Enthusiastic tramper Hazel Phillips has ‘wheelie bin’ out there lately.

Tramping’ as a term is beginning to decline in popularity, with the English-originated word ‘hiking’ taking over. It’s true, I read it on the news. The Mountain Safety Council has come to this conclusion after studying Google searches from within New Zealand over the past five years. (I can’t see a safety connection with this research, but that’s a column for another day.)

I usually self-censor when talking to foreigners and opt to use ‘hiking’ lest people think this ‘tramping’ activity I engage in involves a lack of personal hygiene. Recently, speaking to an American, I forgot and said tramping. She did a noticeable double-take and asked if it was similar to ‘plogging’. Then I did a double-take.

Plogging is a combination of running and picking up rubbish. The term comes from that bastion of healthy living, Sweden, where they say ‘plocka upp’ (meaning ‘pick up’), combined with ‘jogging’. The resulting term ‘plogging’ sounds like a criminal charge you’d hear in court, perhaps involving public toilets.

But I digress.

I haven’t been plogging, because jogging is activity enough for me to cope with at any one time, but I realised I’m a keen plamper. And here I’m inventing the term and officially claiming credit for it; ‘plamper’ being a portmanteau of ‘tramper’ and ‘plocka upp’. I plamp, you plamp, he/she/they/it plamps. We all plamp, we go off on a plamp together. (I could stretch further and invent ‘plountaineering’, but that activity sounds unlikely.)

I’ve been picking up rubbish on Mt Ruapehu lately, which is my backyard. It started when I went in search of a series of swimming holes near Turoa and found the catchment littered with pieces of plastic, Woodstock cans, pole baskets, beanies, chip packets and those little gifts from Satan himself; takeaway coffee cup lids. I grumped (plamped) up and down the catchment until my 65l pack was full to bursting, then sat in a swimming hole that overlooks a waterfall in a sort of natural ‘infinity pool’ arrangement, and contemplated the environment.

I hate the idea of this rubbish flowing into such a pristine environment. Ruapehu is not just in a national park but a World Heritage area. It touches two gazetted wilderness areas. To quote Churchill, this was something ‘up with which I will not put’.

Mangawhero Stream is home to many stunning swimming holes and in its lower reaches, the Tutara/Serpentine Stream, it supplies water to Ohakune.

I plamped and plamped like a mad wee plamper. Others from Ohakune were plamping, too, and I began to see the effects of our efforts; each outing I noticed the streams were cleaner.

I posted some plamping content to my Instagram and my DMs overflowed with angry messages. People raged at Ruapehu Alpine Lifts (RAL), the operator of the ski fields. That’s not really the point, I feel. RAL is in voluntary administration right now and hence has more on its plate to worry about. Moreover, as a snow user I reckon the onus is on us as individuals to do our bit regardless of any ski field initiative. Put your plamping boots where it counts.

Eventually, DOC, Project Tongariro and RAL organised a community clean-up, similar to what’s been done in previous years. I couldn’t go, but I’m stoked they did it. I’ll be back again soon, plamping away up and down my favourite water holes.

I went up the other day for a swim and took three rubbish bags ‘just in case’. They came away full, and there was yet more to collect. Tucked into the sand alongside the stream, my plamping buddy noticed a piece of trash to grab. I leaned over and the purple hue of plastic caught my eye. “It’s fifty bucks,” I laughed.

Sometimes when you love the mountain, the mountain loves you back.