Reality Check on an Otherwise Perfect Weekend

Kia Ora! from New Zealand**

The man in a red jacket attracted my attention as he walked through the shop at The Hermitage in Mt. Cook Village. First, because I perceived tension in his body language and rapid stride, and second, because he had a dog with him. The dog also wore a red coat with the words, Mountain Rescue Team emblazoned in white letters. An ominous sign?

Mt. Cook

KC and I drove into the mountains. No matter how many times we may come to this valley nestled into the Southern Alps Mountain range, these peaks never fail to engender tremendous awe and a feeling of smallness in a huge universe.

We hiked a short way into Hooker Valley. Snow was beginning to melt but there was enough for tourists to play in and to create a snowman. 

We hiked up a short elevation to read a memorial to climbers who met their death here in 1914. Many others, who have lost their lives in this mountain range, are not so memorialized.

1914 Memorial

This visit we took time at the Department of Conservation Visitors Site to read the history of mountain climbing in this area. We learned that pilots skilled in helicopter rescue, emergency medical technicians, mountain climbers and adventurers take low paying jobs at the Hermitage and village to be able to volunteer as a mountain rescue team. For example, the person clipping a hedge one day may be rappelling into a crevasse to rescue a climber, the next. All climbers are assigned huts high on the mountain to serve as their shelter after climbing. Each night, someone from base camp at The Hermitage radios each hut until all climbers are logged in safe. When there is no reply, the rescue team is alerted.

The weather couldn't have been more perfect. Sunny, with cloud cotton balls floating in the blue sky. Mt. Cook, often under a cloud shroud, gleamed gloriously into the valley. 

But the day wasn't so sunny and the night long and cold for some. Shortly after I saw the man and the dog, rumors flew in low tones around the lounge where we relaxed with pre-dinner libations. The rescue team had retrieved a body off the mountain. Furthermore, another separate climbing party was lost, and no more searching would go on that night. The next morning I heard and saw a red helicopter streaking out over the mountains. They would find the lost party and a second body to be retrieved off the mountain. An unusually tragic weekend for an Australian tourist and a New Zealand man not quite prepared for the challenges he faced.

My thoughts are sober, about how it is to be in a perilous situation and realize the ending might not be pleasant or even survivable. Many years ago, I was in that position on a hike. Four women were climbing up rocks when the mossy surface began to slide. Below was a ravine of sharp boulders. The drop was about 15 feet; I was in the position of being first to slide backwards over the edge. I remember thinking that I knew exactly what was about to happen and mentally prepared myself for the worse, paralysis or death. Then the sliding stopped right at the edge, and our companions helped the two of us off the rock.

Some of us are greater risk takers than others. But while two died this weekend on the mountain, others did also crossing the street, driving on the highway, cycling, or just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. We all take risks daily, some greater than others. Yet we rarely think to be grateful for surviving and taking pleasure in another day. Today, I am grateful to be alive.

Soberly,

Kiwi Traveler

**More on Vietnam is coming, but life goes on in Timaru.