Tongariro Crossing

Mt. Tongiriro, near the  Ketatahi Hut

I had it all planned.  A trail run celebration of my birthday.  Not just any trail run, but the Tongariro Crossing, one of the "great walks" of New Zealand, but the only one that takes just a day to do.  My plan was to get to the top, take lovely photos of the local scenery and volcanoes, including Mt. Ruapehu and Lake Taupo in the distance.  I then could wax poetic about being at the "top of the hill" (rather than over it), metaphorically, as I near my 49th birthday.  Plans and the reality of how a day unfolded are  two different things. The mana of the mountain ought not to be dismissed.

Discovery Lodge cabins with Mt. Ngaurahoe in the background

I was out of the cabin at 5am to drive to the end of the track (kiwi for trail), so I could leave my car (R5) and be picked up by a local Tongariro Crossing Transport bus. Driven by a Scot-now-kiwi who lives in Taupo and has done the crossing over 250 times, the bus driver would drop me at the start of the trek.  The R5 would be awaiting my descent from the 6,500ft volcanic complex of a mountain, known as Mount Tongariro.  One of its vents, and the youngest, is Mt. Nguaruhoe, familiar to many as "Mount Doom" from the Lord of the Rings movies. It has erupted over 70 times in the past 150 years, most recently in the mid- 1970's.  I later learned (at the Department of Conservation center) that Tongariro National Park was the first national park in NZ, the second in the world, and a gift by Horonuku, the Maori chief at the time.  The Maori believe that these mountains are sacred.  They belong to all people and the land must not be divided or built upon as the mountains would lose their mana (power, dignity, spirit in Maori belief). 

Poles mark the track, so they might be visible in the fog

  Formerly a guide, the bus driver had given up his daily crossings when age and arthritis set in.  His passion for tramping ("hiking") was evident in his discourse and summary of the hike. At 6:30, hydropack on my back, I started up the well-cared-for track, having been well-informed of what lay ahead over the next 19.4km.  The volcanoes all had their heads in the clouds, the air was cool and threatened rain.  "Frodo lives!," I thought as I made my way through barren lava fields on the shoulder of Mount Doom.

View, capped by clouds, of lava fields and lahar (volcanic mud flow)

As I climbed, it became imminently apparent that today, I would not get beautiful vistas of the mountains.  The hope that the sun would burn off the cloud cover would not come to pass today.  I ran happily until I reached "the staircase"... at which point walking was faster than my running pace.  I took one last picture of the valley before heading into the clouds that blanketed the volcanic peaks.

The "staircase" starts

When I reached the saddle, I was reminded of trips to the top of Mount Washington.  An entirely different weather pattern existed here.  Wind (at 70kph) buffetted the barren landscape, blowing volcanic ash against my legs like a sand storm.  The temperature plummeted.  I had gone from summer to winter in the period of a half hour's climb.

The saddle and the last easily seen pole...

I soon found myself running across the south crater of Tongariro.  Barely able to make out the next trail marker in the fog,  I jogged across the flat, lava  formed crater, happy not to be climbing for a few moments.  I knew that meters below my feet, magma was churning.  The trail was warm, but the wind cold. I considered lying on the crater floor, but decided against it.

steam and wind blowing up the mountain. The lake comes into view over the edge of the scree field

  Climbing out the crater, I was greeted with a  steep downhill scree field, fierce winds coming up the mountain,  and steam from vents in the side of the volcano.  The physics of the wind patterns, temperature gradients would be interesting to learn, but for now, I had to keep my mind on the task at hand.  The wind seemed to be attempting to blow me off the edge of the crest I was on.  I slowly made my way down the scree field.  I was nearly upon the Emerald Lakes, when the clouds parted, allowing me a partial view.

sorry, doesn't seem to rotate correctly... top to the left

I ran on, soon finding myself in what must have been another crater, the Red Crater I had read about.  I knew it only by the similarity of footing and topography to the last crater.  Not much more was visible.  I climbed a little further and found yet another lake.

Red Crater, so named for the rich deposits of iron in the rock

Indeed, I  had come to Blue Lake, photographed it, ran on, not fully cognizant of its significance, the last of the uphill portion of the trail.

Blue Lake

Only when the trail turned gently downhill and the vast greenery of the valley lay before me, did I know that I had not only reached the top of the hill, but was much further along than I had imagined, with all of my climbing behind me.

I was reminded of a patient who told me that one day she woke up to discover she was old.  Her body had been gradually stiffening, paining.  One morning, she awakened and realized that at 70, she chronologically was "over the hill".  Considering this, she slipped on her sweatpants, and went to the kitchen to make breakfast for her daughter.  She had decided that though she may be over the hill, she had best enjoy whatever part of that hill she had left with as much enthusiasm as she could muster for each daybreak.   I recall her whispy voice at 90, "Otherwise, life would just be in black and white." 

I came upon the Ketetahi hut, now 2/3 of the way through my run, to find a two year old sweeping of the deck with his dad in the sunshine.  The track runs directly on the decking of this wilderness hut.  I stopped to chat, briefly, and later to enjoy the wild daisies, small blue mountain orchids, and the vistas of the valley.  The sun came out, finally I was able to strip off my wool arm warmers, long sleeve shirt, and put on my sun glasses.  It was just 9 am.  The birdsong filled the air, and the trail dipped into native forest.  With only three kms left, I was reminded that it was the traverse that mattered in the end, not reaching the summit.  Along the way, my mind had gone from negativity ('you fool, you are not a trail runner'), to fear ('you might get blown/swept off this scree field'), to acceptance that some things just can't be planned, to the realization that my adventure was almost over. I had enjoyed it all.  I wanted to make it last longer, but knew better than to double back, unprepared.   Perhaps this is the lesson that I need to remember and apply to my life as I consider where my path may meander and hunt for the next cairn or pole in the mist.

Enjoy the traverse.