Kiwis and Fairy Bread

18 December 2023

One cannot simply just walk into Mordor. Boremir is right. Just hiking (let alone filming) in this setting for Mordor and Mount Doom takes careful planning. And flexibility.

Tongariro is a fragile landscape on a living volcano. It has erupted every decade or so for the last century, as recently as 2007. This 19.4 kilometer (12 mile) track is one of the most tramped (hiked) in all of New Zealand. So much so that in good weather it can have 1500 visitors in a single day. It is not an easy walk. There are elevation changes, paths of loose lava rocks, and a rapidly changing weather pattern that can turn from clear and warm to wet, cold, windy and rainy in a heartbeat. There are few restrooms and no fresh water. And there is a strict time limit in the parking lot. Most people hire a shuttle service. Here was our plan:

Fill our backpack with plenty of water, lunch, granola bars, and chocolate (as well as the usual first aid kit, etc). Dress in layers. Catch our hired shuttle where our campground entrance met the main road 7:15am. Walk half the trail up to Red Crater (likely 2 solid hours, maybe more) and turn around. Take the shuttle back to the miserable campsite. Rise early next morning to drive a good 5 hours to Wellington to catch the ferry that afternoon to the South Island.

But that plan changed within hours of our planned start time.

We got an email from the shuttle service saying that the weather was going to be terrible and possibly dangerous, did we want to cancel at no charge? Sure, we said. New plan: ditch the campsite. Drive Miranda the van over to the Tongariro car park and shorten our hike so that we’d be within the four hour time limit. Drive half way to Wellington and find a Holiday Park for the night.

And what a day we had.

There were very few cars in the parking lot and we soon found out that on days like this we could stay there as long we liked.

Perfect. We began our journey.

What struck me most about the mountain was how alive it felt. Fog moved in and out revealing or hiding the landscape. Boulders, plants, water falls, valleys, even mountains would appear and disappear. Lichens and mosses of pale green grew amongst boulders and rocks of orange, gray, deep red and deepest black. One could hear water running but not see it. Then suddenly there would be no sound at all. No people talking, no birds singing, no traffic from land or sky, not even insects buzzing. Absolute quiet. Absolute stillness. And yet, the contorted formations of lava rising over the trail looked real. Like at any moment, out of the corner of my eye they would move, change shape, breathe, live.

It was very, very cool.

As were the people we traveled with along the way. Gala and her family, whom we’d met just the day before. A pair of honeymooning Italian newlyweds. A local family who would be camping that day further along the trail and who told us this really was the best day to come. Two young women on work visas who recognized us from our Hobbiton tour. Ian and Emma, world travelers from Manchester were the dearest of friends for just one hour. And Andy, to whom we will be forever grateful.

The trail is very well maintained, much of it raised boardwalk or built-in stairs. Anti-skid mats are in place, and trail markers, and sign posts. But most often the trail is just plain, rough, slippery lava rock. Every few kilometers there are warnings asking you what the weather is, how do you feel, do you have enough water, do you need to rest, remind you that this is an active volcano. It brought to mind the sign in Wizard of Oz, in the forest of the flying monkeys “I’d turn back if I were you”. But we didn’t. Not too soon anyway.

Emma and Ian led us to Soda Springs, hidden in the fog: a fresh, sparkling waterfall in the gloom. We parted ways at the beginning of the assent to Red Crater. Reports from hikers traveling down the mountain were all the same: bitter cold, strong wind and no visibility: none of the famed spectacular views of the valley and of the summit of the volcano. So Mike and I stopped, enjoyed the stillness, the nature, the weather, all that this place was. Is. And although we always want to go on, to complete a trail, we’d gone far enough. We began our decent.

And the weather began to clear. And we saw landscapes that we hadn’t noticed before. Soda Springs was now visible from the trail. Cliffs rose high above and a glacial valley spread out in front. The contrasting colors of red, black, green and beige made swirls and shapes.

Am I gushing over this place too much? Not at all.

And then we were on the road again. To a little town on the Tasman Sea that Mike had found on a map. It was a 2 1/2 hour drive south west and would split our travel time to Wellington in half. So I called a Holiday Park, got us a space and off we went. And what a road it was!

Bright green mountains covered in sheep. I kept expecting Farmer Hogget to appear with Babe and Fly (yet another movie filmed here). But the mountains were steep! And road a roller coaster of curves, hair pin turns, rock slide repairs, ascents and descents. It was all one long “Smaaaaatch” as very little Emily and Ben used to say whenever we drove downhill.

I held on and knitted like I do during airplane turbulence. Mike, however, drove like a cool, calm super hero! He is amazing!

It was with relief that we found ourselves in a homey Holiday Park in Himatangi Beach, run by a volunteer fire fighter about to go next door to the fire station for a drill. Of course, I had to stop in and exchange a Bay Head Fire Company patch with the chief. Hope my dad likes the vintage NZ Fire Emergency patch I received in exchange.

And you would think this would have been enough adventure for the day, but we weren’t done yet! Because the sun was about to set over The Tasman Sea.

And this was the strangest beach I have ever seen. Powdery dark gray sand that stretched for several hundred meters before reaching the shallow water. Logs and stumps of driftwood littered the beach. And cars were driving on it! The waves were long and soft and tickled my toes. The setting sun larger than we have ever seen.

Mike and I stood there in awe. What a day.