Recollections of a mother and daughter's Tongariro trudgings

Ruapehu Bulletin, Volume 12, Issue 570, 24 January 1995, Page 6

Recollections of a mother and daughter's Tongariro trudgings

By

Michele

Monaghan

Mum had this great idea. She was over from Australia for Christmas and had this urge to do what she did when she had lived in New Zealand - go bush. It was going to be the trip of all trips, the tramp of all tramps, a three day trek revisiting her past memories of Tongariro National Park. "Sure," I said "Why not?" Many an hour was spent pouring over the map trying to decide on the route — the possibilities were endless. Which way do we go in? Which way do we come out? Do we get dropped off, or do we do a round trip? Finally a plan was decided on. We would park up at the Desert Road carpark. Walk in past Waihohonou and Outerere huts, up over Mount Tongariro, past the Emerald Lakes and down to Ketetahi hut for our first

day and night. "It will be a long day," said Mum. Not a problem I thought. The second day was to be the scenic day, from Ketetahi Hut back up to the Emerald Lakes, past Red Crater then on to the summit of Mount Ngaruahoe. We had been up Ngaruahoe before, we could see no problem in doing it again. That night was to be spent at Mangetapopo Hut. The third day was to be a long one as well. From Mangetapopo hut we would make our way off the beaten track up to the saddle and over the lava flo ws between Pukekaikeore and Ngaruahoe. From there we would descend (on a compass bearing) down to the Tama Lakes to join up with the Waihohonou hut track which would lead us back to the car.

"It's a long way," said Mum. Again, I thought this would not be a problem. Mum is 20 years older than me. If she thought she could do it, I thought I was capable. Mum had once spent 1 0 weeks in and around T ongaririo National Park as part of an intensive training course so I had full faith in her. We hadn't taken in to account that she had done that course over 15 years ago. We hadn't taken - in to account that time does not make the body any younger or any more durable. We were to find out the hard way. Our packs were heavy with three days' rations and clothing for any weather. My pack was a couple of kilos heavier than mum's. I wanted a few beers each night, I knew all that walking would make me thirsty. (At least I was right about something.) We were off. The first couple of hours were fine, then Mum felt she was getting a blister. Right, we decided, we'll nip it in the bud and slap a plaster on, problem solved. Another hour passed and Mum's pack started giving herjip. Out came the gloves which wereput to use between the pack and Mum's shoulder blades. Problem solved again. We continued. on our way. We climbed higher and higher to finally come out on a plain that was surrounded by high peaks and lava flows. We walked for miles staring up at the awesome sight of the peaks of Mount Tongariro. We marvelled at the lunar landscape we were trudging through. My train of thought was interrupted. "I hope you kno w we' ve got to climb out of here," piped Mum. "I know," I said with a lot more enthusiasm than I felt. Of course we've got to bloody climb out of here. Wherever the marker poles were leading us it wasn't going to be easy. (I was right about another thing.) We reached our place of ascent. A great lava flow had spewed out of the mountain at one stage or another and some track builder in all his (or her) wisdom had decided that this was the way up. The climb seemed endless. By the time we'd reached the top, at the base of Red Crater, we'd had enough of climbing. Mum and I decided that Mount Ngaruahoe could take a flying leap. Mum summed it up nicely in two words, the second word was Ngaruahoe and the first word isn't printable. We plodded past the lakes on our way to Ketetahi Hut, moaning how sore our feet were and trying to make an alternative plan since Mount Ngaruahoe was out. After

following what seemed like a possum track for a while, a long way off nestled in the tussock, a long way downhill, was the hut. I really wasn't in the mood for going down hill when we'd just climbed all that way up. I also wasn't impressed with the idea of having to retrace our steps back up hill the next day, which was inevitable whatever Plan B happened to be. We finally reached the hut after giving the track a miss and heading straight downhill to hastily claim a bed as the hut was close to full. The boots came off and the swelling began. Each step was painful. What was needed was a few beers. The extra weight I'd carried was worth it, and warm or not that first beer definitely hit the spot. (It actually hit a few other people too. I hadn't thought all that walking would shake my beers up — silly me.) The hut is very near the Keteahi hot springs. Mum and

I gathered all our energy for the ten minute walk to bathe our tendej feet in the supposed therapeutic waters. While soaking away our troubles Plan B was formulated. Instead of Ngaruahoe we'd attack the summit of Tongariro. After a very restless night with some person snoring loudly (I was later told it was me) the day dawned fresh and clear. The body felt a lot better, Mum's must have too. "W e will do Ngaruahoe, what do you reckon?" asked Mum. I nearly fell over. I guess she took that as a yes. On with the packs (considerably lighter due to me drinking all of my beer) and back up the hill (mountain actually) to soak up the sights and views a clear day offers in the mountains. Emerald Lake couldn't have been more emerald and the spectacle of Red Crater with its layered strata was definitely worth the TURNTOPAGE8