Articles
Articles
Features and editorials about Alpine Recreation and our adventures.
- MountaineeringRead the article
Transalpine Journey around Aoraki Mount Cook
Article by James BroadbentI have wandered up a few pointy bits of landscape in the past, usually by the easiest route, but often after a long approach march to a more remote peak. While I am motivated by the summit, actually my interest lies in the journey, more than the actual destination. I have traversed many remote areas of New Zealand's mountain terrain, often bivvying out, or travelling in winter on skis and staying in tents or snow caves. After a while I have gained a reputation as a "trans-alpine" mountaineer rather than a technical climber.
- MountaineeringRead the article
Keeping the spirit of youth alive - Two Mountain Ascents for Seniors
68-year-old Graeme Donovan fulfills his long-held dream of climbing a mountain over 3000m. 75-year-od Peter Aimer climbs 3151m high Mount Sefton.On the 20th of October 68-year-old Graeme Donovan stood atop Lendenfeld Peak (3194m) and fulfilled a long-held dream of climbing a mountain over 3000m or 10,000ft. On the same day 75-year- old Peter Aimer climbed the 3151m high Mt Sefton, proving himself capable of extending his climbing career way beyond his wildest expectations.
- Ski MountaineeringRead the article
The Symphony on Skis
Christchurch Press 1986 - original article by Gottlieb Braun-ElwertA ski traverse is like a well composed piece of music. It flows with harmony, surprises with the unexpected. It engages all your emotions and and the melody lingers in your mind afterwards. Good music needs players who are masters of their instruments.
- Ski MountaineeringRead the article
Symphony on Skis - Ski Mountaineering in the Southern Alps
Skier Magazine - article by Tom MacTavishIn momentary surrender I hunched forward and rested my hands on my knees, breathing short and sharp, every expulsion filling the narrow band of light cast by my head torch with thick shrouds of mist. From behind me came the groan of a man whose energy was long since spent. That man was my cousin Nick Begg, and, connected as we were by blood, rope, and the physical and emotional rollercoaster of the preceding sixteen hours, that groan could just as well have come from me. After a minute or so, I straightened and moved on. The snow was light and dry, my pack heavy with the weight of skis. The combination was a killer. With every step the snow compacted thirty centimetres and then a further ten under the full weight of my body.