Notes from a Summer on Hold

While summer misbehaves on the South Island's mountains, the North Island's West Coast days replay; also off-kilter but unforgettable.

Longboarding in Raglan, Jan 2026.

---

It’s February. New Zealand should be well settled into summer. This year, it isn’t. In Otago, it’s been cold enough to light fires for warmth, and the mountains look as though they’re steaming, clouds lifting to reveal a fresh dusting of snow on the caps. According to weather reports and snow cams, Mt Hutt | Ōpuke in Christchurch received approximately 13-14cm of fresh snow (about 5-6 inches) over a 48-hour period ending on 3 February. Meanwhile on the North Island, flooding and landslides have swept through the country. There have been spells of warmer days too, along with a handful of clear nights that’ve revealed the galaxy sparkling overhead. One evening, deep into the small hours, the sky lit up in pinks, purples, and blues as the aurora danced - a spectacle shared around the world.

Snow in summer isn’t unheard of in alpine regions, but it’s a stark contrast to last year’s reliable blue skies and heat, as though something has slipped slightly out of alignment.

Only a few weeks into the new year, and already it seems to have begun both as expected and not at all. Perhaps this was foretold by a recent trip up north 

The plan was simple: a few weeks of sun, swell, and saltwater recalibration. In some ways, that’s what it was. In others, it wasn’t. For stretches, the ocean lay flat, the sky heavy with purples and greys.

Along the way, I ended up looking after a dog - gentle, affectionate, comically needy: one morning, a snout propped up at the side of the bed, a pair of jet-black puppy eyes locked onto mine, willing me to wake up. From the open window, we could hear the neighbour’s kids singing, “Rain, rain go away, go away so we can play,” to which the dog side-eyed and sighed. (Later, it did clear for golden hour at the beach and a game of fetch).

The day was also memorable for the shark. Waiting for the ferry around midday, the water lay unusually still. Until four metres of muscle lept out of the sea, a copper sheen catching the light. Locals suggested it was a bronze whaler, common to the area. The moment shocked, stunned, then passed, leaving the water eerily calm once more.

Christmas snuck in, New Years’ followed, and somewhere in the middle I headed to theWest Coast for promised daily surf…a guarantee, with the exception of this particular pocket of time. 

The first day delivered: easy peeling waves there for the taking across the points and beaches. It was the kind of day that lures you in for a double dip, even if your shoulders are burning from the session before. The days that followed brought blow-outs with winds whipping white horses across even the river, but also opportunities for circus training with locals, and making new friends over coffee hangouts.

As the new year came into play, so did glassy waves. January kicked off a rhythm of surfing and chasing coral-orange sunsets that bled across beaches with black volcanic sand and water-slick rocks. A double rainbow also showed itself over the bay, arching over surfers in the line up.

At the time, the trip felt off-kilter compared with what had been the dream of cycle after cycle of perfect waves, pure sunshine, and heat. Now, it feels more like a quiet nudge: to notice what’s around, stay present, and let detours and pauses carry their own movement and art. A reminder, too, that sometimes there’s no big trip, no definitive milestone - things just roll on, like one year easing into the next.

Gallery above: All photos taken ©2026 Sophia Wareham / Sports Nut Soph.