SKIING DOWN UNDER

By CHRIS BUNTING

August 3, 2004 -- ‘TIS pity it took an over-glorified midget and his bling-gone-bad to blip New Zealand—Hollywood’s now-turned Vancouver of Oceania—on the must-go radar.

But the scenic white-capped geography which served as the backdrop for The Lord of the Rings trilogy (and current host to productions of King Kong and The Lion, the Witch & the Wardrobe) is as sporty a paradise as it is pretty and not at all meant for hobbit fans who count weekend Renaissance fairs as outdoor adventure.

Don’t have an asthma attack, LOTR geeks, I mean no offense (I was one of you, once). It’s just that the thrill-seeking Kiwis, enjoying their bizarro-side-of-the-globe winter, are offering their snow sports—heli-skiing, snowboarding, alpine bungy—with extreme southern hemisphere prejudice. And thoughtfully doing so during our gross summer months.

The good news about NZ: Its ski parks, given their higher altitudes, lack trees to hit and have modern man-made powder better than God could ever hope to cough up. The bad: Icy country roads—replete with left-side drivers and scary roundabouts and governed by odd “give way” road rules—generally lack guard rails (reports of both tourists and locals rolling their SUVs into ditches are daily).

But don’t loose your nerve. Come for the J. R. R. Tolkien webring’s envy and stay for the shredding because exchanging Andruil sword replicas for ski-poles on these hot South Island snow spots will make anyone with a nose for fresh powder hiss “my precious” all the way down a black diamond incline—and if I survived it, so can you.

MT. HUTT

If you don’t know the 900-acre Mt. Hutt ski park by name, you will by its movie star good looks. Overlooking the Canterbury Plains, it’s smack dab where the Southern Alps meet the flat foothills near where the Lord of the Rings was filmed—providing a view from the slopes that’s so darn pretty, you’ll be directing sequels in your head.

But going nearly 10 years without so much as touching a pair of skis (and boy have they changed), the fact that Mt. Hutt’s bowl-shaped park has the highest vertical drop in South Island (in the neighborhood of 2,200 feet) wasn’t what I wanted to hear on my chopper trip up to the base, courtesy of Mt. Hutt Heli.

That’s why I was more than happy to learn my instructor for the day—charged with the duty of scraping the rust off my ski legs—went by the name of “Chicken.” Green circle bunny slopes were as steep as I wanted to get first day out.

Turns out Chicken had one of those trendy oxymoron nicknames because he wasn’t the wuss I’d hoped for, quite the opposite in fact, and he lead his trusting students straight for the dry and powdery intermediate run “fascination”. But by lesson’s bruised and battered end, and after discovering that a T-bar is a much more comfortable fit between your legs than in your arm pit, I’m happy to report I regained the status of mediocre-skier I once proudly held. Thanks Chicken! Die-hard experts, on the other hand, can take full advantage of the double-black South Face runs.

Fresh from conquering the mountain, the blue runs anyway, and graduating from ski school (look ma, no wedge!), I celebrated with a few Heinekens in the comfy cafeteria and decided, hey, it’s bungy time. (Unfounded cockiness needs to be declared a deadly sin if it isn’t one already).

Despite the Kiwi’s reputation that they’ll tie a latex human yo-yo to anything they can find (the “sport” was invented by New Zealand’s A.J. Hackett), I was told there’s only nine commercial bungy spots in the country. And Mt. Hutt’s bungy site is the highest in (cue cute travel slang) Australasia, at 5,250 feet above sea level.

Mt. Hutt Bungy includes your stereotypical punk-rocker crew, who’ll try to mess with your mind moments before the jump (expect “only five people have died” and “don’t worry, you die instantly” jokes). Dismissing their psych-warfare is easier said than done (my crew planned on painting a giant bull’s-eye on the ground beneath, splattered in fake blood) and I bluffed jumping a few times just to get them back.

After the 10-second swan dive, I was no less scared of heights or any more embracing of denying self-preserving urges for sport, but I did get a big hug from Lauren, my dominatrix of a bungy-teacher who admits pushing men off ledges is, for her, orgasmic. Hope it was better for you than it was for me, babe! The cost of the jump is about $59 and includes a diploma proving you didn’t back out. 

The only complaint I can muster up about Mt. Hutt are the urinal troughs in the blokes’ bathrooms—and you’ll become intimately familiar with them if you enjoy lodge drinking as much as I.

The park is 25% beginner runs, 50% intermediate, and 25% advanced, snowboarder friendly, and usually opens first and closes last, getting some of the best snowfall in the southern hemisphere. All-day lift passes go for $47, lessons start at $53; www.nzski.com/mthutt.

Where to stay: About a 30 minute drive from Mt. Hutt is Terrace Downs—the only luxury suite styled resort of its kind in the Methven area—which rests on a foxy 18-hole golf course. New Yorkers who dread laundromats will drool over the in-room washer and dryer (detergent too!)—and the flat screen TV with Sky satellite and DVD, balcony, fireplace, and double bath-spa are nice touches as well. Studios go for $125/night, posh Fairway Chalets are $323/night. Terrace Downs will be adding its 22-suite “The Lodge” in Spring 2005; terracedowns.co.nz.

Nightlife: Just as in gang warfare, it’s all about colors in Methven’s bar scene. The Blue Pub is for out-of-towners, the Brown Pub, across the street, is for locals. Or is it the other way around? Too many Speights make everyone forget—both are cheap and locals like to get their drink on, just try to keep up.

CARDRONA

Whereas formidable and steep Treble Cone—with its 50% advanced, short-turn terrain that attracts the likes of the Austrian, US, French, Japanese and German national ski teams—is still considered the scary M. Night Shyamalan of ski parks, G-rated Cardrona, situated between Wanaka and Queenstown, is all about kiddie-friendly fun.

          And the proof is in its pizza. Not that a ski area should be judged merely on the quality of its junk food. But when the tummy is happy, everybody is happy. But let me get to the skiing first to work up the appetite.

          Cardrona’s 790-acres can be divided into five distinct Disneyland-ish parts: The kids area (“magic lcarpet” bunny hill pullies and children’s center), the main face which offers plenty of blue and green runs you’ll access via  the MacDougal Quad lift or the posh and speedy million-dollar Whitestar Express Quad lift (keeping waits to five minutes at the most, and padded seats are a pleasure for sore bums), a four half-pipe park (the largest in NZ) for snowboarders, the more thrilling black diamond area with “irish pipes” and “powder keg” runs on the lower part of the mountain, and the Captains Basin, which sits on the far side of the mountain, offering more intermediate runs.

          I found myself glued to Captains Basin for a few reasons: It’s more protected from the wind which keeps the powder drier late into the day. You can negotiate your way down the mountain in 7 or 8 ways and still stay on intermediate runs, but you have the option of choosing a couple of black detours if your heart so desires. And, directly beneath the Captain’s Quad lift, snowboarding rails have been set up so you can watch tricksters do it right or wrong, both very entertaining, on your way up.

          And that leads us to the bottom of the Captains Basin where you’ll find the Captains Pizzeria. New Zealanders don’t just eat boring one or two-topping slices of pizza. They load the suckers up with ham, pineapple, raspberry sauce, chicken—it’s like eating a four-course meal on an edible plate of cheese, tomato sauce and dough. Yummy and filling.

          Cardrona’s staff should be sainted because they’ll watch your kids for an entire day while you ski. The Cardrona Children’s Center offers a quiet nap area for babies, coloring books and toys for the 3-5 year olds, and a more social, arts and crafts area for 5 to 12 year olds. All have licensed children’s workers onsite trained in the art of warding off crankiness and temper-tantrums, at least until parents pick them up.

          There’s also an adult nursery of sorts at the Noodle Bar, the park’s newest restaurant. It serves up health food, fresh coffee, wine, and a roaring fire.

          Because the owners of the park own the entire mountain, they don’t have to worry about pesky environmental laws prohibiting the construction of lodging at the ski site. So Cardrona is one of the few places you can actually stay where you ski in New Zealand—however, it only has a handful of rooms and you’d have to book a year or so in advance to get one. You’re best bet is to bunk up in Wanaka.

Best yet, if the insanity of being around crazed ADHD-afflicted kids becomes nightmarish by 2 p.m., you can always go across the street to Snow Park, New Zealand’s hippest snowboarder and trick skier’s paradise which is wired with monster speakers blasting Eminem, has a mountain DJ, and hosts Billabong Girl Day each Tuesday (I went on a Monday, *sniff*). The two parks used to have the same owner.

          Cardrona’s all day lift tickets start at $45, group lessons start from $28; cardrona.co.nz.

Where to stay: Tahoe has a Southern Hemisphere doppelganger, and Wanaka be thy name. Founded by gold-miners in the 1860s, it’s all too cute a lakeside town which is starting to bloat into a winter tourist magnet (to the chagrin of many residents). Enjoy the peaceful view while it lasts at the Edgewater Resort. Dimly lit rooms are a nice, if accidental, touch, and each have balcony access. Tennis courts and putting green onsite, and the lobby bar has plasma TVs and internet access. Rates start at $125/night; edgewater.co.nz.

Nightlife: Wanaka’s shredders swap their boss war stories at Shooters on the corner of Ardmore and Dungarvon streets. Hip-hop, rap-rock is on the DJ’s menu on weekends. Very crowded but hip vibe still attracts young Wanakans and visitors alike.

CORONET

I knew I was in the right place when I spied some snowboarders drinking Jagermeister in Coronet Peak’s dining area—and it wasn’t even noon!

Sore from five consecutive days of skiing, my bones were nearing shattering. Luckily 57-year-old Coronet Peak, the oldest ski park in New Zealand and along with the Remarkables, are the two biggies in Queenstown, has some of the best man-made snow to cushion what would become a final day of surrendering falls.

Coronet has a varied terrain—20% beginner, 45% intermediate, and 35% advanced runs—but is best known for its high-quality man-made snow. No expense was spared when buying “snow-guns,” of which they’re 70 or around the 692-acre park., and a new million-dollar Italian model is refining the process even further. “Why buy a ford when you can get a Ferrari,” a fellow skier told me.

This was one of the few parks I felt comfortable daring the black diamond runs because hearing the sound of powder beneath my skis as opposed to ice is more soothing—and I didn’t intentionally bail out.

It doesn’t matter if you’re on the left side of the mountain’s blue runs, or attempting the far-side’s expert only “black bowls,”—the machine’s careful mix of water and air, which varies with the altitude, ensures icy snow won’t be a problem.

What is a problem are the crowds at the chair lifts. Get here early otherwise 15-25 minute waits will plague your ski day.

If your day does turn out to be a bust, there’s always the p.m. Under lights and in the bluish haze of the early-to-rise moon’s reflection off the snow, Coronet is famed for its night skiing (on Friday and Saturday nights, 4 p.m. to 9 p.m.). Villagers in Queenstown and Arrowtown sit jealously watching illuminated skiers cut esses 5,400 feet above.

Lodge environment: crowded inside and outside as per usual. Good curry and rice, huge potato servings, and bottles of wine and beer are sold next to the soda machine. The $4 barbecued onion bratwursts will hit the spot, but please bring the tic-tacs.

Lift passes go for $50, night skiing is $24; www.nzski.com/coronet.

Where to stay: President Clinton and daughter stayed at nearby Arrowtown’s Millbrook Resort—Bill played golf, while Chelsea hit the spa and gym (the better choice if you’ve happened across photos of the former first daughter lately!). That’s the kind of richy rich clientele you’ll get here, but if you want a fairway-side villa for a night or two on a resort that has its own onsite restaurants and bars, there’s not a nicer place in the entire country. Get ready for the “yikes!” rates: Inn rooms start at $256/night, cottages can go for $593/night; www.millbrook.co.nz.

Nightlife: A certain local bar kicked me out for wearing a beanie (on a cold night, no less) so no mention but Bar Up is a friendlier, though hidden, pub-in-the-wall with a balcony. The ski crowd hit Winnie Bagoes for hooking up with the town’s hotties, televised rugby games and a roof that opens up over the bar when it snows. Packed during winter but thins out late night when local males hit up Queenstown’s brothel (prostitution is now legal). Oh, one more piece of novelty: A fleet of female cab drivers can take your sloppily drunk self home, and they have credit card machines in their cars.