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.