April 6: Taupo

Previously: April 5

Today was “all hydrothermal, all the time” day—except for a little non-thermal hydro at the end of the day. Breakfast was simple toast (with hummus for me and cheese and apple for Shoshanna), with our own good coffee, though it took a bit of doing to track down the one French press at the hostel (one of the staffers was using it) and it only made a small cup, so it took a couple iterations to serve us both. I’ve added our portable French press (made from a tough plastic-like material so it’s safe to travel with) to our packing list for future trips, since coffee outside North America is typically expensive by North American standards, and though good, is served in unsatisfyingly tiny sizes.

“Hydrothermal” refers to ground water that is superheated or vaporized by deep heat sources, and that flows under high pressure through gaps in the rock or through the rock itself if it’s porous, then emerges at the surface, bearing dissolved rocks and minerals and elements. We started our day at the Orakei Korako Thermal Park, about half an hour’s drive into the countryside north of the city along the usual twisty roads. The park is on the far side of a small lake, on a slope that leads up into one of the ranges of mountains that surround the lake. To get there, you take a water taxi from the visitor center.

The surrounding mountains are clad in lush forest, and show no sign of current volcanic activity. But the park starts with a field of steaming rock that runs uphill from the lake. As you climb the trail into the park, you pass through several distinct zones. The bottom of the slope that borders the lake is a sloping field of different colors, some of which are formed by minerals deposited as the heated water cools and others of which are formed by extremophiles (bacteria and other organisms capable of living in very hot water). Different colors of extremophile represent different water temperatures; if I remember correctly, brown is for the lowest temperature, followed by pink and then yellow, but it also depends on the dominant dissolved compounds.

There are a couple of geysers that burble breathily and spew water that runs down the slope and into the lake, sometimes in broad sheets and sometimes in narrow channels with silica walls that precipitated out of the flow. The geysers do apparently erupt vertically, but at unpredictable intervals, and while we were there we mostly saw steam and horizontal running water, like water pouring from a very big pump. Farther upslope is an area called “the artist’s palette” because of its broad, flat shape, with many pretty colors arranged in distinct areas, like the paint on an artist’s palette. Farther still is a bubbling field of clay mud, formed when the acidity of the hot water dissolved the rocks, releasing clay minerals. Throughout the park, fumaroles (holes where steam is released) both large and small emit gusts of pleasantly sulfur-scented steam, and water burbles everywhere. In many areas, you can hear the water boiling as if it were being heated in some enormous pot, and there’s often a noise like a strong wind outside one’s house as the steam rushes through holes in the rock and into the atmosphere.

Towards the end of the field, near the highest point, there’s a large cave. It’s one of the few human marks on this landscape other than the boardwalks, and a poignant one: there’s a sign commemorating a Maori soldier who died in the Libyan desert during World War II, and his brother who died later in the war, and whose spirits now rest peacefully in the cave.

Next stop was the Wairakei Natural Thermal Valley, which is a pleasant forest-clad valley full of fumaroles, but with no geysers. It borders on a campground and is over-run with cute critters: several breeds of chicken and related fowl (e.g., what looked like a small peacock, quail, a pheasant), three alpacas, a large and friendly dog, and the resident cat, who is clearly well-loved, but nonetheless made a point of telling us how unappreciated she was. The host, an elderly fellow (possibly Sam Clemerson according to their Web site, though we didn’t exchange names), has decorated the entry hall, which doubles as a pub and snack bar, in suitably eclectic ways, with antique firearms, a suit of armor, miscellaneous antiques, and lovely stretches of wood that glow in the sunlight. A beautiful space to relax after a walk. He also has a very large spider mounted in a glass frame, and when he noticed our interest, told us that he also had some eggs from that type of spider. Seeing Shoshanna’s look of horror, he produced a folded paper and offered me the chance to see them. Not being one to turn down such an opportunity, I began unfolding the package—only to reveal a joy buzzer that made me jump. He clearly enjoyed the joke, with a wicked grin, and I shared his laughter.

Before we set out on the trail, he handed us an infrared thermometer so we could check out the water, rock, and air temperatures. Many readings were 50°C and up, reaching a maximum of 102°C (hotter than boiling water) and with frequent readings in the 60s to 80s. Since our skin temperature read about 6°C cooler than normal, that suggests the actual temperatures were probably higher. When we returned from our walk, it was lunchtime, so we shared a curried lamb pie and cup of coffee. (You may have noticed that we eat a lot of meat pies. I fell in love with British-style meat pies years ago in Yorkshire, England, and rarely miss a chance to try one. They’re rare in Montreal.) While Shoshanna powdered her nose, I had a nice chat with the host, and he showed me a limited-edition book that contained a story Kipling had written during a visit to Waireki. Cool! Didn't have time to read it, but from the host's description, it sounded like he'd spent a few hours chatting with a naked Maori maiden bathing in a hot pool, all in the aid of scoring political points with his readers.

The last of our volcanic stops of the day was the Craters of the Moon Thermal Walkway. This park is nestled in a sunken area that looked an awful lot like an old caldera, I’d estimate about half a kilometre (0.3 miles) across. It's filled with low vegetation, except for a few scattered short trees, and steam whisps upward from spots throughout the walk. At first, it’s a bit disappointing compared with the two previous walks, as it's mostly scattered fumaroles, and they're mostly on the small end. But once you walk deeper into the site, you come across some seriously large fumaroles or craters, 10 to 20 m (30 to 60 feet) deep and comparable in width. One in particular was venting such large quantities of steam, so fast, it was like listening to the exhaust on a powerful vacuum cleaner.

We finished our touristing with a visit to the Huka Falls site. This is a river running through a cleft about 10 m (30 feet) across, and Shoshanna and I both agreed that we’d call it a series of rapids rather than a true waterfall, despite several places where the water dropped visibly over a small ledge. It’s impressive enough for what it is, and definitely worth a stop because of the remarkable force of the water and its brilliant light blue color, intermixed with seething foam and waves.

We dropped the car back at the hostel and returned to Dixie Jones for dinner, as we’d very much enjoyed our meal there yesterday. Unlike yesterday, the restaurant was fully reserved, but the maitre d’ was willing to give us a table so long as we promised to leave within an hour so they had time to clean up before the people with the reservation appeared. No problem. Shoshanna started with bluff oysters (blech!), and we shared a “sunset” pizza (chicken, feta cheese, roasted red peppers, and thick slices of avocado. Same beers as yesterday, which were just as good today. I took a slice of caramel/coffee cake home for desert, and it was so rich, I saved half of it for tomorrow. Let’s just say it’s a darn good thing I’m doing so much walking.

And so, off to bed before we head to Rotorua, the last stop on our New Zealand vacation.

Next installment: April 7