It was an adventure that could have spluttered and died. But instead it burnt brightly into the night, writes Dan Kelly.
September 2004. A snow-bearing front was moving up the Southern Alps and the sunset came and went carrying traces of red sky.
It was then I knew that the next day would present ideal conditions for the two-day heli-ski adventure we had been planning for a few months.
Normally with heli-skiing the activity takes three to six hours on one day, after which folks return in the early evening to bars and restaurants to celebrate.
For our two-day session we were to fly folks to heli-ski on the south face of Mt Larkins, then on their last run they would switch to the north side and ski down to a hut where they would camp overnight in tents.
That night there would be a bonfire on the snow and quite a big music system pumping out high alpine beats.
The next day there would be a little ski touring and just hanging out in the mountains, before flying out in the afternoon.
The morning of the adventure, excited people were tumbling out of their cars and hopping around the staging area at the Glenorchy airstrip getting their gear on.
There was an air of anticipation about good times to come.
Everyone was allowed one alpine pack of gear with camping equipment and food, as well as their heli-ski gear.
The packs were flown up in a net to be delivered to the hut along with about two tonnes of firewood and the music system.
As well as having a sound system on the snow, we modified the helicopter sound system, removing the helicopter's headphones and "pimping'' the system with a tailor-made unit plugged into the machine's electrics, amp and speakers tucked out of the way under the back seat.
So everyone flew with a wall of music going on, as if they were still in their own vehicles.
I went up after everyone else was already on the south face doing their 1000m runs and joined in to satisfy myself that the heli-skiing session was working well, then shot down to the hut to start preparations at about 3pm.
It was interesting to pick the skiers out as tiny figures descending the steep north face and arriving at the campsite with looks that were a mixture of tiredness and exhilaration.
Then they fetched their packs and set about digging level platforms in the snow and erecting their tents around the hut.
Gradually, a small village grew and the bonfire was set and lit at 5pm, the music starting soon after.
I had no idea how the bonfire would work on the snow.
It was a live experiment with 35 others.
Would it form a puddle and splutter and not work?
What did happen was that the fire worked as perfectly as if it were burning on a dry sandy beach.
Through the night the fire grew to become a 4m-wide wonder of bright orange embers and heat, gradually embedding itself 3m down into the snow so that we cut steps down as it sank and then dug couches on the sides of the crater, lying back, looking up at the stars beyond, traces of snow wisping across while the music played.
It was one of the best days of my life.
- Dan Kelly is a Glenorchy-based sculptor and alpine tourism operator.
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