The train journey from Auckland down to National Park passed pleasantly, mainly due to the cream teas served onboard and it wasn't too long before we were met by the open arms of... no one! Despite arranging a transfer to the backpackers, the station was deader than a dead thing and tumbleweeds cartwheeling throught the empty station wouldn't have looked out of place. Fortunately, National Park is a no horse town and even though we were staying at the opposite end from the station, we had to stagger no omre than 800 yards with all our worldy possessions, getting proportionately more disenamoured with our forgetful hosts with each passing step.
Our mood was hardly improved when the 'no show' wasn't acknowledged at reception when we checked in and worsened still further when informed we'd have to pay extra for bed linen.
THe receptionist was aghast that we didn't have our own sleeping bags. 'Hey, if I go to a restaurant, I don't expect to have to take my own cutlery' was the snappy answer I shot back at her - or at least I would have done if I hadn't thought of it later in the room (why is that always the case?). All diplomatic bridges were burned when, after we'd enquired to the whereabouts of the local store, she replied 'You mean you have brought no supplies with you?'.
WE were going to be trapped inside this joy vacuum for the next four days praying only for one thing - a clear day to complete the Tongariro Crossing, billed as the best day walk in New Zealand, which we'd singularly failed to achieve three years previously.
A couple of days crawled slowly past, low cloud hugging the landscape, depositing rain and dampening our spirits. The Schnapps Bar was whatever the polar opposite of an oasis is in such circumstances, and we'd scamper across the carpark from the backpackers for tea there each night.
The clouds eventually lifted enough to attempt the crodssing and we were ferried to the start of the trail in a shuttle bus which would return to pick us up at the other end of the trail later. We soon found ourselves scrambling up the steep slopes near Mt. Ngauruhoe, or 'Mt. Doom' as it's known to Lord of the Rings geeks. The conical summit of the mountain was lost in the mist and cloud as was the Red Crater, another of the highlights of the Crossing.
We were almost submerged in the Emerald Lakes before we'd seen them and the rain started to fall as we approached the Ketetahi Hut. To call this disappointing would be a huge understatement but, as the bus took us back to National Park, we were two happy trampers to have at last walked the track - despite seeing virtually nothing of the breathtaking sights which made it so famous!
The following day, despit feeling a little sore and tired, we walked from National Park to Whakapapa Village which was quite a feat in itself but was made all the more difficult due to large sections of the track being underwater. We leapt from log to branch to tussock knowing that the slightest slip would end in a soaking. Eventually we reached the village road, taking our first llook at the village which had stayed resolutely behind a curtain of mist last time we'd stayed here three years ago.
Our work in National Park was done and it was a bit of a relief to catch the train to Wellington. Once again, the cream teas kept us going but the view from the train was not dissimilar to watching a widescreen movie of the countryside rolling past. A thick band of cloud filled the top third of the window leaving a thin strip of greenery as the curse of National Park seemed destined to follow us to Wellington too.
Wellington certainly lived up to its reputation as the windy city when we were blown the length of Oriental Bay whilst out walking and it didn't abate at night as fierce gusts rattled the windows of our highrise room in the YHA. The Te Papa museum was fascinating, several floors of factoids meant that we stayed for over four hours - a personal best museum visit for Alex! Top attractions were the Earthquake House which recreated a monster quake and a magnificent Paua shell laminated surfboard which was beautiful and amazing.
Although our stay was short, Wellington seemed to posses a friendly, funky vibe and all too soon we were boarding the ferry to take us across the Cook Strait to Picton and the South Island.
charlie
|
