And I Laid Down My Skis at the Foot of the Temple, and Prayed for Snow: First Turns o

[Lane Meyer]

Saturday morning dawned with a blustery south wind, whipping drops of rain and crashing surf against the dunes across the street from my house in South Brighton.
The sun had given up trying to light the skies over Christchurch, choosing instead to remain hidden behind the rain-sodden clouds racing overhead.

I made my way through the gale to the parking lot at the University of Canterbury, where I picked up five others to join myself, Daniela, an undergraduate geography student from Germany, and Wim, a traveling Belgian in town for a few months to do some snowboarding.

Our destination for the weekend was Temple Basin (www.templebasin.co.nz), a club ski field high above Arthur’s Pass in the national park of the same name. Most of the club ski “areas” near Christchurch are quite different than those we’re used to in the US. While large commercial operations do exist here, (such as Mt. Hutt, Treble Cone, and a few others on the South Island) most of the ski fields in the Alps to the east of Christchurch are different in almost every aspect of skiing than their larger counterparts in the Northern Hemisphere. Club ski fields are just what their name implies, owned and operated by like-minded groups of locals who look after every aspect of ski area operation, from lift maintenance to commissary duties. Chairlifts are mostly absent, as skiers and boarders are lifted uphill via ropetows.

Temple Basin is owned and operated by the Snowsports Club at the University of Canterbury, where I’m studying for a PhD. Membership costs NZ$25 (~US$17), and entitles members to NZ$38(~US$25)/night lodging, dinner, and breakfast at Temple’s base lodge, and discount lift tickets as well. Although the club is run out of the University, it’s open to anyone and everyone, and full of enthusiastic snow lovers. As I’m rapidly realizing here, New Zealanders put a uniquely Kiwi twist on things that seem to be the same as their American counterparts, especially such things as “lodges” and “lifts….”

The purpose of our three-day weekend was to aid the club in preparing Temple for the coming season. The lifts at the field are rope tows, and their ropes are removed every summer and re-strung prior to the start of the next winter. According to protocol, the ropes are replaced every four or five years, and this year brought new ropes to two of Temple’s three lifts. Our job for the next three days was to carry the 550 meter lengths of rope up the mountain along the lift towers of all three tows, string it through the bullwheels at the top, and drag the end back to the bottom where the ropes was to be spliced to itself. There was also no shortage of work to do in getting the lodge ready for guests, and other sundry tasks common to opening a ski area anywhere in the world. For our labors, we each received three lodging or lift coupons good at Temple any time, three meals per day while we worked, and a healthy introduction to Kiwi ski culture.

The drive from the Uni parking lot to the top of Arthur’s Pass took about an hour and a half, starting out though picturesque lush farmland outlined by perfectly manicured hedgerows, and gently ascending the foothills of the Southern Alps. As we wound our way upwards to the wast, we traversed through some of the most incredible scenery on the planet. We climbed through the rainclouds, which parted to reveal huge, snow laden, towering mountain ranges rising several thousand feet from flat valley floors. The ranges were steep, rocky, and bristling with countless lines, resembling Tetons after Tetons, piled up endlessly, stretching to the horizon in every direction.

View along Arthur's pass, photo by someone else

Soon, as I climbed upwards, I’d realize that they were even bigger than the Tetons, looking more like the Chugach than anything else in the US.

Road on Arthur's Pass past Temple Basin, photo by someone else

I counted but twelve cars and a train passing by us on the last 80 km of road to the bottom of Temple, not an uncommon occurrence in this part of the world, even on Saturday morning of a national three–day weekend.

Train along Arthur's pass, photo by someone else

Early June in the Southern Alps has been cold and quite snowy, leaving the lower ranges covered in the first snowfall of the season. The snow grew deeper as we climbed up towards Arthur’s Pass, flying by the entrances to several other club ski fields which were in the midst of their own opening preparations.

We arrived at the goods lift carpark at around 11 am, unloaded or belongings so they could be carried up to the lodge for us, and started off up the hill carrying nothing but expectations.

Upwards!

There were a few centimeters of snow on the ground at the carpark, which got deeper as we trudged upwards. One thing I’ll never grow used to in this country is the look of sub-tropical vegetation covered in snow, which was melting slowly at the lower elevations of the hike and cascading off the mountainside in wispy tendrils of smoke on either side of the trail.

Steep and rocky doesn’t quite do justice to the tramping track from the carpark up to the lodge. The first few hundred meters traipsed along a former 4x4 road, making for easy walking, which soon gave way to a narrow, stair-stepped track which at times felt more akin to climbing stairs than hiking to a ski area. Thank God we didn’t have to carry anything up. With each step, I realized that fewer and fewer people would be willing to put forth the effort needed to even get to the bottom of this mountain to ski it. I tried to imagine walking the track in heavy snow, and felt lucky that no matter the weather, all of my heavy camera and ski gear was being ferried up in the goods lift, and not on my back.

Mt. Rolleston across the Arthur's Pass valley


Forty-five minutes later, we made the last push and reached the top terminal of the goods lift, adjacent to the red Department of Conservation hut, the lowermost of the three huts at Temple. The DoC hut is publicly available, as most huts are in New Zealand, to anyone who pays a small fee to be able to have a roof over their heads while tramping.

View from the DoC Hut

The middle lodge belongs to the University, but is aging, and used only for overflow in times of heavy booking. At the top of the base area lies the modern (1980) lodge, which hosts most visitors to Temple.

Temple Basin base Lodge

[Lane Meyer]

Upon arrival, we grabbed our belongings from the goods lift, threw them in our bunk rooms, and began to ferry an entire weekends’ worth of provisions to the lodge from the good lift for the 25 or so people that would be up at Temple for the next few days. We met Martin, an old time Temple regular, who would be supervising our rope-splicing efforts, Hamish, who generally knew the way things should be done up at Temple, Ben, the caretaker of the lodge, and Margot, Ben’s girlfriend from Colorado who has also been custodian at the lodge for a few years. The rest of our crew were university students from a variety of countries and majors, eager to earn some free skiing and have a weekend in the snow.

The Gang


Lunch was made for us, and we set out to carry the rope up the Temple lift, nearest to the lodge. Rising several hundred meters above the lodge, the Temple tow culminates in a fiercely steep exit point consisting of about ten meters of ~30 degree pitch below the top bullwheel.

The Temple Tow

We each carried about seven coils of rope, which weighed about 40 pounds. Carrying heavy coiled rope uphill in deep snow is not exactly easy.

The Temple Tow

I grew somewhat concerned as I watched the Kiwis strap on crampons and ice axes as they prepared to head uphill. Looking down at my Carhartts and worn out 12 year old Scarpa leather hiking boots made “puka-puka” (full of holes) from ten years of moderate use and then two field seasons of walking on molten lava in Hawai`i, I worried about my ability to slog the rope up the tow line. What worried me more was the fact that I was hoisting only 20 or so meters of the 550 meter-long length of rope, the rest of which was fastened to the other 10 folks carrying the rope. If I slipped and slid on the crusty snow, quite quickly I wouldn’t be the only one sliding.

Luckily, the track was made stable by the trodding feet of the cramponed Kiwi at the front of the rope line, and the few people ahead of me. One by one, the lowermost people dropped their coils, and those at the top of the towline carried on upwards, stretching out the rope until the end of it made the top bullwheel.

Wim on the ropeline up Temple Tow

Paul (posts as skea457 here) and his fellow club officers threaded the rope through the bullwheel and began to run downhill with it as those of us still on the uphill side of the line fed it upwards to them.

Paul and James, Kiwi Downhill

They reached the bottom, and we were done.

Sunset

Or not really. 90% of the team headed in for dinner, while a few of us grabbed warmer clothes and headed back out to learn the fine art of splicing 1” diameter rope to itself. Just as we were about to step back out into the cold to splice, I noticed the sky catching on fire to the west, engulfing the snowy skies in flaming hues of orange and violet. Naturally, my tripod was frozen shut from the saltwater I encountered in Samoa en route to my new home, and I struggled with freeing it in a vice during the most vivid parts of the sunset, catching only the last few minutes of color on digital film.

Daniela en fuego!


Ski Patrol Shack and Mt. Rolleston


Sunset

Splicing rope is unlike anything I’ve ever tried to take part in before. At least four people are required to undertake this task, which is much more complicated than one might think. Right in front of the motor, the end of the rope emerging from the motor shed must be prussicked to the nearest tower as the uphill section is heaved by the people downwards until it stretches somewhat taught and overlaps the downhill strand by at least 5 meters, and is itself stanchioned off. The ends of the rope are each unwound 32 twists, and one strand of one rope is wound into the place of it corresponding strand on the other piece of rope, then taped off.

Splicing


Martin, the splice master

This leaves the ropes half joined in the middle, with two additional overlaps at the ends of each of the uphill and downhill sections of rope. Three splices are then made by unraveling the rope into further strands, and weaving these under and over the twists of the main rope. Could I do it again? Not to save my life, despite actually doing it with my own hands no less than seven times. It was a fascinating thing to see, though.

In what I am quickly realizing is Kiwi fashion, the long day of hard work ended by a long night of heavy drinking and hard partying.

Nothing like a pastic bag of vino

The lodge is perfectly suited for raging parties, with a huge, thumping soundsystem, and picnic tables and benches that proved perfect for learning the Kiwi game of table traversing.

Carolina, following Paul (skea457)'s advice, attempt # 13


James chimes in with his $0.02


Almost there

Leave it to New Zealanders to fashion an incredibly challenging, nearly impossibly fun game out of a table. The object of the game was to climb onto the table, and make your way over it and then under it, reaching the position you started from without touching the ground. I sat happily on the sidelines, as I watched drunk person after drunk person crash to the floor onto their backs, losing their grip on one end or the other. I’m not sure how many of the Kiwis made it across, but the only foreigner to do so was a one-armed German climber named Andy, who astounded everyone with his ability to complete the short way traverse successfully.

Sooner or later, I realized through my drunken thoughts that I had remembered to bring a bottle of New Zealand’s finest bubbly (NZ$6/US$4), which meant that it was time to fire up the lights and make the first turns of the season completely wasted, Squaw style. Here’s where my second pace in the 2001 Guest Services Chinese Downhill, and back-to-back fifth and third place finishes in the 2002 and 2003 Fruitboot Downhill at the Pain McShlonkey open came in quite handy – one thing I am good at is drunk skiing in the dark.

Almost there

Meaning that I managed to not get hurt skiing the postholed rocky ice-rink below the not-yet-working Temple tow on a hastily fitted pair of 1985 Dynamic 180s. Sadly, I found myself too drunk to even finish the champagne I carried uphill, leaving that to James and Cecelia, the boarders who accompanied me on my night-skiing adventure. We toasted the coming season, gave homage to Ullr (spilled champagne all over myself trying to drink it as it spouted from the bottle) and I fired off downhill mumbling something about being drunk enough and not needing any more help from the bubbly.

The morning began a few hours later around 8:45, when we awoke to the disaster we left from the night’s festivities.

Good morning Kea, trying to eat my camera bag


That's right - beat it!

We cleaned up as best we could, grabbed breakfast, made lunch, and headed out to get ready to drag the next two sections of rope up to the next valley above the Temple tow, Downhill Basin. A little about the terrain at Temple – it’s fucking ridiculous.

Top of the temple Tow, just barely scrathing the surface

Imagine rope tows dragging you up Silverado, ending up on something that’s as steep as the runout of Eagle’s nest, with open boundaries and nothing in between them but rocks, chutes, and a smorgasbord of natural terrain park features and huge airs.

Skier's Left of Downhill Basin - yes, it's all in bounds if you want it to be

Forget Bachelor or Hood - Powder could host Superpark at Temple and not have to do much more than pack down a few takeoffs, there’s a plethora of terrain features to session everywhere.

Skier's right of temple Tow - yes, this is the "intermediate" lift

[Lane Meyer]

Looking for an Achilles heel, I asked Paul what the liftlines (queues) at Temple are like on powder days, explaining to him what Squaw locals are used to (6:30 am queue startup, and ~100+ people by first chair loading several hours later), to which he replied “the longest queue was about five minutes, and that’s only at one lift from the deepest storm we’ve had in decades.” Umm, ok. Where do I buy a season pass? (also valid at five other club fields, and for only NZ$440/US$300 for God’s sakes!)

As we prepared to drag the rope up to Downhill basin, we adopted a slightly different strategy from that which we used the day before. Since the Downhill tow was twice as long, we needed to carry two whole coils of rope (1100 meters) up not only to the bottom of the Downhill tow, which was a few 100 meters above the top of the Temple tow, but all the way to the top, about 10 meters shy of the saddle between Temple and the Minga Valley, the next luscious basin to the east. James, the club president, led the charge carrying two persons’ worth of rope, easily weighing some 80 lbs, while breaking trail through at almost a meter of crusty powder on top of grass and loose rocks.

Heading up Downhill (photo by Dörte Mescha

Ten of us carried the first rope, and we were followed by twelve people carrying the second rope. The first team would climb the towline until the end of the rope reached the bottom of the line, and then from the bottom up, each person would stop, drop their rope coil, and let the people above them keep ascending and uncoiling their coils until the rope stretched all the way out, barely threading through the top bullwheel. The second team fastened the end of their rope to the bottom of the first rope, and the people at the top grabbed the uphill end of the rope and pulled it all through the pulleys back down to the bottom where one splice was put in, and the other two ends were joined with a spinner, a device that fastened the two ends together with a free-spinning bearing in the middle to take the twist out of the rope.

Downhill Basin, roped up


After the rope was fastened, we climbed up to gaze over the saddle into the Minga valley, which had filled in deeply with snow in the past few weeks, and looked prime for a few turns the next day when we would return to finish the last splice.

A very very happy Grant on the Minga saddle (photo by Dörte Mescha

Four of us, including myself, stayed to complete the splice on the rope, while the rest of the team headed down to grab the last 550m coil of rope and string it up the bottom-most tow, the Cassidy lift. We completed the splice just as the sun dropped below the ridges to the west, and headed downhill, stomping heavily in the footsteps of the first team, trying in vain to coax blood to our ice-cold toes.

Again, the sky took on raging hues of yellow and amber as the day ended and night fell onto Temple Basin. We retreated to the lodge, and began another round of partying. Having strategically run out of beer the night before, I decided to take it easy the second night, a plan which was quickly foiled by my introduction to the game “circle of death,” apparently a favorite of club members who stay at Temple, and who were packing either vodka or Scrumpy, an 8% alcohol cider that comes in plastic two liter bottles for NZ$8.00.

The Circle of Death, looking quite placid in round one of 3

Similar to Asshole in terms of rules and abidance to them (and dire consequences to those who don’t), “circle of death” quickly degenerated the night into rampant underwear head adornment, strip poker, and partially-nude snow swimming.

Dörte, looking scared


Lookin' good - lookin' real good


So glad that wasn't me

Apparently, the last night’s raging was only a warm up, since the “hard” work was done today, and tomorrow all we had to do was splice the Cassidy rope, hike back up to Downhill, start the motor to work a few more twists out of the rope, splice the rope, remove some appliances from the lodge, clean out the rental skis, possibly hike into the Minga for a few turns if there was time, tie all three tow ropes to every single tower to guard against the rope blowing off in storms and getting buried in the snow, clean the lodge, pack our gear, hike 50 minutes down to the carpark, and drive 1.5 hours back to Christchurch. Needless to say, I passed out at around 1am, while most everyone else kept it going to God knows when, and with a mysterious individual managing to only puke twice – in both the men’s room and the stairwell to the bunk rooms. Nice. For once I was glad I went to be “early.”

We completed the Cassidy splice by ~10am in frigid winds and snow showers, and geared up for the trip up to Downhill Basin to run the motor and do the last splice of the trip. This time, we were lucky in that the Tempe tow was functioning to the point where we could actually ride the lift up, and walk the traverse track over the bottom of the Downhill tow, which we hoped to get working so we could ride it to the top, and drop in the Minga for a few turns to end the trip on a high note.

And so began my introduction (baptism by fire, Kiwi style) to riding a rope tow with a nutcracker. Holy. Fucking. Shit. Honestly, I was less scared swimming with sharks at home with bleeding dead fish tied to my leg than when I was standing there watching the rope whiz by me up the icy slopes. As instructed by James and Paul and their Kiwi counterparts, who said, “just do this, it’s easy” and sped uphill before me, leaving me to figure it out on my own, I threw on my climbing harness, and attached to it’s loop my nutcracker (thanks Court!) via two overhand knots at each end of about one foot of nylon parachute cord. The idea is to stand next to the rope, grab it firmly with your hand just like when you were three years old and learning to ski at your local hill, and then once you are being dragged at the same speed as the rope, you deftly flip the nutcracker over the rope with your free hand, clamping it on the rope as you let go and lean into the harness, all the while desperately clasping your poles under your outside arm while speeding towards the steel pulley wheel at the first tower a mere 10 meters above you, sidestepping the rocks in the towline, and wearing poorly fitted 20 year old rental skis missing one tip and delammed about 20 cm from one end. Oh, and with a pair of Axioms strapped to your back. And in brand-new Dobermans, which feel about two sizes too small for my size 12 paddles. Interesting doesn’t even begin to describe it. I made it about 15 meters the first time before I freaked out at the rapidly approaching pulley and lost my grip on the nutcracker and had to “ski” back to the bottom to try again. As it turned out, the second time was the charm, and I managed to make it all the way to the top, where an enraged Martin was waiting for me, and I learned he had come within seconds of being dragged up into the bullwheel mechanism from an entanglement in the tripwire and his nutcracker. Luckily, he freed himself in time, and after some rather colorful cursing, we headed over to Downhill to complete the splice.


Lodge restroom(s), Downhill Basin

Upon our arrival, we started the motor and tried to warm our hands around the exhaust pipe as the rope untwisted itself outside. Suddenly, and to our surprise, the motor sputtered and died. A cursory examination by James and Martin revealed that the fuel line had become frozen with water in the fuel system, and several frustrating hours passed as they dismantled and re-engaged the various filters and lines and injectors on the diesel motor to try and work the ice from the fuel system. Their work paid off, and they eventually got the motor going, and we completed the last splice of the weekend and headed up to try and ski the Minga.

Unfortunately, we were only able to make it about 2/3 of the way up the tow before our way was made impassable by rocks protruding from the snow in the towline, so we hiked the rest of the way to the saddle.

Downhill Basin towline from Minga saddle

I immediately became quite glad I had slogged my Axioms all the way up here, as I watched James drop into the cold smoky powder that had been awaiting our tracks for the last 9 long months.

Getting ready to drop


James, dropping

[Lane Meyer]

I dropped in second, and tried to remember how to make turns in deep, untracked pow after a month and half hiatus. An even longer break made no matter to my Kiwi companions, as they laid down some of the nicest tracks I’ve seen one-plankers make into the Minga, their first turns in over nine months. Since we had to hike back out, we only descended a few hundred meters down before turning back for the saddle, a touogh call given the hundreds of possible lines throught the rocky top of the tiny part of the Minga we had barely even begun to descend.

Imagine dropping into KT from the 5 lakes trail out of Alpine (with absolutely no trees anywhere on either side – nothing but rocks and snow), and then skiing bottomless pow from Eagle’s Nest down to the top of the fingers, looking over, and then hiking back out.

The Minga, or at least 28mm of it

Having never heliskied in Alaska (yet) it’s hard for me to describe the terrain back there without drawing parallels to what I’ve seen on film. The valley drops several thousand meters down into temperate rainforest, rimmed by jagged sawtoothed peaks stretching in every possible direction, mantled in frosty whiteness. You could spend an entire season in that valley alone, and never ski the same place twice. And the locals griped to me, “oh, your from the US, you’ll hate the snow here, it’s wet and nothing like the dry powder you guys have.” I told them they were dead wrong and had no idea how lucky they are, like we are back home in Tahoe, to be blessed with a wet maritime snowpack that adheres safely to terrain you can’t safely ski in Colorado until the very end of the year.

The coverage was excellent as none of us managed to hit bottom despite threading our way through some rocky entrances and chutes, par for the course for early season anywhere. Unfazed by the previous days’ efforts and the last night’s insanity, James again broke trail 90% of the way out of the Minga, proving again that Kiwis are made of something different than us soft Americans. I stopped on the way down to snap a few more pics of the riders throwing down smooth turns in the alpenglow-lit sastrugi, and we began the trek back to the lodge, stopping at every tower to secure the ropes to the towers to guard against storm burial.

First turns of the year, Downhill Basin

The sun set on us as we neared the bottom of the Downhill basin, and we picked up the pace as we realized that we still had a few hours’ more work to do securing rope, cleaning the lodge, and walking down to the carpark. Luckily for us, the cleaning was done by the time we made it down, survival skiing on my garbage-salvaged rental gear. All that remained was to pack up, load our gear into the goods lift, and hike down and aid in the unloading. About an hour later, I stumbled to my van, exhausted, having slipped and tripped my way down the unfamiliar, steep, rocky track by the wavering light of my trusty-yet dying 10 year old Petzl headlamp.

And so ended my first weekend at Temple Basin, my intro to Kiwi ski culture, and my first turns of the rebirth of the 2005 ski season. Things are truly different here – they don’t come easy to lazy people. If you want the goods, you have to work for them. Be they free lodging, free lift ticket, or a few turns in epic terrain and unimaginably beautiful surroundings. As a result, they taste a hell of a lot sweeter. The people I met, from my fellow visiting foreigners to the laid back, incredibly hard working Kiwi locals, are awesome to a man/woman, and I’m stoked to make turns with (hopefully) each and every one of them this year, be it at Temple or elsewhere. You couldn’t ask for a more enthusiastic, stoked group of skiers and boarders. Anyone who is willing to put forth the effort we all did, with a smile the whole time, is awesome in my book. Thanks to all of them for sharing what will probably be of the best weekends I’ll ever have (especially to Paul and James for setting everything up and being so welcoming to us newcomers). Honestly, I’m glad I found Temple Basin, ‘cause I’m one American who’s really looking forward to earning his turns all summer long. Bring on winter #2!

[DJSapp]

I now have some much more respect for everyone who makes Temple (and all the other club fields) work. Just wait until they get slammed with a big storm and you get to help make the trail leading out to Downhill Basin.

Awesome TR Lane, go get some.

edit: be careful in DH basin on heavy pow days. If you are pointing it and eject, your ski will build up a good head of steam, it will fly down the bowl and launch off the ridge into oblivion unless someone stops it (DJSapp's 4,392nd to hate Markers)

[basom]

that is cool.

[surftb15]

nice stoke man

[PNWbrit]

Congratulaitons on starting a new season - looks like an amazing place

[yogachik]

beautiful.
talk about earning your turns...

[midget]

sick ass trip report.
I can't wait to get there!!!!

Be there in the country in 3 days......I'll be down on the south island in about 2 weeks!

[Honc]

That's fkn awesome. Gonz and I gave a guy a lift from Whitewater to Ymir when we were in BC last winter. He was from Christchurch and spent the entire ride telling us about Temple Basin. Been dying to get in there ever since. Place looks t*ts!

[Lane Meyer]

Erik - hit me up if you need a ride or anything. My work schedule is uber flexible (assuming I ever get my damn thesis proposal done!)

[girlski0912]

I am in total awe of your weekend. Nice TR Grant!!!!! Good to hear that Zew Zealand continues to inspire you!

[Trackhead]

VERY NICE!!

[pointemstraight]

Hey, send me the table-climber girl's number! Hot damn! Nice stoke, dude.

[Trackhead]

Could be a funny caption in a climbing sense.

[skea 457]

Aweome trip report! I have to say that getting up on your second attempt at a nutcracker is a bloody good effort, there have been people who couldn't get up after a full day of trying. But I am so bummed that I missed the skiing action on Monday (MASSIVE HANGOVER).

What you have seen so far is still only half the mountain, we never got over to Bills Basin and you were up at Downhill when we set up Cassidy tow so you haven't seen the chutes from Bills to Temple. You are about to have one awesome winter.

[Lane Meyer]

So I gather, Paul, so I gather. Thanks again for the weekend/tour and sorry about the hangover! Next time for sure.

[Tri-Ungulate]

Possibly the coolest TR I've seen here so far.

[InspectorGadget]

As trip reports go, the bar just got raised.

Nice work Lane.

[cj001f]

The clubfields are what I imagine heaven to be. Beautiful scenery, good fun, hard work, hardy feeds, beer, and good people. Lucky bastard.

[MOHSHSIHd]

OMFG....wowowow....kick ass so fucking yeah

[splat]

fell right into it all, didn't jya?

nice.

[skier666]

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOh Snaaaaaaaaaaaap!



...one more good dump and its on!

Hot damn, you make me want to stop everything in life and become a nutcracker seller or a tussock cutter.

[Lane Meyer]

666 - is it safe to assume that you are aware you are featured in the photo gallery of the NZ Skier magazine for May? I'd be happy to send you one if you need.