On a wing and a pair of skis

Mt. Turnbull, New Zealand

“Stand up now and your head is gone!” yelled the ski guide, who, I feel compelled to add, was only slightly more than half my age. I nodded, not bothering to look at him, and nonchalance apparently panicked him.

“Dead serious,” Jay persisted. “It’ll be lopped off.” His hand traced an arc through the air, the path my head would presumably take when leaving my body.

I wondered if I should laugh or punch him in the face. Did this mid-20s whippersnapper really think I would abandon all instinct and stick my head into the whipping blades of the helicopter we were crouched beneath?

I was at the top of Mt. Turnbull on the western shores of Lake Wakatipu in New Zealand’s South Island, midway through a flawless day of heli-skiing. Accompanying me were heli-ski guides and Nicky and Balfour Irvine, friends from my New Zealand childhood.

Nicky and I had been adventuring together since before Jay was born. She was my best buddy in high school and taught me to throw myself off things. Persuading me to leap off mountains on skis had been one of her early projects.

I live in California and the Irvines in Australia. Last July, we reunited in New Zealand in search of snow and a revival of the good ol’ days. Our plan was to ski the Tasman Glacier in Mt. Cook National Park, heli-ski in the Wanaka-Queenstown region and try any ski field we could find in between.

To make it easier, we hired a private guide -- capable, relaxed, 35-year-old John Thomssen, or JT -- through South Island Guides, a company that fulfills sporting desires from fishing to ice climbing. It made the arrangements, obtained permits, provided transport and the guide and packed the lunches. Plus the company typically adds a dose of oddball Kiwi humor to the mix, which lends a cultural immersion factor.

JT is a guide, an adventure filmmaker and a rabid outdoorsman, at the top of his game at rock climbing, kayaking, skiing and mountain biking. He’d never tell you that though. When asked about his talents, he would say, “Aw yeah, I’m all right.”

Later we discovered he is a world champion competitor downhill cyclist, an ace kayaker and climber. He also has a bachelor’s degree in business and was trained in water, avalanche and mountain safety. Beyond his square jaw and green eyes -- he was Viggo Mortensen’s double in the “Lord of the Rings” boat scenes -- JT is easy to be around.

JT met me in Queenstown on the South Island, and we drove an hour to Lake Wanaka, where I spent a pleasurable night at the Riverrun Lodge. The lodge, set on 400 tawny acres with wide views of the Southern Alps, is built of salvaged beams and decorated stylishly with locally made furniture.

Its owners, Meg Taylor and John Pawson, double as chefs, whipping together five-course meals using the country’s prime ingredients. It’s the kind of place where guests are seen hugging the staff on departure.

The following morning, JT and I drove three hours through the sheep-studded plains of Mackenzie Country to Mt. Cook National Park, where we met Nicky and Balfour.

We had arranged to ski the Tasman Glacier, accessible only by fixed-wing aircraft, through Alpine Guides, one of the oldest operations in the area. Two guides would accompany us: tall, lanky, laid-back Jim Spencer of Alpine Guides and JT, who came along just for the fun of skiing on the glacier.

As we put our gear on, JT told me to raise my arms and then strapped a plastic device across my torso. I knew transceivers were standard issue in backcountry skiing, but I’d never worn one. I summoned a suitably casual tone, and asked, “Avalanches much of a problem up here?”

“No, not really,” JT said. “Actually the problem’s more with the crevasses. The snow coverage can be deceiving. Never happened here, but people could fall in, and they’re deep.”

“How deep?”

“Oh, 200 feet, worst case.”

Although there’s a greater chance of being killed by driving on the wrong side of the road, an avalanche is the biggest danger of heli-skiing. But the guides minimize it by avoiding high-risk areas.

Jim gave us a brief lesson on using the transceiver and a lecture on maneuvering around the plane. Then we boarded the eight-seat Porter skiplane.

That morning the weather was superb, with cornflower blue skies. A still, clear day like this was a gift. The Tasman Glacier bisects Mt. Cook, or Aoraki in the native Maori tongue. At 12,313 feet, Mt. Cook is the nation’s tallest peak and usually snags clouds off the Tasman Sea.

The Tasman Glacier is in the Southern Alps, which run like a spine down the western side of the South Island. New Zealand’s best skiing is found in the South Island, and the best of the best can only be reached by plane or helicopter.

Three reasons make it worth the 13-plus flying hours it takes to get here: Heli-skiing is cheaper here than in the States; you can be on snow just as the temperatures hit 100 degrees in California; and you don’t have to be an expert skier.

From above, the Tasman Glacier looked like an overblown rapid, frozen in time. At its mouth it was dirty and disheveled, but as we flew farther up it became smooth, dazzling and blue-white. The night winds had swept the surface, leaving a ridged imprint, like wet sand after a wave retreats. Monolithic spires flanked the glacier, their snow-covered facades gleaming in the sun. The plane banked and came to a sliding stop atop a plateau of snow below a ridge. We piled out, and the plane took off, leaving us with only the sound of melting ice.

“Right,” Jim said. “Let’s have a wee walk up the hill and have a peek, shall we?”

We hoisted skis over our shoulders and hiked 200 yards through knee-deep snow to the ridgeline. Off to one side was a boxy hut called the Fridge on the Ridge, where ski touring parties can spend the night.

The view was staggering: 20 miles west lay the Tasman Sea; ahead the formidable mass of Mt. Cook; behind was Murchison Glacier, draped in untouched folds of snow. As I stared down at its virginal snow, I fought an urge to drop off the edge and ski into its tempting loveliness. That could result in three things: getting lost, a humiliating airlift rescue or possible death.

We did two eight-mile runs down the Tasman Glacier that day. The skiing was mellow, enhanced by gorgeous scenery and a picnic lunch. Halfway down the first run, Jim veered toward a cliff. We removed our skis and followed him over a knoll to what looked like a sculpture park. Ice had sheared off the glacier to form giant postmodern totem poles. We hiked up to an icefall, a glacial equivalent of a waterfall, streaked with layers of spectral blue.

At the end of the day there was some backslapping, a beer or two, and then we headed for Mt. Cook Alpine Village, where we stayed at the Hermitage. Because it is the only hotel in the park, it has a monopoly, but fortunately it underwent a swanky remodel in 2001 and its chic rooms fit most budgets. We found its restaurant large and sterile, so we ate most of our meals at the nearby Old Mountaineer’s Cafe, owned by locals Mary and Charlie Hobbs.

The restaurant, which had a blazing fire, has comfortable sofas and a hearty menu. But Charlie, a stocky, ponytailed man with a wind-flogged face, is the real attraction here. He runs Southern Alps Guiding, taking people heli-skiing, glacier skiing, glacier sea kayaking and climbing.

Cheap lift tickets, good beer

After two days hiking and skiing on the glacier, we returned to Lake Wanaka, stopping on the way at Roundhill, one of the quirky, homespun “club ski fields” that are scattered across the South Island. Club fields are generally family owned and primitively outfitted with T-bar, rope tows or poma lifts.

Some unoriginal wag came up with Roundhill’s slogan: “For the newlywed and the nearly dead,” which about sums up the “undulating, meandering, gentle slopes.” But the $28 lift tickets, grand views and Steinlagers at lunch make it worth stopping in just to see blokes snowboarding in gumboots. We had a blast.

In Wanaka, we checked out the heli-skiing possibilities. Although you can book ahead, weather conditions determine whether the helicopters fly. Fortunately, late the night before it had snowed, so we hooked up with Southern Lakes Heliski, a company that assembles groups and transports them to private concession mountains for guided heli-skiing.

Early next morning, we met the Southern Lakes Heliski guides and motored by boat from the Queenstown marina to Mt. Nicholas sheep station in the Thomson Mountains. JT also works for Southern Lakes and was our heli-ski guides that day.

At Mt. Nicolas we boarded the helicopter and flew to Mt. Turnbull, maneuvering low over rounded peaks and serrated ridges. It dropped us at the summit, beating up a blizzard with the rotor blades. Then it spiraled away, leaving us kneeling in a vast, mountain silence.

We stood, snapped on boards and skis, and followed JT as he cut perfect S-turns on telemark skis. He made it look nauseatingly easy. Because it was early in the ski season, the snow was heavy and tiring, and at times Balfour and I foundered, laughing.

The weather was glorious, the company good and the scenery the stuff of storybooks. Before us was the long Wakatipu Basin, and due north towered the gleaming crest of Mt. Aspiring.

After five long runs, ruddy and euphoric, we helicoptered back to the boat. Propped against the on-board bar, Jay, the guide who had been so concerned about my head, offered a humbling explanation.

“Sorry if I came on a bit strong there. It’s just that a client was killed once when his hat blew off and he ran uphill to chase it. Lost his block clean and square.” Again, his hand traced what was now a very sobering arc.

It occurred to me then that perhaps guides might know more than I do.

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Fly up, ski down

GETTING THERE:

From LAX, Air New Zealand and Qantas have connecting service to Queenstown. Restricted round-trip fares begin at $1,909 after Dec. 30.

TELEPHONES:

To call the numbers below from the U.S., dial 011 (the international dialing code), 64 (country code for New Zealand), 3 and the local number.

WHERE TO STAY:

Riverrun Lodge, Halliday Road, Wanaka; 443-9049, fax 443-8454, www.riverrun.co.nz. Doubles $186-$250. Winter ski packages available.

Hermitage Hotel, Terrace Road, Private Bag 8770, Mt. Cook Alpine Village; 435-1809, fax 435-1879, www.mount-cook.com. Doubles from $170 per person, per night, including breakfast.

WHERE TO EAT:

Old Mountaineers Cafe and Bar, Larch Grove (next door to the Department of Conservation visitors center), Mt. Cook Alpine Village; 435-1890. Hearty portions. Entrees $5-$17.

In Wanaka, Ambrosia, 76 Golf Course Road; 443-1255. Cozy and expensive with a good list of New Zealand wines. Entrees $15-$21.

SKIING:

Alpine Guides, Bowen Road, Mt. Cook Alpine Village; 435-1834, fax 435-1898, www.heliskiing.co.nz; $471 per person per day.

Southern Alps Guiding, P.O. Box 32, Mt. Cook Alpine Village; 435-1890, fax 435-1891, www.mtcook.com; $448-$577 per person per day.

Southern Lakes Heliski, corner of Shotover and Rees Street, Queenstown; 442-6222 or mobile 27-475-0525 (do not dial 3), www.southernlakesheliski.co.nz; $383 per person, per day, for three runs.

South Island Guides, P.O. Box 822, Queenstown; 441-2129, fax 442-1017, www.southislandguides.com. Daily rate $575 for up to four people.

TO LEARN MORE:

Tourism New Zealand, 501 Santa Monica Blvd., Suite 300, Santa Monica, CA 90401; (866) 639-9325, www.purenz.com.

-- Amanda Jones