FIGHTING BOREDOM

One for the Weekenders…. “The weekend has landed! 48 hours of pubs, clubs, drugs and parties - I’ve got 48 hours off from the world man! I’m gunna blow steam outta my head like a screaming kettle!”

Anyone who is into Independent films, English humour or just likes a good party will know this quote from the classic British cult movie, ‘Human Traffic’. A representation of the mundane, the everyday 9-5. Working all day, every day in anticipation for the weekend. Waiting to get to the bars, let loose and show the world what you’re really made of! Shots, shindigs and shenanigans all within grasp as the last work day rolls on!

For the more adventurous folk amongst us, it’s not too dissimilar from this. Take me for example; After leaving a life of travelling, exploring, guiding and chasing endless adventures and cultures around the world - fuelled by an overwhelming urge to see, do and experience everything the planet has to offer; I too have found myself in the daily grind. A 29 year old apprentice carpenter with an appetite for the exciting and different.

We all know what it’s like. Every Friday spent counting down the hours between smokos, checking the weather and fantasizing about what the weekend might have in store. Setting up group chats with potential buddies, finding gear and flicking through guidebooks at every opportunity. Thinking about everything except the task at hand! All whilst trying to look busy every time the boss pokes his head round the corner to make sure i’m not daydreaming again.

Well, as Queenstown life would have it, here we are! 7pm Friday evening. 3 friends. Luke, Stu and myself, in Smiths Craft Beer House along with a menagerie of others fresh off the work week sampling the lastest Chilli Lime IPA, Vanilla Coffee Milk Stout or whatever Nick has recommended from the outrageous beer menu on the chalkboard.The only difference between “us” and “them”? Rather than jugs of beer and shot glasses; In front of us we have loaded fries, a handful of local guidebooks, a bag full enthusiasm and pocket full of experience. Ready to take on the world one adventure at a time!

Climb Day.

“I swear to god I’m never doing this again Luke! It’s not worth the pain, I hate winter climbing!”

A small rant followed by a quick stint of going quiet, crouching down and trying not to vomit onto my unassuming friend in the snow field below. A classic case of the the ‘screaming barfies’ as we call them. Hands and fingers reheating so aggressively that it feels like they’re being held in a pressure cooker full of the hottest thing known to mankind, cooked tomatoes. A solid 2 minutes of muttering obscenities, bouncing around with my hands between my knees and rubbing them together, finally it all goes away. Back to being friends again. With Luke, with winter climbing and with my fingers. The complicated relationship between climbers and the winter season struggles on.

We’re high up in The Remarkables range at this point. The West Face is home to some beautiful climbing, in both summer and winter conditions. Enough routes to satisfy any appetite.One of only a couple of mountain ranges in the world running perfectly North to South. The remarkables is a knife edge ridge of schist, snow and ice with dizzying exposure and steep faces falling nearly 2000m metres to Jacks Point below. To the East, a sheer drop filled with buttresses, couloirs and ice falls to Lake Alta and the ski field. This playground is just a stone’s throw from home, our backyard. With the right knowledge, experience and tools there is an endless amount of fun to be had up here above the famous inversion layer.

When chatting through options the night before, we knew the weather would be less than ideal. Cold, windy, clagged in and generally miserable. But that also meant we would have it to ourselves if we wanted it... and we wanted it.

After loading up the gear, rope and ‘OSM’ bars we begin the hike up the ski field. The skiers on Shadow Basin chair lift greet us with the normal looks of “why are these idiots walking up a ski field when there’s a chair lift here?”

35 minutes later we’re racking up in the lifties hut and getting ready to start the traverse along the Queens Drive to the bottom of our proposed climb, a lovely little gulley combining snow, ice and rock. We chose to move in simul, roped up alpine style to keep safe in the potentially dangerous conditions. Very quickly we are plunged into what seems to be a black and white movie from days gone past. The clouds have drawn in, the air is freezing, the wind howling and any chance of us seeing the beautiful views or getting a good photo seems out of the question.

The only colour penetrating the translucent air is the glow of Stu’s garishly bright, orange jacket as we sidle through waist deep powder above a perilous drop to our right. The rocks tower above us, so laden in Rime, (ice from the freezing fog and moisture in the wind that covers rock in a white vail), it seems as though we’re trapped in the Ice Queen’s palace, a lost world. An enchanted wonderland full of adventures if your willing to go down the rabbit hole to find them. With the wind building and snow blowing upwards we find some natural

"Afteranappropriate amountofbeerandinappropriateamountof hotchipsandpulled pork;wehavecometoa decision.Basedonweather conditions,butmainlyjust whatwefeltlikedoing... Thisweekend’srecipefor fightingofftheboredomwill takeustotheWestFaceof TheRemarkables."

"Gettingto thebelaycave lookinglikethe abominable snowman, Lukeburstinto laughterand snapsaphoto whenheseesthe stateofme. "

protection to make a belay anchor. I slip on another layer to keep out the elements and we start the climb.

Luke has the lead, myself on the belay. Stu’s layered up keeping warm whilst picking away at the Rime with his axes and humouring me with an amount of awful dad jokes and stories of young love that seem way beyond his years.

Greeted by deep snow on top of schist rubble and glossy ice from previous cycles, Luke makes his way up the first pitch. 10m of easy boot pack then the route steepens up to where couloir narrows into a tight gulley of rock and poor ice, packed into a tight corner. With the cloud shrouding us in a milky blanket of cold, crystallized air he quickly goes out of sight. I have to use the feel of the rope and its movements, along the occasional faint call, to safely belay in conditions that make it near on impossible to communicate between climber and belayer.

We knew this might happen, no big deal. We had come prepared. Both leader and belayer carry a small 2 way radio to make communication possible. Securely tied to the Zip of my Jacket, I’d forgotten I even had this in my breast pocket until I leant forward and pushed it between my chest and the rope. “Todayyyyy is guna be the day that were

guna bring back to you…..” apparently it a had an FM receiver and to our surprise, Oasis, Wonderwall starts blaring from my frozen jacket. Unable to turn this off due to my extremely attentive belaying technique we make a decision...if you can’t beat them, join them! And just like that, sounding like a couple of out of tune drunks marching through the street at 4am, Ferg pies in hand, we sing along. Screeching out our own rendition of the love, hate song from the 90s.

Remember Luke up there climbing? He has no idea what’s going and is probably wondering how a couple of fighting cats got all the way up here. Eventually Noel Gallagher stops serenading us and we hear Lukes muffled voice from above. The first call on the radios that day… “Sorry mate we were singing to Wonderwall.” A friendly but somewhat stern reply… “Safe.On Belay.” Point taken. We’re up next.

A quick game of rock, paper, scissors and its decided Stu will have to pick away at the schist a little longer and think of some more terrible jokes until it was his turn to have some fun. He learnt a valuable lesson learnt there. Don’t lose at Rock Paper Scissors whilst climbing in a 3. As I begin seconding the relatively simple M4 route, I realise just how cold it is, fingertips already burning, balaclava on, hood up, zipper zipped and a big stupid smile on my face, a glutton for punishment and ready to rock!

Whilst belaying I’d kept my goggles on my helmet, not on my face - bad call James. Goggles are steamed up and wet inside. Coupled with the fact we were climbing inside a storm cloud, I now have zero chance of seeing anything with them on, looks like i’m going au naturale on this one.

A new goal of ‘don’t let the eyeballs freeze’ was set and I ascend to the intermediate stance. Taking a face full of snow and ice with every, axe placement, belly shuffle, gear retrieval, hold and step that I made, this may have the most uncomfortable climb I’ve done. Getting to the belay cave looking like the abominable snowman, Luke burst into laughter and snaps a photo when he sees the state of me. Revenge for the Wonderwall incident I guess. 1-1.

Immediately after getting safe in our little cave, I’m welcomed, with full colours, by my hands reheating. The worst time in any winter climbing trip, the inevitable has arrived. I’ll be over here complaining and shouting swear words if you need me! Eventually my hands warm up and I’m able to take the camera and start snapping

"Whetheryou climbedeverest, walkedaround alakewiththe kidsordida fewpitchesina crappyweather withacoupleof friends,Isaywe rememberthose goldentimes.For usmeremortals, they’rewhat counts."

away, trying to get the shot as he belays our third climber up the pitch. The clouds rumble past. Lifting, lowering, clagging in, parting, blowing in swirls around us. Then there it is.

For brief moment the clouds part and we can see the green farm land 2000m below inject its vibrant, warming hue into the frame. I press the shutter button. Got it! That beautiful moment had gone as quickly as it had come. The clouds rolled in again and we were back in the old black and white movie we had been immersed in before. But the moment was saved forever in our minds and temporarily in the camera and where ever the photo will make its way to in the future.

These tiny snapshots that capture big moments is why we do this. The discomfort, the learning, the fear and the unforgettable times with friends are what it’s all about.

After a short while, Stu arrives at the belay. As expected, he looks at us, looks at his hands, quickly goes quiet, and puts his hands between his legs. “I need some water please” The longest two minutes of his life begins. Screaming barfies, Stus turn!

A couple of minutes later we’re laughing, swapping gear, cracking jokes at each other and readying ourselves for the climb above. Warmed up, psyched up and ready to go we continue on the remaining pitches of the climb. After another hour or two of chipping away at ice, punching through snow, clawing at rock and being blown to bits by the wind we reach the top.

A ridge, sharp as a katana, being battered by the elements. Venturi effect and rotor causing the frigid air to blow at warp speeds in all directions. Im sure if we could have seen the view it would have been a beautiful place to finish. As it happens, we couldn’t.

A quick high five and a couple of photos later it’s time to get the clobber together and get out of this frozen wind tunnel and make our descent to the warmth and comfort we knew was somewhere below.

Once on easy enough ground we run, skip, fall, tumble and slide on our bums - laughing and shouting the whole way down. The people on the lift now a little jealous that we were having far more fun that they were despite having no skis on our feet. We took what we had and we made the most of it and we had a blast.

That’s the key. Whatever you’re doing, Embrace it, accept it and be present. Live in the moment. Then it’s possible to really start enjoying those 48 hours of freedom we so eagerly await.

We make it down and run into the base building like three teenagers at a school disco, covered in snow and grinning from ear to ear. Ropes, crampons, axes and other climbing paraphernalia hanging off of us as if someone has played buckaroo on us. We grab warm Ginger Bear at the bar and find a seat amongst the masses. As we slowly dry out and eat the remainder of our rice and One Square Meal, we shuffle through photos and compare stories. It seemed we had all managed to capture a perfect moment at some point during the day. All three of us had seen something the other didn’t, experienced something the other was unaware of and captured it with the click of a button. A frozen moment, frozen in time. A moment to share with everyone and recount stories about for years to come. The warm drinks have done the trick. It’s home time.

Just as sure as our weekend will finish and Monday draws closer, so will the season. But with the end of winter, the spring opens new doors and new ways to get outside and play. New opportunities arise and experiences await. I say we take look back on the winter gone, remember the weekends and the days off.

Whether you climbed everest, walked around a lake with the kids or did a few pitches in a crappy weather with a couple of friends, I say we remember those golden times. For us mere mortals, they’re what counts.

So, for the weekenders, this one’s for you. For everyone working hard all day, dreaming up expeditions, fantasizing on lunch breaks and counting down the hours until it’s time to get out there and get after it! For everyone who’s chasing the adventures no matter the weather. Just for the love of it. For all the people who go back to work on a Monday more tired, more beaten, bruised, injured and worn out that the Friday afternoon, but with more stories and a bigger smile... I salute you, this round is on me.