Somers In Winter

I had been painting a picture of conquering Mount Somers for the entirety of last summer. Driving tour buses for a living, I constantly pass this alluring mountain while on the way into Kā Tiritiri o te Moana, but I never have time to stop. This one week in late August, there was an abundance of snow in the forecast and a complete lack of work in the tourism field. This left me twiddling my thumbs inside the same four walls, limited in what adventures were on offer.

After shaking off the mid-winter blues, I found a compromise for my summit fever that had been growing throughout the summer. I discovered you could have the perfect overnighter only a stone’s throw from Ōtautahi, all while staying off the tops. A gap in the weather emerged; the clouds parted, and out came two days of seven where the sunshine looked like it might just make an appearance.

One of my favourite aspects of winter walking is the tranquillity. I found this peace instantly when I arrived at Sharplin Falls Car Park at eight in the morning and realised I was one of only two people there. It was a quiet start, with a couple of birds chattering and the morning frost slowly melting. By starting on the South Face Track, I was able to embrace the finite hours of sun before the rays crept behind the mountains, casting their shadow. Some sections of the track hadn’t seen daylight in weeks, and snow remained at surprisingly low levels.

I meandered over the hills, stopping frequently along the way to capture the changing landscape. On the left, the Canterbury Plains — a patchwork quilt of farmers’ fields. On the right, toppling mountains with a white sheet stretched across the summits. As dusk rolled in, I reached Woolshed Creek Hut. Despite my love of solitude, I was somewhat relieved to be greeted by three other trampers. To be totally honest, being alone in the backcountry in an eerie, empty hut doesn’t always lead to the best night’s sleep.

I woke up before sunrise, ready for the “official” Mount Somers Track to the north of the mountain. Only this time, I’d made a friend in the hut called Rayson, who was headed in the same direction. Both of us were keen to get a head start on the ascent to Pinnacles Hut, as the weather in the afternoon was forecast to deteriorate. A hazed pink spread across the valley and slowly burned into a yellow light, revealing the massive rock formations above us. Before we knew it, we were walking at over one thousand metres above sea level, and needle ice crushed beneath our feet. The Pinnacles surrounded us — large, curving, volcanic sculptures that clambered up the side of the mountain.

Eventually, we started zigzagging downwards, returning into the depths of the bush. I led myself into the false belief that the tramp was coming to an end. I was delighted to discover I couldn’t have been more wrong. We stumbled upon a series of temporary waterfalls, with the light reflecting through the bush perfectly. There was one instance where Rayson walked behind a cascading waterfall, and the light began to weave through the droplets, erupting into a rainbow. Lasting less than a minute, I managed to hoist my camera out and capture the moment.

Finally, we followed the gently curving Bowyers Stream, cautiously stepping across the boulders beside the river and crossing patches of ice. We had one last push up to the top of Duke’s Knob before winding down, completing the circuit back to Sharplin Falls Car Park.

Find my full submission to the OPSC here.