In The Driver's Seat

They’re looking at me & waiting. Waiting for me to speak or curl up in a ball with fear in my eyes. The latter doesn’t happen; I’m prepared & ready to go. I begin my lesson & the next thing I know, the period is over. The students are leaving for their next class, the room is the same as before, and I’m alive. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. One lesson down and many more to go.

For the third week of Teaching Practice, I was in the driver’s seat – the line of fire. The regular teachers in several classes stepped aside & handed the class over to me for the period. No matter how good your lesson looks on paper, anything can happen in practice. The Good, the Bad, & the Ugly – you can’t avoid them. All you can do is steer towards the good & hope you don’t hit any potholes along the way. It’s a territorial struggle; if you don’t control the class, the class will control you. Even though I’ve been observing for two weeks, it’s a different ball game when being the teacher because the students behave differently towards a newcomer.

Most of the classes I taught turned out okay but there were some that were more challenging. Even though I taught cadets back in Canada, it’s much different when teaching regular students – they don’t come pre-disciplined & I don’t have assistants to maintain the students in check. You’re on your own. You just have to make do with what you have. Would be nice to have a Taser but the outcome wouldn’t be pretty.

The observing teachers were impressed with my knowledge of the subjects, lesson planning, organization, & good abilities in answering questions, except I still need to work on class control & being more mobile. Turns out I prefer to be a lecturer & stand at the front – good for university, but for high school I need to be everywhere & giving out more activities. Some of the teachers only stand at the front when they teach but they can get away with that because they’ve been teaching. I’m still in training.

Week 3 was the teaching test run and I’ve been practicing on what to improve on so Week 4 should be much better. If not . . . I wonder where I can get a Taser?

When I met up with my friends at the bar on Friday, they too had some rough classes but were able to survive. Not a lot of people showed up because of exhaustion – a lot of work is needed to prepare, teach, & control. Maybe I’ll skip having kids. Aside from that, my friends have been enjoying the teaching experience. I’m guessing more will show up next Friday when they have more strength.

The rest of the week was pretty much uneventful & flew by fast. The price of food increased slightly, especially with fruits & vegetables. For Week 4, I’ll continue teaching Year 9 & 10 Social Studies and begin teaching Year 11 Music on Wednesday. I’m beginning to attach names to faces which is good because I can’t address everyone as ‘Hey You.’

It has been 2 months since I landed in New Zealand (time goes by fast) & the fact hasn’t hit me in the face yet. If it has I didn’t feel it; I’m stronger than I used to be. As well, I don’t feel homesick. I haven’t asked any of my friends if they are because they still appear strong to me. The only thing the Canadian students are worried about is if they’ll receive their student loans (OSAP) from Ontario before they run out of money. I’ve been away from my Canadian homeland many times in recent years so the whole homesick feeling is practically non-existent. The only thing I kind of miss is my PC back home because it has my games. I could really go for Command & Conquer or Call of Duty right now, but instead I’ve been confined to playing Freecell & reading novels.

Time to get back to work.

Second Week

They call me Mr. D . . . because they’ve given up pronouncing all 6 letters.

I hold no objections; better that than my previous nicknames. Zobba, Bobo, Spike, Age, Shadez, Ruff, Tennis Ball.

My prediction came true.

My second week at St. Thomas of Canterbury College came and went as fast as the first; only 5 more weeks remain. I haven’t started counting down the days but everyone else at the university who are enjoying a 2-week break, have been asking me how I’m going to spend mine? Teaching, I guess.

This week I was more interactive with the students, no longer confined to mere observer, making sure they completed their work and didn’t disrupt their classmates. Lucky for me, I haven’t had to deal with a student who has a problem with submitting to authority. It’s great that I got this interactive experience because at the same time, the teachers handed me several lessons to prepare & teach at the start of Week 3. In Year 9 Social Studies I have to teach the Ancient Indus Valley Civilization (relates to their unit on India); in Year 10 Social Studies I have to teach New Zealand’s Treaty of Waitangi (1840) over a series of 10 lessons; and as for Year 11 Music, I have to prepare a series of lessons on a New Zealand song, ‘I Hope I Never’, written by Tim Finn, member of the 1970s band Split Enz. Oh yeah, welcome to the teaching life.

Getting assigned all that on the second week made me picture the dropping of a very thick book on a table, the loud THUD! emphasizing quantity, and the person who dropped it saying, “Teach all that starting tomorrow.” It may sound daunting but I’m allowed to space out my lessons for more than a week because no one, not even the St Thomas boys can learn all that I’ve said in one day. With the weekend at my disposal, my lessons will be ready on Monday.

This past Friday, there was an assembly to welcome & thank educators from China who helped with the planning & organizing of a trip to China for several St Thomas of Canterbury students. Before the assembly began, the students welcomed the Chinese by gathering around them and performing a Maori Haka, a type of war dance lasting about a minute. (I would later learn that the Chinese hold the Maori Haka in high regard.) If I had known of this earlier, I would have brought my camera to film it. I’ll film it the next time. All I can say is that it was an interesting performance, all the boys moving in unison, shouting, & hissing. Apparently, the original point of this Haka was to appear dangerous & scary to the enemy. Although I don’t think this Haka would work against an enemy with modern weaponry; I’m reminded of a particular scene from the movie, Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark, where Indiana Jones is facing off against a sword-wielding warrior in Egypt.

Since it was Friday, I met up with my college friends at Dux de Lux to recap on the past week. This time I brought my ID but luckily I didn’t have to show it. I tried the plate of nachos that contained a lot of good edible stuff except the salsa was mild. Half a bottle of Tabasco sauce solved that problem. Several of my college friends have already started teaching and other were like me - still observing and assisting. The people who already started teaching felt that they were rushed into it whereas those who hadn’t felt bored. A glass half full or half empty scenario. Well, there will be peace next week when everyone will be teaching. As for class behaviour, everyone agreed that it fluctuates and there are no students causing any big problems.

When Christchurch became drenched in a sea of darkness & streetlights, some went home to sleep while the rest of us hopped over to a friends place for a private party. Good music, good people, & good alcohol. We also watched the Canadian team finish off their, um, performances at the Beijing Olympics. The Canadian government really needs to invest more money in its summer athletes, but overall, Canada did a good job going for the bronze!

Although, I still wonder what will happen to the 1.2 million Chinese who got evicted off their lands just so Beijing could build the necessary facilities to host the Olympic games?

I breathed a sigh of relief the next morning, knowing that I woke up in my own bed with no tattoos, and no piercings.

Time to get to work on those lessons Mr. D.

Settling In

I’m alive. I survived. But not all is done.

The first week of teaching practice has finished and I’m beginning to get comfortable with the student & teaching atmosphere at St Thomas of Canterbury College. Questions such as “Why am I here?”; “What am I doing?”; “Have I made the right choice?”; and “Where’s the washroom?” have not surfaced since I asked them on day one. I think I’ll do quite well for the next 6 weeks.

The classes I’m assisting are: Year 9 Social Studies; Year 10 Social Studies and Music; Year 11 English, Music, and History. Also, my schedule gives me several spare periods to relax or prepare upcoming lessons. So far, I haven’t been assigned a lesson to teach but I’m expecting that to happen next week. I’ll be ready & waiting. I was surprised to discover the music building to be heavily equipped with instruments and sound editing devices. The music department is better equipped than the music program back in my Catholic high school. There are 2 drum sets, many keyboards & guitars, as well as a small recording studio! I should ask the music teacher to travel to Ontario to be a music lobbyist for the schools over there. I jammed on the upright pianos and discovered they were better tuned than the pianos at the College!

The teenage boys are quite energetic, or should I say teenage Kiwis? I should have written earlier that the slang term for New Zealander is Kiwi. The term arose from WWI; New Zealand soldiers wore the Kiwi bird (national symbol) on their uniform as a form of identity. In Canada’s case, the Maple Leaf won over the beaver. There’s something else I find interesting about Christchurch Kiwis: they always say ‘Thank you’ when getting off the bus. It gives me the impression that it’s the law. Canadians mostly express their thanks in silence.

Like all schools, every class has its troublemaker(s), class clown(s), dedicated learner(s), gossiper(s), and everyone in the middle. There are times when you just want to give the troublemakers a verbal/physical piece of your mind but you quickly remind yourself not to take it personally. It’s all a game of who’s going to cave in first. The small Kiwis are testing the limits of your backbone and you can’t give in. In my case, I did my best not to raise my voice when a student was acting out of line. So far, I haven’t had a direct challenge to my authority from students. The students are curious about my origins and confused about how to pronounce my last name. I’m sure they’ll think of a nickname: maybe Mr. D? Overall, my students’ act okay but there is the occasional outburst or two; must be from too much sugar at breakfast. When it comes to appearance I noticed three distinct hairstyles among the boys: mullets, mushroom cuts, and spike mohawks for the Maori students.

What immediately stood out when I began my teaching practice was the information sharing among teaching staff. All staff members have a booklet that lists students with learning disabilities and ways to assist. That would never fly back in Ontario where confidentiality is intense. I suppose there is some privacy because the booklet doesn’t provide pictures. Also, during morning meetings, problems with certain students are openly announced & discussed in general context; no details are provided. I don’t think the same happens back at home because information is only shared by those involved. Everyone else just learns about it when the problem is long over through word of mouth during lunch or at the water cooler.

Before teaching practice began, the student teachers realized that they were being split up and sent to different schools alone or in small groups, meaning we wouldn’t see each other. It was decided that we would meet at Dux de Lux, a restaurant, bar & grill in downtown on Friday evenings. Apparently, we miss each other. When we assembled today, I was reminded of how big our group was because we took up quite a number of tables. We ordered drinks and appetizers, and talked about surviving Week 1. From what I gathered from everyone, they were all having fun, coping with their students, and even had a chance to teach. A couple of the male teachers already had a few female admirers!

It wasn’t until I arrived that I realized I forgot my ID. Back in Canada I was always asked to show ID when ordering alcoholic drinks. I mentioned it openly and several of my friends replied just to go in and order with confidence because they weren’t ID’d. So I went to the bar, doing my best to act & appear over 18 and steering the bartender away from asking for ID. Luck was with me because I got the beer I wanted! When I got back to the table I saw that one of my friends had bought me a beer because of my problem. Long story short, I couldn’t finish two glasses (I’m a lightweight, so sad), so he had to.

Everyone wished each other good luck on the upcoming week and to be back at Dux de Lux next Friday. We all parted our separate ways with confident smiles on our faces. I think we’ll all make it through the teaching practice with positive results.

If I need to take a vacation after my teaching practice, an ad at the nearby bus stop gave me an interesting suggestion.

The First Day

Rested. Showered. Dressed. Breakfast. Packed.

I am ready.

Today, August 11, 2008, was my first day of Teaching Practice at St. Thomas of Canterbury College. I would find out if my 4 weeks of classroom study would be put to the test. In addition, if I ran into any problems, my plan gave me the choices of responding, “It’s my first day,” or blame the person that doesn’t speak English.

Even though the College of Education gave us a brief description of what to wear, I decided to wear a black suit with a brand new dress shirt & tie. If that does not convince the St Thomas staff that I am serious about teaching, then I do not know what will. In the cold early morning, I met up with my companion Jamie (in the same program and from Newmarket, Ontario) and we both walked to the college. While our exhaled breaths disappeared into the morning sun, Jamie & I agreed that because it was the first day, we would most likely be observing how classes operated. She was hoping to observe the science classes, her specialty, whereas I didn’t mind seeing the music department.

Even though we arrived 3 minutes late because of a wrong turn, we were still in time for the morning briefing. The teachers were all casually dressed for the day meaning that I had indeed overdressed. Better over than under in my mind. When the briefing was done, myself, Jamie, and two other student teachers were paired off with Year 8 students to follow for the day and to observe the teachers in their classes.

St. Thomas of Canterbury College is a campus of several 1 to 2-story buildings, unlike a Canadian secondary school, which is one massive edifice. There is no boarding at this college. The day starts at 9 and ends at 3. There are six, fifty-minute periods: 4 in the morning, & 2 in the afternoon. A 15-minute Interval, aka Morning Tea, separates periods 2 & 3, and lunch separates periods 4 & 5.

Morning Tea. Wow, just hearing me say that makes me sound so sophistimacated. Um . . . sophisticated.

The dress code for the boys is blue suits with red ties. Exposure to the appearances & accents of the students for the first time made me look around, thinking I had accidentally walked onto the movie set for the next Harry Potter flick.

For the first day, I sat through Spanish, Technology (Shop), English, Social Studies, Religion, and French. Yes, no music but “it’s my first day.” I still have 7 weeks to spend here.

It felt like Grade 8 & 9 all over again. Relief Teachers, a.k.a. Supply Teachers, taught Spanish, Social Studies, and French, meaning simple tasks & games to keep the kids occupied. Of course, the general worldwide student view of a supply teacher was still there: supply teacher means party time! It didn’t go that far but I wondered if it would happen when I stepped up to the teaching plate?

The students were designing a project of their own in Technology, perfecting their acting scripts in English, and watching a movie about the origins of Irish Christianity in religion class. In all classes, I sat at the back and took notes on how the lessons were taught and how order was maintained to the best of the teacher’s abilities. I still find it amazing that when put into the observer’s seat, it’s really easy to categorize the students’ personalities & attitudes.

In one of the courtyards there sits an old wooden boat near a tree. I asked one of the teachers why there was a boat? They replied it was put there so that newcomers would ask why a boat had been placed there.

I breathed a sigh of relief when the final bell sounded. Even though I expected the worst, the day went by smoothly and I emerged unscathed. I will feel comfortable in my new environment once I make it past the first week. The first week is always the hardest. It would help if the secondary students were as disciplined as the cadets I taught in Canada, but, knowing from personal experiences at that age, that is never the case. I’ll just have to adapt and overcome.

Bring on day 2 and beyond.

Temple Basin: The Descent

I am awoken by the sounds of people in the kitchen fixing breakfast for themselves. Sitting up slowly, I gaze at the light snow falling outside.

“And how was your night?” I’m asked.
“Couldn’t have felt better,” I answer with a yawn. “Nice and warm all through the night.”
“But did you get any sleep?”
“Mostly.”

I spend the morning inside, letting the snow fall without interruption. My sources of entertainment: a book, breakfast cereal, and random conversations with club members. It turns out I’ve been given a nickname: The Canadian Guy.

The sky cleared before midday and I was off skiing again in the sunlight. I came to the conclusion that I should have eaten more cereal because I was too slow turning my skis sideways when getting off the rope lift, causing me to slide backwards. One of my skis pops off and I lose my balance. Now I sit on the slope, looking for my detached ski. There it is, sliding away from me. It stops. I think it’s teasing me. I detach my other ski and try to walk down steadily but the slope is slippery. Now I’m sliding down the hill and can’t seem to stop. Finally, I manage to halt by digging my boots into the snow. I look up and notice that I haven’t slid a great distance, and a fellow skier has my ski & poles I’ve left above. After giving thanks, I move aside and put myself back together. The skiing must go on.

I head into the main lodge for a small lunch after leaving many curves in the snow. Lunch consisted of fruits and a coke. I could have chosen the salad and pizza but I wasn’t that hungry. Looking at the photo portraits on the walls, I'm surprised to see that during the summer (winter in North America) the area is green at this alititude and TB runs summer camps. A crying baby across the room interrupts my break. Did the parents really tramp up here holding their baby, or placed it in the Goods Lift? I didn’t ask.

After lunch came more, yes, you guessed it, skiing. Nothing really interesting happens like my slide in the morning; just skiing the slopes, going back up on the rope lifts and skiing down again.

By three in the afternoon, the time had come to vacate Temple Basin. As on the first day, club members load their equipment onto the Goods Lift (whereas I return all of my rental gear) before setting off down the trail. Even though the tramp down the mountain took less time, I still used quite a bit of energy. Instead of using my strength for lift, I was using it to stop myself from slipping & falling down the mountain. First obstacle was the slippery snow. Slide down here and there before taking a break by walking beside the trail where the snow is solid.

Upon passing the snow line, I am welcomed by the wet pointed rocks that make up the trail and the light rain falling at a slow drizzle. I guess I’ll be all wet when I reach the parking lot at the bottom. After some time, with the van packed with our wet and used belongings, we’re on our way back to Christchurch. As before, I gaze at the majestic landscape all around me and take more pictures. The Rockies in British Columbia, Canada have some tough appeal competition from the mountains down here. On the way I spot black cows grazing on a mountain near the highway. I wonder if there’s ever been a case of one of the cows slipping and falling onto the highway.

The sun had disappeared over the horizon when our van rolled into Christchurch. After being dropped off at residence, it was time for a long hot shower, a change of clothes, and doing laundry. Back to routine I say to myself with a shrug. While I waited for my weekend clothes to get clean once again, I concluded that the trip was fun and worth it, only costing $121NZD on my parents' credit card.

For the next trip though, I’m bringing a sleeping bag.

End of Temple Basin 3 part mini-series.

Temple Basin: The Slopes

While I catch my breath and let my body rest, the head of the club suggests I hang up my wet outer clothing in the Dryer Room. The Dryer Room basically is a sauna for wet clothing. The room is warm, damp, and stinks. I should have brought air freshener. But that doesn’t matter; I’m cold, wet, and need thawing. While my winter coat, snow pants, gloves, and hat rest on hung ropes, I lean against a wall and wait. Several others have the same idea and do the same

“Well, this is the place to be,” someone comments.
“Yeah, warm & smelly,” agrees another.
“Sorry, that was me,” a guy admits. Everyone laughs.

After several minutes, the damp stench gets to me and I leave. Since I won’t be able to ski until all my stuff dries off, I might as well take a private tour of the club building. Each sleeping room can hold 6 people by fitting them onto triple bunk beds! Would be quite a wake up for the person rolling off the top. The washrooms have toilets and showers, making me ponder how hard it must have been to lay the pipes up the mountain.

The kitchen is pretty big, with gas operated stoves & oven, along with the other essential appliances. And the lounge is a bit cold and suffering a leak in the ceiling. Overall, not a bad structure. A plaque in the kitchen proclaims the building was built in the 1960s. Time to go check on my drying clothes. Still wet! Well, at least I brought a book. Might as well read while I wait.

My outer clothing is finally dry; I can walk over to the main lodge and rent a whole ski set. The staff hooks me up with a slick pair of skis, boots, poles, hooking belt and a lift pass, all for the low, low price of $55NZD. Student discounts rule!

Instead of chair lifts, skiers & snowboarders must rely on the services of tethered rope lifts. There’s only a heavy rope to hold onto and it pulls you up the mountain. To make it easier, you’re given a hooking belt with a metallic clamp that you must quickly attach to the rope and hold onto tightly or else you’ll fall or slide back down. That’s something you don’t want happening when you’re being pulled through the steeper parts of the mountain. To protect your gloves from being worn out by the rope, you wear glove protectors; basically, gloves on gloves. I’m glad I bought a pair on the way or else I would have had to pay a higher price at TB. Despite my previous skiing experience, getting on & off the lifts took some time. It takes quite an amount of strength to hold onto the clamp, making sure it doesn’t open, and remain standing up. The third time turned out to be the charm.

The slopes of Temple Basin sit at an altitude of 1400 to 1800 metres. That means between 4620 & 5940 feet. I don’t think I’ve ever skied that high. The highest I can recall was in the 3600 feet range at Smugglers Notch, Vermont. Mount Temple itself is 1913 metres high (6312.9 feet).

Due to TB’s remoteness, machines don’t plow the slopes; the skiers & snowboarders plow them. Fun & work at the same time I guess. Since this was my first day, I tired myself out just after 3 runs. To my surprise when on break in the main lodge, I somehow acquired a 5 piastres coin from the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan.

Customer traffic on the slopes is low because of the resort’s accessibility. Not a lot of people can stand the arduous trail tramp. I asked the staff why not build a gondola for more customers. They said there’s not enough business for such a project. But, I argued, building a gondola would bring in more customers quickly, paying for itself and turning a profit. They just shrugged and said they weren’t interested.

The view is fabulous! White mountains all around and you’re skiing among & above the clouds! It snowed during the mornings & night, but the sun occupies the afternoon.

Evening has come and it’s time for dinner. It’s about time after spending the entire afternoon skiing the unplowed slopes and wrestling with the tethered rope lifts. Two lunch meals and one dinner are included in the fees that members had to pay. The TB staff has prepared a delicious looking meal consisting of meat and steamed vegetables. Due to force of habit I ask what kind of meat we’re being served when I should have known it would be lamb. And the lamb was very good; so good that I managed to sneak another piece.

Dinner is now over meaning it’s time for partying and drinking. All I can say is it was an interesting night and the beer was great. There was the option of night skiing but I let my outer clothing dry and have some more beer-oriented fun.

Finding a place to sleep was an adventure on its own. Right from the beginning, the club made the mistake of double booking meaning not enough beds. We were told before the trip but I wasn’t worried. I have had plenty of experiences of sleeping on hard surfaces. Makes me feel like I’m married. Except my case was unique because not only did I not have a bed but I also didn’t have a sleeping bag. I thought about persuading one of the ladies to let me be their warm blanket but decided against it because the other ladies would get jealous and end up fighting for me. So while wearing three layers, I slept on two benches in the kitchen while other double-booked people slept in the pantry, hallway, lounge, Dryer Room (smelly in the morning), and the unheated cabin next door.

"Won't you be cold?" ask several club members.
"Of course not," I reply enthusiastically. "We Canadians sunbathe in this weather!"
"Please don't," they add.

To be continued . . .

Temple Basin: The Ascent

Saturday, 5am. My alarm clock rings. I shut it off and reset it for 5:20. I’m not a morning person.

5:20. That’s way too fast; the clock must be playing games. Unfortunately, it’s not and I can’t go back to sleep. I have to get up or else I’ll miss my ride. Rolling myself out of bed, I took a shower, ate a quick breakfast, and got all my stuff ready for my weekend trip. With minutes to spare, I checked my email before heading over to the pick up area. I assumed I would not see a computer until after I got back.

6:45. We’re all here, half asleep, and ready to go. Wow, a lot of students have their own gear. I wish I had brought my skiing equipment but that would have cost me hundreds of dollars in fees because I already had enough baggage. All I have is my winter clothing and lucky for me, I can rent the rest. We have enough cars for everyone & everything. One less thing to worry about. Let’s go, the slopes are waiting.

Rather than wallow in my room all weekend long watching the rain, I decided to go on a 2 day skiing trip to Temple Basin, organized by the Ski & Snoboard club. TB is a 2 hour drive northwest from Christchurch and is located near Arthur’s Pass. I haven’t skied in a while so it was a good idea to revisit the slopes and get reacquainted with a winter hobby of mine.

I travelled in a van with 4 other guys; all of them snowboarders. I was the only skier. I can’t fall asleep while sitting so I had to stay awake while we travelled inland. While the two snowboarders sitting next to me slept, I gazed out the window in awe. Mountains. Flora. Water. Everywhere you looked; undamaged by humans. And endless sheep. New Zealand Survival Tip: if you ever get lost in this majestic landscape, find the sheep and you will find the people. I snapped as many pictures as I could with my digital camera. Seventy photos later, I’m writing this BLOG post.

The driving conditions were perfect; sunny & mostly clear skies. No rain for once. I watched & felt as the two lane highway snaked its way through Middle Earth’s mountains: forward, left, right, up, down, all of the above. Memories of my dad driving the family in the Canadian Yukon and to Flagstaff, Arizona, appear in my mind. I’m also glad my stomach didn’t spoil the ride. I was so focused on the landscape that the drive felt less than 2 hours. What also surprised me was that the bridges were only one lane wide. The reason is because there’s not enough traffic to build a two lane bridge.

We’re almost there. Oh no, I spoke too soon. Damp, grey clouds. Rain. Not now! Hey, we’ve stopped.

“We’re here,” the driver announced in a native New Zealand accent. (I forgot his name but not his face).

“But there’s nothing here,” I said, looking around through the light rain.

“That’s because it’s all up there,” the driver replied, pointing up a mountain. “We’ve stopped at the Goods Lift to unload our stuff so we don’t have to carry it up.”

Goods Lift? I thought. I followed the club members to a shack that had a cable running from it up the mountain, disappearing in the low grey clouds. A small open metal cage appears from the mist and slowly descends to the shack. It stops at ground level and people start loading their skis & snowboards. Oh, Goods Lift!

When the snowboarders were done loading their stuff, our driver drove us to the gravel parking lot. Put on your winter clothing because it’s time to hike up the mountain. Actually, hiking in New Zealand is called tramping. Yeah . . . that’s how I felt when I first heard of it. I just smiled, nodded, and politely reminded New Zealanders not to call it that when visiting North America. It means something entirely different. There’s a tramping club on campus. I wonder what the members are called?

Temple Basin is remote. There’s no gondola for people to take to the main lodge. Like the highway, a 2.5 kilometre rock trail snakes its way up the mountain. Powerful 4 wheel drive vehicles can drive up a portion of this trail and we passed a few Land Rovers along the way. It was still drizzling when we started our tramp and with the amount of clothing I was wearing, my ascent would take a lot more energy. The experienced New Zealanders assure me that the tramp takes only 45 minutes. For me it took a little longer because I was carrying my backpack.

I haven’t tramped for a while and slowly the 4 snowboarders get ahead of me. Their conversational voices grow more distant with every step I take. Then, I was alone. One foot past the other, I keep reminding myself, and slowly but surely, I'll reach the summit. Several people pass me. The rocks are now covered by snow. The rain is gone; I’m above the clouds. Another person passes me wearing sneakers. He slips but regains his balance. I keep going. The water in my clothes is holding me down. I feel like a brick with legs. I stop again to catch my breath and look at the view below me. I can’t see the highway; the low clouds have hidden it. But still a great view. A refreshing cold breeze reenergizes me. I continue.

How much more? My legs are tired. I can barely feel them. Every step I take has to be a well coordinated procedure! I have to stop again. Maybe I should have eaten a bigger breakfast. I look down and see how high I am. Then I look up and try to find the main lodge. How much longer?

Too tough for you, the mountain beckons. Then quit.

Not yet.

Finally! The main lodge is in my sight but still metres away. The boarders I came with must be on the slopes by now! Who cares, the mountains aren’t going anywhere. They can wait for me. Up another little hill. The winter wind is back and trying to push me over the edge. Not happening. Across the wooden bridge. Up another hill. A lot of snow. Passed the Goods Lift. Now the steps. About time! I’ve arrived at the lodge that’s owned by the club. And all it took was an hour, I think. But I’m all wet from the rain, and tired from the tramp. I need to rest.

“Are you okay?” someone asks.

“Yes, I’m fine,” I assure them. “I’m just tired from walking. I need a breather.”

To be continued . . .