The Story of Hiking the Tongariro Alpine Crossing

Why Hike Tongariro Alpine Crossing?

I traveled around New Zealand in February and March and hopped down to Melbourne for a few days during an extended visit with my daughter. Hiking the Tongariro Alpine Crossing was the number one thing I wanted to do during my time in the North Island of New Zealand.

Why?

For me, tackling challenging summit trails is akin to a spiritual quest. I love to test my limits, and the majesty of the mountains instills in me a feeling of the divine.

As an avid hiker, the idea of traveling halfway across the globe and missing out on one of the world’s premier hikes was unthinkable. Spanning over 12 miles (20.2 km) with nearly 3000 feet (800 meters) of elevation gain, Tongariro promised to be one of my most demanding hikes yet—a true test of endurance, but one I was eager to embrace.

While it’s possible to hike the trail out and back, the average time to complete it is 7-10 hours one way due to the trail’s difficulty. Like most people, my daughter and I chose a one-way hike. With limited transportation and accommodation options, we booked everything weeks in advance, planning our campervan adventure around this iconic trek.

Risks and Preparation

Alpine hiking is a dangerous hobby. Dehydration, injury, exposure, starvation, and falls are real threats, often with severe consequences. Sudden storms catch people unprepared. When I began serious hiking over a decade ago, I often set out woefully underprepared, underestimating the risks involved. 

Now, I’ve hiked several challenging trails and know how to minimize the danger. I packed first aid equipment to address my concern about possible injury during the steep descent from the Red Crater through a path of loose volcanic scree and ash that tends to shift underfoot. I brought hiking poles. I also planned to hike with another experienced person—my daughter, who recently backpacked the 130-mile Larapinta Trail.

The allure of hiking in an active volcanic landscape added to the adventure. Years ago, a planned summit of Mt. Etna in Sicily was thwarted by volcanic activity, so the chance to explore Tongariro was irresistible.

Should We Skip the Tongariro Crossing?

Arriving at the campground the night before our hike, I questioned the wisdom of attempting this hike. Evacuation signs warned of lava flows and projectiles in case of an eruption. The area had experienced an eruption as recently as 2012, with boulders raining down and destroying park huts. Moreover, the trail was closed for the next day due to 75 mph winds and winter weather from a hurricane off Australia’s east coast.

That night, temperatures plummeted, and rain lashed our van. The forecast predicted storms for the next two days, but with decreasing winds. We decided to stay an extra day, hoping for a break in the weather.

The following day, conditions were harsh: below-freezing temperatures, heavy rain expected by noon, and 60 mph wind gusts. Hiking wasn’t recommended, but the trail was open. We’d come this far and decided to try.

When the bus dropped us at the trailhead, we looked at the foreboding landscape dusted with fresh snow. Mount Ngauruhoe, or Mount Doom in the Lord of the Rings films, loomed in the distance. The driver informed us we could choose to turn around at any point. It was 7 a.m. Sleet battered our faces and gale-force winds tore at our clothes. As bad as conditions were, we expected them to worsen when the rains came. We set off.

Should We Turn Back Now? 

A kilometer in, we encountered a young man returning to the bus. My daughter asked, “Are you sure you want to go through with this? I’m okay if you want to turn back.” I hesitated. If he turned back, could I finish? Fog obscured the crest, and rain threatened to arrive early. We picked up our pace.

Crossing the four kilometers across the relatively flat Mangatepopo Valley, more hikers turned back–each one we encountered felt like a warning. At the Devil’s Staircase, I looked up at the steep, rugged terrain with its endless switchbacks and staircases—a recipe for pain. If we couldn’t complete the hike, now was a good time to turn back. My daughter looked at me, a questioning look on her face. “Let’s keep going,” I decided.

As I  climbed the steep and uneven steps, I found myself pausing repeatedly, both to rest and to let others pass. But, much like the tortoise in the fable, my persistence (some might call it an acute goal achievement drive) is my superpower.

At the top of the staircase and South Crater, wind gusts approached 60 mph, and the temperature seemed to drop at least another ten degrees. The expansive view, which was to be our reward, was obscured. We huddled behind a boulder for shelter against the wind raging across the open expanse. Though I had woolen gloves, my hands were so numb my fingers wouldn’t flex fully. I struggled to open my backpack. To eat, I poured trail mix from my open hand into my mouth, sacrificing what dribbled down my chin.

The next section is the hardest and the most dangerous. We watched other hikers continue toward the crest, disappearing into the fog within a few feet. The path ahead was obscured. My daughter said, “I’m comfortable continuing. Are you?”

While I sat huddled on the South Crater, not even halfway through the journey, I had to decide whether it was worth pushing on when success seemed unlikely, even dangerous, and any chance of reward was remote? Call it stubbornness, poor judgement, or persistence, but I decided to forge ahead.

With reservations, we started the steep and treacherous climb to the crest. Once there, the wind forced my poles across my body, rendering them useless. At one point, we crouched to the ground to keep from being blown off the edge. Fortunately, the trail only travels a short distance along the crest. The way down the field of scree was narrow. I slid several inches with each step and fell once. But as we reached the bottom, the weather cleared, and we were rewarded with fantastic conditions for the last half of the hike. (Happy dance. Yes, I literally did a celebration dance.)

What hiking Tongariro taught me about pursuing my life goals

The Tongariro hike tested my limits, transforming into a journey of personal growth as much as it was about the hike itself. It provided insight into my life goals and particularly my path as a writer.

While I sat huddled on the South Crater trying to decide whether to continue or quit, it hit me how the decision to continue mirrored my challenges as a writer.

My writing journey began with a burning desire to tell an important story. Pursuit of that goal involved risks: potential embarrassment, family recrimination, harsh social judgment, and failure. The journey has been demanding, often leaving me underprepared and questioning the wisdom of continuing. I’m unable to see the path ahead and uncertain of any success. Yet, I continue forward.

Pushing through challenges to obtain meaningful goals in my life, whether in hiking or in writing or in any other pursuit, has become about more than just the tangible results of those endeavors. 

This is not to say that I don’t care about the results—they matter and I find great satisfaction in achieving them.

For me, the journey holds just as much importance as achieving the final goal. It’s about personal development and the lessons gained along the way. Having the courage to persevere, even when success seems unlikely, shapes who I am.

Have you ever embarked on an adventure that changed your perspective on life? Do you have an experience with personal growth or conquering challenges you’d like to share? If so, I’d love to hear about it.