Mt Peel

I have been eagerly anticipating getting my teeth (or maybe more accurately my feet) stuck into some of the stunning mountain trails that the South Island has to offer.  Not letting the recent small snow fall put me off, I set out to explore the nearby slopes of Mt Peel.

The dusting of snow that had prettily adorned the fields around my house had long since melted, but as I neared the foot hills, the road-side patches turned into road-covering patches.  In my excitement at hitting the mountain slopes, I missed to turn off for the car park and ended up fording a small torrent and dashing off up a side road, ankle deep in snow, only to discover that it came to a dead end with no sign of the Mt Peel trail in sight.

I had been carefully watching the weather forecasts and waited for a day with the clearest of skies, and little chance of changeable weather.  My parents, both avid and accomplished trampers and mountaineers, instilled a healthy fear-come-respect for the mountains and alpine environment in us from a young age.  This often took the form of Dad telling us a gruesome story of young and unprepared trampers loosing their way in bad weather (and usually over not very difficult terrain), only to be found huddled together the next day, frozen to death.  Needless to say, such tales have bred a desire to enjoy and explore the outdoors in as safe and pro-survival manner as possible.  Consequently I packed extra food, poly-props, a survival blanket, fluorescent and reflective running gear (to place on the snow or in open area's to alert would-be searchers to my location), a lighter and first aid kit.  All of this I carried on top of my 1-3L of water, hat, gloves and waterproof/windproof jacket.  Needless to say, I am getting good at running with a reasonable weight on my back.  Survival and preparedness can only be a good thing.

In my mind I imagined an steep, but enjoyable jaunt through snow scattered peaks to reach the summit and loop back down the opposite ridge line back to where I started.  Once I conceded defeat with my first foray, I returned to the car, re-forded the stream/river, found the car park and set off.  Much to my delight, the number of cars indicated that there were several other keen outdoors-people already enjoying the mountain - not bad for a Monday!

The first part of the trail climbed steadily through forest, with plenty of mud, and increasingly steep sections interspersed with steps.  I toiled upwards at a steady pace, enjoying getting my sweat on, and loving the technical nature of my first trail run in the south.  Tree roots, shin deep mud and slippery clay banks had me fighting to stay on my toes, and I was excited to have a training ground that would better prepare me for the challenge of future races.

I gained altitude really quickly, and soon large patches of snow began to appear, slashed by the dark mud of the trail (which looked as though several other people had already traversed).  The snow-laden forest sighed and swished as lumps of snow filtered down from the canopy above.  The snow thickened, and began to line the trail more thickly.  I was running on a frozen trail, knee-deep drifts piled on either side.  When ever I slipped (which was occurring with increasing frequency), I would put my arm out to steady myself on what appeared to be solid banks of snow, only to disappear up to the shoulder in the softest white powder you can imagine.  I decided that it was time to don some gloves.

Cliche's about a winter wonderland come to mind, but as I climbed higher and the snow got deeper, I did feel as though I was following some mystic trail through Narnia, or to the North Pole.  This was my first experience of running in snow.  I had looked up advice online about technique, and seen videos and photographs of running hero's like Kilian Jornet bounding through glorious alpine environments, smears of thin snow underfoot, and plenty of gravel or rock in between.   In other words, almost nothing like the now thigh-deep snow that I was starting to run/wade through.  I don't know what I was thinking: that some how the snow on a mountain that peaks at 1000m would not really be very deep? Especially only a couple of days after a record snow fall!

I found that trying to land with my weight evenly distributed across the entire sole of my shoe provided better traction that climbing solely on my toes (which more often than not would slip out from underneath me).  My shoes seemed to be holding up relatively well under the conditions, and my feet were unbelievably warm in their Icebreaker socks despite the fact that my feet were often submerged in snow up to the knee.

I forged on, my progress reduced to a fast walk on the steep sections.  The track formed by other trail-goers got narrower and narrower, and I kept kicking myself on the inner shin/calf area as I tried to keep my speed up (I have some nice bruising now as a souvenir).  As the snow on the side of the trail increased in depth, and I increased in altitude, the views of the Canterbury Plains and the surrounding mountains became more and more breathtaking.  Deviating from the trail meant loosing my legs into drifts up to my hips.  The steep sides of Mt Peel dropped away, and I was awestruck by how high I had climbed in such a short time.  I felt that I was truly on the mountain, and was acutely aware of the height I had gained and my vulnerability in the harsh wilderness.

With less than a kilometer to the peak, I met some trampers descending in the opposite direction.  They kindly asked about my progress and intentions, and informed me that they had been unable to reach the summit when the snow had reached chest depth a little higher up the trail.  I pushed on for a bit, but was starting to get fatigued, and was also wary of making it back down well before I lost the light.  After cresting the next ridge I took some time to enjoy the view, before turning, and beginning my descent.

Running back down through the snow was a lot easier, mostly because my center of gravity was balanced over my heels, and I did a lot less slipping about.  I did still loose my balance from time to time, and would disappear into a cloud of powder as I fell into a drift.  I probably looked mad (and possibly slightly drunk to an observer) but I was having a hell of a good time.  When the snow once again turned to mud, I splashed on, my previously frost-crusted shoes turning progressively black with a layer of forest mud.

All in all my first adventure running in the mountains was a thrilling success.  I look forward to running Mt Peel regularly, and I think it will make an incredible training ground when the snow has become a little more passable.  In the mean time there are hundreds of other trails to explore.  I feel so lucky to be living in this glorious mountain-running playground!