After seeing quite a bit of New Zealand’s diverse landscapes—and places in other parts of the world too—I decided this time to explore what felt like one of the most extreme: a volcano. I chose a hiking trip in Tongariro National Park.
But before you can start a hike, you’ve got to get there—and that turned out to be a bit tricky.
I was in Wanganui with a guy from England. I’d been invited to stay there and had spent three great days in town, including experiencing a magnitude 6.7 earthquake. After that little adventure, we were ready to head off to the national park.
The only way to get there was by long-distance bus. So, early in the morning, we went to one of the two local bus companies. But we found out the bus wouldn’t leave for another three hours—and there were only two seats left.
Since the wait was long, we tried the second company, but they didn’t go to the park at all. So we went back to the first one. By then, one of the last two tickets had already been sold.
The English guy had plans to meet someone in the park, so we decided he’d go first, and I’d catch the next bus. Luckily, there was a second bus running that day—which doesn’t happen often—so I didn’t mind waiting until the evening too much. But as the day dragged on, I started to doubt our decision.
As my bus departure time got closer, I realised I wouldn’t be getting all the way into the park that night—just to a little town called “National Park,” right on the edge. So now I had to sort out a place to sleep.
There were two other backpackers waiting for the same bus, and one of them lent me their accommodation guide. I quickly picked a place and tried to book over the phone.
But making a phone call wasn’t so easy back then. You couldn’t just dial directly unless you had a prepaid phone card—and mine was empty. So I had to go through an operator and pay with coins. I’d avoided doing this the whole trip! I looked nervously at the three buttons on the payphone—A, B, and C—having no idea when to press what. All I knew was that when I picked up the receiver, someone from the exchange would answer.
So I gave it a go. A friendly voice answered, and I explained who I was trying to call. She said she’d connect me, and I think I was meant to press ‘A’ and then insert the money. Of course, I messed it all up. She had to be very patient, but eventually we got it working and I was talking to someone at the accommodation.
I booked a bed and was told, “It’s just two seconds from the bus stop.” I wasn’t totally convinced, but I figured I’d see when I got there.
The bus was supposed to arrive at 10 p.m., which the accommodation was fine with, so I boarded the bus, feeling good about things.
I can’t say exactly how long we were on the road, but at some point, I noticed the driver was driving through New Zealand in the dark—with no headlights. It was a full moon, so maybe he thought he could save on power? Eventually, the bus stopped and the driver tried to fix something. It didn’t work. We carried on—still without lights.
Later we stopped at a garage. The mechanics tried to sort it out, but they gave up too. So we had to wait for a replacement bus. I must’ve fallen asleep because I woke up to find the luggage had been transferred and we were moving again. We finally arrived in National Park around 2 a.m.
I felt bad for arriving so late and possibly waking someone. The whole town seemed to be made up of lodges, all just a “two-second walk” from the bus stop. I had no idea which was mine and just stood around on the street.
As the bus pulled away, I was still unsure—until a woman stepped out onto a balcony and asked if I was the guest she was expecting. I said yes, and she warmly welcomed me in.
Things stayed friendly. She showed me my bed, and when I asked how to get to the park in the morning, she said they offered free rides—but I’d have to be up at 5 a.m.
Even though that meant only 3 hours of sleep, I agreed and quickly went to bed.
Those 3 hours flew by. I dragged myself out of bed, had a light breakfast, and we set off. It wasn’t far to the trailhead.
Before I got out, the woman shyly asked if it was okay to charge me $5 for the night. I was honestly amazed by her generosity and thanked her. Even now, I’m still touched by that kindness.
Now I had to find the English guy again—which turned out to be a bit of a mission. I didn’t know where he was staying. Eventually I found him, but he didn’t want to start the hike because of the weather. I felt differently, so we split up.
I visited the park office, did the paperwork, and started walking—into light drizzle.
The view wasn’t great, so I just walked without really taking much in. The rain made the ground super slippery, like walking on ice. I kept falling flat on my face. The constant up and down over small streams made it even tougher. I was honestly relieved when I reached the hut I’d planned to stay in. I was also really tired from the short night before.
The hut wasn’t big, and even though I got there fairly early, it was already almost full. There were about 20 beds, nearly all taken. More hikers kept arriving, including a group of scouts—boys and girls around 10 to 13 years old. The hut got seriously overcrowded. We probably needed 40 beds that night, but we made do by squeezing in tight. There was no room to roll over in your sleep!
Still, the evening was fun. Lots of chatting, and the scouts made me laugh—especially this one moment. They were cooking dinner and using candles for light. To check their food, they leaned over the pot with the candles. Of course, wax started dripping into the food! Then came the big fishing game—trying to pick the wax out of the stew. We all had a good laugh.
Eventually, I lay down—or more like squashed myself in between everyone else.
When I woke up the next morning, I was glad the night was over. It had been loud and cramped. I stepped outside—and was stunned. The landscape had completely changed. Everything was covered in snow! A thick mist hung over the area. I wasn’t sure if I should keep going.
But the trail was well marked, so I packed up and continued.
I didn’t see much of the park that day. I was basically following marker posts through the fog. Now and then, I caught a glimpse of the volcanic landscape through the mist—and it felt more dramatic than if the weather had been perfect.
One thing that really stood out was the snow frozen onto the volcanic rocks, shaped by strong winds. It was like nature’s sculpture garden.
At one point, a group of hikers came towards me. They clearly weren’t prepared—wearing socks on their heads and hands for warmth, covered in a layer of ice. They all looked frozen.
I looked down at myself and didn’t see any ice, and I didn’t feel cold either. I was a bit surprised, but didn’t question it too much.
Then came a tough climb. I started to wonder if I’d made a mistake hiking in this weather. I couldn’t see any trail markers, and the wind was so strong I had to lean into it to stay upright.
The scary part was that leaning forward meant I was over the edge of a volcanic crater. If the wind had suddenly stopped, I would’ve fallen—I don’t know how far, but the little I could see was more than enough.
Still, I kept going. I told myself: if I didn’t see a marker in 15 minutes, I’d turn back. Right at the 15-minute mark, I spotted one—on the ground, half-buried in snow. From there, the path became clearer and safer. It widened, and I felt confident enough to continue.
As I descended, the wind eased. I took a break and reached for my water bottle—only to find it had mostly turned to ice. I looked at myself again and realised I was now also covered in frost. No wonder that group had looked the way they did.
Luckily, my next stop wasn’t far—and I was really looking forward to the hot spring nearby.
I reached the hut and was the first to arrive. After picking a bed, I put on my togs, grabbed a towel, threw on my boots and headed—half-naked through snow and ice—to the spring.
There, I found a little stream with stone pools built into it. The further the pool was from the source, the cooler the water. So I picked the one that felt just right and sank in—surrounded by snow, soaking in warm water.
It wasn’t super peaceful though—every time someone passed by, they took a photo of me. But I didn’t really mind.
Warmed up and happy, I went back to the hut. The weather was still bad, which was a shame, because the view from this hut was meant to be amazing. I hoped the next morning might be better.
As more hikers arrived, the hut filled up. It wasn’t overcrowded, but a few rude people lit up cigarettes indoors. I didn’t want to sleep in smoke, so I moved to an annex—a separate part of the hut.
It was freezing out there, but luckily, I had a sleeping bag rated to –30°C. My thermometer showed it was –15°C. That was cold enough!
The next morning, as I crawled out of my sleeping bag, a wave of icy air hit me. I wanted to dash back into the hut—until I stepped outside and saw that the clouds had cleared.
The view was absolutely stunning. I just stood there and took it all in.
With that breathtaking sight, memories of my chaotic journey, the snow hike, and the perfect hot bath, I wrapped up my trip to Tongariro National Park—one of the most special hiking experiences I’ve ever had.