Monday 26 December 2011

The Tongariro Alpine Crossing

Of everything I've wanted to do in New Zealand, walking the Tongariro Alpine Crossing (TAC) has been at the top. Considered one of the best day walks in the country - if not the world - the hike is a steady climb between the peaks of one of New Zealand's most spectacular, unique environments: the volcanic slopes and craters of Mount Tongariro, and it's young, infantile and more volatile vent, Ngaurahoe (pronounced nara-ho-ee).

Mount Tongariro's head lost in the 
clouds on the left, while Ngaurahoe 
stands proud to the right.
The recent weeks have been blighted with heavy rain and overcast skies, atypical of the summers this country is used to, so when my day off correlated with Amy's, and the promise of clear and fine conditions, we had little hesitation in deciding what we were going to do with ourselves.

Everyone I'd spoken to about the TAC recommended starting as early as possible, so we booked our campsite and shuttle, and made the three hour drive down to Tongariro National Park the evening before, past rolling fairytale hills and the vast blue waters of Lake Taupo. We spent the night at the Discovery Lodge, a site with an uninterrupted view of the massif, and further south to the grand peaks and ski fields of Mount Ruapehu. 

Ngaurahoe's ethereal silhouette looming from the mist as the sun rises.
Discovery Lodge offered the earliest shuttle service available at 5:45am, though we decided the 6:15am start sounded a little less painful. The staff at the lodge made sure everyone was heading up with the necessary kit, gave helpful advice on pacing ourselves, before dropping us off at the beginning of the track for 6:30am in the morning mist. Within a few kilometres, the landscape began to change from the familiar heath and bracken moorland of the lower slopes, to strange, flat expanses of dark rock - old lava flows that had oozed during Mount Ngaurahoe's creation. Approaching the Mangateopopo Hut at the base of the hardest ascent - the appropriately named Devil's Staircase, the sun began to illuminate and clear the mist around us, and the imposing grand silhouette of Ngaurahoe began to emerge from the haze.

Mount Taranaki's summit on the horizon, 
a hundred miles away.
Before long, the sun had burned through the mist, giving us a completely clear conditions to start the ascent to the crossing itself. The climb up the Devil's Staircase itself was surprisingly easy, with steps built into the face of the scree, and we made it to the Mangateopopo Saddle before 9am. The Saddle sits between the rugged ridges and craters of Mount Tongariro and the perfectly conical textbook volcano of Ngaurahoe. A small sign advised walkers that the most recent major eruption of Ngaurahoe was just forty years ago, and what to do in the hopeless case of an eruption - run, basically, in the opposite direction to flying rocks. Far off in the distance, the snow-capped peak of Taranaki (Mount Egmont) poked out from above the clouds almost a hundred miles away, crystal clear against the blue of the sky.

The magnificent landscape from the summit of Tongariro: Ngaurahoe in 
the foreground, with Ruapehu  behind.
As we'd made such good time, we decided to make the traverse across to the craggy summit of Mount Tongariro. The temptation to ascend Ngaurahoe was definitely there, but the scree climb to the summit is infamously loose and dangerous during summer, so it is something I decided I would leave for next time and a winter ascent! The poled route over to the summit of Mount Tongariro was quite easy going and we managed to make it well short of the advised time, despite a biting wind picking up along the ridge of South Crater. The additional climb proved well worth the effort though, as Ruapehu became visible in the south, providing an unforgettable, majestic vista across the North Island's volcanic heart.

As we made our way back to the TAC track, the encouragement for an early start became justified: the pathway along the South Crater looked like a column of ants marching across the moonscape. Moving fast to beat the throngs of tourists, we clambered back down to the edge of the Red Crater, an ominous, somehow fearsome feature of deep red rock and dust, with  fumeroles steaming from its surface. The landscape looked martian as we made our way around its edge, and down the scree to the equally surreal Emerald Lakes.

Amy making her way around 
the Emerald Lakes












If the Red Crater is the dark, formidable side of this volcano, then the Emerald lakes are at the other end of the spectrum. The three pools of mineral-rich water glow with incandescent colours creating a beautiful other-worldly effect. The rock around them steams with geothermal activity, a reminder that this volcano is very much alive, breathing sulphurous breath from lungs deep within the rock.

By 11:30, we had begun the descent; a long, winding path of countless steps through fragile alpine scrub with beautiful views across to lake Rotoaira and the mighty Lake Taupo. The sacred Maori site of Ketetahi hot springs blasted clouds of steam to our left as we worked our way down to the valley floor, and after a few long hours of trudging through scrub and bush, we made it back to the car park and our shuttle bus tired and happy, completing the Tongariro Alpine Crossing in a respectable 7 and a quarter hours!

The day was truly incredible, and Tongariro is a very special place. Be warned though, we saw it in the best conditions possible but they can soon turn. We saw far too many people up there in trainers, shorts and t-shirt, and some without food or water. At almost 2000m high, the crossing is definitely alpine and should not be taken lightly, as weather conditions can change at a moment's notice. Make sure you're prepared for anything!

We ended the day with a well-earned meal beside Lake Taupo: an amazing rack of lamb complemented by the stunning view of our day's conquests on the far shore.

Perfect.

Rotorua Continued

Haere Mai!

Well, apologies everyone for this shamefully belated post. Over the past few weeks, the volcanic minefield of Rotorua has remained our base. Both Amy and I have managed to find part-time work in the city, while at the same time committing ourselves to a few chores around a campsite in exchange for free accommodation. The situation is ideal, giving us a comfortable base, an income and the opportunity to truly live and experience this part of the country. The fact we're actually living here rather than travelling through is probably while I've neglected this blog a little. When you live somewhere, no matter how fascinating they are, the novelty of it all doesn't jump out in quite the same way. Not to say that this place isn't incredible, but it is surprisingly easy to fall into a trap whereby you take things for granted when you're surrounded by amazing places and experiences each day.

So, allow me to recollect some of the things we've done here! Well, once we'd been rafting (see my previous  blog entry), my thoughts immediately turned to the gnarled tracks of Redwoods mountain bike park. Probably the best mountain biking in the North Island can be had here, with hundreds of kilometres of trails woven between towering Sequoia trees planted at the beginning of the 20th century. Winding round the enormous girth of some vast trunks was just as impressive as the quality oft he tracks that coil into the forest. While some proved tricky, the majority of trails are pretty easy going, so make it good for people looking to push themselves, and taken at speed are great even for pros. Amy was comfortable enough riding many of the green and red trails, while I explored some of the more difficult routes - 'Rock Drop', 'Mad if You Don't' and 'Old Chevy' proving to be my favourites so far - but there are so many lines to take, it's unlikely I will manage to explore them all while I'm here. Needless to say, it has become a regular haunt of mine!

To avenge my insistence on taking her to Redwoods, Amy demanded that we try something she loves to do - horse riding. Rotorua is home to loads of trekking centres, and we eventually chose The Farmhouse, one of New Zealand's largest stables, situated just North of the city. My history with horses is limited, and came to a somewhat abrupt halt following a traumatic incident with a Shetland Pony when I was seven. I had ridden a horse once, for an hour, in the past fifteen years. So, when Amy told the guide that we were experienced and that she wanted to canter during the ride, I just smiled and laughed nervously. But when we got going, I quickly became more and more comfortable and confident. I was given a big cumbersome black mare, who seemed to eat anything at any opportunity she could, munching even as we plodded out on the trek. We were led through lush forest and expansive meadows and fields, bushland and tracks. The weather was pristine, and on the horizon we could see the formidable profile of Mt. Tarawera, a 3000ft dormant volcano rising from the lakes and rolling green hills. When our guide eventually asked if we would like to canter, I couldn't wait to give it a try. Our guide squeezed her heels into her horse's sides, and as her horse broke into a canter, Amy's and mine instinctively followed suit. I can honestly say that it was brilliant. My horse became surprisingly graceful, her long stride at speed was far more comfortable than at trot, and soon enough, I was willing my horse to go faster whenever I could. Amy knows I've caught the bug now, so I'm sure we'll be on horseback again before long.



Saturday 10 December 2011

The Kaituna


Of everything there is to do in and about Rotorua, the first thing we were desperate to experience was white water rafting on the Kaituna river. Amy had navigated the Zambezi during her time spent in Africa, so I was eager to give this a try myself. After a few days in the area we had it booked, and before we knew it, we were helmeted and paddled-up beside the water.

The group leader began by offering our respect for the river in Maori, a traditional prayer that would hopefully allow us safe passage as we journeyed the short but tumultuous stretch of river ahead. We launched the boats into a deceptively still area of water. Our raft leader was a guy called Jezza, a big bearded chap with a no-nonsense sense of humour, and a somewhat maniacal streak (a trait perhaps necessary for the job) and Amy and I were accompanied by another young couple and two chaps that barely seemed able to work our which end of a paddle to put in the water. After covering the basics, we found ourselves navigating the first series of rapids – proving surprisingly easy, but we soon came to our first major waterfall. The raft’s size meant we still managed the descent reassuringly easily, and we were able to relax as the river meandered slowly through peaceful stretches of rainforest. But the stillness was short-lived.

The blurred lip of Tutea Falls looms ahead.
The current quickly gathered pace, and after a few paddle strokes, Jezza directed the raft towards the right hand bank of the river and grabbed hold of a rope tied into the rockface. The edge of the Tutea Falls rumbled 30ft ahead of us, a foaming horizon where the black water narrowed and plunged 7 metres. “That thing on?” Jezza asked me, looking at my GoPro strapped around my helmet. “Hell yes”, I replied, trying to maintain an air of bravado. Jezza blew a whistle and waited for a reply from one of the leaders below the falls to ensure the plunge pool was clear. A few moments later, his whistle was echoed. The roar of the water was immense, but the faint sound was definite and rang like a firing-squad command. Jezza commanded us to paddle forward, and after a couple strokes yelled “GET DOWN!”. We braced ourselves, took as big a gulp of air as we could and held on tightly to the raft’s rope and handles.
I have no idea if I'm still in the raft at this point!
The next few moments are, unsurprisingly, hard to recount. We were suspended in free-fall, yet at the same time completely immersed in the tumbling water. There isn’t a moment when you realise that you’ve reached the pool below. Instead the weight of the furious water blurs the line between the surface and the depths below. In any case, at some point I was thrown out of the boat - my grip torn from the raft as it became submerged in the surf. As instructed, I tucked myself into a ball and felt myself being thrown around by the current, not knowing which way was up or down or when I might resurface. I hadn’t taken enough air in before the drop, what little wind within me was knocked out, and I hadn’t much idea what was going on.

After what felt like aeons, I felt fresh air on my face. The current had dragged me underneath the raft and belched me out at the far end of the plunge pool, to the whoops and hoots from the other rafters. Two others had been ejected as well, but had managed to climb aboard by the time I had found my senses. Amy had managed to hold on throughout, having to suffer Jezza’s insistence on surfing the churning water at the foot of the falls while I spluttered at the pool’s edge. After we’d all caught our breath, we clapped our paddles together in celebration – we’d just rafted the world’s tallest commercially raftable waterfall. 

I had my GoPro running through the whole thing, check the video out here!

Soaked and stoked.
The next few falls were child’s play by comparison, but the adrenaline rush of Tutea waterfall made the rest of the journey downriver awesome. We surfed more rapids, with Jezza ensuring the girls on the raft were made to experience the full might of the river by making them kneel at the front of the raft and dunking them beneath. Aside from a slightly pulled muscle in my left arm, we came away from the water with only immovable smiles on our faces.  What an experience!

We rafted with Kaitiaki Raft It!, and managed to get a 2 for 1 deal with Mad Travel.

Thursday 1 December 2011

Rotorua (to start with)


Hmm, where to begin? We've been in Rotorua for over two weeks now, and it has been a struggle to find time to write this!


As soon as we had our van back, we set out on the road to the Bay of Plenty instantly. The relief of having our van back and running without issue was immense, and we made full use of being able to pull up and sleep wherever we liked that night, stopping in a layby just above Rotorua. The next morning we head straight into the centre of the small city.

The high streets are more or less what you'd expect of any tourist town, with its share of souvenir shops innumerable, but its real treasures lay just beyond. Mountain biking, goethermal valleys, volcanos, white water rafting, white water sledging, kayaking, spas, mineral hot pools, Maori villages, skydiving, zorbing, luging, hiking... there is, quite simply, too much to do here. We quickly decided we wanted to stick around and experience this part of the country properly.

It was quickly apparent that the geothermal activity here is not exaggerated! The area sits atop a collection of calderas that form most of central North Island, with Lake Rotorua being the enormous crater of one. The earth's crust here is painfully thin, leading to countless geological marvels, each unique unto themselves.  Parts of the city are littered with steaming vents, bubbling pools or just vast holes in the ground belching out thick clouds of white steam. The effect isn't too dissimilar to a traction engine convention, only more eggy.

On the recommendation of the information centre, we headed to the Cosy Cottage Holiday Park for our first night in the city. After a warm welcome, the receptionist quickly drew our attention to the possibility of work here in exchange for accommodation. I’d expected there to be a bit of a job hunt, asking at campsites and hostels around town, but here was the first place we’d come to, and it was almost there for the taking! Sadly, the manager wasn’t in that day, and we were encouraged to come back a few days later and ask for him then. The chance to enjoy hot running water, showers and wash our clothes was a welcome relief, but what stood out about this campsite was the promise of thermal heated relaxation pools. All around the site, steam curled into the air; from drain grids, from the ditches on the edge. One corner of the campsite was fenced off because a pool of boiling mud 4 metres in diameter had settled in there with no intention of moving. Beside it was a Hangi (thermal steam oven), with pipes leading into the hot earth being the only power necessary to cook a perfect shoulder of lamb. Even the tent pitches were areas of grass warmed from beneath the ground – a luxury no doubt appreciated in the winter months, but sadly wasted on us in our van!