They said it couldn't be done. They said it shouldn't be attempted. They said the very thought of it was sheer madness. They probably had a point.I'm on the last leg of my journey. It's 15 km and an estimated 5 1/2 from Waihohonu hut to Whakapapa Village, where I have a reservation to camp and a bus ticket to Wellington the following day. There's a 9 km stretch from Whakapapa Village to the beginning of the Alpine Crossing which I hadn't done since I took the shuttle to the crossing with my friends. It's supposed to take 3 hours for this section, but 5 if it's wet (I figured it would be). From there it's another 6.4 km (2 1/2 hours) to the base of Mt. Doom, with a trip to the summit and back adding another 3 hours. Sojourning back to Whakapapa Village brings the butcher's bill to 46 km---plus a summit climb---and 19 1/2 hours. Not possible, they said.
What they don't realize is 1) I'm a fitness instructor, and 2) I'm a hobbit. I was born for this. If there was ever a quest tailor-made for me, this is it.
That night, Lady Galadriel came to me in a vision...or maybe it was Diana Finkel. She took me by the hand, raised me to my feet, and said, "This task was given to you, Hobo Baggins. If you do not find a way, no one will." I tried to give it to her since she's the greatest mountain runner in the world. She explained that she was just a vision and couldn't actually do anything---which made the whole helping me stand up incident a little weird in retrospect.
I got up at 4:50 a.m. and by 5:20 it was light enough to disembark, Bon Jovi's "It's My Life" jamming in my head. I broke fast on a super chocolate power bar, which is just like lembas bread except for being chocolate and not very filling. As an added bonus, my water bottle carried a hint of potato and leek flavor. I made good time, and 3 1/2 later, I stood at the fork. One would have me dining in Whakapapa Village within 15 minutes; the other, back into the heart of Mordor. I knew what I must do. I hid my backpack under a bridge, taking only the barest essentials in my day pack.
The next leg took me through the Dead Marshes portion of the journey. Wet, slippery, and not too scenic, it would have been no great loss to forgo this section of the Northern Circuit. This was also the place where my knee decided to remind me that exploded a few days previous. I ignored it. I imagined Tami and Brittany rolling out of bed and sitting down to a gourmet breakfast of eggs, bacon, and kiwi waffles and wondered what in the world I was doing in the middle of the swamp.
With my load dramatically lightened, I blazed through in less than two hours. I stopped for lunch just before 11:00 at the beginning of the Alpine Crossing, a full 3 hours ahead of schedule. And at 1:00 p.m., I stood at the base of Mt. Doom for the third day in a row.
The weather report proved true. Patches of blue sky peeked through the dreariness. Unfortunately, the jolly gray giant decided to establish squatter's rights halfway up the mountain's slope, setting up shop and showing no intention of migrating elsewhere. The wind seemed to be somewhere around the promised 30 km/hr. I've played frisbee in worse wind than that, and one of my rules of life is, if you can play frisbee in it, you can climb a mountain in it.
There's not really a trail. Basically, you just pick a spot and start plowing up the scree slope. This made my knee furious. It was a lot like Red Crater, except steeper and a whole lot higher. I aimed for stretches where chunks of actual mountain jutted forth from the scree; it's amazing how much difference it makes when the ground you step on doesn't give way underneath you.
Visibility more or less vanished when I reached the cloud. I resigned myself to the reality that I wouldn't get any kind of view from the top. But this wasn't about pictures---not with the fate of the world at stake.
I lost all track of time. My world shrank to the task of putting one foot in front of the other and not losing ground on the inevitable slide : zero-sum was a victory in itself. If I wasn't already regretting my decision to forgo purchasing tennis shoes and just hike in sandals, I officially reached that point when I encountered a snowfield. Bah! Warmth is a crutch; real men get frostbite. I crossed the snow field, scrambled up another 100 feet or so, and suddenly found myself staring into a volcanic crater. I made it. rest easy now, world. The biggest threat you have ever known has been cast into a raging inferno. The evil talisman is no more. I ate a peanut butter sandwich on top just to assert my dominance.
There are two ways to descend Mt. Doom: really slow, picking your footing one step at a time, or really fast, scree skiing at ever increasing speeds. I opted for the latter, much to the chagrin of my knee.
I reached the bottom at 3:45, and set a goal of reaching my campsite by 7:00. To do that, I was going to have to run for a spell...so I did. I was feeling pretty frisky---chocolate lembas for the win!---so I kept running for about 3 km.
It was pouring down rain by the time I returned to the Dead Marshes. I lost count of how many times I busted in the mud. By the time I recovered my backpack, I was freezing cold and soaked to the bone. And then, I crested the last ridge, and behold! There was Whakapapa Village below me. You my think I'm speaking hyperbolically, but I swear I've never in my life been so happy to see Whakapapa Village.
I rolled in a few minutes after 7:00, having hiked over 25 miles in nearly 14 hours. If you add everything up, I essentially traversed the Northern Circuit twice in three days. It wasn't how I expected it to go. It most certainly wasn't how I would have drawn it up. But it was an experience I'll remember for the rest of my life. I'll take it.
P.S. If you're still listening to "They're Taking the Hobbits to Isengard" I both commend and pity you.
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