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It’s never reassuring to find yourself waiting alone on a cold, dark street. Twenty minutes later, the tour group and the bus were nowhere to be seen and five layers of clothing began to feel inadequate. Calling the tour operator confirmed the worst; the bus had been and left without me. Fantastic. Orion was fleeing from the advancing dawn and I was about to do the same and go back to bed, when a flash of headlights flooded the street and a bus rounded the drive. I’d been too preoccupied with the Southern skies to notice several hikers emerge from the hostel to meet it. I approached their driver with my predicament, expecting refusal. Instead, he gave me a map and told me to take a seat, because Tongariro was waiting. I couldn’t believe my luck! There are moments in life when second thoughts try to stop you from living. Guilt, for leaving my travel companion, recovering from a cold. Dread, when recalling my mother’s words about wandering off alone. Fear, for walking into an uncertain situation with complete strangers. But - it was my last day in Lake Taupo and I wanted to make it count. Two hours later, I'd finished the first mile of the Tongariro Alpine Crossing. Walking briskly against a bracing wind, a boardwalk spared the shrubs from stomping boots. I soon relaxed into a steady rhythm and before long I had befriended my fellow hikers. None of us were prepared for the Devil’s Staircase, an aptly-named, agonising climb from the foot of Mount Ngauruhoe. We rested at intervals to breathe, gulp water and remove layers, all the while gaping at the pinpricks of colour behind us on the valley floor. Had we really been walking down there? When we finally emerged on the plateau, we could have been standing on the surface of Mars. The ensuing climb to the summit is steep, with chains embedded in the rock to grasp. The exertion pays off when you crest the peak, to a view you’ll find nowhere else on Planet Earth. The Red Crater is redder than its name and perforated by a ruptured lava tube. The Emerald Lakes are incongruous pools of mineral-rich, molten-jade, which steam at the edges. Beyond them, the Blue Lake broods with its own chemistry, reflecting nothing. My photographs fail to convey the sheer magnitude of the landscape. Some sights cannot be captured; you have to climb for them yourself. The ridge we teetered on was exposed, with precarious drops on either side. Wearing crampons does nothing to stop you from sliding down the scoria. By some miracle, we made it to the bottom unscathed and I can wholeheartedly recommend walking sideways like a crab, although your boots will quickly fill with sand! We marvelled at our descent from the Blue Lake, where the smell of sulphur loses its strength, before continuing past the point of no return. We approached Te Maari with caution; steam billows from vents on the mountainside and it seems as through you’ll stumble across a snoozing dragon. First, we noticed the sound of water, then, small patches of shy flowers, white butterflies and finally, birdsong. We hadn’t realised how spartan the pass had been until we found ourselves in the foothills. Hours later, we were relieved to reach the cool shade of Totara trees. After the silent desolation of the volcanic desert, it’s strange to find yourself under a dripping canopy, deafened by droning cicadas. During our final mile, we downed our last dregs of water and felt like we were wading through syrup. We still finished the hike with high-fives and took a glowing selfie! I sleepwalked in and out of the shower, then ate a whole roast chicken (plus a bar of Whittaker’s) and climbed gingerly into my bunk. What a day! Had I hesitated that morning, I would have missed the most exhilarating hike in New Zealand. Starting alone and anxious with strangers and finishing 35,000 steps later with friends proves that sometimes you need to stop thinking and throw yourself into the unknown. Life doesn’t always give you second chances, or a second bus, so if either come along, just take it!