Laura and I booked the Milford Track last November the same day that we received our visa confirmation. It is has been hailed as “the finest walk in the world,” and we simply wanted to see what all the hype was about.
Unlike the Routeburn Track, we actually arrived on time. The track is 53.9 km / 33.5 miles long, can only be walked in one direction and can only be accessed by boat. Because the walk is so popular, the Department of Conservation limits the track to a maximum of 40 independent walkers on each leg of the track per day, with set huts that everyone has to stay in each night. We were scheduled for a 10:00 am boat, but the boat broke down! We were delayed a few hours until another boat became available. As we waited on the dock, I scanned the diverse crowd and realized that we would be spending the next three nights and four days with this group.
The boat arrived just before 1:00pm and we began our journey from one end of Lake Te Anau to the start of the track. We were blessed with good weather, translated as, “no rain!” The scenery, as expected, was spectacular. After about an hour’s ride the grand mountain range that was off in the distance was now surrounding us and it was time to jump on the track.
Everyone in the group was excited to start the track. A number of older English guys, one with a scarf delicately wrapped around his neck and the other with a leather hat, jumped to the front and took off down the trail. A good number of people congregated around the sign that marked the start of the track and took the predictable touristy photos around it. Laura and I took part in this ritual and had a bubbly Thai dude take our picture.
The first day of the tramp is only a short five km walk to Clinton Hut. We had about three days rest after coming off the Routeburn, but we still didn’t want to aggravate Laura’s tender knee so we decided to walk the track at a nice slow and easy pace. The track was pretty much a small highway through a rainforest. It seemed the further we walked the more lush it became.
We were the last ones to make it to the hut. The hut was very well maintained, with two large common bunk rooms and one large kitchen with a wood burning stove. We made ourselves dinner and parked ourselves at a table with the friendly Thai guy. His name was Art and he was playing cards with a Swedish couple named Michel and Helen. Also at the table were two English women named Debbie and Madge. We had a great meal of instant pasta and I gave Debbie my copy of “A Million Little Pieces,” as she had forgotten a book. We were all very entertained by Art. He is from Thailand and he received a scholarship to study political science in New Zealand. Laura and I were both very interested in his account of current Thai politics and economics. He also shared some of his dried pork that he carried with him as a form of trail mix. We had some other great conversations getting to know everyone else at our table. Helen and Michel had been travelling for a couple months and had spent a fair amount of time in South East Asia, so Laura and I interviewed them on their travels.
At about 7pm the Hut Warden came in for the “hut meeting.” She welcomed us to the Milford Track, went over the rules and collected tickets. My favourite part of the meeting was when she asked where we were all from. I knew that the crowd was diverse, but it was really impressive to hear how diverse. There were Canadians, Thai, Taiwanese, Japanese, English, German, Swedish, Israeli, Burmese, French, Swiss, Danish, Aussies and Laura and I, the lone Americans.
That evening, I also had a conversation with this Aussie guy named Glenn. He told me how he travelled here with his family and how they allowed him to walk the Milford because they knew how much it would mean to him. Glenn doesn’t look like a typical Aussie as his heritage is actually Burmese. I was able to relate to Glen. While travelling, I always get funny reactions or looks from people trying to figure out where I am from. In that moment it didn’t matter where we were from, and it didn’t matter where anyone else was from, all that mattered was that we were there to walk the Milford. Other than the great scenery, my favourite part of the trip was being part of such a diverse community that all cared about the same things for a few days.
That night, rain fell and Laura and I continued our conversations with Art, Michel and Helen. We then crept back into our bunk fell asleep to a “Symphony of Snoring”. I never have heard someone snore so loud and with such authority that they woke themselves a number of times.
The next morning we woke early to sounds of rustling plastic bags and keas. I never knew that plastic bags could be so loud! The kea is an alpine parrot. It is beautiful, and posseses the problem solving skills of a 3 ½ year old. This intelligence makes it an entertaining pest. They have been known to steal cameras and even pick the insoles out of shoes! There are signs everywhere proclaiming “Beware of Kea”.
We had our typical tramping breakfast sandwich consisting of Mackenzie grain bread (very hearty), nutella, peanut butter and muesli. And off we went.
The second day of the tramp is a gradual climb of 16.5 km to the next hut called Mintaro Hut. The weather cleared and it was sunny so a number of people left early so that they could get to the next hut and then sprint up to the Mackinnon Pass to get clear views from the top. Laura and I decided not to attempt this. We knew that if we really pushed ourselves we could probably make it. But, with Laura’s knee still ailing we decided to just take our time. I think this was a bit of serendipity. We walked slowly and gently and really appreciated each moment we were out there. We weren’t concerned about where we were going, but simply where we were.
The entire day was spent inside of these majestic glaciated valleys. Fiordland is considered one of the wettest places in the world receiving about seven meters or rain a year. That’s a lot of wet. Complementing this amount of moisture is green. The forests inside of these valleys are incredibly lush, framing magnificent views of contrasting snow capped mountains countless waterfalls through moss covered branches. We hiked from sunrise to sunset.
Throughout the day, the serene world around us was abruptly interrupted by the clamour of helicopters. Helicopter tour companies must have been booked all day long and the guided tours who get their supplies flown in must have been low on wine and cake as the amount of helicopter activity was a little out of control.
Once again we were the last ones back to the hut. It was a bit different layout than the previous hut, with two small bunk rooms on the ground floor and one very large bunk room on the upper level. We shared a table again with Art, Michel and Helen. People surrounded the wood burning stove as the temperature had dropped substantially with our elevation gain. We learned that Michel played the part of Homer Simpson at a nuclear plant in Sweden. Laura, who in her free time promotes alternative energy, was very interested in the inner working of nuclear facilities. Michel was more than willing to explain. The questions ranged from, “how do you store nuclear waste?” to “if you touch it… do you die instantly?” We were all pretty tired and everyone went to sleep as darkness fell and the symphony began again.
The third day was my 29th birthday. Feeling excited to be at such a beautiful place I woke as early as I could. I quietly climbed down from my bunk and Laura snapped up and handed me a birthday card! It was a great way to wake up. We quickly got packed up and had our breakfast before making our journey up to the pass.
The walk up to Mackinnon Pass is a steady ascent of zigzags. It was pretty cloudy out, creating a gloomy feeling as we reached the pass. Twenty minutes before the highest point of the pass is “Mackinnon Memorial” and “12 Second Drop”. You can probably figure out what the latter means. Looking west we could see a bit of blue sky trying to fight through the clouds, but we had no such luck. It probably would have been an incredible view, but it was also quite dramatic standing in the clouds with the sensation that you were standing on the edge of the world.
As we made our way to the pass shelter, the clouds east receded and the views down through Clinton Canyon were breathtaking. Glenn told me moments like this made him wish he was a poet. I agreed and quickly tried to take some pictures, but the clouds covered up their secret faster than they had revealed them.
The walk down the other side of the pass was slow. Walking down hill was much more painful for Laura’s knee, so we took our time. The surrounding valley walls were home to an amazing display of waterfalls. We were walking in waterfall paradise. Appropriate as we were approaching the fifth highest waterfall in the world.
An hour and a half detour off of the main track, Sutherland Falls is well worth the extra time (do I sound like a tour book yet?). It is 580meters or 1904 feet tall. “The falls drop directly out of Lake Quill, which is in turn fed by several glaciers producing their own waterfalls, then drops down three steps in very quick successions, dropping 751 feet, 815 feet, and 338 feet respectively.”
The approach to the falls is magnificent. It was the greenest part of our journey as bright rich moss simply enveloped everything. The falls themselves were amazing. It is so tall and powerful that its spray made it feel like it was raining a fair distance from the actual falls. As we approached the falls, Art, and a number of other trampers told us that we definitely have to walk behind the falls. Michel said I have to simply because it was my birthday.
We covered ourselves in our waterproof gear and walked up to the falls by crossing the rocks on left. The power of the falls became even more evident. The closer we walked the more it seemed to push us back. The rocks were very slippery so we took care as we moved behind. It was hard to realize when we were actually behind the curtain of the falls. It felt like we were standing near a giant faucet. When the wind momentarily died down we were able to look up and see the curtain. It was a humbling site of power and elegance. But our clear views were brief as moments later we would be lashed by water prompting us to protect our eyes. This was another one of the Milford tracks ephemeral secrets.
It was only another couple hours to our next and final hut. We seemed to have a bit more bounce in our boots on our return. Laura surprised me that night with one of those instant “gourmet instant backpacker meals.” It was beef curry, and it sure beat the instant dried mashed potatoes we were planning on having! After the hut warden gave his schpiel, Laura rounded up everyone in the commons to sing happy birthday for me and gave me a giant bar of dark chocolate as birthday cake which I gladly shared with Michel and Helen. Later that evening, Laura, the Swedes, Art and I took a short jaunt back down the track to check out some glow worms. On the way Art explained more about Thailand culture. The glow worms reminded me of broken and flickering Christmas lights and I found the conversation much more interesting.
We were blessed with another rain-free day on our final day. It was an 18 km hike out to Sandfly Point where a boat was scheduled to pick us up at 2:00 to take us out to Milford Sound. Laura’s knee was happier knowing that the final leg was pretty much flat. It was a gorgeous walk, pretty much more of the same beauty we became accustomed to. We arrived at MacKay Falls just before 1:00. We spotted Michel and Helen sitting near the falls and decided to stop and have lunch with them and just catch the later boat.
Sandfly Point is a great finish to an incredible walk. It is appropriately named as we were immediately swarmed. I took some pictures and shared some laughs with our compatriots and then we boarded a boat that would take us to Milford Sound.
Milford Sound.
Laura resting at Sandlfy Point.
Spider webs.
to sutherland falls
Balloon Mountain
Sutherland Falls.
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