Frost Bitten in New Zealand: A Personal Memoir of Suffering Frostbite

It was a cool October morning in the small rural town of Oxford, New Zealand. I had only been in the country for a couple of weeks and was about to climb my first mountain with some classmates. Mt. Oxford would hardly be considered a daunting mountain, yet I was excited to get my feet wet in the world of backpacking and hiking. Clad in a hooded sweatshirt, a pair of shorts, cotton socks and some old tennis shoes I started the ascent. With the area still being in early spring the terrain was a mixture of snow and mud. We couldn't have asked for nicer weather with the temperatures somewhere between high 40's and low 50's, perfect for keeping us cool.

The hike started nicely. We wandered through livestock gates while nearing the base of the mountain. Throwing and dodging speeding snowballs kept all of us on our toes. After a little while the hiking began to get a bit steeper and everyone either retired to their own thoughts or conversation while continuing to plod on. The melting snow made quite a mess out of the trail and produced many cold puddles. I noticed most people taking great pains to avoid these while I in my naivete just walked straight through them. After all, I was getting to be an outdoorsy person and outdoorsy people don't let little puddles bother them. Surely wet feet wouldn't be a problem. It didn't feel that cold out.