Sailing Across the Open Blue & Returning To The Southern Alps In Proper Form

August 18th-26^th

After I had some time to fatten up on Nutella my car finally started so I could make it to Emily’s that night

Day one in Wellington was devoted to calling up electrical mechanics, food shopping, and blogging. I picked up Emily after she got out of work so we could go on a trail run. Getting her was a task that proved harder than expected since I managed to miss her exit and get stuck on the motorway. After getting stressed out with city driving and managing to pick her up eventually, we drove up the steepest hill I’ve ever driven. I turned off the car, only to hear it making a fizzling, popping noise. We looked under the hood in puzzlement. We found my coolant had all backlogged out of the radiator into the storage container, filling the container well passed the max line. The strange sound was the coolant in the container boiling. I really hated owning a car. It keeps tipping my internal stress gauge into the red.

Luckily, after a run that was leisurely in pace if not in terrain, I found the coolant to be back to normal. The car started with ease and didn’t overheat on the ride home. We cooked up a quick and delicious dinner before heading off (in Emily’s car) to the local climbing gym.

The next day I left the car at the auto electrician garage, asking them to not do any work before telling me. Of course, after several hours of starting it periodically, the mechanic experiences not a stutter or a fault with my car. He lists the possibilities, noting it would be take a bit of work to figure it out. Process of elimination. In the end, at my request, he just changed the spark plugs to see if the cheap and easy fix would have an impact. I could tell from the hesitation in his voice and the fact he didn’t charge me for any labor that he doubted he really solved the problem.

I hit the road again and hoped the best. I needed to be in Arthur’s pass in a few days to meet up with my friend Penzy. I enjoyed one more night at Emily’s place and then caught the Blue Cook Crossing ferry the next morning. Just to let future travelers know, it is worth booking in advance even on a weekday for a ferry ride with a car. Buying a ticket the day of would have cost over $300 verses $169. With the lingering high pressure, I got to experience the ferry trip with lovely views that I could go outside to enjoy. We sailed out of the Wellington harbor, went across the strait, and picked our way carefully through the sounds of the south island until we arrived in Picton

I sorted out my annual backcountry hut pass while I was in Picton before I hit the road for Christchurch. My only stop was for petrol about 110km out from his place and the stop was only extended slightly by my car not starting. For the next two hours. After an hour I ended up pushing the car in neutral to the side of the gas station to not block the pumps. A man, who I think was homeless, stopped to help me before heading on his way looking for cigarette butts on the ground. It was almost 8pm, I had just set up the car to sleep in it, when I gave the ignition a couple more goes. On the last try after holding the key for 10 seconds (only hoping I wasn’t flooding the engine), the car ever so reluctantly sputtered to a start. Leaving the car running, I quickly took down the cardboard blocking my windows and hit the road. I didn’t stop until I pulled in front of James’s place. There I got to relax with a cup of tea while I chatted with him and his partner, Nina. I distressed by discussing possible trip ideas and catching up on the past 2 years.

Friday morning I brought the car to another auto electrician (this is the forth mechanic incase you haven’t kept track). He ran diagnostics (which didn’t reveal the problem), cleaned up a couple of things, and hesitantly gave me back my keys and a greatly discounted bill, unsure of whether he solved the problem. I headed west to meet Penzy and her partner, Jonas, in Methven. We left two cars at a Hostel (after asking the woman if she would keep an eye on them) and headed out in Penzy’s white Subaru, Scooby.

Looking down upon Olympus Ski Field with the
Southern Alps behind.

Saturday, we headed up to Olympus Ski Field. I was having my doubts the ski field would have any snow at all because the dirt road running up to it and some of the surrounding hills looked bone dry. Luckily, when we gained a couple hundred meters of elevation and entered a south-facing valley, we could see the ski field had just a few rock outcroppings and tussock, poking out from under the snow. While Penzy and Jonas took advantage of the nutcracker rope tows (just wait, I’ll explain), I skinned up the slopes on either side of the ski field to make a couple earned turns. It was alarmingly hot and bright out. As nice as the temps were, the snow became mush or ice, depending on if it was in the sun or shade, and I realized I was going to need a lot more sunscreen for the winter season than I expected.

Looking up at the Milky Way
through the tree at our lake Campsite.
Photo by Penzy Dinsdale.

Saturday night we camped on a lake in Arthur’s pass. It was a lovely spot but it was rather challenging packing up a tent covered in frost and ice from our breadth first thing in the morning.

We went up to the Cheeseman Ski Field where I bought a one-lift pass to the top of the ridge. From there the three of us toured across the ridge to Mount Cheeseman proper, in search for a bowl that might have snow in it. Sure enough, while smaller than we expected, we did find one with some wind packed powder. A couple runs here and we headed back to the ski field and the car.

The Nutcracker in action.

Broken River's Tram at the car park.

Monday we headed to Broken River ski field. This time, Penzy gave me some ‘buddy days’ on her seasons pass. I got to join them on the rope tows with a hired harness and nutcracker. I think I nearly pulled my arm out of socket on the first one because it was moving so fast and I grabbed it too abruptly. I’ll leave you to watch the video (Link to Nutcracker Demonstration Video ) and check out the photo to see how it works.  Upon a quick wiki search, I found out they were invented in 1939 as a faster, longer version of the rope tow (invented in 1933) that could go on steeper slopes. They are still used at most of NZ’s club ski fields, maybe at a couple in Australia, and two (Meany Lodge, WA, and Mount Greylock, MA) in the States.  I found them quite intimidating actually. And if you ever happen to have the ‘fortune’ to use one, be sure to wear a cheap pair of leather gloves. It will wear them out fast.

After getting a day to revive my ski legs with the opportunity to do laps on the slopes, I decided to take Tuesday off from skiing. Instead, I went on a mission to add a check to my big To Do List. Rolleston via Rome Ridge. We discussed the route plans the night before, working out a drop off time and pick up time(s). And how I would signal out if I needed to.

7:40 AM, Penzy and Jonas drove away from the start of Corral Track, leaving me behind. After shedding a layer and extending my trekking poles to a proper length, I was on my way at a brisk pace. Well, until I realized the track was far steeper and rooted than I remembered. It was nearly straight up 1000ish meters within a few kilometers. I quickly tapered the pace back, knowing I had a long day ahead and a long week behind. This gave me time to appreciate the dense forest I was in and severity of the drop offs on either side of the ridge.  I hadn’t noticed last time since we had been socked in by fog. The trees clung tightly to the narrow ridge, despite drop offs on either side being near to vertical.  At least when the track is as wide as the ridge, it’s sort of a comfort to know you’d have hundreds of trees to catch your fall if you managed to stumble.

Looking up to Rolleston's Lower Peak
from Rome Ridge and 'The Window'

I finally put on my crampons when I broke above treeline. The snow was still icy and firm, but from the lack of clouds, I knew it wouldn’t last. I moved as quickly as I could along the ridge. Pausing as spots that were familiar, remembering moments from my last trip that was nearly 3 years ago to the day. Despite having a lack of visibility last time, I almost instantly recognized the spot we had built our snow cave on. I believe you can filter through August or September 2011 entries to find that story.

By the time I made it to the ‘window’ which lay at the foot of Rolleston’s first peak (where we bailed last time), the snow to the North was becoming a bit too mushy for taste. My easy line started on a North-facing slope. I knew I was going to have to move fast and try to get onto the South aspects as quick as possible. And if I was to go through with it, I needed an alternative descent. I snacked while I examined the walls across from me-all South, South-East facing. I found a line of weakness that I could easily down climb. I looked at the map to see if I could get to that point. Yip, it would be no problem. Moved up the ridge, stepping lightly on the sun rotting snow and quickly stepped up onto rock and then over the edge to the southern slopes. The sharp line of the ridge marked a drastic change in snow conditions, the South was firm, just as I’d hopped.

Southern Alps from Rolleston's Lower Peak. You can just see the high peak on the left edge of the photo.

On the larger summit of Rolleston.

I enjoyed lunch on the flat and surprisingly calm lower summit. Looking at the higher summit, I contemplated if I should bother with it. I decided to at least check it out. I walked across, just below the connecting ridge, tooled up about 10 feet before deciding I wouldn’t be fast enough to get back to the trailhead in time for my first scheduled pick up. I down climbed, walked 5 minutes back down my trail, then turned around. The summit was right there, so close. “Fuck it”. I turned around and walked quickly back up to the start of the steep ridge. I tooled all the way up to the summit in about 20 minutes. Took a moment to enjoy the view and take a few photos, then headed back down. Scooted around the edge of the Crow glacier, got on my planned descent route, crossed under the ‘Window’ and back onto Rome Ridge. The light from the setting sun was just ahead of me, leaving me in shadow for the remainder of the hike. Perfect. This allowed the softened ridge snow to reset slightly before I made my way across it.

I was back at the trailhead by 5:25, 5 minutes before the first scheduled pick up. After Penzy picked me up, the three of us headed to the NZ alpine club hut, just down the road, to stay the night. We took the opportunity to shower and have a warm place to hang out. No worries about freezing our fingers on tent poles in the morning. There we met a gentleman by the name of Manu, who was studying for a NZ avalanche course. I got to talking with him, ended up grabbing his number since he was keen for some ski touring trips.

Link to Rolleston Map: http://www.topomap.co.nz/NZTopoMap?v=2&ll=-42.91742,171.520082&z=14 

Wednesday we spent at Broken River once again, doing leisurely laps on the rope tow.

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A helpful tourist map Broken River had posted on their wall. If you have moment, it's worth a read.

A Summit Of A Different Sort

August 14^th-18^th

On Thursday, the mountain was still engulfed in a whirlwind of N.Z. winter weather. The Turoa Ski Field was still closed due to high winds and the access road was closed because of snow (go figure). Meanwhile town was soaked in rain; sometimes it was a downpour. So a day dedicated to catching up on life and training. Spending lots of time in the library, trail running, and using the climbing gym during their $10 special. I hadn’t expected much from the gym since it looked like a tourist trap with the brightly colored walls, one with circles cut out for holds, another with small sections of rope sticking out, a rope ladder, and a so called “dry tooling" wall. However, it did have self-belay devices and I didn’t having anything better to do with my time that evening. I went in for a pump fest (burning out the forearm muscles) and actually enjoyed myself.

I walked out the gym to find the depressing rain had turned to revitalizing, soft quiet snow. With new excitement for the next few days, I headed to Callum’s house. I had spent about an hour in his shop earlier that day having a yawn with him and his boss. Before I had left Callum invited me to escape the rain and stay in one of the spare bedrooms at his place.

Looking back at Nick and our turns in the petite bowl.

After a morning delayed by slow clearing weather and plow trucks, Nick and I headed to the mountain for a short tour down low to keep the blanket of clouds above us. We made a couple of runs in a petite bowl just a short ways from the resort. Despite the extreme winds over the last few days, Nick found the perfect snow (minus the few rocks just below the surface). As the clouds creped their way up the mountain we caught glimpses of longer more powdery runs. We set off to investigate, only to have the clouds sweep back down around us again, so that beyond 50 meters around us was only whiteness. We had a brief lunch waiting for a clearing and then decided to head back. With the weather clearing, I camped in my car that night.

  

Saturday morning turned into a bit of a mess with some miscommunication between Nick and I. He ended up missing me and heading up to the mountain while I wondered what happened. He doesn’t care for phones very much and had actually just bought his first cell phone, but hadn’t bothered to figure out how to work it yet. I guess you can say he’s a man of action and doesn’t always take the time to double check details. I hitched just after 10 in the morning and waited about an hour and 45 minutes to arrive at the ski field, a mere 16 km down the road. We were lost in clouds almost the whole time, until we approached the bottom of the resort when we broke clear above the clouds and saw the dazzling view of a snow covered volcano towering above us.

I threw on my skis and started uphill, taking care to stick to the very edge of the groomed trail or going off track completely so I wouldn’t have an oblivious novas skier hit me head on (they were everywhere). I stopped briefly in the patrol shack to talk to them about avalanche conditions and then continued to skin up to the field above the lifts. I turned around about 200 meters shy of the saddle since I needed to switch to crampons. I was feeling my legs and I needed them to work for 2 more full days of touring. I was solo as a marched up the slope with no other tracks to be seen. As I flew down the open face enjoying large turns you rarely get in the Rockies, I saw people who'd hopped off the top lift start to make their way up the face, their interest triggered now they saw someone else test the waters for them. Keen to avoid the crowds, I headed down and hitched a ride back to town.

I stayed at Callum’s place again, along with a German turned kiwi and a Swedish couple, all of whom Callum’s roommate had just met at the bar that night. I talked with the German woman, Kath who is a keen climber. We spoke of possible climbing trips we could do in the future. Turns out, she’s planning a trip to Tasmania, a place I had actually hopped to visit while I was Down Under. Fingers crossed I get my finances straight for that trip.

Sunday morning I carpooled with Kath and Callum’s roommate to Turoa Ski Field. I looked into get a pass that would allow me to ride the lifts once to the top (to save energy for doing laps in the crater). They said I couldn’t take my skis with me on the lift, because they don’t check passes on the upper lifts so they can’t guarantee I wouldn’t keep riding them. I was tempted to say “Well I could pay you the $30 for the one ride and you can take my word that I won’t ride them again, or I can not pay anything, tour up to an upper lift and ride it anyways.” I bit my tongue.

Once again I started my tour from the bottom of the resort with 1100ish meters of vertical gain a head of me just to make it to the crater. This time however, I had Callum riding the lifts. I used my resources wisely and had him come by and grab my pack to carry it up via the lifts (allowing me to move faster and save energy). My legs felt like led as I started up the slope, making me fear I wouldn’t make it all the way. I discovered my touring technique becomes exponentially better in this state since I don't have the energy to lift my skis off the ground. As I got into a groove of motion, my stride became increasingly long and strong, my fatigue melted away. I was thankful I didn't buy a pass when I strode on by the long queues of people waiting to get on lifts.

An hour and 15 minutes later, I arrived at the top of the highest lift just three minutes behind Callum. He decided there must be an energizer bunny tucked away inside of me. Flattering except he says this as he rolls a cigarette to smoke before starting the hike up the last couple hundred meters.

I arrived about 15 minutes ahead of him. I snacked while I waited, admiring the crater bowl with steep walls, cliffs, a steaming lake, and untouched snow. I strolled back and forth on the rim, inspecting the snow and analyzing what line I should take.  When Callum arrived, step-by-step behind me, he worked to catch his breath and regain his strength, and I talked away about my thoughts, concerns, and where I thought I should go if I do drop in. He had the whatever, it’s all good attitude. The snow is solid.

Some other folks arrived just behind us, debating if they would go as well. I decided to break the ice and went for it. Without knowing what to expect, I stomped the edge to see if the snow would crack then dropped a meter down to ski cut across, testing the snow. Nothing. I took a deep breath and turned my skis down hill. Long carving turns over perfect soft styrofoam snow. Without trees or rocks as indicators, I lost sensation of how fast I was going, fumbling on a turn or two. Despite the imperfect turns, I was elated.

After Callum caught up at the base, we both turned to see a crowd of folks building up on the rim and one after another, people dropped in. The smell of sulfur caught my attention, reminding me of Nick’s warning that the volcano could potentially erupt or burp at any point and that it was a sacred place to the Maori. I was keen to not linger. Callum and I made our way back to the ski field where I snuck in one more tour up to the café before skiing to the bottom. Hitched home tired but satisfied.

That evening I dropped my skis off at Callum’s shop for repairing, headed to his place and prepared to depart right after one more adventure on the mountain. I enjoyed watching Kath and the roommate fire-dance before heading to bed.

The goal for Monday was to climb Girdlestone Peak, the beautiful pyramid to the NorthEast of Ruapehu’s proper summit. However, upon setting out for a fourth time from the road’s end, I quickly realized how tired I was. I used the excuse of reading the landscape and tooling around on a waterfall to make frequent stops. I was ready to give up when I came out of a gully to realize Ruapehu’s summit wasn’t far. So step by dragging step, I made my way up, breaking for lunch on the ridge. At the summit I paused to admire the views one more time and take pictures before turning around to make my slow way down. Even with a new lightness to my step I couldn’t compare to a decent on skis.

Looking up at the Girdlestone, the peak to the right.

Hitched back to town, grabbed my skis from Callum, said my thanks and good byes, grabbed a proper coffee, and then hit the road to Wellington. My day was only dampened when at 7:15 PM I went to turn on my car at a gas station in the middle of nowhere, a mere hour from Wellington. RADADAdadadada. I spent the next 45 minutes attempting to start the car, eating a makeshift dinner, and getting fat on spoonfuls of Nutella as I ate away my frustration.