Living in New Zealand, we are spoilt for choice when it comes to wild places. You can live anywhere and still be able to get in a car and be in a forest, beach or river valley within a couple of hours.
My favourite place to enjoy the outdoors has changed as often as a spring weather forecast. As a university student, Nelson Lakes was the perfect learning ground for a tramper and wannabe alpinist. Aoraki/Mt Cook National Park then clinched the top spot as I searched out more challenging trips, through its glaciers and mountain passes. Then I made my first trip into Cameron Hut and fell in love with the jagged peaks and open grassy landscape of the Arrowsmith Range. And there the Arrowsmiths remained, in my top spot, until just last winter when it was knocked off by a place so familiar, so normal, I never expected it.
The Craigieburn Range sits above the rocky boulders of Castle Hill Basin on SH73. Located an hour’s drive from Christchurch and home to one commercial and four club ski fields, the range has been a popular winter playground since the 1930s. During the rest of the year, the area is filled with hunters, climbers, trampers and mountain bikers.
If you are after a full-on wilderness experience, you don’t normally head to the Craigieburn Range, but keep driving down SH73 until reaching the big peaks of Arthur’s Pass or the lush bush and big rivers of the West Coast. However, if all you have is a free day or afternoon then you’re going to struggle to find a more accessible set of mountains to play in than the Craigieburns.
My first ski turns on snow were at Porters Heights (now Porters) when I was six years old. It was a family ski trip and one of the few childhood memories I have from that age. It took another six years before I would return to Porters and master my snowplough. This time with my neighbours who, unlike my family, were keen weekend warriors and allowed me to tag along on skiing weekends. For the next five years, Porters and neighbouring Mt Cheeseman became my home away from home during the winter weekends and school holidays. Regardless of conditions or ski partners, I was there making turns on secondhand gear and a $70 season pass. After high school, friends and I began our club ski field apprenticeships of rope tows and off-piste steep terrain at nearby Broken River, Craigieburn Valley, and Mount Olympus.
One day, one of our ski gang turned up with a new set of touring gear. The rest of us (having experienced the misery of boot packing in deep snow) fizzed with jealousy and soon got touring gear of our own so we could also explore the backcountry.
