I took the plane from Auckland to Tokyo via Sydney. At Sydney I sat next to Julia from Germany. We chatted for a bit then got stuck into our individual entertainment systems.

We landed and waited for our luggage. My boardbag arrived (with my warm clothes) but no sign of my backpack. After a while it became obvious that my pack had decided to head off on an adventure of its own. After all we’ve been through. I swapped details with Julia and we agreed to meet up and get lost in Tokyo together. I filled out all the paperwork with the nice Japanese dude at lost baggage. He spoke very little English but we got through it.

I dumped my boardbag at left luggage and left for the city with just my hand luggage. It’s good to travel light but I had nothing, no washing stuff, no clothes. Tokyo in August is very hot and humid, my snow clothes were useless.

I took the train to the city. As I expected it was tricky but I had prepared a little. One thing you really wanna do when you arrive in a strange city is have a good idea how to get to your accommodation. If it’s a big city, I book the first night in advance. When you arrive you’re tired and don’t want to muck about. All this is pretty obvious stuff, so I’ll crack on.

I checked into a Ryokan which is traditional Japanese style inn. You take your shoes off after you’ve bowed your head upon entering. The floors are Tatami and you sleep on a futon. There is no furniture. This is about as traditional as they come in Tokyo. I’ve read it’s in the country where you discover the really authentic Ryokan.

I met Pascal in the living area. He is an Architect from Switzerland. We were chatting about wifi, laptops and couch surfing. Geeks. We then headed off to meet some of his Japanese work colleagues for a meal. They spoke English and helped us with the menu. I had fish. The day after we went to Roppongi Hills to see the Ai Waiwai exhibition at the Mori gallery. He’s an interesting dude for you to google. That night we met up with Charles from LA. I had met him in Bangkok. He is a teacher in Tokyo. Charles took Pascal and I to a really cool restaurant we would never have found on our own. We were the only westerners in there but Charles spoke Japanese so we got a table. We then feasted on cheap local food and beers. The walls were full of old posters, it felt like we had stepped back in time. Charles led the way ordering the food and drink, showing us a good time local style.

Next day my bag arrived. I had fresh clothes so was able to wear a similar but slightly different blue checked shirt. I then met Julia at her Hostel. We wandered the crazy streets around the Harajuku area and visited the design festa gallery. It reminded me of something in Berlin or Camden. It was diggy woggle.

We wandered some more getting lost and eating barbecued food from an izakaya (bar that sells food). After a few beers we stopped for more food at a place where you cook your own meat on another small barbecue. Everything on the menu was offal, crap that gets binned or fed to other animals. Spleen, scrotum, heart. I looked around at the locals enjoying themselves and then ordered pigs rectum and a large Sapporo beer. Julia wanted to leave but I made her stay. She found some weird chicken organ and ordered that.

The pig was actually pretty tasty, the order came as six pieces so was only a snack. I ate it all and Julia ate hers. She didn’t want to try my pig shitter.

Next day Pascal had returned from his trip to Fuji. We went for a beer on the 52nd floor of the Park Hyatt hotel, made famous by the film Lost In Translation. Amazing views, a bit stiff but a nice jazz band and a good experience. One drink later, we left the building £23 each to the lighter. There was a surcharge just to be there after eight.

We then headed to the Golden Gai area of Tokyo. A collection of ram shackled old drinking dens mostly located on the second floor of wonky buildings. Each place had enough space for around 8 people each. It’s a crazy place, you can wander in and out and each one is so different. We had a great night making friends with the locals. We found a really decent rock bar, and Pascal, who is in Tokyo for a month, bought a bottle of Sake to keep behind the bar. There was a cabinet full of other peoples bottles with their names written on them. Pascal scribbled his initials then we went home. I read later that some bars don’t let tourists in them.

Then on Sunday I walked round Shinjuku Gyoen traditional Japanese gardens, then met up with Hannah. She is an old friend of John Hill’s, a mate of mine from London. He suggested I give her a call if I was in Tokyo. We had coffee and chatted about Japan, then when Hannah had to work I went shopping for cheap Japanese gifts. Later that evening Pascal and I wandered around Ginza and ate some amazing Sushi.

The very next day I was flying home. After 9 months of traveling, I remembered I had left the oven on.

The first day I met some local riders on the Turoa ski field. I had a full day riding this quality resort. There were more lifts and runs than the southern slopes I had experienced. This surprised me as it’s the south that gets all the hype.

The next day I drove half an hour round the volcano to National Park, a good base for Whakapapa resort. It was a tough choice leaving Turoa as it had been perfect. It was a classic case of stick or twist, and I’m glad I twisted. Another fine blue-sky-day although just as crowded. The cool thing about Whakapapa is the type of terrain. There are gullies, humps, banks and small drops everywhere. I found a really sweet run on the far side of the mountain. Other people were there too but it was easy to find a solo route down. I sessioned the same gully, formed by lava, for the rest of the afternoon. Around 3.30 the cloud came in and killed everything. It was a white-out, but I could easily find my way back out as I’d done the run so many times.

After two days riding it was time to bin my boots. They were knackered after 5 months in Whistler and many weeks riding since. The sole was hanging off and they were always wet. I dumped them off at a BP garage dustbin and headed North to Lake Taupo for the day.

At lake Taupo I visited an earthquake and volcano museum, Huka falls and some thermal hot springs and Geysers. It’s a fascinating area, one I will return to another day.

Rotorua is also part of the Taupo Volcanic Zone. Criminally, I spent just one day here, it deserves much, much more. I had time to see some more volcanic activity in the form of erupting Geysers and thermal springs. I also joined a small tour round an old Maori village. The next day I drove to Auckland and flew to Japan.

The last few days were very rushed, but I’d had a great time. Sometimes it’s nice to do one thing thoroughly rather than trying to cover too much. I am glad I have been able to snowboard here, I enjoyed riding with Phil and Annalie, lapping Snowpark, exploring local hills and riding a volcano. When my knees no longer work, I promise to come back experience everything I have missed.

I picked up Phil and Annalie from Christchurch airport and we drove to Methven, our base for the next five days. Rumors were floating around that a storm was heading our way, it was looking like we might not make it up to Mt Hutt ski field due to high winds.

The next day and the weather reports came true, all the ski fields were closed due to high winds. We went for a drive that day, trying to make the most of the situation. Old LDC was being blown all over the place the wind was so strong. It definitely would’ve been worse up the mountains.

There were posters in town advertising a free screening of a new snowboarding film called One Year. The film looked interesting claiming to be a documentary shot around the world. We texted our ticket request and reserved our seats.

We arrived a little early and was offered free ice cream with brownies. Everybody seemed really friendly and welcoming, the director, Joel Parker introduced himself to us as we took our seats on the front row.

Joel then takes the stage and introduces the film. He says he ‘hopes we enjoy the film, it has a theme and he is not trying to trick us.’ I wasn’t sure what he meant by this.

The film looked well produced and slick but the documentary format wasn’t obvious at first. Then after about 20 minutes during the Dave Downing section the theme begins to emerge: spirituality. From then on each rider told their story of how they found god. I then understood Joel’s words and I did feel slightly tricked.

Joel then jumped back on the stage and preached to us about God and religion. He even requested we bow our heads while he says a prayer. I felt so awkward. Annalie was angry and said she wanted out. I too felt cross but wanted to stick around and soak up the weird experience (in a Louis Theroux kind of way). The Joel mentions we are in a church and the Pastor would like a few words. I couldn’t believe it, the poster said the film would be screened in Methven Mall. I thought the building didn’t look like a mall but it didn’t look much like a church either.

The Pastor then invited us to hang around, play table tennis and eat ice cream. We stayed for a bit trying to figure out if the christian element of the film was anywhere to be seen from the posters. I wondered if I’d made a mistake. Far from it, the posters contained no reference to the films religious content and were even arranged on the front window covering up the word ‘church’ that was printed on the glass.

The three of us then left for the pub feeling a weird mixture of anger, confusion and amazement. Something was bothering me, I had to go back, I wanted to talk to Joel.

Back in the church I approached Joel, shook his hand and told him I liked his film and admired his vision. I genuinely did. I had to admit to him that I felt tricked and wondered if the reason why god wasn’t mentioned, and the word church covered up, was because otherwise nobody would turn up. He explained that he didn’t want to be known as a christian director. I said I thought the film was interesting but it’s message was weakened when he preached at us after. We exchanged ideas for a few minutes then I thanked him for taking the time to talk to me, and he thanked me for my honesty. He told me he just wanted to hang out with nice people. I can’t blame him for that. Everybody we had met did seem very friendly.

There is just something uncomfortable and invasive when religion is given the hard sell under those circumstances.

I returned to P & A in the pub where we discussed the film and religion over a few beers. On the way home walking past the now quiet Methven Mall, a poster had been removed and the word Church was visible.

The next day the weather had improved slightly so we headed up to Porters ski field. It was pretty crap, the snow was hard and icy in places and the snow park was closed. We tried to make the best of it with a couple of decentish runs. We had seen better days riding in NZ. With regular tea breaks (or rider reviver) we made it through the day just shy of last lifts.

Monday was also another high winds write-off so we decided to drive down to Christchurch a day early. We went out for food and beers then I dropped P & A off at the airport on Tuesday.

Back on the road just me and LDC I drove to Kiakoura and join a Whale watching tour. Here are some amateurish photographs just to prove it really existed.

Before leaving town I ate a substantial Crayfish meal then got the hell out of there. I don’t have time to see much more of the South. I had just one week to get Long Distance Clara back to Auckland on the North Island. I have invested heavily into the Southern Alps and Snowboarding. I tell myself I can do everything I’ve missed when I return, but to be honest I could easily do exactly the same thing over again.

The next few days went like this. I drove to Nelson and Abel Tasman then took the car ferry from Picton to Wellington. After a snoop around the Welly coffee shops I drove for four hours to Ohakune for some snowboarding on Mt Ruapehu, an active volcano. Please turn over.

He handed me the well designed magazine ‘Chill’, a guide to the 12 ski fields in the area. The book contained everything I needed to know including how to get to the hills and what to expect once I arrive.

I decided to head up to Temple Basin the next day. I parked the car at the bottom, next to the 73 alpine highway, and began the 1 hour climb to the lodges and lift. 1 hour climb! Just to get to the first lift! I’m familiar with hiking to get to a sweet stash of powder but usually at the highest lift point.

I’d read about this before. Many of the club fields have no access roads, very basic ‘Nutcracker’ rope tow lifts and feature mostly un-groomed slopes.

So I began the hike up, there were clouds surrounding the peaks on the opposite valley but up towards Temple Basin was clear. Looking up the mountain I saw so signs of life, huts, tow ropes, snowboarders or skiers.

After 45 minutes of scrambling up a variety of gravel, boulders, ice and deep snow, I finally saw a tow rope, 2 snowboarders small buildings and loads of un-tracked powder. 20 minutes later I was at the lodge being introduced to the staff (club fields are friendly in this way). I bought my lift ticket, hired my Nutcracker and outer protective glove and was ready to ride.

A word about the Nutcracker. Many club fields have simple rope tows to take you to the top, you strap on a belt with a metal Nutcracker device attached. This gadget clamps onto the rope and as you hold it closed it pulls you up from the hips. It’s not fun and it kills. I will never moan about T-bars or Poma’s again.

Getting up the hill was painful, but it was over soon as the tows were quick. Once at the top I looked down on fresh snow with nobody around to compete with.

I spent the day riding fresh snow. My nutcracker snapped, and I landed on it awkwardly a couple of times. Other than that I’d shredded some of the best powder I’d ever seen, for a small fraction of the price of an expensive heli-boarding trip.

I’m back in Arthur’s Pass now, tomorrow I’m picking Phil and Annalie up from Christchurch, they couldn’t keep away.

Leaving Franz Josef glacier on a bright Sunday morning I continued north up the SH6, destination Greymouth. On the way I stopped at lake Mapourika, lake Ianthe, and ate lunch at Hokitika. A cheese and ham sandwich on wholemeal with orange juice. Freshly squeezed.

That night I stayed at the Global Village and selected Dead Man and Raising Victor Vargas from the extensive in-house DVD collection.

The Lonely Planet rates the highway between Greymouth and Westport as one of the planet’s 10 best road trips. I checked out of the Global Village and hit the road.

The road winds between the Tasman sea and the Southern Alps passing through bays, beaches and old gold-mining towns. Halfway between Greymouth and Westport is the Paparoa National Park and the Pancake Rocks of Punakaiki.

The limestone rocks were formed millions of years ago through a process called ’stylobedding’ creating what looks like a series of stacked pancakes. Blowholes have also been formed and when the waves surge into the rocks the water blows through the blowholes like a geyser.

I continued north to Cape Fowlwind and walked to the nearby Seal Colony. I then headed east and drove along the Buller River before turning south and stopping at Reefton for the night.

Today is Tuesday and I am on my way to Arthur’s pass then onto Christchurch where i’ll meet up with Phil and Annalie once more. They couldn’t keep away from the NZ snow for long.

New Zealand’s glacier country is on the west coast about 3 hours drive north of Wanaka. The journey passes lakes and rain forest then up along the Tasman coast.

I left Wanaka early on Wednesday morning, the weather was intermittent rain, good for waterfalls one minute, then great for photographing them the next.

I arrived on the coast at a town called Haast as the rain became consistently heavier. The scenery was stunning, especially the drive through Mount Aspiring National park, with it’s dramatic waterfalls falling right next to the road, and the stormy Tasman sea crashing onto deserted beaches. I stopped off whenever I could to document the scenes.

I arrived at Fox glacier township and after a quick look around town, booked myself on a 30 minute helicopter tour of the two glaciers: Fox and Franz Josef.

I love helicopters, just being in one is cool enough, but to fly between huge mountains and above massive glacial systems is spectacular. We flew up Franz then touched down on crispy untouched snow at the top.

After a few minutes taking photos we took off for a spin past Mt Cook then down Fox glacier. Each time we climbed a peak or ridge the pilot would hug the helicopter back down the other side, it was a bit like Airwolf with ol’ Dominic Santini at the yoke. I arrived back in town around 4 then decided to drive to Gillespie’s beach - 21k away - in time for sunset.

The beach had black sand and was scattered with driftwood, the sea was wild and the backdrop was made up of the southern alps mountain range. As the sun set I took photos and amazed at my surroundings. I felt grateful for being in such a beautiful country.

Then came Saturday. I gathered my hiking boots and crampons from the hire shop, joined up with 9 others and a guide, and began a 6 hour hike up Franz Josef glacier.

We hiked through rain forest, streams and rocks before we made it to the ice. We then trekked up the glacier terminal through ice caves, narrow crevasses, tunnels and steps cut out by previous groups. The further up we went the deeper the ridges became, we walked through small channels of blue ice walls that towered above us, to think that all this was moving was amazing, it made me feel small and insignificant.

We were back down on the valley floor by 4. I’d had a great day and felt tired, it was time for a Montieth’s beer, brewed in the Westland. A sweet way to end the day.

The access road climbing up to Snowpark is steep and winding, the surface made of gravel, mud and snow. After each climb to the summit, I allowed myself a celebratory handbrake turn on the snow covered car park.

On the way up, near the top of the mountain, there’s life size sculpture of a man looking out over the spiraling road and the Cardrona valley. On my last day at Snowpark, coming down the hill I decided to park Long Distance Clara and get a closer look.

The statue stands high above the nearest section of road. I grabbed my cameras and scrambled uphill over the heathland, dodging patches of icy snow and jumping streams. Ten minutes later, soaking wet and covered in mud I arrived at the memorial sculpture of Possum Bourne. He stands there in race gear with his name on his belt buckle.

Peter Raymond George ‘Possum’ Bourne was a New Zealand rally driver. He was winner of multiple championships and died while driving up towards Snowpark. Once a year, this road I’d become familiar with would be closed off for the Silverstone ‘Race To The Sky’ hillclimb event.

Possum’s statue stands at a majestic spot, commanding scenic views of the surrounding alpine countryside, and overlooking the racecourse he won in 2001. Since his death, a smaller version of the sculpture is awarded to the fastest Kiwi to complete the uphill race.

I took a few snaps and enjoyed the view for a while. I soon began to feel the cold so I slid my way back down the slopes to my Ford Focus and its on-board heating system.

As I rolled down the hill in a low gear I glanced up and said goodbye to old Possum Bourne. Until next time.

With a few hours spare I left Queenstown and headed for Dorothy Browns cinema. They screen an interesting mix of independent, art, and foreign language films.

The cinema is located off the main street, down an alley, past cosy restaurants and bars, and up a set of steps.

Inside the main foyer area is a welcoming bar and a bookshop. Every town should have a Dorothy Browns. I asked what was being screened that night then bought myself a ticket for the next film playing in The Den: Bienvenue Chez Les Ch’tis (Welcome To The Sticks).

The Den looks like an decadent old living room with individual comfy chairs, coffee tables, lamps, sofas and beanbags at the front.

The film was a comedy, mocking the north of France from the perspective of a man transferred there from the south. The jibes were similar to those you’d find between southerners and northerners in England: accents, traditions, habits etc. After a slow start, I ended up really enjoying the film, its conclusion being an overwhelming admiration and fondness for the region. The film was dedicated to the directors mother who was from the area.

If you get the chance I would recommend Welcome To The Sticks. And if you’re ever in Arrowtown on a wet winter evening, just turn up and watch a film in The Den. Any film would do, it’s a cool place.

Jumping on the bus at 7.45am I began the 2 hour trip along the Milford Highway to go Kayaking at Milford Sound.

There were 8 of us and 1 guide in 5 kayaks. We dressed for the cold winter in thermals and waterproofs and packed our lunches into drybags in case of rain or a capsize. It was cold, we didn’t want to capsize. We set off around 9.30 and made our way out of the small harbour into Milford Sound.

The water was so still, and the air chilly. Light clouds tried to block the sun but the occasional light burst penetrated through. The walls of the sound rose up from the water, tree covered and snow-capped. The scenery was stunning, I felt completely dwarfed being so low on the water with such heights towering above.

We spotted Seals sunbathing on rocks and were able to get really close. They didn’t seem bothered by our bright yellow plastic boats or our cameras.

At lunch, all 5 kayaks rafted up at the centre of the sound, it’s deepest point, and we ate our packed sandwiches. The first cruise boats of the day left the port and began the guided tour of the area.

We then paddled back past waterfalls and more seals and arrived back to the heated tent around 3pm.

The next day I decided to explore more of the Southern Fiordlands along the Southern Scenic Highway. I detoured off the road at several points to explore walking tracks, viewpoints and lakes. The area is amazing, green fields flow into steep alpine forest and then fierce snow-capped peaks. I continued south to Invercargill before heading back north to Queenstown. New Zealand is fast becoming my favourite country so far.

I arrived in Christchurch after an epic three flight journey from Brisbane. Qantas had overbooked my flight and offered me a first class upgrade if I went via Sydney and Auckland. I decided to do it as I’d never travelled in anything other than the cheapest seats before.

I met Phil and Annalie in Christchurch. They had flown from Sydney earlier that day. We picked up my hire car that was to be my transport while in NZ. We folded down one of the back seats, loaded in our gear and named her Long Distance Clara. We hit the road for Wanaka, our base to explore the local snow hills.

I was waiting for my snowboarding gear to arrive from the UK. My dad had it shipped over to meet me at our hostel. It was being held in customs for a few days while I filled out a few forms. Apart from my snowboard, I needed the warm clothing as I only really had stuff fit for tropical Australia. I had to wear all of it at once to keep warm.

So I rented equipment for first day and the three of us headed to Cardrona for some snowboarding. The hill is small compared to European standards but the snow was sweet. Phil and Annalie looked at home in their gear and on their boards while I felt a little edgy riding a strange board and wearing hire clothes. We had a great day, brilliant conditions, quiet slopes and blue skies.

The hills in New Zealand are very different from European and North American resorts I’m familiar with. To start with you really need your own car. The hills are a short drive away from Wanaka and there is very little in the way of accomodation availible next to the slopes. This is cool in my opinion, you don’t see the idiot ski crowds familiar in Europe, there are no chatels and no tour operators, it’s suited to the independant traveller. The access roads to the top are non-sealed and steep. Snowchains are needed. If anyone remembers the C64 game Grog’s Revenge, well the roads are like that.

Two days later and my boardbag arrived with warm clothes, my board and boots. I was ready to roll.

Unfortunately for Annalie and the team, she had to be back in Sydney for work after four days of riding. Phil and I dropped her off at Wanaka airfield before heading back to Cardrona for some more shred.

After a couple of days riding Cardrona and Treblecone, we became pissed off with the growing lift queues, It was school holiday season. We decided it was time to hit New Zealand’s famous Snowpark, a dedicated freestyle terrain park.

With kickers, boxes, rails and other features there was plenty for us to learn. Phil and I soon got into it and began pushing each other into trying new features and tricks. The snow was hard and icy at first but after 10/11am it softened up nicely and remained perfect for the entire day. There were no lift queues and the sun shined brightly.

I have been hitching my way round mountains for years, and now it was my turn to return the favour. LDC had two spaces available in the back so everyday we picked up fellow mountain users and took them to the 
slopes. That’s the cool thing about mountains, everyone is there for the same thing, that reduces the chances of picking up an axe murderer.

This was how we met Austen and Eric, two American snowboarders. They were both very good riders and were easily up there with the best in snowpark. One night after a few beers we were chatting in a bar and 
out of nowhere Eric decides to run up a wall and do a backflip. As he was stepping his way up the wall his foot slipped on a poster and he ended up on his knees. The bar staff and bouncers couldn’t believe what he tried to pull off, they ran over to the dj booth - where the CCTV screen was located - and watched, and rewatched, the flip in amazement. The following day Eric’s knee had swollen to such a huge size he wasn’t going riding anytime soon. His knee looked pregnant, about to drop eight other knees. It was massive. He had a few weeks left on his trip. Austen however was sticking around for the season. His aim is to prepare and train for the winter competitions in the States. He is already a sponsored rider (Forum, Smith) and his 
ambition is to become pro and take home a wage. He told me to do that he needs to nail back-to-back 1080’s in the halfpipe. It was great hanging out with team America: learning how to speak like a southern 
redneck and watching them spin off the huge Snowpark kickers first thing in the morning.

Back in Snowpark we met a bloke called Chris, a photographer wanting to build his snow sports portfolio. He took shots of us on the kickers. So now, thanks to Chris, after ten years of snowboarding I finally have some photographic evidence of me on snow.

On the 15th July, after two weeks of riding it was time for Phil to head back to Sydney. I dropped him off at Wanaka airfield on a clear blue sky mountain day, and sent him home to Annalie.

I am now on the road again. Me and filthy old LDC.

Queenstown

I decided to give snowboarding a break for a while, I had flu and the dizzy feeling it left me with was no good for my concentration. I decided to to to Milford Sound via Queenstown.

My first night in Queenstown I am having dinner in a quiet Japanese restaurant when I felt the wall, floor and chair shaking. The shelving behind the counter was also moving, threatening to spill it’s contents. The staff were shouting and holding onto things that looked like falling. This lasted for about 5 minutes. Later, a quick Google confirmed it was an earthquake measuring 7.8 on the Richter scale.

The next day, Friday, I climbed to the top of Bobs peak overlooking Queenstown with spectacular views of the surrounding mountain range and lakes. In the evening I drove south to Te Anau.