Te Araroa: Tongariro Crossing

19.12.2019 Day 60 (33km)

Although the majority of the day was along a road, it was definitely a very special and worthwhile strip of road. For starters, there was a dancing ostrich…I mean come on, who doesn’t like dancing animals? As soon as it saw us coming, it rushed to the fenceline, throwing its wings up in its wake. Trev, Robyn, and I snapped photos and videos while it continued to strut and toss its feathers up. 

Little did we know, our animal encounters had just begun. Farther along, where the sealed road turned to gravel, we got roped into assisting a farmer with herding his sheep 3km down the road. I mean, in reality, very little rope was actually used. He simply asked us if we wanted to watch his dogs work and walk behind the herd, or head out in front of them. We had literally just been talking about wanting to witness sheep dogs in their element, and the trail had answered us. 

The dogs expertly followed the farmers whistles and calls, darting around to rally stray sheep or pushing up to the front to get the whole lot to pick up the pace. I was in absolute awe, witnessing the whole affair. The farmer chatted with us along the way, telling us about his business and the goings on of the community. He had 4,000 ewes which had mothered over 7,000 lambs that year. 

After a tour of his shearing shed, we had lunch and carried on to the town of Owhango. A cute cafe caught our attention, so we decided another break for coffees and snacks was essential before starting the 42nd Traverse: a well-maintained bike trail, ending with a muddy tramping track.

We camped along the traverse, with little mud up to that point. Only tomorrow will tell what is left to face. 

Day’s Highlights: Excellent conversation with Robyn and Trev, and watching the sheep dogs. 

20.12.2019 Day 61 (27km)

I couldn’t grip the ziplock bag with my left fingers; the cold had stolen the strength from them. After wrestling with the bag for another minute, I managed to get my phone out and confirm, I had indeed made a wrong turn. I trudged back the way I had come to see Trev and Robyn at the junction where I had gotten misdirected, and the three of us continued towards town. 

The day had been full of adventures but I was ready to be dry, warm, and regain the use of my hands. Rain started falling sometime in the night and continued through the day, until about an hour before we reached the Tongariro Holiday Park. 

There were a few river crossings, including one that was flowing swiftly enough that we had to link arms and cross as a unit. Shortly after the bike track forked and we continued onto the tramping section that was basically a big mudslide. The climbs up clay hills led into a dripping tunnel, concealed by a ceiling of ferns and branches. Modest streams created an island of clay upon which to ascend. I don’t think it would have been quite the same without the rain and I couldn’t help feeling like I was in The Goonies, when they all slide down the tunnels to the hidden pirate ship. At any moment I expected to hear a great cry, “HEY YOU GUYS!” It probably would have made my day. 

The novelty of the day began to wear off when the tunnels were replaced by a series of muddy, knee deep pools. Robyn ended up falling in one and I almost lost footing on several occasions, barely managing to stay upright. 

By the time we arrived at the holiday park, I was prepared to pay almost anything for a HOT shower and a roof over my head.  

Day’s Highlights: The Goonies tunnel and the never ending hot shower at the holiday park. 

21.12.2019 Day 62 (14km)

Sometimes a brilliant idea intended to make things easier, backfires. For example, when you hike 14km up to a mountain shelter, in order to have a shorter hike the following day, only to discover the shelter was removed nine months before. Granted, technically we weren’t supposed to be sleeping at the shelter in the first place, so I guess it’s kind of karma. 

After a 7km road walk we started up the Tongariro Crossing in the opposite direction of all the tourists. Sulfur from the rivers found my nose, which scrunched up like a turtle pulling back into its shell. The sun was still high in the sky, so I was thankful for the shade as we climbed the endless stairs. People gawked at us, and a few exclaimed in shock, “You’re going the wrong way!” We simply smiled and pushed on; there were huts further up the track that were part of the Great Walk. For all they knew we were going to one of those. 

The trees shied away from the windswept ridges, leaving nothing but tall dry grass. Steam rose steadily from a gaping hole in the side of the volcano, though the cool winds lashing at my face didn’t appear to disturb the plume. Suddenly, a sinking feeling crept into the pit of my stomach… the hut wasn’t going to be there. There was no way for me to know for certain,as it was a few kilometers away and out of sight. Yet, somehow I knew the night was not going to go according to plan. 

I pushed on, determined to reach the hut before the dropping temperatures sent me into a chill. Sweat dripped down my face, though it was swiftly whisked away by the wind. Halfway up the hill, a tiny structure came into view. The hut? Once again I picked up the pace, anxious to arrive. My heart sank when I took stock of the structures: a row of toilets, and a tiny shed full of junk…no hut. An information sign explained that the hut had been damaged in the last volcanic eruption. Though it had been repaired, eventually it was determined unsafe and removed. 

I popped into one of the toilets to change into my warmer night clothes while I waited for Robyn and Trev to arrive. It was almost seven, the next hut was four hours further up the mountain, and there was no way I was turning back. We would have to tent. 

Robyn helped me put up my Nemo Hornet. I doubt I would have been able to do it alone with the winds constantly threatening to rip it from my grasp. It felt like Ninety Mile Beach all over again, only this time in addition to fearing that my tent was going to blow over, I would most likely be freezing the entire night. 

After a quick supper, I buried myself in my sleeping bag. As I lay here listening to the howling winds, I’m dreading the night to come. 

Day’s Highlights: The view from camp is actually awesome

22.12.2019 Day 63 (20km)

The wind did not settle; it raged like a nest of angry hornets throughout the night. It wasn’t until four in the morning that it paused to allow for a good thirty minutes of calm, before returning with unwavering fervor. There was no restful sleep for me last night. In total I think I got about two hours, if that. Otherwise I was lying awake, begging the wind not to blow my tent off the cliff, or shivering and wiggling to stay warm. I literally slept with my Buff over my face to ward off the cold.

When the sun had risen just enough to break through the glacial temperatures, I decided it was time to tackle the day. Though my tent had not blown off the mountains, one of my guylines had snapped from the force of the gusts. 

I had been looking forward to doing the Tongariro Crossing since before I knew about the TA. This was mostly due to the fact that Mt Ngauruhoe was used as Mt Doom in Lord of the Rings, and it was along the crossing. 

Small lakes varying in shades of blue and green contrasted with the cold grey of the active volcanic landscape. If I hadn’t known better I would have thought I was on another planet, with its empty lifeless plains and vibrant, toxic waters. 

After climbing a hill of scree, which was a walk in the park compared to Fanthams Peak, the Red Crater came into view. It’s burnt brick reds added yet another alien element to my surroundings, and a gaping mouth could have easily doubled as a space dock. 

While tourists streamed by like an endless line of ants rushing to an abandoned picnic, we took a break on a vista overlooking Mt Ngauruhoe. From afar I could see the steep scree trail leading up to its summit. Though it would be really cool to say, “I climbed Mt Doom,” in recent weeks I had discovered most of the great peaks were sacred to the local Maori and had decided against it. Even if it had been culturally acceptable, the lack of sleep from the previous night would have dissuaded me in the end. 

It couldn’t have been a more perfect day to do the crossing. I was completely satisfied with my decision to do the Whanganui River first and return for Tongariro. 

After a long, easy descent down the rocky slopes of the volcano, fatigue began to dig in its ugly fingers. There were 9km between me and Whakapapa Village, which compared to what I do on the daily was nothing. Yet that nine felt like twenty. When I arrived at the holiday park my feet were practically dragging along the ground and my eyes were swollen and bloodshot. I still don’t know how I made it without collapsing from exhaustion. 

Day’s Highlights: I got to see Mt Doom!