The Day I Cried on Top of a Mountain

A childhood dream, a decade-long promise to her son and one snowy afternoon in Queenstown combined to create the most emotional moment of Lisa Hollinshead’s travelling life.

“Mum, hurry up!”

Albie had already disappeared into the snow before I’d even zipped my jacket. For ten years he’d dreamed about this moment. Not the ski lesson. Not the chairlift. Just real snow. I watched him launch himself face-first into a snowbank, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. And then, completely out of nowhere, I started crying.

The proper kind. The kind that catches you so off guard you almost laugh at yourself. The truth is, those tears had been more than twenty years in the making.

What Travel Does

Travel has always shaped my life. As a child, some of my strongest memories weren’t tied to birthdays or presents. They were tied to places. Camping with my dad. Waking up somewhere new. The feeling that the world was much bigger than the one I already knew.

Then came careers, relationships, motherhood and building a freelance writing career one commission at a time. Somewhere amongst all of it sat one quiet dream: to explore New Zealand’s South Island by campervan.

The idea had been planted when I first moved to Australia and a backpacker told me, “You have to do it. Every corner looks like a postcard.” He was right. Our campervan became part of the adventure rather than simply the way we got around. Every morning we woke up somewhere different. At night we’d climb back inside, turn on the heater, make hot chocolates and replay the day while snow gear dried around us.

It quickly became one of Albie’s favourite parts of the trip. Mine too. Even if emptying the toilet cassette wasn’t exactly making it onto Instagram.

When the itinerary falls apart

Winter in New Zealand has very little interest in your carefully constructed plans. One of the experiences we’d been most excited about was a helicopter snow landing.

Cancelled.

I looked at Albie’s face and my heart sank. But travel has taught me something over the years: never let one closed door become the whole story. A few days later, another opportunity came up during our trip to Aoraki/Mount Cook. I dug deep and booked two seats myself. Worth every cent. Watching the helicopter settle onto untouched snow and seeing Albie step out as his boots practically disappeared beneath him is an image I’ll never forget.

Sometimes the experiences you fight hardest for are the ones that stay with you longest. Aoraki/Mount Cook was equally impossible to prepare for. Some places lose something through a camera lens. Mount Cook somehow doesn’t. It is every bit as majestic as the photographs suggest. Perhaps more.

Then came Milford Sound.

Flying across the Southern Alps gave us a perspective that simply isn’t possible from the road. Jagged peaks. Ancient valleys. Waterfalls tumbling towards the fiords below. Later, standing on the cruise and watching rainbows appear through the mist, neither of us spoke very much.

We didn’t need to. Some places silence you in the most beautiful way.

The moment that mattered most

And yet, despite the helicopter, Milford Sound and Aoraki/Mount Cook, the moment I’ll remember forever happened right at the beginning of our trip.

Coronet Peak. An ordinary snowy afternoon. “Mum, hurry up!” I watched my little boy throw himself into snow he’d dreamed about since he could speak. And I cried. Not just because his dream had come true. Because mine had too.

Somewhere between the pitches, knockbacks, invoices, single parenting, cancelled plans and self-doubt, I’d quietly built a life where this moment was possible. Not perfect. Not easy. But possible.

Standing there with the snow falling around us and my ten-year-old completely oblivious to the emotional breakdown unfolding a few metres behind him, I finally allowed myself to acknowledge how far we’d come.

I did it.

I didn’t say it out loud. I didn’t need to.

The memories kids keep

On the flight home, I thought again about that backpacker I’d met more than twenty years earlier. He’d been right. Every corner of New Zealand’s South Island really did look like a postcard. But he’d forgotten to mention the best part. It wasn’t the mountains. It wasn’t Milford Sound. It wasn’t Aoraki. It was watching my son discover the world with the same sense of wonder I’d fallen in love with as a child.

And when I asked Albie what he loved most, his answers weren’t necessarily the things I’d spent months planning. Sleeping in the campervan. Making hot chocolates. Sliding down snowy hills on his bottom. Watching me nervously reverse a vehicle far bigger than anything I’d ever driven. Laughing when plans changed. The moments I worried least about became some of the moments he treasured most. Perhaps that’s the real gift of travel.

Not just the places themselves, but the permission they give us to slow down long enough to notice what matters. Motherhood didn’t replace my wanderlust. It simply gave it a travelling companion. And on that mountain, watching my son disappear into the snow, I realised I’d become the woman I’d spent twenty years trying to be. I did it. I really did it.

GETTING THERE & TRAVEL RESOURCES

Fly: We travelled from Sydney to Queenstown with Air New Zealand, including premium travel and lounge access before departure.

Road trip: Our South Island adventure was made possible with Star RV, giving us the freedom to travel between Queenstown, Aoraki/Mount Cook and beyond at our own pace.

Aoraki/Mount Cook: We travelled with Cheeky Kiwi Travel, with stops and local insights along the way before reaching one of New Zealand’s most extraordinary alpine landscapes.

Milford Sound: We flew from Queenstown with Air Milford, before joining a Southern Discoveries cruise through Milford Sound.

Adventure: Our South Island itinerary also included a Dart River jet boat experience and a helicopter snow landing near Aoraki/Mount Cook.

Snow: We experienced the magic of winter at Coronet Peak, where Albie finally got the real snow moment he’d been dreaming about.

Words & Photos: Words Lisa Hollinshead
Lisa travelled with support from selected tourism partners. All experiences and opinions are her own.