The Perfect Day

With impressive accuracy, the pilot touched the skids down onto the slightest of ridge lines, landing so softly it was difficult to notice if we were still flying or not. Minutes earlier we had been sitting on a patio, enjoying the morning views of the upper Rakaia Valley. Now, after stepping out of the chopper, we watched it lift, complete a 180° turn and head back to the valley, all in one graceful motion. Suddenly it was just us - five guys and their gear - standing in awe as we absorbed the view; mountains of jagged Greywacke, blanketed in deep snow, towering over green valleys and fields in the distance. We probably would have stood there with silly grins on our faces all day had guide Jonny Morgan not broken the silence.“Let’s get our gear on and get into it then, eh fellas?” Quickly we snapped to attention, stepping into skis or boards and zipping up jackets. Below the ridge, sheets of pure white powder awaited us. Sheets that were about to be ripped to shreds. Morgan gave us a reminder of the most important instruction for the day: “Keep close to my tracks, and ALWAYS stay behind me”. With that he jumped his skis into a turn and headed down the face. I followed behind the skiers, one of two snowboarders in our group of five. Two turns into the slope and I struck a rock buried beneath the snow, sending me cart wheeling down hill. Sliding to a stop, I shook the soft, dry snow from my face and laughed. This was powder snow, as deep and forgiving as water. Back upright, I took a deep breath, and turned down slope. My heel edge cut in nicely and I aimed for a small bank of snow on my right. Half way up the bank I turned onto my toe side and felt the board glide across the top of the snow. Feeling the rhythm I started to relax. With every turn I gathered speed, carving tracks into the snow like a snake slithering through sand. This was snowboarding at its best – ripping turns in virgin snow – miles from the nearest road, let alone skifield.

Methven Heliski operates in a 6400 km2 area of the Southern Alps, dominated by the Arrowsmith and Ragged Ranges. Founded in 1986 the company has gradually established itself as one of the premier heliski operators in the southern hemisphere. Most notably, thanks to the skill of guides like Jonny Morgan and founder Kevin Boekholt. These guys live the life. Alpine climbing guides in the summer, they spend the winter month’s heli-skiing in the Southern Alps. Throw in a few months of ski guiding in Canada, Greenland and Japan throughout the year, and the typical nine to five grind really starts to look grim.
Sliding to a stop at the end of the first run, my whole body surged as I felt each individual drop of blood pump through my body. This high was going to be hard to beat. I was breathing hard too. Riding in powder is exhausting and altogether unique. To keep the nose of my board from digging into the snow, subsequently bringing me to a halt, I had to put 80% of my weight through my back leg. By the end of each run that leg was swollen with lactic acid. Within minutes the chopper was landing to take us back to the top of another run. Crouching in a huddle over our gear to stop it from blowing away, the helicopter touched down with pin point accuracy an arms length away. Rising steeply we banked into a turn and headed deeper into the mountains. Flying over this incredible country was a brilliant bonus. A helicopter ride is exhilarating on its own. But when you are staring at white fields of snow from above, un-ridden and untouched, brimming with potential, a ride in a helicopter is a ride to the stars.

Landing on another precarious perch (each landing defied belief); we exited and made ready for the next run. The group - now warmed up and primed for anything – was brimming with confidence. Admittedly, the turns on my first run had been a bit sloppy. Now I was keen to make amends. Morgan led off, and graciously my fellow comrades offered me first dibs on the fresh tracks either side of his trail. Determined to perform better, I pointed the nose of my board down slope and gritted my teeth. Making every turn count, rocking from toe to heel, I began to find some form. The major adjustment you have to make when riding in powder is shifting your weight from front to back foot, as the depth and softness of snow requires. It is like trying to balance a scale, looking for the perfect amount of weight to keep each side even. As I followed Morgan I made my first attempt at figure eights – the act of crossing your track with the person’s in front of you – giving the appearance of figure eights connected together in the snow. This only works in fresh snow, so old tracks don’t ruin the affect. My first attempt at figure eights was no great success, but by the end of the second run I was riding well.

Waiting for the chopper at the end of each run gave us the chance to quiz the guides about the area and how they operate. Safety is an integral part of the operation and they closely monitor the biggest danger of all – avalanches. Half way down our first run Morgan performed a snow stability test, a five-minute task which involved isolating a small section of snow and then applying pressure on top to assess its breaking point. This information is recorded and tallied to allow the team to make informed decisions about the safety of the snow pack. “Its all about mitigating risk” informs Morgan. “Because we know this area so well there is never a day we can’t ski. We simply go to an area which we know will offer the safest and most enjoyable riding for that day”. And they have plenty of choice. The company has over 400 different runs tucked up their sleeve, giving them options no matter the conditions. Even if they have had one metre of snow the day before – not an anomaly – the biggest dumps often exceed two metres. All clients are equipped with transceivers too, meaning if an avalanche did swallow someone, finding them again wouldn’t be a problem.

Half way down our third run we met the helicopter for lunch. A table, efficiently hacked out of the snow, was laden with a spread worthy of any big city café; only the view was slightly better than any café I’ve ever visited. The forth run saw us ride down a slope overlooking the Cameron Glacier, discreetly located beneath the winter snow. “Don’t slide too much on that left hand slope” Morgan instructed, pointing to the bank above the lateral moraine of the glacier. “It’s a 300 metre cliff over that ledge. You can still hit the bank but just don’t get into a slide. If you go over, you won’t be coming back”. Good advice, I thought. This was typical of his style - a few key instructions given at the right time – not a bombardment of commands which would detract from the freedom of riding in the open mountains.

Back on top of another thin ridge we geared up for our last run of the day. Hiking fifty odd metres further up the ridgeline to our drop in spot, I felt the ache in my legs. They had covered some ground already. Over each run we descended around 1000 vertical metres, the largest being over 1200 metres. Morgan estimated we skied over 4500 vertical metres, and frequently they exceed 5000m, depending on the runs. That’s equivalent to skiing from the top of Mt. Cook to the sea, and then half way back up again. The legs were hurting but there was no way I was going to miss out. You could have lined me up for another fifty powder runs, and I would have attacked each one until my legs gave way from under me. This was a great one to finish on. Steep at first, it flattened out into wide open slopes, laden with snow begging to be tracked. The run culminated in a snowboarder’s dream – a long natural half pipe – two metres high on either side, allowing me to bust turns up one side, before turning across the bottom of the gully and riding up the other side. The equivalent of a barrelling wave to a surfer. Reaching the end, I fell backwards into the deep snow, completely chuffed with my day. Again the chopper banked into a 180° turn and headed back toward the Rakaia Valley. This time however, we were on it, admiring the views from high and looking forward to a few beers back on the patio.