7.23 Day 1 and a bit: Milford Track, New Zealand’s premier tramp

In the beginning...on the way to commencement—only reachable by water

Looking towards Mackinnon Pass—next day's target—up and over

Early morning start—greeting the monster monoliths

Reflections along the canyon

It is very difficult, taking into account our limitations, to provide a reader with insight into the Fiordlands, particularly the parts deep into the almost hidden territory. Bear in mind, too that the writer is biased as New Zealand is a place in which to live, not just visit. We hope the fourth trip to this remarkable country will not be too far into the future. We write from Te Anau, the largest town situate closest to Milford Sound. Because it’s the biggest, that’s no indication of size. In fact, it is a rather small and homely—a tourist’s gateway to the Fiordlands.

One of hundreds of 'tearing mountains'

We continue to see many of the world’s beautiful sites and this area stands tall…and high. We have learned not to make comparisons; each part of the earth is unique, comprising its own wonders. Nevertheless, to visit this district is not just memorable but also a privilege. We might as well continue with the high praise and conclude that it might even change one’s outlook of life. “Let’s get going before we miss the boat”, shouts out our editor.

The Sound of silence

The Milford Tramp is over three-and-a-half days, three nights spent in huts. The accommodation is decent unless you are seeking hot water, a comfortable bed, privacy, trash facilities etc. Talking of trash, they use the ‘pack it in, pack it out’ system. Simply expressed, whatever you discard, you place in a bag and carry it with you until the end of the journey. ‘Go west, young man, and travel light’. (We nearly did miss the boat because of a directional issue. See the photograph below where we encountered difficulty.) With side-trips, we hiked forty miles, gaining about 3,400 feet and were mesmerized. The tramp is actually moderately easy in our opinion but quite long so weariness arose more from distance than difficulty.

"Is this the wight way?" we asked."Can't you read: It's Wong Way."

If only there was a way up there.

We met and mixed with many of the forty people who shared the hut although we hiked on our own. Most were locals, some Australians, three Israelis, one French-Swiss and ourselves, however we are classified. We appeared to be the oldest although few could keep up with our editor who continues to act well below her age. We learned quite a lot from a couple of gentlemanly local farmers. Perhaps we will include some intimate secrets of raising sheep and cattle for those considering a change in profession.

Rolling trees down Clinton Canyon

We have decided that farming may not be for us. However, we discovered an opportunity in Queenstown. We were saying to our editor: “There are many poor people in this town.” Of course, she asked how we arrived at such a conclusion. We mentioned that many people wore jeans with holes in them, frayed edges and were downright shabby. “Those,” she pointed out, “are designer jeans that can cost three to four hundred dollars.” We were stunned.

“How about selling our worn-out hiking trousers into that market?” we replied. “Don’t be silly”, she said, “you don’t have the right ‘name’.” ‘No problem. We can change our name from Jeffrey to something else.’
“Hey, Jen, where're you going? Wait for us...

Dwarfed by towering slabs of mountains in Clinton canyon

Day-two to follow…

Cheers,

Jenni and Jeffrey

PS To all our Christian friends, may you have a joyous and healthy festive season.

Raw power

'Say Mister, can you give a lady a ride. I'm done with this hiking nonsense.'

A glimpse of a painting