The perfect cone of Mt Taranaki
My plan was to do the Around the Mountain Circuit (AMC) at Taranaki, with a trip up to the top of Mt Taranaki itself if possible. Mt Taranaki was named Mt Egmont by Captain Cook after the bloke who sponsored his mission, but the Maori went to court to try to get the name changed to Taranaki, their name for the mountain, and in an astounding case of trying to please everyone the court ruled that both names were valid. As a result, on all the maps you see 'Mt Egmont or Mt Taranaki' printed by the peak, but whatever you call it – and I prefer Taranaki, because it seems more appropriate – it's a stunner.
Egmont National Park – at least that name hasn't changed – is almost circular, and encloses Mt Taranaki at its centre, and it's fair to say that the mountain dominates the entire area. Taranaki is an almost perfect volcanic cone, with a beautiful snowy peak and, from a distance, only one blemish on its slopes, that of Fanthams Peak, another little cone. It's hard to describe how immense the mountain is, but when I woke up on the morning of my trek, having slept in the back of Zed at the National Park's headquarters, there it was; the day before had been totally overcast and I hadn't seen a thing, but Thursday started off as clear as a bell, and it wasn't long before I was stomping off on the track, my pack filled to the brim, and my old faithful boots on my feet.
The AMC is a swine, no doubt about it. It might look all innocent on the map, but it goes up and down more times than the New Zealand dollar's exchange rate; volcanoes have huge lava flows, so the mountain is a bit like your hand if you put your fingertips on the table with your palm facing down, and walking round it means climbing and descending every day. It's a beautiful track, though, and when the weather is clear, you can see for miles. That's when the weather is clear, though...
Rain, Rain, Go Away
Lava gorges scar the sides of Mt Taranaki
Day 1 started well, as did most of the days, but it soon got back into the swing of clouding over and starting to rain. I'd decided to follow the higher alpine route for the views (as opposed to the route through the forest), and after getting up the aptly named Puffer – a bloody steep track that I thought would never end – I clambered around the mountain to Dawson Falls heading for Lake Dive, and that's when the cloud kicked it. I could see it approaching from the west, in a big thick rolling mass, and before ten minutes was up I was surrounded by cloud, with a visibility of about 20 metres and a temperature drop from boiling down to bloody cold; yes, the weather comes in pretty damn quickly on the coast, especially on the mountains.
Still, the rain kept off until I reached the hut at Lake Dive, and then it decided to kick right in. Luckily the hut I was in had a stove with heaps of wood, and it wasn't long before I had a roaring fire going, slowly drying out my sodden clothes. When I arrived at the hut I was alone, quite a rarity on a popular walk like the AMC, but soon I had company in the shape of Jacek (pronounced 'Yatsik'), a Kiwi who had come over from Poland with his family when he was 11, back in the bad old days of martial law and Solidarity. He was very interesting company, and we decided to walk together for the rest of the trip, especially as the weather had made the track a little more slippery than normal, and a broken ankle is a bit of a bummer if you're on your own.
Mt Taranaki from Waiaua Gorge, with Fanthams Peak visible on the right
Friday saw us scramble over the alpine route to Waiaua Gorge, and again the visibility was pretty crappy, although we got a good view of the volcano in the morning before the clouds came in. Saturday was much the same, wandering around through alpine scrub and rainforest to Holly Hut. The track was probably the most physically demanding track I'd yet done, with climbs and descents of about 1000m every day, and by the time we reached the huts we were totally knackered, even more so than on the Pyke Loop; I find I can walk for miles and miles on the flat, but put a hill in front of me, and watch me squirm.
Saturday evening was fun, though, with a large Kiwi family taking up half the hut and entertaining us with tramping stories and wee drams of whisky, the generous sorts. The Christmas pud and custard they gave us went down a treat, too; needless to say the family was only on a one-night trip, something that was more and more apparent as they unpacked sausages, potatoes, vegetables, bottles of wine and all the other delights that you take for granted in the outside world, but which suddenly become perishable and heavy on the track.
To the Top!
The summit of Mt Taranaki, as seen from two-thirds of the way up
Sunday morning was very cloudy, but Jacek and I got up at 6am to try to get to the base of the summit track nice and early. Luckily the cloud was mainly round the northern side of the mountain, where we started, and as we came round to the northeastern side (where the AMC begins) the sky cleared slightly, showing a huge billowing mass of cloud pouring off the mountain towards the north; as with the Southern Alps, winds come in from the west and get forced upwards by the mountain where they condense into rain clouds, but slowly the cloud cleared from the peak until it was clear, and that's when I decided to go up. Jacek's knee was playing up, so we said our goodbyes and I started the long haul up to the 2518m (8261 ft) peak, complete with my pack and my trusty old boots.
The top of Mt Taranaki is buffeted by freezing winds, creating some very odd but very beautiful cloud patterns
There were two major problems, though. The most pressing, and the most painful, was that my trusty old boots were, by now, my crusty old boots; the soles were so thin it was like walking in crepe paper sandals, and with volcanic rock being the sharp stuff it is, I felt every stone, wearing out my feet far more quickly than in my old leather toughies that had been stolen in Christchurch. The second problem was that however I tried to adjust my pack, it was truly uncomfortable; I'd also had my own pack stolen in Christchurch and was borrowing one off a friend for a few weeks. The four-day walk with the shoes from hell and the backpack that didn't fit, along with a 45° scree slope and the serious climb to the top of Taranaki, really took it out of me. I got to the top but it hurt, it really hurt; however the view was stunning, not because I could see for miles, but because a low layer of cloud was covering the country as far as the eye could see, and from the height of the summit I could see above the clouds, just like in an aeroplane. Mt Ruapehu, the highest peak in the North Island, was a cloudy hump in the distance, and the summit itself was quite stunning, and well worth the strains in my knees and back.
Strange lava shapes like these 'organ pipes' crop up throughout Taranaki
Climbing volcanoes is an art, though. You might look at a volcano and think it's just a case of plodding up a 45° rock face until you topple into the crater, but however solid the thing might look from a distance, it's more like a pile of sand than a mountain. Imagine walking up a massive heap of gravel, and you'll be close to what climbing a volcano is like, and with a full pack it's a case of three steps forward, two back. The best part, though, is coming down; on the snowy slopes at the peak I simply skied down on my shoes, with the backpack giving enough weight to push me down, and on the scree I moonwalked down in half the time it took me to get up. I paid for it with aching knees, but with a kilometre of volcano to slide down, it was quite an experience.
Coming back to civilisation in the form of Dennis and Heather's hospitality – Dennis being the local Acorn dealer in New Plymouth, and Heather being his wife – was pure luxury, especially as Dennis had stocked his fridge full of beers in preparation (it seems I was getting a reputation for turning up at the dealers and demonstrating exactly what a bottomless appetite looks like). The next three days travelling round schools in the Taranaki area was comparatively relaxing, driving right round the mountain on the Monday and heading up the coast on Tuesday, with one local school slipped in on Wednesday morning. I can think of worse ways to earn NZ$500, and by the time I left New Plymouth I'd gorged out on barbecues, brews and excellent company.
