The Tongariro Alpine Crossing is one of the best known, and as a result, most walked of all tracks in New Zealand. The sort of place where BC (before COVID) you might have to wait in an hour long queue for a longdrop. Consequentially, it is also the sort of place I usually try and avoid. However, with the borders only freshly opened and the summer tourist season yet to start there was an opportunity to beat the crowds and see what all the fuss was about without having to queue for a loo. Enter the vagabond band of Wellington Outdoor Club punters and patrons — Mat, Zøh (aka Zoe), Hugh and Joey.
Plans were fluid, and sickness claimed a number of potential compatriots, right up until the minute we departed Wellington. Mat and Joey left Friday after work to make the most of the weekend whilst the rest of us had an easy drive up to Ohakune on Saturday. There was no rush, grey clag dominated the skies over the giant carrot. This didn’t stop the intrepid duet, who managed to make it out for a hutbagging mission in the morning to Lupton and Blyth huts on the southwestern slopes of Ruapehu. In the process Mat inadvertently sacrificed his new glasses to the mountain by trying to wear them whilst skinny dipping. It was the late afternoon when we were all united in Ohakune. Zøh had managed to secure her friends cosy bach for us to stay in, complete with a fire and bird’s nests artfully arranged…
