Since our arrival to New Plymouth 4 months ago, I have had a number of adventures on my "bucket list". Climbing our local volcano was at the top of my list of things to do before I kick the bucket, at least here.
Originally, my plan was to take the entire family up the mountain over Christmas break when both Alec and Emily would be present. I wanted a unique Kiwi experience that only the Taranaki region could provide. Mt Taranaki is a destination of all Kiwis and tourists around the world. Unfortunately, our guide indicated that "climbers advisories" precluded a summit so we did the canyon rapelling (see earlier posts).
As January turned to February, I realized that time was ticking and soon the summer months would turn to the gloomy rain season. Mt Taranaki has claimed 65 lives over the past century almost all due to whiteouts on the mountain when it is rain on the coast. We say in Iowa, "If you don't like the weather, wait a day". In Taranaki, just wait an hour.
So after studying the long range forecast, I gathered all of the comrades I could find. Unfortunately my family wimped out on me. The only climbers willing to try the summit were 4 young doctors, all around 30 years old. While initially intimidated, I realized that I had several previous summits (of Mt St Helens, Mt Baker, and Mt Whitney on the west US coast) and I was in good physical shape (I don't mean to brag but the Kiwi lifestyle afforded me at least 1 hour /day exercise).
We arrived at our rendezvous at 6 AM and started our trek at 7 AM from North Egmont station. The altimeter and GPS that I had obtained from my previous mountain encounters proved useful (as you will later see). I had callibrated the altimeter at sea level (literally at our beach). The reading as we started showed 3300 feet. The view to the summit was crystal clear with the dawn's light tinting the silhouette with deepening amber.
Our spirits were as expansive as the peak that loomed before us... And it actually stayed that way for about the first couple hours as my comrades became increasingly fatigued with the everlasting stairmaster. We took several breaks which I initially thought was smart to preserve our stamina. Our first hour traversed an old logging road to a private lodge. However, the road turned to steps that seemed like the "Stairway to Heaven". I lost count after reaching 300. When I saw the end, another series began and I again began counting.
Finally we reached Hongi Valley and climbed the canyons like mountain goats thinking that we were making progress. The poled route led us to the scoria slopes. I could see several climbers ahead of us that seemed like ants on a trail to the top. Scoria or "scree" is a gravel substance that epitomizes "one step forward and two steps backward". Dave, who works with me was getting increasingly tired. We had now made stops as often as we were moving (or should I say falling). Dave indicated that he couldn't go any further. We encourage him over the next hour and I had given him my treking pole for balance. Nevertheless, he succumbed and indicated he would rest and wait for our return. While the remaining 3 comrades started up, I remained for a while with Dave, just to make sure he didn't want to try some more and that he knew the way back "just in case". I hurried up the slope to catching my "second wind" and soon overtook my climbing partners (whom I really didn't know much anyway).
Part of the problem with being an American is that it is really difficult to understand the Kiwi accent. Due to Hollywood, there is no problem understanding me from the Kiwi perspective however. As a result, it seemed more serene and certainly less work to isolate. I justified climbing faster and alone so that I could get back to Dave earlier. In reality, I revelled in the scenery and my physical superiority.
I began overtaking several parties ahead of me making sure that they all knew I was an American in my accent (or I would tell them). I met Kiwis from throughout both islands. There were several Germans and a familiar accent which turned out to be Canadian. It seemed like a game to see which party I could overtake next.
Finally, I reached the snow filled crater and consumed the panoramic view. I felt like I was on Mt Olympus with walls of clouds looking as solid as snow fields. I was a little disheartened to realize that this was not the summit as I could see yet more people rock climbing the wall surrounding the crater.
After taking a few pictures and sliding in the snow for the first time in 18 months, I thought it was time for the ascent. I was happy to be by myself (especially since I knocked several rocks that came crashing below me). Again scoria frustrated several attempts and I fell uncoordinated. Finally I reached the top along with multiple parties having a party. In fact, I smelled marijuana and couldn't believe anyone would get stoned in such a setting. So, after getting the obligatory pictures by the plaque and at the highest point, I thought I would have my own party. Walking to extremes of the summit revealled Mt Cook over 500 miles away on the South Island. Further to the east was Mt Doom from "Lord of the Rings". Over to the West, I could see Paritutu Rock (that the whole family had earlier climbed) and at least parts of New Plymouth.
I started on my lunch just as I realized that little flies were lunching on me! No vegetation and 8800 feet up. I had to move into the wind and felt appreciative that I had brought my 20 year old Northface raincoat and gloves. I texted Mona that I had summitted by noon but probably would be later than anticipated due to my companions.
After enjoying myself a while longer, 2 of my companions finally arrived (the third stayed in the crater). After showing them some of the sites and taking pictures, I thought it would be better to get back to Dave.
Again, I thought I would hightail down the mountain. Unfortunately, the way down wasn't as easy and the surroundings seemed unfamiliar. I backtracked to the crater when another climber showed me the right trail. So again I set off but this time less like a chicken with his head cut off. Still, I always enjoyed passing people but chatted less since I was on a mission to relieve my friend in waiting.
The scoria was only somewhat less frustrating than going up. I ended up placing my feet perpendicular to each other sliding and still frequently falling. It was only then that I realized why the guide books suggested using strong hiking shoes and gaiters. My work shoes were discolored and torn and I had learned my lesson. Adding insult to injury, I heard steps coming my direction and was amazed as an older man in his sixties ran around me.
While I started in the crystal sunlight, the cloudbank loomed just ahead. While just earlier it seemed that I had fellow climbers all around me, I was soon enveloped in a fog that made me push just to have an occasional glimpse of a hiker just below me. The quiet was surreal and I began wondering if that hiker was on Summit Track or some other trail. None of the surroundings seemed familiar. I eventually lost track of that hiker and tried to push even harder. (Somehow it never occurred to me that I should check my GPS.) Regardless, around 2:30 I eventually came to the site where Dave was ready to continue the descent. I explained that I had come alone and we would need to wait for the rest of the party.
We began getting restless after the first hour. We tried them on the cell phone. After 90 minutes, I started back up the mountain hoping that by some magic it would make them come faster. After 2 hours, we did come across a hiker that said they were right behind him. After more waiting and more backtracking, they finally came into view. It was hard to stop myself from asking why it took them so long.
We started our descent again in a painfully slow progression. I stopped to talk to a shirtless backpacker in his 60's who wouldn't stop talking about his hikes on Mt Rainier with the famous climber Whitacker (who was the first American to climb Everest). I however quickly caught up with my party which was again resting.
By this time, I realized that I was going to be terribly late in meeting Mona and my ride home. After politely giving regards to my climbing party, I texted Mona to meet me instead at North Egmont lodge and calculated that it would take us the same amount of time (almost an hour). My next text told me she was there (so I texted "almost there" even though I had no idea where I was). The hikers ahead then became surprised of this old man running down the trail. Of course Mona knew what to expect as she heard someone running towards her.
