Hotfooting It Down Under

We were above the clouds, gazing across open space at the steep black slopes of an enormous volcano. Behind it, the snowcapped summit of an even larger volcano emerged majestically from the clouds. It was like a scene from a dream.

Far below, tiny figures made their way across a wide, flat crater, crossing the same dusty expanse that we had traversed just an hour before. In that hour my hiking partner and I had done quite a bit of climbing. But now, as we sat at the very top of Mt. Tongariro, we were rewarded with one of the most spectacular views New Zealand had to offer. If I never hiked again, the memory of this vista could see me happily through the rest of my days.

Most outdoors-oriented visitors to New Zealand spend their time on the country’s sparsely populated South Island, lured by its pristine rivers and unspoiled mountain trails, and by the city of Queenstown’s reputation for continually reinventing sports for adrenaline addicts. North Island is usually dismissed by such adventurers as civilized, settled, just a place to change planes. Too bad, because, as I discovered on a visit last year, it not only has a full complement of sports; it also offers the rare challenge of trekking through a volcano field.

The volcanic terrain of Tongariro National Park provides a close-up look at a very alien environment, complete with twisted lava formations, steam vents and crater lakes. One way to see all of this is to take the 12-mile Tongariro Crossing, often called the best day hike in New Zealand because of the magnificent scenery and varied terrain. It’s moderately difficult but not dangerous; a number of elderly hikers were on the trail.

The park owes its existence to a forward-thinking Maori chief who ceded the land to the people of New Zealand in 1887 as a way to protect it from farmers and loggers. Now comprising 196,687 acres--about the size of Shenandoah National Park in Virginia--the park is situated around a trio of active volcanoes: Ruapehu, elevation 9,175 feet; Ngauruhoe, 7,515 feet; and Tongariro, 6,516 feet. Ruapehu, the highest point on North Island, has erupted more than 60 times since 1945, spectacularly in 1995 and ’96. This, however, has not diminished its popularity. Situated about halfway between the cities of Auckland and Wellington, Tongariro Park counts about 1 million visitors a year, with summer hikers outnumbering winter skiers.

Almost everything I’ve ever read about New Zealand has referred to its unspoiled natural beauty. A business trip to Australia gave me the opportunity to stop over in the Kiwis’ land and see for myself. A little Internet research introduced me to Tongariro’s park, and in April 1998--the end of the southern hemisphere summer--I was headed there on a train from Auckland.

I had set up a reservation via e-mail at Howards Lodge, one of the many ski lodges in the village of National Park. The room was spartan--a bed and dresser, bath down the hall, bring your own towels--but I’d be there for only two nights, and the price was right, about $30 total.

Howards is geared to the active outdoors enthusiast. It has no restaurant, no pub, only a communal kitchen where guests can prepare light meals or stow food for hikes, and a big lounge with TV, billiards, books and board games.

Fine with me; I had planned on filling the afternoon of my arrival with outdoor activity of some sort, but rain had followed me on the train from Auckland and showed no sign of letting up. I became really concerned when some people in the lounge said they had been waiting days for the rain to end so they could hike the Tongariro Crossing. The forecast, they added, was not good.

Despite this upsetting news, I was determined to hike the trail--rain or shine. A few minutes later, however, I got more bad news: Hikers who come here without cars have to depend on the local shuttle operators for access to park trails, and on rainy days shuttle service is halted.

I was crushed.

The next day brought no change in the weather. Frustrated, I found a ride to the park’s visitor center and directions to a trail suitable for a short hike in the rain.

As I slogged along, a group of New Zealanders invited me to join them. They, too, were killing time before making the Tongariro Crossing.

We were on the Tama Lakes Trail, which wound through rain forest, past a waterfall, uphill on volcanic rock and along a marshy stretch, but we never did see the Tama Lakes in the thickening fog.

Later we relaxed over a few games of pool and some New Zealand beer in the aptly named Grand Chateau, a 1920s hotel extravagance near the visitor center. Outside, the rain continued to fall. It was still falling when I got a ride back to Howards Lodge; still falling when I joined a fellow guest, a North Carolinian named Steve, for dinner. Even as I drifted off to sleep around midnight, the rain continued to come down.

Still, I clung to hope, and in the morning I was rewarded with a clear blue sky. I quickly dressed and ran outside into the cool autumn air. From the end of the driveway I looked up the street and immediately found what I had been looking for. Rising above the tree line was the black-sloped Mt. Ruapehu, the first volcano I had ever set eyes on. With streaks of snow lining its rim, it was a magnificent sight.

Ruapehu looked even more magnificent a short while later. From the shuttle taking us from Howards to the trail head, we had a broader view of the mountain rising majestically straight up from the earth.

The bus unloaded us--me, Steve and half a dozen others, all of us in our 20s and 30s--at the end of a gravel road where we would start the Tongariro Crossing. Ahead, a 5-foot-wide path of crushed stone cut across an open, treeless plain of brown grass and low shrubs stretching for miles into the distance.

Steve and I set off, as did others from our bus and the other buses that had preceded us. Like a herd, we all hiked quietly together for the first few minutes until our differing strides spaced us out. Fortunately Steve and I were in sync.

The morning sun shone right in our faces, but after two days without it I didn’t mind a bit. Ahead of us rose another volcanic cone, Mt. Ngauruhoe, its steep black sides tinged rust red near the summit.

Our trail hit a stream and meandered alongside its glimmering waters for a while. We scrambled over old lava flows, their porous surfaces splotched with clumps of orange lichen. Then the easy walking ended and we started to climb. Slowly we began pulling ourselves upward over the rough volcanic rock. I was soon gasping for breath.

Where the trail crossed bare rock, it was marked by wooden poles. As I dragged myself upward, each pole became a goal, and after every few I would stop and look back down into the valley from which we had come. Far, far away I could see a line of people approaching the incline.

Our goal, the peak of Mt. Tongariro, was still more than an hour ahead.

After a rest, we started across an open, flat expanse called South Crater, which was as dusty and rocky as I imagined the surface of the moon would be. Ahead rose another hill, and after ascending it we could see clear into the valley beyond, a dry, barren zone of rocks and eroding hillsides that I later learned was an old lava flow.

We turned left at this point to tackle the climb up Mt. Tongariro. Again, poles marked the trail across a ridge of rock. The lava of long ago had created strange formations on these slopes. Some looked like the twisted fingers of demons sticking up into the air. Through this surreal landscape we climbed, our feet crushing patches of thick frost. The higher we climbed, the chillier it got as the wind sliced through our sweatshirts and thin gloves. Eventually we reached the summit and sat down to rest on the sun-warmed rocks.

The views were stunning. High above the clouds, we looked down into the crater we had crossed, watching tiny figures moving through it like ants. Despite the distance, the faint sound of their voices drifted to us on the breeze.

Mt. Ngauruhoe, now ringed by clouds, stood behind the crater, while the even larger Mt. Ruapehu dominated the sky behind it. To our backs, a vast green valley stretched into the distance. For half an hour we enjoyed the 360-degree view, feeling like we were on top of the world.

We eventually headed down and reconnected with the Tongariro Trail. Descending from Red Crater down a hill of loose ash and sand, we got our first glimpse of the brilliant Emerald Lakes, which looked turquoise that day. Clouds of steam vented from the earth all around them, the telltale stench of sulfur revealing its volcanic source.

When we reached the lakes, we stopped for lunch. The hissing of a nearby steam vent piqued my curiosity, and I approached it. I put my hand next to the ground alongside it. Ouch! I got burned. And as an added treat, I now stank of sulfur.

I continued across an open valley of brown rock, Steve having moved on alone. At the far end I climbed a small hill and came to the shore of Blue Lake, which I had seen in the distance hours ago. Its color was just as vibrant close up. A man and woman sat at its edge, their shoes and socks off. I debated joining them, but decided to catch up with Steve instead.

That was when I heard the first explosion. From the direction of the volcanoes came a loud, distant boom, which echoed off the surrounding hills. I spun in amazement. An eruption? In my mind I saw lava streaming through the valley as I tried desperately to outrun it.

Another boom sounded, shaking the air around me. Should I be scared? I kept walking.

Boom! I looked back again. Still no smoke rising from any of the volcanoes.

Later I learned that the explosions had emanated from a nearby military base. There would be no eruptions for me to brag about on this trip. I felt slightly let down.

I soon caught up with Steve, and together we crossed into the next valley. Here we were blessed with more fantastic views. In the distance Lake Rotoaira came into sight, with the much larger Lake Taupo visible beyond.

Our trail hugged the side of a hill, at the bottom of which flowed a swift stream. Switching back and forth dozens of times, the trail meandered gradually downward, giving us ample time to enjoy the gorgeous autumn day and breathe in the clear, fresh air.

Farther along, we passed through fields of tall grass, and at times walked in deep gullies just wide enough for one person to pass through. Later we crossed a stream fed by hot springs; the water was warm and gray.

Soon small shrubs appeared beside the trail, then flowers. Wooden steps replaced steep, gravelly hills. Then, quite suddenly, we were in the woods, with trees, ferns and birds all around us.

Finally, after about half an hour, the trail broke from the trees and we found ourselves in a parking lot. We had reached the end of the Tongariro Crossing.

After 12 miles of tramping and climbing, the bumpy ride on the bus was a welcome respite. And as I peered out my window one last time at the now-familiar shape of Mt. Ruapehu, I breathed a sigh of thanks to the weather gods.

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GUIDEBOOK

Volcano Viewing

Getting there: Nonstop flights from LAX to Auckland are available on Air New Zealand, Qantas and United. Round-trip fares start at $1,148.

Tongariro Park’s gateway, National Park Village, is four to five hours’ drive from Auckland, six hours by train. Tranz Rail information: fax 011-64-4- 498-3090.

Where to stay: I was comfortable in Howards Lodge, where rooms run from $10 for a dorm bed to $75 per night for a double. Telephone/fax 011- 64-7-892-2827; e-mail howards .nat.park@xtra.co.nz.

The historic Grand Chateau charges $100-$285 per room; tel. 011-64-7-892-3809, Internet https://www.chateau.co.nz.

For more information: New Zealand Tourism Board, 501 Santa Monica Blvd., Suite 300, Santa Monica, CA 90401; tel. (800) 388-5494, Internet https:// www.nztb.govt.nz.