Nocturnal snowgroomer hosts roving Bulletin reporter

Waimarino Bulletin, Volume 2, Issue 22, 30 October 1984, Page 5

Nocturnal snowgroomer hosts roving Bulletin reporter

Our intrepid reporter from the Auckland Technical Institute 's journalism course, Margaret Baker, who was working for the Bulletin to obtain job experience, spent last Tuesday night on the Turoa Skifield in a Kassbohrer snow-groomer. Here is her story. Just when everybody is going home, when the last ski patroller is on his last run, there's Chip, coming up the mountain to take it over for another night. Chip McCavana, the snow groomer. As you watch the Turoa field empty, the cars crawl ant-like down the road, the silence and expanse of the mountain hangs in the air. You feel a very small, insignificant human. Chip likes it like that. He likes the peace, the solitude, it gives him time to think, time just to be. In a quiet unassuming way he is as self-contained as the mountain he works on. For the last five ski seasons Chip has driven a Kassbohrer snow-groomer over the southern slopes of Mt Ruapehu every night. He is only ever stopped by heavy snow or very high winds but even then, what may start as a cairn night can suddenly turn into a raging storm, and he's in the middle of it. Although aware of the dangerand aware of his own limitations, he isn't intimidated, he accepts the facts and concentrates on what he likes about the job, and part of it is being the only one on the mountain. It's the only way he'd have it, it's the best way to be, he says. For six days a week, sometimes in 18-hour shifts, he packs and grooms the snow ready for tomorrow's skiers. At the beginning of the Turoa season in July his work is mostly pushing snow onto the T-bar lines, or as he says, getting to know

where the rocks are. Even though he may know every ridge, every bluff and every contour of the mountain, its shape is constantly changing, and after a snowfall it's like starting all over again. At the height of the season two sno-cats work around the clock, their lights burning out over the Waimarino while other people sleep, or, Chip says a little grudgingly, rage. Keeping awake during the long hours can be quite an effort, especially when all you're doing is grooming the tracks. I dozed off a few times. Bladework is what Chip likes best, it keeps him alert, but the grooming can almost be mesmerising, just going up and down, up and down. He mentions the time he was going up a slope, in that oblivious state between awake and being asleep, and the other Cat driver just happened to call him up. Makes you wonder about life, the universe and everything. The other dangers include the avalanches the ski patrol are always telling him about and, worst of all, the ice. The Cat's aluminium grousers —

tracks — haven't got a chance on the ice, so it's just a matter of hoping you've got enough run out. When visibility is bad, this especially can get a bit too exciting. I felt quite safe in the one slide we went on, Chip instills utter confidence, but then the night was crystal clear, and the run out large and obvious. The best snow to work on is when it's hard and windpacked, it won't clog the tiller like the soft Spring stuff. When that happens Chip jumps out and bashes it clear with something that looks like a softball bat — no sophisticated gadget like you'd expect. Even Kassbohrer's have to lower themselves to human common sense sometimes. The machines themselves are imported from West Germany and the engine and running gear are Mercedes Benz. They weight four and a half tons and can travel at a maximum of 15km/hour, although their usual working speed is five or six kilometres. Hydraulically run, with 2-speed hydrostatic gearing, they go through an average of one hundred litres of diesel a night. Breakdowns are frequent and maintenance heavy, with Chip stopping every few hours to check the oils and general running. One of the Cats is at present being overhauled after doing 5000 running hours over seven years.

They cost $180,000 to replace and Turoa hope to have a new one this summer. One windscreen by itself, made of heated, laminated glass, costs $3000 to replace. They go through one screen a year usually — maybe a flying rock caught it in a storm. Inside the Cat it's warm and comfortable, there's a radio cassette and an amazing view. You look through the big clear windscreen, over the quiet white slopes and out across the rolling plains below. Far away you can see the lights of Wanganui and, very faintly, Palmerston North. Mt Egmont sits in the sky to the right. Ohakune, Raetihi the mill and National Park are all small circles of glitter. The night I was there the stars were out in abundance, and just before dark I' watched the sunset go through every stage of molten orange, until it burnt itself out with its own intensity. It's eerie sitting up there with the chairs swaying in the silent cold, the etched white lines of Ruapehu standing out against the black. Chip sits there smoking his cigars, working on the T lines, the loading areas, the tracks, thoroughly familiar with the way the Cat works, quite at home. cont'd page 6

Nocturnal snowgroomer hosts reporter

cont'd from page 5 When it's a full moon he says you can work without the lights and when there's two of them they sometimes go for a few runs. Being a

skier helps him decide on how to handle the tracks. He says its a "bummer" in Spring when you've just groomed a neat T-bar line and some people have climbed to the top and ski

right down it. He likes the satsifaction of seeing a neat job, the before and after appearance. What he likes best though is when he's worked all night and the sun is just beginning to rise, people are starting to arrive and his eyes are "hanging out." He knows the night's work has been done. Maybe he will get a bit of flack if a couple of skiers break their legs in holes he's made, but that's pretty rare, S he knows when he's done a good or bad job. At 3.30am he finished the last track, I drove the Cat down to the first chair. It didn't feel heavy as I'd imagined and the steering was incredibly sensitive, I probably ruined a few of his nice straight tracks. Then after parking the sno-cat we slithered and slid our way down the first chair, he'd remembered the torch this time. So it was about four in the morning when Chip got back to his home at the bdttom of the skifield, once again leaving the mountain to the everyday people. Reminded me somehow of the goodnight kiwi. Just as I got home the dawn was beginning to break and the sunlight shone on Ruapehu, ready for another day. Margaret Baker