It was the final morning of a week that already felt unforgettable.

We’d woken early in Queenstown, the air crisp with the last breath of autumn clinging to the lakes and peaks. There was one last shot I wanted before flying home, a panoramic from the top of the Skyline Gondola, looking out over the entire town, cradled by Lake Wakatipu and backed by the jagged beauty of the Remarkables.

We rode up mid morning. Tourists were few that morning, almost eerily so and the silence at the summit was broken only by the crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional flap of a flag in the breeze. The view from the top was breathtaking: Queenstown below, golden light spilling over rooftops, the lake stretching out like a ribbon of blue, and peaks standing guard in the distance.

I set up my camera and slowly captured a sweeping panoramic of 4 photos to stitch together. I panned from the lake, across the skyline of the town, and then over to the mountains. Each frame clicked into place like a farewell my last photo of the trip. It felt like closing a chapter.

Little did I know how literal that would become.

Mrs Smith and I descended quietly in the gondola, both of us already thinking ahead to the airport, the bags. But when we stepped back into town, everything felt… off. Shopfronts were closing early. Tour operators were standing outside, talking fast. Then, as we bought a crepe from a food cart, we heard the words that stopped us in our tracks: The food vendor said

“Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern has just announced a nationwide lockdown. New Zealand borders will be closing.”

It was March 18th, 2020. And just like that, the world had shifted.

Phones out. Refreshing airline apps. Trying to stay calm. The uncertainty hit fast and hard. Rumours swirled last flights, cancelled connections, quarantine measures. But somehow, incredibly, we found one last Jetstar flight heading to the Gold Coast that evening. The timing was pure luck or maybe fate.

At the airport, the atmosphere was heavy. People whispered. Some looked scared, others frustrated. Everyone was just trying to get home. When we boarded I was first on and the plane was empty, I looked out the window as the lights of Queenstown faded below. I thought about that final panoramic, the peace in that shot, the way the town sat so quietly under the clouded sky.

And I realised… we had left just in time.

Back in the Gold Coast, the world we knew began closing in. Flights stopped. Borders sealed. Life changed. But that photo? That quiet, sweeping view from above Queenstown?

It became more than just the last photo of a trip.

It became the last glimpse of the world as it was, right before everything changed.

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