Biting Off More Than I Can Chew - A Collection of Stories of Overcommittal

It's been quite some time since I sat still long enough to write down my thoughts, and not for lack of stories to tell... In fact, probably much the opposite. It seems rather ironic that the catalyst for me gracing these pages again would be an "eyes bigger than my stomach" type of tale. 

I have a habit of biting off more than I can chew in every aspect of my life. I over-commit to adventures, work, catch-ups with friends, and community activities. It's in my nature to say "yep, I reckon I can do that..." And just because I can, doesn't necessarily mean I should... It seems that when I take on too much in one area of my life, I attempt to balance that by taking on more in other aspects of my life, instead of dropping a thing or two (I know right now that there are people reading this saying "oh, I totally do that!"). So after spending the last 4 months of 2014 commuting between Sydney and Auckland every week for work, I settled on a role that was based in Auckland. It was nice to be in one spot, but I can't say moving back to the rat-race was something I was entirely thrilled about. I missed my forest, my little town of Rotorua, and my people... And I missed my big crazy adventures... So it seemed the only logical thing to do was to engage in big crazy adventures at every opportunity.

Against the grain of most other blogs I have ever written, I've decided to keep my story-telling fairly concise because realistically, I just wanted to post this blog as an excuse to share some stunningly beautiful pictures with you, in amongst smatterings of amusing and enlightening experiences I have had since we last caught up (July last year?!)

So to begin with, I learned to ski last year... I obviously didn't have enough expensive hobbies on my list already, so off I went and purchased myself not one, but two, sets of skis, because by next year, I would be ski touring and would be sure to need them... Bloody lucky I wasn't too bad at it and had a blast because I really was putting myself in a rather committed position with my rampant retail therapy. A trip to Queenstown and a few lessons from my awesome buddy Ben saw me scooting down the slopes in no time, and it wasn't long before I found myself plotting ways that I could find my way out of the patrolled ski areas and into the wider world with a bit more space and a few less crowds. Admittedly, I wasn't quite ready to do this on my skis yet, but it didn't stop Lisa and I from donning some crampons for a beautiful mid-Winter hike up Ben Nevis to top off our trip.

I did myself a disservice with my partner earlier in 2014 on a trip to Queenstown when a hike up over treble cone to Black Peak and back turned from a simple day trip into a 14 hour epic... She has been cautious ever since, and often makes the (probably fair) assumption that if I am excited about doing something, it means the day will probably involve feats that most human beings would be only marginally capable of. It is for this reason that she has learned to read maps for herself to make her own assessments, and I often find my trips under an intense amount of scrutiny, sometimes resulting in me "flying solo" for the odd adventure.

One such occasion happened only a few months later, in the middle of my stint of Australia/NZ commuting for work. I arrived home from Sydney late one Thursday night and was so desperate to get out into the backcountry that I drove from Auckland to Rotorua late after work on the Friday, then Rotorua to Turoa early the next morning for a mid-winter summit mission on Mount Ruapehu. This was one of those occasions when my partner decided I was best left to my own craziness, and in hindsight, I'm glad she did because I would likely be single now had I taken her with me.

The day unfolded on dawn. The skies were clear but with the threat of a snow storm in the early afternoon. I wasn't too concerned about this, because I planned on going for a "scoot" up the mountain and being back down in time for some lunch before then hitting the slopes on my skis in some nice fresh snow. I'd deliberately decided to take the Southern route up to the summit from Turoa because it was much shorter, but in my ignorance, and my impatience to just "get out in it", I'd failed to address some rather important points. For starters, I hadn't done this route before, and was climbing by myself. Secondly, I had failed to take into account that, being on the south side of the mountain, the route wouldn't "soften" for my descent the way it would from the Whakapapa side. I also hadn't sharpened my crampons, which after a season on mixed snow, ice and scree, were now about as useful as a pair of skates.

I stomped my way up the mountain, reveling in the fresh alpine air and the feeling of my burning legs waking up. I passed another lone climber, and after some pleasantries, continued on up the face of the slope. It had been my original intention to climb the ridge, but the slope looked secure and good, so I went for it. It wasn't long before I realised I had climbed myself into a situation I couldn't get out of. As the face got steeper and icier, my hands started to sweat. I knew I'd gotten myself into trouble and I stood frozen to the side of the mountain trying to consider my options. As if that wasn't bad enough, I really, really needed to poo. I was cold, clinging on for dear life, crying, and literally about to shit my pants... It became apparent to me that clinging to the ice wasn't going to get me anywhere, so I clenched my sphincter and started traversing towards the ridge to my right. It was at this moment that Terry appeared... My knight in merino wool that I had passed earlier on that morning. He asked if I was ok, and after I sheepishly admitted I was a little out of my depth, he came across and kicked me some steps the short distance up to the summit, where I could regain my composure on some flat ground. What a top dude.

To say the view was stunning was an understatement. The blue sky encased the entire top of the mountain and a lone, foreboding snow cloud loomed up over the other side of the plateau. After a cup of tea, Terry was kind enough to agree to me tagging along with him down the mountain. The events of the previous couple of hours had really dented my confidence and my progress back down the mountain was slow enough that the snow cloud beat us to the bottom. Terry could have trucked on down at any time, but I was stoked that he stuck around to make sure I got down safely. Before we knew it, we were in the middle of a blizzard in white-out conditions. It's hard to understand just how disorienting it is until you actually experience it, but we were grateful for the sound of the lift station to guide us to the top of the ski slopes. It was all hi-fives at that moment, but it could have easily turned out very differently. I learned a valuable lesson and was fortunate enough to come out unscathed.

Needless to say, I didn't end up going skiing that afternoon.

Fast forward to the Christmas/NY break. After spending the first few days ripping out the bastard rose bush from hell that has been growing on my shed and the roof of my house for what must have been about 100 years, I set off on my yearly camping trip to the summit plateau of Mount Ruapehu with my partner, Lisa, and one of my fave adventure buddies, Edine. Given that this was just prior to the great drought of Summer 2015, there was still a significant amount of snow on the plateau. We dug out a tent platform and made a little icy table and chairs just above the crater lake and watched the clouds wash across the mountain before they kindly parted to make way for the sunset, a stunning clear evening, and a beautiful sunrise. There are few things more incredible than watching the sunset from your own little abode atop a mountain. It was a magic, albeit cold, experience... I sharpened my crampons before that trip! 

Before we had even unpacked from the mountain, a few days later, we did a two-day trip around the Motu Trails on our bikes, camping overnight in the Whitikau valley. I love packing a tent and hauling a load around (whether it be on foot, or by bike). There is something highly liberating about being self-sufficient and being able to just pull up whenever I'm ready for the evening and set up camp. Amongst the wicked riding, we met a French Chocalatier, a nosy Weka, and a couple of overenthusiastic goats that took a liking to my lycra.

So this brings me up to date to some time around March. To be honest, I've never been much into hiking long distances, but about a month before, my friend Marika rang me. She had been on a team for Oxfam trailwalker and it had become apparent the members of the team had different objectives for the event. She still wanted to do it, but with a different team, so here she was, ringing people who she thought may be capable of walking 100km with minimal preparation. As we ascertained at the start of this blog, I seldom say "no", so I was now committed to doing some form of training, and the 55km I was riding to and from work each day probably didn't really count towards "hiking miles".

In amongst small early morning jaunts in the Waitaks, we had weekend training sessions planned, our most epic by far being our "Round the Mountain in a Day". Marika is much like me in that she runs a rather tight schedule, so after I arrived in Rotorua late on Friday, we drove to Raurimu, ready for a 4am start the next morning. The weather wasn't too crash hot, but nothing beats a good set of thermals and some good waterproof gear. We dressed in our matching blue jackets, stuffed our day packs with treats and some bare emergency essentials and set off well before the sun even considered getting up for the day. Whilst our progress was good along the first 15km of track, the poled route around the east side of the mountain was slow work. The winds picked up to near gale force and were so strong that the gusts made me stumble and stop to regain my balance.

The east side of Ruapehu is a place I have spent very little time, and I was blown away by just how different it is to the west side of the mountain. The terrain is almost desert-like. Dried up riverbeds covered in sand serve a cautious reminder of just how lethal a downpour could be on some parts of the route, and the sprawling sand and rock formations likened what I would expect to see on another planet. It really was just stunning.

Back to the storm though... We made our way around to Oturere Hut and it was at this point we realised we were unlikely to beat the storm that was bearing down on us. I've always been of the opinion that adventures are only dangerous once you don't have a "Plan B" left to fall back on. We had two options here... Hike the 4 hours out to Ohakune Mountain Road, and hope that the weather didn't get worse, or spend an unplanned night on the mountain in the hut. We opted for the latter, and less than an hour later, found ourselves in sitting in the hut, with the fire lit, in the middle of a spectacular mountain storm... Good call...

It's surprising just how little you can get away with for an unplanned overnight trip. We cracked out our foil thermal blankets and settled onto the top bunks of the hut, gutted that the wine and chocolate we had bought were still sitting back in Raurimu. About 9pm, a magnificent electrical storm came over the top of the hut. The winds were so strong that we could feel the hut moving, and the lightning was so close that the thunder rolled in right on top of it, and the outline of the windows were burnt into our retinas for hours afterwards. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I was just a little bit terrified. What if the lightening hit the hut? Are we safer on the top bunks or down the bottom? It felt like there was a big scary monster reaching into the hut through the windows and we were trying to stay as far away from it as possible (whilst under our highly-conductive thermal blankets)... Terrifying, but quietly, rather exciting, too.

The next morning, we set out in the rain and wind right on dawn for the four hour hike out to the road end. Despite the weather, we were graced with a beautiful sunrise. There's a saying that I love that goes something like this "may there be enough cloud in your life to bless you with a beautiful sunrise". I found it empowering being thrust into the elements, rain battering my face, dirt on my hands, wind pummeling my ears and a beautiful sunrise before my eyes... What a magic weekend. 

I reckon the best adventures I have are the ones that I cram into my over-committed schedule... There is something I find invigorating about being behind my desk one moment, and then standing atop a mountain, or hauling a pack through mud, only hours later. It's a bit like "planned spontaneity"... I know I'm going to do it, but often question my own motives once I'm in the whirlwind of getting from place to place in seemingly unrealistic time frames. But you know what? I don't think I would change it for the world. The challenge of making an adventure happen is sometimes half the adventure...

Dusty Sunset Upon the Top of a Snowless Mountain - Northern Crater Camping

I really am quite a fortunate soul. It seems that wherever I happen upon crazy ideas for adventures, I also happen upon the people to bring them to fruition with. My life is one that is filled with experiences and people that deliver meaning and joy, and for that I am grateful. I was having one such conversation with my friends Claire and Ben a couple of weeks ago (in amongst the obligatory discussion of how 9-5 work is a necessary evil to fund gear purchases). We were on our way up Tongariro in the early afternoon on a beautiful sunny day to do some camping and stargazing. I spend a lot of time up the three peaks in Tongariro National Park (as you may have noticed), and it never ceases to amaze me how much it differs from trip to trip... There is, without exception, something new to be seen or experienced each time I go up there, and it's a fantastic "training ground" for me. Having only spent my first season playing in the snow last year (and discovering how much I loved it), I have made it my mission to gradually put together a "tool box" of the skills and gear I need to keep enjoying adventures in the mountains and hopefully, eventually, pass those skills onto others so they may also enjoy the experiences which I hold so dear to my heart. The Ruapehu area is the perfect place to work on these skills, and I have come to know the terrain pretty well... It's like my little adventure playground just down the road.

 

But anyway, enough of the mushy stuff... We were on our way up the mountain for an adventure! The last time I had been camping up here at red crater, I remember gazing across to my left and having a flat expanse of snow catch my eye. Further inspection on the topo map showed me that it was the northern crater, and was flat as a pancake... Perfect camping spot well off the track with elevated views for the sunsets and sunrises I love so much... So ever since then, I had been on a mission to get back up there and go and check it out. We were hideously disappointed at the lack of snow up here on this visit, and we secretly wished for our camp spot to be free of boulders. Camping on the scree was going to be far more uncomfortable than camping on snow, but camping on boulders would have been a pretty crappy experience.

So we climbed up to Red Crater, then followed the Tongariro summit route until the final climb, then dipped down off the saddle to the north, negotiating the scree and boulders down the slope and back up the other side. The cold wind rose up from the south and nipped away at our skin and I continued to ignore it until the cold finally got too much for me and I succumbed to removing my pack and putting on an extra layer (removing my pack, at 19kgs, was a rather cumbersome task and one I avoided when I could... I had learned to pack smart so anything I may need was well in reach, but I had not yet mastered the art of adding and removing layers without taking the pack off, and suspected it was probably actually less awkward to remove the pack than it was to attempt "jacket gymnastics" on the side of the mountain).

Once we reached the top of the other side of the saddle, we were faced with a series of bluffs which blocked our path down onto the crater plateau. A combination of creative route choice, bum-sliding and coarse language soon saw us arrive at our destination, a lovely flat canvas which was relatively boulder-free (although we still wished there was snow there!). Ben had generously offered to bring their three-person tent, which was awesome for two reasons... Firstly, it meant I didn't have to carry a tent, and secondly, meant that we could socialise inside the tent once it got too cold outside, as opposed to me retreating to my own lonely abode. It also meant we could play UNO... But more on that later.

Ben and Claire pitched the tent whilst I took photos (sorry guys... seriously, I just didn't want to get in the way!) and we boiled up a brew. The crater plateau was a good kilometre across and we had camped on the eastern side behind a small rocky knoll to keep us out of the wind. This meant that to see the sunset, we would need to trek across to the other side of the crater, and as the sun lowered in the sky, a cloud rolled across the mountain. The haze was coloured a deep ochre red from the pending sunset, but apart from shadows, little could be seen. Moving 5m from the tent made it nearly invisible. The suggestion that we wouldn't see the sunset anyway was bandied around and then we decided that we had little better to do otherwise and so struck a westerly bearing across the featureless moonscape, dragging our feet in the scoria as we walked so we could follow our tracks back to the tent.

As we walked, the sun hung in front of us on the other side of the cloud, a large red spot blotting out the sky. Shadows of rocks and of each other crossed in front of the sun and blacked out spectacular silhouettes bordered by a hazy ochre background. It was really eerie, and had we not being in each others company, I probably would have found it a bit creepy. As we neared the other side of the crater, the cloud seemed to roll through, revealing a bright blue sky in front of us... The sun reflecting off the cloud created a incredibly stark contrast of red smoke against the blue sky. We reached the edge of the mountain just as the sun was about to disappear to find we were floating above a sea of clouds with little more than the sun and the tip of Mount Taranaki in view. The horizon above the clouds was layered with a brilliant array of colours which continued to shift and change long after the sun had left us as we made our way back to camp.

The cookers came out and meals were thrown together (I was rather jealous of Claire's frittata). We collected a series of rocks to use as tables and chairs and sat down for our feast (the size and weight of the rock we could carry was directly proportional to our comfort whilst dining). We had some wine and checked out the stars. The clear night sky and the new moon meant the blackness was punctuated by a million pin pricks of light... Sometimes I think I could stand there forever and gaze at the night sky like this. It is completely mind-boggling the concept of exactly what you are staring it. I was quite visibly stoked about being up here. It made me feel good breathing the fresh mountain air and gazing into the clear night sky.

As the evening grew colder, we retreated to the tent, hot chocolate in hand. I had recently purchased myself a new 840 loft fully waterproof sleeping bag and a new 4.6R sleeping mat and was looking forward to taking them for a test run. I stripped down to my thermals and snuggled into my sleeping bag (just as a small side-note, did you know that sleeping bags are more effective the less you wear???)... Then the UNO cards came out... There was vigorous debate surrounding how legitimate a win was if it was gained with a wild card, and after quite a competitive couple of rounds, Claire was crowned the UNO Queen of the mountain that night.

We then settled down for some sleep. My new sleeping bag was toasty warm, but I still had broken sleep (and the weirdest dreams I ever recall!). It probably didn't help that Ben's last words for the evening were "imagine how freaked out you would be if you heard footsteps around the tent right now"... Thanks for that Ben!

When we awoke at about 6am, my GPS told me it was -2.4 degrees... Inside the tent... With three people in there. I had been needing to go to the toilet since about midnight and kitted up for a quick exit from the tent. The vestibule was filled with ice crystals that had formed in the soil overnight and outside the relative warmth of the tent, the temperature was noticeably cooler. We boiled up a cuppa and climbed to the top of the rocky knoll which had protected us from the wind all evening. When we climbed over the top, we were hit with an icy blast of cold mountain air, so we stayed on the closer side, protected from the elements whilst we waited for the sun to crest the horizon, which it did in it's usual spectacular fashion, first dancing across the lakes, making them shimmer and ripple in the morning breeze, then setting the horizon and the peaks on fire. The warmth it bestowed upon my body was absolutely divine, and I soaked it up to remove the chill from my bones. It was another beautiful day we had ahead of us.

We took our time packing up our tent site. Lisa and her friends were climbing up the Tongariro Crossing in the opposite direction (from Ketatahi carpark) to meet us at Blue Lake and were running a little late, so we were at our leisure. We descended off the northern crater on what should have been a loose scree slope, but given how cold the evening had been, the slope was frozen solid, and we walked across it with barely even a pebble breaking loose. We rejoined the Tongariro Crossing just near the blue lake and meandered around to the edge of the lake, then circumnavigated it's shores. The lake had a thin layer of ice over the top of it, which made a strange, bubbly "plonk" sound when broken with a rock. The green alpine shrubbery that crawled across the ground contrasted against the deep blue of the lake and with no wind, there was quite a pronounced reflection of the surrounding ridges and peaks on the lake.

Around 11.30am, I saw the smiling face of my fave girl walking up the track towards us, her friends in tow. I was looking rather disheveled from my night on the mountain, but it didn't seem to stop people giving me the obligatory hug... I guess I'm just that lovable right?

As the morning wore on, more and more people made their way up onto the plateau, until there was a steady stream of bodies marching along the Tongariro Alpine Highway. It blew me away how many people were up there... Thousands... And the mess they made... Frozen lakes were covered in rocks that people had thrown on them and not broken the surface... The edges of the same lakes were shattered from people stomping on the edges as hard as they could to see if they could break the ice, people dropped rubbish and food, and one guy was walking along with a boom box hanging off the bottom of his pack, disturbing the peace surrounding him with some sort of repetitive fork-scratching sound layed over a kick drum (I kindly asked him to switch the f**king thing off). We were going in the opposite direction to what most people do, so fortunately, we only had to endure the loss of serenity for a relatively short period... It just reminded me of exactly why I come up here so early in the morning. It broke my heart to see people so aloof to the fact that they were treating the mountain with such apparent lack of appreciation.

I'll admit that the climb up to Red crater from this end of the track was pretty hideous and we trudged one by one up the steep slope, taking one step back for every two steps forward in the loose scree. The most demoralising part of it was seeing everyone else coming down the other way! Cresting the top of that climb and nestling into the side of the hill for some lunch was one of the best parts of the day. We had only downhill ahead of us, I was hanging with Lisa and our collection of buddies, and we were gazing upon a brilliant blue sky. What really set the day off was the stunning sunset we were treated to when we arrived at our destination at the Mangatepopo carpark. It seemed fitting to see the sun gently settling across the flats around the mountain as we pulled off our packs... The sun setting on yet another cool little adventure with the people I love most!