The creation of the Alkira Ski Club began in 1963, when John Pendavingh, inspired by friends Ian and Val Dent, reignited a passion for skiing.

After discovering that obtaining a ski lodge site in Victoria was difficult, he visited the Mt Buller Resort office and uncovered a rare opportunity: site No. 81 on Stirling Avenue, previously allocated but unclaimed.

Taking swift initiative, he asked to submit a proposal before the next management meeting.

With guidance from helpful officials and driven by a vision, he began forming a ski club.

The process required a club of at least 24 members.

Along with early supporters like Alan Kermond and the Dents, Pendavingh called a meeting to form the club.

The name "Alkira," suggested by Val Dent, means “blue skies” in an Aboriginal language and was quickly adopted.

He drew up architectural plans while sitting on a rock at the proposed site—a design he believed was divinely inspired.

These initial sketches became the exact blueprint for the lodge.

The author undertook the creation of a constitution, drew the construction plans (with help from colleague Peter Manger), and prepared cost estimates.

Each member was expected to contribute £400 and at least six weekends of physical labour.

Enthusiastic recruitment brought in members from diverse professional backgrounds, including many medicos and pharmacists, though few had construction experience.

Once the site was awarded, the hard work began.

Initial working bees were filled with challenges: cold conditions, limited resources, and physical strain.

Yet key members like Stephen Schwarz (who logged 22 days of work), Bruce Sexton (who crafted custom dormer windows), and Ken Polglaze (who illustrated the building and designed its colour scheme) made notable contributions.

Despite camaraderie, tensions arose when some members didn’t contribute their promised labour, leading to dissatisfaction.

To address this, Pendavingh proposed a controversial “efficiency rating” system to ensure fairness.

Though initially rejected—leading to his dramatic resignation—it was later reinstated with support from respected member John Siddons. The vote barely passed, but morale was restored and work resumed.

Construction itself was marked by both ingenuity and hardship.

A massive rock blocking the foundation was blasted and buried in concrete, resulting in a step in the final building.

The author purchased a petrol generator when no power supply was available and hired a crane to erect the steel frame.

Skilled carpenters like Joost Recourt and his team did key framing work, while other subcontractors tackled roofing and bricklaying.

A mix of professional help and volunteer labour drove progress.

Innovative solutions were used throughout.

For example, fire escape doors doubled as cupboards, descending via winch-controlled systems.

The septic system posed a challenge when tanks were incorrectly aligned, necessitating a crane.

Heating was solved through a Shell-sponsored fuel tank stand, carried uphill manually in the rain.

Despite initial construction struggles—like aligning roof rafters or properly sealing doors—Alkira became a functioning lodge by the 1964/65 ski season.

An Occupancy Certificate marked a major milestone.

Ian Rowe took over as president and honored the founder with a plaque bearing the Latin inscription Post Laburnum Otium (“After the work, comes the pleasure”).

Over the years, Alkira evolved into a vibrant social and recreational hub.

The lodge became known for legendary parties and ski adventures.

Families bonded across generations, with many children excelling in competitive skiing.

Memorable moments included snake-like family ski lines, injuries from daredevil jumps, and ski trips to places like Val d’Isère and New Zealand.

The club even produced members for State Teams.

The club faced further challenges with a proposed lodge extension.

Although architect Michael Factor and “Cook” (Pendavingh’s son) were tasked with the project, the design masked the original building’s architectural elegance.

Worse, faulty weatherboard cladding on the north face led to water leaks, sparking internal conflict and even legal battles.

Pendavingh lamented that no one consulted him—despite being the original designer and builder.

Though personally disappointed by the extension and subsequent discord, the author never lost his pride in Alkira.

Friendships endured, and he highlights the special contribution of members like Stephen Schwarz, even amid strained times.

He reflects on the club’s founding purpose—to make skiing accessible—and its lasting impact.

Alkira wasn’t just a ski lodge; it became a symbol of shared effort, ingenuity, and joy.

Despite financial setbacks later in life that ended his skiing days, Pendavingh and his family cherished 22 years of memories on the slopes.

From building a lodge on a mountain to fostering community, Alkira remains a shining testament to what vision, commitment, and teamwork can achieve.