Dust from the churned gravel plumed as I leaned on the brakes, skidding to a halt. I launched out of the Emerald Wagon. Central Otago beamed, a proud shade of gold, and the mountains of the Southern Alps formed a great wall in the distance, their stracciatella peaks reaching skyward.
That’s where I was heading: deep into those valleys with my camera and my keyboard, seeking images of winter perfection. It was more an escape than an adventure - I needed a break from the chaos that my life was collapsing into in Dunedin. All the failed attempts at trying to secure a job, and the struggle to solidify a daily routine clouded my mind. Making videos for my piano music in the seat of nature was the one thing that kept the wheel turning. And so that morning, spurned by a frenetic, coffee-induced whim, I shoved my gear into the back of the Emerald Wagon and dashed from Dunedin.
The chill of winter gnawed at my fingers, and I pulled over my gloves. Those mountains were calling. Five songs, five shots - that was the goal. It was time to make haste.
— — —
As the hills grew into mountains, my optimism grew with them. I wondered where my first shot would be, and which of the five songs I would choose. It was an exciting process. I had no plan, and was willing to let nature guide my creative decisions.
Weaving through the valleys, I eventually found myself in the bowl of the mountains; the Adventure capital of the world. And I drove right through, feeling the pull of Cecils Peak, the humble giant watching Queenstown from the other side of Lake Wakatipu. I had to stop and take a few deep breaths to consider. The sun was beginning to hang low, and time was pressing on me. Cecil’s Peak simply watched, waited, and with another glance up at the white mass, one of my five songs sprung forth and echoed in my mind. It was decided.
High ground. I needed a vantage point from above, where the sun still reached. The road winding up to Moke Lake presented itself, and I took the opportunity. Up and up I drove, around the bends, the Emerald Wagon puttering to the best of her ability. Cecil’s Peak and its mountain council heaved into the rear-view mirror, an image of alpine wonder. I parked where the road reached the shoulder between two valleys and sunk down towards Moke Lake. The air was crisp, and the sun was floating just above the mountains nearest me. I had no time to wait and ponder. If I wanted a better vantage point, I would be gambling with time; the shadow of the mountain crawled closer, and soon the terraced hill on which I could capture my performance would be void of the suns touch. It was take the shot now or never.
My body seemed to have decided before my mind, and I was already attaching the tripod to my camera and jogging over to the terrace. The shadow had already engulfed the car. I peered through the view finder; the image was beautiful. It was as if I could reach out through the lens, feel the snow soft like flour in my fingers. With the camera aligned, I hurried to carry my gear over piece by piece, and began setting up. With time against my side, everything seemed cumbersome and slow. My keyboard seemed heavier than usual. My computer lagged when I opened up Logic Pro X, the software I record on. But as soon as it was all set up, I didn’t pander around. I hit record on camera and computer, and launched into my first attempt.
It wasn’t so good. I made a few mistakes. So I tried again. That wasn’t so great either. Vexed, I tried again. And failed again. My frustration and impatience was encroaching on me faster than the shadow. I looked back; the shadow had engulfed the camera. I only had one chance left, before the shadow would reach me and my keyboard. Inhaling the finest air in the alps, I pressed record with a shaky finger, and went for it. With each passage of the song, I became more anxious of making a mistake, knowing this was my last chance. One slip up… one mistake… My hands almost trembled. And then, I played the final note. It was a success, and I threw my hands up as if in praise of the mountain vista I had captured in song and video. Just as I got back to the camera, the shadow had engulfed the keyboard. I was just in time.
Racing the shadow was thrilling! I wanted to keep doing it. And so I did, chasing the rest of the sunlight along Lake Wakatipu. Only a few minutes of driving saw me and the Emerald Wagon bursting back into the brilliance of what sunlight remained of the day, teetering on the edge of shadow. I made haste to a camping ground a good 20 minutes from the shadows reach, and scampered about the grounds, seeking my next shot.
The best composition I found was on one of the pebbled beaches sloping into the lake, with the Remarkable mountains the centrepiece. I all but ran back to the Wagon, aware that 20 minutes had now become 15, and unintentionally startled two fellows who had parked next to me. They watched as I unloaded my keyboard and chair, intrigued by whatever it was that hurried me so. Finally, they inquired just as I was heaving the gear onto my body. They simply did not allow me to carry all my stuff alone, and each grabbed a piece, walking with me to the shot. I explained all about what I was doing as I hurriedly set up, and they listened, wide eyed and fascinated.
It was perfect - I had an audience, and having an audience always makes me play better. My shot was beautiful, too, the Remarkable's assuming a warm glow from the fainting sun. My two spontaneous friends watched and waited, eager to hear my music, as I set up my computer. And the shadow loomed. One chance. With a deep breath, I let the song carry me away in its gentleness. It was the best I had ever performed that song. I felt it as deeply as the lake before me, sensing that my two friends sitting there on the pebbled beach were feeling it too. And it bloomed on the tips of my fingers, just before the shadow descended upon our little moment of wonder.
The two fellows thanked me from the bottom of their hearts for the unique experience - I suppose something like that doesn’t happen often. They helped me pack away my gear and carry it back to the Wagon as the cold began sinking in the absence of the sunlight. After wishing them farewell, I pulled the camera to my face to check the shot I had captured. I almost dropped the camera… It wasn’t there. I forget to hit record!
The shadow had swallowed all of the lake and land around me, bearing down as if to mock me and my fool mistake. Dusk was deepening. I vowed that upon the return of the sun, I would find my redemption. I would capture the perfect shot of the Remarkable mountains!
— — —
The following morning….
Crouching in the frosted tall-grass, I was confident that this was going to be my crown shot. The winner - the most magnificent image that Queenstown ever saw, and paired with a beautifully composed, beautifully performed piece of music. It was cold… Really cold. But the shot would be worth it. In the shadow of the Remarkable mountains, I waited.
I had snuck out of my top bunk in the hostel just before 6, meticulously careful not to wake any of the other people in my dorm. I needed be waiting beneath the Remarkable’s before the sun came, so I could be there when the shot hit. The image was crystalline in my mind. I envisioned fiery red colour cast upon the Remarkable mountains, and doubled by the reflection of a still pond. I saw clouds drifting by, both above me and beneath me in the reflected image. The sun was still behind the mountains, still yet to rise, but I was confident that the stunning picture that I envisioned was coming with the sun.
The spot I had chosen was a gently sloping hill circled by trees, frosty and sparkling in the wintry morning. I bustled about setting up my camera and my keyboard. The grass was so stiff with cold, it took effort to balance my tripod and camera. With still a bit of time on my hands, I sampled a few different shots, and then did a practice run through of the song. My fingers were wooden, and the keys were becoming slippery with frost. While I didn’t want to admit it, this was a painful process. It will be worth it, I promised myself. I trudged back to the camera and checked my shot. It was… bleak. There was no colour, and I wasn’t quite sure how to work the camera settings to give the shot more glory.
I glanced around. The skies around the mountains were brightening, but the sun still seemed so distant, so far away. Where was it? I hobbled over the heavy grasses to the keyboard, and it looked like it was shivering. I was shivering…. My toes were starting to go numb. And my fingers, even after slipping my gloves back on, were starting to loose vigour. I could see in the distance that Ben Lomond, the king mountain of Queenstown, was receiving the first few touches of sunlight. It was glowing. But me, my keyboard and my camera were still shivering beneath the belly of the Remarkables.
And that’s when I finally realised. The sun was rising from behind the Remarkable’s… My dream shot was an impossibility. Freezing in my boots, I glanced at my frozen-blue keyboard with misery. What was I doing there? It was madness…
I hastily packed up my gear with square fingers, numbness and shock pounding out from the knuckles with every action, and retreated to the Jack’s Point Clubhouse. Hobbling in, a frozen mess, I ordered myself a coffee and a scone. They hadn’t quite opened yet, and if it wasn’t for the mere fact that I used to work there, I would have been kicked back out into the cold. I coughed, a grim chuckle. I used to maintain a position as a Front of House Attendant in this flash clubhouse. And now I was a disheveled ‘Artist’ in desperate need for a coffee. I needed to re-evaluate my plan of action… Sipping my coffee was golden comfort. The warmth re-invigorated me, and I soberly accepted that the dream shot was never going to happen, despite keen efforts in a freezing winter’s morning. But I was still confident. I was going to claim my shot no matter what.
When at last the sun had graced the full sky, I drove past that miserable hill, and found my shot further up the road. It looked out to the majestic Ben Lomond; an image I was happy to settle on. And there in Jack's Point, as the frost thawed out, I captured the very first piece of music I had composed in Queenstown, with a shot of the King Mountain, Ben Lomond.
— — —
I was making my way back to Dunedin on the crest of the following day. I had managed to record one final shot in a pleasant forest scene nearby a place called Lake Sylvan. It was my 3rd and final shot - my camera ran out of battery, as did my computer, and keyboard… I didn’t consider the logistics. But with my 3 shots and songs, I was content. I wasn’t returning empty handed.
Somewhere in the northern reaches of Central Otago, I had a whim to pull up to a small lake, and go for a short walk to the end of the boat landing. Walking ahead of me was an elderly man and his dog. When I reached the end, I almost tripped over my own feet. The dog was the splitting image of Nessie, my family dog who had long since passed away. It was almost as if Nessie had carried on to this young pup. He leaped onto my knees, excited to see me.
There in the northern reaches of Otago, I found hope in the strangest of occurrences. Petting this Nessie-dog gave me some kind of assurance that things would turn right in Dunedin. With my 3 shots, I could yet rebuild the Quest lifestyle. Things would turn right...
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