To me and probably the whole Westernized world — minus the Māoris — Mount Ngauruhoe will only be remembered as Mount Doom, just like Nemo is the new name of the clownfish.

Difficult, then, not to imagine Frodo and Sam clambering up the rocky slopes of this volcano as I am peering at it. And where is the cave they entered to throw the Ring into the lava? I can’t see it. What? It was only a movie?

Trekkers from all around the world followed the steps of our mighty Hobbits though, and took up the challenge of climbing to the top of Mount Doom that day. We contended ourselves with the classic, and gorgeous, Tongariro trail, taking in the spectacular volcanic landscape and breathing the fabulous stench of sulfur across the craters. Bizarrely colored lakes, owing their hues to minerals, dotted the surreal, otherworldly scenery while steam kept venting from the ground, as if we were standing on a kettle ready to explode. Which we probably were.

The Tongariro Crossing was unlike any tramp I had ever done in my life, and this uniqueness is probably what makes it such an incredible experience. Instead of the alpine mountains above lush forests that define most of my trekking history (which does not mean the latter are not beautiful themselves), this time I felt like I was walking on another planet — simple as that. Everything is different, everything feels different. Rocks take the most strange shapes because of past eruptions, while geothermal activity creates incredible colors around you. Water and air, warped by the natural processes, become inadequate for life.

 

The New Zealand Department of Conservation, the public caretaker of all things natural in the country, has the habit of boasting the Tongariro Crossing as the best day hike in the world. And while it certainly is an unashamed promotional move, I would admit this is the case for me.