and the fatigue catching up with June. As it turns out, Mike was spot on with the snow conditions, but I’m afraid he was not so good with motivating one who is laden with fatigue.

From my experience, when entering avalanche terrain everyone should be educated on what conditions are likely to be (and constantly observing for any changes), what the level of risk is, and recognizing and adapting to the limits of the least fit or skilled member. It is true that sometimes one just needs a break, a change in pace, and/or some positive reinforcements for them to push through some sluggishness. However to not actually acknowledge when someone expresses concerns for how strong they are feeling or not make suggestions for easier back up plans because you are so fixated on a particular line/peak, does not do much to boost moral. June and myself became increasingly frustrated with Mike’s motivational tactics. Despite not being drawn down by weariness like June, I found myself rather frustrated with the mind games, when really we were supposed to be friends going out to have fun skiing. As we made out way up the gullies and across the slopes, I thought much about my ski touring experiences in Utah; I recognized and appreciated characteristics that marked the good touring partners I had there. Snow craft knowledge is not the only important aspect for a good touring partner.

Our Lunch Spot

We stopped for lunch on a slope above the glacier. Deciding to give the weather more time to clear for it was still windy and Brewster had remained hidden on our whole ascent. June and I chatted a little our predicament and all of us watched the sun attempt to break through the clouds over Brewester. The peak next door was clear of the clouds and taunted us with a pristine, mellower, and more distant slope that offered perfect turns. The mood amongst the three of us was tense. Once we finished eating, Mike started talking about where we should head next, but June had made up her mind already. She was physically and emotionally drained. And while I wasn’t as tired, I wasn’t having much fun. We both insisted on turning back.

As we had eaten lunch, I had noticed a steady, drastic rise in temperature, which I knew to be a red flag for avalanches. Mike noticed as well and voiced concern for our descent at this time of day. I thought that the green house effect (capturing of UV and heat when sun breaks through and cloud then traps it) wasn’t happening as quickly over on the slopes we had come up and suggested that if we moved quick enough we could beat the snow melting. Mike expressed doubts, but June and I were done, lacking any trust at this point.

And so we turned around. Once again, Mike was spot on with his prediction. The chutes were starting to have pinpoint releases at a drastic rate and some wet slides were already occurring. We traveled cautiously, quickly, and nervously across them-aiming for the closest ridges and boot packing on ground when we could to get off the snow.

Left Top Heavy, Right: Mount Brewster

We arrived back at the hut in one piece but for a few new scrapes on the bottom of our skis. It was mid afternoon. While Claire went to sleep, Mike and I tried to entertain ourselves by reading magazines and posters in the hut. Sometimes we went out to admire Brewster for the weather had cleared shortly after we had returned to the hut. When it came time to make dinner, the mood finally started to feel light again among the three of us. We enjoyed conversation and stories around the table before we all fell asleep.

The next morning we hiked down to the car. I was lost in thought most of our drive back to Wanaka. The trip was not the most fun and didn’t end up rewarding us with great turns (though if we had gone a bit further, they would have been amazing), but at least I did get up into a beautiful area and learned some important lessons. My thoughts were only interrupted when we came across a typical New Zealand roadblock: a herd of sheep.  

The Footstool, Aoraki National Park

5^th September-8^th September

The weekend after my return to Dunedin was coming up. The Southern Alps were to continue experiencing amazing weather and Danilo (Italian turned Kiwi who is well versed in the wild of the South Island) was scheming up ideas for his weekend. Some of his trips were partner dependant. I was keen to join but was also committed Friday night to a potluck. Upon hearing my interest and dilemma, Danilo suggested we do a two-day trip: the couloir on The Footstool. The what? Danilo handed me the guidebook. It’s a lovely 2764-meter mountain in Aoraki National Park that can actually be done in two days (unlike other peaks in the area which take 3 or more, without helicopter support of course). It stands upon the northern shoulder of the dark and intimidating Mt Sefton (3151 meters).  From carpark to Footstool’s summit it’s about 1900 meters with a mellow trail, a cobbled riverbed, slopes with tussock, snow and loose rock, and crevassed glaciers in between. Upon glancing at the guidebook and a picture of Footstool, I was in.

Sefton to the left and Footstool to the right.

 We returned from Debbi and Tim Lewis’s place Friday night at a reasonable hour for our big weekend ahead. We awoke early (not quite alpine early, maybe 4:30 AM), loaded the car, picked up two others (a young Swedish woman, Hana and Jonas, Penzy’s Swiss partner) and drove to Aoraki National Park. It was during a fuel stop on this trip that I received the call from Nate, informing me that he had X-rays done on his heel and his foot was broken. I was distracted that day from our mission, until I decided I needed to get a job ASAP, Danilo said we could stay longer at his place, and I managed to get a hold of a friend who gave me contact details for a possible job. Content with having a basic plan for the next couple months, I turned the phone off for the weekend.

We stopped in at the Mount Cook DOC center to see if we could gather information about recent conditions on Footstool. The woman at the counter handed us a huge binder with notes from climbers and rangers on the conditions of various mountains in the area from this past year. Turns out no one had climbed Footstool this year. A note mentioned that a large schrund had opened up at the bottom of the couloir, that may make the couloir inaccessible for part of the year. This news didn’t deter Danilo, who noted we will have a look for ourselves, and if need be we will go the easier route.

The coulior is just within the shadow
left and below the peak

We arrived the road’s end in Hooker Valley a little before lunchtime. It was sunny, clear and calm. Just down the valley on the Western side I could see our goal, which was not merely a bump on Sefton’s ridge. Above the steep glaciers towered a 70-90 degree triangular face with a sharp ridge traveling off to the south; all still covered in snow. I could just see our couloir route hidden at the edge of mountain’s shadow. My eyes however kept being drawn to Sefton, with its dark sheer faces beneath broken glaciers. A drastic, stunning peak to say the least. Might need to return and tick it off later.

We set out on a mellow graveled trail. In less than an hour we veered off the track near a moraine wall and began to navigate our way through bush and a cobbled riverbed. Soon we were following cairns up a ridge. We had lunch maybe halfway up the ridge from Sefton Bivy. There was a lack of flat spots, so we made do with carefully placing our packs and ourselves amongst the tussock on small shelves of dirt.

 *    *   *

I would like to take moment here in my normal ADD fashion to tell you that I’m writing most of this blog from the comfort of Homer Hut with a woodstove burning hot behind me (drying my hand-washed laundry). Once again, alone on a rainy day, but this time in the middle of Fiordland National Park and far from any bars or people (probably 30km). Outside is like a monsoon and the dry riverbeds you drive through to get to the hut have filled with water-ankle deep or more. In fact, there are now two rivers where there were none this morning. I am being flooded onto very small island of moss, trees, and gravel upon on which the minimally solar powered alpine club hut stands. Waterfalls are raging down everywhere on the 1500+ foot granite cliffs that surround my temporary home.

*   *   *

On our journey up the ridge we paused to listen to the cracking and rumbling coming from Sefton. Occasionally we had glimpses of giant chunks of ice tumbling down past the cliffs, with a trail of snow just behind. What a temperamental sounding mountain. Eventually we put our crampons on and started up a short steep ramp of snow to the right of a crumbly rock step we would have otherwise had to climb. We saw a couple of skiers navigating down the glacier on Footstool. If I hadn’t heard the sound of their skis scraping icy snow, I would have been envious.

Sefton Bivy and one of the glaciers behind it.

Just as the sun began to fade (somewhere around 5ish), we arrived at Sefton Bivy; the roof stuck out about half a meter above the snow. As we approached we could see the water container and entrance had been kindly dug out by previous visitors. Before the light was gone we examined our route and discussed our plan of attack for navigating the glacier and then the schrund for tomorrow morning (which would all have to be done by headlamp). We then started cooking dinner and organizing gear. Water bottles were filled with hot water and we were cuddling with them in our sleeping bags by 7:30. I’m fairly certain I managed to fall a sleep before 8 pm.

Looking back halfway up the
the first pitch.

Daybreak and looking up at the couliour
and the crevasse below it.

My watched beeped too soon. Before 2 AM we were working our way out of the sleeping bags and boiling water for warm breakfasts and tea. In less than an hour we stepped our way up the icy snow, only hearing the crunch of the crampons. We had only the light of our headlamps and we tried to navigate our route based on how the ground dropped or rose around us; always trying to stick to the ridge to avoid navigating the crevasses in the dark. Soon however, we started to see the giant cracks in the ice that formed dark cavities. Our progress slowed as we tried to find our way in the dark. Eventually dawn began to break and we could see the coulior in front of us, along with the schrund. I was happy to finally have some light stronger than my headlamp; navigating a glacier in the dark was eerie, even when I was at the back of the line. As we approached the base of the couloir we were almost turned back by a exceptionally long crevasse. After some searching and cautious testing Jonas found a small, angled, tiered bridged for us to cross over one at a time.

Finally with the mountains glowing purple and pink in the morning light, we were at the base of the couloir. I tied in with Danilo and began leading, while Jonas and Hana went as a team and Jonas took their leads. All the way up the couloir we intermittently post holed, kicked steps and front pointed. On a couple of pitches Danilo snagged the lead. In the mean time I thought about how nice sections of this couloir were for making turns.  I would have to carry the skis up 1000 feet on my back before I could even put them on my feet.

A Top the Footstool looking West/Northwest

The cream of the coilour was the final pitch; solid, sustained alpine ice. Jonas had done the route finding before us, and was so kind as to dig through the small cornice that had formed at the top and to cut large steps in the meter of vertical. I was very thankful when I planted my two ice axes over the top and lifted my head above to find a narrow ridge with a steep drop on the other side. I carefully pulled myself on top, trying not to slide off the ridge in either direction. It was a techy ridge walk to the dip before the final climb to the summit. There Jonas and Hana waited for us. I was anxious to go for it was well past noon and the sun was beating down relentlessly on the Northern aspects- which was what we were to cross on our way down. I waited as Danilo went to the summit, taking a moment for myself to admire the feeling of being on top of the world and taking pictures in an attempt to capture the moment.

Once Danilo returned we were off , heading down and around the corner to find a steep snow face below rippled rime ice. A quick glimpse around showed no easier route. With a step into the punchy snow, we new it was not something we could protect or linger on. With every person for himself or herself because time was of the essence, we traversed the slope as quickly as we could.

Danilo crossing the Northern
rotten slope

Clouds rolled in making the descent challenging to find, but luckily we found footprints that led us in the right direction. With clouds moving in and out, we worked to follow the steps (and not lose each other), occasionally losing the faint prints and spreading to re-find them. Eventually they formed in a continuous path and in the intermittent white out conditions this helped us to navigate quickly across the lower glacier.

We arrived back at Sefton Bivy sometime after 4 PM.  We had a long break where we ate, drank tea and packed up the gear we had left there. Then once again we set out, determined to at least make it to the parking lot. It was a long hike by headlamp, a silent onward trudge, and the mellow track we had started on seemed to go on forever. Finally around 11:30 PM we neared the parking lot. I was fixated on bed and picked up the pace a little. WHAM!! Right on my ass. My one fall the whole trip was caused by the one small patch of ice on the mellow track, which I failed to see with my tunnel vision.

We were all sound asleep shortly after midnight on the cement floor of a shelter at the roads end. Around 5:15 AM, with nothing to eat, we all packed into my car once again and Danilo took the first driving shift to get us back to Dunedin.

I guess it was really 2+ day mission.

It’s A Tough Job Being A Blogger

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I have to apologize to my very few readers out there: I have not full filled my promise of blogging every two weeks. I temporarily lost interest in writing once I returned to Dunedin. When I was stationed once again in a home (Danilo Hegg’s, much thanks to him), I found myself absorbed with looking for a job (which is a full time job in itself), working, catching up with friends, and catching up with Nate once he arrived. Turns out, when there’s no paycheck or grade to earn, I have a hard time keeping myself committed to blogging on a regular basis, especially when I’m no longer limited to sitting in my car on rainy days.  Lucky for you, I’m now stuck by-myself in a bar in Wanaka once again on a rainy day. So I’m facing my commitment and playing catch up.

On the bright side, you haven’t missed too from the last two plus months. Once I returned to Dunedin, not only did my blogging come to almost a stand still, but my adventuring too (well, in comparison to my first two months in NZ). Some of you may not know but at the beginning of September, I received a phone call from Nate informing me that he broke his foot. He was to arrive in New Zealand about two weeks after that…Change gears, scrap near future plans. Living out of the car climbing/tramping was now out of the question for the next couple of months.

A typical scene at work.

With this new unexpected hiccup I spent the following week searching and applying for jobs. I figured if we were gonna be stuck in Dunedin while Nate’s foot healed, I should earn some money so when he can walk again, I’ll be able to play more and work less. Turns out, finding a job that you only want to commit to for a month or two is rather hard. In the end I went through a company that sets up temporary contract work for people through various companies. The job they lined me up for? Stevedoring (according to Wikipedia, also known as wharfie, wharf rat, or dock worker). For those who don’t know, stevedores are the people who work on the wharf loading and unloading boats. For me it entailed helping to load logs onto large cargo ships. A very exciting job for about the first two hours. At 3:30 AM on my first day I stood next to my 'safety hut' (made of plywood with some metal framing) upon a dock illuminated by giant artificial lights, watching giant machines swiftly maneuvering around the wharf to move large loads of logs. I learned pretty quickly where and when to walk so I didn’t get squashed, to watch out for giant swinging cables that could decapitate me in one blow, and how to insert the cables into a clamp so I didn’t lose my fingers in the process. Once you get used to the flow and how the system works however, it becomes a boring mindless job. I counted, scanned, and wire wrapped thousands of logs in my short time on the job. At least it paid $19 an hour and the co-workers were generally friendly. It's definitely the type of job where talking to your workmates takes the bite out the boredom; just don’t get too distracted or you could get smooshed.

In those first couple weeks back in Dunedin I also kept busy with completing another grant application to fund one of my dream trips for NZ. I am happy to report that while we didn’t receive the original grant, they were very impressed with the novelty of our idea and gave us a consolation prize which was still substantial. Come February or March, Nate, Max and I will be in Fiordland looking to set the first routes (that is without helicopter support) on the walls in Poseidon Creek Valley on Llawrenny and Terror peak. Sound enticing? We’re pretty psyched. If successful, it will be my most notable accomplishment in my whole climbing career thus far.

FMC Scholarship Article

In between job searching and the grant application, I filled in some more time by volunteering to do a solo presentation at a NZ Alpine club meeting about some of my adventures in the Rockies (in the hopes of inspiring Kiwis to climb/ski in the States). Being my first presentation in three years, I spent hours in the 2 weeks before preparing. Poor Nate listened to two dry runs before finally hearing the real thing. Despite my hands shaking so badly that I couldn’t use the laser pointer for the first half, the presentation went well, or so my friends nicely tell me. I do know I got the crowd of 25+ people to laugh, so that's something. More importantly, right after the presentation I was psyched to commit to being the Hut warden at Homer between November 24^th and December 29th (much thanks to Jaz Morris for putting in a good word for me; it's all about who you know here). All I’ll be doing for five weeks is climbing, hiking, and I guess blogging, because this will be my home for those 5 weeks: Homer Hut. Ahh, yip; I scored in having free accommodation in one of the most beautiful areas of New Zealand. And it’s more enjoyable to experience such an opportunity with friends, so please feel free to visit me while I'm there.

Me leading Labours of Love at Long Beach.

Nate playing on his new mountain board.

Fear not, we did not waste all of our time on the computer in Dunners. Somehow Nate and I managed to keep ourselves relatively busy. I joined Michelle in her climbing workout routine-training properly for climbing the first time. Thanks to the workout, I ticked off one of my goal climbs-Labours of Love (24/5.12aish) in almost no time at all. Now on my way to finishing my 3-year-old bet with Dave by working 25s. Nate became obsessed with kiting just before he came to New Zealand. He brought two kites with him to NZ and within six weeks he added four more to his collection, along with a mountain board, a kite surf board, and a wet suite. I’ve gone out with him occasionally. Sometimes I enjoyed flying the kites and other times I just found myself being dragging through grass, sand, and/or water. I wouldn’t say I’m hooked yet.

We also began to have small dinner parties with friends. Sometimes we went to Dave’s to do a fingerboard workout with Michelle while we took turns cooking dinner on our breaks, and sometimes we invited friends over Danilo’s for dinner. 

Finger board/dinner session with Michelle

After long consideration and turning down some summer job/interview offers, I decided rock climbing guide work was probably my best option for short season work that wouldn’t interfere too much with my adventure plans for New Zealand. I signed up to take a rock climbing guide assessment that would certify me to guide in NZ (apparently with the new laws here, my outdoor education degree is basically useless for being even a basic single pitch guide). So some of my time at the crags in the last month was spent refreshing myself on rescues I haven’t done in years. Like climbing up on the rope to rescue a climber on top rope (a rescue I will probably never have to do) and abseiling down to an unconscious victim. At least it's all good practice for my own climbing.

Of course, before he could even walk, Nate was back to climbing. It was rather an entertaining site (and probably confusing to others) to see him crutch into a crag with a ‘boot’ on his foot and then see him leading a 25 in rock shoes. The ‘boot’ would be sitting aside his pack and crutches at the base of the crag. This discovery allowed us to sneak out of Dunedin on a climbing trip to Wanaka with a large group of friends, a mere 4-5 weeks after he broke his foot.

Well, now that your caught up on the mundane parts of my life in the last two months, I’ll take you on a couple of trips I did sneak in during that time.

Day 2 of Kite surfing for Nate.

A Brisk Walk With A Bit Of Climbing

August 30-August 31st

The morning after my interview, I was standing on the side of the road, thumb up, at the edge of Franz Joseph Township. The first ride took about an hour to catch, mostly because there weren’t many cars driving north. The good weather was continuing to hold so it wasn’t a terrible wait, except for dealing with my own impatience.

A RV filled with rowdy college students pulled a fake-out on me at one point (pretending to pick me up at first but then tauntingly rolling forward as I approached). Then 15 minutes later a man in an old truck pulled over and I was able to hop in without having to chase him down. He had gone on a drive along the coast for the morning just for the sake of it and was on his way back home. We chatted briefly in spurts and listened to the radio in between our occasional talk. On the drive, the man smoked a few cigarettes, so I focused on trying to not inhale his smoke and looking out the window to admire the views.

He dropped me off at the main traffic circle in Hokitika. As I was walking to a good hitching point, I put my thumb out when cars went by, as every good opportunist does. I was still walking when someone offered me a ride.  He was heading back to Christchurch from a weekend of visiting his family.

 He was almost the exact opposite of my last driver. Very talkative, with no shortage of stories. They were good stories too about his travel all around Australia. I listened intently as I munched on the apple turnover he had offered me (part of the large supply of food his mother was sending him home with). He’s been stuck trying to hitch hike from a few buildings surrounded by miles of uninhabited desert, hours from the closest proper town. To him, a five-hour drive to the West Coast to visit family for a day was nothing. He also took some time to describe many of the deadly insects and animals he came across during his travels. I probably should have been taking notes. I mentioned my worry about all the animals in Australia that could kill me. He assured me that as long as I don’t go around poking things with a stick like many teenage boys do, then I’ll be alright.

He ended up going about half an hour out of his way and dropped me off at my car. No broken windows, now slashed tires, and everything inside looked all in order. Sweet. I walked to the grocery store, bought some food and a bottle of wine. I left the wine at the backpackers with a note in exchange for my car keys. It was only about 3 in the afternoon and I felt like I needed to do something before heading back to Dunedin. Long story short, a few texts and a phone call and I had plans with Manu (gentleman I had met earlier that week) to go hiking and climbing on Mt Somers.

Mt Somers was a short 30-minute drive from where I was. I parked in the lot to see heaps of cars. Right, it’s a sunny warm Saturday, of course people are going to be hitting the hills. I went for a run while I waited for Manu. When he arrived, we decided to sleep in our own cars in the car park that night and head out at a leisurely hour in the morning. The sign at the start of the track noted the hike would take about 3 hours. Well, with Manu being a ranger in the summer and me Funemployed fit, we covered the trail in about 1 hr and 45 minutes. Conversation was brief and only held on the flatter bits of the trail when we both had air to talk and walk.

We crested the ridge I saw the familiar site of Pinnacle hut sitting in the wide valley, just below the features that earned the hut its name.  Rounded, pocketed limestone pinnacles protruded from the slopes. Above them, short wavy basalt walls stuck out of the steep slopes that were otherwise covered in scree or bushes

A short while later we arrived at the hut, just in time for most of the occupants to be heading down hill.  We chatted with the folks briefly and I looked around for topo drawings of the climbing areas that were here 3 years ago. With the last minute planning, we didn’t have time to get a guidebook. Unfortunately, the topos were gone (though I did find a copy of the entertaining 'Antics', a publication made by the University of Otago Tramping Club). Luckily Manu had the blessed and cursed smartphone, which helped us find information on a couple of crags. The arcing wave of basalt columns that were called the Christian Principles caught our attention (I for the looks and Manu for the name). It was one of the furthest crags but it looked like it had a couple of decent moderate climbs for Manu (who didn’t climb a whole lot). I glanced at the note that said the crag was not as big as it looks and decided it would be a fun adventure, we must go.

About an hour of scrambling up and down scree fields and on top of bushes, we finally arrived at the base of Christian Principles. I instantly learned to pay better attention to the small print in guidebooks. The wall was about half the size I though it to be from the hut.  I realized then some of the walls closer to the hut would have been preferable to this. But we were there. So we found some bolts and cracks and did some climbing. I led and Manu top roped.

My psych for climbing was high at the start of the day and rapidly decreased once we were at the crag. Meanwhile, Manu started the day with a low psych for climbing, and after struggling up the first climb remembered how fun climbing could be. His drive to climb something clean perked up and he hoped on the second route I put up.

After a couple of hours at the wall we headed out and back down to the car park with less spring in our steps than coming in. We arrived at the car park rather hungry, and despite my low climbing psych, content with the day out. We quickly loaded our cars and met in Geraldine 20 minutes away for a fish and chip dinner. After loading up on the cheap greasy meal, we said our good byes, and I hopped in the car to finally make my way to Dunedin, a mere three hours away.

High Flying Interviews

August 28^th- August 29^th

Alright, I had about a week of fun and games, now it was time to get down to the serious business of finding a job for summer. Before arriving to the South Island I had completed job applications for working as a guide on Fox and Franz Joseph Glacier. I scheduled to meet Kurt, a gentleman from Fox, for an informal meet and greet (really to show I wasn’t just an email from across the world) on Thursday. Friday I had a ‘formal’ interview with the guides at Franz Joseph. Penzy and Jonas were kind enough to detour around to the West Coast to drop me off at Fox before heading down to Wanaka to continue their ski trip.

I arrived in Fox Township (which consists of a small hotel, a motel, a café, a restaurant, the tourist guide shops, and a scattering of small homes and farms) just before noon. Right on time. It was a stunningly warm, sunny day. I had to remind myself this is rare for the West Coast. If I move here, I will have to get over having a majority of my days being rainy. Ok, Kat, picture yourself living in a town that has nothing to do unless you’re in the mountains, and remember that a majority of the weather doesn’t allow you to get into the mountains. It’ll be like living in Maine again, not CO and UT. Ahh, I’ll be good. It’s about 3.5 hours to get to Wanaka, which is a much drier place with lots of rock climbing and mountains to play in. Besides, there’s always coffee and tea to drink, a beach 20 minutes away, and as I found out later, some of the best kayaking in the world. I might end up converting if I stay here.

Pulling myself out of my mind’s tangent tornado, I walked into the Fox glacier guide office. In the same building they packed in a café, a heli-guide company, and a souvenir shop.  I asked the lady at the desk if I could meet with Kurt. Ten minutes later he came down and introduced himself. We sat down to have a very informal, and it turns out, impromptu chat outside. Our conversation sort of zig zagged through various subjects about being a guide, my needs, and living in the area. When I happened to mention that I had to hitch back to my car, which was almost on the same latitude as us but on the other side of the mountains, he offered to see if he could find a helicopter heading that way, so I might hitch a ride with them. Tempting but I declined the offer, noting I was staying on the west coast for a couple more days.

During our discussions, I learned that the company would need me to work December, January, and February for 5-6 days a week. I had been hoping for September, October, November, and maybe December. I was going to miss out on prime climbing season with that schedule. I began to doubt the compatibility of the job with my need of a balance between work and play. Though if they’d sponsor a two-year work visa for me after…that could change my mind.

Kurt mentioned at the start of our conversation that there was a heli-trip heading out to the glacier that afternoon that I may be able to shadow. That way I could see exactly what my job would look like (minus the glacier changing everyday). An hour or more into our conversation he mentions it again, noting that the trip was leaving in 15 minutes, and if I was keen he would see if there was a spot. It was after 1 and I hadn't eaten lunch yet, but of course I wasn't going to miss out so I agreed to go. He radioed in. There was a spot. I pulled what life I had with me out of my backpack put it on the table we were sitting at (not the most professional thing to do, but I didn’t have much choice). Grabbed what I needed: layers, snack and water bottle, then followed Kurt to the heli-pad. He gave me a quick rundown of what I needed to know for helicopter safety and then left me with the group and a guide. The guide luckily remembered to grab me a pair of crampons as well just as the helicopter arrived. I followed the directions of the guide, hopping in the helicopter.

Looking down on Fox Glacier from the Helicopter

We soared up to the glacier, the helicopter taking the high, scenic route. The sight of the mountains made me doubt the sense of doubt I was feeling earlier. It would be an amazing place to live. Especially if I could get up the mountains with a free or cheap heli ride.  The Fox glacier below, with seracs and boulders scattered upon it, looked nothing like it’s true size. We landed on a flattened spot in the glacier that was marked by rocks. The rest of the group was waiting nearby. The guide for our trip, John (I think), was an Irish bloke, probably a few years older than me, a little on the heftier side, and with that classic Irish red face, softened with the lilt of the Irish accent and humor.

He gave a very clear demonstration of how to put on the crampons, went over some basic safety rules, invited folks to ask if they want to investigate something, and we were off. I followed right behind him asking questions as we went. What was the length of a workday? How was it working for Fox? Were the other guides keen to get out for adventures? Etc. He paused occasionally in our discussion to explain various features in the ice to the paying clients. This was only my second time on the glacier, and I was excited to have the opportunity this time to pause and take pictures of the features in the ice.  Three years ago on Aoraki, we were in a race against time. We needed to get across the glacier before the bridges over the crevasses, some of which could eat a small house and you’d never know, softened up too much. Where we were on the Fox Glacier wasn’t very exciting. Pretty flat, with a scattering of small features to see here and there; A narrow very deep hole with a waterfall dropping into it, a couple of arches, a few small walls with tunnels you could crawl all the way through to the other side, etc. It was lovely to see the layers in the ice, the diversity of color. Oh how I wished I had a good camera to capture it. I did my best, but the camera couldn’t really pick up the subtle changes in the ice colors. The most exciting thing we went into was a crevasse you could walk right into. They had some fixed lines to be used as a handrail to guide you through spots with shallow holes that could never the less twist an ankle. Apparently it had only showed up a week or two before, and was growing rapidly.

After strolling around at a very leisurely pace for about 2 hours, we headed back to the Helipad. John asked if I was interested in the position and I admitted my concerns for my partner getting a job around here and us having time to accomplish some of our bigger missions. He understood and advised me to contact the Queenstown rock climbing company for a guide position.

Right after the flight I met again with Kurt for a little bit longer. He gave me a brief tour of the housing they provide for the guides before we said our goodbyes, noting we would both be in touch shortly. I headed to a good hitching spot to get back to Franz Joseph Glacier. About 1 hour later, after watching less than a handful of cars go by, a young French woman pulled over and I hopped in.

I arrived at the Backpackers, Chateu Franz Joseph, that the guiding company had booked me into for two nights, free of charge. Pretty hoppin’ place. Free wifi, free or cheap food some nights, big parties on the patio (oh yeah, it was college Spring Break), etc. The man at reception, when he found out I was interviewing with Franz guiding company, booked me into an empty room to make sure I could get a good nights rest before my interview.

So Franz Joseph was a much more formal interview (and in reality, I still had to do an interview with Fox if they decided to put me on their short list), or as formal as the outdoor rec world gets. I showed up in a nice button up synthetic shirt and my mountaineering pants. I chatted with two head guides when I arrived. They asked me to talk about myself and of course I told them what I thought they’d like to hear (adding that I just ran up Rolleston the other day with ease, just to put a cherry on top). Then they told me about working for the company. Their program required 4-6 weeks of training and therefore wanted about a 5- 6 month commitment from me. Again, with me working 5-6 days a week during the prime climbing season. Ouch. There are no decent crags near either town to just run up after work.

They then sent me out on shadowing a group on the Franz Joseph glacier. My 3^rd helicopter ride in my life and it was less than 24 hours after my 2^nd.  The Franz Joseph Glacier was far more featured than the Fox, at least where they take the clients. Lot of walking up and down. That being said however, unlike Fox glacier, as a beginner guide I get to do no route choosing. I just follow the predesigned track over and through the glacier, and just cut out steps.  

I got to detour from the group to chat with a couple of other guides working on the glacier. One was a woman guide who was instructed to inform me what it is like to be a woman in this industry. So she tried to give me some scenarios to explain. I interpreted it as:

“So just ‘kick the others guys' butts’ so I can earn their respect?”

“Yeah, basically.”

“Ok, I think I can handle that.”

In a talk with a lead guide, I learned the conversation was really suppose to focus more on how it is to be a woman guide when leading groups from other nationalities. Another very important point and I had some things to contemplate from our discussion.

I joined the group again just in time to catch a helicopter back to town. I exchanged some final words with the guides I met when I first arrived and then headed back to the backpackers to sneak in an afternoon run.

I had a wee bit to think about in the next couple of weeks while I waited on the two company’s decision. Within two weeks I was offered a job with Franz Joseph and a formal interview with Fox. I declined both, hoping I could get another job which would be more accommodating to our needs.