We arrive at the remote New Zealand airfield feeling dusty after a late night drinking way too many whisky highballs. The heavy smell of Avgas hangs in the air and the incoming choppers make us feel like we have just stepped onto the set of an alpine version of Apocalypse Now. After a sobering safety briefing on avalanche danger and the inherent mountain risks, our demeanour quickly changes from cocky self assuredness to solemn intensity. Out comes the Red Bull and coffee shots for a few quick jolts of java to pep us up as we load into the heli.

We rapidly lift-off, leaving civilization behind and are suddenly surrounded by the endless snow capped mountains of the Southern Alps. The pilot picks an impossibly steep knife edge ridge and indicates where we will be landing. As he precariously hovers under power with only part of the skids touching the snow, we jump out of the chopper and cling to the ridge with precipitous drops greeting us on every side. Skis on, avalanche airbags primed, hearts in mouths and drop in 3,2,1…