The famous Milford Track has been described as "The Best Walk in the World" by someone in some magazine (yes, for real, but references aren't my best skill)... Here's the funny thing about expectations and actual experiences: if you expect nothing, such as the Rees-Dart Track we did two weeks ago, you can have an intensely amazing and wonderful time and be sincerely surprised by the beauty of a place, and conversely, when you expect something great, the result, such as what we discovered on the Milford Track, can be less tantalizing than you thought it would be. Perhaps had we heard nothing fantastic about Milford we would have enjoyed it to a greater degree, but I guess that's what happens when the tourist industry gets its grip on the game, creates a fantastic advertising campaign, and reaps the financial benefits of 14,000 of your closest friends hiking the same track each year.
After a 45-minute, expensive boat ride north of Te Anau, we started swatting at the sand flies and began the track, which looked like a two-lane hiking highway:
Our original intention was to hike in five kilometres to the first hut, relax all afternoon, and then give'er on the rest of the track the following three days covering the remaining 50 or so kilometres. However, when we arrived at the first hut, we once again quickly began swatting at sand flies, ate a fast lunch, and decided that we should continue on since the weather was good, and we didn't feel like we needed an extended rest quite yet. Could we do another 20 kilometres before dark? Sure!
On our way that afternoon, we passed a nondescript small lake with the bonus of a fantastic reflection:
A few times that afternoon, we stopped for small water breaks, but got back on the trail pretty quickly for fear of being eaten alive by sand flies.
As we approached our hut destination for the evening, I turned and looked back down the valley we'd hiked along all afternoon and was pleasantly surprised by the lovely view (see below) because nothing that day seemed too glorious.
The hut we stayed in was filled with young folks leaving doors open, leaving their stuff splayed out everywhere, and talking excessively loud. Three of these people were having an argument over whether, like, one can eat, like, rolled oats, like, raw. Um... ever heard of, like, muesli?
If I have any reason to allow the Milford Track to leave a small sour taste in my mouth, then this one's it: during the night at that hut, mice ate some of our bagels, some of our nuts, some of our pita wraps, and worst of all, they left a few little shit pellets in our pita wrap bag. If you know me at all, you know that mice are the bane of my existence. OOooooooh, those little freaks and their turds make me cringe with frustration. When the food you have is all you've got, and there are still three days left of your journey, you shake out the poo, cut around the chewed bits of bread, and try to forget it ever happened.
Day two of the trail remained quite busy passing back and forth the other trekkers, all of which decided to leave the hut and begin hiking within the same half-hour time frame. I can't imagine what it's like during the 'on season' when the huts are full with 40-plus people all attempting to reach the summit first. I don't think I'll ever attempt Mt. Everest, for that reason alone.
The trail up (way up) to the McKenzie Saddle was steep and relatively quick to hike, with neat shadows on the mountains on the opposite side of the valley:
The saddle was nice, with views of the next valley we'd be hiking in ahead of us:
The cross shown below was erected by a rugby football union in honour of the explorer, Quintan McKinnon, who discovered the pass in 1988, and who drowned four years later in Lake Te Anau. I don't actually have a good memory for bits of information like this - I must confess, I took a picture of the plaque and copied the words here in my blog (ref. photo of plaque).
The wind was howling at the saddle and playing with us, testing our balance as we walked (notice the direction of my scarf and my orange hankie):
The valley we'd hiked the first day looked even better from the saddle (see below), and made me wonder why I hadn't seen the beauty of the same space on Day One. Was my head in a lurch? or was it just the fact that the trail itself wasn't interesting? It made me think about why I like to hike, and what factors lead to a good hike. I like great scenes and views and desktop photo oportunities like the ones we saw at the saddle, but I also like a bit of a challenge on the trails. The track was too easy, too wide, and kind of, eek, dare I say,
totally boring? How's that possible? I thought I could describe myself as being someone who adores being outside. Are there conditions to this? I suppose so, when I've got on a pair of hiking boots (or running shoes in this case since my hiking boots are in the trunk of my car in Nelson). One of my favourite things about travelling along a trail by foot is something I learned when I hiked my first big hike, the West Coast Trail on Vancouver Island, back in 1994: the game of rapid, selective foot placement. My mind likes to be kept occupied and be tested with consistent and fast decisions directed at dodging rocks or avoiding slippery spots. I think about things like the depth of mud puddles, the coefficient of friction of wet and mossy rocks, the strength in raised tree roots... In other words, I'm a bit of a hiking geek who doesn't often look up to smell the pine cones. However, I get really good at moving at a speedy clip with minimal slips, toe stubs, or falls... all in the name of preventing wet feet and getting somewhere faster than the 'suggested time' by the Department of Conservation. Are you competitive Dee? Yep. 'Fraid so. But my feet stay dry, doesn't that count for something? If there's anything that spells 'enjoyment', dry feet must be it. So perhaps the lack of trail complexity made for a boring Day One, but Day Two should have been better in terms of the slightly more rough trail plus the good valley views. And, yes, I can agree that it was a bit better for both those reasons.
Speaking of keeping my mind occupied... While Brian was taking a wee pee break, I played around with my reflection and made a self-portrait:
The steep trail down from the summit followed along the river, and left us with multiple places to get really great shots of dripping water using slow shutter speeds:
Hi Brian...
I couldn't pass by these mushrooms without getting a shot:
During our lunch break, Brian commented that I've always got a great smile or a fun and funky face when we take pictures of ourselves, but he doesn't think he does the same. So, we practiced a fun and funky face - sorry for the view of my partially-chewed lunch:
In mid-afternoon, we arrived at the second hut, and within twenty minutes it started to rain. Bless our souls, aren't we lucky?! It rained. And it rained. And it rained HARD. The following morning, we were happy that we had planned on staying at a hut for an entire day of rest and relaxation because it was still raining HARD. The water was pouring off the roof of the hut:
And spectacularly beautiful, long waterfalls emerged from every crevasse in the mountains surrounding us:
During Day Three, our rest day, I read an entire novel (The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, by Mark Haddon - a great insider's look at what it's like to have Autism, plus a small murder mystery), ate good food including dark chocolate, drank loads of Milo (a hot chocolate substitute) boosted with shots of Canterbury Cream (a poor man's version of Bailey's), and played multiple rounds of solitaire (No, Brian, I wasn't cheating. Those are the rules, at least the ones my mom and I use...). On one of the tables at the hut, we found a deck of cards that have the Vegemite logo written on them. Score! We decided that since we were going to hike out other people's garbage (people who leave their garbage is a big pet-peeve of mine), and because we are such newfound Vegemite supporters, we deserved to keep the cards for our travels.
Brian told me of a spider web worthy of a photograph near the bunk room, so I ventured outside once during the day to capture the web with its water droplets:
With inherited fashion (my mom's nickname is Pyro-Pam, from all the campfires she's kept in her day), I made a fire in the old stove fireplace so we could keep warm and dry out our sweat-soaked clothes.
The peace and quiet of the empty hut was lost when the steady stream of hikers started arriving late in the afternoon, all dumping their things everywhere and speaking really loudly and cooking smelly dinners. One good thing is that every one of them seemed to be appreciative of the welcoming fire upon arrival.
Watching the other hikers was quite interesting. We're all rookies at some point, right? Being somewhat of an experienced backpacker (trails, not hostels), I can't help but feel a bit sorry for the poor schmucks who attempt trekking feats with either a lack of preparedness, or a pack the size and weight of an antique trunk, or both, which can be done - I've seen it. Heck, I still make mistakes; take for example the fact that Brian and I forgot our cream cheese, salami, sprouts and cheddar (the main lunch ingredients for the entire trip) in the refrigerator at the campground we stayed at the night before we began this hike. Instead of freaking out, or eating dry and pasty bagels and pita wraps, we sparked our creativity neurons and decided that itchy-ban noodles (that's what I call two-minute noodles) and Vegemite would be quite a lovely substitute between the dry pieces of a bagel. And indeed it was! Another example of our continuous learning curve is the fact that, considering this trail is so widely used and monitored, we anticipated a free and endless supply of toilet paper at the huts littered along the trail. Hmm.... "Off Season" really means off season: pas de papier de toilette. Of course, being less than a complete rookie means that I brought about 26 squares of the thin white stuff, but given that I was likely to poo at least three times during the trip, there wasn't going to be a lot of wiping material surplus. (I made it out with four squares left, by the way).
Back to rookies. There were three folks at the first hut who brought a 25X25X5 cm stove, a big gas cannister, a large wok fry pan (including glass lid), ceramic bowls, a box full of 25 industrial candles, and the list goes on.... I can't imagine carrying all that along any hike, especially one with any elevation gain. Then there was the fellow wearing jeans, skater shoes (with a hole in the toe), a cotton hoodie, all decked out with his heavy, hard-core chain permanently linking his wallet in his back pocket to the loop on his waistband. Is this last item necessary in the backcountry? Me thinks no, but people must have their reasons. The same guy brought an entire large tube of mayo, a full jar of pickles, a full, and rather large container of salt, five raw carrots, a bunch of bananas, and so on including more heavy and less-calorically-pleasing items. He also stepped outside for a few vicious and long puffs of his cigarette, as though it were his last... ever. It was quite obvious this dude was not having a good time, carrying too much weight,was totally soaked and didn't have any rain gear or spare clothes. And there was rain in the forecast, remember? What makes people like this want to hike? Maybe because he wants to do the Best Walk in the World. That
must be it. In any case, his experience is likely going to dissuade him from further attempts at trekking (which may be a good thing for his own safety), and in the end his experience will turn into nothing more than a drunken, sad story to his buddies over shots of tequila with further drags on his smokes.
But I shouldn't be poking fun at other people because of our lost running shoe incident on the Rees Dart Track, the fact that I hiked over 100 km in Crocks, and - oh, did I forget to tell you - I clumsily dropped my toothbrush on the deck at our first hut on the Milford Track and it slipped through the cracks and became an irretrievable permanent piece of the the landscape. But that can't be blamed on being a rookie, rather just Dee attempting to be efficient (Brian is just learning about this 'efficiency' feature of his newest model Dee, version 2.3, and will be conferring with Bill on the details to survive without harm).
Hello, and welcome to Day Three. The remaining 18 km were at least a bit more challenging than the first 20 km of the trail, so we were ahead of the game and using rapid foot selection! But, my body stunk something fierce, my shoulders were a bit sore, and I wanted a beer. Plus, when we stopped for lunch, those sand flies put out a call for "Suckers" at our exact coordinates. Dammit. Here's what we have to say to you, stupid sand flies:
The end of the trail was not as boring as the Rees Dart Track because we had a fancy sign telling us of our arrival at Sandfly Point. Great. Plus the display of some crapped-out boots that didn't cut the mustard.
A $30, ten-minute, required (the only way home) boat ride from the end of the track to the township of Milford Sound was nice, with the exception of the rain blocking the "award winning views" (ref: Tourist Industry, page 32 of a book that doesn't exist).
Brian and I both realized we were tired, a bit hungry, and happy to be going back to hot showers and warm meals not infested with mice poo.
The only exciting thing that happened on the journey home on the bus was the spotting of a Kea standing in the rain, who was looking for something rubber to chew on. Sorry good buddy, you'll have to look elsewhere for rubber; our tires are a necessity to get us home, and I'll admit that I'd fight you for them, and you're guaranteed to lose.
