An edited extract about the completion of unique global environmental art/science project that draws a symbolic fine line around the Earth and connects 12 ephemeral sculptures.
New Zealand, Tongariro National Park (2019)
Connecting the symbolic circle of the Fine Line by making the last Fine Line sculpture proved to bejust as challenging as any of the other 11 sculptures.
We had an important new development to consider. In 2017 the Department of Conservation requested that people refrain from climbing Mt Ngāuruhoe – and in fact removed the poles that marked the route up to the crater – because its peak, along with that of Mt Ruapehu, is considered sacred by Māori.
To show respect for this culturally significant issue we chose to make the 12th sculpture well below the summit of Mt Ruapehu.
The issue on this journey, as with so many of the others, was weather and we were aware a storm was imminent. However, we were familiar with the mountain and unusually comfortable at the hut and Martin felt we had plenty of time.
Martin Hill cutting the core.
On the first day, strong gales on this exposed ridge and gusts over 100km/h at times prevented us from venturing out at all. On the second day we could wait no longer. We had to attempt to construct a sculpture. In the morning the clouds lifted suddenly to reveal Ngāuruhoe, but by the time we had struggled into our layers of gear and crampons it closed in again.
Martin was heartened by the glimpse of Ngāuruhoe, however, and knew from long experience to persevere and take the opportunity to get started.
We knew the site well and chose the exact position to make a large mound, shovelling snow into the bags we had brought for the purpose and dragging them across to the exposed ridge. It was not the good dry snow of the kind we were accustomed to. Unlike the perfect powder drifts that we had on Ngāuruhoe, this was endof-season corn-snow – icy granules that do not bond together. It was not encouraging, but we carried on nevertheless, as usual.
We had a plan in mind and worked efficiently even though the icy rain and wild wind gusts made communicating difficult. Using snow shovels to pile up the snow, we compacted it as best we could and shaped a rough standing circle, hoping that overnight it would freeze and become workable.
Retreating to the shelter of the hut to dry our gear and warm up, we watched a nearly full moon rise behind the Pinnacles, bright enough to cut through the clouds for a time with a glossy white light.
All night the wind continued to pound the hut, shaking the walls and banging the broken guttering. Occasionally lumps of the ice that blocked the windows on the cold south side slumped noisily. The weather forecast was not encouraging – continuing gales in exposed places rising to "severe". We had to hope that the sculpture would remain standing overnight.
MAKING THE SCULPTURE
At dawn the cloud is clearing just enough to see Mt Ngāuruhoe beyond. Staggering from the force of the wind we struggle to the sculpture site and discover ice has formed on the windward side of the circle. Philippa and I set to work with ice axes and the pruning saws we had brought to shape it, patching it where it caves in.
Working from the south side we receive the full brunt of the cold wind. The back of the circle, sheltered from the wind, is unconsolidated and crumbly, falling away alarmingly as we carve holes in it.
Martin Hill and Philippa Jones work on a ice sculpture.
Our idea of cutting 12 circular holes through the disc refers to the 12 Fine Line sculptures connected by the symbolic line drawn around the Earth. And the form – circles within a circle – expresses the way systems nest within other systems in the web of life.
The howling wind threatens to topple the cameras mounted on tripods standing ready to compose the key photograph. Philippa anchors them, stamping the snow around them. We marvel that the structure doesn't collapse.
The huge lenticular clouds return, driven by the powerful wind, and rise over the Pinnacles obscuring Mt Ngāuruhoe until late in the afternoon when there is a brief clearing with just enough sunlight to illuminate the sculpture strongly against the sky.
For a moment the summit of Mt Ngāuruhoe, where we had made the first work to begin the Fine Line so long ago, is visible through a gap in the clouds and I am able to capture the key photograph.
I gather up the equipment in the whiteout as the cloud cover lowers yet again. I take one last look at the sculpture. It has gone! Just a pile of lumpy snow remains, soon to vanish in the blizzard.
Fine Line, by Martin Hill and Philippa Jones
Fine Line, by Martin Hill and Philippa Jones (Bateman Books, $70) is out now.
