Photo Friday: Tongariro National Park, New Zealand

Yes, I know, Photo Friday is happening on Saturday this week. I've been very busy writing that new novel! This will probably be the last of the reports from New Zealand, freeing me to start in on the travels we've done in the US since returning!

As we made our way up the North Island to meet our flight home from Aukland, we were able to explore one of the most striking New Zealand landscapes: Tongariro National Park. Picking just enough photos for a blog post was very, very hard.

New Zealand's oldest National Park, Tongariro is also a World Heritage site preserving Maori culture. We would look into some of that later. For our time in the park, we merely tried to be sensitive about hiking around a mountain sacred to the Maori people (Ngauruhoe). The Tongariro Northern Circuit, most of which we hiked, starts out between Ruapehu and Ngauruhoe, and circles the latter. Part of the hike, along the northern side of Ngauruhoe, is also part of the insanely popular Tongariro Crossing, which has justifiably (but regrettably) been touted as one of the best dayhikes in the world. As a result, even in the late-season when we were there (April), the crowds on the Crossing are dismaying.

Our departure was delayed for a day by high winds, which closed the high saddle over Red Crater, intended to be part of our first day's hike. We were able to cobble together a trip going the other direction, starting a day later, however.

We started under clear skies, though the wind was chilly. A mile or two brought us to the impressive Taranaki Falls, where the creek drops off the edge of a lava flow.

Taranaki Falls, a nice dayhike from Whakapapa Village

Not far from the falls, we caught up with the front, and the sun and wind changed to... snow and wind.

Ruapehu came and went behind us as the snow-flurries moved in and out.

About ten miles brought us to Waihohonu Hut, where we could watch the sun set on both Ngaurahoe and Ruapehu. The views, combined with the amenities of the very new hut, made this one of the two best we stayed in during our whole time in NZ.

Sunset and fresh snow on Ngauruhoe

Sunset colors snow both old and new on Ruapehu

Not surprisingly, the night was cold (the hut, however, was fairly warm, thanks to an efficient wood stove). In the morning, everything was frosted (including the steps up to the outhouses--watch out!).

Waihohonu Hut, with solar panels, view windows, and a lot of frost.

The ground that had been wet from the storm the previous afternoon froze. In places, long, delicate crystals formed under the surface, pushing the outer layer of dirt aside.

2" long ice crystals in the dirt

Morning light on Ngauruhoe reflected in the windows of the hut.

The next day's hike was quite a bit shorter, but the views started as soon as we'd climbed out of the trees, and they basically didn't stop. We topped out the ridge above the hut and enjoyed the sweeping view of Ruapehu (which at the time we thought might be our last).

After dropping through a beautiful forest (where we were protected from the wind on that frosty morning, and the birds were singing--something we didn't hear much of on this tramp), we climbed another ridge, and began crossing the vast moonscape that surrounds Ngauruhoe on at least two sides.

Note the line of blue poles telling us where to go.

The hike was shorter in miles, but the scenery and the ups and downs through the volcanic landscape meant it still took us all morning. We reached the Oturere hut in time for lunch, and to be almost the first to arrive, as most people were hiking the other direction (and thus had a much longer and harder hike).

Another hut in a stunning setting, though in contrast to the previous hut, this one was small, dark, and crowded, and you had to go outside to enjoy the views.

In an effort to beat the dayhikers who would be climbing over Red Crater on the Tongariro Crossing (as many of 5000 in peak season; we would count about 1000 that day), we started as soon as it was light. That also meant hiking though an other-worldly landscape under low morning sun.

First man on Mars?

As the sun rose, so did we, drawing ever closer to the steaming vents at the saddle by the Emerald Lakes.

A detour to the Blue Lake, a kilometer off our route, had us approaching the mountain and the Emerald Lakes across a lava field.

Looking over Red Crater to the volcano, which last erupted in 1977. We saw wisps of steam coming from vents near the summit (for the record, Seattle's Mt. Rainier also has steam coming from vents on the summit).

The Emerald Lakes lived up to their names, turned brilliant green by the minerals washed out of the steam vents. They are sacred, so are not to be swum in, but it would be foolish to do so in any case (due to the minerals), as well as probably destructive of their beauty.

The track up the cinder cone (Red Crater) looks benign, but is actually very steep, and the cinders are loose and deep. It's a workout!

We finally summitted Red Crater not long after the first wave of (most fit and/or most early-rising) dayhikers arrived. It would have been nice to be there ahead of them, but we couldn't quite do it.

Into the crater. If you see anything other than an old steam vent, for shame!

Looking NE, we could see past the Blue Lake to the much larger (and lower) Lake Taupo, sometimes called the Tahoe of NZ. You can just make out water and islands beyond the hill.

Heading down the other side, we had ample opportunity to note how many of the people struggling up were probably in over their heads. The signs in the outhouses do their best to filter out those people and prevent the need for rescues (an effort that keeps the number of rescues to... two per week).

As we were going down, opposite the direction of the dayhikers, it was comforting to know that the easy part was starting.

By the time we were getting near the Mangatepopo hut (and a half hour beyond it, the car park where we hoped to pick up a ride), the shuttles had long since dropped off their last passengers, and we had the track more or less to ourselves again. That gave us the chance to contemplate the minerals turning the water on this side of the mountain red-orange, rather than green.

The end of a long hike.

We had to wait a little while, but found some hikers willing to give us a lift back to our car. Another six miles of walking would have taken us there under our own power, but somehow our feet said no.


I'll leave you with a very hopeful sign! There are too few places in NZ (and thus anywhere in the world) where you might need a warning sign about kiwis crossing the road. We didn't see or hear any where we hiked, but it's good to know they are out there, in the more kiwi-friendly parts of the park!

©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2019
As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated!

Photo Friday Comes on Monday: Taranaki

The latest installment in my reports of our adventures over the last year. This is part of the 4 months we spent in New Zealand (January through most of April) this year. We spent most of the time on the South Island, and I've covered most of our outings there. This is a trip my husband and I did on North Island, after our son went back to the US to finish his final term of college.

Mt. Taranaki is the primary feature of Egmont National Park (est. 1900). Named Taranaki by the Maori, and Egmont by Captain Cook, the mountain is a perfect cone, at least from a little distance, reminiscent of Mt. Fuji.

We arrived on a drizzly morning, driving out of decently fair conditions down below into the cloud that shrouded the mountain from a few hundred feet below the Visitor's Center. We had toyed with the idea of climbing the mountain, but the dubious weather combined with the 5000' climb (and descent) put us off it. Instead, we chose to hike the Pouakai Circuit, a loop along the base of the peak and through a sub-range on the north side.

Our trailhead was a bit below the VC, and we began by hiking steeply up, so we did start the trip in the rain.

Some old-growth trees are left in the area, including this one, home to many epiphytes.

After an hour or two of scrambling up a rough and muddy trail, the weather began to clear.

Still no views of the mountain, but a rainbow raised our hopes.

That change in the weather came as we topped out the primitive track (a re-route as the primary route to Holly Hut was closed due to a major slide). Within minutes we were seeing the mountain as the clouds vanished. Part of what we saw was a coating of fresh snow, making us doubly glad we weren't planning a summit attempt.

The peak is a perfect cone, but the lower slopes are as deeply eroded as most of the terrain in New Zealand.

Despite our post-lunch start, we reached our night's lodging, Holly Hut, in good time. In an indication of how late we were getting in the hiking season (as if the snow weren't a good enough clue), we shared the hut with only 2 other parties: a lone woman and a father with 2 teenaged sons. Since the hut had 3 bunk rooms, we all had private quarters, though we shared the comfort of the main room with the wood stove going full-blast to dry our boots.

A clever kindling-splitter, pretty much idiot-proof.

Holly Hut

We had a very short hike the next day, but we were up early to catch first light on the mountain.

Sunrise hits the fresh snow. Less than the day before, but still a dusting to remind us winter was on its way.

We took advantage of the short hike to our next hut, and started the day with an hour's round trip to Bells Falls, because you can never see too many waterfalls.

Every waterfall is different, and worth a look.

Eventually, we put on our packs and started the walk to the next hut. First we crossed the Ahukawakawa Swamp. Though some clouds flirted around us, we continued to have great views back towards the mountain. A boardwalk through the swamp protected the landscape from hikers, as well as giving us dry feet for a change.

The split in the hill on the far right is where the stream flows out of the swamp--and over Bells Falls.

Once across the swamp, we had to climb up the Pouakai ridge. Again, the track was well-engineered, as much to protect the resource as to make our lives easier. We learned that a few years earlier, a group of volunteers had constructed several kilometers of boardwalks and stairs along the ridge, transforming the track from a muddy trench that in places was shoulder-deep, into a pleasant hike.

After an hour or so of climbing, we topped out on the ridge near the hut. With lots of time, we did some extra exploring along the next day's route, to catch our scenery while we could, weather around the mountain being decidedly unstable.

Twenty minutes from the hut brought us to a small tarn, famed for photos with beautiful reflections. Since the wind was howling pretty enthusiastically while we were there, we settled for shots of the mountain with ruffled water.

The snow by now is nearly gone from the north--sun--side of the mountain.

A final trip to a viewpoint after dinner gave us our last looks at the mountain as the sun set.

Meanwhile, back at the Pouakai Hut, we watched the last light vanish over the Tasman Sea while our dinner cooked.

Oceanic cloud-banks reflected in the bunk-room window.

Next morning, sure enough, the window of great weather had closed. Our route followed the ridge for some distance, doubtless a path of breath-taking views under other circumstances. For us, it was a matter of enjoyed the cool conditions and the small things: the smell of the tussocks when wet, a drop of water on a blade of grass, and the beautiful, beautiful boardwalk that kept us out of the mud!

At a high point on the ridge, a viewing platform offered hints as to what we weren't seeing.

After the trail took us over the summit of Henry Mountain (no doubt for the views, but the route seemed gratuitously up and down in the drizzle), it dropped precipitously back into the forest and continued down.

One of the many places we appreciated the effort that had gone into building the track.

By now we were mostly wanting to get to the car, get dry, and go buy a meal somewhere in town. But there was still time to appreciate the beauty of the bush.

New Zealand has about a million kinds of fern (I'm exaggerating, but not by much). I love the patterns on all of them.

Finally arrived at the final swing bridge, one we'd crossed two days before as we headed out. Another hike nearly in the bag, and I could smell those fries!

I think this was a one-at-a-time bridge, with a maximum load of one, or maybe two people.

Taranaki didn't have quite the level of endless spectacular views many of our tramps had, but despite wet gear and muddy boots we were glad to have done the hike. Although several parties were at the hut on Pouakai ridge, none appeared to be going our way, and we hiked each day without seeing more than one or two other hikers, a rare and much-appreciated circumstance in a New Zealand we felt at times has been utterly overrun by tourists.

©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2019

As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated!

Photo Friday: The Milford Track

After driving the long way around from Christchurch to Te Anau (documented here and here), We launched into the 3-night, 4 day, 33 1/2 mile Milford Track tramp. Possibly the most famous track in New Zealand, this requires a lot of planning and advance booking--a year or more in advance. In fact, we had intended to do it first thing back in January, but a tiny delay in booking the huts meant we got late February instead. As it happened, that was a good thing: the January attempt by others in our party was rained out, while we enjoyed fine weather, at least where it mattered. The participants were my husband, Eldest Son, Friend B, and myself.

 The trip begins with an hour's boat ride up Lake Ta Anau; the start of the Milford Track isn't accessible by road (neither is the end, come to think of it). There are two or three boats per day; we were on the last boat, which was well-filled with those who would become our fellow trampers. A note on that: many of the Great Walks in New Zealand have parallel hut systems, for those doing Guided Walks (catered, allowing them to hike with just daypacks), and independent walkers (like us), who carry all their food and gear. The piles of packs on the boat were neatly segregated.

The first day's hike is only about 3 miles, so our late start wasn't at all a problem. The track on that day is an easy walk up the Clinton river to Clinton Hut.

Friend B and Eldest Son on the first of several swing bridges, a staple of NZ tracks.

 Most of the day's walk was in the forest, but a short side-trip took us into a marshy area, where we could not only see more of the peaks around us, but also some interesting plants, including the carnivorous sundew.

Not big enough to eat a hiker. The little pouches that close around small insects are about the size of my pinkie finger.

The independent-walker huts on the Milford Track sleep about 40 people. Since everyone must have a hut reservation to hike the track, they are full, but not overflowing. The biggest issue is that in a bunkroom with 20 people, there *will* be at least one snorer. Some of us employed ear plugs, while my husband ended up finding that the best sleep was to be had in the common room or even on the deck.

Getting ready to start on the second morning. Mixed clouds and drizzle greeted us when we eventually got started.

The early sun and blue skies combined with tantalizing glimpses of the valley and peaks ahead.

After the damp start, it looked very promising.

By noon, however, it was back to clouds and drizzle. But even that was scenic, as the mountainsides began to flow with countless waterfalls and cascades.

The second hut, Mintaro, was well draped in drying gear and boots, but with a fire inside we were toasty. And when the rain stopped (before sunset), we found we were being visited by a family of wekas, chicken-sized flightless birds with a tendency to explore and snatch anything left unattended.

Baby wekas, adorable balls of fluff.

Morning found us with more sun than cloud, and we made an early start in hopes of getting over Mackinnon Pass (the high point of the track in more ways than one) before the weather shifted again in the afternoon.

Morning clouds burned off for the most part.

The well-engineered track sometimes left me wondering if it was too engineered. The trees tapped to support this swing bridge probably would agree. I was happy not to have to ford the river, though.

As we move toward the coast, the annual rainfall increases. It was wet enough at the start, but Milford Sound is one of the wettest places in the world. The forest shows the effects of all that rain (measured in meters).

We topped the pass early, with the sun still burning through the mists.

Approaching the saddle

My husband and I climbed a ways up the peak on one side of the pass (he went much farther than I did because I'm not crazy). The view back down showed clearly why the track doesn't go right through at the low point, but in fact follows the ridge line into the background before dropping across the face of the distant peak.

The monument at the saddle is to the two men who pioneered the route, at least for the Europeans (pretty sure the Maori already knew about it).

We are going down there. My knees cuss me out at the very thought.

Near the high point there is a shelter, the 6th in that location (the others have literally blown off the mountain, as the saddle funnels very high winds through).

Looking back at the head of the Clinton river valley we came up.

There are regularly spaced "long-drops" along the track (the huts had flush toilets), including at the Mackibbon shelter. This one sported a window in the door so occupants can appreciate what was advertised as the best view from any long-drop in NZ. Might even be true.

With so many hikers coming through, I found myself standing in the queue for the loo with a view.

 Dropping into the valley of the Arthur River, the track had to be even more engineered in places.

The boardwalks and stairs took the track down alongside the Roaring Burn.

Because the day wasn't already long enough (11 or more miles, with the large climb and descent), nearly all the trampers take a 2-mile side trip to see Sutherland Falls, at 580 meters the highest in New Zealand, and by some standards the 5th highest in the world. It was worth the detour, though we barely reached the hut in time for dinner (which we had to cook ourselves, of course).

Too bad the photo can't capture the roar of the water striking the pool at the base.

The 4th and final day, hiking from Dumpling Hut to the landing at Sandfly Point was 11 miles, but once again we were hiking mainly on the flat valley floor. Because of our schedule (needing to catch a water taxi by 1 p.m. to catch a bus at 2), we made a very early start, and hiked briskly. That allowed us to do much of the distance in the pleasant early morning hours.

My husband saw an eel in the river here, but I missed it.

Because we hadn't already seen enough waterfalls... you can never have too many.

Mackay Falls

An occasional climb on the way downriver was more refreshing than tiring. This bit of trail was blasted out of the hillside above the river.

As a result of our early start and diligent hiking, we reached the landing with an hour to spare for the noon boat. With time to eat lunch and clean up, we were ready for our taxi when it arrived. By that time about 4 other hikers had arrived, at least one a women with a recent knee replacement who had worried she wouldn't reach the landing in time for the last boat at 4 p.m.

The Milford Track is one of the world's most famous walks, and justifiably so. The scenery was glorious and the track well designed. But for us, in many ways, it was the people on the track that made it most special (not something I usually say about a hike!). From the pleasure of taking Friend B on his first backpacking expedition to our awe at a family 8 and 12 year old kids who were doing the track as part of a year-long trip around the world, to a Chinese-American family from New Jersey learning the hard way how to backpack, we found no lack of interest in the people we saw each evening in the huts. I'm often skeptical of trips that require booking a year in advance, but this one was worth it.

©Rebecca M. Douglass, 2019
As always, please ask permission to use any photos or text. Link-backs appreciated!