A New Zealand ski odyssey

Growing up in Wanaka, on New Zealand’s South Island, my favourite dinners were when my parents’ old climbing buddies would stop by to swap stories from their adventures in the hills.  Wild tales of nights spent on ledges, of teetering along the ridge of Malte Brun and completing a grand traverse of Mt Cook seemed in stark contrast to my hard working parents. 

The first time I saw Mt Cook up close we were on a family ski touring trip up the Tasman Glacier. The dramatic presence of the mountains there instantly changed me and left memories that are still vividly etched my mind. Spinning a 360 off a jump on 30-year-old Spalding skis on our descent from Hochstetter Dome. Cursing far above my 14 years while battling my way up the Murchison headwall, a classic place to learn to skin on such a rickety set up.

But I fled the tiny island I loved and struck north, lusting after the unlikely dream of conquering the freeride ski scene by competing across Europe and North America. Years of travel, podiums and wrecks crashed on. Wanaka became a place to recover, to slow down and arm myself for the next northern campaign. Each year the loathing to leave home began earlier; as happy as I was once adventuring overseas, my appreciation for home ever increased and I knew I was neglecting the mountains that had formed me. 

After an injury shortened northern trip I returned home and was feeling a lot friskier for some home range adventuring. Being a professional skier it seemed a great opportunity to make a ski film The Sky Piercer documenting our hardest challenge to date. Jase Hancox from CoLab Creative was chomping at the bit and Audi was on board to back our venture once again, having supported us in Alaska and again in Hokkaido. 

But we still needed a team and two names easily sprang to mind. 

Xavier De Le Rue has done and won everything in freeride snowboarding; the man is a living legend and has taken his skills global creating some of the most ridiculous freeride footage from Alaska to the Antarctic Peninsula.

Nadine Wallner I met in Europe, winning a Freeride World Tour stop together in Austria as she was on her way to two World Titles. A calculating and powerful skier Nadine is also a great climber and confident in big terrain. 

Unsurprisingly we immediately ran into difficulties, the weather looking largely disturbed for the entirety of our trip. Days after day we wait and after three long weeks of biding our time and constantly checking the weather, we are all but out of time – and still the weather wouldn’t co-operate. With the crew due to leave in 48 hours and after an uncertain chat with the local guides we decided the morning window on Friday was our only shot. It wasn’t looking that great but it was all we had. 

2am. We lean into the wind and struggle over to the base of the face. Picking our way through serac debris we locate our chosen entry and hopeful exit point, an ice couloir nestled against the cracking serac system. 

A headlamp as your own personal sphere of light, with one in front and two behind, the four of us alone in the dark together, each quietly grinding higher. 

Above the serac band that guards the main face the going is easy so far and our early trepidation turns to delight as we discover cold snow firmly stuck on, thanks to the warmer snow events of late. Though our growing optimism is tempered by the memory of those large, grey ice patches we had scouted from the hut. 

The axe shatters the crème brulee ice skin and the smiles begin to broaden, the ice patches we had spent anxious hours peering at are so weak our freeride skis will cut them to pieces on our return. 

This finally feels like climbing, like how I imagined it from all those stories around the dining table. Staring back at Fraser, perched on the edge of this icy world, great gaping space all around me, the only attachment to earth the constant thunk of metal on ice. 

Pulling up beside Xavier we top out onto the summit ridge as the West Coast comes into view for the first time. The summit is just there but that’s not why we are here. The simple yet immense aesthetics of this line is what has brought us here. Our own bird of prey is circling and the cloud is building fast. It’s time for us to click in and do what we do best. I promise myself I will be back here to take those extra few exposed steps. For the first time I finally feel like this might actually work, that we might get to shred this incredible peak. 

All that taxing waiting is gone, we are here and now and the helicopter is in position. Three, two, one. Xavier and I rally down the face in unison, him leading the first half while we work to the left, a full river of falling snow racing to join the debris at the bottom. Confidence bounding out of control we let it run, huge drawn out drifting turns. There is no effort, the consistent snow and planar face leaves my body on autopilot as I hover above it, staring around incredulous as the surreal rages by. This can’t be happening – high-speed tandem racing down this icon. 

The final crux of the exit couloir nearly unseats me, the ice wall grabs at a ski tip but I have just enough strength to pull it back and fly over the bergshrund back to safety. One by one the crew arrive, all triumphant arms in the air as the reality of what we have done kicks in. A full speed freeride descent is in the bag and on 4k film. Apart from a short rest at the halfway point to reset the cameras, I reckon the descent took us all of five minutes max.

Flying back across the windboard plateau, skis clattering loudly, barely attached legs flopping, we holler our way home. We stagger up the hill to the hut and into the arms of the camera crew. Dishevelled group hugs, frantic storytelling and complete euphoria. 

My respect for this incredible massif and those who scale it has grown. Seeing its every plane from the sky, creeping my way up and down its walls with some of my best friends will always stay with me. To have my own, small story in this arena of incredible daring is extremely special.

But then this is just the beginning. I will be back. 

The film of Sam and the team's epic adventure, The Sky Piercer, will feature at the New Zealand Mountain Film Festival.