Open Writing

Now where did we get to? Ah yes, the Divide. So “Beam me up Scotty,” and we will start from where we left off.

The Divide. The beginning of that wonderful walk, the Routeburn. But we ‘ain’t’ going on that today. We will just observe the dirty, sweaty trampers, with their huge packs, emerging from what appears to be a hole in the bush and making for the flush loos and covered seating areas. Taking off their boots and packs, with a sigh of relief, then waiting for the bus to take them to Te Anau, or piling into cars and vanishing into the ‘great, blue yonder.’

We are heading down hill, towards the Hollyford Valley. We will look upwards, through the trees, to where the track wends it’s way towards Key Summit, Lake Howden and the Emily Saddle, before it turns inwards along the valley and heads for Queenstown.

We will descend to the road which strikes off down the Hollyford to Lake Marion, Gunn’s Camp and the long walk out to Martin’s Bay and the sea. But we are not going down that road today. This is a ‘big country’ and we must use our time wisely.

We are here, where the Hollyford river rushes down from the high alpine meadows and takes a sharp, left bend down the valley. It’s blue, green water indicates it’s origin in the high glacial fields. We are coming into the big hills. The river is wild and boisterous. It falls over rapids, rackets through gorges and is fed by cascading waterfalls on either side, from the sheer cliffs, their tops hidden by the bush we drive through. But not for long.

Suddenly, we are clear of the bush. No in between. One minute dense forest, the next this great open alpine meadow, the upper Hollyford, surrounded by snow-clad glaciers, with tongues of blue ice, like frosting poured over a cake, spreading down to scree and crags, until the vast flat alpine valley is reached.

How can such a transformation occur? The cut off point, where trees will grow and trees won’t. The tree-line, drawn like a ruler across a page.

Alpine meadows, but the alpine meadows of the Southern Hemisphere. Our tour busses will trundle through from 10-00am to 4-00pm, taking their loads of tourists to Milford Sound, but you and I will wait a while.

The river has ceased to be a raging torrent. It’s in it’s big, flat plain, it’s source. Fed by tributaries from the valleys, which meander through the mountains, and by waterfalls, from 6,000ft cliffs. It wanders about through big, blue, green pools and grassy banks. So let’s put our tent up on one of these banks and see what it feels like to be here when everyone has gone home. Utter silence except for the odd rumble of an avalanche, somewhere in the hills. In the winter the road is often closed due to avalanches, but it is summer, and it’s safe.

These valleys are very special places, a sea of colour in late spring, white and gold. The Mount Cook lily, with pure white flowers, as big as dinner plates, and huge, leathery green leaves, is the largest buttercup in the world, and it grows here in masses, like patches of snow. It’s lesser cousins, with many flower heads, all white, scatter themselves around, while the yellow celmisia and sharp barbed, clumps of grey, green Spaniard grass, add to the patch- work. The song of the birds, the sound of the river and not a soul in sight.

Such places are unique. So let’s settle down, boil a billy and have hot cocoa and stew and just enjoy it all, especially those brilliant stars.

OK’ off time again. A short drive up the valley. And, where on earth are we going! It’s a dead end! Nothing but cliff faces! Ah, there’s a hole in the rock. The Homer Tunnel. Started in 1935, during the depression and finished in 1953. Hewn, with pick and shovel, by men on work schemes, who lived in tents in this high valley. Of course, a war slowed it down, but this is the only way, by road, to Milford Sound. 1.2km and at the other side a different world.

But who is this cheeky little creature and his mates heading our way? Head on one side, all green and bronze, until he spreads his wings and you see the bright red. Vicious looking beak and gleaming eye, waddling along, like a clown. How can you resist him? And how well he knows it. Out go your sandwiches and biscuits. But watch out! His favourite food is the sealing round your windscreen and your wiper blades, and what fun he and his mates have if you take a bit of a walk and he breaks in. Leather seats! Wow! What a feast!

You have met the kea, the mountain parrot, a cute rascal who knows exactly what he is up to and how to charm you. Don’t trust him too much. Listen for his screech, “Kea Kea,” and you know he is around.

Sorry we have got to go. We have looked at the perpetual snow field around the tunnel’s entrance. We have fed the keas. And we have remembered the men who died here, creating the route to the other side. Now we will take this 1.2km drive. No lights, once one way traffic every half-hour, now two way and no wider. One asks, ‘why?’ as a huge bus approaches.

The pinpoint of light shows the end and we emerge into primeval forests. The rain forests of the west coast, and how it can rain. Cliff faces become sheets of streaming water. The Cleddau river rages through this ravine which leads to Milford Sound. Still above the tree line we see the hair-raising, hairpin bends, taking us quickly to sea level and, in low gear, we descend. The trees return. The scars left by avalanches remind us we are in dangerous country. And the rain forest closes in. No longer beech trees, now broad leaves, rimu and thousands of other types, all with gardens of epiphytes in their branches, sphagnum moss hanging in veils, and myriads of colours in the mosses beneath our feet. Dracophylla loom out at you and tree ferns abound.

At the chasm we will stop and take a stroll into this jungle, for forest is too kind a word. We will see the great cataracts and caves and tunnels, carved out of the limestone by the Cleddau, as it rushes towards the sea, and we will move on to Milford Sound.

A Sound in Fiordland? No, it isn’t a sound it is a fiord, scoured out by glaciers eons ago,. Leaving its pile of rubble and rocks at it’s mouths entrance, the Tasman.

Round the bend and there’s Mitre Peak, rising straight from the sea. Some of the highest cliffs in the world are to be found in Milford Sound. An airstrip greets you and light aircraft buzz in and out, on scenic flights from Queenstown. A huge bus terminal, resembling the departure lounge at an international airport, sits beside the jetties full of sight seeing launches. And, in this wonderland of nature, the mind boggles. However New Zealand’s economy depends a lot on tourism so one must bow to popular demand.

But we have time. As the last busses pull out we will board one of the later cruises. Settle yourself on the top deck. Arm yourself with a meal of fresh crayfish and a bottle of chilled chardonnay and prepare yourself for even more grandeur.

Out we sail between the steep cliff walls, their glacial scars still showing. We pass the underwater coral observatory. We gaze up at Mitre Peak and wonder where the bishop is. We edge under waterfalls and look at the Lion and Elephant peaks and move out to the Tasman. We see fur seals basking on rocks and watch fairy penguins hopping ashore and we sit and watch the sun set over the Tasman, with our glass of wine in our hand. You are at the end of the Milford Road.