Mt Taranaki looked beautiful in the golden dawn light, its 2,500m high volcanic cone brilliant against the morning’s clear sky.
I hadn’t done enough training really for the 1,600m ascent of the New Zealand volcano but it had been on my bucket list for years.
Reaching the summit would mark it as volcano number 30 in my #40by40 volcano climbing challenge – even though I’m over 40 now by quite a few years and despite the challenge dying a bit of a death thanks to the chronic self-doubt I previously suffered from in my 30s.
But let me tell you, volcano number 30 was something else. This was by far the most challenging of all the volcanoes I’ve climbed. (I had planned to climb Taranaki in 2017 as volcano number 8 but incredibly bad weather ruled it out.)
The first hour and a half was deceptive – a nice climb through the native forest along a delightful, well-formed track as the sun rose and the silhouette’s of the volcanoes Ruapehu and Ngauruhoe simmered on the eastern horizon.
I thought it a bit odd when the track became concrete but the gradient steepened significantly – I guess it made sense if quad bikes needed to come up to the Tahurangi Translator Tower below the Tahurangi Lodge. (Looking at the Department of Conservation pamphlet, this section is called The Puffer, which is really quite apt.)
It was a second breakfast at the Lodge before the real stuff started – think steep, think difficult terrain, think no real marked ground track.
We skipped around the boulders of the Hongi Valley, which was fun, before coming to a series of steps that climbed out of the valley.
Climbing these I was more puffed than I should have been – especially given I had done a little bit of step training up Colonial Knob in Porirua. Mark and I both agreed that perhaps the air was thinner – it was about 1,700m above sea level after all. Yes, of course, that must be it!
The top step deposited us at the bottom of a steep scree slope, which seemed to go up and up and up. If there were clouds, we wouldn’t have been able to see the top. A line of tiny dots marked other humans making their slow way up.
And equally it took us an age to climb, shuffling uphill on loose rocks like ball bearings. Walking poles weren’t always a match for the scree or the gradient and I had several intimate interludes with the slope as my feet gave way.
This wasn’t just one step forward, two steps back. This was more like learning to walk and embracing the face plant.
Mark, who didn’t have walking poles, found resorting to crawling on hands and knees up some of the worst parts was the only option when the scree wouldn’t support his feet. I admit I laughed when he was scrabbling about on all fours and mentioned taking a photo of him for posterity. His response, in no uncertain terms, was a rude word followed by the word “off”.
The relief of getting up the scree slope was short lived once we arrived at the rocky outcrop leading up to the crater, known as The Lizard. This was scrambling territory.
Now I like a good scramble but when you’re at 2,200m above sea level, your heart is really in your mouth.
There was a moment when, legs beginning to feel like jelly, I let the panic come in and all the what ifs and worst-case scenarios started to bombard me. The number one concern was how was I going to get down this flippin’ mountain. Would my legs be able to do it?
With all my coach training I knew this was just my Ego Mind throwing a wobbly and that it had no bearing on my actual capability to get back down the mountain.
For now, the only way was up – I parked the doubts.
Reaching the safety of the ice-filled crater was a huge achievement but there was still the climb up to the summit rock.
By this point I was a bit over climbing but the view from the top was incredible and worth it – 360-degree views across the land; the coast and ocean on one side, sprawling farmland on the other, everything in miniature. I felt like a mere speck in the eco-tapestry floating high up.
We sat down for lunch and a well-earned rest – but not for long. Soon we were bombarded by tiny sandflies. Hundreds of them seemed to crawl over our skin and land on our sandwiches. I probably consumed several in one bite.
Mark was having none of it. Quick smart we packed up and started heading back down to escape the insects.
And that’s the thing right, what goes up must come down – and it was a long way down.
First the slow and painful process of scrambling back down the rocky outcrop, trying not to think about the jelly in my legs and the vertiginous drop.
Then it was the scree – and I thought going up with bad. Going down was much worse.
Where the scree was deep, I was able to glide down on two legs. But where the scree was shallow, barely coating the rock beneath, it was more like walking on oil. Balance was a fine thing, walking poles were damned near useless, and I slid down much of the scree on my bottom or in an awkward squat position.
Several times I just sat in the scree for several moments after falling over, weighing up my chances of actually standing and then choosing to just push off with my hands and skiing on my bottom for several metres.
Thank goodness I was wearing old walking trousers – although I feared I was going to rip a massive hole and my ass was going to hang out.
But at least everyone else who had climbed to the summit was in the same boat, slipping and sliding, arms flailing.
Weirdly enough, it was a shared experience. You couldn’t help but laugh.
By the time we got to the steps I was bruised and scratched and totally coated in dust.
I wanted to kiss the solid wooden steps – that was until we started walking down them when every muscle in my legs protested with pain. I willed them on. We had to get to the Lodge and then it was a straight-forward walk out.
I was pretty shaky by the time we got to the Lodge. I consumed two chocolate bars in quick succession.
A look up at the summit told us the cloud had come in while we were descending and a soft grey was now clocking the volcano and hiding the summit. We were lucky to get the views that we did.
After a brief recovery break, feeling battered and bruised, we hobbled on down to where the car was parked at the Department of Conservation visitor centre.
The hike took us 10 hours.
Three days on I’m still struggling to walk up and down the stairs at home and sit down on the toilet. I imagine this is what it must feel like after playing a rugby game against the All Blacks.
I’m glad I’ve ticked Taranaki off, thrilled we picked a stunner of a day and got great views, and proud of myself for taking on the challenge and pushing through.
But I’ve done it now – no need to ever do it again!
Top tips to climb Mt Taranaki
🌋 Go in good weather
🌋 Take trekking poles
🌋 Be physically fit and prepared to walk over steep mixed terrain
🌋 Have good quality walking shoes or boots – and gaiters
🌋 Take plenty of water
🌋 The earlier you start the better and pace yourself
🌋 Toilet stop options are limited after the Lodge
🌋 Take a sense of humour
For more information on climbing to the summit of Mt Taranaki: https://www.doc.govt.nz/parks-and-recreation/places-to-go/taranaki/places/egmont-national-park/things-to-do/tracks/taranaki-maunga-summit-climb/
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