Four hundred gay men, one lesbian DJ and a lot of snow – plus one intrepid straight, single female skier. Story by Rachael Oakes-Ashe (Grace in a sea of Wills).
What better place for Gay Ski week than Queenstown, New Zealand? Four hundred men of alternative persuasions all with a common goal – ski by day, party by night.
He-men, please cover your ears, for skiing can be sooo gay sometimes. All that schussing, carving and grooming is enough to have Carson from Queer Eye salivating.
The third annual Gay Ski Week saw four hundred gay men and one lesbian DJ converge on Kiwi Land. It’s hard to spot a Maori Warrior south of the Cook Strait, let alone a precious male with an effeminate persuasion. This is Southern Man country, where the blokes are blokes.
It’s also home to The Remarkables, 220 hectares of skiable terrain and home run, Coronet Peak’s high speed six seater, Cardrona’s dry powder and Treble Cone’s seven hundred metre vertical. Add Queenstown’s appropriately titled Bar Up and Bunker bars, Camp and Shotover Streets and you have one wicked playground for lords of the ring (pun not intended).
Why should the straights have all the fun? Not that I’m complaining, as a single female skier I am far outnumbered by males every season and happy to keep it that way. The General Store in Hotham has to be one of the only places in Oz where there’s a queue for the men’s toilets and none for the women. If Mike Sandiford, founder of Gay Ski Week NZ, has his way that queue will extend across the Tasman.
Gay Ski Weeks are big bickies. The pink dollar is a disposable one and spent freely by those wielding the purse. Whistler’s Out on the Slopes Altitude week has been going for fourteen years and attracts almost four thousand attendees every year, Gay Ski Week NZ is doubling in numbers annually. Even when snow is thin on the ground that doesn’t stop the party.
I have never been one for group tours defined by age, gender or sexuality. Contiki was never my thing and still isn’t, but the camaraderie created by a combined love of snow saw even the Aussies and Kiwis amongst the group sharing a cocktail and a bitch – I mean, a back slap.
What’s a straight girl to do but join in?
What’s a straight girl to do but join in? Just call me Grace in a sea of Wills, but dance parties, rainbow picnics, super-g for gay slaloms and drag shows kept me amused until bedtime or sun-up, whichever came first.
One mad keen skier in the crew dislocated his shoulder, strapped it up and kept skiing minus his poles and one arm. Thankfully his doctor provided industrial strength painkillers we all could enjoy.
It’s on again this year for spring September skiing. Would I go back for seconds? If I want to remain single and celibate, sure.
