In the void below me sat the West Face of Mt Aspiring/Tititea: fifty degrees at its steepest, and today in less-than-perfect conditions. Adam and Ollie had already dropped, departing with the harsh scrape of sharp edges on icy snow.
On my snowboard, I am confident. I back myself to get down just about anything. But this—a classic ski-mountaineering line on a big mountain—would be the toughest test yet of that belief. If I lost control in these conditions … well, there was no margin for error.
This was the moment, the peak of a winter spent getting after it in the mountains of New Zealand, climbing like it was my job. It was a moment I believed I was ready for. But the joy and exhilaration of getting here couldn’t have been further from the challenges of the twelve months preceding it, because 2021 was the worst year of my life. For months, all I could think about was how little I valued my own life.
Rewind to July 2020. After eight years of service, I transitioned out of the Australian Army, ready for a new lifestyle, hopefully one built around climbing. My time in the Army had been well spent: I left with some operational experience, a few memories worth holding on to, and some friendships that will last me a lifetime.
But moving from the Army to civilian life was jarring. I had thrived in my role as a combat engineer; I was a leader, I was skilled, and I was experienced. But as a civilian with few real-world qualifications or experience, I began to feel like there was no place for me outside of the ADF; the future I saw
