New Zealand has marketed itself to hikers more successfully than any country in the world. True, NZ is blessed with gorgeous scenery and has an enviable number of tracks (trails), but those aren’t the only reasons it ranks high on many hikers’ life lists. Kiwis are smart. Their nation’s natural beauty is an infinitely renewable resource, so they sell it—hard. And in doing so, they sometimes exaggerate.

Case in point: the Tongariro Crossing. Kiwis breathlessly tout it as “the world’s greatest day-trek.”

They’re entitled to their opinion. And, granted, it’s a subjective matter. But having hiked the Tongariro Crossing three times during the past 20 years, and meanwhile having also sampled a lot of the most spectacular hiking terrain elsewhere in the world (Patagonia, French Alps, Sierra Nevada, Alaska, etc.), Kathy and I can say with assurance there are many day treks more deserving of “the world’s best” label. We hiked one of them just last week: the Lake O’Hara Alpine Circuit, in Yoho National Park, in the Canadian Rockies.

Is the Alpine Circuit THE best dayhike in the world? Perhaps. It certainly ranks among the world’s top ten.

Compare the six Lake O’Hara Alpine Circuit photos above with the three Tongariro Crossing photos below. Where would you rather hike? We believe most hikers will agree the Alpine Circuit offers a scenically superior experience. So why doesn’t Canada market the Canadian Rockies with anything approaching the cunning and savvy with which Kiwis market New Zealand?

We hope the Lake O’Hara Alpine Circuit is on your radar. Before you go, read Trip 14, page 89, in Don’t Waste Your Time in the Canadian Rockies, the Opinionated Hiking Guide. Meanwhile, here’s our advice…

If you’re reasonably fit, begin the day by ascending to Wiwaxy Gap. Next, follow the Huber Ledges to Lake Oesa. From there, descend back to Lake O’Hara. Allowing plenty of time to gaze and take photos, this abbreviated loop will take you about three or four hours.

You’re fit and keen? Continue from Lake Oesa, onto the Yukness Ledges, then down to Hungabee Lake. From there, descend the East Opabin trail to the south shore of Lake O’Hara. Total hiking time: five to six hours.

You’re very fit and super keen? Proceed west along the north shore of Hungabee Lake. Work your way onto the All Souls’ Traverse, beneath Schaffer Ridge. Ascend to All Souls’ Prospect for a new panorama of the entire region. Then descend the Big Larches trail to Lake O’Hara, arriving there about seven or eight hours after you began hiking.

Travelers often yearn for friends and family to ask stimulating, thoughtful questions. It rarely happens. When it does, it’s a gift. It helps travelers better understand their own motivations and articulate the deeper meaning of the experiences they’ve had en route.

The standard questions… What place did you enjoy most? Where was the best food?… are briefly tolerable but soon wearisome. When asking them, people don’t realize they’re short-changing themselves. More probing, challenging questions elicit more surprising, entertaining, revealing answers.

How do you know if it’s a “good” question? You’ll feel it’s daring of you to ask it. Or you’ll hesitate before answering, because the question demands reflection. Good questions are personal. Contemplation is necessary to think of good questions, as well as to answer them. A good question discloses something about the person asking it. Good questions are the ones you wish someone would ask you. The result of a good question is that both people know each other better and feel closer to one another.

A great friend of ours, with whom we’ve traveled and hiked in the Canadian Rockies, New Zealand, and the French Alps, recently emailed us several good questions about our experiences this winter in the mountains along the Mediterranean. He’s pondering a long, adventurous journey himself and wants it to be soul-enriching, not just a sight-seeing trip. Here’s what he asked and how we answered:

Q: What do you find challenging about your work hiking/traveling?

A: Balancing how much we take with how much we give. We don’t want hiking/traveling to be entirely selfish, which it can easily become. We want to use what we experience to heighten our contribution to others through our books and website blog. We want hiking/travel to make us wiser and more compassionate. What we learn, we can share through our writing. Compassion is a welcome gift in any human exchange.

Q: What meaning did you get from Liguria as opposed to the Costa Blanca?

A: We’re in Liguria now, just inland from the Italian Riviera. The true meaning of a travel experience takes time to bubble up through the soul into the conscious mind. We think it’s yet to do that. We could, of course, offer several answers to that question now. But the real answer will probably emerge later.

Q: What did France’s maritime alps say to you, and what did Italy’s Alpi Apuane say to you?

A: France said “You’re here rather early for hiking.” Italy is saying, “Just in case you didn’t understand it in French, I’ll repeat it in Italian: ‘You’re here rather early for hiking.’”

Q: Why did you choose, or what feelings led you, to go to Liguria?

A: We came to Liguria for the same reasons that have motivated all our European journeys. It feels as if our mental/emotional tank, with regard to Europe, was barely a quarter full. We want to fill up. Our desire to see Europe’s architectural and natural beauty remains intense. Because European society is ancient, there are trails everywhere. More trails per square kilometer here than anywhere. We’re hikers, so how can we resist the Continent of a Million Trails? The reason we came this winter is that we wanted to escape the vastly harsher winter weather at home, in the Canadian Rockies.

Q: How did the feelings generated in Liguria inspire or contribute to your next choice of destination?

A: On the simplest level, we’re compelled to return to these mountains in summer to take full advantage of all the high-elevation hiking trails that are inaccessible to us in winter. On a deeper level, our experience here is nudging our gaze back to North America, specifically to Utah, where we want to build a home in the high-desert canyon country, where the infinite canyons invite endless exploration, and where our souls resonate most vibrantly with the land.

Q: Do you get a sense for local people when hiking in Europe?

A: Yes, but not the present-day locals. We rarely meet anyone hiking here in winter. But we get a strong sense for the Europeans who built the ancient trails. These people are no longer physically present, of course, but we sense them nonetheless. We not only see their handiwork, we use it, much as they did. The trails they built are not just functional, they’re art. Beautiful, earthen art. The terraces they constructed are marvels of patience, engineering, craftsmanship. The trees they cultivated are gorgeous. These people obviously had a profound relationship with the land. We can’t help but begin to see the world through those people’s eyes and to feel kinship with them. And through them, we deepen our relationship with the Earth.

As guidebook authors logging up to 1,000 miles each summer, we began using Leki trekking poles way back when poles were a rarity on North American trails. Having never seen poles, other hikers frequently commented on them. Each assumed his quip was oh so witty. But it was almost verbatim what everyone else said: “Hey, you forgot your skis!” We tolerated this tedious sarcasm for years. But eventually the fatuous comments slowly decreased, while the number of other hikers using poles increased. It was as if we were observing the evolution of the hiker, from cretinous bipeds to astute quadrupeds. What a relief. We could stop wincing. And our faith in the intelligence of our fellow hikers was gradually restored. So thank you, Leki, for refining trekking poles into precision instruments and for popularizing them. You’ve made hiking easier, safer, and more enjoyable for all of us. And you’ve saved some poor fool—the guy who would have said “Hey, you forgot your skis!” once more than we could endure—from getting whacked with a trekking pole.

Beeline for treeline, Tararua Range, New Zealand