From the End of Part One:
Needless to say, when we arrived at the lodge that second day after our 10-miler, we were drenched from head to foot. None of our waterproof gear, that is, our raincoat, rain pants, and boots worked in such heavy rain over several hours. But the great part about the lodges was that they had special heated rooms where you could dry things: one room for hanging your clothing, and another room for your gear. We learned however, that although things became moderately dry, it wouldn’t matter because the next day the wetness of your entire body would be replenished.
After an incredible hot shower, it was wonderful to join the other travelers (who hailed from various parts of the planet, but mostly from Australia, NZ, and the US) in the large gathering room to discuss the day’s adventure over a lovely glass of New Zealand pinot or beer (or two, or three). We also discussed the next day’s nine-mile adventure that switched-back up and then down a total of 2600 feet in elevation gain/loss—predicted to be in the pouring rain.
Part Two Begins:
Also that evening, one of the guides discussed some of the interesting history of the Milford Track, before and after Europeans came. She said that the next day’s hike, by all accounts the hardest day of all, was forecast to be primarily in the rain, and that we were all to leave between 7 and 7:15am. The trail condition was supposed to be fairly rocky and would potentially be slippery. Just three days earlier, they had opened up an area of that part of track, which had been washed out by an avalanche.
Also, for our safety, if there was too much rain and the river started flooding the track, we would be helicoptered to the next lodge if necessary. That kind of sobered us up.
As mentioned previously, all four of our guides were energetic twenty-somethings. They were mostly college-age kids who basically put college on hold so as to enjoy the great outdoors, and to get paid in the process. They also had to serve our dinners, and put up with some ornery customers, and make sure all of us made it to the next lodge in one piece. They all tried to make themselves available to everyone (all 49 of us) at one or more points along the way. They would chat a little, get a message on their walkie-talkie, and then run ahead to either take the lead, or fall back to be at the end. They had a lot of responsibility, and we appreciated them greatly.
The entire operation, I should say, was quite amazing. Ultimate Hikes, the company that runs this aspect of the track, with its three lodges and multiple guides, is experienced in the tourism field. They own other concessions to multi-day hikes, as well as hotels and transportation services in other parts of the country.
I asked the guides about the carbon footprint that was involved with the operation, how they dealt with sewerage, the logistics of getting all that food in, and how they did the laundry daily.
Apparently, once a week, helicopters bring in a week's worth of food and laundry to each of the lodges. And then as they fly back, they take out all the raw sewerage, garbage, and laundry. The wastewater from showers, etc. goes back into the river, but first passes through a filtration system. The electricity that was produced came from fossil fuel generators at each site. They would turn on the generators at about 6am, and turn them off by 10pm. Solar energy probably is futile because of so much daily cloud cover. They didn’t know the answer to my carbon footprint question, but I gathered it wasn’t insignificant.
The next day’s hike (Day 3) indeed started early. It was raining as we left, but as the guides would tell us, that was a good thing because it increased the number of waterfalls and cascades we would see along the route, and it would decrease the encounter of the dreaded sandflies and their bites.
After about three miles, we reached the base of the switchbacks. By then, all fifty of us were pretty well spread out, so Joanna and I were hiking alone. We began the ascent, and actually felt in pretty good shape. The 2800 feet of total elevation gain didn’t feel too uncomfortable because we were starting at only 1600 feet above sea level.
The rain created little streams that intersected and bifurcated the track, sometimes inundating our boots completely. In a few areas we had to help each other up and then down large slippery boulders and exposed tree roots. On occasion, we could see through the mist a ways across the valley, but as we reached Mackinnon Pass, it was clear that we would not be seeing the gorgeous views that everyone talked about.
Ultimate Hikes had a closed-in shelter at the top where we assembled in order to dry off a little, warm up, and have lunch. The guides were serving hot drinks and some snacks. Boy, did that hot chocolate hit the spot! I was very grateful for my warm merino wool undershirt that I bought just before the trip. Unfortunately, the outhouse was not the best one we had encountered.
Heading down the switchbacks was in some ways more difficult than going up. Several times Joanna and I had to help each other get over and down some difficult terrain. We could feel the stain on our knees. Thank goodness for our poles.
The waterfalls were everywhere, quite magnificent even through the light rain, and the occasional crossings of creeks and rivers over one-person-at-a-time bridges were exciting.
It was long in getting to the lodge. At one point, about a mile or two away from our destination, I stopped and explained to Joanna that now, because we were tired and drained physically, it was important to be extra vigilant in watching our steps. This is where accidents occur. As soon as I finished the sentence, my feet swished from under me, and I fell off the track, into the ditch. I landed on one of my poles and bent it. Although I drew a bit of blood, and bruised my butt, the sheer comedy of the episode made us both laugh. I felt that there must have been several Māori spirits laughing at me as well.
We finally reached the lodge at about 4:30pm. It was truly a long, wet day. Since we were one of the last people to reach the lodge, it was extra difficult to find places for our wet clothes in the two dry-rooms.
That evening, the hot showers, wine, hot dinner, and great conversations with fellow trackers made it all worth it.
The next day, our last hiking day of 13 miles, was predicted to be fairly dry. I don’t remember going to sleep that night, but I’m pretty sure we were all sleeping well.
The final hiking day was indeed dry(er). Although it was mostly flat, we could feel the strain of the last couple days. Muscles everywhere were sore, and the pack felt overly heavy. I suppose age might have been a factor. The last few days of rain kept some of the track pretty wet and slippery, so we had to be careful. Early on, we came to a stream that crossed the track. It was deep enough to inundate our boots. Our feet were completely wet again.
As we got closer to the end point, appropriately named Sandfly Point, it became clear that the rain, or lack of it, created opportunities for the sandflies to attack. So, you couldn’t rest too long, you had to keep going in order to keep them from landing on you. By then, I had a fair number of bites, and the itching was increasing. A few of our fellow trackers, by now friends, had serious welts from the bites.
Some incredible waterfalls along the way allowed for some brief detours off the main track. They were raging because of all the recent rain. The good weather finally afforded us views of the 5000+ ft. peaks that walled in both sides of the valley. We had lunch on the bank of the Arthur River where a most glorious Giant Gate Falls drowned out our groans.
One of the guides claimed that we only had a mile and a half left before getting to Sandfly Point. There would be a ferry boat that would take a couple dozen passengers at a time across the southern end of the Milford Sound to the main tourist area, where we would spend the last night in the company’s Mitre Peak Lodge.
That last mile and a half felt like five! Joanna and I had both reached our physical and mental limits. But we made it. And none too soon: just as we got there, it started to rain again. We were with the last group of people who were waiting for the ferry. The remaining guides had cups of hot coffee or chocolate waiting for us in the enclosed shelter, which protected us from being inundated by the more than abundant sandflies.
The next day we all took a two-hour cruise around the fabled Milford Sound. It was a gloriously sunny and fairly windless day, which surprised the guides and the crew. Normally, strong winds and rain abound, making the excursion less than fun. The ship slowly approached the stunning Stirling Falls, where, if we wanted to experience the falls, we all had to put on our raincoats. That’s because of the strong wet winds created by the tons of water falling from the 500 ft. falls.
If you don’t make it to the Milford Track, then do try to make a day (or two) trip to the Sound. It is a spectacular mountain-lined fiord.
Upon getting back to the lodge, most of us loaded our gear on the bus and started the four-hour drive back to Queensland. Some people decided to either fly back by a small plane, or by helicopter. For us, the $650 per person price tag did not justify the helicopter ride (although just for a couple of seconds we thought about it).
Was it all worth it? Maybe. The chance of incurring rain during the trip is very high. The cost is pretty high too. And unlike the High Sierra Camps in Yosemite, you can’t stay longer at any particular lodge. A new group of 50 people will be coming through each day.
But as time between the trek grows further, Joanna and I both think it was very much worth doing “the finest walk in the world.”
If you have done the walk, let me know what you think: napavalleysierraclub@gmail.com