McGill grinned. Dont fool yourself. You were in a little trickle a mere hundred feet. He pointed down the mountainside. If this lot goes itll be quite different.
Ballard felt uneasy. Youre not really expecting an avalanche?
McGill shook his head. Not right now. He bent down to the backpack. Im going to do a little gentle thumping and you can help me to do it. Take off your skis.
He began to take aluminium tubing from the pack and to assemble it into some kind of a gadget. This is a penetrometer an updating of the Haefeli design. Its a sort of pocket pile-driver it measures the resistance of the snow. It also gives us a core, and temperature readings at ten-centimetre intervals. All the data for a snow profile.
Ballard helped him set it up although he suspected that McGill could have done the job just as handily without him. There was a sliding weight which dropped down a narrow rod a known distance before hitting the top of the aluminium tube and thus driving it into the snow. Each time the weight dropped McGill noted the distance of penetration and recorded it in a notebook.
They thumped with the weight, adding lengths of tubing as necessary, and hit bottom at 158 centimetres about five feet.
Theres a bit of a hard layer somewhere in the middle, said McGill, taking an electric plug from the pack. He made a connection in the top of the tubing and plugged the other end into a box with a dial on it. Make a note of these temperatures; therell be fifteen readings.
As Ballard took the last reading he said, How do we get it out?
We have a tripod and a miniature block and tackle. McGill grinned. I think they pinched this bit from an oil rig.
He erected the tripod and started to haul out the tube. As the first section came free he disconnected it carefully and then took a knife and sliced through the ice in the tube. The sections were two feet long and the three of them were soon out. McGill put the tubes back into the pack, complete with the snow cores they contained. Well have a look at those back at the house.
Ballard squatted on his heels and looked across the valley. What now?
Now we do another, and another, and another, and another in a line diagonally down the slope. Id like to do more but thats all the core tubing I have.
They had just finished the fourth trial boring when McGill looked up the slope. We have company.
Ballard turned his head to see three skiers traversing down towards them. The leader was moving fast and came around in a flashy stem christiania which sent the snow spraying before he stopped. When he lifted blue-tinted goggles Ballard recognized Charlie Peterson.
Peterson looked at Ballard with some astonishment. Oh, its you! Eric told me you were back but I havent seen you around.
Hello, Charlie.
The two other skiers came up and stopped more sedately they were the two Americans, Miller and Newman. Charlie said, How did you get here?
Ballard and McGill looked at each other, and Ballard wordlessly pointed to the skis. Charlie snorted. You used to be afraid of falling off anything steeper than a billiard table. He looked curiously at the dismantled penetrometer. What are you doing?
McGill answered. Looking at snow.
Charlie pointed a stick. Whats that thing?
A gadget for testing snow strength.
Charlie grinned at Ballard. Since when did you become interested in snow? Your Ma wouldnt let you out in it for fear youd catch cold.
Ballard said evenly, Ive become interested in a lot of things since then, Charlie.
He laughed loudly. Yes? Ill bet youre a hot one with the girls.
Newman said abruptly, Lets go.
No, wait a minute, said Charlie. Im interested. What are you doing with that watchamacallit?
McGill straightened. Im testing the stresses on this snow slope.
This slopes all right.
When did you have this much snow before?
Theres always snow in the winter.
Not this much.
Charlie looked at Miller and Newman and grinned at them. All the better it makes for good skiing. He rubbed the side of his jaw. Why come here to look at snow?
McGill bent down to buckle a strap. The usual reason.
The grin left Charlies face. What reason? he asked blankly.
Because its here, said McGill patiently.
Funny! said Charlie. Very funny! How long are you going to be here?
For as long as it takes.
Thats no kind of answer.
Ballard stepped forward. Thats all the answer youre going to get, Charlie.
Charlie grinned genially. Staying away for so long has made you bloody prickly. I dont remember you giving back-chat before.
Ballard smiled. Maybe Ive changed, Charlie.
I dont think so, he said deliberately. People like you never change.
Youre welcome to find out any time you like.
Newman said, Cut it out, Charlie. I dont know what you have against this guy and I dont much care. All I know is he helped us yesterday. Anyway, this is no place to pick a fight.
I agree, said Ballard.
Charlie turned to Newman. Hear that? He hasnt changed. He swung around and pointed down the slope. All right. We go down in traverses that way first. This is a good slope for practising stem turns.
Miller said, It looks good.
Wait a minute, said McGill sharply. I wouldnt do that.
Charlie turned his head. And why not, for Christs sake?
It could be dangerous.
Crossing the road can be dangerous, he said contemptuously. He jerked his head at Miller. Lets go.
Miller pulled down his goggles. Sure.
Hold on, said Newman. He looked down at the penetrometer. Maybe the guys got something there.
The hell with him, said Charlie, and pushed off. Miller followed without another word. Newman looked at Ballard for a moment, then shrugged expressively before he followed them.
McGill and Ballard watched them go down. Charlie, in the lead, skied showily with a lot of unnecessary flair; Miller was sloppy and Newman neat and economical in his movements. They watched them all the way to the bottom.
Nothing happened.
Whos the jerk? McGill asked.
Charlie Peterson. Hes set up as a ski instructor.
He seems to know you. McGill glanced sideways. And your family.
Yes, said Ballard expressionlessly.
I keep forgetting you were brought up here. McGill scratched his cheek reflectively. You know, you could be useful. I want to find someone in the valley who has lived here a long time, whose family has lived here a long time. I need information.
Ballard thought for a moment and then smiled and pointed with his ski-stick. See that rock down there? Thats Kamakamaru, and a man called Turi Buck lives in a house just on the other side. I should have seen him before now but Ive been too bloody busy.
I keep forgetting you were brought up here. McGill scratched his cheek reflectively. You know, you could be useful. I want to find someone in the valley who has lived here a long time, whose family has lived here a long time. I need information.
Ballard thought for a moment and then smiled and pointed with his ski-stick. See that rock down there? Thats Kamakamaru, and a man called Turi Buck lives in a house just on the other side. I should have seen him before now but Ive been too bloody busy.
McGill hung his backpack on a convenient post outside Turi Bucks house. Better not take that inside. The ice would melt.
Ballard knocked on the door which was opened by a girl of about fourteen, a Maori girl with a cheerful smile. Im looking for Turi Buck.
Wait a minute, she said and disappeared, and he heard her voice raised. Grandpa, theres someone to see you.
Presently Turi appeared. Ballard was a little shocked at what he saw; Turis hair was a frizzled grey and his face was seamed and lined like a water-eroded hillside. There was no recognition in his brown eyes as he said, Anything I can do for you?
Not a great deal, Turi, said Ballard. Dont you remember me?
Turi stepped forward, coming out of the doorway and into the light. He frowned and said uncertainly, I dont..., my eyesights not as good as... Ian?
Your eyesight is not so bad, said Ballard.
Ian! said Turi in delight. I heard you were back you should have come to see me sooner. I thought you had forgotten.
Work, Turi; the work comes first you taught me that. This is my friend, Mike McGill.
Turi beamed at them. Well, come in; come in.
He led them into the house and into a room familiar to Ballard. Over the great fieldstone fireplace was the wapiti head with its great spread of antlers, and a wood fire burned beneath it. On the walls were the wood carvings inlaid with paua shell shimmering iridescently. The greenstone mere the Maori war axe was still there and, in pride of place, Turis whakapapa stick, his most prized possession, very intricately carved and which gave his ancestry.
Ballard looked around. Nothing has changed.
Not here, said Turi.
Ballard nodded towards the window. A lot of change out there, though, I didnt recognize the valley.
Turi sighed. Too much change too quickly. But where have you been, Ian?
A lot of places. All over the world.
Sit down, said Turi. Tell me about it.
Tell me about yourself first. Did that beautiful young lady call you Grandpa?
I am a grandfather five times now. Turis shoulders shook. My sons are men and all married. Both my daughters are mothers.
Tawhaki, said Ballard. How is Tawhaki? He had been Ballards playmate as a child and a constant companion as he grew older.
He does well, said Turi. He went to the University of Otago and took a good degree.
In what?
Turi laughed. In economics. Imagine a Maori knowing about economics. He has a post in the Department of Finance in Auckland. I dont see him often.
You must give me his address. Ill look him up when next Im in Auckland. Ballard saw Turi regarding McGill with interest. Mike, here, is very interested in snow. Hes so interested hes going to Antarctica later in the year.
Turis seamed face broke into a grim smile. Then theres something for you here, Mike. We have a lot of snow; more than I can remember since 1943.
So Ive seen.
Ballard went to the window. On the other side of the valley the cedar branches drooped heavily under the weight of snow. He turned, and said, What happened to the trees on the west slope, Turi?
Above the mine?
Yes, said Ballard. That slope has been stripped.