After finishing the Milford Track, I watched Todd and Troy catch a private ride on a Cessna out of Milford (an incredibly scenic flight, which I am eternally jealous of) and then started the long but picturesque drive back to Te Anau. As I curved back and forth up the switchbacked road before entering the tunnel, I saw a chamois hop from rock to rock along the precipitous cliffside, a feat which seemed to defy gravity. Fiordland is a damn cool place, I thought to myself.
I spent the next two days taking care of a few odds and ends in Te Anau, and slept on the outskirts of town at a small and underused campsite along the shores of Lake Te Anau. Every evening around dinnertime, I would drive 20 minutes and set up camp, with a private panorama of the surrounding snow-capped mountains on the other side of the massive lake. It was beautiful…plus, it felt kind of cool living in a tent on the outskirts of town. Cool in the Butch Cassidy kind of way, not the Matt Foley, Motivational Speaker kind of way.
I awoke on the morning of December 8th, the day I was to start the four day, 60km Kepler Track, to a light but steady rain, and struggled to motivate myself out of my sleeping bag, hoping the rain would cease. After an hour, I gave up and reluctantly packed up my bag and my tent in the rain. It was miserable, honestly, and it put me in a sour mood to start my trek. Plus, with my tent and backpack fully wet, the load was noticeably heavier.
I stopped by the DoC office on my way to the trailhead for the latest weather forecast and it looked like nothing but rain for the majority of the next four days. Bummer.
I finally hit the trail around 10AM in a warm, heavy drizzle and made my way into the mossy bush. I think the forest was very similar to what I saw on the Milford, extraordinarily verdant and moist, but I didn’t really notice…I was too busy cursing the rain and pleading that my waterproof outerwear was, in fact, waterproof.
Fortunately, it was, and I stayed very dry, and even more fortunately the raindrops soon eased up. But it still wasn’t dry. It was incredibly humid and warm, like what I would imagine tropical rainforest exploration to be like in the wet season. Between the sweat and the humidity, I was far from dry. But my disposition soon began to change, for reasons unknown (perhaps just being outside) and I started to feel pretty good about everything. And then the ascent started.
It was gradual at first, but slowly the switchbacks began to form and they never seemed to stop. I wound back and forth for three hours until finally reaching an exposed bluff of limestone, where I sat and had lunch. From there, it was only another hour before I broke out of the treeline into alpine tussock grass, and suddenly everything became worthwhile.
I don’t know what it is about alpine environments that appeals to me so much. Perhaps it’s the extreme conditions and the incredible adaptations that life needs to make to survive up here, or maybe it is just because this landscape is so foreign to me, but I love it up above the treeline. Oh, and the views aren’t bad.
By the time I reached the alpine section, the rain had completely let up and as I walked the last mile to the Luxmoore Hut (sounds like a casino, eh?) the clouds began to break up, offering scattered views of the valley and lake below. I rounded a small knob and saw my first views of the hut, by far the nicest of all the DoC huts I’ve seen so far in New Zealand, the Luxmoore was large, well thought-out and perfectly situated on an alpine hillside above the South Fiord of Lake Te Anau.
I threw down my things and quickly set up my tent to dry it out, and then made my way on a small side track to the Luxmoore Caves. I didn’t expect to see much, perhaps just a hole in the ground, but I brought my jacket and headlamp, just in case. This turned out to be a good decision…the cave was massive, a large hole in the ground along a streambed that descended at a steep grade into a dark abyss. I could hear voices echoing from within, and as I descended two guys were on their way out. They told me that it goes in for a good 100 meters or so before it becomes “too narrow to continue comfortably”.
I pushed on, squeezing through small chasms and around turns. The walls were covered with stalactites, stalagmites, and ribbony desposits of calcium carbonate, and it was interesting to see these formations naturally, without carefully positioned backlights to illuminate them, as in all other caves I’ve seen. Eventually, I got to a point in which I could not comfortably continue, and just for fun, I turned out my headlamp. As you can imagine, it was quite dark. It was at this time that I realized that perhaps I should have taken two flashlights, because if the one on my head failed to turn back on for whatever reason, I would not be coming out of the cave any time soon. Luckily, my torch was still functional, and I made my way back out of the cave to find that the weather had improved to bright sunny conditions.
At the hut I shared the glorious scenery of the surrounding peaks and lakes with an Australian named Michael, who was very keen on tramping, a quiet guy from Northern Ireland who seemed the same, a young, Haley Joel Osmond lookalike from South London with an emo haircut, and a group of three Australians, one of which looked surprisingly similar to Tom Cruise when he wore his sunglasses. Our group followed the resident park ranger on a brief nature walk, where we learned about New Zealand’s native bird populations and the threats that introduced predators have on them (I’ll post about this another time…it is really quite interesting), and then made dinner, and played a few card games.
The next morning it was raining again. The forecast called for fair weather later in the day, however, so a number of us spent the morning waiting in the hut. By noon, cabin fever had set in and I couldn’t wait any longer. I waterproofed myself and my bag and headed out into the rain. The first mile wasn’t too bad, a gentle sprinkle at most, and the clouds were moving enough to offer some quick views every once in awhile. But after fifteen minutes of climbing, I rounded a corner was met with complete opposite conditions. Gale force winds and pelting, horizontal rain. And the visibility was nothing but white…I couldn’t see the trail more than ten feet in front of me.
It was awesome.
As I struggled through the conditions, I thought again of Everest or the South Pole and how serious those storms must get. I was well protected with good gear and a wide, easy-to-follow path, but I could easily see how the unprepared could get into trouble very quickly in conditions such as these. I pushed on for an hour or so, at times barely able to keep my balance, and I finally reached a small sign pointing to a side trail to the summit of Mount Luxmoore.
The smart part of my brain knew that there was no reason to go to the summit. Conditions would only be worse up there. But the hopeful part remembered reading that on a fine day the views from the top of Mt. Luxmoore are the best on the Kepler Track, and maybe, just maybe, I could climb up above the clouds and catch a glimpse of these views.
I stashed my pack and scaled the rocky ridge along the 400 meter ascent to the summit, and experienced conditions that were even worse than what I had walked through. To my left, through the thick clouds I saw nothing…to the right, I could see a very steep and rocky face covered in patches of snow, and beyond it nothing. Eventually, I made it to the top, managed to snap a few photos without ruining my camera, and started to descend. Oh, and the views were spectacular…white in every direction, even down…not the grand vistas of the Fiordland area that I was hoping for, but a memorable experience nonetheless.
After walking through the blinding conditions another hour or so, I began to notice a slight brightening all around me. I still could see nothing but white, but it was beginning to become a brighter white. And then my visibility would periodically increase. Eventually holes in the cloud cover began to expose quick glimpses to the peaks on the other side of the lake. I stopped and pulled out my camera, thinking these might be the best photographic opportunities I’d get that day, but as I stood there trying to snap shots of the fleeting views, the cloud cover suddenly and dramatically lifted altogether.
It is difficult to describe this sudden change of weather. Imagine this: You are in Chicago in the middle of winter. You hop on a plane with your full winter gear and fly to the Caribbean. Then, you get off the plane, still in your winter frame of mind, only to find tropical, sunny conditions. Those first few minutes when you step off the plane, when your body is confused…that is the closest comparison I can make to witnessing as abrupt a change in weather as I did on the alpine section of the Kepler Track.
I peeled off my rainjacket and waterproof pants, unnecessary now that it was done raining. I packed away my winter hat and gloves, which I had needed in the strong winds. Within minutes, I was down to a t-shirt, applying sunscreen and donning my dorky sun hat.
Michael, the Australian, and David, the guy from Ireland, and I spent the day slowly wandering along the ridgelines and around the many peaks and knobs, pointing out the expansive views that we were rewarded with each step. Unlike the Milford Track, the Kepler spends an entire day above the bushline, and with weather as beautiful as we had, I was in no hurry to descend down to camp.
As I sat outside the Hanging Valley emergency shelter, enjoying a late afternoon peanut butter sandwich, I realized how badly I would like to be on top of one of the remote peaks I could see. The Kepler was fantastic, but it is a Great Walk traveled by over 7,000 people a year. From where I was sitting, a sea of rugged, isolated peaks extended for a hundred miles in nearly all directions. Nestled between them were countless glacial valleys and serene lakes. Would it be possible for me to wander aimlessly through this Fiordland expanse, with no set destination? Could I fill my pack with peanut butter and rice and walk out into the wild to explore some of these peaks? To go walkabout, as the Australian aborigines call it?
I wanted to badly, but I remembered what conditions were like just a few hours earlier, and I decided that I’m not quite ready to venture out on my own. Not yet. Plus, there are loads of other great hikes in Fiordland, and I could build up my experience a bit while enjoying views such as the one from the Hanging Valley latrine…all with the comfort and safety of this one. I’ll get out there some day.
As the sun started to get low in the sky, I made my way down the seemingly endless set of switchbacks, into the bush and on to Iris Burn campsite. Most people were staying in the hut, but in order to save a few bucks, I had brought my tent. One of my hiking buddies, David, was also camping, and as we entered the open grassy flats, he said to me “Don’t look to your right.” Of course, I instinctively looked over to see what I was not supposed to look at, and saw through the open door of a nearby tent, impossible to miss, a pair of white buttcheeks thrusting back and forth amid moans of pleasure. “Ah, man,” I winced. And now, after a full day of spectacular views and unforgettable visual memories, the last image I would see before falling asleep was that of a couple shagging in the middle of the campground.
Luckily, it was a large campground, and I made my way to the far end of the meadow, well beyond earshot of the amorous hikers, and set up my tent. Before cooking dinner, I decided to take a quick dip in the Iris Burn, a glacially fed river that flowed right by the campsite. It was the quickest dip I’ve ever taken. I actually yelped out loud when I hit the frigid water, but it felt great.
Dinner was cut short by an ever growing party of unwanted guests…the sandflies. I was told that sandflies prefer fast flowing water (like those of the Iris Burn) and here they seemed to materialize out of nowhere, growing exponentially in number as I tried to eat my pasta. Eventually, they were overwhelming, and I ran off to my tent without washing my dishes.
The next morning, I awoke relatively late, made breakfast and ate in the company of just as many sandflies, and hit the trail around 10AM. It was a pleasant walk along the Iris Burn valley, amid the same mossy beech forest that I’ve seen at other places in the area. At one point, the forest opened up into a vast meadow known as the Big Slip, which occurred during heavy rains in January of 1984.
Eventually, I reached the end of the Iris Burn, where it empties into Lake Manapouri, another glacial lake just a bit smaller than Lake Te Anau, but no less beautiful. I met Aussie Michael and Cam (the Brit with the emo haircut) at their hut and the three of us went for a swim in the refreshing waters of the lake. Unlike the Iris Burn, Lake Manapouri did not induce hypothermia in the first few seconds. It was a great place for a swim.
Afterwards, I pushed on through the last few kilometers to my campsite at Shallow Bay. For this, I had to walk about 30 minutes off the Kepler Track, and although the trail was not as wide or well maintained, the seclusion of the campsite made it worthwhile. I pitched my tent on the lake shore, and wandered out onto a sandbar that protruded into the clear waters of Lake Manapouri. It was a beautiful sunny day and I sat on the sand bar reading a book until dinner time.
After eating, I wandered along the shoreline to a secluded beach and watched the sun set over the mountains on the far side of the lake. The wildlife along this lake was more abundant that in other places, and I saw a number of shore birds and songbirds, including my favorite, the Tui, whose call sounds strangely similar to a dial-up modem. I fell asleep that night to the call of New Zealand’s only native owl, the tiny morepork. Yes, that really is what they call it, and that night I found out why. It’s call is less of a “hoo-hoo”, and more of a “more-pork”. Hard to describe, but undeniable once you hear it.
The walk out to my car the next day was easy and mostly uneventful. I left Lake Manapouri to go back into the bush and walked for a few hours until I met the wide, fast Waiau River, which connects Lakes Te Anau and Manapouri. The track then hugged this river back to the car park. At one point, I saw a sign informing me that the trail crossed a nesting area of the NZ Falcon, and that I should walk with a stick above my head because the bird is known to attack passersby. I laughed at this, and continued to walk, half hoping I would get swiped by this bird just for the experience. A few minutes later, I passed a German couple, and the guy was holding a bandage to his head. “Take care for the bird,” he said, “It struck me.”
I shamelessly held my walking stick above my head all the way back to my car.
Addendum: The Kepler Challenge
I failed to mention one interesting fact about the Kepler Track. In addition to the leisurely four day walk, the course is completed annually by a handful of hearty mountain runners in the Nike ACG Kepler Challenge. This race, which costs $200+ to register for, fills up instantly with runners from across the world, who wish to torment themselves with 60km (37 miles) of mountainous trails including an overall elevation change of nearly 10,000feet. In other words, it is a marathon and a half up and down a really tall mountain.
This year the race took place just a few days before I headed out to walk the track, and the winner (from NZ) completed the challenge not in four days, but in four hours. Well, almost five…his time was 4:57:21. This feat absolutely blows my mind.
Tomorrow I depart the comfort of Kinloch Lodge (w/ hottub!) for the 3 day Greenstone Track back to my car. Then it is time to get a job :(
Finished the 32km Routeburn Track. Spent my 25th in a snowstorm crossing the Harris Saddle. Magnificent. Thanks all for the bday wishes.
Heading out into the woods again. This time on the 3 day Kepler Track. It’s raining though :(
Press the button in the bottom right to view these full screen.
Aboard the Sailboat Sereia:
Marlborough Sounds:
Our Milford Track adventure started early. We awoke at 5:00AM so Troy could get some shots of Milford Sound during sunrise. It was dark and raining, but for some reason he decided to get up and try for some photographs anyhow. I slept in the car for two hours, thinking I was missing only clouds and rain, but apparently Troy was able to get some good shots.
Our bus left at 9:30AM from Milford, and even though we woke up 4 hours earlier, the three of us still ended up running in a mad dash to the bus terminal in order to catch it in time. And then, after going just ten minutes down the road, the bus broke down. Well, shit. We waited around for awhile, but after about an hour we decided that the only way to be sure to catch our boat to the beginning of the Milford Track was to try to hitch a ride.
Fortunately, we were able to convince a nice American guy in a large campervan to give us a ride to Te Anau Downs, where our boat departed. And fortunately, this nice American guy was a professional photographer.
Todd and I sat in the back while Troy and Rich excitedly exchanged tips and stories about photography in a language I didn’t understand. They both enjoyed each other’s company, and we had a nice leisurely ride out of Milford Sound, stopping occasionally to take photos.
We made the 2:00PM boat with time to spare. The ride across Lake Te Anau was scenic, and everyone aboard was excited to begin the Milford Track. The hikers were a mix of about 40 independent trekkers and 50 guided walkers (who use the same route, but have nicer accommodation along the way and don’t have to carry their own food or bedding). Of the 40 independent hikers we’d be walking with, about 25 were part of a school group…from the beginning, I could tell that the serenity of the trek might be compromised by this large group of fifteen-year-olds.
This is the problem with the Milford Track. It is exceedingly gorgeous, and because of this, exceedingly popular. For the past decade or so, the NZ Department of Conservation has controlled demand for the Track with a booking system, requiring hikers to register well in advance. In fact, when I booked my hike on the Milford Track in July, I wasn’t even sure I’d be coming to New Zealand…but I knew that if I was, I’d want to be on the track…in essence, the next four days were the only plans I had since arriving in this country over two months ago.
Some people abhor the Milford Track because of its rigid structure. You are forced to stay at the DoC huts along the way (no camping) and you can only stay at each one for a single night. So, regardless of the weather, you must complete the Track in four days, and in a single direction.
As far as weather goes, the Milford Track (and all of Fiordland, for that matter) is notorious for rain. Certain areas get as much as nine meters per year (that’s about 30 feet), and at times the trail itself is a swiftly flowing current of water that can reach as high as your chest. This, combined with the limitations posed by the booking system, means that you are completely at the mercy of nature for the entire four day trek.
We were fortunate to have cloudy but clear weather as we crossed Lake Te Anau. When we reached the northern shore, the independent hikers sprung from the boat on to the trail, and the first 200 meters felt more like the start of a road race than a leisurely hike in the woods. It was strange.
But before long, the crowds thinned out and the ranting of the teenagers was muffled by the beech trees, and Todd and Troy and I were alone on the track. And a beautiful track it was. My guide book mentions that the start of the track is wide and pristine, “without a rock overturned or a blade of grass out of place”, and it couldn’t be described any better. At times, the grass on the edges of the trail was actually mowed…no kidding. It felt more like we were walking through a golf course than a national park, but it was gorgeous.
After only an hour, we reached the first hut and the destination for the night. DoC huts are found in most of the wild areas of New Zealand, and they are a great way to experience the backcountry without having to carry a tent. Most have numerous bunk beds and many have kitchen and toilet facilities. On the Milford, they were almost like mountain hostels….each with clean bunk rooms, large kitchens, and running water. Being able to flush a toilet in the backcountry is a luxury, and while some people complain that it violates a rule of bush camping, I was happy to avoid digging a hole and squatting over it.
The next morning we awoke early and were on the track by 7:00AM, ahead of many of the others. Our pace was relaxed, and Troy stopped for photos many times along the way. The track was very well maintained, and it wound upstream along the beautiful, trout-filled Clinton River. The further we went, the taller and narrower the canyon walls were around us, and by the time we stopped for lunch, we had already passed a few avalanche zones and debris fields from rockslides.
We reached Mintaro Hut, our destination for the night, by mid-afternoon, and we decided that because it wasn’t raining, we should stash our backpacks and continue up the trail for another hour and a half to try to get some views from MacKinnon Pass, the highest point on the track. It was a tough climb up a switchbacked hill, and eventually we crossed the treeline into the alpine zone where we continued to climb until finally reaching the top. The clouds hung low, so we couldn’t see any of the surrounding peaks, but the views to the Clinton Valley (from whence we came) to the Arthur Valley (which we would be crossing into the next day) were astounding.
These valleys carry the typical U-shape of a glacially-formed valley, but they are more compacted and dynamic than any I’ve seen in the world. The closest I’ve seen was the Gimmelwald Valley in Switzerland, and at times the views reminded me of that area.
We played around on the summit for awhile, and then decided to go back down to the huts to make dinner. Before starting, I was a little concerned about keeping myself fully nourished on the trip. I had to carry all of my food with me, so I didn’t have the luxury of refrigeration. In addition, I was traveling with two vegans, so meat and dairy weren’t an option for any group meals. As it turned out, this was no problem at all. We made rice and beans, and flavored them with Indian spices and curries, and the meals were delicious, filling, and energizing.
That night, we also made plans to wake up the next day at the ungodly hour of 3:00AM to try to catch the sunrise from MacKinnon Pass. We were informed that our group was exceedingly lucky as the weather forecast was “Extremely Fine” for the next day…it was only the fifth time this season that a group was blessed with such a forecast. We went to bed early in the hopes of catching a rare treat the next day.
I stumbled out of bed at 3:15, strapped on my headlamp, and set out onto the track with Todd and Troy in complete darkness. From what we could tell, low clouds hung over the entire valley…we could only hope that they sat lower than MacKinnon Pass…possibly even giving us an inversion for the sunrise (when you are above the clouds as the sun comes up).
Eventually, we were completely within the clouds, and as we neared the pass again, the sky began to brighten a bit. But it wasn’t the fog clearing, it was just the predawn light. Walking through the wildflowers and tussock grass of the high alpine region in a thick fog at 5:00AM was an experience I will never forget. We soon realized that we wouldn’t get amazing views…we wouldn’t get any views at all…but it didn’t matter to me. It was an extraordinary sight. But it was windy and cold, and even with my full winter gear on, I struggled to stay warm.
Once we reached the summit, the conditions worsened. We were in a full gale wind and the visibility was nonexistent. We decided to push on to the Pass Hut, an emergency shelter where we could try to wait out the storm for a few hours to see if the predicted fine weather would ever come. The last fifteen minutes to the hut were extreme…the wind picked up even more and the tussock grass sat in frozen clumps, as the clouds deposited moisture and the wind quickly froze it. I desperately wanted my beard to have little icicles in it.
We stumbled into the shelter around 6:00AM, and I pretended we had just struggled to make base camp on an Everest expedition…and that wasn’t much of an exaggeration. Todd, who didn’t want to dig out his jacket in the high winds, looked miserably cold. We all got out our sleeping bags and hid out in the shelter, periodically checking out the window to see if it cleared.
Eventually, other trampers started pouring into the shelter, we asked each group if they were able to see anything, but no one had seen anything other than fast-whipping clouds. I shared some tea with a Dutch couple, and around 10:00AM, we decided to give up on seeing anything from the pass and to continue on the trek.
After going only ten more minutes down the trail, we noticed a quick break in the clouds and saw sun and blue sky. It was quickly engulfed by clouds again. But then it returned, only to disappear again. Todd decided that he wanted to go back to the hut and wait for another hour or so to see if it cleared up, and we decided to follow.
This ended up being a great decision. We walked from the hut back towards the pass, and waited there for an hour as the conditions steadily improved. Eventually, all of the clouds cleared and we were rewarded with spectacular mountain and valley views. In every direction, there was something spectacular to absorb. We also witnessed a large avalanche on a nearby peak.
I walked back to the hut to sit in the sunshine and eat my lunch when I noticed another small building off to the side. This was the Pass Hut Toilet, and it had perhaps the finest view of any outhouse I’ve ever seen. In fact, the view is so good, that the DoC decided to carve out a big window on the door so you can look out onto the Clinton Valley as you do your business. Now that, my friends, is awesome.
After spending a total of eight hours on the Pass, we decided that it was time to continue the trek, and we began descending. The hour immediately after MacKinnon Pass was the most difficult, as we were forced to use a steep, emergency route because the usual route was too close to the avalanche zone. Soon we reached the treeline again, and continued to descend down along another beautiful river using an extensive boardwalk and step system that hugged the river’s many cascading waterfalls.
About an hour before reaching our hut, we took the side trip to Sutherland Falls, the tallest waterfall in New Zealand and the third highest in the world. Over three cascades they fall some 582 meters (1900ft) - and you can walk right up underneath them. By this point, we were pretty exhausted, and the sun had already tucked behind a large peak, putting the entire falls in shadow. But nonetheless, Sutherland Falls was impressive. I decided that it had been awhile since I’ve done something crazy, so I put on my swimsuit and ventured out onto the rocks below the falls. As I stepped in up to my knees, I realized just how cold it was. The sun was gone, the wind had picked up, and I was being assaulted with a cold mist, the molecules of which had likely been solid glacial ice as recently as that morning. I stayed there long enough to get thoroughly wet (about ten seconds) and then whimpered back to my towel to warm up.
We walked the last few miles to Dumpling Hut, and finished the day with a quick dip in the river (also very cold) before making dinner and then promptly passing out for the night.
The next day was an easy, flat 18km (11.5 miles) along the Arthur river, by numerous other waterfalls, and along shores of Lake Ada. After about five hours on the trail, we reached the Milford Sound and the terminus of the Milford Track, Sandfly Point.
This is perhaps the most aptly named location I’ve ever been to. For those who don’t know what a sandfly is, it is a small, pesky, biting insect very similar to the mosquito. But unlike the mosquito which tends to be most active in the hours around sunset, the sandfly will happily suck your blood at any time of the day and in nearly any weather condition. Upon reaching Sandfly Point, we didn’t even have time to congratulate ourselves before being blitzkrieged by the little buggers. I’ve never seen a more voracious insect. We snapped some photos and then I tucked into the shelter to wait for the boat to take us out.
Around 2:00PM, we boarded the boat and made our way back across the Milford Sound. After four days and 33.5 miles, we completed the Finest Walk in the World, and we didn’t get a drop of rain, which is extremely rare. I felt great.
