This is my first time alone on a volcano. The top of a volcano, to be specific. How could I possibly know that I'm the only one here? Well, the last ferry leaves the island in twenty minutes and it's an hour hike to the dock. I'm the only one camping, so...
Just outside Waitemata harbor, not even a 30 minute boat ride from downtown Auckland, lies Rangitoto Island, the youngest (700 yrs old) volcano in the Auckland region. Unlike Motutapu, Rangitoto's older sister that is literally a hop, skip, and jump away, Rangitoto is seriously volcanic to experience. There's a small flat perimeter to the land, the trails of which are composed of ankle-rolling marbles of Hephaestus. Blackened rocks provide the landscape clear down to the shell-covered shore. Beyond the perimeter, however, the terrain climbs in a perfect cone: the ideal volcano shape that years of television have put in my head. I've already hiked many trails on this trip with a day pack, but this is my first with full gear (approx 45 pounds). And so, I venture off from the boat to test my body with the next challenge. Unlike the day-trippers who have two hours to go straight up and back, my only deadline is the sun, and I venture away from the pack. An hour and a half later, as I'm lumbering up an alternate face of the mountain, I hear the sound of the Explorer tractor tour coming down the hill. This is the first sign of life since I've left the boat and I realize that I've become part of the tour as passengers wave enthusiastically and take pictures of "The backpacker trekking uphill". I wave back, though not as enthusiastically...I'm a little tired. I return to my solitary role.
Uphill, uphill...I suppose I shouldn't expect otherwise from a volcano climb, eh? As I check the map, I see that I'm nearing a forested boardwalk that circles the rim. What the map doesn't state is that the boardwalk is essentially a really long set of wooden stairs! Know what's more difficult than working your way up a slope with a heavy pack? Stairs! My body is beginning to dislike my plan, but I'm optimistic for the upcoming view. I can tell through the canopy that there's clear blue sky, which should make for a nice shot of Auckland across the water. Here's what caught me off-guard: As I was scaling the northern side of the mount, I wouldn't be able to see the city until I crested. Through a break in the trees, I suddenly had a clear view of the eastern half of the island...and Motutapu next to it. Motutapu, with her lush, green, rolling hills presenting themselves with such contrast to the darkened treetops of Rangitoto and the milky blue waters around: This would be my home for the night! Oh, did I not mention that? One reason people don't camp here much is because it's a minimum six-mile hike from the ferry to the camp. You literally land on one island and have to make it to the far coast of the other. My destination having breathed energy back into me, I carried on to the summit. What's to say about the summit? I rewarded myself with a muffin procured from the ferry.
I enjoyed the top briefly, but reminded myself that I now had less than three hours to descend a volcano and cross Motutapu before sundown. Reaching the edge of Rangitoto, I was truly surprised to see that it took only a ten foot causeway to link the islands. With time constraints in mind, I took the shortest path across, being gravel roads through farmland. Now, I don't know if it's because I'm inexperienced working my way through free range cattle or if they were odd because of island fever, but this is how it played out: The road cuts through the pasture. Up ahead, there are a few cows standing in the road. I don't know if they'll move as I approach or stand firm like the donkey in the road that held me hostage back in '08, but I'm racing the light here. Sure enough, they don't like me walking towards them and they run in the opposite direction as I near. Easy enough, I think to myself...
I hear hoofsteps behind me. There are a few cattle that seem slightly interested in following me. Ah well, they keep their distance and we're all happy. I keep walking and I still hear them behind me. I turn around to see magnitudes more making their way to my trail. Here's the thing: When I face them, they freeze. It's like I won't see them if they're not moving. I think I saw this in Jurassic Park and at least a few video games. Sure enough, I continue walking and they follow me, my herd continuing to grow. Each time I face them, they stop. Some look away. I really wanted to hear one do the "I'm not doing anything" whistle you make when you're actually doing something. I have to admit that I was both cracking up AND freaking out by this. I accelerated my pace and left for greener pastures (not really -- they were all majestically green). I made it to the campsite with light to spare and had my pick of 190 sites, which, because it was completely unmarked, was a large meadow between the hills and the shore. Ferry price ($23 return) aside, I paid five dollars to have an entire oceanfront campground on an island to myself. The weather report called for likely showers and chilly temps overnight, so I had carried multiple thermal layers and rain gear. However, the orientation of the bay blocked the wind and I slept in shorts. It's good to be prepared, but savor the times you don't need it!
I slept to the sounds of waves and the calls of tropical birds while basking in the light of a near-full moon. Five dollars...
