Goodbye New Zealand
So, as was inevitable, my travels with skis have come to an end. Right now my skis are heading home in the baggage hold of some old aeroplane. As you might have guessed, I have decided not to join them. They are doing this trip solo.
I haven't written as frequently as I would have liked about my time in NZ, but instead of trying to back date a few posts on this blog, I have decided to keep a few stories in the bag. I can't come home and only have tales that you all have heard already.... there are some good ones, ones that would probably be better told down the pub, accompanied by wild hand gestures.
So now I am sitting in Bangkok awaiting the (very) early start of the next leg of my trip. I am catching the 6.50am bus to Cambodia. From there I will head to Laos, and finally Vietnam. I will try to keep you posted on my new travels without skis.
Black Peak
I have been getting rather behind on this blogging thing, so I shall attempt to get back up to speed with a whopper of a post.
Mid August was the scheduled start of our trip to Black Peak. The pervious few days there had been an unusually large amount of fresh snow which had been dropped by a seemingly endless cycle of warm and cold fronts. The whole of the South Island had been put on a backcountry avalanche alert - all heliskiing operations shut down, and people were advised to avoid the backcountry like the plague. There was a week facet layer in the snow pack at a depth of about 2 meters, and with the additional weight of the new snow, things were looking decidedly dicey. The morning that the snow stopped falling, and while everyone else heeded the advice to stay clear of back country, P and I, with our guide and a German girl called Nina, loaded our gear into a helicopter and headed for Black Peak.
Black Peak's summit is at a little over 2200m, and is about 7km as the crow flies from Treble Cone. There are two ways to get there - either take a quick heli ride, or walk. The 'walk' is basically what is known as ski touring. You have synthetic skins which you attach to the bottom of your skis, and special bindings that allow you to release your heel. In a nutshell this allows you to walk up snow faces (otherwise know as 'skinning up'). The walk to/from Black Peak takes about 6 hours, and consists of a number of faces to skin up, a few ridge traverses, and some downhill sections. The plan was to heli in, and then four days later walk out.
The reason for the trip to Black Peak was primarily to learn about avalanches - how to assess snow stability, pick safe routes, and to learn what to do when the worst happens. Our guide, Nick, was apparently the best in the business. A little background... this guy spends the northern hemisphere winter taking *very* rich people skiing. The idea is that these rich people like to be the first people to ski down mountains, so the trips normally take place in Alaska/Greenland/the Himalayas etc. and involve lots of helicopters, and other big boys toys. Nick is also the only person I know who has had a helicopter land on top of them. It is quite a story so I think it is probably worth a few lines. He was taking clients to Greenland, and after being snowed in for a few days, Nick and a second guide went out to check out some potential descents. After being dropped by helicopter, the second guide fell and broke his femur, so the helicopter was called back. On landing (by all accounts it was a pretty steep slope), the main rotor of the helicopter caught the snow. In trying to correct, the pilot tilted the main rotor backwards - probably a bit too far given that he chopped the tail clean off the helicopter. The long and the short off the story is that the helicopter lost its engine, gearbox, and a lot of other bits and pieces in addition to the tail, before ending up on top of Nick. If this guy could get out of a situation like that, then I figured if I was heading into the backcountry at avalanche o'clock, then it was probably best that I was with someone like Nick. Did I mention that Nick is also the only person who I have ever met who has been fully buried in an avalanche? If there was ever motivation for not being caught in one again, then I suppose spending several minutes not knowing if you were going to make it out would be it.
I don't know if you have ever been in a helicopter, but it is quite a ride, especially in the mountains. The pilots like to stay as close to the ground as possible - I guess so that they don't get caught up in the strong localised winds that seem pop up from nowhere in the mountains. The helicopter never seemed to be level - we dropped over ridges like a stone, and swooped up valleys. For someone who is scared of flying it was a truly nail biting experience. We were dropped at the hut where we where to stay for the next 3 nights. The hut was about 3m by 6m, and purely functional - four bunks, and a couple of gas burners to heat food. My first job was to dig out the toilet from the snow drift that had engulfed it. Nice. After a spot of lunch we practiced transceiver searches. The idea is that if an avalanche happens, you need to be able to find the buried victims very quickly to give them a chance of survival. The stats say that if you can't find them within 15 minutes then the chances of finding them alive are somewhat slim. A transceiver works by broadcasting a signal which a second transceiver can then pick up - with a bit of practice, and a good understanding of search patters you can get pretty good at finding people. Of course, throw a few buried transceivers into the mix at the same time, and things get a lot trickier. The rest of the afternoon was spent ski touring - skinning up faces and then skiing down. There is nothing to make you appreciate a powder run more than having to walk to get to the top. I would guess, on average, a 45 minute walk would give you ten turns! Throughout the afternoon Nick would constantly point out avalanches that had released in the surrounding area - pretty soon we could see why people were being strongly advised against being out here - more faces that not had had slides. The key to spotting avalanche prone slopes is to check out the three A's - angle, aspect, and altitude. If you can see a face that has already avalanched and it has the same angle, aspect, and altitude as the face you want to ski, then it is probably a good idea to pack up and go home. The more avalanches that I noticed all around us, the more I realised that this trip really did have the potential to be a little interesting! The evening was spent drinking wine, eating food, and a small lecture on the snow metamorphosis process, and how that impacted snow pack stability.
Day two consisted of more of the same - lots of ski touring, and more transceiver searches. In addition we got our first taste of digging snow pits. Avalanches usually happen when there is a weak layer in the snow pack which is then covered by stronger layers. The weak layer, given the right conditions (a skiers weight?), can shear away, triggering an avalanche. Digging a snow pit allows you a good look at all the layers that make up the snow pack. In addition to looking at the snow, there are several tests which you can perform which give a good indication of the snow stability (compression test, rutchblock test, burp test - insert links).
By day four we were all feeling much more confident about our understanding of the snow, and its stability. As so often happens, when you are ignorant of the facts, things don't seem so intimidating. When I first arrived at Black Peak, I approached snow stability with a kind of 'it looks okay to me, so lets ski it' attitude. I was now constantly looking around for safe exits, terrain traps, and other tell tail signs of avalanches - perhaps a little paranoid? Probably, but I guess if you really do want to ski in the back arse of nowhere, then I don't suppose a little paranoia can hurt. We started our walk back to Treble Cone early in the morning, hoping to get back for early afternoon. Our route would take us over the summit of TC, down over the ski area, and to the car park at the bottom. Thoughts of hot latte, and potato wedges at the TC cafe provided much inspiration for me on the hike home. The closer to TC we got, the more ropey the terrain seemed to get. I think it was the point where the guide had us cowering under a rock overhang to avoid a potential avalanche from above that I realised that the return journey probably wasn't going to plan...
Five hours into the return trip, we were within maybe 100 yards of the summit of TC. The end was within touching distance. Only a steep gully was between us the easy ride home on a groomed piste. Only 100 yards horizontally, but in reality we needed to drop down about 400 vertical meters to the valley floor, and then skin up the other side of the gully in order to get home. Home seemed painfully close, but significantly more painfully far away. Nick seemed somewhat jittery. Remember the 3 A's? Well, put it this way, every other slope for the last 7km with the same characteristics as this one had already avalanched, but this one hadn't. Primed and ready to go was another way to describe it. Option number 2 was suddenly tossed into the arena. Ropes. The look on Pierra's face when she realised that Nick was suggesting that we scale down the gully using ropes was priceless. Climbing down one side and then out the other is one thing, but to do it in ski boots and carrying heavy packs and skis is quite another. Ever hitched a ride with a helicopter? No, neither had I. That turned out to be option number 3. Apparently it pays to know people who know people. Especially when they own a helicopter (A side note - if you ever meet someone who goes by the name of Hannibal, and wears a U.S. military style baseball cap with huge aviator sunglasses, and should he offer you a lift in his helicopter, TAKE IT. I can assure you it will be the craziest ride of your life).
It is difficult to sum up the Black Peak trip. I learnt so much about practical snow safety, something that I really should have done a long time ago, in one of the most beautiful and isolated environments in which I have ever found myself. I also skied some amazing snow. There is nothing like having a whole mountain to yourself (a fresh line every time - perhaps that is every skiers dream?). Spending time isolated in the mountains brings out a new beauty in them, something which you don't see when you are looking up at them from the comfort of bar with a pint in your hand. The snow and the mountain become more than just an expensive playground - spending time at Black Peak is one hell of a way to discover a healthy respect for the mountain environment, one that you will never get from riding up a warm cable car in Val D'Isere. Very quickly it becomes apparent that you are just a spectator, and ultimately any time the mountain wants to have its say it will do exactly that. I guess the trick is to find the safest seats from which to be a spectator.
Powder days
The last week or so has been quite eventful. On Tuesday of last week it started snowing. It was the start of a series of warm/cold front cycles which were to hit the south island for about 5 days straight. The warm fronts bring wet heavy snow, and the cold fronts bring very cold dry snow. When the temperature drops as the cold front arrives, it can also dry out the wet snow which was droped by the preceeding warm front, but to what extent is governed by the temperature. In short, there was a lot of very dry powdery snow knocking around. On a powder day it seems that the whole of the surrounding area shuts down as everyone heads for the mountain. The number of people up there seems to double. Most businesses have a 'powder day' clause in their employment contracts. If the snow is this good then it is just given that NONE of the employees will show up for work. I don't suppose it matters too much because all of their customers will be up the mountain too.
Wednesday morning on the mountain was glorious. We started early with a car load of people from the camp site (everyone is up early on a powder day), and were at the bottom of the lift waiting expectantly for it to open. I don't know how they manage to time these things, but the lift broke just as they were about to open. These kiwis are far too relaxed to worry about trivial stuff like maintenance - they definitely work on the principal of 'if it aint broke, don't fix it, and if it is broke, just patch it up so it will last until tomorrow when it will be someone elses problem'. Anyway, by 10am they had it running again - the crowd goes wild. For 2 hours every run was fresh tracks. There is nothing like cruising down in a foot of powder, and then being able to look back at your lines. My teeth started to hurt - I was smiling so much that all the cold air was rushing in the wide open mouth. By lunchtime the whole mountain is skiied out, and only the runs where you have to hike to get to them remained with untracked snow. P and I met up with another few guys from 'The Do' (Glendhu Bay Motor Camp, the home of the splendid caravan) at the top of the chairlift and decided to hike along a ridgeline to get the last of the snow. A 20 minute trudge commences - the wind had picked up and was trying its hardest to blow us from the ridge - the next weather front was on its way in... I didn't have the heart to tell P that the her right hand cheek was covered in a thin layer of ice, after all it couldn't have been bothering her too much given the size of the grin. We finally made it to the selected drop off point from the ridge. With the heavy snow and the strong winds from a constant direction, over the last couple of days a big cornice had formed (for those of you who aren't familiar with what a cornice is, imagine a wave just before it is about to break - replace the water with snow. The cornice is the bit that curls over, and has nothing but air beneath it). It looked, from the top at least, to be about 2-3 meters in width with snow piled up on the lee slope. Trying to be sensible I thought it best to try to get it to colapse - I reasoned that if it was going to break that it would be best for only one of us to be on it. It didn't seem all that big, and I guessed that if it did go there would only be a small tumble resulting in me looking less than cool. Nothing gave even when I jumped up and down. P slid forward along side me - everything felt solid - we were picking our route down when one of the snowboards jumped onto the run. Snowboarders as a general rule don't do too many things by halves. This perticular one thought it best to pick a spot on the rigde where there was about a 3m drop off before he hit the slope. As he landed I heard a huge crack - a fracture line appeared right under my boots, and along the cornice for a good 15 meters, and another one about 5 meters down the slope. This one of the few times I have ever felt like I was destined for leading role in an avalanche story, but the slope just stopped. There was about an inch of shear plane exposed, but it just stopped in its tracks. Admittedly, if it had gone, P and I were in a perfect position - right on top of it, and it would be seriously unlikely for either of us to be in any trouble. The run down was a little tentative, but *jeeze* the snow was good.
As a result of the incomming front, Thursday was a bit of a white out, but Friday was a whole different ball game. The sky cleared again, and with a fresh snow covering, the mountain was primed. Same story as Tuesday. I will spare you the details, other than to say we did not have the same experience with the cornice. After the ridge hike, the run down, and the hitch back to the bottom of the lift (the ridge hike run leaves you half way down the access road to the mountain), a fair bit of time had passed. We got a lift, and made it back to the base of the mountain. It was only then when we heard the news. There had been a big avalanche. Not off piste where one would expect, but right down over the main route down from the top of the chair lift. The mountain instantly closed. Everyone who was carrying a travsceiver/probe/shouvel was requested to go up the mountain and search for casualties. A fun day on the mountain suddenly changed to a somber affair. The sky instanly filled with helicopters, and the parking lot with ambulances. There is quite a big community from The Do on the mountain, and instantly people grouped together trying to account for everyone. Thankfully no one was caught - many close calls - but given that it swept over one of the most busy points of the mountain it was a miracle that no one was seriously hurt. I think there were 3 partial berials, but given its size, I cannot believe that it was not more serious. The cause? Snow Patrol triggered it with a bomb, and assumed it would not be so big, or slide so far. They have been bombing the same slope for 10 years but this had never happened before. It just goes to show just how little control you have over the snow.
