The one-way walk starts at the Mangatepopo car park, about 50 kilometres south of Lake Taupo, one of the North Island’s other top tourist attractions. Given the walk’s lack of loop-ability, your only real option of getting there and back is to pay a van $60NZD per person to drop you at the start then shuttle you from the end back to your accommodation or nearby car. Myself and my walking companion joined a small crowd at the beginning of the tramp, verbally confirming to the volunteer that we had booked a slot online to complete the hike on this particular day. The area is free to access but given the significance and popularity of the land, numbers are monitored.

Once we got walking, the crowd thinned. We passed the two young girls eating their lunch at 1.5km. We smugly passed the Germans stopping to strip off their multiple, well prepared layers. We passed the walking poles being carried over, rather than utilised, on the well-built wooden boardwalk that covers parts of the first 5km to provide stability across damp areas. This first stage was the easy bit, a manageable incline along a well-marked dusty trail which widened and narrowed at different points. The narrow sections are the main reason it’s suggested you complete the hike in this direction and avoid going against the flow of other walkers. The other reason is the ascent isn’t as steep.

The landscape during the first hour and a half was dominated by hardy looking shrubs doing their best to grow in the fragile, hostile, volcanic soil under the heat of a clear summer’s day. Purple Parahebe, a drought- tolerant flower native to Australasia, is among the alpine plants likely to blossom in summer. And although we didn’t see any, apparently delicate plants like mountain daisies, mountain buttercups, little white foxgloves and eyebrights do flower in the harsh conditions. 

Mount Tongariro on the left and Mount Ngauruhoe on the right do little to shade the flora or the sweating tourists as the path continues up the valley, following the Mangatepopo stream.

With the dramatic landscape stretching much further than the eye can see, I was full off appreciation for the chance to walk across this historic and significant piece of land in my home country. Being somewhat ignorant to the Māori heritage of the Tongariro National Park, I had dipped back into the past before starting this hike. Tribes in New Zealand are called Iwi, pronounced E-wee. Tongariro belonged to the NgatiTuwharetoa Iwi before its Chief gifted the 2,630 hectares to the New Zealand government in 1887, securing the area which includes the summits of Tongariro, Ngauruhoe and Ruapehu, so everyone has access to and can enjoy the mountains forever. 

At the time, Chief Te HeuheuTukino IV said, “Behold, beyond are the fires of these mountains and the lands we have held in trust for you. Take them in your care and cherish them, they are your heritage and the heritage of your children.”

Māori have lived beneath the sacred mountains for years. They have played a part in ancient tribal stories as great spiritual forces of the universe which command and give life to the natural world. Their wild actions can create and destroy to a huge scale. Chief Te HeuheuTukino wrote in the foreword to The Restless Land: Stories of Tongariro National Park, that Māori “look upon these mountains as ancestors and this relationship evokes memories of our human ancestors who once roamed and settled within their shadows centuries ago, so that by these memories the past and the present mingle, ensuring their continuity. We sing or chant today ancestral compositions paying them homage.”

“The death of a high chief is likened to the tip of a mountain having broken off. To us the mountains are symbols of the implacable authority of nature. As our ancestors saw them centuries ago, so do they now stand ageless, towering above all with sublime supremacy, immovable, immutable, and impervious to the memorable march of time. Puny man, in the face of such overwhelming evidence of the inevitable, suddenly feels small and insignificant, and so the reverence for those mountains goes further deep.”

Back in the present, I felt that insignificance as we begin to climb. The next section is called the Devil’s Staircase and the 370 steps lifted us from 1,400 metres above sea level to 1,600. It is a brutal climb and one that I am sure challenged most of the hikers that day. Luckily the vast and growingly impressive views provided frequent excuses to stop, turn with hands on hips and admire.

After keeping my eyes down, slowly trudging up the narrow track for about 45 minutes, lifting my head to see kilometres of flat land stretching ahead of me was a welcome sight. We had reached the South Crater. Groups could now walk side by side across the kilometre wide desert- like crater, catching their breath and preparing for the last incline appearing in the distance. 

As the steep ridge loomed closer, we could see the trail of ant-sized humans crawling their way slowly to the top, heads bent against the wind and layers being hurriedly pulled out of backpacks. As we joined the end of the parade, I was grateful for my long sleeved shirt as the wind battered us from both sides and the temperature dropped considerably. The exposed ridge carried us from the South Crater to the Red Crater, the highest point of the hike at 1886m. Luckily the climb was short, and the deep burgundy landscape that met us at the top was so unlike anything that usually occurs in nature, that it had an unnatural quality to it.

The Red Crater was formed about 3,000 years ago and the colour is caused by oxidised iron in the rock. To one side, there is what looks like a large vertical tear in the crater which has been exposed by erosion and created by lava flowing through the dike. The most recent confirmed volcanic activity here was between 169 and 134 years ago. 

Once all the photos had been taken and disappointment expressed about how the unique colour could never be truly captured, we started our descent. This for me was the trickiest part of the walk. It required you to walk/run/slide down a very steep hill as the loose scoria underfoot shifts beneath you. Concentration was required and “sorrys” and “excuse mes” were being offered in all languages as we attempted to avoid collisions. 

Remembering to look up, you catch your first glimpse of the Emerald Pools to the right and Blue Lake to the left. The intense, vibrant and opaque colours they’re named after standing out against their dull and barren surroundings.

It’s about here that the sulphur or rotten egg smell that infiltrates your nostrils at certain spots around this part of the country, re-appeared. The steam vents responsible could be seen rising up around the emerald lakes,providing a picturesque picnic spot where most people decided to ignore the potent smell and break for lunch after emptying the volcanic rock out of their trainers. With no chance to buy supplies anywhere on the track, all snacks had to be carried in and all rubbish had to be carried out.

As the track continues around the Central Crater, you can see an old lava flow from the Red Crater spreading across the floor to your left. Another short incline brings you out of Central Crater and provides a closer look at Blue Lake, which is cold, acidic and much larger than the numerous Emerald Pools you’ve left behind.What, if anything,lives in the serene lake is relatively unknown as it has never been surveyed for aquatic life. However, as part of a larger sustainability project, environmental DNA testing is due to begin shortly.

Te Punawai o Te Maari ( The Blue Lake) is considered tapu or sacred to the guardian hapu (family) of NgatiHikairoki Tongariro. The mountain water was an integral part of their death ceremonies and would be used to wash the the bones of ancestors before they were laid to rest.

These practices no longer take place but it is considered disrespectful to get too close, swim or eat nearby. This gave the lake a serene, peaceful feel as it was admired from a distance, another difference to the Emerald Pools which had a more communal feel as people gathered around. 

Even though you are just over half way through the walk at this point, the Blue Lake felt like the beginning of the end for me. Shortly after, you climb out of the North Crater and begin your descent. Now that you’re out the other side the views change quickly and being a clear day we were treated to vistas of Lake Rotoaira and Lake Taupo.

Even though you are just over half way through the walk at this point, the Blue Lake felt like the beginning of the end for me. Shortly after, you climb out of the North Crater and begin your descent. Now that you’re out the other side the views change quickly and being a clear day we were treated to vistas of Lake Rotoaira and Lake Taupo.

As you wind down, the shrubs increase in number and slowly change hue from brown to green as the hostile soil gets left behind. If you have any games in your repertoire, now is the time to pull them out. This part of the track is long and with every zig reliably followed up with a zag, it begins to feel repetitive. 

We continued the knee straining descent for about two hours before entering dense and comparably luscious bush, feeling grateful for the shade and change of scene. It was shortly after this that we reached the final car park and joined dozens of exhausted hikers waiting for a lift. 

Sitting down to enjoy any water and sugary treats we had left, we discussed how impressed we were that our battered old shoes had once again carried us through one of the most impressive hikes in the world.

I was surprised by the number of elderly walkers and young families we had passed on what I would consider a very strenuous day walk. As the Tongariro Alpine Crossing attracts up to 3,000 visitors a day in peak season, officials have begun promoting other walks nearby as a way of relieving some of the pressure on conservation and infrastructure. Nearby Whakapapa and Ohakune offer their own day tramps as well as shorter, more manageable walks that, until writing this article, I had been unaware of.