If it’s been a few years since you’ve done something, it turns out you can forget how to do it. "Use it or lose it" is legitimate advice. I’m not saying I was Zoi Sadowski-Synnott, but three years ago I could ride the chairlift to the top and make my way down a mountain on a snowboard, relying on a solid ability to turn, in one direction at least. If worse came to worst, I could "falling leaf" my way out of trouble. Back then I was snowboarding with the Waitaki Yeti; these days I’m going solo.
Doing things by yourself can feel daunting, especially adventuring. Women don’t like to do stuff by themselves, in case it’s awkward or we get murdered; but I had to get out of the bach because of the rats. After days of no sleep caused by the dreadful skittering noises coming from the ceiling, I’d called in an exterminator.
"That’s the worst I’ve ever seen," he said, climbing out of the manhole. "These are some really big rats."
He laid bait, but the rats did not go gently. On the contrary, they had a weeklong bender. Turns out rats are very chatty and would have told all the rats in the area about the delicious Pindone in my ceiling, so I was effectively poisoning all the rats in Purakaunui.
You’re welcome.
It’s a 270km-plus drive from Dunedin to the foot of Mt Dobson, so I found an Airbnb in Fairlie for Friday night and in the absence of rat sounds had the best sleep known to woman.
Sitting in the elbow of a high sun-soaked basin at the southernmost point of the Te Kahui Kaupeka Conservation Park, Mt Dobson ski area - or "Dobo" - is one of the Mackenzie district’s golden triangle of skifields. Along with Roundhill and Ohau, it’s known for a relaxed, friendly vibe, lack of crowds, and "have a go" spirit.
At an elevation of 1748m (5734 feet) above the sea level, the Dobson ski area road is one of the highest in the country. I knew driving myself up it would give me the heebie jeebies, so I parked at the bottom and hitched a lift. The Saturday was sunny, the powder was fresh and there were plenty of OmaRoosters up the mountain, familiar faces who come every year alongside quite a few new South Islanders, sick of Auckland and still unable to believe their good luck in moving here.
Dobson accommodates all levels and the lack of slickness or people trying desperately to be cool makes for a great time whether you’re a back country ninja or a frontside only newbie.
First thing’s first, a Fairlie Bakehouse pie for breakfast — pork and apple, complete with a strip of crackling across the top. There are no calories up the mountain.
Peter Foote was "at home", having a cup of tea after doing a rubbish run.
"I like to do bits and pieces," he said. His dogged determination and achievements are a legend in this district. There’s even a book: Mount Dobson Against all Odds, by Jan Danrell, produced for the ski field’s 40th birthday in 2019. It’s an amazing story and well worth a read.
I particularly love the Dobson carpark ambiance. First runs of the morning in, there were already a few beers being cracked and by lunchtime it would be a full-blown picnic social: sausages sizzling, shared crackers and cheese, everyone up for a chat. Caught by the mouth, it took me an hour to walk up to the learner’s platter.
Breaking out of your shell and overcoming fears can be intimidating. However, walking down the mountain road alone that afternoon, listening to no other voice than my own inner chat — the sun on my face, spectacular views of the mountains over Tekapo way, I thought "nothing beats time away from the rat race and doing stuff by yourself".
Which made me recall the Netherworld Dancing Toys lyric, "The truth is I enjoy my own company best" and laugh at the lie of it.
The truth is I’d interacted with more people in one day up Mt Dobson than I normally would in a week.
