Since the start of the year I’ve been reading Tolkien. In January I read The Hobbit and The Fellowship Of The Ring. Then in February I read The Two Towers, and I’m currently right at the end of The Return Of The King. All books that were bought for me by my uncle last Christmas. So as Frodo and Sam succeed in their quest to destroy the ring, I am reminded of an experience I had back in December 2017.
I had never been to the other side of the world, and I was keen to do just that. The previous year I had spent 45 days travelling around the United States, where I discovered an increased liking for the outdoors. So this time I wanted to build on that. I was considering Australia, but something about going to New Zealand really struck a chord with me. So I booked, and was very excited about travelling such a long way. There are too many experiences from this trip to write into a single post, so I’ll be looking at just the one – the visit to Tongariro National Park.
Our Kiwi guide for our time in New Zealand, Goose (an alias that no one ever called her even though I think she wished that we did), took us in our 20 seat air conditioned bus to the welcome point for visits to the park, and left us in the safe hands of the local guides, who ushered us on to another bus to take us to the starting point of the 20 kilometre hike. Which begged the question, why didn’t Goose just take us there in the first place and take this unnecessary bus out of the equation? Maybe it was because the local guide was to give us an introduction to what we were about to undertake.
It was explained to us that one of the volcanoes on display along the route was the inspiration for Mount Doom from the movie trilogy version of Lord of the Rings, and that it’s actual name is Mount Ngauruhoe (Na-ra-hoe-ee). It has erupted 45 times within the 20th century, and most recently in 1977. I immediately decided that for the sake of fun that I would believe this was in fact the actual Mount Doom from the story. I imagine they chose this for the film because of its perfectly conical shape – the epitome of how a volcano should look within my imagination. Several members of the group said “James, I think you should climb it.” To this a wondered why they thought that it is I who should climb this and not them. I hadn’t really given much thought to ascending it, and was quite content with the prospect of the 20 kilometre hike in my new especially purchased walking boots. Boots that I believed at the time to be the king of walking boots. Fast-forward 14 months with me sat on my sofa with my feet on my coffee table typing this article, and I’m thinking about how much I despise those boots, which are out in the cold on my balcony, never to be used again.
Slightly later into the bus journey, our guide re-emerges over the tannoy and explains that the local Maori culture are keen to preserve Mount Ngauruhoe by reducing its erosion, and therefore it is not permitted for anyone to climb it. In other words, “Don’t Climb Mount Doom!” To which I thought that it’s a good thing I wasn’t planning to climb it anyway.
We got off the bus and gathered on the dusty ground outside. The local guide from the bus stood nearby, so out of curiosity I pointed and said to her “Is that Mount Doom?”, to which she replied “If you must climb it, then climb it!” I thought that that was not what I was asking. But this marks the moment that something clicked in my brain, and now I most definitely did want to climb it. Alex from Germany also expressed an interest, so we agreed we would attempt it together. So we set out along the path looking forward to our challenge, which would be a detour of about 3 hours. As a group we began the trek, and I remember several of the group struggling and complaining about some of the uphill sections. “Stop whining. This is fun,” I thought. But to be fair I had been doing much hill walking back in the UK in the build up to this trip, and was feeling full of beans and enthusiasm.
Maybe a few miles and several pictures later, we arrive at the fork in the road that takes us in the direction of the volcano. Alex and I broke away from the group. There were sign posts in the ground indicating what was in each direction. The sign post pointing up the volcano was still there, but had been pulled out of the ground and lay horizontal in the dirt. Further confirmation that maybe we shouldn’t be doing this. I had never climbed a volcano before. Well except for the one I drove up in Tenerife. But then I never went to the top. I think I had a score to settle. That, combined with not wanting to say no to a challenge, and a liking for the Tolkien trilogy, of which I’d only seen the films at this point. Doing this would be like becoming somehow extra immersed within the fantasy land.
Alex and I began to hike towards the mountain. We only had one map between us, which Alex was using presently to help us navigate. Navigation didn’t seem too difficult at this stage though. As long as we are going upwards then we can’t go far wrong. Alex decided that this would be a good time to remind me that he had heard that the weather might take a turn for the worse, and are we sure that this is a good idea? To which I asserted that it was most definitely a good idea, and that taking the weather too seriously is not a recipe for adventure. We continued for some time. Clouds formed in the distance. “I’m going back, there may be thunder and lightning coming as well” said Alex. “Are you sure?” said I. He was persuaded to continue for a short time longer, before he finally decided to head back down and catch up with the others. My parting comment was “I’ve become far too determined to do this now, and I’m doing it. I’ll see you at the meeting point at the end of the trail.” Alex was gone. I was alone.
As a ascended I was taken by how quiet it was compared to the more crowded main trail. But wait, looking up and ahead, I saw some other climbers. I decided to catch them up and make the ascent with them. The terrain was very unstable. Thousands of black volcanic rocks all spread out over the ever steepening slope. For each step forward I would make, I would slide back half a step due to moving debris beneath me. This made climbing more difficult, but did not deter me in the slightest. I increased my efforts to catch up the unknown group, using my hands for extra support.
As I got closer I realised that there was a spine of solid rock jutting out of the loose debris and ran up for quite someway. This would offer improved climbing ability and less slippage. Following this, I continued on and managed to catch them up. Friendly introductions ensued. There were about 15 of them. Everyone was from a different country. I think I was the only one from the UK. Others were from places like Norway, Sweden, Denmark, and Germany. I remember joking that climbing this volcano is like an Olympic sport, and which country will get the gold medal.
We kept going until it transpired that three of us had gone a little way in front of the others. I remember stopping occasionally to allow people to catch up. Well, not only that. The truth is that the incline had now become so steep, that progress was very difficult indeed. Each step forward felt like a monumental effort. In fact the build up of lactic acid in my legs was so severe, that I was literally unable to move my legs another step forward without intense pain, so needed a break of a minute or so. This would give me sufficient recovery to pick out a point in the near distance, and make a pact with myself not to stop until I reach it. And so on until the summit was reached. Mountain climbing is misleading though. We thought that we’d nearly reached the summit about six times before we actually did. It was always another ten minutes away.
Near the very top, there was a giant sheet of ice. I struggled to decide which would be the easier climb – up the slushy ice to the left, or up the sliding rumble to the right. I ended up climbing up the join between to two and sampling both methods. Soon after this I reached the top. I think I was third, so bagged the bronze for Great Britain. The sense of achievement was terrific. The views were spectacular, and looking down into the vent of the volcano was something very special. I stood in wonder for quite sometime soaking it all in. The inside of the vent was a fair drop down to a rocky and icy interior. A neighbouring section of the landscape had steam rising out of it, showing that the volcanic activity beneath the earth is still very much still going on. This reminded my of my visit to Yellowstone National Park the previous year.
After a bite to eat from my also new Osprey hiking rucksack, and plenty to drink from the in-built water reservoir, it was time to make the descent. This was not to be as a expected. I took a few more pictures with my phone and videos with my Go Pro, and started to head down. I was conscious of time, because I knew I had to get to the pick-up point at the end of the trail and meet the others, despite my long detour, which would be an extra 2 hours going up and 45 minutes going down. I wondered if it would even be possible, and if I might end up stranded. There was no mobile phone signal.
Looking over the ridge I saw the large sheet of ice that I had partially trekked up slightly earlier, and I noticed that one person had already chosen to start their descent by sitting on the ice and sliding down it. This was a fun opportunity that I couldn’t possible refuse. I did the same. And fun it was. Albeit I was a little hesitant to go too fast from fear of hitting too hard the rocky surface at the end of the ice sheet. This I made up for though on a later trip where a group of us went to Glencoe in Scotland. The mountain on one of the days was covered in snow, and we were able to slide several sections of the mountain, and pick up terrific speed. That was brilliant!
The steepness and instability of the rocky slope had been problematic coming up, but going down it became clear would be a whole other challenge. Still, I kept on, making progress very slowly. Slipping and almost losing balance with every step. I met a couple of hikers on the way, who were still on their way up. They commented to me, that it would take forever getting down the way that I was, and wouldn’t it be better to slide down on my bum instead. This was not really a method I had considered, and surely that would be quite painful given all the rocks, but they seemed quite confident about it, so thought I ought to give it a try. They were right to be confident.
I would slide down feet first. This meant that my feet would clear the rocks out of the way, making way for the rest of me. I kept going like this for some time. Whilst I was getting into a rhythm with this method of mountaineering previously unknown to me, I hadn’t realised that the clouds had swept in and reduced visibility to no more than ten metres in front of me. So here I am not knowing which direction I am going, how far I need to continue for, and I cannot see. Luckily I have a strong feeling that all will be well in the end. It occurred to me that the path that I left to climb the volcano in the first place, and will need to rejoin to get back on track, runs right around its base. Therefore no matter if I’m going in slightly the wrong direction, I’m bound to hit the path eventually. Also, I had earlier observed that the volcano is perfectly conical, with no sudden drops. Therefore I was not concerned about falling into any unexpected hazards. So I continued sliding down, using my hands to propel myself to the tune of rocks and soil clattering together. Come to think of it, this reminds me a little of the time when, as children, my brother and I would deliberately try to get lost on Meliden mountain (in North Wales by our grandparents house). On one occasion I remember sliding down in a similar fashion to this.
This continued for what felt like an age. My arms would get tired repeatedly, and I would rest, then try again. I didn’t know if I would reach the path in 10 minutes or 50. Sure enough though I eventually got to a point where I could see a path in the distance. Fortunately the clouds had cleared already, and I was able to see this. After another 15 minutes or so of scrambling, I arrived at the path, and was quite exhausted. I was glad to have plenty of water and food in my bag, so there was no concern about that. The same could not be said though about the prospect of completing the majority of the hike. A remaining 15 kilometres or so, which had to be achieved rather quickly because I have to be at the pick-up point before the deadline. A task that I wondered may be quite impossible. I reached for my map to get my bearings. But wait. I gave to map to Alex. Dammit!
Even though I didn’t recognise this part of the path, I was sure I must be able to figure out which way I needed to go without a map. There were only two options after all. I didn’t remember seeing the part of the path that I was on, so I must have rejoined it further along than the point where Alex and I left it. And the direction heading anti-clockwise around the volcano must have been the direction I had originated from. So I headed the other way, up a hill towards some impressive rock formations. There were also some people up there, who I hoped might have a map that I could look at.
As I began walking upwards, I realised there was a problem. The intense exertions climbing the volcano had caused me to pull muscles in both my legs. I could only walk upwards for a minute or so, even though the incline was no where near as steep as that of the volcano. I had no choice though. I must pause when needed and then just keep going. This way I managed to get up the hill and say hello to the hikers who were up there. They had a map, which I was able to photograph for future reference. It showed me the various landscape features I might expect to see, which included the Red Crater. This was a lower level volcano vent that was a very intense and vibrant shade of red. Further on was a long steep downhill section that led to a couple of bodies of water called the Emerald Lakes. These were called this due to their luminous bright turquoise colour – an effect often found in volcanic regions.
If only a picture could capture the true vibrancy of these lakes
Before heading down I noticed there was an official tour guide doing a talk to some of his guests. He would be useful to gain assurances regarding whether me getting to the pick-up point in time would be achievable. He was not confident. He explained to me that there is 10 kilometres to go, and that the record for completing it was about an hour. And that was by running. I had about 2 hours available, and had to accomplish this by walking, including several uphill sections, which I had already established were a real struggle. But I reassured myself with memories of my running numerous road races, most of which being 10 kilometres (the same distance I had to achieve here). My personal best is around 49 minutes. Although the landscape and my condition very quite different. But I had reason to be confident. I made another pact with myself to make sure I enjoy the volcanic scenery that surrounded me as I walked, but also maintain a decent pace.
Upon one particularly steep uphill section my legs were really starting to give way. A passer by, who also turned out to be a doctor, enquired into my wellbeing. I explained my situation, and that it is only a problem when going upwards. The rest of the time I am fine and very much enjoying the experience. They replied that this is the final uphill part of the trail and that it is all downhill afterwards. This was music to my ears. They checked I had plenty of water and food, which I did, and I was on my way again, feeling cared for, and had an extra spring in my step.
I encountered lakes, trees, winding paths, and a surprising amount of steam rising up from the earth in countless places. There were no further issues along the journey, and to my surprise, after about an hour and a half, I caught up with Jess (from Australia), Christine and Alex. They could not believe that I had done the volcano and still caught them up. I could not really believe it myself. We wandered together for about 30 minutes, through what was now all forest, and arrived at the bus only slightly late. The others in our group had been waiting for quite some time, and some could not believe what I had done. But I had the pictures to prove it.
The following day as we depart for our next destination, the volcano in the distance.
Leaving the bus and walking into our accommodation for the night (looking forward to some time in the spa), I hear the voice from behind “James, why are your hiking trousers ripped to shreds?” Clearly sliding down a rocky volcano on my arse does not come without its consequences. I never wore those trousers again, but I think about this experience often.
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