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Published: January 16th 2012
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Tama Lakes I wake up to the sound of rain coming steadily down on our tent and I let myself drift back off to sleep, knowing there will be no hike starting in the rain. Our group already discussed how inadequately geared we are for hiking in the rain. The ones who have good rainjackets don’t have good shoes and vice versa. Nor are we equipped for long hikes; one or two folks only have the small water canteens that they gave out as gifts at our conference. When the rain lightens to a drizzle, my conscious resurfaces and I start kicking and unzipping my way out of my mummy-bag.
After a brief pow-wow under the campground shelter and then in the Visitor’s Center, we choose a 17 km hike to Tama Lakes. We nix the famed Alpine Crossing due to our inadequate gear and the threat of rain. (Another time, Frodo!) The Crossing goes between the iconic volcanic mountains (which were active not that long ago, I might add….) and is supposed to be simply stunning. And not so simply strenuous. We pick up another sojourner, a tall, blonde Swiss man named Jerry who promises us Swiss
The intrepid crew
First Tama Lake (the only one visible...) chocolate at the end of the hike. If we’re friendly.
The hike leaves from the Visitor’s Centre and immediately, the park lands expand around us, stretching in soft waves. This is high altitude country on volcanic soil. The trees huddle around the fast-rushing, clear streams and creeks, dark and close. I love their twisted black trunks and furry layers of lichen and moss. A goblin forest. Most of the trek, though, is through tussocky, rolling hills. The trail is well-maintained and well-made, with smooth wooden planking over the especially wet parts. I am grateful for this trail since hiking over these uneven, spongy hillocks would tire a body quickly. Occasionally, a loud song from an unseen bird carries over the land, a startling, reprimandable noise as if someone was talking too loud in the library. Toward the end of the hike, we finally get a good look at the perpetrator, a medium-sized brown bird with a spotted chest and a little mohawk, an invasive skylark.
Wetness pervades our senses, pooling, clinging, dripping. Mist comes and goes, especially as we rise. Fog hangs low over Mt. Doom & Co. again. Off the trail, water collects often in
Intrepid explorer
Me gazing out at what would have surely been a glorious vista over the upper Tama Lake puddles, clear and still. Along the hill seams, water purls and splashes, even crashing softly, over the black-lichen covered rocks. Though this is not my type of habitat (I’m a desert girl), I can’t get enough of drinking in this landscape. I think of the name Aotearoa, a post-colonial Maori name for New Zealand that has become increasingly popular with Maori and non-Maori Kiwis. It means “long white cloud” and has its roots in legends around the Polynesian discover Kupe. Though this would not have been the landscape he first saw, the name feels right here, the sound of it, the meaning behind it, the modern-day cultural usage of it. I had read in the Visitor’s Centre that four tribes put in their sacred stones and blessings during a rededication ceremony a couple of decades past. This was meant to be a shared space.
We steadily ascend up to the first Tama Lake. The lake is in a deep basin surrounded by fine black gravel-sand. We are far above the basin and it would require a lot of scrambling down and then back up to see it up close. The water is a tanned-turqoise, flat and unassuming. After
Where is Frodo?!
Okay, this really reminds me of the swamp that Sam and Frodo go across with all the dead people...add some more water, some hobbits, and dead creepy evil spirits that lake, the path steepens abruptly and we climb. Now our way is marked only with bright orange arrows on tall poles. The vegetation dies away and we scramble and slip on loose gravel. Now this feels like a volcanic area!
Upper Tama Lake is completely hidden in fog but we toast our success anyway with a bottle of wine that Evan hiked up with. What a hiker-gentleman! However, the renewed wind and fine rain drive us hastily back down. We take the loop around a waterfall on our way back down and watch some novice climbers rappel down beside the waterfall. I birdwatch since there are large trees nestled against the Cliffside where the water cascades down and bathes the area. I see a bird that is colored like summer but again, it’s non-native. An English chaffinch, lovely little thing.
To greenery Our merry party hugs goodbye back at the Visitor’s Centre. Katie, Angee, and Jill are headed back up north, flying out in five or so days. Kristy and I are headed to Wellington along with Evan who gracefully offers to drive. We head south, deciding to swing by the west coast on our
way.
We catch a glimpse of the mountain tops as we drive away and the sun shines down in afternoon vigor. And then we move quickly down from foggy, washed-out tundra-type habitat to kelly green hills and forests. Convoluted, crumpled steep hills and mountains tufted with sheep and cows. I take pictures out the car window, giddy at each new sharp turn of the road but eventually I stop since I realize that this country is just stupidly beautiful. It’s almost too much to take in.
We catch the first glimpse of the flat silver Tasman Sea off the west coast. The fresh, full smell of ocean is a welcome respite to our redolent car. We make a brief stop at a gloriously happy playground in Whanganui. We are trying to find some free wireless which we fail at but I get to play on a dinosaur which is a major win.
We reach Wellington at night, the city of hills, and we catch enough wireless downtown (we just pull over and Evan pulls out his smartphone) to get us directions to Kristy’s friend’s house. Turns out she’s near a bird sanctuary I had
been reading about so I’m already jazzed about the place. We wind our way up to her house, about fifteen minutes from downtown, and hike up the steep flagged path to the place. It’s an old farmhouse, smashed up against a hillside. Heather is an American, a friend from one of Kristy’s previous jobs, and she’s absolutely wonderful. A fellow scientist, studying flounder genetics. We hole up there for the evening, sating our intense longing for a shower and food. Heather provides all with a big smile and an easy, unconscious grace.
Cultural differences Flash (flashy)
Lolly (candy)
Flick (to send a little something quickly, e.g., “I’ll flick you an email.”)
Jandals (flip-flops, stands for Japanese sandals...)
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Sharon Foster
non-member comment
I am so proud of you-I hope you continue to have a wonderful time in all of these beautiful places.