Pre-Adventure Training Camp

By EgmontGrigor2020

Southern Alps Pre-Adventure Training Camp for Imminent Travellers - 01

A pre-travel training camp for adventure seekers (fiction) was established by a recently retired Army captain nine years ago in the foothills of New Zealand's 500-metre long (310 miles) Southern Alps, that form the mountainous backbone of the South Island.

Six camp registrants arriving at Christchurch Airport from Auckland via Wellington, and the other four assembling from various parts of the South Island, all had been notified that Sam Cook, from his training camp, would meet them at the airport at 0900 wearing a purple top hat with a miniature New Zealand flag perched on it.

Any of them expecting Sam to be a jovial fun guy may have had second thoughts. At the initial meeting with him in his stupid hat, a better impression may have been what an arrogant, aloof and unsmiling guy, well most of the time.

Straight-backed, muscular and weather-faced Sam was almost 6ft. 3in. and that immediately brown-off the 6ft. 1in. and eye-catching Gracie Hart (30), daughter of a socialite. Gracie managed an Auckland gym popular with the jet-set. She had expected Sam to be shorter to give her sense of superiority over males below her height. It didn't really matter but she couldn't help feeling miffed.

Sam immediately eyed her after this gruff greeting, and said, "Miss Hart, if you can't get that make-up bag or its contents into the specified one bag, preferably soft, as well as that hand bag, either dump them or rent an airport locker to store then until your return."

"But I always travel with this multi-compartment hand-bag and my make-up kit."

"Do as I have requested or you're not travelling to my camp."

What an arrogant and unfeeling prick, Gracie decided.

Sam then said, "Everyone, make sure you have packed the essentials detailed in the advice you received as being mandatory, repeated on a follow-up checklist. Make that check now; you have 10 minutes max."

Red-faced and looking ready to explode, Gracie found that somehow, she'd managed to pack only one boot.

She whispered her finding to Sam, and he nodded and easing the pressure Gracie felt, two others found they had items missing.

"Fortunately, there's an alpine equipment shop just over from us," Sam said, pointing in the direction of the shop. And if you can't find a satisfactory replacement, I'll give you details of an online super-store not too far from here with rush delivery costing forty bucks."

"Gracie, your boots need to fit near-perfectly, so choose the superstore option if necessary. That would only hold us up an hour."

Gracie felt better about him when he said that, noting it had been delivered sympathetically.

The squad knew from the photos on their online pages about the camp, not to expect an air-conditioned luxury coach for transport to the camp, but rather a 6-wheel all terrain covered-in truck designed to ferry skiers up mountain slopes even in severe conditions.

When they are all lining-up ready to board the truck for the 100-minute drive into the foothills, Gracie relieved that she'd found her perfect replacement boots at the airport shop, was approached by Sam who said, "You may sit in the front with me if you wish, Gracie."

"Why?"

"Because you are pretty."

She tensed, but didn't react, thinking he was macho but surely not a complete shithead about it.

"I may have something of interest to talk to you about."

"I don't have sex with strangers," she whispered fiercely.

To her amazement Sam actually grinned. Omigod, he did have some human DNA after all!

She still wasn't sure about this and said, "Will I be safe?"

His face darkened and he walked off, muttering, "Bugger off, woman."

That left her off-balanced.

Gracie thought of him as macho, whereas he probably had determined that she was a self-centred Auckland female twit.

After putting her sole bag with others to be loaded into the mud-splattered covered luggage trailer, she went to the cab and climbed aboard, thinking that Sam would arrive as soon as he'd loaded the trailer in the fussy way men worry about the balance of trailers as if it mattered.

Sam opened the driver's door, looked up to her and grunted "Hi" and climbed aboard.

She thought, oh yes, Macho Man.

As the vehicle noisily rolled forward, he said, "I apologise for my abruptness that left you perhaps a little confused and encourage your perhaps uncharacteristic reactions."

"Thanks, now it's all behind us."

"I appreciate that, it indicates you're a clear-thinking and gutsy female. Now I'll clear any misunderstanding among those behind us."

Sam spoke into a microphone.

"Guys, we are almost two hours away from the training camp, and in the final 45 minutes you'll understand while we are in a rugged personnel carrier allowing you to ride instead of tramping up fairly steep and rough terrain that no regular bus could transverse. You are a mixed bunch, as you perhaps are already aware, and I include Gracie in that."

"At the airport I assessed which one of you should I appoint my deputy should I suffer a mishap during our remotely situated time together. I finally chose Gracie for that role, if she will accept and I have placed her up her in comfortable seating of the cab while you are on wooden benches as I prepare to talk her into taking that role."

"You may ask why Lizzie and not any of you? Gracie is possibly the fittest of you all. She manages a gym with a staff of fourteen, several of whom work shifts. She also trains clients."

"At high school she was swim and an athletics team captain, at university was captain of the soccer A-team, and in recent years on three occasions was captain and coach-manager of her club's soccer team completing annually in an inter-club tournament in Australia."

"I think that establishes she has been recognised for her leadership qualities, and end of story. In about an hour, you'll get relief from those hard bench seats when we stop at country tearooms where they also serve city-quality coffee. Move around to get to know others in this new team. Cheers."

Tight-jawed Gracie said, "I might not accept the invitation to be deputy-leader."

"That's possible."

They went over a road bump heavily.

"However, I do accept."

"Thanks, and speaking on behalf of everyone, we are glad it's you rather than some misfit."

"Well thanks for that and where's the smile of appreciation?"

"In my book, a straight thank you is sufficient. You may have guessed I'm the taciturn-type. I reserve my smiles just as I do my scowls."

"Then it's a wonder that you succeed in business. People tend to prefer to deal with people who smile, I should think."

"That's probably correct Gracie, but in my case, people come to me for self-improvement and therefore are looking for serious attention rather than to be entertained and flattered excessively. It's con-men and shysters who smile excessively. Err, I should think."

"Ooh, answered strongly and plausibly."

He smiled and said disarmingly, "I sure like you now that you're happier and have loosened up a bit."

"Good," she said, feeling her face warming and attempted in vain to remember the last time she'd blushed in recent years.

Sam said, "I'll have to phone-text each team member to officially advise them that you have been appointed deputy team leader and confirm that has been done to my insurance company with a copy sent to search and rescue HQ for our region. Is that OK with you?"

"Yes, I imagine they are a red tape requirement and it's wilderness country even in the foothills. Hand me your phone and tell me what's the team's group message name and I'll do it for you."

"Ah, the leadership quality that I indicated has just emerged," Sam said, making Gracie blush the second time within minutes.

What the hell? she frowned.

Sam said, "Could you please add in that message to the team that although it's nearing the end of the first month of spring, late storms including snowstorms that can hit anywhere along the 500 km Southern Alps into the next couple of months and so to keep heavy duty clothing close by as the foothills are included in that warning."

"Yes, boss."

"Just Sam will do. I'm no egg-head. I regard you guys as my guests."

The heavy truck lumbered to a stop outside a stand-alone café deep into the countryside, with the mountainous slopes rearing high only about 15 miles beyond them (the highest, farther south, being Mt Cook at 3724 metres or 12,218 ft). The team stepping from the back of the truck felt the chill in the air.

The mountains rearing up beyond several layers of foothills and were still very-much snow-covered, with several peaks permanently frosted in white offered the North Islanders in the team mind-blowing views.

A matronly woman with unkempt long hair, wearing a thick t-shirt and obviously no bra rushed out and hugged and kissed Sam and cried, "Oh darling, you haven't been in here in three days."

"Sorry Ma, was called out on a search and rescue effort to try to find a couple of youths camping up high."

"Oh, you were called out on that? This morning's paper reported the youth, with mountaineering experience, had broken his femur in a fall, shattering his phone in the impact and his companion's phone had died because he'd failed to charge it before leaving their dirt bikes at the base of Symonds Ridge. The kid was reported as being too afraid to go down alone to try to find the bikes to charge his phone and then call for help."

"Yeah, will just as well he didn't waste his time, Ma, because there's no cell phone coverage in that vicinity."

"Everyone this as Midge Roberts, known to everyone locally as Ma Roberts and her husband Alf is the local veterinarian. Some of you might come down here for a break in my veteran ex-Army Land Rover that will carry a maximum of six people because of my search and rescue gear is stored in it permanently."

"Hi everyone, call me Ma. Come inside, it's chilly as shit out here."

Jill Reynolds said to Gracie, "We've just met one of those legendary South Island high country characters that New Zealand authors love to include in their fiction and non-fiction books."

"Yeah, a genuine true grit high country character indeed, Jill."

"Congrats on being invited to be team deputy-leader, Gracie. I bet that know-all guy Trevor who kept staring at your and my tits at the airport, thinks he should have been the one selected."

"Heavens forbid."

They laughed at Gracie's retort and Jill said, "Let's become real friends."

"Yeah, we need to unite Jill to fend off that jerk Trevor."

They laughed, hugged and followed in at the tail of the group.

Almost an hour later they left Ma's Café as it was named on big signage across the front of it, chatting and acting to indicate that group spirit was emerging.

"We've less than twenty miles to go," Sam said cheerfully. "The downside is that the last ten miles of that will be at a slow crawl and take almost as long to complete that section as the last 80 miles that we have covered.

That was greeted by universal groaning.

"Gracie, you may join the others, if you wish."

"Thanks, but I need to observe how you drive up the steep terrain in case you drop dead during our stay," she smiled.

Sam appeared rather surprised at that, but nodded and said, "Good thinking. You drive from here."

"No, I've never driven a vehicle with manual transmission."

"Ease your worry. This vehicle is semi-automatic, with pre-selected gearing. I'll explain how to operate it as we head off. Don't worry if you stuff the gearbox but somehow fucking up. It's about to be overhauled as soon as parts to be replaced arrive by chopper from Christchurch."

"Omigod, I can't do it."

"Okay, would you rather I choose Trevor White to replace you as deputy? When he was a med student, he drove trucks to top up his student fees."

"What is Trevor a GP?"

"He was. He's now one of the country's leading medical scientists, specialising in clinical research. But he'll be rather occupied soon, because his wife refused to come to this camp and I've noticed the way the so-called black widow, Annabelle Higgins. has been chatting to him, half bending over him and, at a guess, I say she may become successful at luring him to his side."

"Sam, you are half-leaning over me."

"What? No way! I'm standing almost ramrod straight."

"Are you sure Sam?" Gracie giggled, and walked around the front of the truck to the driver's side, her hands already feeling sweaty.

On the way, she turned to check on Sam and saw he was standing, his mouth working silently like a feeding goldfish.

Southern Alps Pre-Adventure Training Camp for Imminent Travellers - 02

The latest intake at Sam Cook's training camp for imminent adventure travellers, who were bone-weary and shaken, tumbled out of the heavy-duty rugged terrain transporter at the camp, feeling ready for a massage, or a sauna before lunch and taking a nap, a looked around them in disbelief.

As a group, they weren't quite expecting the standard of say the Sheraton Grande Mirage Resort, Port Douglas, in Queensland Australia, but the collection of motley dirty grey buildings spread out before them looked nothing like the image of the camp on the promotional brochure and the camp website.

Ready to calm any discontent, Sam said smoothly, "Ah, ahem, what you see is not quite a true representation of what you may have seen and remembered from my promotional material. Therefore, a wee apology is perhaps warranted. The graphic artist got rather carried away in her airbrushing and I didn't spot it until after 30,000 brochures had been printed and I'd signed off the web page design and it was put on my website live."

"I demand to be returned to Christchurch with a 100 per cent refund forthwith," said Felicity Black, a walking track connoisseur enthusiast of international repute. "If you fail to deliver on my request, I shall report you to the Serious Fraud Office, the most powerful and feared Government department after the IRD."

Sam involuntary muttered the only word that came to mind: "Shit."

He squared his shoulders and resorted to Army training to neutralise the woman with counter-psychology.

"No fraud has been committed and no refund will be forthcoming, Felicity. There's the track behind the truck leading to civilisation. Walk it. The truck is now being driven off to have its tri-monthly maintenance and will be out of action for a couple of days. The Land Rover is not registered for road use. Your alternative is to stay here. At the end of two weeks, I predict you'll will leave here overjoyed by the time you have spent with us and our marvellously appropriate top-up fitness training."

"Very well, but I need to shower and to nap after lunch."

"You'll get to shower and nap after dark this evening. Everyone, now find a bed and go to the mess for lunch and then we go on a 15-mile rugged tramp."

Everyone was about to groan but were stopped by their interest in a verbal exchange.

"Gracie, you have executive status. You'll sleep with me. Err, in my 2-bedroom apartment."

"No thank you. I choose to bunk down with the rest of the team in training."

"You are disobeying a direct order."

"Oh, what a shame but ex-Captain Cook, you are not in the Army now. If you wish to discipline me for insubordination, I choose knife-throwing at 40 paces for which I've won several trophies in excellence."

"I'm rated internationally top grade, fourth dan."

Sam was rather taken aback.

He countered, "I-I choose boxing."

"Too bad, I issued the challenge and nominated knife-throwing to sort this out; knife-throwing it is."

Everyone was gaping.

"I've only been trained in advanced unarmed combat and in firearms, Gracie. Therefore, I must concede with dignity."

"Accepted, on one condition. Felicity must be given the best accommodation available to trainees."

"Granted, and Felicity you will reside in the sick bay. Everyone, now follow me to the barracks."

Lunch, prepared by the cook, who was also the nurse, housekeeper and building maintenance specialist, served a creation called soup that someone identified, presumably accurately, as whizzed turnip, horse radish, lemon juice topped with sour cream. It was followed by cold thickly sliced roast beef sandwiched between thick sour-dough bread. Everyone would later conclude after the energy-sucking tramp, that lunch had been surprisingly wonderful.

Two of the men requested beer but Sam said no alcohol was served before nightfall.

"This is a bloody fitness improvement training camp, not a hotel."

Sam earned a tick for that retort that had revealed he did have a touch of humour residing in some far-away crevice of his muscular body.

Girly Derek Taylor then spoilt that moment by saying dreamingly, he wondered what Sam was like in bed. Fellow trainees sitting beside him began moving away hurriedly, preferred to retain their image of their leader as a manly fitness guru.

Thirty minutes later, everyone marched off behind Sam with Gracie detailed as tail-end-Charley (instead of Charlie), with orders not to permit anyone lagging to slip past her. She was carrying, like Sam, a GPS radio-equipped ex-Army device attached to a shoulder hanging strap that digitally detailed their 15-mile route on a map with coordinates and notable landmark features detailed by name.

"Gawd, the brute probably has a similar device that reports the colour and type of my underwear and noting if any item was missing," muttered Gracie, who felt well-fed and happy to be embarking on a delightful stroll in the park, although being aware there was no freshly-mown grass or for that matter, any grass at all in sight from the single file track but the bush birds sounded sleepily happy, it being just after 12.30.

After 1.5 miles, reading on her GPS device, the near tranquillity surrounded ended with Sam's commanding voice quietening and stilling everything for possibly within five miles as the hawk flies (there are no crows in the New Zealand bush/forests).

That removed any thoughts of trampers (hikers) that they would soon by awed by the sight of magnificent waterfalls and below wading or swimming on glass lookalike lake would be waterfowl of the likes they had never seen collectively before.

Sam had exploded all thoughts of postcard picture beauty by announcing, "Make sure the chin strap of your camp-issued safety helmets is tightened. Within a few metres we will emerge at the top of a 40-metre deep ravine that we will descend on drying out mud and rock and fallen tree debris and climb the slippery slope away from the drying influence of direct sunlight."

Gracie glanced at her electronic device and yet, she noticed in tiny print 'Heke Gully' that she'd not noticed before.

"Proceed cautiously but not hysterically," Sam said. "There are plenty of exposed roots to grasp as you descend but there can be no guarantee that all roots will support overweight females or males with gross beer bellies, thus earning black marks from the so-named and even slender trainees like Gracie who dislike Macho labelling.

But even worse was to come.

"If you slip of tumble, it is unlikely you will die unless you have the misfortune of hitting a log or a protruding rock on your speedy descent, hence the need to take care as if your life is in your hands. The floor of the ravine is flat but unfortunately. it's a knee-high mire. However, these problems to overcome replicate similar conditions that you may encounter during your adventures overseas and usually there will not be warnings about protecting yourself. Thus. you are being trained while at this camp to prepare and to cope yourself with anything that comes up."

"Enjoy."

The sullen group behind him went down the hill and up the other side, most of them muttering what they would like to do the Sam fucking Cook. Resting briefly at the top, muddied and already a bit weary, Gracie was one of the few appreciating the excellent training she was receiving and soon she would be in Africa visiting some of the Pearls of the Zambesi riverside, including some of its tributaries.