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Volcanic Views The Tongariro Crossing is often called the best one-day hike in new Zealand. I set off to find out why. Hotels Combined - Compare hotel rates from multiple hotel reservation sites. Get the lowest rate in an instant. by Bob Neubauer If you like adventure and you liked this article, you'll love my book, Two Wheels and a Map.   Tongariro National Park, New Zealand--We were above the clouds, gazing across open space at the steep black slopes of an enormous volcano. Behind it, the snow-capped 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 we had done quite a bit of climbing. But now, as my hiking partner and I sat at the very top of Mount Tongariro, enjoying one of the most spectacular views New Zealand had to offer, we knew that our efforts had been richly rewarded. If I never hiked again, the memory of this vista could see me happily through the rest of my days. Though most visitors to New Zealand spend the bulk of their time on the country's more rural South Island--lured by its pristine rivers, unspoiled mountain trails and sparse inhabitants--the often-overlooked North Island provides an abundance of incredible outdoor opportunities, as well. Chief among them is Tongariro National Park. Its volcanic terrain offers a fascinating look at a very alien environment, complete with twisted lava formations, volcanic steam vents and colorful crater lakes. The scenery is so fantastic--so otherworldly--that Tongariro was used as the setting for Peter Jackson's film Lord of the Rings. One avenue that allows visitors to see all of this is the 12-mile Tongariro Crossing, often called "the best one-day hike in New Zealand" because of the magnificent scenery it reveals and the changing terrain it traverses. Tongariro National 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 (79,598 hectares), the park is situated around a trio of active volcanoes: Tongariro, Ruapehu and Ngauruhoe. Raupehu, the highest point on the North Island, has erupted more than 60 times since 1945-including a spectacular 1995 eruption. This fact, however, does not make its slopes any less popular with skiers in the winter. Located about halfway between Aukland and Wellington, Tongariro gets about a million visitors each year, with summer hikers outnumbering winter skiers. I traveled to Tongariro by train directly from Aukland, the North Island's main city. As I gazed out the window, civilization soon gave way to acres of green, grassy hillsides, dotted with the country's trademark sheep. After enjoying this pastoral panorama for about six hours, I stepped off the train and into the rain at National Park station. I had set up a reservation via e-mail at Howards Lodge, one of the many ski lodges in the small town. A driver from Howards met me at the station and whisked me the half mile back to the lodge. I had planned on filling the rest of the day with outdoor activities of some sort, but the rain had put a damper on that plan. I became further depressed after meeting a few travelers in the lodge's large social room. They told me they had been waiting days for the rain to end so they could hike the Tongariro Crossing. The rain, they added, was supposed to continue for several more days. Despite this upsetting news, I was still determined to hike the trail--rain or shine. A few minutes later, however, I got more bad news. Access to the trail, for those without cars, was provided by local shuttle operators. Those operators, it seemed, had the final say on whether or not hikers got to hike. On rainy days, shuttle service was halted-thus no one went hiking (or tramping, to use the local lingo). I was crushed. The next day brought no change in the weather. Frustrated, I convinced the lodge owner to find me a ride to the park so that I could take some short hikes. Though he didn't like the idea, he eventually broke down and complied. The visitors' center at the park was a virtual museum, with maps and displays relating a wealth of information about the park's volcanic terrain. A map revealed several short trails starting near the visitors' center, so I set off on one called the Tama Lakes Trail, cowering under my poncho from the light drizzle. A group of seven New Zealanders was hot on my trail and they soon asked me to join them. They had driven from Aukland, they said, just to hike the Tongariro Crossing. Our path led us through a stretch of rain forest where I glimpsed plants I had never seen before, described in the visitors' center with strange names like orihou and toii. I stopped several times to marvel at their odd needles and leaves. We soon left the woods, crossing a stream on a wooden bridge and coming upon a gushing waterfall. As we continued gradually uphill on the volcanic rock, plant life became more sparse, growing in tight clumps as protection against the wind. A dense fog covered the area, blocking our view of the nearby Mount Ruapehu volcano. Periodically, the rain stopped, allowing me to emerge from my rain gear. We hiked through a marshy stretch of grass to the top of a slope, but never did see the Tama Lakes because of the fog. Later I joined the group for a few games of pool and some New Zealand beer in the extravagant Chateau that sits not a quarter mile from the visitors' 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, Steve Bradsher, of North Carolina, for dinner at nearby Eivins Ski Cafe. 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. I threw aside my shade to gaze out at 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 quickly found what I had been looking for. Rising above the tree line was the massive, black-sloped Mount Ruapehu volcano, the first volcano I had ever set eyes on. With streaks of snow lining its rim, it was a magnificent sight to behold. I had no time to stare, though. I had waited days for this and I wasn't about to miss my ride. Throwing down a quick breakfast of fruit and toast, I tossed gloves and an extra sweatshirt into my pack, along with lunch and a canteen, and waited for the shuttle. Steve soon joined me, along with a half-dozen other visitors, all of us in our 20s and 30s. When an old van pulled up, we piled inside for a very uncomfortable half-hour ride. As we bounced along, I cleared the fog from my window and gazed out in awe at Mount Ruapehu, rising straight up from the earth. The sight was unforgettable. The bus unloaded us at the end of a gravel road and we got our first view of the famed Tongariro Crossing trail. A five-foot-wide path of crushed stone, it cut across an open, treeless plain of brown grass and low shrubs. 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, who had tacitly agreed to stick together, had similar strides. The morning sun shone right in our faces, but after two days without it I didn't mind a bit. Ahead of us rose yet another volcanic cone, Mt. Ngauruhoe, its steep black sides tinged rust-red near the summit. (Ngauruhoe has the distinction of doubling as Orodruin or "Mount Doom" in the Lord of the Rings films.) Volcanoes as tall as this were the result of multiple eruptions over many thousands of years. Ngauruhoe's first eruption is thought to have occurred 2,500 years ago, making it the youngest of the volcanic vents in the park. Our trail hit a stream, then meandered alongside its glistening waters for a while. We scrambled over old lava flows, their porous surfaces splotched with clumps of orange lichens. Soon, however, 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. Since the trail crossed bare rock, it had been marked by a series of wooden poles, each supported by a pile of rocks at its base. 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, mere dots from my lofty vantage point. After more than half an hour of effort, we reached a flat area and sat on the rocks to rest. On the steep, black slopes of Ngauruhoe, we could barely make out the shapes of two climbers--just small dots in the distance--moving slowly up that steep slope. The climb, I had read, took three hours. Though the view from the top was likely incredible, we opted to pass. We had our sights set on a different peak: Mount Tongariro. 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 one-hour side trip up Mount. Tongariro. Poles again marked the trail as it followed a rocky ridge. The lava of long ago had created strange formations on these slopes. Some resembled the twisted fingers of demons sticking up into the air. Through this surreal landscape we climbed, our feet crushing patches of thick frost that covered the ground. As we crested one ridge we were treated to a magnificent view of aptly named Blue Lake, a distant crater lake. The higher we climbed, the chillier it got as the wind sliced through our sweatshirts and thin gloves. Eventually, however, we reached the pinnacle and sat down to rest on the 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 majestically 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 breathtaking 360-degree view, feeling like we were sitting on top of the world. We eventually headed down and continued following 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, a trio of turquoise-colored lakes. Clouds of steam vented from the earth all around them, the telltale stench of sulfur revealing its volcanic source. Other hikers sat on rocks by the green water, enjoying lunch in their surreal surroundings. The hill leading to the lakes was quite a bit longer and steeper than it appeared. I went quickly, letting gravity take me, each step sinking deep into the loose gravel. Finding a spot by myself, I sat to eat lunch and look out across the vast, open valley of brown rock and soil before me. The hissing of a nearby steam vent piqued my curiosity and I approached it. Was it hot, I wondered? I put my hand next to the ground. Ouch! Very hot! I had burned my hand. And as an added treat, I now smelled of sulfur. Slightly wiser for the experience, I continued walking across the open plain, Steve having moved on without me. At the far end I climbed a small hill to arrive near the shore of Blue Lake, which I had seen in the distance hours ago. It looked just as blue 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 the volcanoes. I decided to ignore the false alarms. 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. We rested at the Ketetahi Hut along with a dozen or more elderly hikers from a local tramping club. I had hoped to see my friends from yesterday by now, but they had not made an appearance. Ahead of us mountains stretched off into the hazy distance as a breeze ruffled our hair. From this point on, the trail was all downhill. 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 being fed by the Ketetahi Hot Springs, an area of private land within the park. Uphill we could see hot steam hissing from the earth in great clouds. The water in the stream was warm and gray. Soon small shrubs appeared beside the trail. Then flowers began to blossom next to us. Wooden steps replaced steep, gravelly hills. Then, quite suddenly, we were in the woods, with trees, ferns and birds all around us. The temperature became much cooler as the tree branches intertwined over our heads to form a solid canopy of leaves. Despite the bright sunshine, the forest remained dark. We crossed several wooden bridges, the gray waters of Ketetahi Hot Springs flowing underneath them. A side trail led us to a waterfall, its crashing waters providing the only break in the overpowering stillness of the forest. 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 famed 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 Mount Ruapehu, I breathed a silent sigh of thanks to the weather gods for giving me such a beautiful day on which to tackle one of New Zealand's most breathtaking trails. This story appeared in the LA Times and in the Newark Star Ledger. E-mail me | Home Page | Recent Travels