By Greer Upson, 25 September 2026
There were strict instructions to be at the Hunter Carpark at 4pm SHARP, leaving enough time for us to dilly-dally around in the gear shed before leaving at 5pm. The drive to Ruapehu was filled with naps on my end, and lots of anticipation for the kebab I was about to devour in Bulls. Walking into Bulls Kebabs at 7pm on a Friday was like walking into Kilbirnie Pak'n'Save at 5pm on a Sunday, as if everyone had agreed to walk in at the same time.
After layering up at the carpark and DIY'ing my gaiters with scraps of rope, we set out in the dark, trenching up the ski field in the snow. Within minutes of arriving at the hut, the boys had already attached ropes and carabiners to the roof, promptly attaching a chair to see which pulley system could most efficiently lift Tommy to the ceiling. Later in the evening, Finlay was looking quite relaxed, sipping a cup of tea on the same hanging chair.
Several rounds of 'Table' 'Chair' and 'Bed Frame' occured this night, where Alif, Sam and Finlay exerted all their energy to compete at climbing over and under each of them without touching the floor. We discovered it doesn't really take much to entertain them.
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The 2am bedtime was not ideal for our 7.30am wake up (even worse for the breakfast team that got up at 7am to prepare for the masses), but being greeted by warm porridge topped with cinnamon, apples, raisins and brown sugar made the experience a bit easier. This fuelled us for the day ahead, where we set out at 9.30am to learn how to be the new Sir Edmund Hillarys. Attaching massive metal spikes to the bottom of my boots and having a sharp ice axe in my hands definitely made me feel swag asf. I stabbed those crampons into the icey walls of the mountain with a newfound confidence of an experienced mountaineer. I watched others throw themselves backwards and headfirst down the mountain with extreme amounts of athleticism and attempted to recreate these moves in a slightly less smooth manner. A compulsory snowball fight ensued, discovering the lethal aim of Alif, and a somewhat less lethal aim from others. My snowman got crushed by Tommy's foot and my plastic foldable plate was destroyed from being probed in avalanche training. However, my spirits were lifted when Lucy let me try her dates-scooped-in-peanut-butter combination.
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We made it back to the retreat just in time as we watched the visibility quickly disappear through the windows as the rain rolled in. A late lunch of sloppy beans on crusty wraps somehow managed to taste divine in my mouth after a big day in the snow. With the weather packing itself in, we made ourselves busy with hut yoga, glasses of prosecco and very intense matches of sock wrestling. Copious amounts of biscuits, sour lollies and chocolate were consumed, definitely not scaled to the amount of energy actually exerted on the slopes. Shots of Jagermeister and swigs of cheap Sav made for high spirits among the group and strong self-assurance in each of our wrestling abilities. Victories were reigned and losses were grieved, with some blood noses and ripped socks as victims on the way. Micah tempted me with what he called a 'meal deal' of the pale, leftover unseasoned chicken pieces and plain rice from the Thai green curry devoured earlier. As if my stomach was not already at capacity, an announcement of fresh apple crumble had me running to the bench to line up for a bowl. Late into the evening we got cozy on the pillow-lined floor, listening to questionable song choices from Finley over the bluetooth stereo while having DMCs.
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Waking up to howling gales and blanked-out white windows was devastating, as it meant no more snow fun for us. The team let us have an hour-longer sleep in to lighten the pain. This meant we were well rested for the speediest cleaning of the hut I bet it's ever seen. As we opened the door to the hut's kitchen in our pyjamas, we tumbled with weak knees at the smell of cooked berries. A long black ladle was waiting for me, poised and ready to scoop the fruity heaven onto my oats. The porridge was accidentally made in double quantities this morning, and the scraps were sloppily scooped into a plastic bag for some poor soul to lug down the mountain to the car.
With our neck buffs on and our raincoats zipped up to our chins, we locked the hut door behind us to brace ourselves for the windy descent. The rain cover I thought I had cleverly attached to the outside of my pack flew off within seconds, never to be seen again. We swayed down the slope, having to rebalance ourselves several times after gnarly gusts. Packs were abruptly torn off and thrown into the boots of cars as we rapidly shut the doors and sped out of the car park. Reconvening at the bottom carpark meant we could change into clothes that were not soaking wet, where we got to see Tommy's robot pyjama pants again and several longjohn pants riddled with holes. Jack admitted a final defeat to his boots he was so proud of at the beginning of the trip, as they disintegrated into many plastic pieces on the ground in front of us.
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The car ride home involved many exciting new trips planned on Topo Maps and intense rounds of 'I Spy'. Steals were found at the Ohakune dump shop, and average pies were eaten at the Chocolate Eclair Shop before we landed home, slapped in the face with reality and the enduring anxiety of upcoming assignments. Get me back up the mountain in the snow ASAP.