I don’t know how long it will take for it to seem right to be skiing in July or August, even though we experienced some particularly crappy weather in the UK during what we used to call the summer time, but for now, winter seems to be at the wrong time of year. The matter is not helped by the weather generally being sunny most of the time.
Anyway, we decided to leave the hustle and bustle of the Christchurch grind behind and head down South to Fairlie for a weekend of skiing and messing about in the snow. Three of us from work with their [obviously] better halves made the reasonable journey to Southern Canterbury and Mackenzie Country.
Jackie and myself arrived first, and as usual went in search of food and beer after the grueling three hour drive from the edge of the city to the edge of the wilderness. Once we turned off the main highway (dual carriageway in parts) onto the road to Fairlie, we couldn’t help bust smile about how close it all was to where we live. Marvelous.
Fairlie is probably the shortened version of the name [sic] Fairlie Small, but it was a lovely little place with more than one pub and a couple of places to eat. We went to the pub known locally as the “Bottom Pub” – a name given because it’s location at the bottom of the street – and were in time to get ourselves a legendary Kiwi Roast. Roast veggies, roast lamb, a gallon of gravy and all this for the princely sum of 10 dollars. That’s not even four quid or seven euros and you have to wonder how you make a profit on that kind of price.
The people in the pub were charming and the hospitality of the place was extended to the four stragglers in the group who were set to arrive on empty stomachs after the serving stopped. Meals were boxed up for them on proper plates that we were to return the next day – how nice is that!
There are two ski fields close by and on the Saturday we went over to Roundhill, just by Tekapo (one of our favourite places in New Zealand so far) and had varying degrees of success on the white stuff. Some old hands were struggling with their old bones and some new blood were struggling with the amount of snow. You can’t please all the people all of the time …
On Sunday, we went to the slightly closer Mt Dobson and I thought it was smashing as the old bones warmed to the task but the novices found the beginner’s area a little tougher. One thing’s for sure, the weather was better, nice and sunny and afforded us some great views back over the Mackenzie Basin.
This one’s from the top of Roundhill, early on in the day before it all turned to custard.
This is the team. What a smashing bunch they look, eh? The handsome one’s taking the picture, so missed out on this one. Jackie, Sue, Paul, Mick and Stef. The smiles hide the pain of a thousand falls …
The top of the T bar and the top of the world. We’re above the cloud and there’s barely a soul about.
Another lovely shot – there are seldom any ugly mountains, even in Wales.
On the way back to Fairlie, we dropped below the cloud and mist (reminds me of a joke about a gentleman who took it out and missed, but I cannnay remember the rest of the joke, so you’ll have to make your own up) but the mountains made one last appearance.
The following day, on the way towards Mt Dobson – typical Mackenzie country scene.
Hard to believe that there was so much snow above and behind us when you look out on what’s not changed much since mid summer over the Mackenzie region. Parched, foreboding, ancient and beautiful, but I felt much better once I got a cup of tea up the mountain.
Young Paul enjoying the ride. If you look behind him, you can see all the way to Tekapo and the lake there.
The last ones standing – Paul, Jackie and Mick – before we called it a day.
All in all, a great weekend away and it really felt like we’d been on holiday, never more so than when that damned alarm sounded the death of the weekend on Monday morning. Ah well, there’ll be more times like this soon.