FEATUREDRIVING INTO SUNSHINEBY DEREK GRZELEWSKIAT THE SOUTHERNLAKES, the change ofseason from autumnto winter heralds thearrival of the dreaded inversionlayer, a low cloud that oppresses thelandscape like a slab of concrete.The phenomenon is caused bythe winter air above being muchcolder than the lake waters, whichstill radiate their stored summerheat, and it usually lasts for a fewweeks. After the exuberance andgolden fire of autumn, this gloomseems to sap all joy out of the land,turning it into a grey void, coldand uninviting.The savvy locals usually taketheir winter escapes to the PacificIslands at this time – you wouldn’twant to escape winter proper, oneof the Lakes’ greatest attractions– and I, too, have done that. But Ihave found an easier and moreimmediate solution, an escape to adifferent kind of island, to combatthis weather-induced melancholy.The inversion layer is only a fewhundred metres thick and, if youdrive up any mountain road – a skifield or an alpine pass – you quicklyget out of the drizzly fog and into themost brilliant sunshine. We take ourpicnics and hiking gear and driveup to spend a few hours in the sun,recharging our inner solar batteriesat an altitude. From up there, theinversion layer is like a white sea,with the mountain peaks protrudingfrom it like an island archipelago.With the sunlit fog blinding like thesurface of a glacier, the views arewhat this land must have lookedlike at the peak of the Ice Age.After soaking up the sun andthe wide-open vistas, we returnto the world of fog, immune to itssombre moods.PHOTOGRAPHY: PHOTO NZ22 AA Directions Winter 2013
FEATUREGAMINGAT G ALBRAITHSBY ALICE GALLETLYAT THE RISK of sounding like a masochist,I really hope it rains on Sunday.Ideally, we’ll be battered by an icy southerlygale – the kind that makes your eyes water –accompanied by crashing thunder and maybeeven a bit of hail. Why? Because those are theperfect conditions for playing my favouritewinter sports.Picking the right venue is crucial. InAuckland, there are few places where I’d feelcomfortable taking my Scrabble board, fewerstill where I’d spread the medieval fantasygame, Dominion, across a table. But, atGalbraith’s Alehouse I’ll happily do either.My friends and I try to get a table near thefire, and I sit with my back to it, so I can seethe room. In a previous life, Galbraith’s was theGrafton Library and it still feels very grand withits high, vaulted ceilings and polished woodpanelling. It reminds me of a much biggerversion of my English Grandmother’s house.Through a glass-walled room you can see thebrewery, and the gentle scent of malt and hopsmingles with Sunday roasts.If there’s ever music playing, I don’t noticeit. It’s usually quiet enough to hear the clack ofScrabble tiles, or the thud of heavy pint glasseson the wooden tables. Mine is always filledwith Bob’s Bitter; the creamy, citrus-scentedcask ale that I call "My Secret Weapon". It’sonly 4% you see, so I can sip it through a fewScrabble matches and still spell the words.To be honest, though, I’m less competitivewhen I play at Galbraith’s. Even if I lose, Ionly have to listen to the rain hammeringthe windows – unable to penetrate this cozywooden fortress – to feel I’ve beat winter atits own game.POWDER HOUNDSBY DEREK GRZELEWSKIEVERY YEAR WE wait for it with an odd mixture ofanticipation: the way drought-stricken land pines for rain,and how children await Christmas. When it does come,unpredictable but unfailing, it refreshes both outer andinner worlds, repainting the mountain landscapes pureand new, sparking excitement and joy in the hearts ofmany, and not just humans.Fresh snow! One of nature’s greatest miracles. Zillionsof tiny falling white stars, each a crystalline gem whenexamined under a magnifying glass, interlacing together,settling silently, promising – and delivering – the ecstasy ofpowder skiing.'Powder' snow is soft like eiderdown and, ideally, atleast knee-deep. It is as elusive and ephemeral as goodsurf. You have to catch it on just the right day and thisoften entails a lot of winter driving, much of it with snowchains on. Winter road closures are one sure sign that thepowder is up.Four years ago, and a year into her puppyhood, myAiredale Maya showed an unusual trait: a mere glimpseof skis and the clang of the planks snapping togetherbrought out in her the same reaction the sight of a huntingrifle stirs up in a gun dog. Uncontainable excitement andreadiness. I could wholeheartedly relate and, so, we’vebecome best ski buddies, together seeking the freshestand deepest snow, like proverbial powder hounds.There is style and aesthetics to skiing fresh snow – howbig the turns, how round and frequent, what path youchoose down the untracked mountain slope – and so theski lines are as individual as signatures. While I aspire tomake my ski lines a calligraphy in motion, Maya picks themost direct, and thus often the steepest, path like a stonerolling down the mountain. In snow lingo this is called“skiing the fall-line,” the hallmark of an expert.www.aadirections.co.nz 23