Rest Days (aka Darfield Days)

There's one thing that we look forward to almost as much as our climbing days; it's called rest days at Darfield. Halfway between Castle Hill and the earth-shaken Christchurch lies New Zealand's cultural hub known as Darfield. The population is a modest 1,500 or so people and hosts some of the finest 'get Ryan Moon fat now' venues. We typically start off our rest days by getting meat pies and expensive coffee at the local bakery. After trying my best not to devour all the pastries at the bakery, we then travel to the library where the meat of our day is spent. Library sessions usually consist of 3-5 hours of facebooking and facebook chatting (sadly, much to much of it being with my co-workers). If you feel as bad as I do about lounging in the corner for hours on end using free wi-fi and charging about thirty different electronic devices, you do something nice for the sweet old ladies at the front desk...like buy them cookies. Since then it's been nothing but smiles. From the library we venture to the fish and chips shop. Don't try to get free tartar sauce from the apathetic teenage girl at the front, she ain't gonna budge. I hate her for that. Next door to the fish and chips shop, and next stop for the Moon and Vergne boys, is...

...ICE CREAM!!! AAAHHH!!!

The birthplace of our love for the infamous Tip Top ice cream is right here in Darfield. One should be prepared before ordering ice cream on a cone in New Zealand. A single scoop in the states is just that, a single scoop. A single scoop in New Zealand is a grapefruit sized ball of bliss that even my sweet tooth can barely handle. There was one experience where the woman serving the ice cream crushed my cone into oblivion attempting to place the gigantic frozen sugar sphere onto what would normally be a structurally sound cone. Alas, she had to rescoop.

Should I just start a blog about ice cream?

Yum. If we're lucky enough do all this before 5pm, we usually hit the library again for one last internet sesh. The sun then is just about setting and becomes our cue to return home to our soggy tents and mediocre camp food.

Last night the usual highly unpredictable NZ weather took hold. I had trouble sleeping through most of the night because it felt like Zeus was unveiling his almighty wrath upon our campsite. Frustration ensued. An incredibly accurate depiction of my experience last night can be seen here:



Most of our friends here have been either from Australia or New Zealand, both are places that use the metric system. We, as you know, do not use the metric system. This has produced all sorts of confusion. Conversations can go:

"My friend did that problem and he weighs 100kg!"

"Oooooh. Wow. Wait, is that a lot?"

It also means that every time I think of an increment, be it distance, weight, or even time I have the need to translate it. Example:

"It's not too bad. The drive is only about 20 or so minutes. My bad, you guys don't use minutes. Do you?"

Last but not least, here are some pics to prove that I am still very much south of you.


[Holly wrapping up unfinished business on her send go of the classic 'Beautiful Edges'. One of Spittle Hill's most classic problems and until today, a long term project for Holly.]


[Eric on Disconnect.]


[Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Eric Vergne.]


[So many tick marks.]


[Awesome highball runnel action out at Flock Hill.]


[My only complaint is, I wish I were vacationing somewhere aesthetic.]


[Visually, it's not Barstow, CA, but it'll have to do.]