Dueling Volcanoes and Fire Power in Tongariro National Park

Long ago, Mount Ruapehu was the only volcanic mountain on the North Island.

Because he was lonely, the gods created for him four mountain companions.

Fierce Tongariro, the warrior guardian. Tall Taranaki, the custodian of the clan’s tapu (sacred objects and stories). Young Ngauruhoe, Ruapehu’s servant. And the last mountain, beautiful Pihanga, was Ruapehu’s bride.

But Taranaki was also in love with Pihanga. He and Ruapehu fought and Taranaki lost, so he retreated away from other mountains, carving out the Whanganui River in his wake, and he settled far away on the west coast. But some say that he is still brooding and will one day return to fight again, so some Maori are wary of living between the two mountains.

There are many Maori tribes in New Zealand, each with their own stories, sometimes similar and sometimes completely different, but the one above is the first one I heard about Tongariro National Park.

And what I imagined I would see when I reached the national park was a battle ground: Open horizons. Scars of black rock, like charred ground. Rubble. Dry, choking air.

A barren place. Hard. Void. Dark… Blame Mordor, I guess.

That’s right. In the modern psyche, this area is better known as Mordor from The Lord of the Rings. Which brings to mind black boulders, sharp rocks, orange flames, and earth shaking. It’s the dwelling place of evil, of darkness, of all that is wrong with the world. But that does a huge disservice to the reality of Tongariro National Park.

It is STUNNING. And it is made all the more so because of it’s violent past and it’s potential for a sudden, violent present.

If you can, reach into your mind and toggle that switch away from fiery hell toward serene alpine forests, pure blue waterfalls, hardy plants, a nipping thrill of excitement and risk at your heels, and that all-familiar feeling of being a tiny thing in a great, vast world.

Tongariro National Park is awash in color. In detail. In microcosms of unique and varied flora with a permanent backdrop of the massive Mount Ruapehu, splashed with snow even in summer, and the cone-like symmetry of Mount Ngauruhoe.

And while most visitors to the park queue up on the Tongariro Alpine Crossing, I explored the less well-trod areas of the park. This meant that I had empty trails, vast vistas to myself, and the good, strong sense that if something happened with one of these three volcanoes, I was on my own.

But the first few days–shrouded in low clouds with a strong isolated sensation, I turned my eyes not to the mountain peaks, but to the ground. To the rivers, the streams, the waterfalls.

I’ve done a lot of waterfall hunting in New Zealand and I wouldn’t have thought to look in a volcanic national park, but I was wrong. Tongariro is rich in rivers like pearly blue garlands strung upon a rocky Christmas tree. Tawhai Falls was a stunning, vivid blue despite the grey clouds and the cascading waterfall at the end of the Waitonga Falls Track called to mind long ago memories of flipping through the beautifully illustrated Dinotopia books. It felt that otherworldly, as though a triceratops could come ambling up the stream bed.

With clouds blanketed the sky, the volcanoes disappear but the scars beneath my feet remain: the ancient magma flows, the heave and flow of the earth. The earth holds memories of being alive, of being motion, of being liquid, of being fire.

Magma, ash layers, and hot mud flows, called lahars, have swept over the landscape many times, like layers of oil paints on a masterpiece. Each time they leave a mark, sometimes sweeping away trees or forming new ridges on the slopes.

Overtime, beech trees grow where they can. Where one finds a foothold, the next springs up beside it, like the inexorable march of soldiers over time. Overtime, volcanic rock breaks down into rich soil, but the recent eruptions, high elevation, and whipping winds common across the center of the island mean that the environment is quite harsh, very different from that of the ancient volcanic hills full of minerals in Auckland. But flowers, trees, grasses, and mosses reclaim the landscape, battling hard for every inch.

But belches of ash or rivers of fire could rain down at any time. Exciting!

Luckily, while I’m there, the only thing that burns a little bit red is the sunset in the wide open sky.

A little bit of thrill accompanies walking across earth that feels alive, simmering with memories of fire. It feels like raw power, both the water and the fire and the rock between. But it doesn’t feel unwelcoming. In fact, I feel almost comforted. It’s strange, how the threat of the mountain just seems natural. Like a pure kind of back-of-mind concern. I think we live with so much low-lying stress and anxiety these days–stress over politics, over health, over technology, over money–that it’s almost comforting to think that there is absolutely nothing I can do to influence these volcanoes. It just is.

And whatever happens just will be.