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ADVENTURES IN NEW ZEALAND Glacier Walking —PAGE 3— New Zealand’s got better rides than a theme park. Photo copyright © HOME AT FIRST A continuous stream of chatter came over the phones—some between pilot and base about future shuttles he needed to plan that day, and some between pilot and passengers, as we got the blow-by-blow of the remarkable environment we suddenly found ourselves in. Tail up so we could readily see out of its plexiglass nose, the chopper swung from side to side. Like a bumblebee in a field of flowers, it shunted in stuttering flight to whatever caught our attention. We explored the steep rock embankments which contain the glacier. We soared to the upper reaches of the Fox where, for a precious moment, the clouds parted to reveal a cobalt blue sky and serrated snowcaps of 3000 meter high mountains. Then we seemed to free fall alongside the steep upper descent of the glacier called Victoria Falls before hovering in a spin over a little anvil of ice in the middle of Fox Glacier. Below us, visible only as black specks among the wrinkles and crevasses, were people. A few hundred yards above them, it was hard to imagine how they got here. Now we descended with skilled purpose, spinning, spinning, looking for threats to our safe touch down—wind shear, probably. Touch down?! We barely placed both runners on the anvil, which could not be much larger than a billiard table. The rotor stayed hot, and the pilot opened his door. But he stayed in his seat. We were met by our glacier guide, who helped us with our belts and our packs and our footing as we made the long step from chopper to pack ice. I suddenly knew why some agility is required for this trip.
WE BARELY PLACED BOTH RUNNERS ON THE ANVIL, Our glacier guide assembled his charges by the cordwood. "I’m Pierre," he said in an Aussie-French accent. Pierre is not his real name. I’ve forgotten his real name. But I will not forget his accent. Not a keeper.
OUR GUIDE 'PIERRE'—HANDSOME,
ATHLETIC, CHEERY For the next two and a half hours Pierre—easily the youngest of us, certainly the fittest of us, and, oddly, not the only one of us in short pants—led us on a glacial scavenger hunt. We collected as many glacier-walking experiences as he could assemble for us. We nervously climbed ridges, squeezed sideways between ice walls, stepped gingerly over crevasses, slip-slided through ice grottoes, ascended crowns, stared down mesmerized into chasms, all with Pierre’s running commentary of light patter and minor levity designed to put us at ease. He cut quite a figure—handsome, athletic, even cheery—as he wended his pick-axe in one hand deftly carving out stairsteps without breaking stride or a sweat. He made it known he was professionally trained and has tackled the toughest challenges of the Southern Alps, and some of the northern Alps, too—he earned his unique accent in the French Savoy. Most of us were fit—savvy—young—daring enough to take on every challenge Pierre threw at us. Even the loud reports from the glacier cracking in the late summer warmth didn’t put us off. Pierre kept spirits buoyant, even when we would venture into an area without an outlet and had to retrace our steps. One of us, however, was not right for the trip. You can book your Fox Glacier adventure as
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The chopper pilot was in a hurry. He had more people to ferry—including five more for
our trip—and he was impatient to end his balancing act on this altar of ice. No
sooner did our fifth passenger scramble down into the arms of our glacier guide than the
helicopter leapt about ten feet into the air, then rolled right, plunging steeply down ice
for the two-minute straight run to the cinder block pick-up point.
Pierre handed out the contents of the wooden box: steel-toothed frames for our hobnail
boots—elementary instep crampons. Then he passed out the logs, which turned out to be
wooden poles tipped with galvanized steel points—alpenstocks! Next came a five-minute
lesson on how to walk in our slippery environs. Then, like a mother duck, Pierre led his
fifteen goslings up out of the depression and into terra incognita.