I set off early in the morn for Fiordland National Park; nursing my red wine induced headache with some much needed water. The coach bus ride, operated by a middle-aged man with a seemingly endless knowledge of the park, took us from Queenstown, through Te Anau (where we stopped for a short visit to a bird wildlife park), and into the park itself. Upon entering the park, which covers some 1.2 million hectares and averages around seven meters of rainfall annually, we stopped at numerous points for photo opportunities and short explorations. Although we stopped at choice spots, it soon dawned upon me that having my own mode of transportation would have been ideal, allowing me to stop and admire wherever I please. What sorrow, for this was not so, and I made due with what was given to me.
We stopped often to admire the mountainous terrain of the national park, but of the many locations for which we pulled over, I found two more than noteworthy. After some inspection (and guidance from our keen driver) of what seemed to be nothing more than a simple babbling brook, we found that the water was, in fact, pure glacier water fed from the mountains high above. After indulging in a few quick gulps, I quickly emptied the dirty tap water from my bottle and filled it with this refreshing alpine water. Another sweet as spot was called The Chasm: a place where rushing water has cut through some rocks, making for a spectacular cavernous waterfall. I ventured off the appropriated track with Jaime, a kid from my hostel, to explore the Chasm from a closer vantage point, which paid off with this swell photo (left). At the bottom of the falls, we could see people gathered around a pool that was formed around jagged rocks, from which one could jump off of and into the pool. Here is where I felt the burden of not having my own vehicle, returning to the coach bus in dismay after not being able to partake. Another such instance occurred when we gazed longingly from the window of our bus as we watched others walk up to and inspect the remains of a glacier from an avalanche that occurred over a year ago (right).
After almost five hours on and off the coach bus, we made it to the famous Milford Sound. Here, we were taken on a 1.5 hour boat cruise circuit through the fjord (passing gushing waterfalls and monstrous rock faces) and out to where the waters emptied into the Tasman Sea (which looked as if it could be the end of the earth, picture on left) before turning around. Of all the sights, it is Mitre Peak that steals the show, rising a staggering 1695m above the water. In most photos, it is capped with quite a bit of snow, but with it being the beginning of autumn and a perfectly sunny day, said snow was not present. However, as it was late in the day and the sun was low, I stole some shots of the peak as the rays of sunlight struggled to reach around its girth.
There is a trade off of the Milford Sound when it comes to the weather, as I discussed with some of the fellow backpackers on our boat. On a sunny day like the one we had, you can see the top of the mountains quite clearly, though the waterfalls are scarce besides the two or three permanent ones. On a rainy day, we were told that being able to see the tops of the mountains is not likely, but the lack of a view is made up for by what can be hundreds of waterfalls gushing down from all sides. Although we did not get to experience such an alluring sight, our small vessel took advantage of its size and placed us directly under one of the permanent waterfalls. "It's not too often you can say that you stood beneath a glacier-fed waterfall." How right you are, Mr. Boat Driver.
And what would a day in New Zealand be without any marine life sightings? A few fur seals could be seen lounging on some rocks, basking in the sunlight, but even more exciting was the sighting of a group of bottlenose dolphins, although it was only for a few seconds; for we learned that, apparently, when they are swimming along the rocks as they were, it means they are sleeping. They turn their brains halfway off so that they continue to swim, using the mountain as a guide, and popping up only occasionally for air. Sweet as.
Alas, my words alone do not do justice to the majestic and elegant Milford Sound and surrounding Fiordland National Park, nor do my photos embody the full magnificence and splendor of it all. It's so rare these days that such natural beauty can remain practically untouched by our dirty hands (now I feel bad about the glacier water), but the park does as best a job as it can to retain that "natural" appeal while allowing us the opportunity to look upon it with our own eyes, which is as much as one can hope for in our exceedingly commercialized world.
entrance to Milford Sound supporting some commercialization of my own
global warming might say differently... or a giant asteroid
At 12:08pm, I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. I had made it out of the thick forest and found myself surrounded by a spectacular panorama of mountains. I all but forgot about how tired I was and reveled in the beauty around me, taking copious amounts of photos. I reached Luxmore Hut at 12:32pm, having successfully completed the indicated "4.30 hr" climb in just under two hours. After spending about an hour on the top taking pictures, enjoying a much needed lunch, talking with Amanda on the phone, and exploring the Luxmore cave (though I barely step foot in it, not having a torch to light my way) I began my decent, which was easy enough as gravity did its work and allowed me to clamor and clunk to the bottom lifelessly. With about an hour and a half left of flat land walking, I found little motivation besides the gray storm clouds chasing behind me and the juicy porterhouse steak I bought the night before, knowing I would need a reason not to lay down and sleep in the forest after what turned out to be an 8 hour walk. It was well worth the journey, and the steak was scrumtrulescent.
