Sept 13th-Sept
18th
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.
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| 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.
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| 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. 