New Zealand Interlude: Milford Sound

The Remarkables from Queenstown

When you journey thousands of miles from home to a place you've dreamed of visiting, you want to make the most of it.  With a month's allowance, I'd given myself what I thought was a generous amount of time to accomplish my goals, which revolved around a backpacking sampler of sorts.

Even with 30 days, the choices were absolutely overwhelming.  I spent weeks researching hikes appealing to my tastes, and trying to fit together itineraries that allowed for more doing versus getting there.  I also wanted to get a sense of the landscape; this is after all an environment different from anything I'd ever seen.

A lot of what seemed interesting to me centered around South Island and particularly Queenstown, a middling sized city located in the southernmost region.  For anyone who has gone to New Zealand that's not a surprise, since the town bills itself as the adventure capital of the country.

Lake Wakatipu - Queenstown

Two of the four backpacking outings I planned are in proximity to Queenstown, and my next adventure in the area was due to begin after completion of the Gillespie Pass Circuit.  I built in a two day layover in the city for a couple of reasons: one so I could regroup and resupply; and two so I could experience one of the "must see" attractions in the region - Milford Sound.

Milford Sound

Variously billed as the world's top travel destination and New Zealand's most famous attraction, Milford Sound is truly one of the most spectacular landscapes found anywhere on planet Earth.  Part of Fiordland National Park and a Maori Heritage Area, the iconic landscape is also a World Heritage site, and was once declared by Rudyard Kipling to be the Eight Wonder of the World.  With all the superlatives bestowed on this landmark I could hardly say no.

There are two main avenues which allow visitors to reach Milford Sound, located on the southwestern coast of the island.  The vertical nature of surrounding topography means only one road exists to travel by car or bus, and getting there and back in this fashion from Queenstown takes a full day.

Planning the trip in advance allowed me to weigh different options and respective pros and cons.  My choices were take an all day bus trip, or fly to Milford Sound in about an hour.  Both excursions included a boat tour of the Sound, and while the flight was more expensive I felt it was worth having extra time in Queenstown to run necessary errands.

I chose a company called Glenorchy Air for the excursion, and I have nothing but praise for the entire experience.  From booking and pick up at my lodging, to the flight and arrival at Milford, and subsequent return journey everything was handled efficiently and courteously.  If you are planning a visit and looking to fly I recommend them without hesitation.

Ready for departure

The plane held 9 passengers and a pilot, with a window for everybody.  The pilot provided narration through headphones over the course of the hour plus long flight.  He mentioned at the outset how fortunate we were in the weather; he said many trips had unfavorable visibility either during the flight or at the Sound, and in some cases had to be canceled altogether.

Within minutes after departing Queenstown we were flying high over the Southern Alps, the range of mountains that define the rugged and remote area of the southwestern coast of South Island.  Most of the landscape here is protected as Fiordland National Park, an area I would see more of on my next outing.

I mentioned in the conclusion of the Gillespie Pass narrative that a maritime climate and extreme latitude of New Zealand plays a dominant role in weather, with alpine environments existing wherever high peaks pierce the clouds.  It was amazing to see the real effect up close and personal as the plane flew in close proximity to massive snowfields and glaciers.

Rising above Queenstown

Fiordland National Park is not misnamed.  Just like Norway, the coastline here is characterized by deep and extremely vertical glacier carved valleys leading to the ocean.  With the exception of Milford these fiords can only be reached by ship, with Dusky and Doubtful Sounds being the longest at 40 kilometers.

We arrived at the airstrip, located at the head of the Sound.  Flat land here is at a premium, and the harbor terminal shares limited space with the landing field.  The pilot gave us our tour pass and instructions on where to meet at the conclusion of the excursion.  Standing there I noticed waves of buses rolling in from the highway, and was glad I had elected to fly in.

It was a short walk from the airstrip to the terminal, with interesting interpretive displays along the way.  Most discuss the Maori experience of the Sound and its importance in cultural and spiritual customs.  One in particular caught my attention as it involves something I haven't mentioned yet: the Sandfly.

New Zealand's most fearsome predator

If you consider one thing from an environmental aspect that might negatively affect your travel experience, the sandfly has to be in the top five.  Basically a bloodsucking midge, the sandfly is ubiquitous in nearly every backcountry setting.  Before my trip, I read online horror stories from unprepared visitors who were extensively feasted upon, with resulting long-lasting itchy lesions to rival any mosquito bite.

I do not like parasites of any variety, probably because I happen to be in that percentage of the population who attract the attention of opportunistic insect vampires.  We have something similar in the Southwest known as a Cedar Gnat, and I am super sensitive to the saliva compound the gnat uses to prevent blood from clotting while they dine.  Having had extensive adverse reactions in the past, I resolved before leaving home I would make myself as unappealing as possible.

Using a chemical extract known as permethrin to treat my clothing and a proven insect repellent called picaridin, I was well prepared to deal with the threat.  I count myself as fortunate, receiving only about half a dozen bites during the entire trip.  Consider yourself warned.

Once onboard ship I chose a spot on the upper deck to view the spectacular setting.  Anyone who has read any of my previous posts knows I enjoy using whatever superlatives I can find to describe a majestic landscape, and it's no different here.  Rising abruptly from the water's edge, massive granite cliffs soar thousands of feet into the air.

View from shore

Leaving the dock

The early morning marine layer was just beginning to clear, with the tops of gargantuan mountains wreathed in cloud set against deep blue skies.  And with little to no wind the waters of the Sound were calm and serenely reflective.

Scale is something that photographs (or digital images these days) can never adequately convey.  When I'm stretching my neck to the most acute angle possible looking up, I wish there was an effective means of portraying what the human eye sees.  Knowing full well there isn't I still try, only to review my efforts afterwards and once again be disappointed.

Even so there is a reason to capture whatever scenes I'm witnessing, particularly once I return home and revisit the thoughts and feelings of those moments.  Mostly awe, appreciation, and gratitude that such things exist, and that I am fortunate enough to see them in person.

Waterfalls are manifold in the Sound, with cascades plunging from sheer rockfaces without interruption hundreds and even thousands of feet into the waters below.

There's a more modest but still wonderful set of falls where the mist generated from water impacting rock disseminates into countless refractive particles, rendering a perpetual rainbow.

As the ship progresses through the Sound every twist and turn reveals new nearly impossible vertical slopes, where the tenacity of life is revealed as plants and shrub cling to naked rock where it seems nothing should grow.

See the "tiny" ship at lower left?

Before long the opening to the Sound appears ahead, with the Tasman Sea stretching into apparently limitless horizons.  The ship turns around here, returning the way we came and a slightly different perspective.

The Tasman Sea

Headed in

The journey only takes a couple of hours, but seems shorter than that.  Soon we dock at the terminal and regroup with the pilot in preparation for the flight home.  I can absolutely see why Milford Sound has developed notoriety as a must see attraction, and think maybe someday I'd like to return to explore more of the surrounding area.  One the most famous Great Walks, the legendary Milford Track departs from here.

I am glad my time in New Zealand allowed me to visit one of its most famous landmarks, but honestly nothing I have seen up to this point can be considered ordinary.  The country at large is truly a natural wonder, and my anticipation to see more grows each day.  So back to Queenstown for the night and off to the next adventure tomorrow.

Back to the beginning

Next up: A Great Walk - The Kepler Track 

 

Mt. Aspiring National Park: Gillespie Pass Circuit - Conclusion

This way to Gillespie Pass

After an enjoyable but vigorous hike to Crucible Lake the previous day, it was time to move on to the next segment - heading over Gillespie Pass into the next valley.  The hut warden told me I'd have decent weather for the first part of the day, with chances for light rain that afternoon.  Since I'd be climbing a few thousand feet to reach the pass, I was glad to hear that no severe threats loomed in the immediate future.

Taking the same route as the day before through the grassy valley, the initial approach was easy enough.  Once past the junction with Crucible Lake trail, the path immediately made a beeline for tree clad slopes.  I was not surprised at all to encounter the same kind of terrain as what I had seen 24 hours earlier - roots.

Beech roots, again

Thankfully the use of hands was not required as the grade was not as steep, but the intertwined roots definitely necessitated paying attention to foot placement.

The route to Gillespie enters a valley nearly directly opposite that of Crucible Stream.  The profile here is less constricted and more gradual in elevation gain - at least at first.  Gillespie Stream descends through the ravine, with occasional breaks in the tree cover allowing for views of the surrounding landscape.

The trail ducks in and out of the bush, staying just above the streambed as it climbs.  Where things open up the destination ahead comes into focus.  Like Crucible, the valley ends in a semi-circular ring of high mountain peaks and ridges, and some hardy adventurer needing to cross over discovered a slightly less arduous way to get there.

  

The valley extends for several miles before the trail eventually starts transitioning to the flanks of the mountain.  As in similar landscapes, with increases in elevation there is a corresponding change in vegetation - fewer trees, more shrubs, and eventually grasses.

As I turn back to survey my progress, I can see Crucible Valley across the way where I had been the day before.

Crucible Valley on the opposite side

Continuing on I can now make a guess as to where the pass might be.  With the path fully above treeline, the way is marked with orange poles.

 

The trail becomes quite steep in the last couple of miles, winding through large clumps or tussocks of snowgrass.  Erosion has carved deep ruts around the growths, and in many places there are big step-ups to manage.

Snowgrass tussocks

As I approached the pass clouds enveloped me, and near the ridge the wind became a force to reckon with.  I put on an extra layer as the temperature dropped considerably.  Unfortunately at the apex visibility was limited to just a few yards, and I wasn't able to capture any of the panorama I had hoped for.

The saddle of the pass is fairly broad but very exposed, and I wasted no time making my way to the other side.  After an extended scramble I finally reached the lower extent of the cloud bank and was able to see where I was headed.

What goes up, must go down

Just below the clouds

I had been warned by the Siberia Hut warden that descending the pass in the direction I was taking would be more of a challenge than if I had gone the other way, but with patience it was manageable.  The same snowgrass tussocks with deep ruts and big steps were present on this side, and I relied heavily on my trekking pole to prevent slips and slides.

It took the better part of an hour to reach the head of the valley, where Young Stream has it origin.  Once I had gotten to the bottom I could relax, and focus more attention on where I was.  I also had time to admire some of the local attractions.

After a break I continued towards Young Hut, my destination for the night.  Now in the valley proper, the trail followed the same progression as the way up.  Sub-alpine grasses and shrubs lined the area around water, with sheer rocky slopes climbing steeply on both sides.  

I was becoming acquainted with the environment of this unfamiliar land as I traveled slowly through it, acknowledging the differences and the likely reasons for them.  As an island nation, there are much more pronounced maritime influences on the weather, which are in turn accentuated by the extreme southern latitude.

Even though the mountains are not especially high by alpine standards, they are certainly lofty enough to capture and retain significant amounts of snow.  The prevalence of moisture laden fronts that originate in the polar ocean also allows for a temperate rain forest at lower elevations, and the abundance of plant life is testament to that.  All in all a big change for a desert rat like myself.

Making way downstream, the trail crosses over the stream on a sturdy steel bridge.  As elevation continues to drop the inevitable appearance of trees ahead means I'll soon be back in the bush for the foreseeable future.

 

 

Bush ahead

The rest of the day passes uneventfully, with additional trekking in the now dense foliage leading to arrival at Young Hut. The hut was nearly at capacity with hikers heading the other direction, and most were eager to hear about my hike to Crucible and conditions at the pass.  I shared some perspective and photos to an enthusiastic crowd looking forward to their next day.
 

Young Hut 

Rain began to fall not long after my arrival, and once again I gave thanks for a warm, dry place to take refuge.  Huts are definitely an upgrade to my usual backcountry experience, and while it's a great idea I'm not sure I would want it to become an expectation.  As far as I'm concerned self-sufficiency is part of the adventure, and for me it enhances the satisfaction I get for doing it.

The Final Day

I slept as well as you might expect given that the hut environment is a shared dormitory - earplugs are a big plus.  After coffee and usual minimalist breakfast, I shouldered my pack and headed down valley to meet the 2:00 p.m. jet boat appointment at Wilkins River.

The remainder of the trip continues through bush.  I mentioned in the earlier Crucible post how dense and tangled the roots of the beech trees are, and the terrain here was no exception.  The trail attempts to stay just above the river but the topography is complex, meaning lots of ups and downs.

Pictures are not adequate to show the complicated nature of the trail.  There were a few sections that qualified as unremarkable, but following the stream closely made others exceptionally convoluted.  Progress was slow and at times frustrating, as near constant scrambling over and through big root clusters created a literal puzzle at every turn.

The tricky deviations of the path were one thing, however there are different hazards lurking in wild places, with events sometimes leading to unforeseen consequences.  In a somewhat ironic turn of affairs, I was walking a section that was for the most part level and unobstructed, bordered on either side by dense vegetation.  That led to my downfall, literally.

The width of the path was consistent, and I made the most of easier progress with confident steps.  Unfortunately the outside edge of the trail had a sudden drop of at least 8 inches, obscured by the unbroken line of plants.  Where I expected firm ground, there was nothing but empty space under my right foot.

My forward momentum and weight of my pack meant the crash was swift and unpreventable.  I did not have time to extend my arms to break the fall and I hit the ground hard, face first.

After the bleeding stopped

The force of the impact left me stunned, and the pain rendered me nearly breathless.  It took more than a few minutes to recover my senses, and as the initial shock faded I noticed there was plenty of blood, especially from the cut across my nose.

I applied direct pressure with a bandanna, and it took 20 minutes to staunch the flow.  When that was accomplished I examined my glasses, which had understandably sustained damage.  Fortunately I had the good sense to bring an extra pair - having a backup was essential to me continuing.  

As the most significant hurt faded, I was left feeling embarrassed and angry, but most perversely of all thankful no one had witnessed the incident.  

Once I gathered myself enough to continue, I began to dread the inevitable encounter with other people and the requisite explanation of the gore.  The next few days were going to be interesting.  And although the wounds were mostly superficial they hurt, and served as a constant reminder of my lack of attention.

There are many times in life when you have to recognize that you are not in control of a situation, and this was one of those instances.  The fall had happened, the damage was done, and all I could do was be grateful it wasn't more serious.

A less difficult section

The meadow ahead suggests the end (of the trail) is near

One last look back

A couple of hours later I emerged from the bush, battered and bruised but still capable of moving.  Even then I started to realize this misadventure on the last leg of the Gillespie Pass Circuit would become be a story to share with others once the passage of time had provided the necessary perspective. 

After all, without a tale to tell it's just another day in the woods.  And on a positive note, I still have a jetboat ride back to Makarora.