And so onto the north, for a
shorter sprint on straighter roads from Wellington to Auckland, via volcanoes,
geysers, and hobbits.
A couple of days in Wellington provided a nice city fix,
not that Wellington is huge but it provides a rather ample supply of cafes and
bars, culture and civic propriety. Of note was the best Thai in town, a
plethora of goodies at the national museum, Te Papa, a jaunt up the cable car
and down through the Botanic Gardens and a rather chilled hour or so beside the
sunny waterfront with drinks, diving, and long lost university friends. I think
there was an ice cream in there somewhere too.
The country’s parliament is weird,
which probably makes sense given such places are usually filled with weirdoes.
Known as the Beehive, Jill rather incisively renamed it the Dalek. I believe a
British architect was culpable. Exterminate.
More aesthetically pleasing in my
eyes was the big carrot, a few hours up the road after leaving Wellington in
the town of Okahune. You’d think
they would make more of it, like by selling some carrots or something. A bit of
carrot cake maybe. But they don’t and there is not much to do but park the car,
take a photo, and move on again.
If you think the carrot is big,
then look in the other direction and looming large is Mount Ruapehe, one of
three very active volcanoes in the centre of the North Island captured within
the magnetic drama of Tongariro National
Park. It’s slightly disconcerting to think that the carrot could one day be
wiped out by an explosive eruption. Ruapehe, along with Tongariro, are complex volcanoes
with multiple vents and craters to let off some steam. The third volcano,
Ngauruhoe is of more classical conical structure; ready, no doubt, to blow its
top off one day. Fortunately Peter Jackson took a liking to it and used it for
Mount Doom, which is infinitely more pronounceable than Nguaruhoe.
This entrancing landscape was there
to be appreciated on a rare circular walk to Taranaki Falls, which themselves
were of distinction in the way they carved a path through the cliffs of what I
can only guess are old lava flows. The walk of an hour or so was pleasant and
varied, yet purely an entree to the rather large main course coming tomorrow.
Big tramp number five was the
final of the trip and the longest and the most challenging. I would like to say
that it was the Tongariro Crossing, but it was more Kind of the
Tongariro Crossing, which was not a crossing but a Tongariro there and back again.
This was thanks to recent volcanic activity on one of the vents of Tongariro,
necessitating an exclusion zone for fear of flying rocks and hot ash. Never a
dull moment, huh.
The first tough challenge was
getting up at 5:30am to get a shuttle bus to the start of the walk. Apparently
it was worth it. And for sure it was, not only for the coming of the sun and
early morning cloud, light and shadows, but for the relative peace and solitude
that was lost in a crowded procession of trampers later in the day. Other early
challenges were minor, involving a few lumpy rocks and worn out pieces of track
as it followed the haphazard course of a rambling stream.
An hour in, and the stream hit a
brick wall, one in which someone had decided to cut a track with many, many
steps and switchbacks. Rising some 400 metres in the space of a kilometre, it
was a route that warranted many photo stops, just to get a breather. No one
said getting to Mount Doom would be easy. And indeed it isn’t, an unmarked side
track leading to Ngauruhoe in a vertical scramble over loose rocks. So the main
crossing track keeps on and heads over the wide and, pleasingly, flat expanse
of the South Crater, a stunning Mars-like landscape of red earth and lifeless
dust.
This is respite for a final,
solid, demanding slog along loose and rocky ground to Red Crater and the
highest point on the crossing. If the hard work up isn’t tough enough, the
thought that you have to come back down this precipitous melee of volcanic rock
and gravel is one to keep you lingering at the top for longer.
And what a feeling it is to be at
the highest point of the Tongariro Crossing, with a rewarding ham baguette and
crisps. It’s a place where everyone has their photo taken, some seemingly more
precariously on the edge of Red Crater than others, as loose gravel continues
to give way. Below are views of Blue Lake and Emerald Lakes, off limits due to internal
rumblings; beside us, the violent, tormented gash of Red Crater and, back the
way we came, the ever magnetic cone of Ngauruhoe rising up from the dead plain
of South Crater. The way back again. I wish there were some eagles to take us
there.
One of the best bits about coming
down was that you felt a bit of a champion as others were still grinding their
way up, asking you if it was worth it, how far they have got left, whether there
is a chairlift available. And you see the procession of trampers which would
have been much more annoying to contend with had you started later in the day.
The early start also means you finish the track at 12:30, and have the rest of
the day to engage in that self-reward pattern of cake, sleep and sausages.
Post-sausage, beans, mushrooms
and bread (one of the most satisfying dinners of the trip) there was one final
foray out into the world, as the day drew to a close and the volcanic landscape
erupted into a fiery red. It even involved a short walk, which I completed
twice, returning to the car to move it behind a bush and out of some shots for
photos.
It appears Mount Ngauruhoe and
Mount Tongariro offer New Zealand’s answer to Uluru, as the sinking western sun
changes their appearance from brown to golden to copper red. And it glows upon
the ridge you crawled up and slid down many hours earlier and which you can
still feel in your legs. It is a splendid way to cap off a great day and drift towards
tired sleep.
The Tongariro Crossing was
literally the peak of the North Island and the remaining couple of days were
relatively sedate. Not far north from the volcanoes sits Lake Taupo, itself a huge crater lake and, on a day when it was
pushing into the high 20s, a rather jolly place to wet one’s feet.
Unfortunately around Taupo there is a bit of a Gold Coast feel with heavy
fee-charging attractions such as Prawn World, Volcanic Land, Jet Boat heaven,
Geyser Land. One attraction – Huka Falls
– is free and, despite being heavily laden by coach parties, remains of a
magnitude to impress with fast flowing white water pummelling through a narrow
chasm.
It was difficult to ignore some
of the fee-charging attractions and the final full day in New Zealand
encompassed a couple of gems. First, just a little north of Taupo, was the
thermal wonderland of Orakei Korako,
where a well marked boardwalk led past various volcanic terraces, steaming
geysers, boiling pools and dry baked mud pools. Spend some time in the centre
of the North Island and you start to get used to seeing pockets of steam rising
out of the ground rather randomly; but pause for reflection and you remember
just how bizarre and disconcerting this is. Still, nothing blew up while we
were there, so I guess that’s some good karma.
Later in the afternoon it was
back to where it all began for a small creature with hairy feet, so I
inevitably felt at peace on the set of Hobbiton.
It’s set on farmland in the pastoral north near Matamata, a town which would
have been bypassed ten years back but is now flourishing with nerds and geeks
and the simply curious. What could have been tack-a-rama was really quite delightful;
the set rebuilt much more sturdily the second time round for The Hobbit movies and the tour
leisurely, informative, funny, charming. Going later in the day, as the sun
swings into the west, there were just a handful of others to poke around hobbit
holes, sniff around the gardens, and sup ale at The Green Dragon, a pub which
should provide a blueprint for all pubs built in the southern hemisphere.
It was a huge undertaking for
what amounts to something like 40 minutes of movie footage, but the attention
to detail was staggering. Different sized hobbit holes were used to create
perspective, along with duplicate sets to make Gandalf look big and hobbits
small. Real plants and vegetables and miniature apple trees flourished in the
gardens and allotments. Small clothes flapped in the breeze out on washing
lines. And on a warm, pleasant afternoon, as the sun lowers, and ale warms
further, you could appreciate why this was all worth saving.
And that practically completes a
tale of New Zealand, going there and back again. It was tremendous and could
have happily continued indefinitely, but time passes and Australia looms. The weather
was truly astonishing and only served to highlight the many natural wonders around
every corner of the fish and canoe. Sunny walks and refreshing ice creams as
the order of the day can only result in happy times. It’s big, overbearing
cousin has a lot to live up to.
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