Tongariro Chatter
DAY 1:
I entered a backpackers’ in mid-March when I first considered this hike. Glum expressions filled the halls, wet socks dripped at nose level, a grumpy German showed me her bloody leg as she griped about the “hardest exercise I’ve had for nothing.” I left. A week ago I eagerly walked into the Tongariro Visitor’s Center to be greeted by another sour expression from the ranger that read: “Did you even look at the forecast?” I hadn’t. I left again. But today, TODAY the weather board says “fine day,” so I start the famed Northern Circuit in Tongariro National Park.
I sit at the trailhead in slippers. Realized last night packing that I left the only essential–my hiking boots–warming by the fireplace in another town. Luckily fellow trampers sleeping there were willing to bring them to me, saving me a two-hour drive.
I’m biased to call “a great hike” one with towering snow-capped peaks, flashing its glittery glaciers. However, the volcanic scenery of this hike squelches that as the ideal. I summited the perfectly conical Ngauruhoe as an “add in,” scrambling up steep scree to the reward of a bizarre other world—steaming rocks, cavernous craters, views of jewel-colored lakes, flirty fog. Wow.
Descended into Ketatahi Hut and into a “first” for New Zealand–American majority. Joe from Texas talks incessantly about nothing in his George Bush accent. Matt and Brian get naked to take pictures with the giant telescope. Ben from Seattle is the only sane one, and so detaches himself to a tent outside.
“Happy Mum’s Day” in New Zealand. How fitting to sit in the mountains that mine loves.
DAY TWO:
Joe wakes early, narrating his thoughts to no one: “Hmm, what time is it? 7:20, time to get up.” So we all do. Set off into another “fine” weather day. Discover though today that a forecast of “fine” is a half glass of water—dependent on who’s drinking it. “There’s a terrible wind at the top,” the first couple I meet warns me. “It’s miserable!” Next couple greets me grinning: “Aren’t we lucky to have such brilliant weather?!”
When I climb up in pursuit of the views from Tongariro summit, I discover the glass has blown completely over. Still fantastic panoramas, viewed from the slit in my parka, while walking sideways up the ridge.
Otorere Hut, home for night two, sits among “rubble” tossed out by the volcanoes and is watched over by Ngauruhoe. I pick a sleeping bunk with its direct view, happy to be snug in log as the wind tantrums outside the rest of the night.
DAY 3:
I watch the volcano, waiting for sunrise, then discover it’s exploded behind me.
I walk, eaten some weight off my pack, but added some to my legs. Running out of interesting things to think about, I chant children’s songs, count in Swahili, and wonder why I decided to save 22km for the last day. Oh yeah, that fantastic sunrise, so I smile and trudge on.
Gluttony. I end the day in greedy indulgence with the compulsion of a drug addict. Food: steak sandwich, dark beer, heap of fries, ice cream over sponge cake. Yesterday in the mountains I think constantly of my mom; tonight, it’s my father’s tastes I’m sharing. 🙂
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Tags: New Zealand
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