As he wrote in his daily journal of their New Zealand trip, he worried about the book he had recently finished. It was a story about the old days of mateship and surfing, and how a road trip turned into a quest. The book was being published in America by Raider Publishing. Within weeks, his book should be in his hands.
As each day passed, his concerns became magnified. He wondered if paranoia was taking over. Was he in one of his strange moods, questioning why he didn't pursue a publishing deal in Australia?
After guidance from three editors, he had started submitting his manuscript to Aussie publishers. One knock back was not a failure, considering his writing needed to be professionally edited to send off the obligatory first four chapters.
By chance while searching the internet, he had stumbled across a literary agent. Following the link, he found Raider Publishing. He liked their business model and the fact that they had a book shop in New York. Centre place in the photo of the book shop was a chess table. That made his mind up. He would submit four chapters and see what happened. In hindsight, to make a decision based on a chess set seemed irrational.
Ingrid returned with their amenity keys and their site number, then reversed the van confidently into a tight fitting rainforest parking spot. LP ran out the power cord, connecting it to their power pole.
Later, after settling in and knocking back a couple of drinks, they headed over to the van park's bar, grill and pool room. Sitting opposite the large fire place, which gave enough heat to warm everyone, they started to relax after a big day of sightseeing.
They ordered two meals and then waited for their buzzer to sound. Looking around, Ingrid said, "What I’d give to be thirty years younger, fancy free without a care in the world, like these young ones.”
“Sure, that can happen in a way, but we'd be called Grey Nomads" replied LP.
Their buzzer sounded, vibrating across the timber table. Walking over to the servery, they were handed two plates of grilled Barramundi covered in white sauce.
The recipe was no longer a Westland secret. It was simply half a cup of milk, a tablespoon each of margarine and flour, plus a pinch of pepper, oregano and Cajun spices.
After finishing the most succulent meal of their journey so far, they found that the west coast was living up to its reputation of great food and great hospitality.
The entertainment was about to start for the younger travellers. This van park encouraged backpackers to stay by providing music and a pool competition. The game was called Killer Pool.
Those who played put two dollars in the kitty for the winner. LP decided to enter, but his pool table skills were a bit rusty. He was out played by pool sharks and was eliminated in the third round.
The winner was to be decided between two young blokes. Tensions rose and rivalry could be seen on the faces of these mates who had been backpacking together. The cash prize was like striking gold for the backpackers, who counted every cent they spent. Friendships could be broken over the next shot.
Fritz pocketed the winning ball. The loser, with a pool cue in one hand, took three steps forward and raised his right hand. He gripped his mate’s right hand, shaking and congratulating him.
Finished for the night, LP and Ingrid headed back to their van for an early start the next day.
The next morning, the clouds had cleared, revealing the highest point of Franz Josef Glacier between the mountain peaks. LP rushed to grab his camera, but too late. It became overcast and raining within moments.
He said to Ingrid, "Let’s book out before this down- pour gets any worse." His knee was feeling a little better, so he would drive as far as possible until the pain returned.
Passing Lake Mapourika as the roadway climbed and twisted its way along its shoreline, they were overshadowed by tall stands of dense rainforest.
Over two hours of constant driving followed, before they arrived at their next destination, Ross, where historic gold fields could still be panned.
They stopped outside Ross's tourist centre to shop for gold jewellery. Checking out the beautiful pieces hand crafted by locals, Ingrid decided on a gold nugget costing four hundred and forty-five dollars. She planned to add it to a gold chain she had bought when last in Vietnam.
They walked out into the main street. An old gold mining sieve leaned against a wall. You could imagine the hustle and bustle of another time, but now the streets were quiet, like a ghost town. Even the local pub was empty.
LP continued to drive on to Greymouth, where he would refuel for the journey over Arthur's Pass. Hugging the coastline with blue sky above, a sign pointed to Shantytown, ten kilometres before Greymouth.
LP turned off, following a winding road to an old abandoned township restored to its former glory. They looked at the entrance to the town and decided that they had seen enough old towns, so turned around the way they had come. There was something unsettling about Greymouth.
Approaching the intersection, indecision confused LP’s thoughts. Knowing he would need more fuel to cross the snow capped Alps, he turned left. Driving back to the Arthur's Pass turn off, LP gambled on getting over snow covered Alps. Even if he ran out of fuel, he thought he could simply coast down until he found a fuel stop. His gamble paid off.
Shadowed by snow capped mountains was a street with a few houses and a gas station. LP filled up with diesel then drove on to the edge of town. He stopped to phone the Mt Hutt helicopter company to confirm their flight for Wednesday.
The call was answered pleasant and friendly manner “Good morning, Kathy speaking". "G'day. I'm checking that everything's right for our booking tomorrow. What time do we have to be there?"
"Your flight's booked for two in the arvo but there's a slight problem. To land on the mountain requires a Government permit because it's off season. That will be extra one hundred and twenty dollars."
LP turned to Ingrid and repeated what was said.
Ingrid had read a newspaper article about a plane crash on fourth of September which had killed nine people, including two Australians on Fox Glacier. This was eight weeks before they flew to New Zealand and the same day the earthquake had struck. She was not fazed though, and wanted her first helicopter flight to happen. "Just do it. We've come this far. Let's finish on a high note."
LP told Kathy that they would pay the extra money for the permit. She confirmed their booking for two o clock, saying, "Phone again tomorrow morning to check on weather conditions." LP hung up the phone and started through Arthur's Pass National Park.
Winding their way past ski slopes that were closed for summer, they drove for nearly three hours before being stopped by road works.
Looking right, LP spotted a pub, the Springfield Hotel.
The mobile automatic traffic lights signalled LP to move on, but he turned across into the pub's car park. He wanted to find out if his bet on Monkey King had paid off.
The town was playing up to their connection with Homer Simpson's Springfield. To the right of the pub entrance was a large glass window with a cartoon mural of Homer and his family. LP stood beside it while Ingrid snapped a photo.
They walked inside to a bar celebrating Addington Cup Day. Today was the biggest day of New Zealand's trotting horse calendar.
It was four-thirty in the arvo, with a bright blue sky. The warm sunshine was tempered by gusty winds coming off the snow covered mountain peaks in the distance.
LP lent against the bar, looking at the list of beers on offer. To his surprise, Duff beer was on tap. "Pour me a pint of Duff beer and one for my wife, thanks” he said.
They sat down on a low couch to drink their beers and watch a repeat news report of the New Zealand Trotting Cup presentation on TV.
Monkey King's owner, Robert Famularo, and Ricky May the driver, with back to back wins, were all smiles, with winning accolades and the prize money of seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. LP waited to hear how much he had won on his bet, but nothing was mentioned about the odds.
LP looked around at the patrons dressed for Cup Day. Ladies in big hats and men in ties and sports jackets celebrated their wins and drowned their losses. Maybe he could get an answer out of one of them about Monkey King.
They finished their pints and as they left, LP asked one race goer how much Monkey King had paid.
"Shit loads mate," said the punter as he knocked down the remainder of his schooner. It seemed that they weren’t going to get much sense out of this lot, so they headed back to their van.
Ingrid would drive this time. It had been a long haul over the Alps, and was only seventy kilometres to Methven, their next stop at the gateway to Mt Hutt.
They had made up time now, with one day set aside for their helicopter flight, then in to Christchurch for sightseeing and duty free shopping. The pace had slowed, and they could start to relax.
As they drove down Methven's main street, it could have been any sunny day in Queensland. Ingrid turned left and entered Methven van park at 7:30pm. Their van was the only vehicle there, not counting a bicycle leaning up against a timber fence next to a two man tent. It looked like there wouldn’t be a queue at the amenities block tonight.
They poured a drink and settled in to relax at the timber table and chairs provided at their private camping area. They talked about where to eat that night, as Ingrid wanted to be taken out for dinner.
She was tired from driving, but figured she'd get her second wind after sipping on her bourbon and cola. As she finished her drink she said, "I'll get changed and freshen up. Let's go up to one of those pubs we passed coming in to town."
LP agreed, “I'm havin' another coldie, when you're ready let's go."
They walked out through the security boom gate at 9:50pm and crossed the road towards a blue painted pub in the distance.
As they walked, they passed shop fronts that were boarded up, damaged by the earthquake that had shaken the region in September. They were still feeling aftershocks and sympathised with those who had lost loved ones, others whose property was damaged and incomes disrupted.
The blue pub was for tourists, while locals frequented the pub across the road. They walked into the blue pub through two large timber doors, solid enough to withstand snow and blizzard conditions.
The first thought that came to mind was that it was like the foyer of a mountain lodge ski resort. LP ordered a schooner of beer and a bourbon and cola for Ingrid.
As it was so late in the evening, LP asked the waitress if meals were still being served. She replied, "No problem. Take a table, check out our menu, and I'll be over in a minute."
He seated Ingrid facing the fireplace, and they talked about their plans for tomorrow, returning to Mt Hutt after such a long time. LP's recollection of the past was a photo of him looking up to snow capped mountains. His memory was cloudy on when he actually went there, or how he got up to that height at Mt Hutt. Only the photo, taken thirty-six years ago, confirmed that he was there.
Their waitress came over to ask for their order. “Fish and chips, plus garlic bread and a Margarita pizza, thanks” said LP.
While they waited for their meals, they looked at the photos on the walls of the blue pub. In one photo, snow was a metre deep at the front doors.
After dinner, Ingrid suggested they grab a couple of bourbon and cola cans to take back to the van with them. As they walked to the drive-thru of the locals’ pub, a woman having a smoke outside called out, "Where are you from?"
She could tell they were tourists. "Queensland" Ingrid replied. The women wanted to have a chin wag, but LP was rubbing his hands and beginning to shake from the cold. “Come on, let's get going" he said.
Their new acquaintance, who introduced herself as Stacey, said, "Come inside and meet my partner and some of the locals." They decided to pop in for a quick drink and were introduced to Stacey’s partner Randall, a deer hunter who stalked wild deer from helicopters across the high country.
Other locals welcomed them and called the barman over so drinks could be ordered all round. A busload of more locals soon arrived and the loud laughter and voices sounded like an approaching stampede of wild animals, pushing and shoving their way through a narrow walkway.
That crowd of partygoers were returning from Addington Raceway, in a jovial mood because Ricky May, the driver of the winning horse Monkey King, was a local. He was a home grown talent and winner many times over of the New Zealand Cup.
Ingrid decided they should leave before it got any rowdier. She didn't bother with getting any takeaway drinks, and they headed straight back to their van for a good night’s sleep.
The next morning, LP’s wish for a perfect day was granted. He stood outside their van, looking out over the snow capped mountains. The sky was blue above, without a cloud to be seen nor a breath of wind to be felt.
He went back inside and said to Ingrid "It’s the best day outside so far. We couldn't have wished for better!"
LP phoned the Mt Hutt Helicopter company to check how soon they could take their flight up to the mountain. The receptionist wanted to check with Blair, the pilot, and asked LP to phone back in five minutes.
He phoned again, and this time the answer was that if they arrived at the helipad by 10:30am, Blair would be ready.
They quickly packed up, disconnected the power, and left the amenity keys at the front desk, then were ready to climb a mountain.
LP switched on the Navman, punched in the street address and headed out of Methven.
Thirty minutes later, he was driving across a cattle grid into a large paddock. There were no sheep, just a big hanger with a blue and white helicopter ready for takeoff. They went to reception and waited for Blair to arrive. Footsteps down the hallway heralded the arrival of a large man in blue overalls.
"I'm Blair, your pilot for today. What exactly do you want to do, fly over the mountain or land somewhere?"
"Land" replied LP. “I want to land at Mt Hutt." As he spoke, he pulled out a photo taken thirty-six years earlier. “I just want to have a picture taken in the same spot as this one."
“Mt Hutt is closed.” Blair said. “The season finished last week. The gates are chained and you can’t fly or drive in without an authorised government permit" said Blair. "Also, that photo is not of Mt Hutt."
LP was taken aback. The only other place it could have been taken was at Coronet Peak, near Queenstown. He recalled that trip, driven up by taxi with three other backpackers as drizzle turned to snow. They had had to put on snow chains as they drove up the road overlooking a cliff face, but no picture was taken.
Blair must have been mistaken. LP didn't want to comment that he probably hadn’t been born then, but he kept a tight lip.
Blair remarked, "Look, I'll do one better for ya, I'll take you to a mountain peak where it's OK to land. You can have your picture taken on top of the world." LP liked that idea.
Cameras in hand, one pilot and two tourists walked over to the helicopter with its blades swirling. It was becoming harder to hear the safety instructions as the noise became louder.
Ingrid was helped up onto the back seat. LP seated himself beside Blair's chopper instrument panel. The takeoff was smooth as they rose above green farmland paddocks dotted with sheep. Tall wind breaks created what looked like a checker board of farms below.
LP asked, "How fast are we going?"
"One hundred miles an hour. You'll feel the speed as we go low over that mountain ridge" Blair replied.
Thirteen minutes later, after climbing seven thousand five hundred feet, Blair said "We're going to land on snow, saddled between two peaks. Hold on, it could be a bit bumpy as we set down."
With rotor blades ending silence of a clear calm day, LP and Ingrid were in awe of standing on what felt like the top of the world.
Blair snapped a couple of pictures of his passengers, and asked, "Do you want to climb to the peak?" LP looked up to the summit, answering "It's there to be climbed, let's do it."
They all started the ascent, but Ingrid stopped and said, "I won't make it. You go ahead."
Blair and LP kept climbing on the east face where snow had melted. Loose shale slid off the mountain edge as each foot step guided them to the summit.
LP reached the mountain top, standing on a small flat area no larger than half a square metre. He was watching his footing - one mistake and he would be freefalling to the valley below, without a parachute.
He positioned himself for the photo he'd travelled so far for. Even though his memory was challenged to exactly where the old photo was taken, in the end, he couldn't have wished for a better outcome.
He stood looking up, hands at his sides, legs apart, straddling the peak. “Blair, take the picture now," he yelled out.
"Got it” Blair said, smiling.
"After thirty-six years, I have returned to the mountain. Hello world" said LP, proudly.
As he looked down, one word came to mind.
Download. Download. Download.
He put that thought to the back of his mind to contemplate later, wondering if it had any meaning, or was just a random thought.
LP stepped down off the mountain peak, meeting up with Blair for their decent back to Ingrid and the helicopter. He looked down at the chopper blades that were still turning but could not be heard. Absolute silence filled the air.
LP had no fear, no pain, just sheer pleasure. He had accomplished what he had set out to do.
He gave Ingrid a big hug which soon turned in to a snow fight on the picturesque snow covered mountain.
It was time to leave and they took off, circling the summit called Old Man Peak.
By the time they landed back at the helipad, fifty minutes had passed. Considering the flight was only booked for fifteen minutes, Blair had looked after them very well, and charged the original price quoted without the additional one hundred and twenty dollars for the permit. LP and Ingrid thanked Blair for an experience they'd never forget