Day 6 - Skiing in Queenstown

Tuesday 19th June 2012

Started with a "planned" 6.30am wake up to be able to catch the first bus up to Coronet peak ski fields after collecting our skis and boots that we hired the night before. 

Little did they know the icy fate that
awaited them on the slopes...

So 7.30 came and went and we were still deciding on how many layers we should wear, and deciding what to take up to the slopes with us we shuffled down to the ski station where we grabbed our lift passes and bus tickets and hopped on the 9am bus up to the fields. 

Rising above the cloud "sea"

Andrew being the butch man that he is was convinced that he could of driven us and Bertha up to the ski slopes himself, this was before realising the road up their - was a direct 'up' so far up in fact we went through an then above the clouds leaving the glum, misty and wet weather below us under a thick layer of cloud with only the huge mountain peaks left to be seen.

Above the clouds!

After getting the boots fitted and attached ourselves to our skis, we took off! As per usual I was too eager and jumped on the first lift in sight.

Gut-wrenching - the options available for our first attempt
at skiing in a decade. Black or double black?

First ski lift - long, steep. All the way to the highest point in the park. Ended up being black, double black and one blue run only. Now both of us have skied before, albeit about a decade ago. For those familiar with the terminology, we were now admittedly at the level of a newbie snow plower, though without the skill to manage even that move very well. Green runs we could maybe have managed as long as there were no bumps or slopes over 3 degrees of decline. Blue and black runs were not even a glimmer of a thought of a possibility.

Skiing above the cloudline

However the view up there was something to behold. Glittering white peaks soaring out of a sea of flat white clouds. Clear blue dome of sky above. And the brilliant snow around us dropping in steep slopes, gulleys, half pipes, tussocks and groomed piste below. It was a heaven of white above the cloud line. The top of Coronet peak is about 1650m or so, and the base of the skilifts around 1300m.

We literally hemmed and hawed for about 20 minutes in a state of advancing panic before deciding to brave the first death-defying downslope of the blue run. Notwithstanding the beauty of the place, we launched in terror. It was immediately the worst decision we could have made. Our first fall occurred a good 3m from where we had compacted the snow by standing on it so long. Only another 497m to go.

A common sight at Coronet Peak that day !

Somewhere between 45-60minutes later, umpteen crashes, more snowploughing than the run had seen in its history, using the grassy verges as crash barriers, we arrived sodden exhausted and terrified at the base. Small children could be observed lapping us. Ed took his skis off to walk downhill for a while. AG had to check with guest services to ensure no one matching Ed's description had been picked up by an emergency snow mobile for the hour it had taken him to reappear. Not an auspicious start!

2 coffees, some overpriced snow food and a pep talk later, we decided to only stay of the greenest of runs for the rest of the day

Meadows ski run - a dream by comparison. Fluffy, shallow, it could have been coated in marshmallow for all we cared, it was safe. Ish. 

After half a dozen green runs we dared try half a blue run which crossed into our beloved green. It was 30 m of pure ice. AG swerved down only just barely holding onto life and limb. Turned to behold Ed snowplowing straight into the raised bank at the side and losing both skis. It was a safety manoeuvre, which I commended owing to the treachery of the icy run.

We then regrouped, tried some more short blue runs then remade our way to the summit again for the long blue runs. The first was the Million Dollar, bringing to mind one of our favourite Whitney Houston songs Million Dollar Bill.  But Whitney herself couldn't have managed that much white powder or that many icy baths (too soon?). One section seemed to simply end in a dizzying cliff face with what seemed at least a kilometre of vertical face down to a frosty demise below. This was not the stuff a beginner skier's dreams are made of.

This was taken whilst falling
down the mountainside on
our backs together.

The definition of crazy seems to be suffering repeated blows and beatings, then getting to the bottom of the hill and immediately getting on the next lift up to do it all again. And so it went until we had to finally cease our incessant controlled tumbling down the slops of Coronet Peak.

Admittedly we both became quite adept at falling over in order to brake a too-rapid descent. On one particularly vicious blue run, where I had lost control over some dastardly precipice and slid no less than 30m downslope face first - that Ed, teetering over the same vile edge decided it was more prudent to remove skis and slide down on his bum. Inspired.

Battered but not bruised, we took the bus again down to Queenstown. It was all we could do back in Bertha's sweet embrace to simply sit and stare. With a vodka. 

After 2 hours of recovery position on the campervan lounge, we decided to head out. After booking a Milford Sound all day adventure for the following day (once again another luxury of no itineraries - though it did mean missing out on Nelson and Blenheim up the north of the South Island) we hit the local Mexican eatery -quite good- and walked around the delightful lakeside shopping and entertainment district. 

The Man St stairs - 4 flights of agony after a
day on piste.

By night, Queenstown really does enchant. It has that holiday resort town feel, but at this time of year, when the ski fields are just opening but all the winter high season staff have been hired, we felt like stars wherever we went. Great service, near-empty bars and restaurants, and a winter wonderland feel in the air, we fell in love with the place and started planning a return trip!