Tuesday 24 February 2026 – The activity scheduled for us on our itinerary today was an opportunity to go and see a gannet colony at a headland south of Napier intriguingly called Cape Kidnappers; the expedition was called a “Gannet Safari”, which seemed to be over-egging it somewhat. The idea, it seemed, is that we would be picked up, bussed out to see some gannets and then bussed back again; I wasn’t quite sure where the safari bit fitted in, somehow. Anyway, it was an opportunity to get the Big Lens out, for the first time this trip. I was glad to do so, having lugged the damn’ thing around for over two weeks already.
There had been some confusion about where we should be and when in order to be picked up – was it really necessary to get to the pick-up point in downtown Napier 45 minutes before the appointed time? The answer turned out to be no, and in any case the redoubtable Esther had contacted the Gannet Safari organisation and told them to pull their finger out got them to agree to pick us up at our accommodation. Accordingly, a pick-up bus turned up outside our front door and we hopped on. I had expected it to go via the downtown pick-up point, but actually it just turned round and headed directly out of town. The driver, a very affable chap called Pete, took us to the HQ of Gannet Central
where the safari message was clearly reinforced, and we eventually joined a group who got on a bus
driven by Pete, which was the transport to where the gannets were. As we went, Pete explained how the day would work, and also pointed out a few sights as we went past them. It would apparently be a three-hour excursion, and I was wondering how on earth one could make gannets, lovely things as they undoubtedly are, interesting for three whole hours.
After a short drive on normal roads, the safari element of the excursion was borne in on us; Pete turned off on to a very rough track, signposted “Cape Kidnappers”, which led on to private land, a whole estate with a farm, a golf course and luxury lodges. This is surrounded by a predator-proof fence and is also a nature reserve with a number of indigenous species thriving – including kiwis.
We passed some feral goats
and some great scenery
before Pete stopped at a cliff edge to brief us further.
He told us a story about a rockfall which had happened on the cliffs behind him
and explained that we would have about 45 minutes to view the gannets once we reached the colony. As we carried on, he gave us some information about the gannets, their reproduction cycle and migration. We would be seeing Australasian Gannets, adults and juveniles alike. The adults were able to fly, however the juveniles at this stage could not, but could be seen flapping their wings as part of getting in shape for when they were able to fly. At which point they would migrate some considerable distance – maybe as far as Australia. In order to do this, each juvenile, having been born weighing about 60g, would have to be fed a huge amount of fish by its parents in order for it to develop to a weight of about 3kg; it would end up weighing more than its parents because it needed the extra bulk to sustain it on its long migration while learning to feed effectively.
The track to get out to the colony was very rough and up-and-down and it became clear that the bus was quite a robust piece of kit, having four-wheel drive and a low ratio gear box to be able to cope with conditions. There was, incidentally, a second Gannet Safari bus tagging along as part of this trip – probably a couple of dozen guests in total.
This stopping point was an opportunity to appreciate more great scenery
the peace and quiet of which was disturbed by some very considerable mooing of cattle in the distance. I wanted to capture this on video
but couldn’t do so because there was too much chatting going on between the people in the group. I suffer for my art, you know.
The track led us down to where the cattle were
and we carried on to where we would be able to watch the gannets. Cape Kidnappers was named by Captain Cook, after an incident in which local Māoris had kidnapped a Tahitian boy crew member, thinking that they were liberating a Māori prisoner taken by Cook’s crew. The lad escaped OK and made it back to Endeavour, and the headland was thus christened.
Overall, it was quite a journey to get to the birds, which explained why three hours were set aside for 45 minutes of gannet watching. I wasn’t sure what to expect: would we be on shore watching them diving? Would they be visible only in the distance?
As it turned out, no.
We could get very close to them and they completely ignored us (indeed, we had to duck as they flew by on occasions). There were lots and lots and lots of them;
probably around 5,000 – and that was just this colony; there were three others in the vicinity, too,
but ours was the accessible one.
There were adults
and juveniles.
The adults bond, by and large, for life, and normally produce one egg per year in spring, giving the chick time to develop enough in order to take on the migration as autumn comes. Some adults, though, had laid a second egg. We saw one which was incubating an egg
though it didn’t oblige us by giving us a decent chance to take a photo of it. We also saw a recently-hatched chick,
This one, sadly, would not have time to fledge before it was time for their parents to leave, and so would almost certainly die. With that, and the uncertainties of the challenging migration, Pete said that only about 25 or 30% of chicks reached maturity.
One human-caused survival challenge for the birds had been substantially dealt with – predators such as cats, stoats and weasels. There were many traps set about the place and, in this private landscape, the problem had largely been solved.
We saw some examples of courting behaviour and feeding of juveniles, and these are included in this short video that I was able to produced from our visit.
After this absorbing morning, Pete drove us back to our accommodation and we were able to relax for an hour or two. Then we popped along the prom to take a look at the outside of the National Aquarium, which was just a short walk away. Pete had been somewhat dismissive of the exhibits inside, and anyway Jane was really only interested in the mural which adorns it and, indeed, surrounds practically the whole building. Here are a couple of photos of part of it, to give you an idea.
When we returned to our accommodation, we went and sat in the back yard in the hope that we could meet other guests there and, OK officer I’ll come quietly, have a drink or two. Two new arrivals were already there and over the next hour or so all the other guests came out and we had a pleasant chat with them – six Americans and two Swiss – with Esther and Tom making sure that we had snacks and refreshment.
For our dinner, we’d booked a restaurant recommended by Esther, the Central Fire Station. This was located, intuitively enough, in the old central fire station building which we’d seen on our walking tour yesterday; and a very good recommendation it turned out to be. It was conveniently about a 15-minute walk away, so we were able to walk dinner off as we headed back to 415. On the way, Jane spotted some street art
(again, nice decoration for public toilets), and, in investigating that, we saw other examples around, mainly, we thought, left over from the “Sea Walls” festivals which ran in Napier in 2016 and 2017. So, of course, we had to take some photos of these other murals.
And so has ended our time in Napier. We have to leave tomorrow, and head towards Wellington. In a way, we’re rather sad; we’ve thoroughly enjoyed our time at 415 Marine Parade, which is a very comfortable, well-run and amiable place to stay. But leave we must. En route tomorrow, we call in to visit someone I haven’t seen for over 20 years. I wonder how that will go?
Monday 23 February 2026 – Astonishingly, our legs were up to the task of getting us out of bed and heaving us about as we packed and set up our departure on the next segment of our trip – destination Napier, the Art Deco city. But we didn’t head off directly, as we had two things to do beforehand. The first was coffee and, handily, Waimarino’s railway station
has a cafe, which serves damn’ fine coffee.
Fortified, or at least caffeinated, we headed off in the general direction, not of Napier, but of Horopito, some fifteen minutes’ drive away, because we had one of those assignations that come about through serendipity. Bur first we had another couple of rail landmarks to explore, starting with the Makatote Viaduct, built between 1905 and 1908, and, at the time, the tallest viaduct in New Zealand – the last construction on the North Island trunk railway.
Just up the road from the viaduct is The Last Spike Memorial, which marks the location where the “last spike” was driven in 1908 for the completion of that North Island Trunk line.
Then, on to Horopito for our serendipity-led encounter. Here’s how it came about:
Forty years ago, I lived in Sweden, and, at the exceedingly popular Stockholm pub, the Tudor Arms, met Karin, with whom I have been in contact ever since.
Three years ago, Karin walked the Camino de Santiago from France to Spain. Not too long afterwards, Jane and I did the same, adding that significant activity to the bonds between us.
One year ago, Karin walked the Camino de Santiago again, and met Jess, who lives in Horopito. Jess became part of Karin’s Camino Family, sustained through the medium of WhatsApp (as well as drinking and eating in Spain).
Two weeks ago, Jess hiked the Tongariro Crossing, just as we had a couple of days ago.
So the various tendrils of internet connectivity and social media reached out between three disparate pockets of people and Jess and we had agreed to meet. The original plan was to get together the evening after we had completed our Crossing, but we were utterly knackered, and thus completely incapable of socialising; and so we deferred until yesterday, which worked well, since Horopito is pretty much on the route between Waimarino and Napier.
We had a really lovely time meeting Jess and her husband Ian at their wonderful place, which is sufficiently far off the beaten track that the road to it is not quite sealed all the way. They showed us around some of their 15 acres, and particularly introduced us to their alpacas, which had been brought in as lawn managers (and had just been shorn).
After that delightful encounter, we headed off to Napier. We passed a signpost to Horopito’s motor museum
but we’re not sure that it’s actually in operation as a museum, as such.
Heading east to Napier, there is a choice between two routes – the main road, which means heading back through Taurangi, or the direct route across the hills in between, a road which Ian had insisted we drive for the scenery and which our Tongariro guide Simon said he thought was “probably sealed” (i.e. tarmac as opposed to a dirt road). Since Tomtom agreed with this assessment, we headed along it. And we were very glad we did. The scenery was fantastic for the whole trip, which should have taken some three hours but ended up being nearer four, as we kept stopping to gawp at (and, of course, photograph) the landscapes we passed.
As we started, the scenery was typical, lovely, North Island landscapes.
The middle section of the route led through more mountainous surroundings.
which were heavily planted with Monterey pine trees, with clear evidence of both logging and replanting.
and then we emerged back into the less hilly and more pastoral plains of the east coast
before reaching Napier, approaching along Marine Parade.
which is a very classy and well-run B&B. We were greeted by Tom, who showed us into our large and comfortable room and made sure we knew how things worked (including a very neat electronic access arrangement).
One thing we hadn’t appreciated until we arrived there was that the day we arrived, Sunday 22 February, was the last day of the 2026 Napier Art Deco Festival, a major event appreciating the history of the city and its recovery in the aftermath of the huge earthquake which hit it in February 1933. There had been thousands of people from all over the globe visiting the city as part of this celebration (more of which later) and we were a bit worried that we’d not be able to get in to any local restaurant. We were therefore pleased to be able to find a table at the restaurant next door, the Marine Bistro. There, we had a very tasty meal, and a lovely encounter with five ladies who had been celebrating as part of the Festival and who had dressed up to match the vibe of the entire thing,
After eating, we thought it would be a good idea to understand where we would need to meet for our planned activities in Napier, so we went for a walk. Obviously.
Downtown Napier is about a kilometre from 415 Marine Parade, and the walk gave us a chance to get our bearings, to see some of the art deco architecture for which the town in famed (much more of that later),
and a few other highlights, particularly vehicles which had clearly been part of the Festival activities,
and some of the attractive older (non-deco) buildings,
some of which were thoughtfully decorated.
That was yesterday; today we headed once again to downtown Napier to join a walking tour that was intended to give us a greater insight into the art deco history of the place. The meeting place was the headquarters of the Art Deco Trust, which hosts the walking tours which we were about to join, and also stages vintage car tours
with suitably-dressed drivers.
We started in a small theatre in the Trust’s building on Memorial Square
where our guide, Bev, gave us a short introductory speech before showing us a video about the 1933 earthquake which has caused the birth of the city as it is known today. Before the film, she showed a map comparing pre- and post-earthquake Napier, and the difference between the two is utter.
Here’s that map in more detail.
The town of Napier is mid-right in both maps; but in the pre-earthquake map you can see that there was was once a large lagoon north-west of the town. During the earthquake, the ground rose by as much as two metres, and the lagoon emptied out into the sea – a pretty cataclysmic event, which I simply hadn’t appreciated, and with a consequent loss of over 250 lives – New Zealand’s deadliest natural disaster. The video showed some of the scenes of the time.
You can see the boats now on dry land because of the rise in ground level, as well as the devastation caused by the earthquake – no electricity, no roads, no rails reached the town, and the water supply was cut, which meant that the fire brigade had no water supply to try to put out the inevitable fire which followed the shocks (they tried pumping sea water, but shingle jammed the pumps). The final picture shows “Tin Town”, an array of 54 shops eventually set up under a tin roof in Clive Square to service the needs of citizens – actually New Zealand’s first shopping mall!
Bev went into some detail after the film about the heroic response of military and civil organisations to support the town in its hour of need. Particularly important was support from a naval ship. The death toll might have been much higher had the Royal Navy ship HMS Veronica not been in port at the time. Within minutes of the shock the Veronica had sent radio messages asking for help. The sailors joined survivors to fight the fires, rescue trapped people and help give them medical treatment. The Veronica’s radio was used to transmit news of the disaster to the outside world and to seek assistance.
The New Zealand government quickly realised that the Napier borough council would be overwhelmed with organising any rebuild and appointed two commissioners for this task, John Barton and Lachlan Bain Campbell. Between them, they shepherded through an astonishing building programme, which evaluated the different ways that buildings should be constructed in future to be earthquake-proof: brick buildings had collapsed and wooden ones had burnt, and reinforced concrete was selected as the material to be used as the basis for construction. Part of this lesson came from the Public Trust Office building,
a reinforced concrete edifice which was the only major building still standing after the earthquake.
The result is the town as it is today, or rather city – it was made a city in 1951. Rather than rebuild the Victorian-era structures that had been there, the modern styles of the day were adopted. Bev showed us examples of the four different architectural templates that were used in the rebuild:
Spanish mission; Prairie style; Deco Moderne; and Stripped Classical. These are these days grouped together under the “Art Deco” style label that applies to key Napier buildings. So then Bev led us on a tour of some of these buildings.
Central Fire Station
Municipal Theatre
Daily Telegraph offices. The Telegraph managed to print a daily bulletin after the earthquake
Demonstrating chamfered corners (greater traffic visibility) and cable-supported verandas (more fireproof than wood pillars)
Actually a modern replacement of a deco building which was torn down despite citizen protest
Example of a “double eyebrowed” building, with two ledges behind which windows are recessed.
Bev showed us many of the other architectural flourishes involved in the reconstruction effort, such as some of the original mosaic street names in the sidewalks,
other mosaic entrances to shops,
a couple of building interiors
and a couple of statues.
Sheila, on the left, is a statue of the daughter of a key architect in the rebuild, Ernest Williams, who was the Carnival Queen in the very first Napier Carnival in 1933, staged to celebrate the success and speed of the rebuild as well as a tribute to those who lost their lives. She is waving to someone, and the someone is a boy who has climbed a lamppost on the opposite side of the street. These are recent statues, from 2010 and 2014 respectively.
Bev gave us, as is always the case with these tours, more information than I can remember or that I can cram into a post such as this, but I hope it gives you a flavour of the town and why it is what it is.
We saw a few other quirks, such as Theatre Lane, which has some street art. This is a little bit of it
but it carries on the whole length
and at the far end is a representation of film stars of the 30s and 40s.
It’s a bit difficult to distinguish them, but here, for example, is Harold Lloyd and his famous clock
Here ‘s the full list, in case you want to look for the details.
Among the last of the things that Bev showed us was a traffic light pedestrian crossing that showed, instead of the usual Red Man – Green Man, a version with Sheila walking her dog.
There was a lot more to see, including many period vehicles, mostly left over from the Festival
and, of course, the Town Train
We also looked in to the Municipal Theatre.
Tour over, we treated ourselves to coffee at an excellent coffee shop in Tennyson Street called Georgia
before taking in the Veronica Sun Bay, a tribute to HMS Veronica’s key role in aiding and assisting in the aftermath of the earthquake;
the name plate is the actual one that adorned the ship. Then we headed back to our accommodation, past a group of pre-earthquake buildings called the Six Sisters
for a bit of a rest, and a chat and drink with hosts Esther and Tom and the other guests. The day ended with another walk back to downtown Napier for a meal at K Kitchen, in the Masonic Hotel building (which you can see in the background of this memorial statue from the Boer War).
We have one more day in Napier which should be an opportunity for me to get out the Big Lens for the first time this trip. So do please come back to find out how it worked out.
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.
