By Michelle Barnas
(October 28, 1996)

This isn't a snowboard story. If you try to read it that way you may be disappointed. This is about feelings and stories that go with them, without chronological order.

"I'm rising over the vast snowy mountain peaks. I'm just a speck, the hugeness overwhelms me. As I float through the sea of mountains, I feel a calmness that is in unexplicable. The energy shouts to me as it makes friends with my soul."

New Zealand's southern Alps are amazing and best seen from above. A heli-trip in Wanaka included Mikey Basich, Oliver Holzmann and me-a Hooger huck-fest. As we rose to the top of the snow-capped mountains, three pairs of eyes were already up and down the mountain picking out imaginary lines. The mountains engulfed us as out helicopter descended. We were spit out at the top of the mountain peak. Our journey was beginning.

While the photo gathering was taking place, I was busy capturing my own Kodak moments and printing them on my mind. No lift-lines, no crowds, no groomers; just us ready to make patterns on nature's winter coat. Serenity and peacefulness. My office, the great outdoors.

At the end of the day the helicopter took us back to reality. As we drifted downward, the mountains growing taller reminded us of their power and strength. It reminded me that I am just a speck.

"Why doesn't it stop? It doesn't make me happy. Drizzle, drizzle, drop, drop, drop! Wet and dreary with nothing to do. Feeling low, feeling blue. My liquid enemy please be my frozen friend."

When you're on a snowboard trip at a local mountain, rain is not welcome. When you're on a snowboard trip across the world, rain is not welcome. Rain is definitely a factor for most winter travelers. The rain in New Zealand wasn't too bad. But when the rain drops danced on our windshield for a couple of days in a row, our moods began to dampen.

Sniff, sniff. Cough, cough. Where's the sun, that sun of a gun?

"Lips smiling, eyes helpful, a stranger becomes friend."

"The people here are so nice!" I must have uttered that sentence a zillion times in New Zealand. It all started the moment stepped off the plane. With a cheery smile on his face, the rental car agency employee carried my baggage to the rental van, gave us maps and pointed out places we were planning on going. He gave us the scoop on the snow conditions, and made triple sure we were satisfied with the van. Random acts of kindness are contagious to Kiwi's.

A story of New Zealand warmheartedness and helpfulness comes from meeting Nick, the nicest person in New Zealand. We met Nick, a ski area manager, when we were filming. Nick came up and asked what we were doing. "Uh-Oh," I thought. "They're going to shut us down."

Well, the opposite happened. Nick became our instant personal guide, informer, film-assistant, accommodator, entertainer, landing spot checker, historian, cultural advisor, and story teller. To say the ski area manager hooked us up is an understatement. That's not even all of it! When we wanted to return his hospitality and promote his resort by including it in the video, his reply was, "No Thanks." You see, he doesn't want his "Winter Paradise" to ever become crowded and the snow to get tracked up quickly. He's not in it for the resort-style and high bucks. I'd like to see the ski area manager from Vail or Squaw give three days of his/her time in showing a group of "tour-ons"" the goods and then some. Yeah right, it would never happen in a zillion years. Thank you Kiwi's for making me feel at home, so far away from home.

"Clang, Clang. Holding on for dear life. My grip loosens, I'm loosing this fight. Traverse muscles and arms out of shape, will I ever make it to the top? Where's the quads, gondolas, or even the double slow chairs? Clang, clang."

Hearing the guys talk about the nutcracker, I foolishly misconstrued that I wouldn't be affected by it because it's a nutcracker and not an ovary-breaker or booby-pincher. It is in fact called a nutcracker because of the way it looks and not because it affects a certain male anatomy. The nutcracker is a system that some resorts use in place of chairlifts or T-bars. Its a sort of belt you wear all day with an extra long, metal nutcracker-looking object. Hence, the term "nutcracker." The way it's used is tricky and hellish to say the least. You grip your hands on a moving rope and get pulled up the mountain. As soon as, you are moving at a moderate, but stable speed you must take one hand off the rope, clasp the nutcracker, and wrap it around the rope and hold on for dear life. If you get that part mastered then you must remember to take your other hand( the one that's not clasped on to the nutcracker) off the rope at each bull wheel (there are about ten of them at each lift). Also, if you fail to do any one of these things rope burns, lost appendages, broken bones, hair pulled out from scalp, clothing torn, or all of the above may result. After nearly falling into one of the above categories, I finally got the hang of it. It was an experience everyone shouldn't try, but a lesson that I learned. I'll take that double, slower then life, chairlift any day.

"My face pressed up against the window of our moving rental van. Dazed, sometimes confused, but mostly in awe. Beauty speeding ahead of me and also speeding pass me. My face pressed up against the departing airplane window. Concrete jungle and pollution ahead of me, sadness close by."

It was one of those mornings when nature tricks you. The sun was shining brightly, but as I walked out on the deck at Ohua Lodge the chill reminded me that it was winter. Sitting on the deck that early August morning was like being happily trapped in a postcard. The grand mountains capped with snow were being mirrored on the majestic, turquoise lake. Is this for real? Am I really seeing this? The postcard simile followed me around throughout my stay in New Zealand. The mountains, lakes, streams, rolling hills, rocks, sunsets, sunrises, and the trees were a daily reminder of how beautiful New Zealand is. Back home I will pull out my special postcard and look at it from time to time and I know that I will smile.

"Pissed. What the fuck? Who would steal my two hundred bucks? Headache, cancel cards, dealing with shit from afar. Crime. . .everywhere. Why?"

My last leg of the New Zealand trip left a bitter taste in my mouth. It was a rude awakening to realize that crime is all around us. I was sitting at the coffee shop called Java in Christchurch, enjoying my company along with a latte and to my surprise, my wallet, like my latte, was gone. I immediately thought that I dropped it, or left it on the counter. The search was on. Shit. It was gone, stolen from my very pocket. A Kiwi happy, a tourist mad. Just because you're in a beautiful country with the friendliest people you've still gotta keep your guard up. I don't want to keep my guard up. I'm tired of keeping my guard up. Where's the honesty? Where's the trust? I'm sad.