New Zealand’s Tongariro Crossing In Clear Weather Hikers Can See Three Volcanoes On The Tongariro Crossing; In Fog It Is An Eerie Wonderland

According to Maori legend, Ngatoro, high priest of the Arawa, was scaling Mount Ngauruhoe when he was overtaken by a blizzard. Hearing cries, his priestess sisters turned the mountain into a volcano to bring their brother warmth. A bit of an overreaction, perhaps, but it did the trick.

In March - early autumn in New Zealand - I have followed in Ngatoro’s footsteps to hike the Tongariro Crossing, “the best oneday hike in the country.” From it, I should be able to see the three volcanoes that make up Tongariro National Park, and - if the weather is clear - much more. To play it safe, I’ve waited for the best forecast of my three days in the park.

8:30 a.m. A mixed bag of hikers hops the bus to the trailhead. I sit behind the driver and dejectedly watch the windshield wipers go slowly back and forth as we head toward a heavy black cloud.

9 a.m. We stand in the drizzle at the end of the Mangatepopo Road. My companions are Germans and Austrians, who we know are crazy, but what about me? I thought my momma didn’t have any stupid children.

By the time I’ve wrestled my rain pants on, the others are far ahead, and of course, it’s stopped raining. I set off on a gravel road through a landscape that is more Scotland than New Zealand. As far as the eye can see, which isn’t far, the hills are covered in scrub pine, lichen and heather in full purple bloom.

In a half hour or so the path, no longer a road, drops and rises through a series of small gorges. I can hear a stream somewhere below fields that seem splotched with snow. But no, it’s a strange, bleached white moss covering the earth in thick patches.

Now the path rises in earnest, past jagged chunks of lava that jut out of the earth, lava that is not only black, but in places, deep orange-red. The last time the mountain erupted was in 1975. Is this desolation the end of the world or the beginning?

10 a.m. I arrive at the ascent to the Mangatepopo Saddle, which the brochure calls “your first real climb.” The path is clear and footing is solid on the deeply embedded rock; actually, it’s not too bad.

At least at first. Strangely, though the grade remains constant, climbing it gets harder and harder. I hear my breath whistling in my ear and feel my pulse pounding. As the adage says, when the going gets tough, the tough take a rest.

I continue. By now I’ve outstripped many of my busmates, but do I care? I’m not trying to prove anything.

I’m too old to play those macho games. A kid with a full pack on his back passes me going straight up. I hate him.

10:30 a.m. The Mangatepopo Saddle. This is where the real hike begins on the optional trek to the summit of Mt. Ngauruhoe. It’s a steep ascent, but the view is supposed to be magnificent when the weather is clear. Right now I can’t see a thing.

The bus driver’s instructions were to climb up the rocks, not the loose stuff. “It seems harder,” he said, “but actually it’s not.”

Look, this guy’s a bus driver, right? What does he know?

He knows, he knows.

Most of the slope is “scree,” a fine, loose lava that is like climbing a steep sand dune. By comparison the hard lava rocks are a piece of cake. But I don’t go far before realizing that to go farther is suicide. Visibility is nil and I’d never find my way back to the main trail.

I join several strangers and resume the hike. By now the wind has become furious. We come to a kind of lip on the edge of a great void, an onionskin-colored nothingness. One of the men says there’s a lake down there, the Blue Lake he thinks. You couldn’t prove it by me.

I keep remembering yesterday. At 8 o’clock I was at the Visitors Center ready to leave but changed my mind at the last moment because dark clouds were moving in. Besides, the weather forecast for today was “fine,” as the Kiwis say. So here I am in the rain and fog and gale-force winds standing on the edge of an abyss. Yesterday turned out to be beautiful.

Now we climb - what else is new? The path is sandy, obscured by heavy mist, and there is a precipice on either side. The wind becomes even stronger and seems to favor the left since that is the side it’s trying to blow me over.

The woman in front of me stops and sits on a large rock. When she gets up, it rolls slowly toward me. I stop it just before it gathers momentum and mows down the hikers behind me like ten pins. In my limited hiking experience, this situation is unique. This mountain is not to mess with.

11 a.m. We finally reach the crest of Red Crater and start down the leeward side and immediately the wind drops to nothing. It’s hard to believe, after two hours of relentless battering, that calm is possible. The descent is made of scree, soft and deep. We bound down it, fast and easy, sinking up to our shins.

Suddenly the mist stinks. They said this volcano was alive. Somewhere - everywhere? - sulfurous steam is venting. Bit by bit, two round bluegreen ovals take shape. They’re the Emerald Lakes, small craters filled with water and turned green by the minerals washed down from the crater we’ve just crossed. Or so they tell me. In the fog and rain the lakes are out-of-focus patches of subdued color in the monochrome surroundings.

From now on it’s either downhill or flat. We come to a broad meadow studded with lava rocks and - wonder of wonder - the sun comes out. “Hey,” I yell, “let’s go back and climb Mount Ngauruhoe.” There are no takers.

It’s just as well. The sun lasts exactly two minutes and 58 seconds. In no time, we’re socked in again and following close on the heels of whoever is hiking ahead.

Coming round a bend there’s a huge boulder and, on the protected side, four yellow-slickered figures. On the ground a camp stove is burning and on it a kettle for tea. “I’ve got to get this,” I say, and reach for my camera. They smile and pose. “Typical Kiwis,” one says.

Again we come to the edge of something and I notice a sign, “the Blue Lake.” So the guy was wrong at the other spot. No matter. I can’t see this one either.

Noon. I stop alone on the trail for lunch. I have two sandwiches which have been mashed together into one monstrous conglomerate. It is absolutely delicious.

Before me is a deep valley with a stream traced against the bottom. The sun is playing games, and bright spots travel over the hills. Finally it quits, but the light is beautiful. In this harsh environment there is an incredible range of color. Predominant are the straw brown tussocks of grass, in countless waving clumps. Then there are greens, a limitless variety in dwarf evergreens, star-shaped leaf plants, deep green moss. The red of lichen, muted orange of tiny trees, occasional blue bells and tiny white gentians sprinkled everywhere like popcorn.

1 p.m. Rounding a bend I see far below a tin roof shining in an errant ray of sun. The Ketetahi hut is an overnight bunkhouse for hikers, mostly those taking the 4-day roundthe-mountain trek. When I reach it, the sun is out and from the porch there is a panorama of hillsides, farmland and two huge lakes.

Inside are a dozen or so bunks, tables, a plywood counter with a stove and young people filling every nook and cranny, happily babbling in a half-dozen foreign languages and variously accented English. They look a lot happier than they did on the trail.

Ten minutes from the hut the trail slips over a ridge and into a benign inferno. All at once, rocks are yellow and out of them gush great gouts of steam. Through them runs a muddy stream, and scattered about in brightly colored climbing jackets, hikers are up to their knees in muck.

Not to be outdone, I strip off my socks and go for a wade. Mama mia, this water is hot! I move downstream and yard by yard, the temperature eases. Finding the optimum degree of warmth for my personal metabolism, I set me down on a convenient boulder and give the dogs a bath.

The walk down to where the bus will pick me up is through the softest country I’ve ever seen. It’s dominated by blond clumps of grasses bending in unison to every puff of wind. I come to an overlook and a bench and some stairs. I take them, and literally 10 feet from the infinite meadow I plunge into a deep dark forest. The path cuts under huge moss-covered trees, by walls bristling with ferns. I realize that the last time I saw trees like these, they were painted on the walls of the natural history museum, and pterodactyls were perched on their branches. The stillness is intense.

5 p.m. We’re waiting for the bus, reunited, the original group. But because I said I wanted to climb Mount Ngauruhoe, the driver isn’t coming until six. I fully expect to be stoned by my companions, but no, they insist on sharing the blame. Very nice, these foreigners.

I find that, like me, they loved the hike, and not in spite of the weather. In fact, the awful conditions were part of what made it good. Is the hour of waiting the time to reflect on why certain people seem to relish physical hardship? Why they climb that mountain or ride those rapids. Why they jump out of airplanes, or here in New Zealand, bungee jump?

No, it’s not.

MEMO: This sidebar appeared with the story: If you go Tongariro National Park is located in the lower center of the North Island of New Zealand. How to get there: Air New Zealand - 800-262-1234 - has nonstop service from Los Angeles to Aukland and between cities in New Zealand. It is highly recommended. United - 800-241-6522 - has nonstop service to Aukland from Los Angeles. Continental - 800-231-0856 - has one stop service to Aukland. When to go: New Zealand’s seasons are the opposite of ours. The farther south, the colder it is. September through March are the best months, although there is excellent winter skiing in Tongariro National Park. Many hotels and outfitters can be booked through Mount Cook Line, (800) 446-5494, or New Zealand Central Reservations Office, (800) 351-2323. Tips for independent travelers: 1. Make good use of the New Zealand Tourism Board, 501 Santa Monica Blvd, #300, Santa Monica, CA 90401. Tel. 800-388-5494 or 310-395-7480. Useful free publications include the Official New Zealand Vacation Planner, the New Zealand Where to Stay Guide, Getting Around New Zealand Travel Guide, Sightseeing Summary, and the New Zealand Natural Heritage Guide. 2. For information not available at the Tourism Board, write directly to the Department of Conservation, Tongariro Conservance, Private Bag, Turangi, NZ, telephone (011) 64-7-386-8607 requesting activity and accommodations information. 3. Guide books: For general overview: Fodor (good), Frommer (better), Moon Publications’ “New Zealand Handbook” (best). Also excellent with emphasis on budget are “New Zealand, a Travel Survival Kit” and “Tramping in New Zealand” by Jim DuFresne, both published by The Lonely Planet Press. 4. Prices for accomodations and meals are about one-third less than for comparable items in the United States.