Sunday 15 March 2026 – You can do all sorts of things from Wānaka – boat tours on the lake, rafting, helicopter flights, waterfall cable climbs, sky diving, paragliding. It seems such a nice town, yet everything seems to be geared towards getting you out of it. Anyway, another option is to find a trail and go walking. So, with a day on our hands, that’s what we decided to do. Obviously.
Caroline looked us over and said that we looked like the hiking types (appearances can be so deceptive), so why didn’t we try the Rob Roy Glacier trail? We took a look at it: 472m gain in 5km, according to AllTrails, is a little on the daunting side, but we decided we’d give it a go. It’s not local to Wānaka; it’s a 50km drive into the Mount Aspiring National Park, and some 30km of that is along a dirt road.
As we left Wānaka, the extent and scope of the A&P show was somewhat borne in on us, even though they were breaking down and clearing up.
Soon we could see the snow-capped mountains in the distance
and eventually hit the dirt road.
The scenery, as you’d expect from heading into the mountains, was dramatic
and so were the driving conditions, occasionally.
The sheep were loose, but there were also herds of deer behind fences, presumably being farmed. We got to the car park to find, to our total lack of surprise, that on a sunny Sunday, lots of other people had had the same idea as us.
We managed to find a space that didn’t seem too obstructive (later, we found that people had strewn cars all along the road, so we needn’t have worried about being tidy after all). A quick visit to the loo there and off we went,
past a rather handsome sculpture of a raptor of some description.
(It’s got a rather Simpsons-narrow-eyed expression, don’t you think?). The path starts off not completely level but at least “Inca flat” – ending at the same altitude it started – beside the Matukituki river
before one crosses the suspension bridge and the path starts to climb.
It’s largely through forest, which means that the bloody trees get in the way of the view
but occasionally they clear to give one a decent view.
Most of the trail is fine, if a little rocky, but there are some interesting moments as you climb.
and then you get to some steps – 126 of them in total.
These are relatively recent additions, to bypass damage that had rendered the trail impassable, so I suppose I’ll let them off. Shortly after the steps, you reach the Lower Lookout, where there are benches and an opportunity to rest and get some idea of what awaits those who carry on to the Upper Lookout.
From the signs and the AllTrails track profile, I was expecting this last kilometre to be rather tougher than what we’d already climbed, but basically it wasn’t. There were a couple of spots where the track became what Ian Burley would describe as “technical” and which I would call “bloody tricky and a bit nerve-racking”.
but we negotiated them without injury and carried on, past a couple of decent views
to
the end of the trail – unofficial caption: “Thank Christ for that!”. Apart from the sheer satisfaction of having grunted one’s way up there, it’s a great place to get to. For a start, you can sit down and have your lunch,
and read the various info boards about the history of the place, which completely fail to answer the one obvious question that must occur to everyone as they heave themselves up the trail: why the actual is it called the “Rob Roy Glacier Trail”? What has a Scottish outlaw from the 17th Century got to do with an ice field in New Zealand? The glacier is named after the mountain, Rob Roy Peak; the naming of the mountain is usually attributed to one Charlie Douglas, a late 19th-century explorer with strong Scottish connections. There seem to be many Scottish aspects to this region of New Zealand, and this is a classic example.
Anyway….the view is fantastic.
It’s of course very difficult to do justice to photographically; I also tried a bit of video from this lookout and a point slightly below it.
I hope you get the idea.
Having lunched, of course, we had to face the inevitability of getting back down again; down can be so much harder than up. Actually, it was OK, with a couple of decent views as we went,
but we were glad to see the suspension bridge and the car park again.
Unsurprisingly, there were far fewer vehicles there when we got back to our car.
According to my Garmin, the trail was 11km, and I expended 1300 calories in 16,000 steps. This makes it half a Tongariro, without the utter fucking brutality of That Descent, so we felt pretty good having completed today’s hike in just four and a half hours..
The journey back to our accommodation was as scenic as the journey out,
and we spent the rest of the evening resting.
This was our only full day in Wānaka – the morrow would see us moving on to parts new and even further south on our journey to the bottom of the South Island, via a couple of potentially interesting places – stay tuned to find out which.
Tuesday 10 March 2026 – Our short time in Hokitika was pretty damp, and these photos tell you all you need to know about the short drive as we continued down to our next stop, the little town of Franz Josef.
Franz Josef, apart from being the Christian names of Haydn, the famous composer of classical music and inventor of the string quartet, is the name of a famous glacier (so famous that even I had heard of it) and also of the Austrian Emperor Franz Josef I. That the glacier be named after the Emperor was the idea in 1865 of German geologist Julius (or possible Johann, depending on which AI overview you believe) von Haast, who generously gave his own name to a town a little further down the coast. Haast also proposed a name for the neighbouring glacier, the Fox Glacier, so it’s definitely not named after Samantha Fox (Google her name unless you’re in the office). No, the Fox Glacier is named for Sir William Fox, a New Zealand Prime Minister (as opposed to the 14th century MP for York). Some of you might be familiar with Fox’s Glacier Mints and thus beginning to wonder if there’s a connection here, but no; the mints were originally named, by company founder Richard Fox, “Acme Clear Mint Fingers” which may have tripped off an Edwardian tongue but doesn’t really inspire; however his son’s wife suggested the family name plus “Glacier Mints”, thus creating the name we now know and love.
I’m glad I sorted that out for you.
Our accommodation in Franz Josef was the Legacy Te Waonui, which is a little piece of rainforest just on the edge of town.
View from our balcony
I was a bit surprised to find rainforest where I’d expected something a bit more, well, alpine, somehow. We looked around for some mountains
but couldn’t actually see any. What we could see is that the town is tiny, consisting basically of two streets, one of which is composed entirely of accommodation and the other, the main street, is bars, restaurants, a shop and at least half a dozen organisations offering helicopter rides of some sort or another (hence The Road To Heli). We had come for the chopper, as opposed to the chopper coming for us, as the nursery rhyme might have it.
We discovered the above as we’d had some time on our hands, so we’d gone for a walk. Obviously. At the southern edge of the town is the charming little church of Our Lady of the Alps
just outside which we caught, in the distance, a brief sight of a bird that Jane wanted to see,
but this was the best that the photo technology to hand could do. More on this later. We got a slightly higher-quality view of another bird whose call fills the air in these parts,
So the mainstream of this exposition – helicopter rides. We had two booked, the first one being a scenic ride, the second a heli-hike. Having seen the weather and its concomitant lack of visibility, we weren’t very sure that these would go ahead, but the morning of our first ride dawned a little clearer (i.e. one could see that there really were mountains hereabouts),
and so we were reasonably sanguine about the chances. We checked in at Glacier Helicopters, which is where our itinerary told us to, and they kindly pointed us at their other office, the Helicopter Line, further down the street, where it was confirmed that (a) they were ready for us and (b) there would be a flight. After checking in and watching the prerequisite safety briefing, we walked out to the helipad across the street to find our copter
and Richard, its pilot. There were six people crammed in for our flight and Jane and I were lucky enough to get a front seat, which definitely gave us the best view of proceedings. As we took off, I was still wondering about how good the actual visibility would be
but Richard clearly knew the way and our glacier gradually became visible.
We flew up the glacier
and touched down near a stick which someone had helpfully stuck in the ice to indicate a landing spot.
We were able to get out and walk around for a few minutes, only ducking slightly when another chopper whizzed by
and got a good eyeful of the plateau at the top of the glacier.
We clambered back in to the helicopter and Richard gave us a tour of the neighbourhood
including the Fox Glacier
as well as other, smaller glaciers that flow into or from the same bowl
before we headed back down to Franz Josef
amid increasing cloud. We learned that ours was the last flight to get away that morning, so, as ever, we’d been lucky with the weather. Not perfectly so: the flight was billed as a “Mount Cook Spectacular” and Mount Cook was hidden by cloud; but all in all it was a great experience.
This left us with a free afternoon, and our peregrinations of the evening before had led us past possibly the only non-helicopter or non-hiking attraction of Franz Josef, the West Coast Wildlife Centre.
One can see kiwi there (they have a hatching support programme similar to the National Kiwi Hatchery we’d seen in Rotorua) and also Tuatara and Little Blue Penguins. A staff member illuminated the kiwi with a red torch so we could see it (as usual and expected, no photography allowed); and we timed our visit such that we could see the feeding of the penguins. There is a pool there where they do the feeding, and the penguins were whizzing about in anticipation of getting a meal.
This one was whizzing around in circles, coming up for a breath of air every so often
This angle makes one appreciate the streamlined nature of the penguin
There are about seven penguins there, all rescue animals for some reason or other, typically boat strikes or dog attacks; some of them are missing a flipper
but they were all delighted to be fed. A lass called Sophie came out and explained about the rescue programme, and did some feeding by tossing fish in for the penguins to nab themselves, and also stopping to hand feed some of the more badly injured ones to make sure that they got their meal.
Once the feeding stopped, most of the penguins got out of the water and congregated at one end to get their close-ups.
Very cute!
Our package at the Te Waonui included a free dinner, which we took in the posher of the two restaurants there, called the Canopy. I wonder why?
It was a five-course meal, and very fine it was, too. Afterwards we went for a walk to settle the meal down, and had a somewhat closer encounter with That Bird that Jane is anxious to see.
Our second day in Franz Josef started very early – another 0530 alarm – as we had to check in for our heli-hike at 0730 and we wanted to make sure we got a breakfast down us first. We kitted ourselves out in the best approximation we could make of gear appropriate for hiking on a glacier (layers of clothing, gloves, hats, decent walking shoes) and made our way to Franz Josef Glacier Guides,
where it soon became apparent that this glacier hiking thing was a bit more serious than that. We checked in and filled in the usual medical disclaimer which said that if we died it was our fault, and joined our group, among which we were the oldest by an estimated two generations! We had to do a miniature assault course – a couple of huge steps up and down without using handrails, to make sure we could cope with that kind of activity Up There, and then our guide, a lovely Norwegian lass called Guri,
got us weighed and kitted out in proper hiking-appropriate boots, jackets and trousers, carrying our crampons in red bags,
and prepared us for what might go wrong – ice fall, rock fall, delay in being picked up, possibly an unscheduled overnight stay on the mountain if the weather really kicked up rough. She then led us to their helipad – a half-kilometre walk, actually – where, unfortunately, she got the news that the weather outlook was for the cloud to come in, so our trip was cancelled.
We both received this news with mixed emotions: disappointment that we wouldn’t be able to do the trip; relief that the concomitant opportunity to make a complete arse of oneself on a mountainside has disappeared; stoicism that of course they had to be safe and couldn’t afford to take the chance. But since today was our last day here, rescheduling was not an option. Ah, well; we’d been pretty lucky everywhere else, and at least we’d had the scenic ride. We felt very sorry for some of the young things in our group, though, who had been eagerly anticipating their first-ever helicopter ride.
Having taken coffee, we walked past a display in the town which showed a photo from 1905 of Edwardian folk doing the glacier hiking thing.
At first I wondered how the hell they got up to the glacier, but then realised that in those days it probably reached right down the mountain so one could more easily scramble up to it (and the surroundings in the photo bear that out). There was also a photo of something we’d missed out on, which is an ice cave visit
and I think those folks are rather better kitted out than the ladies and gents in the photo above it.
Further walking around the town gave us the chance to get a better photo of a Tui
and also of another local phenomenon.
The New Zealand Marmite, we’d seen before, and, having heard the Men At Work song, we knew about Vegemite; we think Promite is a New Zealand version of Vegemite, but we weren’t prepared to buy some to find out. Well, not at first, anyway.
This left us with time on our hands, and, in recognition of the early start we decided to console ourselves by getting some rest, in order to recover before going for a walk. Obviously. The walk that Jane had picked out started after a short drive out of town to the Franz Josef car park. From there the original plan had been to do the Sentinel Rock trail with half an eye on the possibility of being able to take a picture of That Bird, the one we’d failed to get a decent photo of the evening before. So, I attached the Big Lens to the Big Camera and we set off for the car park. We discovered that, as well as Sentinel Rock, one could walk up to a viewpoint for the Franz Josef Glacier, so we decided to do both. The local birds, having seen me attach the Big Lens, all either fell utterly silent or buggered off en masse. I heard one bell bird the entire time we were walking, and I think it’s tone was somewhat mocking.
The walk to Sentinel Rock is short and quite steep
but the view at the end is worth the climb.
There’s an info board there which gives an idea of how much the glacier has receded (19km from the shore that it originally reached) and also shows that the Edwardian ladies and gents could quite easily have walked up to it in 1905.
We doubled back and then headed to the Glacier viewpoint. It’s reasonably clear where it is when you get there.
The view is majestic, but not quite as exciting as the one you get from a helicopter zooming up it.
On the way back to the car, Jane spotted this rather lovely example of a “fiddlehead” – the unfurling new frond of a fern.
Back in the town I decided that we should buy some Promite after all, so we popped into the shop to get some. Heading back to the car, we heard the distinctive call of That Bird, so Jane went to investigate and excitedly bade me hasten myself over with the Big Lens in hand. So I got the Lens out of the Kia and hurried over and was able to start taking photos of a Kea.
Anyone expecting a brightly coloured bird tends to be disappointed in New Zealand, where most birds are brown so as to camouflage themselves against the endemic predators, falcons or hawks. That’s why these Keas are the colour they are. However, if you get up close, you can see that there’s a subtle variation, and these Keas, identified as juveniles by the yellow eye-ring which becomes grey in adulthood, were clearly too young to know the rule of bird photography that says you bugger off when a Big Lens comes out. They obligingly came closer and indeed ended up doing something they’re known for, which is disassembling bits of car trim.
Jane was hoping to see the flash of colour on the underside of their wings, and so we spent a certain amount of time and a ridiculous number of shots trying to capture a photo of them in flight. But we got there in the end, thanks to luck, persistence and the excellence of Nikon autofocus.
So, that was it for Franz Josef – a couple of good days, a touch of bad luck with the weather, but an excellent glacier helicopter ride and some successful photography.
The morrow sees us moving further south again (possibly via another glacier view walk) to a lake, so there will probably be more decent shots to view, should you want to come back and take a look.
Sunday 22 February 2026 – Warning! Long Post Alert!
We left the Reef Resort in good order with nothing but a leisurely journey in front of us. Jane had mined Google Maps for some Things To See on the way and it was nice to be able to take our time at the various viewpoints (they’re called Lookouts over here).
The first one was at Hatepe Esplanade Reserve, which sounds grand but was really a tiny cul-de-sac off State Highway 1, down by the side of Lake Taupō. It offered a better view of Motutaiko Island, the Sacred Island that we’d glimpsed on yesterday’s cruise.
The reason it’s a sacred place to the Māori is that Rangituamatotoru, major chief of the Ngāti Tūwharetoa tribe during the 18th century, is buried here. A cave on the island is supposed to be the home of the taniwha Horomatangi, a supernatural being from Māori mythology.
As we wended our way southwards through the hills in the area, we exchanged one big lake for two smaller ones; Lake Rotopounamu is the smaller of the pair, but we never really got a sight of it. However next to it is Rotoaira, for which there was a lookout.
It’s the caldera of a volcano, as is the case with many of the lakes hereabouts, even Taupō. The primary event causing that huge lake was a massive super-eruption, the Ōruanui eruption, some 25,500 years ago. This was one of the two largest volcanic events on the the planet, spreading a blanket of ash and ignimbrite not only over New Zealand, but also over the Antarctic ice.
The State Highway had a few places to stop and gawp, many of which were formally signposted and provided with parking.
A valedictory lookout north to Lake Taupō over the Tongariro River
We also found lookouts that showed Mount Tongariro (more of which later)
and Ruapehu, the next one along, which is tall enough to have snow on it, even now (late summer/early autumn). Google Maps says that there is a skifield on it; the impression we got from skipper Jimmy is that skiing seasons are getting shorter and shorter on the North Island.
The Mahuia Rapids provided an attractive setting,
as did the Tawhai Falls.
The pool that the falls empty into is known as “Gollum’s Pool”, as it was used for the “Forbidden Pool” scene, in which Faramir and his archers are watching Gollum fish in “The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers”. It’s quite impressive.
Our accommodation was the Plateau Lodge, at Waimarino in the Tongariro National Park. We had one of their “King Pod” cabins, which are competently accoutred; not luxurious, but very well-organised.
They even have an external bath!
which we decided might well come in handy in due course. Stay with me for why.
The time was around 1pm by this stage, so we made the necessary phone call to confirm tomorrow’s activity and then went for a walk. Obviously. The main objective was to get to a local store to buy provisions for breakfast for the two mornings we’d be here; the secondary objective was to investigate eateries. Evelyn, the lovely lady who checked us in (having given us a bit of scare when at first she couldn’t find a booking for us), recommended the Schnapps Bar just down the road, so we headed that way, via a local store and a chat with the lady running an optimistically-named coffee stop
who dispensed coffee and some tips about our activity for the morrow.
The Schnapps Bar is just behind a rather dramatic sculpture of a kiwi
and, since it was open
we looked in and had a drink.
It looked like a decent place for a bite later, despite some of the less healthy items on the menu
and indeed we did call back a bit later. The food was very tasty and the portions gargantuan, but that set us up for a quiet evening to relax and prepare for the morrow.
For it was on the morrow (that’s yesterday, now, 21 Feb) that we had what was certainly the biggest adventure of the trip so far, and possibly of the whole thing, although we’re not going to know for another four weeks about that. The Adventure was a hike, but not just any old hike, in fact quite a chunky one. In the weeks leading up to our departure, Jane had persuaded herself that it was too ambitious for her and that she would seek something less arduous. For my part, I was gung-ho, sure that it would be something I could cope with.
Then, only about 24 hours before the scheduled start, our attitudes reversed; Jane decided that she would give it a go, whereas I was increasingly uncertain as to whether I would make a fool of myself. In the end, we decided that We Would Both Do It and to hell with uncertainty and cowardice.
The Camino is a multi-day or multi-week endeavour; the Tongariro crossing is done in a single day, but it’s quite a strenuous hike – 20km, 800m ascent, recommended time at least seven hours. We managed the Camino OK, but that was two and a half years ago, we were younger and had practiced in preparation. For today? Not so much. Also, my knees had been occasionally giving me gip and there is one section of the Tongariro Crossing called “The Devil’s Staircase” – a 300-metre ascent in just one km, with the bulk of the ascent being up actual steps; that was what was worrying me. Also, the weather had been looking a bit cloudy and windy, which would make the high section anything from unpleasant to downright perilous. In the end, the lovely Evelyn, who’d checked us in to Plateau Lodge, convinced us that the weather outlook was good and that we’d be OK, so reinforcing our decision to go for it.
We weren’t foolish enough to undertake such a potentially dangerous crossing by ourselves; we were booked on to a guided tour with Adrift Outdoors, who specialised in guiding mad, impetuous fools hikers on the route. So we checked in at their offices, which were just down the road from our accommodation.
Nice people were there to check us in, check our gear over and make sure that we signed our own death warrant a waiver form. These formalities had to be completed for us and the dozen others who would be part of our group: two other Brits, two Dutch, two Germans, two Americans, two Brazilians, an Iranian-born lady (called Paris – go figure) and an Indian chap. I would guess that we were the oldest and that the Indian chap, Ara, was the youngest. He was certainly the fittest, since he did lots of hiking around Zurich where he was currently living.
We all hopped in the bus to take us to the official start point of the crossing, about half an hour away. On the way over, we got a lovely clear view of Mount Ruapehu, Tongariro’s neighbour, the top of which had been obscured by cloud yesterday. Seeing this made us sanguine that perhaps the weather would indeed be clearer than yesterday.
The group had two guides: a lovely young lass called Cami, who briefed us by the entrance to the walk, in front of a pou whenua, a traditional Māori carved post representing Te Ririo, a guardian of those walking the crossing. She talked about the symbolic meaning of parts of the carving, which encourage respect on the part of people on the mountain.
Our other guide was Simon,
who looked every bit the part of a seasoned guide. Both of them were full of useful information about what we were seeing as we went along. Cami, particularly, was capable of talking non-stop while yomping up the steepest slope. Ah! What it is to be young and fit!
So, off we went.
Simon explained that it used to be 19.4km, but a volcanic eruption in 2012 destroyed a hut on the route and caused a diversion to be put in place, this making it a little longer. More of that later.
The first few kilometres of the hike are a gentle climb along a well-defined path.
After about 3km, one reaches the first toilet stop,
which inevitably has queues of people who should have gone back at the start when the loos were a bit more civilised. Beside the track, among the native grasses, is heather
introduced from Scotland, and now becoming, like so many introduced species, something of a pest, as it rather likes the conditions. Some of the initial track is boardwalk
and leads past Mount Ngauruhoe,
which has an illustrious film career, having starred as Mount Fiji in one of the Mission Impossible films, and as Mount Doom in the Lord of the Rings series.
The easy part of the walk ends at a place called Soda Springs,
named for the water that wells out of the mountain at this point. This is about 5km in, and there are several toilets available, so it’s a convenient place for a breather.
There’s an interesting parallel with the Camino de Santiago here. On the Camino, it’s common to encounter the same people at many stages along the way; some people even develop a “Camino Family” of familiar faces as they go. The chap sitting front right in this photo was nothing to do with our group, but we encountered each other several times during the rest of the day. There were other hikers for whom this was also the case. A notice in the loo confirms that the easy part of the day is behind you.
Moving on, the next section is the start of the dreaded “Devil’s Staircase”.
After a short stretch of it, to give you a feel of what is to come, there’s a kind of decision point,
where common sense or formal guides might suggest, gently or otherwise depending on individuals, that going back is more sensible than going forward. Cami and Simon decided that we were all up for going forward, though I heard Simon quietly saying to Cami that it might be worth trying to get the Brazilian couple at the front to keep them up to speed, as they seemed to be hanging at the back of the group.
As warned by the signs, it got tougher,
with the compensation of some splendid views back along the track.
Eventually, we got to what looked like we might be within reach of the top.
The view of Mount Doom changes a bit – one can easily make out deposits of iron ore towards the summit.
There are more toilets at the top of the Devil’s Staircase,
which bear some bad news.
You’ve made it to South Crater, but your hard work is not over yet! You can see the next section of the climb in the distance.
If you look carefully, you can see some ants crawling up. They’re actually people.
Before you take this on, you have to cross the floor of South Crater, which looks like (and quite possibly is) a desert.
At the far side of the desert is another stern warning.
The next section is even tougher than the Devil’s Staircase, over rocky ground, exposed and with quite substantial gusts of wind. Even on a beautiful, clear day such as we were blessed with, care was needed, and Cami was at pains to suggest that we should keep an eye on the footing, rather than looking round for photos. By and large I followed her guidance, but I did sneak a couple of shots back over the South Crater desert.
So, you breast this slope triumphantly and….
guess what – there’s more to come! The view from this point is pretty sensational
and it was clear that the effort of the climb thus far caused Jane to take leave of her senses. She had a selfie!
We pressed on to what, really, was going to be the highest point of the hike. And…
Wow! The Red Crater. After all the effort to get there, seeing this makes a real impact. The view of it actually improves as you move on.
and at the very highest point, there’s a cairn,
which I christened “Yes, We Cairn”.
The route from this point is downhill. Really, really, downhill, down a steep slope of loose scree.
It’s actually very difficult to convey in a photograph what this section is like. Jane had been dreading it, as she is uncomfortable on scree when it is loose stones over rock and very skiddy. But here the loose stones were quite deep and it actually it turned out not to be quite as difficult as she’d feared. It’s steep, and you have to take it carefully and be prepared to skid a bit; and it’s the part of the hike where most accidents happen, unsurprisingly, but we all made it down OK. I saw a couple of people fall, but not seriously. Again, we were really lucky with the weather; doing this section in rain, high wind or cloud would have been a significantly more challenging proposition.
As you go down you get a fabulous view of the next landmark,
the Emerald Lakes. This was to be our lunch stop, so we had about 30 minutes resting here and eating the packed lunch that Plateau Lodge had prepared for us. Much of this was also spent waiting for the Brazilian couple who were annoying our guides by insisting on hanging back and taking loads of photos. The German couple, unimpressed by the delay, forged on ahead without telling our guides; we eventually met up with them much later along the route, but more time was wasted looking for them before we left Emerald Lakes!
Jane took a photo of the scree slope we’d just come down, in an attempt to convey what it was like.
It gives you some idea, and I also tried from a bit further away. This is photo from quite some way away.
If you look carefully, you can see that there are people going down the slope (actually, some idiots are going up as well!).
Now look even closer…
To get to the point where I took this photo was quite a straightforward walk along the track from the Emerald Lakes.
There’s a climb at the far end – not particularly welcome, it has to be said, but not too brutally steep – which takes you to a view over the Blue Lake
where there are some toilets, with their ever-useful summary of progress.
Halfway, then. The next part is downhill so it must be the easy bit, surely?
Erm, nope.
The track starts off a gentle downhill, and offers great views over Lakes Rotoairo and, in the distance, Taupō
and one can also see Lake Otamangakau.
The views are the only consolation for what turns into a horrendous drudgery of a walk down. It starts off as a gentle downhill gravel track and one thinks, “ah, this is fine”. But then comes what turns into the hardest part of the day: the downhill steps that punctuate the path at frequent intervals. It’s often said that the downhill part of the Tongariro crossing is the hardest, and people nod knowingly, because, yes, going down can be tough on thighs and knees. No-one mentioned the bloody steps! If it’s the Devil’s Staircase on the way up past Mount Doom, then it Sauron’s Revenge on the way down. The thing is that the descent is 1100 metres vertical, whereas the ascent is 800, so you’re going down far longer than you came up.
There’s a breakpoint by some toilets, near which one can see evidence of volcanic activity.
These toilets are new, and replace the last ones, which were destroyed by a boulder ejected from the last eruption, which was in 2012. Much of the ground is not safe to go near, hence rerouting the path, which is longer, more meandering and has more fucking steps in it.
There’s only one thing worse, after several kilometres of going downhill over loads of steps, and that is
reaching a stretch where there are some uphill steps as well. I found this (relatively short, it must be said) uphill stretch really, really hard. And then the downhill carried on, as the landscape changed and became increasingly foresty.
But still with the goddamn steps, both down
and up.
Jane found this final stretch really hard, and was genuinely worried that her knees were going to buckle under her. But we kept grinding on, and eventually – hurrah! – emerged at the end of the track,
where we found others in our group sitting in a kind of stunned silence, overcome with the enormity of the downhill torture.
And that was it – some nine hours after we started, we climbed into the Adrift bus to take us back to their offices.
I’m glad that our King Pod at Plateau Lodge was on the ground floor. I don’t think I could have managed a staircase, if my life had depended on it.
When I was trying to find out, a year ago as we were planning this trip, how tough the Tongariro crossing was, I sought to compare it with Day 1 of the Camino, which is, I think, the toughest day’s walking I’d experienced. The figures would have you believe that the Camino is tougher: 1,400 metres ascent for the Camino vs 800 for Tongariro; 25 kilometres vs 20; 2,900 calories expended vs 2,600; 39,000 steps vs 31,000. And I remember having trouble with the stairs at Roncesvalles on the Camino; but I think the extra 300 metres of descent down those benighted steps is what marks the Tongariro crossing out as being probably the most difficult day’s walking Jane and I have done.
However, did it we did! And we got the satisfaction of that, and the fantastic views as we went. We were incredibly lucky with the weather, which was perfect all day, and the nectar of the Gods has nothing on the mug of Twining’s Finest Earl Grey when we got back to our accommodation.
We had the one more night at Plateau Lodge and the next stage of our trip is to get to Napier, a journey and destination that we were looking forward to. Stay with these pages to find out how it went.
