The summit of Mt Taranaki, as seen from two-thirds of the way up
Sunday morning was very cloudy, but Jacek and I got up at 6am to try to get to the base of the summit track nice and early. Luckily the cloud was mainly round the northern side of the mountain, where we started, and as we came round to the northeastern side (where the AMC begins) the sky cleared slightly, showing a huge billowing mass of cloud pouring off the mountain towards the north; as with the Southern Alps, winds come in from the west and get forced upwards by the mountain where they condense into rain clouds, but slowly the cloud cleared from the peak until it was clear, and that's when I decided to go up. Jacek's knee was playing up, so we said our goodbyes and I started the long haul up to the 2518m (8261 ft) peak, complete with my pack and my trusty old boots.
The top of Mt Taranaki is buffeted by freezing winds, creating some very odd but very beautiful cloud patterns
There were two major problems, though. The most pressing, and the most painful, was that my trusty old boots were, by now, my crusty old boots; the soles were so thin it was like walking in crepe paper sandals, and with volcanic rock being the sharp stuff it is, I felt every stone, wearing out my feet far more quickly than in my old leather toughies that had been stolen in Christchurch. The second problem was that however I tried to adjust my pack, it was truly uncomfortable; I'd also had my own pack stolen in Christchurch and was borrowing one off a friend for a few weeks. The four-day walk with the shoes from hell and the backpack that didn't fit, along with a 45° scree slope and the serious climb to the top of Taranaki, really took it out of me. I got to the top but it hurt, it really hurt; however the view was stunning, not because I could see for miles, but because a low layer of cloud was covering the country as far as the eye could see, and from the height of the summit I could see above the clouds, just like in an aeroplane. Mt Ruapehu, the highest peak in the North Island, was a cloudy hump in the distance, and the summit itself was quite stunning, and well worth the strains in my knees and back.
Strange lava shapes like these 'organ pipes' crop up throughout Taranaki
Climbing volcanoes is an art, though. You might look at a volcano and think it's just a case of plodding up a 45° rock face until you topple into the crater, but however solid the thing might look from a distance, it's more like a pile of sand than a mountain. Imagine walking up a massive heap of gravel, and you'll be close to what climbing a volcano is like, and with a full pack it's a case of three steps forward, two back. The best part, though, is coming down; on the snowy slopes at the peak I simply skied down on my shoes, with the backpack giving enough weight to push me down, and on the scree I moonwalked down in half the time it took me to get up. I paid for it with aching knees, but with a kilometre of volcano to slide down, it was quite an experience.
