Adventure Magazine

adventure

where actions speak louder than words

where actions speak louder than words

ISSUE 255

Apr-May 2026

NZ $16.90 incl. GST

the

SURVIVAL

iSsue

you have a voice

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After about an hour underground, we started

heading back through the cave system. It was

properly dark now. The kind of dark where

your head torch becomes your entire world.

The walls of the cave glowed in the narrow

beam of light, wet rock reflecting back in

strange shapes as we picked our way across

the slippery floor.

Eventually, we reached a junction. Three

tunnels split away from the chamber.

One we had just come through, and two

others disappearing off into blackness, in

completely different directions. The guide

turned and smiled in the yellow glow of her

helmet light. “Ok… which way?”

Now on paper I should have been ready for

this moment. I am the editor of Adventure

magazine. I hike, ski, surf, tramp, dive,

paddle, ride bikes and generally spend a lot

of time in wild places. Looking after myself

outdoors is something I take a fair amount of

pride in. Standing there in that cave, however

I had absolutely no idea which way to go.

Up. Down. Left. Right. They all looked

identical. - It was a coin toss. I pointed

confidently at one of the tunnels.Wrong.

At some point during the squeezes,

the towering stalactites and the general

underground theatre, I had quietly handed

over ownership of my own safety. Not

consciously. Not dramatically. It just

happened. I had stepped into the role of

participant and assumed the person in the

helmet at the front knew exactly where they

were going.

Which, to be fair, she probably did.

But the moment was interesting.

Because it reminded me how quickly that

shift happens when you join a guided group.

You start paying less attention. You stop

tracking direction. You assume someone else

is handling the navigation, the judgement

calls, the overall situation. You become a

passenger.

In the outdoors that is a dangerous habit

to build. Guides bring experience and

knowledge that can be hugely valuable.

They open access to places most of us would

never explore on our own. But it is still your

body, your safety and your responsibility

moving through any environment.

You always have a voice.

You can question a route. You can ask about

conditions. You can say you are cold, tired or

uncomfortable with a decision. Good guides

actually welcome that. They know engaged

clients are safer clients.

Standing in that cave junction I realised

something simple. The outdoors does not

hand responsibility to the person wearing

the guide badge. It spreads it across

everyone in the group.

Adventure tourism has grown into a

serious industry. Guides, risk assessments,

operating procedures, safety briefings.

Entire layers of professional oversight

now sit between the participant and the

environment. In many ways that is a good

thing. Skilled guides and experienced

operators open doors that most people

could never safely enter on their own.

But there is a subtle problem creeping

in alongside that professionalism. When

everything is managed by someone else,

people slowly lose the instinct to manage

themselves. It happens quietly. You join

a guided trip and from the first moment

the signals are clear: Follow the leader,

Listen to the briefing, Stay where you are

told, Sign the waiver. The guide carries the

communication gear, the guide makes the

weather call and the guide decides when to

move and when to stop.

Before long many people mentally step out

of the decision making process entirely.

Responsibility shifts. You become cargo.

That might sound harsh, but spend enough

time around organised adventure tourism

and you see the pattern everywhere. Groups

standing around waiting to be told what to

do next. People looking to the guide for

permission to add a jacket or take a drink.

Basic situational awareness quietly fading

because someone else is officially in charge.

The irony is that the natural environments

we seek out do not care who the expert is

supposed to be. Mountains do not recognise

job titles. Rivers do not read qualifications.

Weather systems certainly do not check the

guide's resume before arriving.

In the backcountry, every individual is

ultimately responsible for their own safety.

Even inside a guided group.

Adventure has always been about

judgement. Reading terrain. Understanding

risk. Making decisions with imperfect

information. Those skills only develop

through involvement. They disappear

quickly when everything is outsourced.

None of this means guides are unnecessary.

Quite the opposite. Good guides expand

the frontier of what is possible and bring

experience that few individuals can match.

But the relationship works best when it

remains a partnership.

Listen to the guide. Learn from the guide.

Respect the systems that keep groups safe.

Just do not switch off your own brain in the

process.

Because the moment you stop thinking

for yourself in wild places is usually the

moment the mountains begin to teach a

lesson you did not plan to learn and it will

be you who heads off down the dark tunnel

that goes nowhere.

Steve Dickinson / Editor

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BEHIND THE COVER:

Canadian climber Will Gadd on

overhanging ice at the Temple of Silence,

deep in the Alberta Rockies. It is remote,

steep, and hard to access, where getting

there is part of the challenge.

The image was captured by John

Price, known for documenting high

level climbing in harsh environments.

The angle tells the story. This is not a

straightforward climb. The ice pushes

out above the climber, forcing precise,

controlled movement. Axes are hooked

into small features, feet placed carefully

you can see the stress in the image – that

is what makes it so engaging.

Ice climbing carries real risk. Ice can

fracture without warning, placements

can fail, and protection is often marginal.

Falls are rarely clean. It demands

complete focus and trust in both skill,

judgement and luck.

Fame climber Alex Honnold

described ice climbing as "Novelty.

Unpredictability. Abundant complexity.

Challenges at the edge of your ability,"

Will Gadd, the climber in this image, is

one of the most experienced climbers in

the world, known for opening difficult

new routes. This image captures that

level of control in a setting with no

margin for error.

This image was included as part of

Red Bull Illume, a global photography

competition focused on adventure and

action sports. The images are not staged.

They document real moments, in real

environments, under real pressure.

Credit: Photographer: John Price Athlete: Will Gadd Location: Temple of Silence, AB, Canada

Red Bull Illume 2020

EDITOR & ADVERTISING MANAGER

Steve Dickinson

Mob: 027 577 5014

steve@pacificmedia.co.nz

ART DIRECTOR

Lynne Dickinson

design@pacificmedia.co.nz

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the publisher does not assume any responsibility or liability for loss or damage which may result from any inaccuracy or omission in this publication, or from the use of information contained herein and the publishers make no warranties, expressed or implied, with respect to any of the material contained herein.

WORLD NEWS

ADVENTURE NEWS FROM AROUND THE WORLD

Read the full story on our website.

NO SNOW FOR USA

Start

Warm.

Across the United States this winter,

snow has been patchy at best and non

existent at worst. Large parts of the West

and Northeast have been running on thin

cover, with some resorts delaying opening

and others operating on stripped back

terrain held together by snowmaking.

In California, several smaller hills either

opened late or not at all through early

season. Even major players like Mammoth

Mountain and Palisades Tahoe leaned

heavily on artificial snow to keep core

lifts turning. In the Midwest, marginal

temperatures meant short, inconsistent

seasons, with some local fields simply

unable to justify opening costs.

The driver is clear. Warmer early winter

temperatures, erratic storm cycles, and rain

events at elevations that should be snow.

Add rising operating costs and resorts are

being forced into tough calls. If the snow

does not come early, the economics start

to fall apart quickly.

couldn’t get lifts turning through early

season. Mid season, Mt Shasta Ski Park

and Mt Ashland were forced to shut down

as warm storms stripped what little base

they had.

The bigger story sits with the majors.

Palisades Tahoe, Park City, Beaver Creek,

Steamboat, Alta, Snowbird and Deer Valley

all delayed openings or ran severely

limited terrain, in some cases through peak

holiday periods.

Image compliments of Facebook

For skiers, it has meant fewer days and

crowded slopes. For operators, it is a

reminder that consistency, not just snowfall

totals, is now the real battleground.

Only a handful of resorts fully failed to

open, but the names stand out. Cranor Hill

did not open at all, while Pebble Creek

So while the outright closures are relatively

few, the reality on the

ground has been widespread

disruption. Late starts, thin

cover, and seasons that never

properly got up and running.

KIWI WINS NATURAL SELECTION

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Kiwi snowboarder Zoi Sadowski-Synnott

has claimed victory at the Natural

Selection Tour finals, locking in her

second title at one of the sport’s most

demanding events.

The final in Revelstoke was briefly

halted by a fast moving snow squall,

but once conditions cleared, Sadowski

Synnott delivered when it counted.

Despite a small mistake high on the

course, she put down the strongest run

of the day, combining technical freestyle

with confident riding through exposed

terrain.

The win adds to an already dominant

period, coming off recent Olympic silver

medals and reinforcing her position at

the very top of women’s snowboarding.

She led a strong field that included Šárka

Pančochová and Billy Pelchat, both riding

at a high level on a course that demands

full commitment.

In the men’s field, Nils Mindnich took the

win, edging out Canada’s Brin Alexander in

a tightly fought final.

For Sadowski Synnott, it is another

statement result. Big terrain, high pressure,

and she delivered.

Image compliments of Natural Selection

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OVER 100 DEAD IN EUROPEAN WINTER AVALANCHES

The numbers out of Europe this winter

are hard to ignore, and harder to dismiss

as just another bad season. Since October,

avalanche deaths have pushed past 100 and

kept climbing, with figures sitting around

119 to 125 fatalities by late February and

early March.

100 is not a spike. It is the full season

average. Europe has already hit that mark

with months of winter still to run.

Zoom in closer and the pattern sharpens.

By early February, the toll was already

around 60, then accelerated quickly

through a run of storms, weak snowpack,

and high-risk conditions across the Alps.

France, Italy, Austria and Switzerland are

carrying most of the weight, with France

alone well above its usual numbers for this

point in the season.

Image by Pixels

Fatalities have come in clusters, often

involving experienced skiers and riders

moving outside controlled terrain. Level 3

and Level 4 danger ratings, the ones people

tend to underestimate, have featured

heavily.

What is driving it is a familiar but

dangerous mix. Repeated heavy snowfall

landing on unstable layers, strong winds

loading slopes, and more people pushing

into the backcountry chasing fresh lines.

Climate shifts are also playing a role,

changing how snow bonds and increasing

instability at altitude. Put simply, this has

been one of the more lethal European

winters in recent memory. Not because the

mountains changed overnight, but because

the margin for error has narrowed, and

more people are stepping into it.

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WORLD WINGSUIT CHAMPION DIES IN FALL

World champion wingsuit pilot Pierre

Wolnik has died following a parachute

failure during a jump in the French Alps.

The 37 year old was flying from a helicopter

above Mont Blanc when the incident

occurred. Reports indicate he completed the

wingsuit phase of the jump and deployed

at the expected altitude, but his canopy

failed to open. He impacted at high speed

in the Bossons area. Emergency services

responded, but he died at the scene.

Wolnik was one of the leading figures in

competitive wingsuit flying, claiming world

Image by Facebook

titles in 2022 and 2024. Known for precision

and consistency, he had been expected to

compete again this season.

Wingsuit flying allows pilots to generate lift

and glide horizontally before deploying a

parachute. While equipment and training

have advanced, the margin for error remains

narrow when systems fail.

The French Parachuting Federation

confirmed his death, with tributes

coming from across the global freefall

community. Authorities are investigating the

circumstances surrounding the jump.

BOBO.CO.NZ/ SALEWA

NOT JUST COVID GOES VIRAL!

One reel, and the numbers tell the story.

@adventuremagazine. More than 810,000

views, with 98.7 percent coming from

outside the existing audience. That is not

a loyal base ticking along, that is content

breaking free and finding new ground.

It reached over 580,000 accounts and

generated more than 42,000 interactions.

The shape of that engagement is where

it gets interesting. Over 4,600 shares and

close to 800 saves point to something

people felt was worth passing on or

coming back to. Likes are strong at nearly

36,000, but it is the sharing behaviour that

pushed it wider.

Comments remained

relatively tight at

under 500, suggesting

this was less about

debate and more about

momentum. Watch,

react, move it on. It

also delivered just over

660 new followers, a clean lift off a single

post. No tricks here. Just content that landed

at the right time, in the right format, and

travelled well beyond its starting point.

See the world.

Don’t carry the

weight of it.

SNOW LEOPARD ATTACK

A skier has survived a snow leopard attack

at Keketuohai UNESCO Global Geopark

after reportedly approaching the animal

for a photo.

The incident occurred near Keketuohai

International Ski Resort, where sightings

had already triggered warnings from

local authorities. Witness footage shows

the leopard standing over the skier

before backing off as others moved in.

The woman was left with facial injuries

but remained conscious and was later

hospitalised in stable condition. Her

helmet is believed to have prevented more

serious harm.

Officials confirmed the skier ignored clear

signage and advice to keep distance from

wildlife. The animal had been in the area

for some time and was visibly agitated

before the attack.

When encounters turn

physical, it is almost always

because boundaries have

been crossed.

Keketuohai is a protected environment. It

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Snow leopards are rarely involved in

human incidents, but they are powerful

alpine predators built for this terrain.

In the hours following the incident, AI generated images began circulating online, exaggerating the

scene and, in some cases, showing entirely fabricated attacks. Those images were not real and added

noise to what was already a serious situation.

'REAL REVIEW' - GEAR

Reviews come in all

shapes and sizes.

Then there is the REAL

REVIEW; where a writer

offers their candid

opinion. It's important to remember

that this represents just one person's

perspective, not necessarily the official

stance of Adventure magazine. But

that's precisely what makes it valuable:

it's a REAL REVIEW, unfiltered and

authentic.

BRINGING FEATURES TO LIFE

If you come across this TV logo

or headphones in the digital issue,

simply click on it to access the

corresponding YouTube, video link or

podcast, bringing the feature to life.

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NZ.YETI.COM / AU.YETI.COM

$10,000 in

cash and

prizes

entries

now OPEN

Momentum Photo Quest

is open to professional

and amateur

photographers.

$10,000 in cash and prizes,

awarded across six categories

Momentum Photo Quest is a photography

competition built around one simple

concept. Real adventure carries

consequence.

It is not decoration. It is not theatre. It is

movement with intent, judgement under

pressure, and moments earned through

experience rather than luck.

This is a search for images that hold

weight. Frames that reflect commitment,

decision making and presence, uncertain

environments or the magic of a location.

Momentum rewards images that feel true

because they are true.

If your photography is built on

substance rather than spectacle, this is

where it belongs.

The competition offers over $10,000 in cash and prizes,

awarded across six categories and to one Overall Winner.

Categories include:

Category 1 / Forward Motion

Images that show progress into uncertainty. Movement with intent, timing under pressure and moments that cannot be

repeated.

Category 2 / Next Line

Emerging photographers whose work signals direction and potential. Fresh perspective backed by substance and instinct.

Category 3 / Impact

Frames that transmit force, intensity or consequence. Whether quiet or explosive, the image must be felt.

Category 4 / The People Behind It

Adventure seen through the humans who live it. Culture, preparation, connection and the reality behind the action.

Category 5 / Unbound

Creative approaches that push the medium without losing truth. Experimental work that serves the story. Yes, AI may be

used in this category.

Category 6 / Where We Play

Adventure unfolding in unexpected or overlooked environments. Place matters, but how it is used matters more.

Each category awards a Winner and Runner Up, with the Overall Winner selected from category winners.

Momentum is judged on credibility, judgement and honesty. Recognition matters as much as the prize pool.

Being named a Momentum Photo Quest winner signals work that stands up to scrutiny and time.

Entries must depict real moments of adventure or location. Excessive manipulation that alters the truth of the

scene is discouraged outside the Unbound category. Smartphone and film images are welcome if they meet

submission standards.

Entries are submitted online with full details including image context and capture information. Full rules,

technical requirements, deadlines and submission forms are available at the official website location.

Entries now open Momentum Adventure Photo Quest (zero entry fee)

10//WHERE ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS/#255

surviving the

cassiar highway

when great adventure come from bad ideas

Interview with Johan Rosen and Nick Khattar

Join a wild adventure where four friends with no plans other

than snowboarding and camping, embark on a 1350km

winter bicycle mission from Canada to Alaska. Narrated by

Jamie Lynn.

After receiving multiple nominations and awards for their first film "Without

a Paddle - A Canoe Film about Snowboarding", Johan Rosen and Nick

Khattar have returned with an equally ambitious sequel. In the pursuit

of glory and fame and through an unexpected turn of events they find

themselves on an extreme winter bicycle trip towing trailers packed with

snowboards, camping gear and a piano…down one of Canada's most

remote highways: Route 37 - The Cassiar Highway. The goal? Snowboarding

the legendary spines of Alaska.

Will they make it to the promise-land or will the dangers

of the road swallow them alive?

Bicycling through Gitanyow, home to some of the oldest-known and largest collection of totem poles in British Columbia. Photo by Nick Khattar


Photos by Stephen Hare

Adventure reached out to Johan and Nick - with a few in-depth questions.

The film opens on the idea that great adventures often

come from bad ideas. At what point did you realise this

one might genuinely break you? Me (Johan) and Nick

have a history of coming up with dumb ideas that we take

on with a lot of enthusiasm. We’ve learnt that it’s not so

much about what you do, it’s who you do it with, and

what lessons and memories it leaves you with afterwards.

We definitely got a brutal taste of reality when we realized

that it would be a lot harder than we had imagined to

make good distance in a day. Towing these two wheeled

trailers, loaded to the brim with all of our gear, turned out

to be hard labour, especially through the sections of the

trip when the road was obstructed with snow and slush.

But after all, we’re used to physical labor and pain, so that

was not the hardest part. It was the psychological aspect

that was the hardest. When you push through harsh

conditions without rest days, with aching bodies also

adding some tensions within the group; all while you’re

also trying to build a story that makes sense; you end up

with a lot of thoughts circulating around in your head. On

a trip like this it’s more like you against your own mind.

Why bicycles? Of all the ways to get north, what made

pedalling 1350 kilometres with snowboards feel like

the least sensible and therefore most necessary option?

(Johan) When you drive somewhere it all about where

you’re going. Sure, you can make stops and snap photos

through the window, but in the end of the day, you’re

flying through landscapes faster than you can think, with

little time to really reflect on where you actually are at the

moment. This journey is more about the journey than it is

about the destination.

We made a film a few years ago where we paddled

canoes down the Columbia River, in the middle of winter,

while snowboarding and camping along the way, named

“Without a Paddle”. For the sequel we wanted to do

something that fits the theme of the film series. We have

always talked about going to Alaska together, so why not

do it on bicycles along one of the most remote highways

in Canada, that travels through some of the best-looking

mountains in this continent?

Highway 37 is famously empty and unforgiving. What

did the remoteness take from you mentally before it gave

anything back? (Nick) The remoteness was a bit of a

blessing and curse: a blessing because we didn’t have to

worry about semi-truck traffic or other dangerous road

traffic (except for some sections, which were insanely

busy with the heaviest kind of traffic) and a curse because

hours and days on end of seeing nothing but the haste

expanse of northern Canadian wilderness can really wear

on your mind.

It’s not really possible to spend 8-10hrs biking next to

someone and chatting the whole time so a lot of time

you’d end up on your own maybe even 100+ metres or

more (sometimes KM’s) separated from the group and

you’ve got nothing but your own thoughts to keep you

company. Especially when the riding was smooth and

weather was good you literally just have to move your

legs so you end up spending a lot of time lost in your

thoughts which after 2 or 3 days straight can really get to

you.

But in the same sense I’d say that’s kind of what the

remoteness gave back, is that opportunity to be alone in

silence with nothing and no one but your own thoughts.

I mean there are people who pay good money to go on

silent retreats. Well, you could do that or you could just

spend a week bicycling down the Cassiar Highway. On

Highway 37, if you’re out there biking after dark and

there’s no stars or moon out that night: you look out into

the void and the void is definitely looking back at you.

Johan Rosen. Snowboarding in Alaska keeps you on your toes. Luckily Johan snuck away from this slide. Photo by Nick Khattar

14//WHERE ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS/#255 ADVENTUREMAGAZINE.CO.NZ//15

Photos by Stephen Hare

You climbed more elevation than Everest without a summit

moment. How did that constant effort reshape your

understanding of endurance and success? (Johan) When you

climb Everest you spend a lot of time preparing for the climb:

you need to train to be strong enough, you need to spend time

at high elevation and you need to wait for a weather window

to align with your summit climb. For us, this journey ended up

being more of a slug-fest without prior preparations or time to

wait for the optimal window to do it. As snowboarding is our

main focus, and personal passion (for me it’s my profession

as a snowboarding athlete), leading up to the trip we were so

busy riding in the slopes and backcountry that we didn’t spend

any time training on our bicycles. When it was time to go, we

simply just hopped on our bikes and started to pedal. We did

also not really have any options for “when” we were going. We

had a date set and that was when we had to go, no matter what

the weather was doing. As a result of these factors, we ended

up having sore knees, painful ankles and sore bodies from not

being used to the movement of pedalling; and we were forced to

blindly push through some insane weather conditions to be able

to make it to Alaska at the right time.

So as far as how the constant effort reshaped my understanding

of endurance and success: I really started understanding how

important of a factor “TIME” is. “Time Heals All Wounds” they

say, so when you do not allow yourself much “time” when

doing something very exhausting and tough; you end up feeling

unnecessary pain, exhaustion, frustrations and frictions within

the crew. With enough time you can do almost anything… but

when you’re trying to do something this challenging with only

one rest day, things can, and will go wrong.

Cash was tight, gear was questionable and the weather

indifferent. What was the lowest point of the journey where

quitting felt logical? (Johan) In my mind I didn’t allow myself

to even think about quitting. I think that in order to be able

to get through extreme efforts you need to trick yourself into

only focusing on the stuff that needs to be done in order to be

successful. When things get hard and serious, even dangerous,

you focus on getting through these parts, step by step. Of

course, if something is so dangerous that it would be too dumb

to go any further, you have to consider your options, and maybe

quitting is the best option at that time; but I never reach such

a point. I put myself into this position, accepted this goal, with

this crew, and the only option for me was to go through with

what I had taken on… And I think that I would speak for all of

us when I say that. When you joke about the hard shit you go

through, things get easier!

Humour plays a big role in the film. Was laughter a coping

mechanism or did the comedy only emerge once you survived

the worst of it? (Nick) I think for us (Johan, Nick and most of our

friends) humour is always a coping mechanism, not just for the

trials and tribulations of a hard adventure but in regular day life

also. I think that’s why we are such good friends and why we

are able to do (and actually enjoy) these misery fests. Because

we have become so good at finding humour in the absolute

worst moments and I think that’s what allows us to be successful

in these situations. It’s not that we don’t take things seriously but

rather we able to objectively assess a situation and pretty quickly

find the humour, if any in it. We are also firm believers that there

is rarely an adventure story that is better told without at least a

little bit of humour.

You wove regional history into a modern human powered

journey. Why was it important that this film carried cultural

context rather than just suffering and spectacle? (Nick) For us,

with these projects, we believe it’s important to not just tell the

story of what we did but also tell the story of the people and

places we encounter along the way. I think too often people

make these projects all about their big impressive adventure,

which is cool and important, but in doing so you overlook so

much history. So, we think it’s important to pay homage to the

history of the people that came before us and to the places that

we are fortunate enough to occupy during these things we do.

And we put faith in our audience that they also are interested in

more than just the spectacle of the suffering and insanity.

The group is getting closer to their reward of finishing the gruelling bicycle ride: the spines of Alaska! Photo by Johan Rosen


opinion...

the right side

of caution

the ability to manage risk thoughtfully

Words by Lynne Dickinson

Image from Guy Cotter

In adventure, uncertainty is part of

the appeal. But when the signs of risk

are present, knowing when to step

back is not weakness, it is judgement.

Mountains, rivers, coastlines and even

our communities demand more than

courage; they demand awareness.

In a previous issue of Adventure, mountaineer

and alpine guide, Guy Cotter wrote, “the most

experienced practitioners are not those who

push on regardless, but those who recognise the

moment when the balance of risk has shifted and

act accordingly.”

Cotter’s reflections are not about fear or

failure. They are about decision making under

uncertainty, and the quiet discipline required to

make conservative calls when the evidence no

longer stacks up. His lesson matters not only in

high alpine environments, but anywhere people

are exposed to risk and must decide whether to

proceed, pause or turn back.

That perspective feels increasingly relevant well

beyond the high mountains.

As adventurers, we willingly step into

environments where risk can never be fully

eliminated. Whether we are climbing, paddling,

tramping or travelling through remote terrain,

uncertainty is part of the appeal. But uncertainty

is no longer what it once was. Climate change

has altered the behaviour of weather systems,

landscapes and natural hazards in ways that

challenge both experience and prediction.

Forecasts are harder to pin down. Storms behave

differently. Slopes, cliffs and river catchments

respond faster and more violently than historical

patterns suggest.

In this new reality, the ability to manage risk

thoughtfully is more important than ever and that

includes accepting that sometimes caution will

look unnecessary in hindsight.

Cotter describes standing on Mt Cook while other

guides continued toward the summit. Conditions

were climbable on paper, yet he was deeply

uncomfortable. Temperatures were warmer than

expected and his confidence in the decision to

continue simply was not there. Others went on

and succeeded. Nothing went wrong. From the

outside, his call could easily have been seen as

overly conservative.

In this new

reality, the

ability to

manage risk

thoughtfully

is more

important

than ever and

that includes

accepting that

sometimes

caution

will look

unnecessary

in hindsight..

But risk decisions are not judged by

outcome alone. They are judged by the

quality of information available at the

time and by whether the decision maker

could reasonably justify the exposure

they were accepting. In the mountains,

as in many adventure environments, the

consequences of being wrong are severe

and irreversible. The fact that nothing

happened does not mean the risk was

not real.

This distinction is often lost in public

conversations about weather warnings

and safety advisories. In recent years,

New Zealand has seen a sharp rise

in severe weather events, including

intense rainfall leading to widespread

landslips and road failures. Authorities

regularly advise people to stay off

roads, delay travel or avoid certain areas

altogether. When the damage appears

limited or when conditions ease sooner

than expected, frustration can follow.

Warnings are criticised for being alarmist

or over the top.

Yet those calls are made in the same

decision space as a guide assessing

avalanche conditions. They are based

on probabilities, evolving data, on the

ground observations and historical

knowledge. They are made knowing

that the cost of inconvenience is minor

compared with the cost of being wrong.

Recent slips across New Zealand have

shown just how little warning there can

be and how quickly stable ground can

become deadly. Advisories to stay off

roads are not about restricting freedom,

they are about removing people from

exposure during periods of heightened

and unpredictable risk.

But these systems rely on one critical

assumption: that warnings are issued

early enough for people to act. When

they are not, responsibility shifts back

to the individual. And that is where

judgement, observation and selfawareness

matter most.

The Mt Maunganui cliff collapse is a

stark reminder of what happens when

that opportunity to choose caution is

delayed or absent. Campers were doing

nothing extraordinary and nothing

reckless. However, there were visible

signs of instability along the maunga:

cracking ground, slumping soil, and

unusual movement that suggested the

slope was no longer secure. These were

environmental warnings, even if they

were not formal ones.

Yet no one evacuated the campground.

There were no official closures, no clear

guidance, and no explicit instruction

telling people to move. In the absence

of direction, an unspoken assumption

took hold: that if it were truly unsafe,

someone would have said so. This

highlights a dangerous reliance on

being told what to do, rather than being

encouraged to observe and act on the

evidence in front of us.

Risk management fails when

responsibility is outsourced entirely

to authorities. When environments

deteriorate faster than systems can

respond, waiting for confirmation can

be fatal. In this case, the lack of early

guidance, combined with a cultural habit

of deferring judgement, turned warning

signs into background noise. What

might have been a preventable exposure

became a tragedy.

Cotter’s experience in the Himalaya

reinforces this same uncomfortable truth

from another angle. Surviving a risky

decision does not mean it was the right

one. Climbers crossed avalanche-prone

slopes the day after major storms and

reached the summit safely. No one died

on those days. But the hazard was real,

documented and well understood. In

hindsight, success looked like validation.

In reality, it was luck layered over risk.

Adventure environments have a way of

rewarding bravado in the short term and

punishing it later. Repeated exposure

to unmanaged risk eventually catches

up. Getting away with something once

should never be used as evidence that it

was safe.

As climate change shifts the baseline,

conservative calls will become more

common. Some warnings will appear

unnecessary after the fact. Some trips will

be delayed or cancelled when the worst

does not eventuate. That is not evidence

of overreaction. It is evidence of a system

designed to prioritise human life in an

increasingly volatile environment.

Risk management fails when

responsibility is outsourced

entirely to authorities.

When environments

deteriorate faster

than systems

can respond,

waiting for

confirmation

can be fatal.

For adventurers, this requires a cultural

shift. We need to value restraint as much

as commitment, patience as much as

drive. The ability to observe conditions

honestly, to recognise when information

no longer stacks up and to change plans

without ego is a core outdoor skill. It

always has been. The difference now is

that the margin for error is shrinking.

Risk cannot be removed from adventure,

nor should it be. But exposure to

unmanageable risk is always a choice.

The measure of good judgement is not

how often things go right, but how

decisions are made when outcomes are

uncertain and the pressure to continue is

strong.

Guy Cotter’s reflections remind us that

experience is not defined by summits

reached or distances covered, but by

the ability to recognise when caution is

warranted and to act on it without ego.

In a changing climate, that responsibility

extends beyond mountains and rivers to

roads, coastlines and communities across

the country.

Erring on the side of caution is not about

fear. It is about responsibility, awareness

and timing. And sometimes, the most

important decision we make is not to

push on, but to step back early enough

to have the chance to return another day.


a blur of

white violence

the terror of falling into a crevasse

Words and images by Derek Cheng and Rachel Knott (in italics)

A wise man once said that if you end up in a crevasse with your rope in your pack, you’ve fucked up.

It’s a valuable lesson, if you’re still alive to apply it. This will

depend on the nature of the crevasse that has swallowed you.

There are shallow ones, capturing no more than a shin, or

narrow ones that inhale nothing wider than your armpits. There

are giant abysses; one friend was left free-hanging in such a

void, thankful to be roped to her fellow glacier-travellers.

Then there are ones where, instead of free-falling, you crash

against the walls and chandelier-like protrusions, not knowing

when or how your plummet will end.

We'd just climbed Armand Marley, a seven-pitch route (6a/18) on

one of the spiky pillars that guard the main spire of Le Cardinal,

in the French Alps. It had been a tricky bergschrund and a nervewracking

first pitch, chossy and soaked in snowmelt. The latter

pitches were worth it, though, with some stellar low-angle slab

and crack, and a dramatic finish pulling onto a hero summit-block.

"Easy to put on a rope," I said after we'd rappelled down and

onto the Charpoua Glacier. We decided we'd be alright without

roping up. This was a complacent decision, due in part to the

adrenaline of the day, and also an objectively stupid one.

Fresh overnight snow lightly covered the glacier, leaving no trace

of its underlying caverns. What had been firm this morning on

our approach was now an ever-softening layer of mush in the

afternoon sun. We were also told afterwards that the Charpoua

Glacier is notorious for being one of the worst in the alps.

Just as I joined our ascent line from the morning, I crashed

through, ricocheting down a blur of white violence for

long enough to realise exactly what was happening: I was

plummeting unroped into an ice chamber of unknown

dimensions. Such events trigger a primal reflex of "I’m dying"

proportions. I didn’t know it at the time, but I clawed so

furiously at anything within reach that my fingertips, exposed in

my rappelling gloves, ached for days.

I heard a surprised yelp and looked up just in time to see

Derek’s pack disappear into the glacier. My stomach plunged.

I marked a rock immediately next to where Derek had

disappeared. I also noted the time on my watch face—which I

promptly forgot. I plunged the shaft of my ice axe into the snow

to set an anchor, but felt rising panic as it punctured through to

the pick. I was standing over a crevasse, but just happened to be

light enough not to have broken through.

I thumped to a stop as suddenly as I’d burst through, wedged

into where the walls narrowed to a body-width. I was stuck, and

could barely turn my helmeted head. The arm of my sunglasses

had snapped in the tapering crunch. The wall of white closing

in on my nose was blotched red with the blood leaking from my

right pinky finger.

My pack had been caught earlier than my torso, and it was now

jammed behind my head, awkwardly pushing my neck forward.

I shouted towards the surface light, several metres up, but my

cries were met with steely silence.

With careful urgency, I traversed the slope in a parallel line above

the rock I’d marked, shouting "Deeeerreeek" at regular intervals

and pausing to listen: no audible response. I glanced at my

harness and cursed myself for leaving my ice screw and microtrax

[which can help with hauling] at the Charpoua Hut this morning.

I needed to unstuck myself. I still had my single ice ace, a

lightweight Petzl Gully, in my left hand, but no room to swing. I

wriggled, unsuccessfully. I assumed offwidth position, wedging

my shoulder and forearm in a chicken-wing position. This only

seemed to squeeze my lungs tighter, but as I tried different chicken

wings, I managed to thrutch my way up, inch by desperate inch.

My pack now comfortably against my back, I climbed up to

a wee snow shelf in the ice wall. Here I could sit in a secure

chimney, my feet on the shelf, my backpack and back against

the opposite wall.

Rachel Knott, on Armand Marley, climbs towards the granite needles in the foreground on the left


The crevasse. The purple tether remains connected to an ice screw.

"The crevasse ran vertically along the glacier. I could see

a snow floor a few metres below, but this might have been a

thin cover above a bottomless pit."

I seemed to have escaped any obvious injury. I’d fallen upright

and cleanly into the wedge. No crampons catching and cracking

ankles. No slamming into an ice floor, breaking a pelvis. No

weird-angled collision dislocating a shoulder, as a friend had

experienced. No crunched ribs, despite the plunge stopping so

abruptly. The cut on my pinky seemed nothing but superficial.

The wild panic, erupting the moment I'd fallen through, now

subsided. My baselayer top and shell pants were becoming

increasingly soaked, but adrenaline masked the cold.

I still had my harness on and, looking up, hoped to see a ropeend

being lowered down. I shouted up once more, but the

response—the chasm's chilly indifference—remained the same.

When I finally found a good anchor, I was about 80m from the

rock I’d marked, too far to reach with the half rope on my pack.

I knew I’d have to reset the anchor closer to the crevasse, but

visions of Derek with a broken pelvis or leg, or a dislocated

shoulder or ankle, prompted me to ring the PGHM rescue

helicopter service. "Might as well get the ball rolling," I thought.

"Derek is going to need a hospital once I get him out."

The PGHM greeted me in French, and I requested ‘Anglais’.

With one bar of reception, I explained we were in a triangle

below the Dru and the Cardinal, and above the Charpoua Hut. I

explained we were unroped, but that I’d established an anchor

and would go down to the crevasse. I could hear helicopter

rotors in the background as they shouted at me not to move, and

asked for further details including GPS coordinates.

The crevasse ran vertically along the glacier. I could see a snow

floor a few metres below, but this might have been a thin cover

above a bottomless pit. My eyes suddenly zeroed in on the ice

screw on my harness. I grabbed it and quickly drilled it into the

wall. Solid-looking ice oozed out of the core, so I weighted it,

tentatively at first, and then fully.

Climb out and risk falling back down, maybe further than where

I'd been wedged? Or stay in my comfortable chimney position,

waiting for a rope to be lowered to me?

I raised the Gully and scraped off several layers of ice and snow

detritus, before aiming it high. The ice dinner-plated, so I swung

some more to unearth the better ice beneath.

The crevasse widened from where I was, so I started bridging,

slamming in my aluminium front-points as best I could. One side

was uniform, the other steepened into a slight overhang, but not

so steep that I considered it too risky to try climbing out.

I swung repeatedly until I had a satisfying, solid thunk. I then

tugged several times. It needed to hold me should I somehow

lose my feet, while exposed to the insecurity of moving the

screw higher.

Solid enough? Hang on tightly and remove the screw, shifting it

to the top of my reach. Once screwed back in, sit on it and have

a breather. Then grab it and pull myself higher, bridge some

more, and swing until solid enough.

Several iterations later, I reached a spot just below the gaping

maw I’d fallen through. The screw was now in the ice just below

the surface snow. I reached the Gully up and over, looking for

something firm. I was nearly out, but couldn’t help thinking

about slipping and tumbling back down, shock-loading the

screw.

A movement by the rock caught my eye: an ice axe waving

above the glacier. Still on the phone, I told the PGHM with some

emotion and abruptness: "There’s an ice axe! It’s his ice axe!

He’s okay, he’s climbing out, we don’t need you." Again, they

shouted to me not to move.

Below the Cardinal. The red arrow shows where the author broke through and fell into the crevasse


A strip of flaming sunset crosses the French Alps, from the west face of the Petit Dru to the granite needles of Envers

Another adrenaline surge as I heaved myself, exhilaratingly, to

the surface, planting one foot on one side of the cavity, and my

knee on the other. Neither seemed to be in danger of crashing

through. I didn’t dare move, nor would I remove the screw, until

I was on a rope.

The clouds had cast the glacier in shade. I could see Rachel some

distance from me. I signalled to her for a rope, and to retrace her

steps to within rope-throwing distance, but she didn’t budge.

I could already hear an approaching chopper. What service!

It had only been about 20 minutes since I’d fallen in. As the

chopper drew close, I gave it an exaggerated double thumbs up,

and dismissively waved my arms so they’d head to their next

callout. But they had no such plans until, understandably, they

could be sure we’d be okay.

As the chopper drifted closer, the turbulent air thundered

through my wet clothes and into my marrow. The profound

shivers and deafening reverberations made me bury my face into

my shoulder and scream a guttural howl. When I re-emerged,

the chopper had moved away and a rescuer was on the glacier,

moving gingerly towards me.

"Francais?" He was now about seven metres from me.

"Anglais," I responded.

"You fall into crevasse, and climb out?"

"Oui."

"How far?"

I faced the depth between my legs. "Six, seven, maybe eight

metres."

I shook my head as he cycled through typical injuries; broken

leg, arm, ankle, pelvis, before asking what the plan was. I

pointed at Rachel and, waving my hands theatrically, motioned

her backtracking her steps towards me and then throwing me a

rope-end. Once tied in, I would remove my ice screw, and then

we’d descend while roped together.

He seemed satisfied with this plan. Cue rotating blades, bone

chills, roaring rotors, and another guttural howl as the chopper

drew close once more to collect him. They lingered within

striking distance as events played out as I’d described them.

Only once I’d tied in to our rope did they leave.

Still adrenalised, I removed the ice screw and moved cautiously

to Rachel, now only about 10m from me. I soon had my wet

layer off and my puffy and shell jacket on. We descended the

rest of the glacier with much trepidation, roped up in case of

another calamity.

A large dose of relief accompanied us stepping off the glacier,

and we were soon back at the Charpoua Hut. The warden’s

first question was whether the chopper had been for me. Yes, I

replied, because I’d fallen into a crevasse. I raised my bloodied

pinky when she asked me if I was okay. No, I said, I'd been

horribly disfigured.

We sat in the outdoor chairs, the warm sun on our faces,

taking a moment of unguarded peace before heading down

to the Mer de Glace, and then up the via ferrata to the

Montenvers train station, long shuttered and empty by the

time we arrived.

Here we were blessed with a reminder of the gloriousness

of life: under moody clouds, a strip of flaming sunset swept

across the alps, from the west face of the Petit Dru to the

granite needles of Envers. It’s unsurprising, really, how a

close shave can heighten your appreciation of the present.

I commented how we would've missed the alpenglow show,

had we not been delayed by my close examination of the

quality of the crevasse's interior structure. Emboldened by my

experience with the luck of the draw, I suggested, perhaps,

that I should be thanked.

A wise woman once lyricised about the joys of paying

attention, of kneeling in the grass and strolling through fields,

of being blessed and idle. Her famous poem, about what

makes a day worth living, ends with: 'Doesn't everything die

at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with

your one wild and precious life?'

It was a fabulous time to be alive.

It was fabulous to be alive.

"Here we were blessed

with a reminder of the

gloriousness of life:

under moody clouds,

a strip of flaming

sunset swept across

the alps, from the

west face of the Petit

Dru to the granite

needles of Envers. It’s

unsurprising, really,

how a close shave

can heighten your

appreciation of the

present."


"A wise woman once lyricised about

the joys of paying attention, of

kneeling in the grass and strolling

through fields, of being blessed and

idle. Her famous poem, about what

makes a day worth living, ends with:

'Doesn't everything die at last, and

too soon? Tell me, what is it you

plan to do with your one wild and

precious life?"


surviving

pipeline

What it feels like when the wave wins

Words by Steve Dickinson, Images Red Bull

Pipeline is not a metaphor. It is a place where water meets

reef with brutal honesty. When a wipeout happens here it is

not dramatic in the cinematic sense. It is confusing, physical,

deeply personal. There is no crowd noise underwater. No

reference point. Just force, pressure and the question of how

long it will last.

Ask surfers who have spent years here and they will tell you the same thing in

different words. Pipeline does not scare you because it is violent. It scares you

because it is precise.

Kelly Slater has described Pipeline wipeouts as moments that strip everything

back. You are not thinking about scores or titles. You are thinking about

breath and orientation. About staying calm when your body is telling you to

panic. He has spoken often about the importance of accepting the situation

rather than fighting it. Once you resist, you lose energy. Once you accept it,

time stretches just enough.

Surfer: 28//WHERE Barron Mamiya ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS/#255

Photographer: Ryan Miller

"risk and

reward - this

is the reason

we take the

risk"


Jackson Bunch - Photo by Mike Ito/World Surf League

That idea comes up again and again. Surviving a

wipeout at Pipeline is not about toughness. It is about

composure.

John John Florence grew up here and understands

the rhythm better than most. He has talked about

how a Pipeline wipeout feels different to other waves

because of how quickly it all happens. One moment

you are committed, the next you are weightless, then

compressed, then spinning. Florence has said the key

is knowing the wave well enough to trust that there

will be a moment when it releases you. The danger is

rushing that moment.

“Anyone who surfs

Pipeline, if they

tell you they’re

not scared, they’re

lying to you and

they’re lying to

themselves.”Liam

McNamara

Underwater at Pipeline, everything is amplified. It

moves with direction and weight. The reef is close

enough that your feet sometimes brush it, close

enough that your body knows exactly where you are

even when your eyes do not. The instinct is to swim.

Experienced surfers do the opposite. They go compact.

They wait.

Nathan Florence has been open about how heavy

wipeouts at Pipeline change you. Not in a heroic way,

but in a practical one. He has spoken about learning

where to place his body, how to stay loose, how to

protect his head without stiffening. He has also spoken

about fear being useful. If you stop feeling it, you stop

paying attention.

Surfer: Balaram Stack


The lineup at Pipeline


The wipeout itself rarely ends with the first wave. Sets

at Pipeline arrive in clusters. You come up from one

hold down only to be pulled back into position for the

next. This is where experience matters. Knowing when

to surface. Knowing when to stay down. Knowing that

rushing for air at the wrong time can be worse than

waiting another second.

Jamie O’Brien has described wipeouts at Pipeline as

controlled chaos. He talks about learning to read the

energy even while being thrown around. About using

the turbulence rather than fighting it.

Then there is the aftermath. The few seconds after you

finally surface. Your lungs burn. Your ears ring. You

look for your board, for the horizon, for something

familiar.

Yet surfers keep paddling back out. Why? Because

Pipeline offers clarity. There is no pretending here.

You either belong in the conditions or you do not. You

either respect the wave or you learn quickly why you

should have.

Surviving a wipeout at Pipeline is not a badge of

honour. It is a reminder. A reminder that control is

temporary. That preparation matters. That calm is a

skill. And that the ocean always has the final say.

Those who last at Pipeline are not the ones chasing the

biggest moments. They are the ones who understand

that every wipeout is a conversation. The wave speaks

first. Your response decides how it ends.

Pipeline does not care who you are. It does not care

what you have done. But if you listen, it teaches you

exactly what survival feels like.

Surfer: Mikey Bruneau

Photographer: Zak Noyle


daring to dream

A Night in the Mt Arrowsmith Basin

Words by Eric Skilling

We appeared from the bush onto the ridge track, and

one by one everyone stopped and stared wide-eyed at

the vast scene. Below us the Stour River snaked its way

between hills blanketed with thick tussock. Beyond that,

over twenty kilometres away across a wide glacial valley,

stood the snow splattered peaks of the Arrowsmith Range.

Despite the distance, the ominous looking mountains

dominated the view.

"First impressions

were concerning

– someone had

crossed out

the “Five” in

the “Fifteen

Kilometres –

Five Hours” sign

and scratched a

gnarly figure “8”

A dozen of us had reached a high point

on our way to Woolshed Hut, Mt Somers,

day one of a week we intended to spend

exploring the area. It was our first visit

to the Hakatere and Clearwater region,

west of Ashburton, and already we were

impressed. Looking out at the distant

Cameron River Valley leading to the basin

below the Arrowsmith range, I dared to

dream of spending a night there – just

below the snowline, surrounded by those

shattered peaks dotted with brilliant white

glaciers. We might even hear the call of

a kea.

Days later, laden with enough gear for an

overnight trip to the snowline, three of

us stepped onto the trail at the entrance

to the Cameron River Valley. Thick lumps

Steve enjoys looking back down the valley after clambering the short but steep climb up the spur at 12 km mark

of cumulus cloud slid slowly across the

peaks, but the river valley itself was

filled with low-lying misty cloud. Rain

threatened.

Cameron River Valley Trail: First

impressions were concerning – someone

had crossed out the “Five” in the “Fifteen

Kilometres – Five Hours” sign and

scratched a gnarly figure “8”. Based on

our experience, five hours was a little

optimistic, but we agreed eight hours

would be likely in poor weather.

This is 2.5-Kilometre-per-hour-terrain…

on average! Occasional rain had been

falling for the three days before we

arrived in early summer. Portions of the

river rumbled with the sound of rolling

boulders, so we were grateful that the

trip did not call for a river crossing. The

tributaries were not a problem.

The lower reaches – first 8 kilometres

or so, the track would occasionally

disappear into the river where the bank

had been washed away. While new trails

around washouts were often difficult to

find, we were always directed back to

the path by bright yellow markers placed

roughly every hundred metres. Vegetation

in this section is mainly thick stands of

waist-high grasses and shrubs, and wide

river flats littered with matagouri.

We were drenched up to our waists

within minutes of setting out. Overnight

rain, hip-high grasses and undergrowth


The cloud over the Arrowsmith range cleared as we returned

Top: Nothing like a celebratory hot drink after reaching such an impresive destination

Bottom: The water was surprisingly warm when the path led us into the river

leaning onto the track combined to

saturate everything from boots to waist.

No problem in the warmth of early

summer, but it could pose a problem in

colder conditions.

Swampy areas were seldom more than

a few paces, and sporadic mud patches

seldom reached above ankle height.

Fortunately, damp grass and small streams

quickly cleaned the mud off our boots.

There are scree slopes to cross, but only

the obvious lessons apply – leave space

between each other and don’t linger,

especially in poor weather.

Legs will be tested on the short steep

scramble up a ridge at the 10km mark,

but native foliage poses the biggest

challenge. Spikey spaniards lie in wait

www.alpinerecreation.com

like spurned lovers, painfully embedding

themselves into the fingers and palms

of those innocently reaching out for

leverage up the abrupt slope. Expect no

mercy – spaniards also hide themselves

deep within the leaves of neighbouring

tussock.

Once over the ridge and above the

1,100-metre contour, both the terrain

and the foliage change dramatically.

Clambering through thick stands of

snow tussock and alpine shrubs, with

no obvious path will have everyone

taking deep breaths of fresh mountain

air. Provided conditions allow, it is easier

to move onto the riverbed as soon as

possible. The path officially disappears

near the source of the river. Cameron hut

and campsite suddenly appears as you

reach the obvious path over the moraine.

Our Experience: Driving along the

expansive glacial valley to the trail head is

spectacular. The road runs close by small

lakes reflecting picture postcard scenes of

surrounding hills and clouds. Even lake

Heron seemed to be putting on a show for

us, crisply mirroring nearby Mt Sugarloaf.

Cameron river valley itself was not as

welcoming. Water-laden low cloud drifted

between the spurs ahead of us, and all

the peaks of the Arrowsmith range were

hidden in cloud. Nevertheless, our spirits

were high in anticipation. By the time we

had stopped on a river flat for our first

break, the mist began to thicken and rise,

exposing the lower levels of the ridges

that lined the valley. There was still no

sign of the Arrowsmith peaks.

Let us take you on

a great adventure...

The river flowed energetically alongside

us - a deep, rich blue despite the earlier

rain. The water was not as cold as I

expected in the few times the path led us

into the river. “Highland Home” historic

hut appeared out of the mist on the true

left opposite us. We could almost see the

relief on the faces of its two occupants

across several hundred metres as we

continued our way. I made a mental note

to include this hut in a future trip.

Clambering up the short section to the

top of a spur at the 12-kilometre mark

was as steep as it looked on the profile.

Reward is a great view across the screeslopes

and back down the valley, and a

distinctive welcoming call of a resident

kea. Lingering clouds continued to hide

the mountain peaks surrounding the

basin. We were teased with hints of dark

rocky cliffs and dashes of white ice.

Mistakenly believing we could cover

the final three kilometres in an hour or

so, we set off into the shrubbery below

the ridge. Reality hit 15 minutes later

after realising we had only managed a

mere 250 metres. Thankfully Jacqueline

suggested we stop for a break. It would

turn out to be an astute decision. Ahead

lay more thick lumps of snow tussock,

with no discernible path to ease the way.

Becoming so fixed on stepping through

or over the next lump of tussock, we

didn’t notice the vague path that wound

along the dry riverbed below us. Luckily

Steve eventually noticed and called us

back to reality, and we slid down the

bank and our pace quickened.

The Basin: An hour and a half later, we

hadn’t reached the massive lumps of

moraine that signalled the basin. Then,

quite suddenly, we walked off smoothly

rounded stream boulders onto an obvious

path through a pile of shattered and

broken rock. I looked up and ahead of us

lay the glacial basin.

As Sheryl said later that evening - it was

like stepping into an alien landscape.

Cloud veiled the upper reaches. Giant

black cliffs, deeply scarred by centuries

of grinding by colossal ice flows,

dominated the landscape ahead. Stark

white remnants of glaciers lay silently

nestled in shallow gullies. Alongside us

lay the evidence of their work – huge

piles of rocks scoured off the mountain

sides, crushed and bulldozed into massive

mounds of broken greywacke. From high

above us, we heard a kea call.

Minutes earlier my legs were aching, and

I felt the thick fog of dehydration behind

my eyes. Magically that disappeared as

we high-fived and headed into the basin

and the hut with its uniquely painted

door. An hour later we had taken the

photos, washed and were enjoying a hot

drink. There was a thump as the door

opened and Richard and Sheryl from

Christchurch joined us. A little later Beth

and Gunter arrived. We may have been

general managers, professional advisors,

teachers and NASA scientists, but we all

shared appreciation for the wilderness.

Another memorable evening spent in the

company of good people.

Returning: We planned this trip badly.

All the other arrivals planned to spend

the day exploring the area and then

enjoy a second night at the hut. I was as

envious as a toddler watching his older

brother unwrapping the biggest, brightest

bulldozer ever seen. I felt cheated, with

only myself to blame. Luckily, there was

to be a silver lining to our day.

We woke to a relatively warm inversion

layer of mist swirling gracefully around

us. After packing, bidding farewells,

and heading over the moraine, a breeze

picked up. Clouds slowly crept up the

sides of the valley revealing all but the

upper most peaks for the first time. The

lower peaks of Wild Mans Brother Range,

Teddy’s and Middle Hill were also visible.

As we stopped to take time to enjoy the

scene a pair of kea winged their way

across the valley, calling to their mates.

Priceless.

Thanks yet again to Steve and Jacqueline

for sharing my dream.

I prefer to use Merrell, Real Meals, Jetboil

and Macpac products

ADVENTUREMAGAZINE.CO.NZ//37

survival

The Thin Line Between Fire, Ice, and Life

Words and images by Ricardo Kaljouw

Ricardo Kaljouw is a Dutch

mountaineer with a deep passion

for volcanoes. He specialises

in climbing active and dormant

volcanoes worldwide, combining

high-altitude mountaineering with

extreme volcanic environments.

He is the author of "A Million

Steps on Lava."

Instagram: @volcanicsevensummits

When I first stepped into the

mountaineering world, I told

myself survival was something

distant, something I might face

someday, far down the line.

I didn’t realize how quickly

it would become a quiet

companion on my climbs.

More than a decade on the

highest volcanoes around the

world taught me that survival

isn’t rare out there. Even the

calmest moment can flip without

warning, a wrong choice, a

subtle shift in weather, a single

lapse in judgment. And suddenly,

everything becomes personal.

The first time I ever found myself in a

real survival situation was during my first

6,000‐meter climb, and I can still feel it in

my chest when I think back. I remember

telling myself that reaching the summit of

Chimborazo, the closest point on Earth

to the sun, would be the hard part. And

honestly, when I stood on top, I felt

unstoppable, like nothing could touch

me. But the mountain had other plans.

On the way down, everything shifted so

quickly it took a moment for my mind to

catch up. Clouds rolled in from nowhere,

and suddenly the air around me felt…

wrong in a way I couldn’t explain.

Then came the signs. A strange vibration

through my pack, like the mountain

was trying to speak to me. My ice axe

humming softly in my hand. The tiny

hairs under my helmet standing straight

up. And then I understood, I wasn’t just

in bad weather. I was walking inside a

thunder cloud that was charging itself.

And in that moment, I didn’t think. I

just moved, fast, down that enormous

volcano, because staying meant gambling

with my life. That day taught me

something simple and sharp:

Sometimes survival is speed.

However, I don’t always step away from

danger, sometimes I walk straight toward

it without even realizing it. And that’s

exactly what happened on Damavand,

deep in those quiet, mysterious winter

mountains of Iran, climbing the highest

volcano in Asia. I remember feeling

confident, telling myself I was ready for

anything. And then, in a single breath, my

glasses froze solid. One moment I could

see; the next I was staring through two

blocks of ice.

By removing my glasses, I suddenly

was exposed to the full burn of the

sun reflecting off the snow, and after

the summit, it felt like needles driving

straight into my eyes. It was one of

those moments where you feel small,

helpless, almost childlike. I tucked my

chin into my chest just to ease the pain,

tears running down my cheeks faster

than I could blink them away. The world

became a white blur, and I moved mostly

by instinct; slow, careful, trusting my feet

more than my vision. And somewhere

in that raw, painful crawl forward, I

understood something I hadn’t before;

Pico de Orizaba – 5,636 m – Highest volcano of North America


Approach to Nevado Sajama - 6,542 m – Highest Mountain of Bolivia

L-R: Climbing op Mount Elbrus - 5,642 m – Europe’s Highest Mountain / Eruption of El Fuego – 3,763 m – most active volcano of Central America /

Summit of Nevado Coropuna - 6,425 m – Highest Volcano of Peru / At crater rim of Nyiragongo 3,470 m in DRC – Africa’s most dangerous Volcano

Climbing up – Pico de Orizaba – 5,636 m – Highest Volcano of North America.

"sometimes survival hits you in the moments you feel safest"

"survival is part of the journey"

Sometimes survival is endurance.

Sometimes survival hits you in the

moments you feel safest. That’s exactly

what happened to me on Nevado Sajama,

one of the highest volcanoes on Earth.

I had just come off the summit, tired

but honestly happy, when it happened.

Out of nowhere, a slab of snow broke

loose beneath my boots and caught me

completely off guard. I can still hear that

soft whump, a sound that feels wrong the

moment it reaches your ears, and then the

whole slope simply dropped away.

Inside an avalanche, nothing is like

people imagine. There’s no thunderous

roar, no dramatic warning. Just this

chaotic, directionless force of snow

pulling at you from every angle. I was

tossed, flipped, scraped across ice, waiting

for the moment everything went dark for

good. And then, somehow, it stopped.

I was lying on the surface, not buried

underneath it. My lungs were burning, my

hands were shaking, and all I could think

about was how impossibly thin that line is

between living and not. And understood;

Sometimes survival is luck.

There’s a kind of survival you don’t have

a word for, and I found mine in Papua

New Guinea, deep in one of the least

explored corners of the world. When I

went there to climb Mount Giluwe, the

highest volcano in Oceania, I thought I

understood challenge. But the jungle has

its own way of looking at you, almost

like it’s deciding whether you belong.

Everything there moves differently.

Slower. Older. And from the moment I

stepped into it, I felt like I’d entered a

place that didn’t care who I was or what

I’d climbed before.

A couple days in the team was already

shaken from a misunderstanding that left

us with barely enough food, and tensions

flared on the summit day. One porter

stayed at high camp. When I came back

from the top, I realized the porter carrying

all our supplies had disappeared. No

warning. Just an empty space where our

food used to be. I’d never felt exposed like

that. It hit me in a way that made my chest

tighten, like suddenly I wasn’t a climber

anymore, just a human standing in a place

far bigger than him. A three‐day trek back

with no food became the only option. And

hunger… it works fast out there.

By the third day, every sound felt sharper,

every shadow heavier. I remember

thinking, this is what it must feel like

to walk away from a plane crash. I felt

stripped down to something very raw.

But what came next still knots something

inside me when I think about it. As

daylight faded, right when we were

preparing to camp, I heard distant voices,

urgent, fast, mixed with the slice of

machetes through the brush. A local tribe

stepped out. For a second I thought it

was help. Then they rushed me, shouting,

forcing me to the ground. And I had

nothing left in me to resist. No strength.

No words that could explain who I was.

Just fear. Simple, human fear.

And the reason they took me? They

thought I was a witch. Someone had seen

a strange red light moving in the jungle,

my dying headtorch, and a message

spread through the tribe: find the witch.

Lying there in the dirt, tasting the jungle

floor, I truly thought it was the end. But

then, after a long, breath‐held silence,

something changed. They looked at me,

really looked, and saw a tired, hungry,

lost human being. Nothing more. And just

like that, they let me go and understood:

Sometimes survival is mercy.

A couple of expeditions later in my

career, I found myself facing something I

didn’t expect, a volcano confronting me

more directly than any person ever has.

Ojos del Salado, the highest volcano on

Earth, has a way of peeling you back to

who you really are. My injured knee had

slowed me down, and somewhere along

the way the team drifted ahead without

noticing I wasn’t behind them anymore.

And suddenly, there I was, completely

alone at 6,700 meters, the kind of alone

where the world shrinks to a single breath

and you hear your own heartbeat like it’s

the only sound left.

The wind erased my tracks as fast as I

made them, almost like the mountain

didn’t want proof I’d ever been there.

And the hypoxia… it plays tricks on

you. Distances stretch in strange ways,

directions blur, time starts slipping through

your fingers. I wasn’t afraid of falling. I

was afraid of disappearing, of becoming

another story swallowed by a volcano that

has taken people before.

But up there, in that thin, cold air,

something inside me settled. I chose to

think instead of panic. I waited. I trusted

the storm to move, trusted that daylight

would return. Which wasn’t needed as

I was found by team members and I

understood:

Sometimes survival is clarity.

And as last, there is my expedition to the

most isolated volcano on Earth. Mount

Sidley felt like stepping into a place the

world had somehow forgotten, a white

silence so wide and so empty that it made

me feel both unbelievably small and

sharply, painfully present. It’s the highest

volcano in Antarctica, and being out there,

1,000 kilometers away from any help,

changes something in you. It changes how

you move, how you think, even how you

breathe.

At –42°C, nothing is casual. Every step,

every breath, every small decision has

weight. Even melting snow becomes

a choice you think twice about. The

isolation sharpened me in a way I didn’t

expect; it made every mistake feel like

something that could grow teeth if I

wasn’t careful. And yes, I wanted to reach

the summit fast, to push, to get it done,

but Antarctica doesn’t care about your

urgency. It doesn’t move for ambition.

You only climb when everything aligns:

powerful sun, no wind, and acceptable

temperature.

What should have been a five‐day push

stretched into fifteen, and somewhere in

that long, frozen quiet, something inside

me shifted and understood:

Sometimes survival is patience.

Looking back now, I can see it more

clearly than ever: survival has been woven

through my expeditions far more often

than I ever imagined. Sometimes it was

nature pushing me right to the edge.

Sometimes it was my own mistakes, the

moments where I wasn’t as sharp as I

thought I was. And sometimes… survival

was simply the quiet presence I didn’t

notice until it stepped into it.

Now that I’ve completed the Volcanic

Seven Summits and begun the Volcanic

Grand Slam, climbing the 25 volcanic

country high points, I catch myself looking

ahead with the same mix of curiosity

and honesty that carried me through

the last decade. Ahead of me are places

that demand everything from a person:

extreme altitude again, the long emptiness

of the Sahara, the unpredictability of

active volcanoes, the deep cold of the

Arctic, the heat of the desert, the weight

of the jungle. Environments that test you

in ways no one can truly prepare for.

And through all of that, I know one truth,

the kind you only learn by living it:

Survival is part of the journey.

And now, I know it always will be.


"Volcanoes are

not always fire

and brimstone -

sometimes they

are tranquility

and calm"


Great views along the way

The spectacular Marlborough Sounds

The queen

charlotte track

with wilderness guides


Images compliments of Marlborough Tour Company

Cougar Line water taxis will transport you, you gear safely and your bikes if needed,

to the start of the trail and from one stop to the next

Amongst an abundance of birdlife, you'll see the Kererū

The Queen Charlotte Track is often

described as one of New Zealand’s

hidden hiking gems. Stretching 73.5

kilometres from Meretoto Ship Cove in

the north to Anakiwa in the south, it

winds across the forested peninsulas of

the Marlborough Sounds, climbing high

ridgelines before dropping into quiet

coastal inlets.

“Big scenery, fewer

crowds. The Queen

Charlotte Track

remains one of New

Zealand’s best multi

day hikes.”

The views reach deep into Queen Charlotte Sound Tōtaranui and

across to Kenepuru Sound, where layers of bush covered hills

taper into water that is rarely far from sight. Despite scenery that

rivals some of the country’s best-known hikes, the track still feels

refreshingly under the radar, offering a multi-day journey through

one of New Zealand’s most distinctive landscapes without the

crowds that define many of the more famous routes.

For many who hike the Queen Charlotte Track, they find a

balance between genuine adventure and surprisingly comfortable

logistics. Over the past two decades Wilderness Guides has helped

thousands of hikers experience the route with itineraries and

experienced local guides. The company has been operating in the

Marlborough Sounds for more than 25 years, and that experience

shows in the quiet efficiency behind the scenes. Transfers,

accommodation and daily logistics are arranged so that walkers

can focus on the trail itself rather than worrying about the details.

Most hikers tackle the track over three or four days, travelling

north to south. The journey usually begins at historic Ship Cove,

one of Captain James Cook’s favourite anchorages during his

Pacific voyages. From the shoreline the trail climbs steadily into

the hills and the scale of the landscape quickly becomes clear.

From the first ridgeline, the Marlborough Sounds spreads out in

every direction, with an intricate network of sunken valleys and

narrow waterways where forest runs right to the water’s edge.

The terrain is varied and engaging. Long sections of the track

traverse high ridges where the views stretch across multiple

sounds, while other parts dip back into regenerating native

forest where the trail threads through beech and coastal bush

alive with birdsong. It is certainly not a flat walk and there are

steady climbs throughout the route. However, there are easy

grade sections of the track available for those who are less

experienced. The track is well formed and the scenery provides

constant motivation to keep moving.

What makes the experience particularly appealing is that walkers

rarely need to carry more than a daypack. Access to the track

is by boat from Picton, and luggage transfers between lodges

are handled by Cougar Line, a long established water transport

operator in the Sounds. While hikers spend the day walking,

bags are quietly moved to the next stop by boat. By the time

you arrive each afternoon, your gear is already waiting.

It changes the rhythm of a multi-day hike. Instead of hauling

everything on your back, the only essentials are water, lunch

and a few layers in a daypack. For walkers who want the

satisfaction of a proper multi day trek without the burden of a

heavy overnight pack, it is an appealing compromise.

Whether travellers choose a fully guided experience or prefer

to walk independently, the structure remains straightforward.

Wilderness Guides coordinates the route, arranges

accommodation and provides detailed planning so that each

stage flows naturally into the next. Many hikers appreciate

the freedom of walking at their own pace while still having

the security of knowing that transport and overnight stops are

organised.

Along the way the track reveals a landscape that is as rich

ecologically as it is scenic. Large areas of the Marlborough

Sounds have been the focus of ongoing restoration work,

and conservation groups including the Marlborough Sounds

Restoration Trust and the Endeavour Inlet Conservation Trust

have played an important role in restoring native habitat

and controlling predators. The results are evident to anyone


"the magestic

marlborough

sounds"


All smiles in the Marlborough Sounds Track with Wilderness Guides

One of the benefits of the Marlborough Sounds is it can be walked or biked

The sheltered coastline also makes it an excellent destination for sea kayaking

spending time on the trail. Bellbirds and Tūi echo through the

forest canopy, Kererū move heavily between fruiting trees and

Weka often patrol the edges of the path. Out on the water it is

common to see stingrays gliding through shallow bays while

seabirds sweep across the inlets.

The marine environment is just as important as the forest.

Mussel farms and salmon operations are a familiar sight in the

Sounds and support a thriving aquaculture industry. That local

seafood often appears on menus along the track, particularly

at the lodges where walkers spend the night.

Accommodation is another element that makes the Queen

Charlotte Track stand apart from many New Zealand hiking

routes. Rather than basic backcountry huts, walkers stay at

waterfront lodges positioned along the route. Two of the best

known are Punga Cove Resort and Furneaux Lodge, both

located in the sheltered waters of Endeavour Inlet. After a full

day on the trail, arriving here feels like a well-earned reward.

Rooms look out across the water, meals are served in full

restaurants and the facilities include things that hikers rarely

encounter on multi-day routes such as swimming pools and

hot tubs.

It creates a satisfying contrast between the physical effort of

the day and the comfort of the evening. Walkers might spend

the morning climbing through native bush and the afternoon

traversing high ridgelines before descending to the shoreline,

where a hot shower and a restaurant meal await. Local salmon

and Greenshell mussels, farmed in the surrounding waters,

frequently feature on the menu and pair well with wines from

the nearby Marlborough vineyards.

Although walking remains the main drawcard, the Queen

Charlotte Track is also New Zealand’s longest dual-purpose

trail, meaning certain sections are open to mountain biking

all year round. The sheltered coastline of the Marlborough

Sounds also makes it an excellent destination for sea

kayaking, and some visitors choose itineraries that combine

"the Queen Charlotte Track is

also New Zealand’s longest

dual-purpose trail, meaning

certain sections are open

to mountain biking all year

round."

a day on the water with time on the trail. Even so, most travellers come

for the hiking experience itself. The rhythm of walking between inlets

and ridgelines, with the sea never far away, is what makes the route

memorable.

Planning ahead is important. Accommodation along the track is limited

and the most popular lodges often book out during the peak walking

season from October through April. Many travellers find it easiest

to organise their trip through Wilderness Guides, who can arrange

everything from boat transfers and luggage transport to accommodation

and packed lunches for the trail. The result is a seamless itinerary that still

feels adventurous rather than packaged.

The final stage of the journey leads to Anakiwa, where water taxis return

walkers to Picton. From there it is only a short drive to the vineyards

around Blenheim, where Marlborough’s famous sauvignon blanc provides

a fitting way to mark the end of several days on the trail.

For a route that delivers such a strong combination of scenery, wildlife

and comfort, the Queen Charlotte Track still feels like something of a

secret. It offers a multi-day hiking experience where forest meets ocean at

every turn, where the views stretch across an intricate coastal wilderness,

and where the practical details are handled quietly in the background by

people who know the landscape well.

That balance is part of what keeps walkers returning to the Marlborough

Sounds. The adventure is real, the scenery is spectacular, and at the end

of each day there is still time to sit beside the water and take it all in.


feeling the burn

elissa's tramping rescue story

Elissa's rescue story, submitted to www.aliceadventuring.com

Alice is a Kiwi through and through. A tramper, skier

and unapologetic chocolate enthusiast, she grew

up roaming a sheep farm in the deep south of New

Zealand before discovering that the backcountry

would become a lifelong pull. Family trips into the

hills shaped those early years, long before cameras,

blogs or social media were part of the picture.

Her memories from those trips are not tidy or

chronological. Alice is the first to admit her memory

is not the strongest. What has stayed with her are

the moments that stick to the bones of a childhood

outdoors. Sitting inside a backcountry hut while rain

hammered the old tin roof. Learning to play 500

and shuffle cards with the confidence of someone

twice her age. Fishing chocolate out of the scroggin

bag while politely ignoring the nuts. Skiing runs

that were probably too steep for a kid her size. And

the quiet satisfaction of watching adults realise the

oversized pack on the track was being carried by a

small determined kid.

The blog began almost by accident in early 2018.

Alice assumed it might last a few months before life

moved on. Instead it grew into something she kept

returning to. Years later she is still at it, still sharing

the tracks, huts, small adventures and hard won

lessons that come from spending time outside in New

Zealand’s hills.


Every year I plan a trip with

the girls as one of our few

group hikes. This year we

chose an overnight trip to

Peach Cove Hut in Whangarei

Heads. It’s a gorgeous spot in

Northland, and the view from

Duke’s Nose is incredible.

We walked in to the hut as planned.

The day was stunning and the view of

the beaches was incredible. The next

morning we all woke up early. A few

of the girls headed down to the beach

to take a look around. It was still dark,

so I lit a candle on the wall (in one of

the DOC candle holders), so the rest

of us could have some light to start

making breakfast.

I boiled a whole pot of water for

breakfast and coffee. By the time it was

bubbling away, it had started to get

light. I decided I didn’t need the candle

anymore, so I leant over the bench

to blow it out. I think in this moment

I was still a little sleepy and maybe

just really not thinking? As I went to

blow out the candle, I leant on the pot

handle without realising. The whole

pot of boiled water tipped down my

right thigh and my foot.

In the moment I honestly didn’t

really think much. It was one of

those slow motion moments when

you know something really bad has

happened, but you freeze. I watched

it happen, and then the pain hit me.

I remember screaming, and within

seconds whipping my thermal pants

off and running straight out the door.

You don’t really think of the correct

procedure in those moments. I

honestly couldn’t think straight.

"It was one of those slow motion moments when you know

something really bad has happened, but you freeze."

A lot can happen in just a moment

Rescue arrives from above

First aid response

My entire thigh had peeled straight off

and was full of blisters. The girls at the

hut came running out after me and took

charge straight away. Honestly they were

so amazing. We knew we needed to cool

the burn down, but the first hurdle we

encountered was that there was no way

to put cold water on my leg easily. The

sink was tiny, there was no hose and

nothing for me to sit in.

In the end, the girls had me sitting on a

seat outside while they all grabbed their

pots and made a human chain – filling

pots of water from the tanks, passing

them along and tipping cold water down

my leg. One of the girls ran to the beach

to grab the others because – and this

is where I was lucky – two of those

girls were nurses. A few of the girls had

food wrapped in glad wrap, which was

washed and then placed on my burns (so

grateful for this as it helped so much with

the pain).

Now this is where the part about learning

a lesson comes in. We had no PLB to

call for help. There was barely any cell

service at the beach, but one of my nurse

friends walked around and around until

she managed to find some and could

call 111. At this point I was adamant I

was hiking out and there was no need

to ring anyone, even though I was in an

incredible amount of pain. But my friend

liased with the operator and a helicopter

was sent out.

Heli Extraction

The helicopter arrived but there was

nowhere to land. It was decided I needed

to be winched up into it. I was absolutely

mortified at this point. I remember yelling

and getting upset that I was not getting

on the helicopter and I was definitely

hiking out. Afterwards, I came to realise

I was badly in shock and no painkillers

were helping. I remember watching the

helicopter come super low and destroying

plants around the hut, I was so horrified

and felt terrible.

Anyway, they eventually dropped a

medic into the hut and he gave me gas

(after this I would have done anything

they asked ). He winched me up with

him into the helicopter and I was flown

to hospital.

This experience made me realise how

important the right emergency equipment

is just in case. If we’d had no cell service

it could have ended so differently and

we would have been in big big trouble. I

never hike without a PLB now.

I am so so grateful for my friends. They

took charge and did what needed to be

done. I’m also very grateful to Northland

Rescue Helicopters. They were amazing!

So many people to be grateful for.

My wife doesn’t let me cook anymore.

And I’m definitely not allowed to use the

candles.

Follow: @alice.adventuring / hi.aliceadventuring@gmail.com / www.aliceadventuring.com

Treating burns in

the backcountry

Boiling water, gas stoves, steam and

open flames are very common burns

hazard most of us will encounter while

tramping. But have you seriously

considered the risk? I often forget –

once I get to the hut I feel safe.

Prevent

Like most injuries the key factor for

burns is prevention. Be mindful when

you’re using something that could

potentially result in a burn – for most

of us that means when handling

cookers, boiling water and freeze-dried

meal pouches.

Cool

Cool the burn as soon as possible.

You want to limit further burning that

can occur when the tissue is too hot.

Cool (not cold) clean water running

over the burn for 20 minutes is best.

But do what you have to – whether

that’s submerging in a stream or the

sea, or alternating wet clothes every

30 seconds or so. Just don’t get

hypothermic in your attempts to cool

the burn.

Cover

Cover the burn with whatever clean

item you have. Non-stick bandages

are helpful, glad wrap/clingfilm works

well too. Don’t wrap the burn tightly,

just lightly cover.

Call for help

Ideally you’d have a PLB which you

can use to call for help if the burn is

serious (large area, deep, causing pain

that can’t be managed by pain relief,

or in a critical area).

opinion...

Images courtesy of Youtube

the art of survival

the tales of graham garnett and austin applebee


Survival in the backcountry or open

water rarely comes down to luck alone.

It is shaped by a series of decisions

made under pressure, often with limited

information and high stakes. Two very

different incidents from early 2026

highlight how preparation, judgment,

and resilience interact when lives are on

the line.

In New Zealand, 66-year-old tramper Graham

Garnett spent nineteen days lost in Kahurangi

National Park before being found in Venus Hut

on the Leslie Karamea Track. Garnett became

disoriented after poor weather obscured his

route. Instead of remaining stationary, he moved

deliberately through dense bush, following streams

and ridgelines, identifying major landmarks such

as the Karamea River, and seeking shelter at huts.

Despite injuries and fatigue, his structured approach

to navigation and prioritisation of protection

allowed him to survive until contractors, rather than

official search teams, located him.

Garnett later reflected, “I just kept taking one step

at a time and thinking about where I could find

shelter,” highlighting how small, deliberate choices

extended his survival.

Across the ocean, 13-year-old Austin Appelbee

faced a different set of challenges with similar

pressures. Off Geographe Bay in Western

Australia, Austin’s family was swept out to sea on

paddleboards. Recognising the danger, he swam for

hours to reach the shore and raise the alarm.

During the ordeal he abandoned his kayak and

eventually his lifejacket, relying on mental focus

and determination to overcome exhaustion. “I did

not think I was a hero. I just did what I did,” Austin

told the BBC. His persistence enabled emergency

services to coordinate a rescue that ultimately saved

his mother and siblings. Rescuers described his

efforts as superhuman, but it was his structured and

purposeful actions under extreme stress that made

the difference.

Both cases highlight how human factors such as

judgment, decision making, and mental resilience

can outweigh raw strength or skill alone. Garnett

used identifiable natural features to maintain

orientation and move with intent. Austin evaluated

his situation and took calculated action despite

physical strain and uncertainty. As he put it, “I had

to think about my mum and my siblings. I had to

keep going.” In both situations, deliberate decision

making under pressure was as important as any

equipment or physical ability.

Preparation played a role in both scenarios

but could not eliminate risk entirely. Garnett’s

experience in backcountry tramping helped him

read the terrain and make informed choices.

Once he

realised he

was lost,

Garnett chose

to keep

moving... a

decision that

will devide

opinion.

Austin’s swimming ability and initial

flotation provided a survival margin. Both

situations demonstrate that equipment

alone is insufficient. Awareness of local

hazards, contingency planning, physical

capacity, and mental endurance are

all essential. Joanne, Austin’s mother,

reflected, “We could not see anything

coming to save us. It was very much

getting to that point where we were on

our own,” underscoring the limits of

planning in rapidly changing conditions.

Risk taking emerges as another central

theme. Both Garnett and Austin faced

the choice of staying in place or acting

despite potential danger. Garnett moved

through difficult terrain while injured.

Austin abandoned his lifejacket and swam

alone for hours. Each decision carried

potential consequences, but inaction may

have been equally or more dangerous.

Evaluating risk in real time and making

informed choices can be the difference

between life and death.

The limits of external rescue are also

evident. Garnett was found by chance

when contractors entered the area, and

Austin’s family could only hope someone

would respond once he reached shore.

These examples underscore that selfreliance

and situational awareness are

critical in remote environments.

Preparation played a role in both scenarios

but could not eliminate risk entirely.

Mental resilience proved decisive in both

cases. Garnett remained focused over

nearly three weeks, making repeated

small decisions that extended his survival

window. Austin maintained concentration

and motivation under severe physical

and emotional stress, using personal

connections and hope to push through

fatigue and fear. “It was a tough battle,”

he admitted, yet his determination was

what allowed him to survive. In survival

situations, the ability to remain calm,

prioritise objectives, and adapt is often as

important as any physical skill.

The combined lessons are clear.

Preparation matters but cannot remove

risk entirely. Risk is inherent but can be

managed through deliberate decision

making and awareness of environmental

conditions. Human factors such as

judgment, persistence, and adaptability

often determine whether someone

survives. Both Garnett and Austin

survived not through chance but through

consistent problem solving, environmental

awareness, and the ability to act when

plans failed.

For anyone venturing into remote terrain

or open water, these stories offer more

than inspiration. They are a reminder that

measured risk taking, preparation, and

mental resilience are essential. Equipment

and skills are important, but how you

respond when circumstances change

unexpectedly defines the outcome.

Survival is rarely about heroism in the

dramatic sense. It is about staying focused,

assessing each moment carefully, and

taking deliberate action when it matters

most. As Garnett put it, “You do not have

to be strong all the time, but you have to

keep thinking.”

What the Stories Teach Us

• Preparedness matters, but it is never

absolute. Know your environment,

check conditions, and have the right

gear, but accept that unexpected

challenges will arise.

• Mental focus can outweigh physical

strength. Both Garnett and Austin

relied on clear thinking under

pressure to make life-saving choices.

• Evaluate risk in real time and act

deliberately rather than freezing

or panicking. Small, consistent

decisions, finding shelter, following

natural landmarks, staying oriented,

can extend survival far longer than

one dramatic action.

• Finally, remember that self-reliance

is critical. Emergency services

are invaluable, but survival often

depends on what you do before help

arrives.

ADVENTUREMAGAZINE.CO.NZ//53

Setting sail in the Beagle Channel, while battling cold temperatures

patagonia magic

I could not stay away

Words by Alenka Mali (www.alenkamali.com / www.instagram.com/alenkaamali/)

Images by Jimmy Martinello (www.jimmymartinello.com)

The magnetic Patagonian magic and unpredictability of life’s flow brought me back to the

Motherland two months later, on November 25, 2025. After coming home with an injury from

my previous Patagonian expedition, I felt a lot of things. A little disappointed, slightly mad at

myself, and tired. Any kind of self powered mission is exhausting, but especially the endless

bushwhacking approaches of the land down south. But I wanted to give my recovery

everything I could, and for two months I focused on just that. My broken metacarpal bone

fully recovered and my doctors gave me full clearance about six weeks after my injury. A

miracle from my perspective. The body is truly an impressive mechanism.

I initially did not know how long it would take me to

recover, so I cancelled a previously planned expedition

to Mendoza but ended up saying yes to a sailing

adventure to Cordillera Darwin. One door closes,

another one opens.

Upon a friend's invite, I started planning the logistics.

One of my favourite things about any expedition. At

the end of November, six people from different parts of

the world joined to be part of an unforgettable journey

into the Patagonian fjords.

Chris Parkins, Jimmy Martinello and I travelled from

Vancouver 12 hours after I landed in Canada, getting

back from a European festival tour. The balancing act

of a pro athlete trying to juggle responsibility and what

my heart truly wants. I was exhausted but stoked to

embark on our journey. There might be a time in my

future when I start slowing down, just not yet. I feel

very inspired these days and that fuels my motivation.

We travelled for five days straight, from Vancouver

to Puerto Williams. This was my fourth Patagonian

expedition in the past year. It took us three flights to

get to Santiago, the capital of Chile. The warm air of

the early summer days felt amazing. After spending a

day there honing the plan and visualising the trip, we

flew to Punta Arenas where we spent another night.

In the afternoon of the next day we embarked on a 30

hour ferry to Puerto Williams with four big bags each,

paddle boards, filming equipment, climbing and glacier

gear and enough food for six people.

Puerto Williams is the most southerly town before

Antarctica. This is pretty much the end of the world.

Had my friend John not invited me to come explore,

that place would not have been on my radar as much

as other spots in Patagonia. The Beagle Channel and its

fjords are stunning. And wild.

All smiles, even though we are freezing climbing in the summer months of Patagonia


The Beagle Channel is a strait in the Tierra del Fuego

archipelago, on the extreme southern tip of South America

between Chile and Argentina. It is a place where the

weather changes every 15 minutes and you experience all

four seasons in one day, almost daily. Summertime did not

exist when we were there. Neither did reliable forecasts.

We took a day in Puerto Williams to make a plan with our

captain John, prepare the boat and organise all the food.

Expensive, but not as limited as I was expecting given the

fact that we are literally at the end of the world.

On November 30 we set sail west from Puerto Williams.

The crew got bigger with my friends Euge Tipaldi and Mia

Noblet, creating a perfect energy balance on the boat, as

John says. We spent the next two weeks sailing around

different spots and exploring the mountains.

Looking out to Cordillera Darwin gave me a Himalayan

feeling. Big glaciated mountains with steep walls rising high

above us, sitting at ocean level. Dangerous giants that do

not look very friendly from afar, proudly showing off their

turquoise blues and making thunder with falling seracs.

Mountains do not look friendly from afar, but I notice that

as I get closer the possibilities start to open. Like a puzzle

inviting me to solve it. To solve my way up and my own

way down. An opportunity perhaps.

We anchored in three different spots over two weeks,

which allowed us to enjoy every place without moving

around too much.

We were called into the mountains around us, possibly

never touched before. When I was younger the alpinists

called those virgin peaks. It is a term you do not hear that

often anymore these days. A virgin peak is an unclimbed

peak. But in this day and age those are rare like unicorns.

Sometimes I feel like everything has been done, repeated,

and every mountain has been put on a map. Until I find

myself venturing into the fjords of Cordillera Darwin and

see there are so many unclimbed mountains. They are just

tucked away. Away from the main roads, the mainstream

climbing media, on a road less travelled. Patagonia is not

hard to get to, it is hard when you are there.

No path, just bushes. Jungle, beaver dams. It is harsh on

your body and the team’s morale. But the wind is the

hardest. With predictably unpredictable ever changing

weather which did not seem to want to give us a break.

Unlike anything I have ever seen, the weather in that

place is extreme. Extreme in the sense of instability. One

minute you can be sitting in the morning sun eating a

sandwich, a couple of minutes later a gust of 70 to 100

kmh throws you into the ground.

But I like what John told us. Nothing ever lasts. Not the

nice sunny weather, neither the bad storms. No matter

how bad it seems, it will always pass. The good weather,

well enjoy it because that will not last either. Everything

passes, always. Or was that a metaphor for life.

Yet somehow we got lucky and did get to spend some

time exploring the mountains. With a few mountain

traverses linking various summits, one on Tres Brazos and

the second around Pia Bay, staring directly into the eyes

of a dragon. Monte Darwin.

It seems possible we passed some virgin peaks, but it is

hard to say. There are not many people exploring those

mountains. Which means there are no reports on activity

in these mountains. Only the biggest peaks have some

noted ascents over the years but it is hard to find reliable

information on them.

Based out of Pia East, we ventured off into a horseshoe

like shape of four connected peaks above us. Finding

our way up was interesting. On the first part we had to

navigate shrubs, waterfalls and some wet granite, and just

as we thought things would get easier above the treeline

we got wrapped in thick fog.

Alenka Mali and Chris Parkins out to explore the glacier of Pia inlets on a paddle board


"Mountains do

not look friendly

from afar, but I

notice that as I

get closer the

possibilities start

to open. Like a

puzzle inviting

me to solve it.

To solve my way

up and my own

way down. An

opportunity

perhaps."

Stuck on a ridgeline with a big cliff on our left

and a glacier full of crevasses on our right, we

stopped for a few minutes hoping the cloud

would disappear. The snow and wind did not

seem to want to give us a break, but we took

advantage of pockets of visibility and managed

to push forward.

We wanted to make good progress on the first

day and go as far as we could. Just before

nightfall we started looking for a bivy spot.

Fully soaked in cloud, snow, hail and strong

gusts of westerly wind.

A perfect spot opened up just as we were

starting to lose hope, slightly protected from

the wind and with enough space for two tents

for our team of four. Myself, Chris, Euge and

Jimmy.

We dug out the spot and set up our tents,

fighting the wind the entire time. It felt good

to be out of the elements and protected for

a moment. The process of melting snow and

replenishing our energy began shortly after

changing into some drier clothes.

Alenka leading the first pitch of ”Pinky's Choice”

It is a lot of work, but I really enjoy it. In those

situations even the smallest tasks can take

forever, but I like the process. Tea, cookies,

soup and some freeze dried meals from our

friends at LYO Food. Easy to say we passed

out shortly after.

The next day we woke to a beautiful calm

morning. We took our time to properly dry

out all our gear that had been soaked the

day before and enjoyed some mate and a big

breakfast.

We wrapped around the ridgeline, passing

two more summits before dropping into the

valley full of beaver dams. The weather was

much milder, allowing fast and comfortable

movement through the mountains.


The summit team on our second mountain traverse

(Chris, Alenka, Euge, Jimmy)

Looking through a glacier window into the Pia Inlet

The biggest crux of our second day was the jungle waiting

for us at the end, for the last couple of hundred vertical

metres before dropping to ocean level again. But we

navigated it well, although tired, and got down around 5

in the afternoon the same day.

Soaked, tired, sore. We were welcomed on the boat by

fresh bread and pizzas, with another successful adventure

behind us.

I felt incredibly grateful for the local community of Puerto

Williams and our captain John for welcoming us and

showing us around their backyard.

I feel once again inspired to come back, with an idea or

two boiling in my pot of secret projects, stored away for

when I need new inspiration to fuel the fire inside me.

opinion...

Images courtesy of Instagram

GUILTY

a duty of care

At what point does shared risk become

legal responsibility. When does the more

experienced climber on the rope become, in

the eyes of the law, the de facto guide.

Words by Steve Dickinson

A winter ascent of Austria’s highest

mountain has ended in a conviction

that is likely to echo well beyond the

Alps.

In January 2025, 33 year old Kerstin G died

of hypothermia high on the 3,798 metre

Grossglockner. More than a year later, her

partner, identified under Austrian privacy law as

Thomas P, stood trial in Innsbruck accused of

gross negligent manslaughter.

Prosecutors argued that in the early hours of 19

January, in storm conditions near the summit

cross, he left her exhausted and exposed while

he continued over the top in search of help.

They said that as the more experienced alpinist

and the person who planned the route, he had

effectively acted as the responsible guide. In

that role, they argued, he carried a duty of care.

The defence maintained the climb was a joint

decision between two competent adults who

understood the risks of a winter ascent. They

described what happened as a tragic accident in

severe conditions.

The prosecution laid out what it called a chain

of errors. The pair allegedly started late, carried

insufficient emergency bivouac equipment

and pressed on despite winds reported up to

74 kilometres per hour. Ambient temperatures

were said to be minus 8 degrees Celsius with

wind chill near minus 20. Footwear and overall

equipment choices were also questioned.

Video from a police helicopter that flew

overhead around 22:30 showed the couple still

climbing. No distress signal was made. Shortly

after midnight a call was placed to mountain

police. The content of that conversation remains

disputed. Prosecutors said the alarm was not

clearly raised. The defence said help was

requested.

At roughly 40 metres below the summit

cross, Kerstin G was reportedly unable to

continue. Thomas P climbed to the summit

and descended the opposite side in an attempt

to reach assistance. Prosecutors said she was

left around 02:00 without adequate protection

from the cold and that the delay in raising a full

emergency response proved fatal. Helicopter

rescue was impossible overnight due to wind.

When rescuers reached her the following

morning, her position did not align with the

defendant’s account of where he had left her.

Photographs presented in court showed her

hanging from a rock face, suggesting she may

have fallen while attempting to move. The head

of the mountain rescue team confirmed she was

not found at the location described by Thomas P.

They said

that as

the more

experienced

alpinist and

the person

who planned

the route,

he had

effectively

acted as the

responsible

guide.

Forensic evidence confirmed hypothermia

as the cause of death. Viral pneumonia

and ibuprofen were also detected,

though it was unclear whether illness had

impaired her physical capacity.

The judge, himself an experienced

climber, found Thomas P guilty of gross

negligent manslaughter. He was given a

five month suspended sentence and fined

9,600EUD. The court acknowledged his

previously clean record and the public

scrutiny that followed the case. The judge

stated he did not view the defendant

as acting wilfully or maliciously, but

concluded he had misjudged the situation

and should have turned back given the

disparity in winter experience.

The legal question underpinning the

case is larger than one couple. At what

point does shared risk become legal

responsibility. When does the more

experienced climber on the rope become,

in the eyes of the law, the de facto guide.

In this case, the court accepted the

argument that experience and leadership

created a heightened duty of care. That is

a significant development.

Mountaineering has long operated on

mutual assumption of risk. Two adults tie

in, assess conditions and make decisions

in real time. Payment does not change

hands. There is no commercial contract.

The culture is built on partnership.

This verdict suggests that, at least in

Austria, competence can translate into

responsibility. Planning the route, setting

the pace and making the go or no go calls

may place you in a position similar to that

of a professional guide, even if you are

not being paid.

What does that mean for the outdoor

community?

What This Means for Trip Leaders

In New Zealand maritime law, a skipper

carries responsibility for the safety of crew

and passengers. That duty exists whether

the vessel is commercial or recreational.

Experience and command bring legal

obligation.

The mountains are not the sea, but the

analogy is increasingly relevant.

Anyone leading a trip, winter ascent,

alpine traverse or technical climb should

now consider the following:

• If you plan the route and invite

others, you may be viewed as

assuming responsibility.

• A clear disparity in skill or winter

experience can create a duty of care.

• Continuing in deteriorating weather

when retreat is viable may be judged

harshly in hindsight.

• Failing to raise an unambiguous

emergency call can carry legal

consequences.

• Equipment choices and start times

will be scrutinised after the fact.

There is also a broader industry

implication. Informal mentorship, club

trips and experienced climbers taking

newer partners into serious terrain have

long been the backbone of skill transfer.

If courts begin to treat that dynamic as

equivalent to guiding, some may step

back from leading at all.

On the other side of the debate is a hard

truth. In consequential terrain, judgement

errors are rarely private. When one

partner has significantly more experience,

that judgement carries weight. The court

in Innsbruck effectively said that weight

carries responsibility.

The case is subject to appeal. Regardless

of the final legal position, the message is

clear. Leadership in the mountains is not

only about strength and summit success.

It may also carry obligations that extend

beyond the rope and into the courtroom.

For anyone stepping out in front of a

team this winter, that reality now deserves

a place in the risk assessment.


Views of Maramataha Bridge on the Timber Trail credit Visit Ruapehu

Riding from Timber Trail Lodge

Credit Timber Trails

Camp Epic credit Epic Cycles

deep in

the forest

discover the magic of the timber trail

Ride, walk or run deep into one of New Zealand’s most

remarkable forests. The Timber Trail Great Ride weaves through

ancient podocarp giants, historic tramways and one of the

country’s most powerful conservation success stories.

There is a moment on the Timber Trail when the forest seems to

close in around you. Towering rimu and tōtara stretch skyward,

birds call somewhere high in the canopy, and the only real

sound is the quiet rhythm of tyres on gravel or footsteps on

the trail. It’s a moment where the outside world fades away

and you realise this is more than just another ride or walk,

it’s an immersion into one of New Zealand’s most remarkable

wilderness experiences.

Tucked deep within Pureora Forest Park, Ruapehu in the central

North Island, the Timber Trail is one of the original rides in the

Ngā Haerenga Great Rides of New Zealand network, now 23

trails that showcase the very best of the country’s landscapes.

Officially opened on 30 March 2013, the Timber Trail quickly

earned a reputation as one of New Zealand’s most memorable

backcountry s.

The Grade 3 trail winds through ancient podocarp forest once

worked by the timber industry, following old tramways, crossing

spectacular suspension bridges and weaving through a landscape

rich with natural and cultural history.

Spend a little time here and you realise the forest itself is the real

star of the journey.

Pureora holds one of the finest remaining tracts of ancient

podocarp forest in New Zealand, towering rimu, tōtara, mataī

and kahikatea that have stood here for centuries. For generations

iwi have known and cared for this landscape, practising

kaitiakitanga, the guardianship of the land and its resources.

In the 1970s this remarkable forest became the centre of one

of New Zealand’s most important conservation stories. As

logging pushed deeper into Pureora, a determined movement

of conservationists took action, including the now famous treesit

protests high in the forest canopy, helping halt the felling of

these ancient trees. Their efforts ultimately led to the protection

of the forest and the creation of Pureora Forest Park, a defining

moment in the protection of New Zealand’s native forests.

Today the forest feels alive with that legacy. Kākā call overhead,

native birdlife moves through the canopy, and deep within the

forest live the elusive pekapeka, New Zealand’s native bats.

The wider Pureora forests also played an important role in the

recovery of the critically endangered kākāpō. Riding or walking

through this landscape, it’s easy to feel that sense of something

special having been saved.

While many riders tackle the full trail over two days, what

surprises many visitors is just how flexible the experience can be.

• You can ride it.

• You can walk it.

• You can run sections of it.

Or mix it up over several days, exploring the forest at your own pace.

"Spend a little time here and you realise the forest itself

is the real star of the journey."

At the heart of the trail sits Piropiro, a remote backcountry hub

that has quietly become the social centre of the Timber Trail

experience.

Stay in the heart of the forest:

One of the special things about the Timber Trail is the chance to

stay right in the forest itself.

For those wanting a fully hosted experience, Timber Trail Lodge

offers comfortable accommodation in the middle of the trail.

Looking out across the now-quiet site of the former Piropiro

village and surrounded by towering native forest, the lodge

provides welcoming hospitality and the simple luxury of arriving

after a day on the trail to a hot shower and a hearty meal shared

with fellow riders.

For others, the magic lies in a more back-to-nature experience.

Camp Epic offers the chance to sleep beneath the stars, whether

in a glamping tent or pitching your own tent beneath the towering

trees. Evenings here are about slowing down: cooking your own

meal, sharing stories from the trail and toasting marshmallows

around the fire while the forest settles into night.

Together these experiences offer something for every style of r,

from fully catered comfort to simple outdoor immersion.

Accommodation in nearby Ongarue and Taumarunui also

provides welcoming places to stay before or after the ride,

helping turn the Timber Trail into a multi-day wilderness escape.

Making the adventure easy:

Part of what makes the Timber Trail such a rewarding journey is

the network of local operators who help visitors make the most

of their time in the forest.

Shuttle services connect the two sections of the trail and allow

riders and runners to start wherever suits them best. Bike hire

options mean visitors can arrive without needing to bring their

own equipment, while experienced local teams help ensure

everyone is well prepared for their .

These operators know the trail intimately, from the best places to

stop for photos to the changing moods of the forest through the

seasons. The Timber Trail website also provides downloadable

maps, GPX routes and everything else needed to help plan the

journey.

More than just a bike ride:

While the Timber Trail is famous as a cycling experience, its

wide gravel surface and gentle gradients also make it ideal for

walkers and trail runners wanting to explore the forest in a

different way.

Many visitors discover the joy of mixing their , riding one day,

walking a section the next, or simply pausing on one of the

suspension bridges to listen to the forest below.

Staying an extra night allows time to slow down and explore

the wider Pureora Forest Park. Walking tracks, abundant birdlife

and spectacular night skies remind visitors just how remote and

special this landscape remains.

Riding through history:

The Timber Trail is not just about scenery, it’s also a journey

through the stories of the people who once worked these forests.

The trail follows the routes of historic bush tramways that once

carried timber from the heart of Pureora. Interpretation along the

way reveals the remarkable engineering and determination of the

communities who lived and worked here.

64//WHERE ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS/#255 MAGAZINE.CO.NZ//65

"For many who

visit, the Timber

Trail becomes

more than just

a ride. it becomes

a place people

return to, drawn

back by the quiet

magic of the

forest


Maramataha Bridge on the Timber Trail

credit Visit Ruapehu

Located in the heart of the Ruapehu District

The outdoors capital of the North Island!

Gorgeous unique bespoke historic Vacation Home:

Accommodates 2-18 guests in up to seven bedrooms

Centrally located to: ‘42 Traverse’ ends at our doorstep

Tongariro Alpine Crossing

Pureora Timber Trail

The mighty Whanganui River

The Forgotten Highway (& Bridge to Nowhere)

30Mins to Whakapapa & 60mins to Turoa

Plus central to numerous other treks and trails

(& Waitomo GlowWorm Caves en route from Auckland)

www.TheOldPostOfficeLodge.co.nz

Today the forest is regenerating strongly, standing as

one of the finest podocarp ecosystems in the country,

a powerful reminder of nature’s resilience and the

importance of protecting these special places.

A wilderness worth slowing down for:

Whether riding the full

trail, running a section

of it, or spending a night

deep in the forest, the

Timber Trail offers

something increasingly

rare in modern travel:

genuine immersion in

nature.

No traffic. No crowds. Just the rhythm of the trail,

the call of native birds and the quiet satisfaction

of moving through one of New Zealand’s great

wilderness journeys.

For many who visit, the Timber Trail becomes more

than just a ride.

It becomes a place people return to, drawn back by

the quiet magic of the forest.

For more info visit timbertrail.nz

Riding along the Timber Trail @studiozag

COME MEET

THE STAR OF THE SHOW

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a snow

covered roady

vancouver to calgary and everything inbetween

"The best part of

a road trip isn’t

arriving at your

destination. It’s

all the wild stuff

that happens

along the way.”

Emma Chase

Words and images by Lynne and Steve Dickinson

A New Zealand ‘roadie’ has a certain rhythm.

The road bends, the hills roll past, and even

a lengthy drive rarely feels that far away. You

point the car's nose somewhere interesting

and go. The weather might change, but it is

rarely treated as a serious barrier. Extreme

weather conditions, open mountain passes and

snow tyres as a must are never a part of the

conversation.

Winter road trips in Canada operate on another scale

entirely. Distance stretches out across this vast country.

Storm systems move in quickly. Highways run through

mountain passes where a blue-sky morning can turn into

a whiteout, and not just ‘snowy’, but it looks like a wall of

white rolling up the road towards you. In Canada, a road

trip is not just a casual wander between towns, with a stop

off at the dairy for an ice cream; it’s a wild, exposed, and

an adventure.

In Canada, the road is not just the route to the adventure;

it is the adventure.

Our plan was simple enough… well on paper it seemed

it was. Pick up a car in Vancouver, make sure it’s an allwheel

drive with snow tyres, then head eastward through

British Columbia and into Alberta, ski where we could,

explore, “take the road less travelled by” and finish in

Calgary. What unfolded was a slow transition through

some of the most varied mountain landscapes on earth and

a snow-covered ‘roadie’ to be remembered.

The journey began in Vancouver with the familiar, yet

gruelling process of picking up the rental car, with all the

paperwork, collecting keys, videoing the outside of the car,

for insurance (travel hack #1), and reminding ourselves to

drive on the right-hand side of the road.

Within an hour, the city gave way to forest and steep

valley walls as Highway 1 climbed into the Fraser Valley.

The traffic thinned quickly. Soon, logging trucks and long

freight trains replaced city traffic, houses were replaced by

an evolving landscape of pine trees, lakes and the foothills

of the Rockies.

Our first stop was the small town of Hope, a place that


"Snow softens the landscape

here, and this town felt like

how those in the Rockies live in

winter; it was cold and frozen,

but the people were warm and

friendly."

The picturesque village of SilverStar

All smiles at SilverStar Mountain Resort

Crown & Theives Vineyard, West Kelowna

The team in Hope

sits quietly at the meeting point of several mountain highways. For

travellers heading into the interior of British Columbia it works as a

natural pause. The surrounding peaks rise steeply above the town,

and the Fraser River moves past with quiet confidence. It was a gentle

introduction to the days of driving ahead. We lay there that night

listening to the quintessential train horns that you hear in every movie

ring out into the night. It felt like we had arrived.

From Hope, the road climbs into the interior plateau and eventually

reaching Vernon, the gateway to SilverStar Mountain Resort. That drive

is a transition through British Columbia’s interior landscapes. The road

climbs hard onto the Coquihalla Highway, pushing through steep

mountain country toward Coquihalla Pass. Snowy peaks, avalanche

chutes and dark pine forest frame the winding road; it was also our first

view of the solemn warning signed – ‘avalanche area no stopping’.

On the way we came to the quiet town of Merritt, where the terrain

opens into dry ranch land before the route follows the edge of some

amazing lakes and the famous vineyards of the Okanagan. Seemed

only right to stop and sample some local wines.

We had come to ski at SilverStar Mountain Resort for five days,

settling into the rhythm of the Canadian ski-in, ski-out resort

experience. That first morning we opened the window and we

looked out on the cliched ‘wonderland’ of snow, like a scene from

Frozen, a playground just waiting to be experienced. You know you

have kids when you see snow falling and you find yourself singing

“Do you want to build a snowman?”

Days were spent exploring wide, immaculately groomed runs, tree

skiing, and more challenging terrain, a mountain scattered with lifts

that seemed designed as much for rest as for transport.

By the end of the week, we had built a snowman, eaten our fair

share of cinnamon buns, burgers and apple pies from the numerous

village restaurants, been skating and tubing and the mountain felt

familiar in that comfortable way ski areas sometimes do after enough

laps. (Upcoming issues will outline more of this amazing experience).

Leaving SilverStar meant leaving the Okanagan behind and turning

north toward Clearwater. The drive follows long river valleys and

quiet stretches of highway that feel far removed from city life.

Clearwater itself sits on the edge of Wells Gray Provincial Park and is

known as a base for exploring waterfalls and wilderness. Helmcken

Falls in the Park is the fourth-highest waterfall in Canada. The

waterfall is situated on the Murtle River, plunging into a mist-filled

canyon. Snow softens the landscape here, and this town felt like how

those in the Rockies live in winter; it was cold and frozen, but the

people were warm and friendly. The town feels more like a staging

point a stepping stone for those travelling deeper into the interior.

Canada travel hack #2. Buy ice cleats from any garage. They are

about $5 and will keep you upright. Ice is everywhere, and you will

want to stop and look.

From Clearwater, we joined the Yellowhead Highway and continued

east toward Jasper. This stretch of road is one of those drives that

surprises you. There is a lot less written about the Yellowhead

(compared to the more well-known Icefield Parkway), however, it

was dramatic and spectacular. Moose Lake and Mt Robson highlights.

Helmchen Falls at Wells Gray Provincial Park, Clearwater, BC


"The terrain at

Marmot Basin,

opens up into wide

alpine bowls, and

ridgelines give

views across

the surrounding

ranges."


Tish in a tight squeeze with Canmore Caving Tours Canyoning with Bow Valley Canyon Tours

The magic of Moose Lake

Watching the snow fall in Marmot Basin

Jasper sits within Jasper National Park and has a character all of its

own. It has a real feeling of remoteness from the larger visitor centres

further south, and that distance seems to shape its personality. Our

base here was five nights at the Jasper Inn and Suites, long enough to

ski Marmot Basin and explore beyond the ski hill.

On the approach to Jasper, you start to see the devastation of the

forest fire of 2024. Its effect on the town and the surrounding hills is

sobering. As far as you can see, there are charred trees, some fallen

and some standing, and they are like reminders, sentinels of how

nature can change everything in a heartbeat. The town has survived

and flourished. There is construction at one end of town, but the

town maintains its uniqueness and charm.

The road up to Marmot Basin, about thirty minutes from Jasper,

winds through the ghost-like charred forests, which are still in

recovery. Then, suddenly, as if a line were drawn in the snow, you

drive out to the foot of Marmot Basin.

The terrain opens up into wide alpine bowls, and ridgelines

give views across the surrounding ranges. The mountain spreads

naturally across several faces and on clear days, the view from the

upper lifts stretches across layers of mountains that fade gradually

into the distance.

During our week at Marmot Basin, we experienced a couple of

days of heavy snowfall, which opened the mountain even more

making the skiing and mountain memorable. (Again, Marmot Basin,

a story for another time).

Within a week, that seemed to evaporate, our time in Jasper

came to an end and we drove the infamous Icefields Parkway to

Canmore.

Even in winter, the highway feels like a journey through a

geological time warp. Glaciers cling to high peaks, frozen waterfalls

hang from cliff faces, and vast valleys open out between ridges.

Traffic was light and, in several places, we pulled over simply to

stand in the quiet and look around, (in our $5 cleats). At one point,

we were engulfed by a sudden snowstorm, making it impossible

to see the road ahead. It was a reminder of how quickly things can

change. One moment it was sunny, then someone noticed a wall

of white swirling up the road ahead. That wall then slammed into

us: wind, snow, a sudden drop in temperature, and no visibility. It

didn’t last long, but we were pleased not to be outside, and it was a

harsh reminder of where we were. The roadie in Canada is always

a revelation. Sun, snow, blizzard all in about fifteen minutes.

The final stage of the trip carried us south to Canmore. Shaped

by its proximity to Banff and only an hour from Calgaryit has the

vibrancy of a mountain town without the overcrowded feeling of

its neighbours. The peaks surrounding the Bow Valley rise sharply

above town, and adventure seems to begin almost immediately

beyond the last street. Canmore had it all: an amazing location,

a township that offered everything you could want, and a range

of accommodations. What it didn’t have were the mad crowds of

Banff, it did not seem like a tourism town, just a great little town in

a great location and a community that lived there to enjoy it.

Our days in Canmore focused on exploring the landscape in

different ways. One morning, we took a trip underground into

limestone caves, with Canmore Cave Tours, moving through

narrow passages and chambers carved slowly by water. Another

day was spent descending a frozen canyon, sliding and abseiling

through sculpted rock walls under the watchful eye of experienced

guides with Bow Valley Canyon Tours. Both experiences offered

a reminder that these mountains hold as much intrigue below the

surface as above it. (Stay tuned for these stories in detail).

"Normality is a paved road. It's comfortable to walk, but no

flowers grow on it." Vincent Van Gogh

After four nights in Canmore, sadly we had to leave and started

the drive to Calgary. There is a real feeling of exit. One moment

you are holding your breath, looking at mountains that are

staggering, and the next they start to reduce and recede behind

you. Those peaks that had seemed to be the one constant on

this trip fade within a few miles, and the highway straightens as

the prairie begins to open ahead.

Looking back, the snow roadie from Vancouver to Calgary is far

more than a line on a map joining two cities. It unfolds slowly,

kilometre by kilometre, revealing a procession of landscapes,

mountain towns and the quiet rhythms of life in the Canadian

Rockies. Each stop offers its own window into the region. A café

in a ski town, a roadside view of a frozen river, a conversation

with someone who has made the mountains their home. None

of it feels staged. It simply reveals itself as the road opens up.

"During our week

at Marmot Basin,

we experienced

a couple of

days of heavy

snowfall, which

opened the

mountain even

more making

the skiing

and mountain

memorable."

By the time Calgary finally appears on the horizon, you realise

the drive was never really about the destination. The road itself

carried the story, linking valleys, people and mountain culture

into one long memorable passage across the Rockies.

Many thanks to:

SilverStar Mountain Resort and Firelight Lodge:

www.skisilverstar.com

Marmot Basin and Jasper Inn and Suites:

www.skimarmot.com | www.jasperinn.com

Bow Valley Canyon Tours, Canmore Cave Tours, Tourism

Canmore, Timberstone Lodge:

www.bowvalleycanyoning.ca |www.canmorecavetours.com

www.explorecanmore.ca

www.springcreekvacations.com


Caradoc Hill

adventure

done properly

the future is in good hands

Interview with Walt Sulaman-Evans

Walt is a young eco-adventurer from England, aged 15, who has been outside since day two. What

started as a toddler tagging along on family walks has grown into a purposeful journey built around

exploration, resilience, and giving back. Through hiking, wild camping, cold water challenges

and everyday outdoor missions, Walt shows that adventure does not need to be extreme to be

meaningful and age is not a barrier.

Along the way he has used his adventures

to raise funds, support conservation causes

and advocate for responsible outdoor

behaviour. His curiosity has also taken

him behind the microphone, where his

podcast conversations explore adventure,

mindset and what it means to look after

the places we play in. Recognition has

followed, including becoming an IAPWA

Youth Ambassador and earning a BCYA

medal, but the focus has never shifted

from action.

When he realised he was “too young”

to join any official conservation groups,

he decided to start Walt Adventures on

Instagram in January 2025. His goal is to

get more young people outside, exploring

mindfully and give back to causes close to

their heart. His posts are all about what he

learns on his travels and adventures with a

big focus on looking after nature. His main

message is simple: the outdoors should be

for everyone.

Walt’s story breaks assumptions. Age

is not a barrier. His journey is about

intergenerational learning, respect for

nature, and proving that young people

can contribute in real ways right now.

For Adventure readers, Walt represents

the future of adventure done properly.

Thoughtful, grounded, and driven by

purpose rather than ego.

You have been outdoors since you were a

toddler. What are your earliest memories

of adventure? My earliest adventure

memory is me and my dog, Boojee Boo,

stomping through the woods like we ruled

the place. She was tiny, but she strutted

around like a wolf on patrol, tail up, ears

twitching at every sound. I remember the

crunch of leaves under my little boots, the

way the air smelled cold and green, and

how Boojee Boo would dart ahead then

trot back like she was checking the trail

for us. We always stopped for a picnic,

no matter what the weather. And yes, she

waited like the world’s most patient little

angel just to lick the mini yoghurt pot

clean. That was our thing. Simple. Messy.

Perfect. When you’re small, adventure isn’t

mountains or miles… it’s moments like

that.

When did adventure shift from fun days

outside to something with purpose?

Lockdown hit pause on everything.

Being stuck inside made me realise that

adventure wasn’t just “fun days out”

anymore, it was something I needed. The

outdoors helped clear my head, gave me

focus and felt like home. But it didn’t feel

right to keep all that goodness to myself.

I wanted the miles I walked and the

challenges I took on to mean something

for other people too. That’s when

adventure stopped being just play and

started becoming purpose, it was a way to

help, to raise awareness, to give back and

to use what I love for something bigger

than me.

How do you balance pushing yourself

physically with looking after the

environment? When I’m out on an

adventure, I’m always thinking about the

impact I’m making because these places

genuinely mean something to me. The

hills, mountains, rivers and forests have

been part of my life since day two. The

sounds, the colours, that huge feeling you

get out there, I love it and it stays with me.

So yes, I push myself, but never at the cost

of nature. I use environmentally friendly

products, waste less, leave no trace and

always try to leave things better than I

found them. I check where I step, where

I camp, and what I touch. Caring for

wildlife isn’t something I switch on, it’s just

part of who I am now. And honestly, that

makes every adventure feel even more

special and meaningful.

Can you talk about one challenge that

really tested your resilience? The 3 Peaks

in 24 hours absolutely wiped me out.

The weather was brutal with sideways

rain, freezing winds that made your eyes

sting and fog thick enough to swallow

your head torch. The travelling between

mountains felt just as hard as climbing

them. I remember being halfway up Yrr

Wyddfa, soaked and shivering, wondering

if I would ever make it.

It was seeing my mum struggling. She

had trained so hard and worked with

the physio to help her leg lock problem,

but she still got it coming down the first

mountain, but she just kept on going. On

the last mountain, she was literally being

blown off her feet because the wind gusts

were 70mph. She told me to keep going,

and I knew I was safe with our support

team, but inside I was torn — worrying

about her while she was worrying about

me. That messed with my head more

than the climb. I kept repeating, “mum is

going to be fine, I can do this,” step after

slippery step. And somehow… I did. I

caught my mum up coming down and we

both screamed with excitement and relief.

Have you come across prejudice —

“you’re too young to be doing this”? Yes,

people have said I’m “too young” or

made sarcastic comments like adventure

has an age limit. However, most people

are really supportive but there’s always

someone who thinks you should wait until

you’re older before you try anything big. I

have been raised to back myself, go after

what I love and learn from people who

have been there like my late great‐uncle

Wallace, who told me his biggest regrets

were the things he didn’t try. So, when

someone tells me I’m too young, I just

smile politely… and do the thing anyway.

Also, in my head, I also ask myself what

would my 80-year-old say to me?

"When walt

realised he was

“too young” to

join any official

conservation

groups, he decided

to start Walt

Adventures

on Instagram in

January 2025.

His goal is to

get more young

people outside,

exploring

mindfully and give

back to causes

close to their

heart."


Badlands National Park

"Our family mottos — “Try everything once,” “Work hard,

play harder,” and Mum’s favourite, “Fear nothing” and

"always give back”

What inspired you to start fundraising

through your adventures? My late cat,

Pootle, is the reason I started fundraising.

She lived to 18 and losing her in 2025

hit me hard. Over the years, I lost all my

pets over a short space of time (Boo,

Monkey and Ben), and it made me realise

how lucky they were to have food, care,

and a safe home. When I travelled, I saw

animals — both in the UK and abroad —

who had none of that. Street animals with

ribs showing, shelters overflowing, dogs

limping with no vet care. Donating didn’t

feel like enough anymore.

Then I came across Adventures for

Animals, who support IAPWA, and it

clicked: my adventures could actually

help. Every mile, every challenge, every

blister could do something real for animals

who don’t have a voice.

How do you balance school and

adventures? I save my big adventures for

when I’m home and during school breaks

— school always comes first. But I still get

loads of outdoor time at school. I joined

the Combined Cadet Force (CCF) last year

and I’m also working towards my Duke

of Edinburgh’s Silver Award, which keeps

the adventure side of my brain happy

until I can get out properly again. During

Easter school break, I have six days away

with CCF and it’s going to be filled with

adventure activities like white water rafting,

mountain biking, mine exploration, axe

throwing, climbing and a mountaineering

expedition and I can’t wait.

How did becoming an IAPWA Youth

Ambassador change your outlook?

Becoming the very first IAPWA Youth

Ambassador felt like someone handed

me a megaphone for something I already

cared about with my whole heart. Helping

animals wasn’t just personal anymore — it

became global.


Knowing that every step I take can

help animals around the world changed

everything. It pushed me to dream bigger,

go further and find new ways to make a

difference. And the biggest thing it taught

me? You don’t have to wait to be ‘old

enough’ to make a difference — being

young can actually help.

What does the BCYA medal represent to

you personally? When I found out about

the BCYA medal, I just sat there in shock

thinking, “Wait… me? Are you sure mum?”

I never expected anything like that. I do

my adventures and fundraising because

I care, not for recognition or awards. But

once it sank in, the medal started to feel

like something bigger. It represents hope.

A reminder that young people’s actions

matter. That kindness and passion count

just as much as experience. Every time

I look at it, it gives me a boost and a

reminder to keep going and a message to

others my age that their voice matters too.

Why do you think it is important

for young people to have a voice in

conservation? It’s massively important

because we are the ones who will inherit

this planet — the good and the damaged.

If we don’t learn to care now, it might

be too late later. Even now, I’m still

deemed as “too young” to join any official

conservation group, instead of stepping

back, it made me speak up more. That’s

why I started Walt Adventures, so, I could

inspire, educate and encourage others.

Young people bring tons of energy, ideas,

honesty and we are not shy about caring.

When we talk about protecting wildlife or

keeping rivers clean, people tend to listen

because they know we are fighting for our

future.

What role has your family played in

supporting and shaping your journey? My

family is the reason I am the way I am —

Long Mynd

nature‐loving adventure‐obsessed, givers,

curious and always ready to try something

once. From day two, they had me strapped

into a papoose being hauled through

knee‐deep snow like a tiny frozen burrito.

Most parents ease their kids into adventure.

Mine didn’t. They just said, “Right, let’s go!”

and off we went.

Fundraising runs in our family. My

grandparents have helped build schools

and places of worship as well as supported

water projects. My parents carried on the

legacy with running, hiking, cycling and

open water challenges for charities close to

their hearts. My first ever challenge was the

Great North Junior run at the age of 5 and

I loved it. So, I grew up watching kindness

in action.

My dad had lots of freedom to explore

when he was my age and was always

encouraged to do so. Mum on the other

hand, wasn’t allowed to explore due to

cultural restrictions. That’s all she ever

wanted, to be outside, to breathe, to

explore. And now? She’s unstoppable. She

follows her heart, chases her own dreams

and is literally never indoors. Watching

her reclaim the childhood she didn’t get

inspires me every single day. I love her for

that, for choosing courage, for choosing

adventure and for choosing to give me the

life she once dreamed of.

Dad is basically my walking, talking

science, history and life skills podcast (plus

terrible dad jokes). Mum is my laughter

yoga guru, confidence coach and the

loudest silent screamer during adrenaline

sports, but she still does them with me.

Our family mottos — “Try everything

once,” “Work hard, play harder,”

and Mum’s favourite, “Fear nothing”

and always “give back” are basically

programmed into me now. So, my family

didn’t just support my journey, they built

"when Walt came along, I

promised myself the cycle

would end with me. No more

shrinking childhoods. No more

clipped wings."

the foundations, packed the snacks, tied the boots and

laughed (and sometimes cried) their way through every

muddy, windy, snowy adventure with me.

Through your podcast, what conversations have

surprised you the most? The biggest surprise? How

often adventure comes down to mindset rather than

muscle. Guest after guest said the same thing - your

head has to be stronger.

Positive self‐talk came up a lot. One guest told me to

literally talk back to my own thoughts, “Tell your mind:

I CAN do this.” And honestly? It works.

Another big theme was unlearning — unlearning fear,

doubt and the idea that you must get everything right

first try. Plus, support is massive. Having people who

believe in you - family, friends, snack‐providers can be

your superpower.

The podcast discussions have taught me that adventure

isn’t about being perfect. It’s about the journey, the

wobbles, the do‐overs, the messy bits and choosing

courage again and again.

If another young person wants to start their own

adventure journey, what advice would you give them?

If you’re a young person dreaming about adventure,

here’s my honest advice: just go for it. Don’t wait for

the “perfect moment”, it doesn’t exist. And don’t wait

for someone older to say you are ready.

Start tiny — a walk, a mini‐challenge, anything that

feels like your kind of adventure. Talk to your family,

ask for help, and plan properly. Looking cool is great,

but getting home safely is even cooler.

You don’t need mountains, fancy gear or

super‐strength. You just need curiosity and courage.

Even the biggest adventures begin with a single step

(and a snack).

If someone says you’re “too young”, smile politely…

and do it anyway. Start small. Dream big. Be kind to

yourself. Be kind to the planet. The real adventure isn’t

the summit — it’s everything you learn, feel, face and

laugh (or cry) about on the way there.

Follow @ Walt_Adventures

Montgomery Canal

from Mum

How do you feel about Walt going on

adventures - are you worried about his

safety? Absolutely, I worry about safety. I

started doing mini risk assessments in my

head the moment Walt was born and still do.

I know, if I show my fear, he’ll learn to fear

the world too, so I try to keep it together. I

take a deep breath, smile and let him spread

his wings even if inside I’m having a silent

meltdown.

During adrenaline sports, there are moments where I’m thinking, “Oh

my gosh… why are we doing this?” But then he grins and we end up

having the time of our lives. My job is to be brave for him, even when

he’s the brave one and I’m pretending not to panic.

And the funniest part? Nine times out of ten, Walt worries about

my safety more than his own. He checks on me, reassures me and

treats me like I’m the one who needs looking after which, to be fair,

I probably do sometimes. So yes, I worry… but I never let worry

win. Because adventure has shaped him into the kind, courageous,

thoughtful young man he is and that’s worth every heart‐racing

moment.

Can you tell us about your own childhood and how that motivated

you with Walt journey? I grew up not being able to play out, roam,

explore or just be a child in the way I desperately wanted. Freedom of

movement and freedom of speech simply weren’t things I was allowed

and that stays with you.

So, when Walt came along, I promised myself the cycle would end with

me. No more shrinking childhoods. No more clipped wings. No more

saying “no” because fear was louder than possibility. I wanted him to

have everything I once wished for — space, adventure, curiosity and

the confidence to use his voice.

He gets the childhood I wished for. He’s not spoiled, he’s free. Free

to explore. Free to try. Free to get muddy, climb trees, make mistakes,

learn, lead, fall over laughing and find out who he really is. And

here’s the funny and amazing part, watching him take on these wild,

wonderful adventures has healed something in me too. Every time he

charges up a hill or jumps into cold water with that huge grin, it’s like

watching the childhood version of me finally getting her turn.

So, yes, I had a restricted childhood, but my dear late parents raised

me the best way they knew. But Walt? Walt gets the opposite. He gets

freedom, courage, a bit of wild, loads of movement and a voice — all

the stuff I dreamed of. I wish that for every child.

Describe Walt to someone who does not know him Walt is one of those

rare young people who is both gentle and courageous at the same time.

He has this kindness about him that you feel before he even says a

word — the kind of kindness that makes him look out for wildlife, stray

animals, the planet and random strangers on a mountain who look like

they need a snack.

He’s caring and selfless, and he’s also wonderfully fun. Not in a

show‐off fun way just the kind of fun that comes from being genuinely

excited about life. He finds joy in muddy boots, cold water, long hikes,

and the tiny everyday adventures most people walk straight past.

He’s adventure‐obsessed and nature‐loving, but in the most responsible

way. He thinks about the environment before he thinks about himself.

He doublechecks every trail, every riverbank to make sure nothing is

harmed. And he does it without expecting credit, it’s simply who he is.

He’s brave in a quiet way, brave enough to try, to care and to keep

going, to get up after wobble moments, to stand up for animals and to

use his voice even when people say he’s too young or inexperienced.

And honestly? He’s just brilliant company. He makes us laugh, he

makes me very proud and he makes me braver than I ever was at his

age. If you don’t know Walt yet, imagine a thoughtful young man with

a huge heart, muddy boots, a backpack full of snacks and a purpose

bigger than himself.

saddle up

the rise of the horse trek

Exploration by foot or by horse is ideal in Mongolia

Photographer: Cam Cope

Turquoise glacial waters lead the way into Mongolia's remote western ranges

“In an age of constant connectivity and speed, horseback

travel offers something increasingly rare in modern tourism. It

reconnects travellers not only with landscapes but with the

cultures who have known those landscapes for generations.”

From Mongolia’s sweeping steppe to Patagonia’s

gaucho country, travellers are discovering that

exploring the world from the saddle offers one of the

most immersive ways to experience wild landscapes

and the cultures that shape them.

“Our travellers

have a real

appetite for

adventure and

for exploring

the world in an

active, immersive

way.”

The saddle is having a moment.

Perhaps it is the surge of modern cowboy culture, the global

fascination with the television series Yellowstone, the resurgence

of country music in mainstream pop, or the ripple effect of

Beyoncé’s country-inspired album Cowboy Carter. Whatever the

catalyst, the romance of the saddle – wide horizons, dust trails

and the promise of a simpler rhythm of life – has returned to the

cultural imagination.

And with it, horse trekking is quietly emerging as one of the

most intriguing trends in adventure travel.

The numbers suggest it is more than nostalgia. According to

recent industry research, the global horseback trekking tourism

market reached approximately USD $12.4 billion in 2024,

reflecting the growing appetite for immersive, nature-based travel

experiences.

For travellers seeking adventure beyond the conventional hiking

trail, horseback journeys offer a different perspective altogether.

“Our travellers have a real appetite for adventure and for

exploring the world in an active, immersive way,” says Natalie

Tambolash, General Manager of World Expeditions NZ. “Horse

trekking opens an entirely new frontier for that kind of traveller.

It allows you to travel deeper into landscapes that would

otherwise be difficult to reach, to spend time with cultures where

horses are still central to daily life, and to move across country

in a way that feels both traditional and incredibly personal. Over

time you also develop a real connection with the horse itself,

which becomes as much a part of the journey as the landscape

you’re riding through.”

The renewed curiosity arrives at an opportune moment. In the

Chinese zodiac, 2026 marks the Year of the Horse, traditionally

associated with freedom, energy and exploration. For travellers

considering a horse-based adventure, the symbolism feels fitting.

The horse has long been humanity’s companion in discovery,

carrying traders across ancient caravan routes, nomads across

vast steppe landscapes and explorers into remote frontiers.

Today, those same traditions are inspiring a new generation of

travellers.

World Expeditions NZ now offers eight horse treks around the

world, each designed to immerse riders in landscapes where

horses remain an essential part of life and culture.

In Mongolia, riders traverse immense steppe landscapes where

nomadic herders still move with the seasons and horses remain

central to daily existence. In Patagonia, treks follow the trails

of traditional gauchos through windswept valleys beneath the

dramatic granite towers of Torres del Paine.

Elsewhere, riders explore the remote alpine highlands of

Kyrgyzstan, where horse culture continues to shape nomadic

life, and traverse ancient caravan routes across the high-altitude

plateaus of Ladakh in northern India. In Bhutan, horses carry

travellers between remote Himalayan valleys and centuriesold

monasteries, while in Morocco’s High Atlas Mountains,

riding trails wind between Berber villages and walnut groves in

landscapes that have changed little for generations.

Each journey offers something slightly different. Yet the

experience of travelling on horseback shares a common thread.

From the saddle, the world unfolds differently.

Distances stretch wider. Valleys reveal themselves slowly.

Wildlife appears unexpectedly along riverbanks or across distant

ridgelines. The rhythm of the journey settles into the steady

cadence of hooves across earth, gravel and grass.

For many travellers, that slower rhythm is precisely the appeal.

“In an age of constant connectivity and speed, horseback

travel offers something increasingly rare in modern tourism. It

reconnects travellers not only with landscapes but also with the

cultures who have known those landscapes for generations,”

comments Natalie.

Perhaps that is why horse treks are capturing the imagination of

modern adventurers. For those willing to see the world from a

different perspective, the saddle offers a journey that is as much

about the experience as the destination.


To explore World Expeditions’ new horse trek series, visit www.worldexpeditions.com/Horse-Treks

race report

the old

ghost ultra

the 85km ultra

By Nick Laurie

The 85k Old Ghost Road Ultra is a bucket list Ultra held

on New Zealand’s longest single track. With over 2200m

of vertical ascent it is a true test of grit and stamina but the

main attraction to this race is the magnificent natural scenery,

community feel and the impeccable organisation.

The Old Ghost Road was rediscovered

by an American guy named Weasel.

Weasel had built a lodge in the bush

near the Mokinui River about an hour’s

drive from Westport. He had fallen in

love with the area and described it to the

locals by saying that it was like having

a beautiful sister. You don’t look at her

as being beautiful, she is just your sister,

but when others look, they see how

great she is. That’s what this area is, an

underappreciated gem.

So, as the legend goes, a guy gave Weasel

an old survey map of a road, that was

never finished, from the old gold mining

ghost town of Lyell to Seddonville. Weasel

conscripted a group of passionate locals,

and the Old Ghost Road great walk and

mountain biking track was born. After

a few meetings where copious amounts

of Makers Mark whiskey and Speights

were consumed, the track building

began. It was constructed by these

psychos’ metre by metre after each of

them succumbed to the “Lyell Flu.” A

mysterious affliction which resulted in

people having an unrelenting passion for

this project. Weasel and the gang created a

masterpiece of scenic trail.

This race doesn’t begin at the start line.

As soon as I entered, I began receiving a

monthly email videos and stories of the race.

Every month I found myself hanging out

for the next instalment in the tales behind

this race. There are only 5 people who have

done every OGU and we received some

welcome tips from each of them.

The pre-race communication, including

a Facebook live from the local pub,

was next level. The compulsory gear

check was one of the best with a nice

welcoming attitude and then being

handed my race pack by Ruth Croft, world

ultra-running champ, was the icing on

the cake. At first, I looked at her thinking,

I know you, but soon my multiple

concussion brain clicked into gear, and I

worked out who she was.


The race pack had a book The Spirit of

the Stone which is Weasel’s interesting

account of exactly how they got the trail

built, a voucher for a post-race beer, and

an individualised hand written note of

encouragement from one of the local

school kids. Mine was from Ana K.

The race briefing was held on Friday

evening from 6-7pm. This was important

because the first bus to the start was

at 4am, meaning a very early bedtime.

Phil Rossiter, one of the original guys

who built the track, conducted one of

the funnier race briefings that you will

attend. This was done with a particular

kind if passion that let you know that we

were in for an incredibly special day. Phil

actually ran the race the next day wishing

everyone in the field an enjoyable day

as he sauntered past. The briefing was

capped off by Weasel singing us his Old

Ghost Road ballad. Nice song.

I had trained for almost a year for this

beast, and I must say that I hit the line

in top shape. I had opted to follow a

coaching plan put together for me by

Squadrun and was rearing to go. I did

make a couple of mistakes which made

my result look pedestrian and if I am ever

mad enough to go back, I am sure that

I would do better. The first mistake was

asking for advice and not listening. I had

asked a good friend who had done the

race if he had any tips. Ross suggested

poles to help with the steep climbs. Nah

not for me.

My second mistake was to start near the

back. I didn’t realise that single track was

really single file with very little passing

room. Here I was fit as a buck rabbit and

ready to go, only to be forced into an

"The race pack had a book The

Spirit of the Stone, a voucher

for a post-race beer, and an

individualised hand written note

of encouragement from one of the

local school kids. Mine was from

Ana K."

"I had trained for almost a year for this beast, and

I must say that I hit the line in top shape. I had opted

to follow a coaching plan put together for me by

Squadrun and was rearing to go."

early walk or even to a stop when we

came to a suspension bridge that could

only take 2 at a time.

After 17ks of this, we arrived at the

Specimen Point aid station, where we had

the privilege of having our drink bottles

filled by Ruth Croft. Very humbling. I was

20 minutes down on my race plan, but I

thought that this would keep me fresh.

I soon wasted the freshness in the nice

flowing bush tracks that led to the Stern

Hut- the halfway point. I felt good and

in hindsight may have pushed a bit hard

here.

I must have felt fairly fresh because I was

getting a bit cheeky with people that I

passed. 2 younger guys did pass me until

I heard this mighty yell from one of them.

I was preparing to wave a helicopter in

for a rescue because it sounded so severe.

One of the lads had been stung by a

wasp. After blowing his nose with his

little hanky he set off past me again. I

commented to his mate that perhaps he

was a drama queen. His mate relayed the

message from “the old guy back there”.

Very embarrassing. I’m a young 62!

From 30 -40 k we had to climb a hill

called The Hanging Judge which was

on these cool rocky switchback trails.

My dislike was that there was significant

vert, which in any other race, would have

been moaned about. This was just a small

appetiser for what was to come.

After tackling the Hanging Judge, we

were in for a scenic treat descending into

the Boneyard with 2 beautiful lakes. I

was getting slightly cooked at this stage

as 44ks is usually a passport to my pain

zone. The Stern Hut couldn’t come soon

enough and there was Ruth Croft again

waiting to fill my drink bottles. She had

helicoptered up the hill which I don’t

think was a bad idea. I was a bit delirious

at this point and called her Ruby, (one of

her running rivals) which I only held onto

for 6 hours or so afterwards.

I fuelled up with bananas, oranges, and

lollies. I picked up my drop bag which had

some more GU gels, bliss balls, and some

moisturiser for my rash prone parts. My

mistake here was not to drink electrolyte

replacement. I had a shocker with cramp

in my last race and thought that the

electrolytes were to blame. I was wrong.

The next section was a brutal climb from

Stern Valley up to the next aid station at

Ghost Lake Hut. Only 13 steep kilometres.

This section was a real treat. It starts with

bush covered switch backs that open into

a beautiful alpine vista. This is where I

needed the poles. Pole aided competitors

were streaming past me until I grabbed

a couple of sticks from the bush and

fashioned my own DIY ones. I popped

a GU gel and took off. The sticks/poles

took a lot of pressure off my legs, and

I was able to pull into Ghost Lake in

reasonable shape ready to let my legs

hurtle me down to the Lyell Saddle.

As I hit the downhill just before the aid

station I could feel the onset of dreaded

cramp. The change in terrain meant

that I was using different muscles and

they were not coping. I tried pickle

juice, cramp spray, red bull but nothing

was working. I popped one of my

GU Espressso Gels and then filled my

water bottles. I could not run at all and

proceeded up to the Tombstone and

Heavens Door Rocky outcrops in my

fastest walk possible. This was frustrating.

I had energy but the cramping legs would

not come to the party.

After the wide-open scenic ridges of the

Lyell Range we descended into more

bush covered switchbacks and made our

way down to the last aid station at the

Lyell Saddle. I lost hours of time here and

had to slay some mental demons. I had

time to appreciate the effort that would

have gone in building the trail in this

section. Some days they only covered 5

metres! I cruised into the last aid station

and thought, stuff it, I am going to drink

some of that electrolyte drink that has

not done well for me in the past. All the

aid station helpers were real personalities

always offering encouragement and some

great banter.

I set off on my ½ power walk down the

hill knowing that at the 10k to go mark

the track turned mostly downhill. I was

going to unleash the beast from that point.

I was in the depths of despair. I’m not

going to make nightfall, I’ll miss the bus

back to town, there will be no beer left!

I decided to summon 2 superpowers. I

started taking deep diaphragmatic breaths

which would help, and I was going to

find everything that I could to be grateful

for: the beautiful track, it wasn’t too hot,

it was smooth footing, the waterfalls

were beautiful. Weirdly, together with the

electrolytes this hocus pocus started to

work and I could shuffle.

Kris and Rach Vermeir, a cool couple

from Christchurch came trotting past

and invited me to join their “train.” I ran

along behind them for the next few ks

discussing kids going to Uni and why we

were putting ourselves through this. Kris

is an accomplished Ultra runner and Rach,

after crewing for him in numerous races

wanted a challenge. Here she was, moving

well after 13 hours in the mountains. Rach

soon succumbed to her own demons and

stopped for a break. With their blessing I

continued the journey posting some of my

fastest splits of the race. I knew that those

legs had potential.

I crossed the suspension bridge to Lyell

and was greeted to congratulations from

race director Phil. He had finished his

race 3 hours earlier but stayed on to

personally welcome everyone home. Kris

and Rach arrived 9 minutes later to an

emotional finish. What a legendary way to

celebrate becoming empty nesters. I had

time for a quick pie and beautiful can of

finishers lager before getting on the last

bus back to Westport.

The next morning, I had to give the

prizegiving a miss after my rental car

company wouldn’t let me get my car back

late. I missed seeing the awards for the

5 year veterans, the Big Day Out prizes

for the last 20 finishers and the maturity

and immaturity awards for the oldest and

youngest competitors. All 3 placegetters

in each age group received prizes. One

would expect nothing less from this

bucket list event.

Will I be back? 85 is a big number!

"I started taking deep diaphragmatic breaths which

would help, and I was going to find everything that I

could to be grateful for"


THE

survival

co.

"The Survival

Co have built

systems

specifically for

New Zealand

conditions,

creating kits

designed to

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to six people

for several

days during an

emergency."

Modern survival kits have evolved far beyond the old idea of a random

collection of gear thrown into a box, a few out of date tin cans and some

candles. Companies such as The Survival Co have built systems specifically for

New Zealand conditions, creating kits designed to support one to six people for

several days during an emergency.

emergency survival solutions

for your family or business

be prepared!

no one can predict an emergency

We are still reeling from the summer storms

of February 2026: heavy rain events, affecting

the upper North Island, caused widespread

flooding, slips, bridges washed away, roads cut

off, no power, and sadly loss of life in Mount

Maunganui.

New Zealand is a country that constantly reminds us how

powerful nature can be. Earthquakes, storms, floods and

landslides are part of our restless landscape. Most people

assume emergencies happen somewhere else until the day

the power goes out, roads close, or a community is suddenly

cut off. When that moment arrives, preparation stops being a

concept and becomes survival.

That is why a survival bag should sit quietly in every home,

office, workshop and even in your vehicle.

Civil Defence advice is simple. Be prepared to look after

yourself and those around you for at least 72 hours after a

major emergency. Don't expect support immediately, you

won't just be disappointed, you might not survive. During

that 72-hour window, help may be stretched, supply chains

disrupted, and communication unreliable. A well-prepared

survival kit gives you breathing room when the unexpected

happens.

Think of it less as a piece of outdoor gear and more as

insurance that you can hold in your hands.

For families, the logic is obvious. Power can fail, water

supplies can be interrupted, and roads can close quickly.

The first priority in those situations is access to the basics of life.

Food. Clean water. Warmth. Light. First aid. Communication. A

survival bag concentrates those essentials in one place so they

are ready when you need them.

For businesses, the case is just as strong.

"a survival

bag should sit

quietly in every

home, office,

workshop and

even in your

vehicle."

Most workplaces focus heavily on evacuation plans but often

overlook the hours or days that can follow an event. You might

have a survival bag at home, but you spend as much time at

work as you do under your own roof. Staff may be stranded in a

building. Transport networks may be down. Offices can become

temporary shelters. A properly equipped emergency kit allows

businesses to support employees until systems return to normal.

Preparedness is also about leadership. A workplace that has

survival supplies on hand sends a clear message that the

organisation takes its people's safety seriously.

The idea is simple. Pack everything needed to remain safe and functional for

three days into a single waterproof bag that can be grabbed quickly if the

situation demands it.

Inside a typical survival kit you will find the core pillars of survival. Food is

handled through high energy ration bars that provide thousands of calories in

compact form. Water containers and purification tablets allow safe drinking water

even when taps run dry.

Health and safety equipment is another cornerstone.

Comprehensive first aid kits deal with injuries, while hygiene items such as

sanitiser, tissues and wipes help maintain basic health in difficult conditions.

Warmth and shelter are covered through thermal blankets and rain ponchos.

Lighting comes from torches and chemical light sticks. Communication is

supported by a small AM FM radio that can receive emergency broadcasts even

when mobile networks fail.

Then there are the small tools that often make the biggest difference. Paracord

bracelets with fire starters, whistles for signalling, safety gloves, notebooks and

even a simple pack of playing cards. These may seem like minor additions until

you find yourself waiting out a long night without power.

Taken together they form a portable support system designed to keep people

safe until help arrives or normal services resume. The value of a survival bag

is not in dramatic adventure scenarios. Its real value lies in quiet reassurance.

Knowing that if something goes wrong you are not starting from zero.

Those who push the outdoors environment know instinctively the need to be

prepared. Trampers carry emergency layers even on sunny days. Backcountry

skiers pack avalanche gear every time they head into the mountains, boaties

have flares, lifejackets and radios, but not every calm day stays that way.

Preparedness is simply part of the mindset.

The same thinking should apply at home and at work.

The reality is that most emergencies do not arrive with warning. When they do,

time becomes the most valuable resource you have. A survival bag gives you that

time. It will buy calm in the middle of chaos.

And in a country like New Zealand, where nature still writes the rules, that might

be one of the smartest pieces of equipment you will ever own.

Premium Quality

Premium preparedness

The Survival Co. was founded in New

Zealand to help fellow Kiwis prepare.

Our kits either meet or exceed

Civil Defence guidelines and our

signature kit is water resistant.

everything you need

To survive a civil defence emergency

p:64 21 226 5331 e: peter@thesurvivalco.nz

thesurvivalco.nz


SURVIVAL

Rab ARK Emergency Bivi RRP $19.95

Made with lightweight PE, the ARK Emergency

Bivi is wind and waterproof and reflects body

heat to keep you safe in emergency situations.

www.outfitters.co.nz

The SuRvival co Survival kits RRP from $244.00

Introducing our signature 72 Hour Survival Kit, packed

in a high quality dry bag. Designed for the essential

requirements of 1-6 individuals in emergency situations,

this thoughtfully curated pack has everything you need

to face unexpected challenges. Each vital component is

meticulously organised and neatly packed into a waterresistant

backpack for convenient carrying. From water

purification tablets to comprehensive first aid supplies,

essential warmth and lighting provisions, ample rations

to sustain your group for three days, and more, our

comprehensive survival pack ensures you are fully

equipped to ensure the well-being of your group. Trust

in our expertise and be prepared for anything that

comes your way. thesurvivalco.nz

Rab Siltarp 1 RRP $229.95

Strong, seam free, ultralight, and

waterproof, the Siltarp offers a great

shelter and a variety of setup options

with a central lifter point.

www.outfitters.co.nz

plb1 personal locator beacon RRP $649.99

This 116g beacon delivers peace of

mind outdoors. With one-handed

operation, a flotation pouch, seven-year

battery, and warranty, it ensures reliable

emergency communication. Help at the

press of a button.

www.lusty-blundell.co.nz

YETI® 27L RANCHERO BACKPACK RRP $475.00 NZD

The easy-access 27L Ranchero

Backpack is the ultimate companion

for those who blur the lines between

work and play. Durable and functional,

whether you’re heading to the office, the

climbing gym, or somewhere in between,

this pack has you covered every step of

the way. Available in select retailers, and

online: nz.yeti.com

YETI® 50L SKALA® MULTI-DAY PACK RRP $700.00

YETI’s new Skala 50L Multi-Day

Pack is the ultimate support system – it

organises necessities from end to end

without weighing you down. Designed

to do its own heavy lifting, this laboursaving,

easy-access backpack’s main

objective is supreme comfort, allowing

you to pack more without sacrificing

efficiency. Available in select retailers,

and online:

nz.yeti.com

Aftco Slammer Dry Backpack 40L RRP $299.99

Roll down dry backpack keeps items dry.

Rugged Duraflex® buckles for reliability

and sonic welded seams to keep water

out. Super comfortable adjustable

shoulder straps. www.kilwell.co.nz

Trailcook 1.2L **NEW** RRP $449.00

Built to enhance your cooking experience in the

backcountry. The TrailCook 1.2L boasts a self-centering

pot support, easy on/off lid, and a ceramic coated 1.2L

FluxRing cook pot with insulating cozy that makes

cooking and clean up effortless, so you can spend more

time enjoying the outdoors. The turn-and-click igniter

pairs with Jetboil’s proprietary regulator for precise heat

control. From simmering and sautéing to a rolling boil,

you’ll have full flexibility. Enjoying a hot meal or a cup

of coffee at camp just got that much easier. Grab the

TrailCook 1.2L and make every meal an adventure.

• Weight: 550 g (*System weight excludes fuel stabilizer)

• Power: 6000 BTU/h / 1.8 kW

• Volume: 1.2 Litre

• Cooking Type: Precision Cook

• Fuel Regulator: Yes

• Boil Time: 2m 10sec per .5 litre (avg. over life of

JetPower can)

www.jetboilnz.co.nz

Trailcook 2.0L **NEW** RRP $479.00

Perfect for road trips and remote campsites,

the TrailCook 2.0L delivers the capacity

you need to feed 2–4 hungry adventurers.

TrailCook 2.0L boasts a self-centering pot

support, easy on/off lid, and a ceramic coated

2.0L FluxRing cook pot with insulating cozy

that makes cooking and clean up effortless,

so you can spend more time enjoying the

outdoors. The turn-and-click igniter pairs with

Jetboil’s proprietary regulator for precise heat

control. From simmering and sautéing to a

rolling boil, you’ll have full flexibility. Enjoying

a hot meal at camp just got that much easier.

Grab the TrailCook 2.0L and make every meal

an adventure.

• Weight: 630 g (*System weight excludes fuel

stabilizer)

• Power: 6000 BTU/h / 1.8 kW

• Volume: 2.0 Litre

• Cooking Type: Precision Cook

• Fuel Regulator: Yes

• Boil Time: 2m 10sec per .5 litre (avg. over

life of JetPower can)

www.jetboilnz.co.nz


Gregory Baltoro Pro 100 RC Backpack RRP $949.95

When the trail demands everything, the

Gregory Baltoro Pro 100 RC delivers. Built

for serious expeditions, this 100-litre pack

carries up to 36.3kg with comfort that

has to be felt to be believed - courtesy of

Gregory's FreeFloat A3 suspension, which

adapts dynamically to your body as you

move. Nine external pockets, a foamless

AirCushion back panel, and recycled

construction round out a pack that sets the

benchmark for expedition performance

www.outdooraction.co.nz

Orvis Pro Waterproof Backpack 30L $RRP 859.99

840-denier, abrasion- and puncture-resistant

ballistic nylon. Coated with .1mm waterproof

TPU. Submersible, blow-out free, #10 TIZIP®

MasterSeal zipper. Perforated, 10mm foam

padding shoulder straps. www.kilwell.co.nz

Crescent Nest Sonic Electric Toothbrush

RRP from $139.99 NZD

B Corp certified, delivers a travel-ready

dentist-approved clean with ~40,000

micro-vibrations and five modes. USB-C

charging lasts up to 60 days. FSC-certified

bamboo heads and castor oil bristles.

www.CrescentNest.com

that's it hot rub RRP $35.90

Tight muscles slow you down.

Hot Rub combines Capsaicin and

NZ Kānuka Oil to gently warm

muscles and ease post-activity

tightness without the aggressive

burn.

Why it earns its place:

• Gently warms muscles to

stimulate blood blow

• Supports post-exercise tightness

• Ideal before & after activity

• Fast-absorbing natural formula

• 100% Natural

• Powered by NZ Kānuka Oil

known for its anti-inflammatory

properties

www.thatsit.nz

Spinlock Venture Bags RRP from $135.00

Adventure-ready and built to last,

Spinlock Venture Bags combine

lightweight toughness with smart

design—perfect for hiking, camping,

or exploring the great outdoors this

summer.


the survival co portable toilet kit

RRP $65.00

The Portable Toilet Kit contains a specially

designed cardboard toilet frame that can

hold up to 120kgs and 6 refill packs. Each

Refill Pack contains a waste bag, a liquid

and odour absorbing powder sachet that

dissolves on contact with liquids, toilet

paper, a smell-free silver disposal bag and

even an antibacterial hand wipe. Meaning

this is a complete toilet solution – there is

nothing else needed. As a guide, if your set

up for the day one bag system (refill) will

last more than one use or approx 3 pees.

thesurvivalco.nz

Pits & Bits Travel Wash Kit

RRP $39.95

No shower? No problem.

The Pits & Bits Travel

Wash Kit is a complete

waterless hygiene solution

in four 100ml bottles -

no-rinse shampoo, body

wash, a peppermint

adventure wash that

doubles as a bug-bite

soother, and a detangling

hair spray. Just apply,

massage, and towel off.

Vegan-friendly, parabenfree,

made in the UK,

and packaged in 100%

recycled plastic. The

essential kit for anyone

heading off-grid.


patagonia Men's R1® Air Fleece Jacket

RRP $279.99

The R1® Air Jacket is a

lightweight, highly breathable

and quick-drying technical fleece

for cool conditions. The full-zip

silhouette offers easy on-off and

venting, and is built with 100%

recycled polyester fabric for

comfort on the move. Made in

a Fair Trade Certified factory.

www.patagonia.co.nz

Mountain Equipment Oreus Hooded Men's Jacket

RRP $859.00

Five years in development, the Mountain

Equipment Oreus rewrites the rules on

synthetic insulation. The proprietary

Aetherm Precision Insulation combines

heat-reflective fabric technology with

100% recycled fill to deliver down-like

warmth in a jacket that laughs at wet

conditions. At just 390g, it packs

small enough to live in your pack

permanently - pulling duty as a

mid-layer, belay jacket, or standalone

shell. Tested from the Karakoram to

Patagonia.


patagonia Women's Nano Puff® Hoody

RRP $459.99

The Nano Puff® Hoody is an

uncontested favourite midlayer for

just about any outdoor pursuit.

It’s weather-resistant, lightweight

and packable synthetic insulation

stays warm even when wet and

can withstand seasons of use.

With improved mobility, 60-g

PrimaLoft® Gold Insulation Eco

100% postconsumer recycled

polyester, and a 100% recycled

polyester shell and lining,

this iteration of the Nano Puff

reinforces why so many people

call this the “magic jacket.” Made

in a Fair Trade Certified factory.

www.patagonia.co.nz

Aftco Sun Mask Nukam Green Camo

UPF40+ RRP $69.99

Quick dry, anti-microbial, UPF

40+. 92% polyester / 8% elastane

blend. Tapered design for

protection of neck, head or face.

Mesh breathing panel.

www.kilwell.co.nz


LAB1126

PROVEN

TO SAVE LIVES

30% (typ) sma

30% (typ) sma

7 year batte

7 year batte

24+ hours op

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SALEWA WILDFIRE NXT GORE-TEX® RRP $419.90

Hiking comfort meets climbing precision – the Wildfire

NXT Gore-Tex® is a high-performance, door-to-summit,

lightweight and durable approach shoe with a seamless

Kevlar®-reinforced Matryx® upper, and an oversized

cushioning midsole. Its unique Vibram® All-Terrain

Megagrip outsole provides secure grip and traction in

all conditions, while our trademark 3F System holds the

ankle and wraps the sides of your foot to guarantee a

true fit with good support, and agility.

Fit: STANDARD / Weight: (M) 360 g (pictured) (W) 305 g

www.bobo.co.nz/salewa

SALEWA PEDROC 2 POWERTEX® RRP $299.90

The Pedroc 2 Powertex® is a light & fast-moving speed

hiking shoe. Its cushioned EVA midsole delivers optimal

rebound, while the trail running-inspired last and

new Salewa® 3F system ensure dynamic stability and

support. Featuring our waterproof, breathable Powertex®

membrane with PFAS-free water repellent treatment.

Underfoot, the Pomoca outsole with directional lugs

promotes a smooth stride with optimal grip and traction

across varied terrain.

Fit: STANDARD / Weight: (M) 380 g (W) 310 g (pictured)


OR PATAGONIA

SALEWA ALP TRAINER 2 GORE-TEX® RRP $399.90

The Alp Trainer 2 GTX has a suede leather and stretch

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against rock, scree and debris. Featuring a GORE-TEX®

Extended Comfort lining for optimal waterproofing

and breathability. The EVA midsole provides superior

cushioning and excellent comfort for a technical shoe.

Climbing Lacing right to the toe allows for a more precise

fit, while the Vibram® Alpine Hiking outsole covers a

wide spectrum of mixed mountain terrain.

Fit: STANDARD / Weight (M) 470 g (pictured) (W) 370 g


SALEWA PEDROC 2 MAX RRP $329.90

This lightweight, fast & protective speed hiking shoe is

built with a shock-absorbing EVA midsole and integrated

high-density stability plate that ensures high rebound

and guidance. Featuring a high-tenacity, protective

and breathable mesh upper, a Dual-Density recycled

footbed, our 3F System® made with TPU & Polyamide to

lock your heel in place, and reflective details for when

sessions push into the dark. Underfoot, the Pomoca

Speed Hiker 2 outsole promotes a smooth stride with

optimal grip and traction.

Fit: WIDE / Weight: (M) 380 g (pictured) (W) 325 g


SALEWA WILDFIRE NXT MID GORETEX® RRP $469.90

Made with a seamless, Kevlar®-reinforced Matryx®

upper to combine hiking comfort with climbing

precision. Equipped with a Custom Fit Footbed Pro for

better arch support and PFAS-free GORE TEX invisible fit

for durable weather protection. Our Salewa® 3F System

wraps the ankle and outer edge of the foot to guarantee

good fit, support and agility, while the unique multi-zone

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secure grip and traction in all conditions.

Fit: STANDARD / Weight: (M) 380 g (W) 325 g (pictured)


SALEWA PEDROC 2 LEATHER MID POWERTEX® RRP $399.90

The Pedroc 2 Leather Mid Powertex® is designed to

ensure versatility and protection for fast-moving activity

across varied terrain. Featuring a lightweight and

supportive mid-cut suede leather upper with a PFASfree

waterproof, breathable Powertex® membrane. The

oversized, cushioning EVA midsole delivers optimal

rebound, while the new Salewa® 3F system and firm

EVA plate ensure dynamic stability. With its directional

lugs, the Pomoca outsole promotes a fluid stride and

optimal grip on variable surfaces.

Fit: STANDARD / Weight (M) 395 g (pictured) (W) 320 g


Included with the sheath is a

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reviews

MERRELL AGILITY PEAK

Tested by Nick Laurie

MARMOT URBAN HAULER MEDIUM

Tested by Steve Dickinson

Merrell have a new shoe coming to

market in early February 2026: the

Agility Peak 6. It’s an update on the

popular Agility Peak 5, and while

the name’s a bit of a mouthful,

the shoe itself makes a solid first

impression. Merrell have kept the

best features of the 5 and added

some smart upgrades. I felt pretty

lucky to receive a pair just before

Christmas to test out.

Straight out of the box, I liked the look of

them—but they felt stiff and rigid. That didn’t

last long. After about 2 km in the bush, the

stiffness gave way and I felt more connected

to the trail, with nice shock absorption

kicking in. After a few training runs, I wanted

a real test. I wore them for one of New

Zealand’s most rugged trail races—The Goat

Tongariro. A brutal mix of mud and volcanic

rock, this race would expose any weaknesses

fast.

One issue with the Agility Peak 5 was

the durability of the upper. Merrell have

responded by overhauling it: the 6 now

features a tough but breathable mesh, a

protective overlay, and a hydrophobic

tongue to resist water. In shallow puddles,

water stayed out completely. In deeper

sections, they drained well—though maybe a

little slower than the previous model.

The outsole is where these shoes

really stand out. They use Vibram

Megagrip with 5mm lugs, and the grip

was excellent. While other runners

slipped and slid on muddy stretches,

I stayed on my feet. As soon as I was

out of the mud, debris cleared easily

from the sole.

On the sharp volcanic sections, I was

grateful for the forefoot rock plate. It

did its job—several hard toe kicks and

not a single stubbed toe. The balance

between ground feel and rigidity was

spot on, letting me move confidently

through rocky, technical terrain. The

midsole, made of FLOATPRO foam,

gave me a strong sense of connection

with the trail, and the slight forward

rocker added just enough propulsion

to help me hold pace.

Overall verdict: my next race is the

Old Ghost Ultra, 85 km on gravel and

alpine track. I’ve got options—my

Salomon Gravels, my Terrex, or these

new Merrells. But after surviving The

Goat with zero blisters, no bruises,

and stable footing throughout, I’ll be

running the Old Ghost in the Agility

Peak 6. They deliver a soft-ish ride

with solid protection, smart grip, and

enough durability to go the distance.

There is a category of packs that

quietly do more work than they

ever get credit for.

They are not summit packs or expedition

haulers. They are the ones you grab without

thinking because they simply fit into your

day. The Marmot Urban Hauler Medium sits

firmly in that space and after using it hard for

everyday missions it earns its keep.

At 28 litres, this is a proper medium-sized

pack. Big enough for gym gear, groceries, or

a day of running errands. Small enough that

it never feels bulky or overbuilt. The top load

design keeps things simple and fast. Open it

up drop gear in pull the drawcord and go.

No fiddling no wasted motion.

The shoulder strap is the standout

feature. It is padded and comfortable

and converts cleanly into a carry

handle. That sounds minor until you

live with it. In and out of the car lifting

it onto a café bench or carrying it short

distances by hand feels natural. It is a

genuinely useful design choice not a

gimmick.

The fabric is well picked for its role.

The 210d nylon ripstop has enough

structure to hold shape when the

pack is half full but still feels light and

flexible. It shrugs off daily knocks

without looking trashed. The drawcord

top adds a surprising amount of

weather protection. Light rain and

splash from wet pavement never made

it through during use.

Organisation is deliberately minimal

and that is a good thing. One front zip

pocket for phone wallet and keys. A

key clip that sits where you expect it

to be. An external water bottle pocket

that fits a full-size bottle without

fighting you. Inside is just space which

is exactly what you want for an urban

hauler.

Comfort is better than expected for a

pack without a rigid frame. The HD

foam frame gives enough structure

to stop loads sagging and keeps the

pack comfortable even when fully

loaded. For walking cycling or public

transport, it sits well and stays stable.

What this pack is not trying to be

matters. It is not hydration compatible.

It is not a technical alpine pack. It is

a daily driver built by a brand that

understands materials and durability.

That heritage shows.

If your life involves gyms supermarkets

road trips and daily movement rather

than trailheads and hut passes the

Marmot Urban Hauler Medium makes

a strong case for itself. It is practical

tough and quietly well designed.

My only addition would have been a

chest clip – for when biking (store and

quick bike session combination – but

that would be it)

Sometimes the best gear is the stuff

you stop noticing because it just

works. This pack gets there fast.

for more information and purchase

www.marmot.co.nz

SUUNTO NAUTIC S GRAPHITE

Tested by Robert Mainster (PADI dive master)

We have spent enough time

underwater to know when a piece

of dive gear is trying to impress

you and when it is simply doing its

job properly. The Suunto Nautic S

falls squarely into the second camp.

After weeks of coastal dives, low

visibility conditions and long days

that mixed scuba and freediving,

this computer earned our trust

quickly.

The first thing that stands out is the screen.

The AMOLED display is outstanding. In

green water, deeper drops and gloomy

conditions where detail usually disappears,

the Nautic S stays sharp and readable at

a glance. That matters when task loading


is high and you want information

instantly, not after a squint and a

second look. The sapphire crystal also

shrugged off knocks on rocks and

ladders without complaint.

In the water, it feels purpose built. Air,

Nitrox and multi gas modes cover the

majority of recreational and technical

diving we do, while the freediving

tools make it genuinely useful beyond

scuba. The built in LED flashlight

sounds like a gimmick until you use

it under a ledge or during a late exit.

Then it quietly proves its worth.

Battery life is a big win. Sixty hours of

dive time meant full weekends without

chasing a charger. That alone makes it

well suited to liveaboards or back to

back dive days where logistics already

demand enough attention.

We liked the physical interface. Large

buttons that work with thick gloves, no

fiddly swiping and no guessing. The

3D compass was accurate and stable,

and wireless tank pressure worked

cleanly with transmitters, adding

another layer of situational awareness

without clutter.

On land, Bluetooth syncing to the

Suunto App was painless. Dive logs

came through cleanly, routes made

sense and the data was actually useful

rather than just decorative graphs.

There are no smartwatch distractions

here. No notifications. No lifestyle

padding. That will put some people

off, but for us it is a positive. This is

a dive instrument, not a wrist based

phone extension. The price reflects

that focus and the quality of the

hardware.

Our take

The Suunto Nautic S is a serious tool

for divers who value clarity, reliability

and long battery life over gimmicks.

Compact, tough and calm under

pressure, it is equally at home on

recreational dives or more demanding

technical setups. If you want a dive

computer that stays out of the way and

delivers when conditions are less than

friendly, this one deserves a hard look.

Suunto Nautic S the watch:

apac.suunto.com

Suunto Nautic the computer:

apac.suunto.com

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Like a ‘perfect storm’, we have seen a dramatic growth and

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Amazing holidays for active people and those who seek

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The best outdoor equipment for all of your adventurous

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Specialists in the sale of Outdoor Camping Equipment, RV,

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An Auckland based

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Patagonia is a designer of outdoor clothing and gear for the

silent sports: climbing, surfing, skiing and snowboarding, fly

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Bespoke fully escorted tours to China with travel expert Michael

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enquiries@blueskiestravel.co.nz

Bobo Products, a leading importer and distributor of snow

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Choose from a range of wine tours, seafood cruises and more

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South Pacific

rarotonga

it's all about the ocean

Rarotonga is straightforward. I got there,

dropped my bags, and went straight into

the water. That set the tone for everything

that followed.

The lagoon is where it starts. Most mornings it sits flat,

held in by the reef, easy to read. The water is clear

enough that I was always looking down at something.

Coral heads, fish moving through in small groups, the

occasional ray sliding across the sand. It did not take

long to settle into it.

Stand up paddleboarding fit that pace. I was not trying

to cover distance or work toward anything. I just

moved across the lagoon, stopped when it felt right,

and looked around. Snorkelling worked the same way.

I could walk straight in from the beach, put my face in

the water, and be over reef within minutes. No setup,

no waiting around, no need to plan it.

By late morning the wind usually started to build.


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That is when the lagoon shifted. What felt slow earlier in

the day started to move with more purpose. I spent most

afternoons kiteboarding. The conditions made it easy to focus.

Warm water, steady wind, and enough space to figure things

out without getting in anyone’s way. When I got it wrong, it

did not matter much. I could reset and go again. Over a few

sessions, things started to click. Longer runs, better control, less

thinking.

Out past the lagoon, the reef changed the picture.

It is a clear line. Inside feels contained. Outside does not. Swell

hits the reef and breaks over shallow coral with real force. I

watched it for a while before heading out. On the right day, it

was possible to get through the pass and find clean waves with

hardly anyone around. But it is not forgiving. It demands a bit

more attention, and it is obvious when you are out of your

depth.

Coming back inside felt lighter every time.

Snorkelling was where that contrast really stood out. One

minute there is wind and movement, the next it is calm again.

I would float above coral and let things slow down. There is

plenty of life, but it never feels crowded or chaotic.

The turtles were part of that. I did not go looking for them

in any structured way. I just spent time in the water and

eventually they showed up. They move slowly and do not

react much. The interaction is quiet, but it stays with you.

I did a couple of dives off the reef edge as well. The bottom

drops away quickly and the blue opens up. Visibility is strong

and there is more moving through out there. Bigger fish, more

space, a different scale to everything. It is simple diving, but it

gives a better sense of where you are.

What stood out most was how easy it all was to piece together.

I could paddle in the morning, kite through the afternoon, and

get back in for a snorkel later on without needing to organise

anything. No long drives, no tight schedules. Just paying

attention to the conditions and going when it made sense. That

simplicity is what makes it work.

It is also close. A short flight from Auckland, easy to get to,

easy to settle into. I did not spend time planning or adjusting. I

just arrived, got in the water, and let the place do the rest.

I left feeling like I had actually used it. Not rushed, not

overthought. Just time spent in the water, doing what was there.

Bamboo rafting in Wuyi Mountain National Park

Sunset over the classical landscapes of West Lake, Hangzhou

Cormorant Fishermen ply the waterways of Wuzhen Wandering the Rock Tea Trail on Wuyi Mountain The stunning granite peaks of San Qing Mountain

Morning Carbo loading on Bao Zi Buns and Soy Milk.

Blue skies travel

a walk into nature: Adventures in South East China

Words and images by Michael Queree

"Blue Skies Travel has found a way to bridge that gap,

offering small group journeys from New Zealand that trade

the usual whirlwind tour for something more considered."

For many New Zealand travellers, China sits in that intriguing but

slightly intimidating category. Vast, complex, culturally rich, and

logistically challenging, it is a destination that often feels easier to

admire from afar than to navigate on your own.

Yet those who do go tend to come back changed. Not just impressed, but surprised.

China is not one experience, but many layered together. Ancient philosophy and

hyper-modern cities, misty mountain trails and high-speed rail, quiet tea rituals and

booming night skylines. The challenge is not whether to go, but how to experience

it in a way that makes sense.

Blue Skies Travel has found a way to bridge that gap, offering small group journeys

from New Zealand that trade the usual whirlwind tour for something more

considered. Their South-East China itinerary leans into the idea that adventure does

not have to mean hardship, and that depth often comes from slowing things down.

This is not a box-ticking exercise. Yes, there are moments of

scale and spectacle. Shanghai delivers that immediately, its

waterfront skyline shifting from day to night with a kind of

theatrical confidence. But the trip does not linger only in the

obvious. It moves beyond the familiar, into provinces and

landscapes that many international visitors never reach.

Travelling in a group of no more than ten, the experience

stays personal. There is room to move, to ask questions, to

pause when something catches your attention. It also makes

it possible to access places that larger tours simply bypass.

The dynamic feels less like being led and more like being

guided, with space for individual curiosity alongside shared

experience.

The journey itself becomes part of the story. China’s high-speed

rail network connects cities with an efficiency that feels almost

futuristic, turning what could be long transfers into seamless

transitions. It is a contrast that defines much of the trip. One

day you are walking through landscapes shaped by centuries

of Confucian, Taoist and Buddhist tradition, the next you are

stepping into a city that seems to be accelerating into the

future.

Walking is a key part of the experience. Four day hikes wind

through national parks and mountain regions in southern

China, offering a closer connection to the land. These are

not extreme expeditions, but thoughtfully chosen routes that

balance accessibility with reward. The pace allows time to

take in the detail, from terraced hillsides to forested valleys,

from temple structures tucked into rock faces to viewpoints

that open out across vast, layered terrain.


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Tour leaders, Michael Gueree and Guo Jie (Georgia)

Food, inevitably, becomes another lens through which to

understand the country. The journey moves through several

provinces, each with its own distinct culinary identity. Meals are

not treated as a side note, but as part of the cultural immersion.

Sitting down together, sharing dishes, sampling local flavours, it

becomes clear that cuisine here is as regional and expressive as

the landscapes themselves.

There are moments of quiet contrast woven throughout. In

Wuyishan, a bamboo raft drifts along the Nine Bends River,

the pace slowing to match the curve of the water. Later, an

outdoor performance directed by Zhang Yimou unfolds against

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something distinctly Chinese in scale and storytelling.

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This fully escorted small group journey (max 10) offers a richly

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Led by China specialist Michael Queree and Guo Jie (Georgia),

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In Avarua at the wharf end opposite the Punanga Nui Market

From Shanghai’s futuristic skyline to the historic streets of

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ancient past. Three high-speed rail journeys link a diverse series

of regions, each known for distinctive cuisine, from Jiangsu to

Fujian.

Four guided day walks explore national parks and sacred

landscapes shaped by Confucian, Taoist and Buddhist heritage,

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For a full itinerary, to book a place on our next tour, or for

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“Discover the hidden wonders of the Nydia Track.”

All inclusive package from $535 per person (share twin)

Package includes: • Track transfers •Coffee and cake on arrival at On the Track Lodge • 2 nights in comfortable chalet accommodation* • All meals

(Day 1 dinner & dessert, Day 2 breakfast, packed lunch & dinner & dessert, Day 3 breakfast & packed lunch) • Use of On the Track Lodge kayaks

and all other amenities, including a hot-tub. *Upgrade to stay in the newly renovated vintage train carriages (with private bathroom).

On The Track Lodge, Nydia Track, Marlborough Sounds

+643 579 8411 | stay@onthetracklodge.nz | www.onthetracklodge.nz

0800 773 766

www.supps.nz

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