Spending year after year chasing winter in the Northern Hemisphere Wanaka became a place to recover, to slow down and arm myself for the next northern campaign. Each year the loathing to leave home began earlier; as happy as I was once adventuring overseas, my appreciation for home ever increased and I knew I was neglecting the mountains that had formed me. After an injury shortened northern trip I returned home and was feeling a lot friskier for some home range adventuring. My two main film projects had been hampered by weather and I really needed 

something to throw myself into, something on a grand scale. Fraser McDougall had been my main adventure companion for years uncounted and we had talked at wandering length over short-lived whisky’s about all manner of grand plans, some achieved but most lost to New Zealand’s infamous weather and my drained motivation.
We had skied ice on 6000m peaks in Bolivia, warped lines in Alaska and huge north walls in Europe. But not Mt Cook, that sprawling pyramid of the Southern Alps that looked down on us every year. Maybe this was the year. But we would need help.