A Windy Place...

For those following along, you know I've mentioned New Zealand is often more than breezy. At times, the President Trump winds (read insane) are both scary and deadly. I've read accounts of huts being blown away (with unhappy campers inside), trains getting pushed off their tracks (passenger trains, not freight) and roofs getting peeled off like an orange rind. That's freaking windy.

So what did I do? 

Go for a hike up to a ridge line where Mount Holdsworth (4,687") resides, on a day when the winds were forecast to be more than refreshing. 

For a change, the trail was in amazing shape. I made great time getting to the altitude of petering out trees. With no green matter to block the gusts, I was exposed to a dramatic wind chill. I quickly donned my trusty Windstopper jacket. That helped. Eventually the only living things up on the ridge were grasses (blown horizontal) and me. The grasses didn't have a choice to be there, I did. After a Mach One gust brought me to my knees (literally). I went into full retreat. 

Later on, I discovered winds were in excess of 75 MPH. According to Summitpost.org : "65-75mph: can barely walk forward, gusts of this type will knock you on your ass! 

75+ Go Home."

'Tis better to retreat at times, to live to see another mountain. 

Another safety tip from the W W Jew,

Cheers!

Jeff

A Hesitant Mountain...

A  few days ago I left New Plymouth for the object of my desires. On the outskirts of town, I saw what I came here for-Mount Egmont/Taranaki. 

Captain Cook bestowed the somewhat dormant volcano with the Anglo name in 1770. 

The British explorer dubbed the peak after a former Lord of the Admiralty. (What a 

suck up!) The Maori name goes back a lot further then 1770. Personally, I prefer the indigenous handle more.

For a change, the sky was bearing more blue than gray. The incessant winds were taking a breather too. The stratovolcano loomed as symmetrical as a child's crayon rendition of a mountain. I liked it! 

I stopped at the Visitor Center for a map and hiking suggestions. I received both. 

I pitched some gear into my pack with no thought of making a summit bid. I headed uphill. 

The trail was fast and user friendly. In a short time, I was at the base of the summit trail. "Well, I'll just go up the mountain a bit. I'll get better pix." The trail started with stairs but quickly degenerated into a pumice scree field. The one slippery step forward, possibly two slippery steps back variety. It was pretty discouraging. Then a descending hiker wiped out right in front of me. She picked herself up, brushed off 

the grit and said, "this is the worse part of the climb. It gets easier once you get on solid rock." Good to know.

I glanced at the sky, felt for any insidious breeze and gave myself approval to continue on. I passed fellow hikers clad only in cotton and tennis shoes. I guess I was more prepared than that. Barely. I hiked in in a stuttering manner. More like a "Should I stay or should I go" mode than with any great determination. I plodded on.

Finally, I curled around a notch only to find a field of White Death below. (Remember, even the locals are bummed about the lack of summer here). I dropped into the bowl and skidded to a stop. Hmmm. The summit was about 100" above me, but through a very angled icy slope. Joy! Joy! I made a half hearted attempt. No Bueno. Five minutes later, I girded myself for one last try. It's not easy punching steps in snow while wearing trail runners! Second time was a charm. I was on top a few minutes later.

Me and many other ill-prepared hikers were fortunate the Maori Gods granted us Pakeha (White Folks) safe passage from the elements on this 8,261" Beauty. 

Was it worth it? Heck yeah! 

However, always remember these words from Mountain Man, Ed Viesturs. "Getting to the top is optional. Getting down is mandatory." 

Enjoy the pix!

Cheers!

Jeff

The Good Die...

Young. 

I met Cathy long ago on the Bike Across Kansas  (BAK) Ride. We carpooled out to the middle of a stark windswept landscape, set up our tents and waited for the ride to start on the morrow. The winds kicked up, lying our tents down low. Tornado warning sirens went off sporadically throughout the night. 

It didn't matter, Cathy woke groggily, sporting a toothy grin and joked about the scary weather. "That's Kansas! See why I left?" 

That was the essence of this tiny Powerhouse. Cathy generated smiles, hugs and laughs. She was always handy with a compliment, a favor or a welfare check. She was an incredible friend to me and so many others. 

I nicknamed her, "Legs of Steel." All that running she did gave her frog legs. Lots of power and muscle. She would win or place in the many races she participated in. I kidded her about having to build an addition in her home just to hold her trophies. Of course, she was humble about her accomplishments. "There weren't that many women in my age category!" 

Then the scourge of bone cancer attacked her. She sent out notifications to her friends and family of updates on what was going on. She admonished her fans to go out and play and have a good time. She reminded us that life is too short. She was inspiring right to the end.

Cathy, I'll miss you. The World is now at a loss that such a tiny, bright candle of goodness has been snuffed out.

RIP Legs of Steel.