On June 21 Sam, Rich, Ben, and I departed Milford Sound having just completed the greatest hike in the world. Rain streaked down the windshield of our ’87 Galant as I urged the grey bucket up successively steepening switchbacks. We slowly chugged towards a towering rock face; the steeply inclined Homer Tunnel hid from us until the last possible moment. In the rear view mirror, I watched in terror as a previously picturesque green valley transformed into some kind of ghoulish nightmare - black rain clouds descended on the scene and waterfalls erupted from both valley walls. My three stinking and dripping compatriots broke my panic by reminding me, “Relax Cavness, we just hiked the Milford Track.”
You see, when it rains in Milford Sound, it pours, and when it pours, the valley walls burst open with dozens of waterfalls. It’s biblical, really. Rainfall is averaged to over 11 meters and 300 days per year. The area receives so much rain that oceanic waters periodically convert to fresh water - so much rain that the Milford Track’s brochure forewarns walking through “up to a meter of water.” Fortunately, our four-day jaunt was graced by three days of clear skies; the torrential downpour didn’t hit until the end of our fourth and final day.
Despite the rain, National Geographic labels the 33.5-mile Milford Track as “the finest walk in the world,” and I wholeheartedly agree. Describing the Track is difficult, but imagine the Disney World of hiking. Instead of the Tower Of Doom or the House of Mirrors, I found myself tugging on papa Sam’s sleeve and begging, “Oh! Oh! Can we go swimming in Lake Mintaro before we see Hirere Falls!? Can I please stay up late to see the glow worms!?”
For me, Southerland Falls, New Zealand’s tallest waterfall, delivered the Track’s emblematic mental snapshot. There I scaled slimy rocks to stand beneath the 540-meter fall and look down-valley. Avalanches of vegetation pour into the gorge from every direction and Kea Parrots offer their shrill, piercing calls. It is a place where the Velosa Raptors of Michael Chriton’s imagination would be happy.
We spent our three nights on the Track in huts outfitted by the Department of Conservation (DOC) with gas burners, wood burning stove, eating area, and bunk beds. The track begins and ends with a ferry ride – no other means of access are available. The group of 40 that disembarked the ferry with us was the same group that we dined with each night and hiked with each day. Memorable characters include a fearsomely disciplined German man and his troop of equally ordered German kids (presumably his children). I don’t speak German, but I imagined the conversations going something like:
Father: “You will march or die here.”
Hanz: “Yes father, I know, but when may I have my ration of nuts and berries?”
Father: “You will scavenge your own, or die here.”
Hanz: “Alright father, but why have you poured water into my sleeping bag?”
Father: “To teach you resourcefulness, otherwise you will die here.”
Yeah, that’s probably exactly what they were saying.
The only real disappointment came on the second morning, when I awoke to find one of my boots missing. After some searching, I discovered it tattered and lacking its insole. Apparently Kea Parrots are renowned for shredding critically important pieces of equipment and pooping on things that you love.
Thankfully, Keas represent the greatest danger to humans on the Track. Indeed, the Milford Track would be impossible in almost any comparable rain-forest. Elsewhere, predatory dangers make the track’s universal access unconscionable. In the Amazon, Boa Constrictor will gladly squeeze the life from careless hikers. In South East Asia, Bangalore Tigers might shred the wandering tramper. Access to those jungles is restricted to only the most expert and knowledgeable. New Zealand's uniqueness is its absence of dangerous predators, snakes, spiders, and bugs. Nature (or fortune) has exchanged the Asp and Grizzly Bear for the Kiwi and Blue Duck. Dominica is the only other country I’ve hiked predator-free in a rain forest, and those trails are not nearly as manicured, well signed, or hutted.
Currently, I am relaxing back in Dunedin and housing Daniel, a friend I met on the Milford Track. Daniel is also German, although less stoic than the former group. He is riding his bicycle around the South Island of New Zealand before heading to medical school in Deuchland. Having taken a similar trip in America, I was more than happy to lend him my couch and show him around D-town.
Milford Track was only the beginning of an epic Spring Break; the remainder must wait for a later post.
