Vertigo Down Under (Megan Michelson in New Zealand)

World Champion, Megan Michelson, just returned from a trip down south. Here is her report.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I learned a new word on my two-week trip to New Zealand in August.
“Ski-sick.” Kind of like sea-sick or car-sick, only it means the
nausea induced by a day of skiing in clouds so thick, you can’t see
the tips of your skis. We were at Craigieburn Club Field, a tiny ski
hill on New Zealand’s South Island that’s basically the Silverton of
the southern hemisphere—steep backcountry-like terrain, a couple
tractor-powered rope tows, no grooming, no frills. We arrived late on
a Monday night and the hostel-style lodge at the base of the ski area
was socked in by a rain cloud so dense it felt like a wet towel. The
next morning, the weather wasn’t much better. Visibility was limited
to about three feet in any direction. We skied downhill blind, trying
to feel the changing snow conditions with our legs and searching for
obstacles before we plummeted off an unmarked cliff band. My stomach
twisted and flopped like I was riding an upside-down roller coaster.
We suffered through the day, fighting vertigo and holding back the
need to vomit. I fell asleep that night in a bunkroom shared with my
two friends and two strangers from Canada. I dreamed about being lost
in violent seas. Early the next morning, the curtains drawn tight in
our bunkroom, my eyes flittered open when I heard the Canadian guy
come into the room and say something to his buddy. All I needed to
hear were those two words. Words far more glorious than any new ones I
had learned the day before. He whispered them gently, but they shook
me awake. “Blue bird.”

Putting chains on our 2-wheel-drive Toyota Yaris on the
six-mile, dirt access road to Craigieburn.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kiwi Tele Ripper Jess Smithers gearing up for the day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s called a nutcracker. You wear it clipped to a harness or leather waist belt. You must fling it over and clip it onto the fast-moving cable without eating shit. Leather glove protectors are highly recommended.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Flirting with the edge of the world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bunk room: Smelled like mildew and Canadians.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Look for more of Megan’s writing’s in Skiing Magazine and catch her laying down big turns on the big screen in this years PW flick.

Megan wanted to give maximum respect to Flylow, her clothing sponsor, who helped make the trip to New Zealand possible.

 

Thanks Megan,