April 3: Tongariro National Park

Previously: April 2

For the next couple days, we'll be exploring Tongariro National Park, one of Earth's special beautiful places. In particular, we're hoping for good enough weather to do the challenging Tongariro Alpine Crossing.

We woke in plenty of time to make some coffee (surprisingly good Nescafé instant), brush teeth, hit the bathroom, and get out the door to board the shuttle bus to the park with a dozen or so other hikers. We were warned that the bus *does not wait*. I liked very much that they quizzed us about our gear before letting us on the bus. Shoshanna read that during peak tourist season, up to 2 people per week are rescued or emergency-evacuated due to various mishaps, including (presumably) trying to hike in bad weather with inadequate gear.

So off we went into the deep dark of the rural pre-dawn, without so much as a glow worm to light our way. (No moon, and the stars were covered by cloud.) Twenty minutes later, they dropped us off at the start of the hike, well before the bigger buses arrived, so that we’d have time sort-of alone on the trail. Indeed, we started out with large spaces between us and our bus-mates, but as the day went on, more and more people appeared. This first part of the path is smooth and level, so that you can start in the darkness without much fear of tripping or straying from the path—so long as you have a torch (flashlight) that lets you see where you’re putting your feet. Doug, the guy on duty at the desk when we returned from the hike, told us that he’d recently tried the first part of the hike, figuring he knew the trail well enough to do it without help. He was wrong, and tripped and badly bruised his knee.
Walking for more than an hour in the dark is an experience unto itself. Initially, the only light is from your torch, and you can’t even see the silhouettes of the mountains around you. But as you hike, the sun gradually rises, highlighting the silhouettes of the mountains, which slowly emerge from the darkness. Within an hour, we’d put away the torch and could hike using only the dawn light. We found ourself in a valley between Tongariro’s perfect cone and a sweeping set of cliffs that rose a few hundred metres to merge with the shoulder of Tongariro. There’s ample evidence of rockslides, some quite enormous, so you hike with a certain awareness of risk and a wary eye above the trail. I suspect that if the risk were high, they would close the trail and trigger a landslide at a time of their choosing, but that’s speculation based on the other safety measures they take, such as closing the trail if wind speeds exceed 50 km/hour (30 mph)—enough to blow you off the trail if you get unlucky.

The hike is heavily front-loaded in terms of effort and difficulty. You spend about the first third of the hike climbing steeply, and don’t really descend again until the second half of the hike. After climbing slowly along a gentle slope through the darkness, you arrive at the intimidatingly named “devil’s staircase”, which rises about 500 m (1600 feet) with increasing steepness until you reach Tongariro’s western shoulder. Fortunately, at least for me, there was significant wind and the temperature hovered around freezing, so I didn’t expire from heat. (I have severe problems regulating my heat balance.) I’d purchased high-quality “base layers” (the clothing that fits between your underwear and your outerwear), which do a great job of providing warmth while wicking away moisture so that you don’t drown in your own sweat. They kept me warm and comfortable even when they were soaked with sweat and cooling me as the breeze carried away the moisture.

It’s a long, slow, wearying ascent, and I was very glad I’d spent several months training for it by climbing (literally) several thousand stairs over a period of several months. At the top, you arrive at South Crater, which is misleadingly flat and welcoming. The threatened 30 km/hour (about 20 mph) winds didn’t materialize, so the breeze kept us cool, but not at risk of hypothermia. Lots of layer management required to add and shed layers of clothing during the rest of the hike as clouds came and went and the wind strengthened or weakened to maintain warmth without overheating. But we had good gear, weren’t in any hurry, and basically know what we’re doing in the wilderness, so it wasn’t a problem.

Midway up the climb, I discovered I’d done something truly dumbass: I’d checked the camera’s battery, and as it showed 3/3 bars, I figured it would last the day. Rather than doing the sensible thing and bringing the spare anyway. But when I turned on the camera for the first photos on the trail, it now showed 1 flashing red bar, promising imminent failure. The purpose of our hikes is the experience, not to capture photos, but photos make it easier to share the experience with friends and family. We had our iPhones for backup if the camera failed, but still, I spent the next hour berating myself. And then, as in the miracle of the Hannukkah temple oil, the battery that should have lasted only another hour somehow lasted all day! I took photos more judiciously than I would generally do, so there are fewer to choose among, but as we have any photos to share, that’s easy to live with.

Tongariro’s western side borders on the south crater, which is enormous (about 1 km or 2/3 mile across), and in addition to the black lava deposits at its base, there’s a gorgeous streak of red on the northwest shoulder that looks like a dollop of cherry on a Black Forest cake. We reached the far side of the south crater, and discovered to our dismay that we weren’t remotely finished yet with climbing, with 300 vertical metres (nearly 1000 feet) still to go to reach the peak. So we slogged our way to the top, along a sharp and narrow ridge that eventually brought us to the high point of our trip, at 1980 m (about 6300 feet), which is high enough that you feel the reduced air pressure, though not in any dangerous way. This is definitely low-altitude mountaineering for amateur alpinists.

From the top, we gazed down on the aptly named Red Crater, which has an entire side covered in red lava flows. It also has two blades of rock that jut out from the eastern side, rising more than half the depth of the crater, with a deep chasm between them. In the distance, you can see the Emerald Lakes, which are a remarkable shade of green due to the dissolved minerals. And as the sun had come out, the colors really popped, and it was comfortable just to relax in the sun and enjoy the view.

After leaving Red Crater, we began our descent. The first part is an odd mix of easy and hard: easy because you descend a slope of volcanic debris comprising fine particles and small rocks, and each step is cushioned because the finer particles compress under your feet, like walking in beach sand; difficult because you descend along a narrow ridge (as little as 3 m wide in places, or about 10 feet, with steep slopes on either side, and it’s easy to slip and just keep going if you move too fast and lose control of your footing. So we made our way down the slope with deliberation, and had no problems. Looking back, it was intimidating to see how narrow and steep the path had really been. On the way down, we passed through clouds of sulfurous steam, which is actually a pleasant smell—like that first whiff you get when you light a match.

From the bottom of the slope we passed Blue Lake, which is aptly named, but unremarkable if there isn’t enough sunlight to bring out the color. As it was clouding over, we stopped to put rain covers on our packs and have lunch, looking back in awe at the slope we’d descended and the edges of Red Crater visble above it, venting clouds of steam. Yes, this region is volcanically active. In fact, the clouds cleared again and there was no rain and lots of sun.

The rest of the hike was an ordeal, with about 10 km (6 miles) of switchbacks and stairs wending slowly down a long slope to the carpark. After nearly 6 hours of walking by this point, our knees were starting to tell us they’d had enough, our feet were hurting from walking on stones all this time, and our leg muscles were getting shaky. But there were beautiful views down to Lake Rotoaira and (in the distance) Lake Taupo, where we’ll be going in a couple days. The vegetation transitions from isolated clumps of tussock grass at the start of the descent to a mixture of grasses, shrubs, alpine lilies, and small bushes with tiny pink or magenta flowers, and eventually to full-blown woodland, which provided welcome shade. But the last bit became a bit of a blur for me, as we were focusing on not tripping over roots or falling over stairs as we made one last hard push to get to the car park before the shuttle bus arrived. (It comes at hourly intervals, waits a couple minutes, then leaves, and if you’re not there, you wait an hour for the next one. We weren’t in danger of missing the last bus, but it would have been uncomfortable sitting for an hour in the cooling late-afternoon air.)

We made it to the bottom with just enough time to sit and catch our breath before the shuttle arrived. In total, we’d been on the trail for almost exactly 8 hours, with at least an hour of that consumed by just sitting and staring at the beautiful terrain. The quoted range of transit times is 5.5 to 8 hours, so allowing for much gaping time, we were comfortably within the predicted time window. Not bad for a couple of sedentary old farts!

Our shuttle driver was a woman of about 40 who (with her husband) farmed the land behind the lodge where we’re staying, raising sheep, cattle, and deer, while also somehow finding time to raise a family run a rescue operation for working dogs (e.g., sheepdogs) who were too old to keep working, injured, or who failed to meet the standards required by the job. We were the last people to be picked up from out original shuttle run, but as everyone else was significantly younger, we don’t feel bad about that. Our driver reassured us that in her experience, people who took their time, as we did, came back with better memories.

Home in time for a shower and nap before dinner, and omg it was good to take off our hiking boots after all that time. But when we headed out for dinner, we had an unplanned Kiwi experience. On the way out of the driveway, I cut too close to a bush and belatedly discovered that it concealed a rock, which dented the rim of the tire and let out a bunch of air. I stopped immediately, and there appeared to be no major damage to the tire, but clearly we needed a repair—potentially difficult out in rural New Zealand, where the nearest full-service garage is at least 30 minutes away. Fortunately, I’d thought to bring my CAA (Canadian Automobile Association) card with me, and they have a reciprocal agreement with automobile associations around the world—but you need to have your actual card with you. So we called them, they called a local repairman, and he arrived an hour later with his wife (having just finished dinner before our call came in). He spent about 30 minutes banging the rim back into shape, double-checking the state of the tire, reinflating the tire, and confirming that he’d fixed it. Very impressive seeing a real expert doing his work. All at no cost to us, as the service was covered by CAA’s insurance. This is at least the third time CAA or one of their associates has saved our bacon over the years, so you can bet we’ll keep renewing our subscription.

When he left, I asked Shoshanna whether she’d still trust me to drive. She did, so we went to a local bar called Schnapps. I had a decent carrot soup with really good homemade bread, Shoshanna had a huge goat cheese salad, and we shared fried polenta sticks. Dessert was a huge chocolate sundae. Given how tired we were, we didn’t order any alcohol, but Schnapps also runs a bottle store, so we purchased four bottles: two for tonight and two for tomorrow night. Shoshanna went with Speight’s Old Dark, which we both love, but we also brought home bottles from a brewer we hadn’t seen before, “Mac’s”. We chose the “Black Mac”, a tasty porter, and “Mac’s red”, which we’ll try tomorrow.

And now, as massive fatigue is catching up with me, I’ll sign off for the day. More tomorrow!

Next installment: April 4