Outside it is cold and the lake is still and quiet, not yet awake. A small van pulls over and a kiwi guy jumps out and introduces himself to me as “Will”. He is my tour guide for the day from ‘Fiordland Sea Kayak’ and that is exactly what we will be doing.
The journey into Milford is mountainous through national parkland and the landscape is dramatic and rugged. We stop at a lookout for hot chocolate and biscuits that Will has brought along. I see for the first time the pesky but pretty parrots - Kea birds – known to peck the rubber out of a car window frame and scavenge for crumbs like seagulls.
Along the way we see the aftermath of snow avalanches that occur when too much snow has piled up on the mountains, and their path is one of pure destruction. We see where the road has been cleared in front of the Homer tunnel. It looks like a snow cave, and it is the only access into the Milford. Work on the tunnel began in 1935 and Will tells us that it started with just five men, picks in hand, and one wheelbarrow. Three were killed by avalanches. Sometimes for months on end they went without sunlight. Now that’s hard yakka! The project stopped during the war and then wasn’t finished until 1954.
We pull up at the basin of the sound and Will begins to unload the van. Before we are on the water we have to get dressed in layers and layers of protective clothing. First there are the very attractive thermals, then a rubber vest, a polar fleece jumper, a bright orange rain proof poncho and a strange contraption that looks like an oversized tennis skirt (a spray skirt) used to seal us into the kayak. And of course on top of that is a well coordinated, fashionably purple life jacket. We stand around our kayaks feeling completely ridiculous as Will gives us a briefing on how to paddle and so forth.
Most of the other people doing this sea-kayaking tour are on their honeymoon. I’m
paired up with a guy called Paul who is training to be a tour guide. Chuck Norris comes to mind, and he and I are quick to start bantering and bickering as though we have met before. The sky is cloudless and as we paddle out we are joined by a family of dolphins. They glide underneath our kayaks and show off by spinning and leaping through the air. They swim so close to us that they tip onto their sides as they pass so they can peer up at us with one eye, and then empty their blowholes. It’s incredible! And Will agrees that this is quite a rare experience, possibly due to the amazing weather we are having. Oftentimes it is raining, which we are assured is very magical, but I am happier with the dolphins playing and warm sun on my face. We are directed over to a large waterfall pouring out from one of the cliff faces. The watery mist cools our faces as we paddle ferociously up some small rapids to get as close as possible to the Bowen Falls. Actually, I don’t have to paddle hard at all. Paul (or Chuck) has announced that he likes to be “a very physical person”, so he doesn’t mind as I lazily sit back and take photographs. I think we make a good team, and I know that tomorrow my shoulders won’t be sore!
We discover, after tasting the slightly salty water, that the Milford is not
actually a sound but a fiord. Further along the mossy banks we spot a young fur seal yawning sleepily after being disturbed by our loud cries. He poses for awhile, stretching and sighing before clambering down the rocks and slipping into the cool, dark waters. 
The seal disappears as the dolphins reappear to host us down towards a rocky beach where we have a glorious view of the ‘Mitre Peak’, the tallest sea cliff in the world at 1692 metres about the sound. It gets its name from its appearance, similar to that of the mitre headwear of Christian bishops. We stop for lunch
sitting on uncomfortable rocks and sipping cups of hot tea while we take in the breathtaking vista. My sandwiches go down a treat after all my hard work.
After lunch there is more kayaking, and Will fills our heads with information about the region, and some of the Maori legends. He points out two prominent mountains called “The Elephant” and “The Lion” and with a little imagination we are supposed to see the forms of the animals. It takes awhile, but everyone eventually begins to see the shapes, everyone but me! The Milford is also used for Cray-fishing. The local fishermen make a mint off the tons of crayfish they catch in one season and sell to the Chinese. Hundreds of thousands of dollars are made very quickly in this industry, from heavy pots that are lying right beneath us – a gold mine.
We arrive back on shore late afternoon and pack the gear up, before heading back to Te Anou. Will gives us all cinema tickets to see a locally made documentary about the history of the fiordlands. I really appreciated the small and thoughtful gestures we received during the tour. It was really personal. I get back to the hostel and drink a little whisky with a friend and sit on the balcony in the freezing cold to watch as the sun melts away over the lake. The weather is changing back. It only lasted a day at the Milford, and it was magic. I can clearly see why Rudyard Kipling described it as the eighth wonder of the world. But now it’s time to get back to reality (as much as possible in this fantasy land they call New Zealand) and tomorrow I must hitch back to Queenstown to find out what’s been going on at the backpackers while I’ve been gone.
No comments:
Post a Comment