We weren't taking any chances, so before we left home in New
Hampshire, we solved this potential wet problem by purchasing
some extra thick, extra large garbage bags, to line our packs.
The protective process made it a little more difficult to access
gear, but it assured us of dry clothing throughout the hike.
In the end packs bulged, like huge Sherpa loads about to go
up Everest.
The next morning we checked out early, and left our car keys
with the motel owner until we got back. Almost all of the local
hotels/motels have provisions to leave your car at their establishments
while hiking the Milford Track. We then walked a short way through
town to the Great Walks booking desk to catch the half hour
bus ride that would bring us to the ferry, at the head of Lake
Te Anau. A few people on the bus were just going to the lake,
but most would be our companions for the next four days of the
hike. Everyone seemed to be bubbling over with anticipation.
At the head of Lake Te Anau, we boarded a medium sized excursion
boat, and were soon motoring up the beautiful placid lake, surrounded
on all sides by steep lush green mountains covered in dense
rainforest. The Captain's mate told us how fortunate we were
to have sunshine, and promised us lots of rain. "They donŐt
call it a "rain" forest for nothin", he reminded everyone.
We were dropped off on a beachhead at Glade Wharf where a sign
proclaimed the start of the Milford Track. Tracy and I were
raring to go and feeling strong, so we immediately shouldered
our heavy packs, and headed off while the others were adjusting
their gear and taking pictures. We were soon alone, and walking
through a forest so dense and green, it looked like St. Paddy's
Day on steroids. The path itself was a hiking super-highway
about 6 feet wide and perfectly graded. The trail followed the
Clinton River and gave us occasional glimpses of the crystal
clear, emerald water. That day, the first leg of the track was
only 3 miles long, and we soon found ourselves at the Clinton
Hut.
The huts along the Track vary in style and size, but maintain
the same essential amenities. Each location has one or two bunk
houses for sleeping, an outhouse, and a community building for
cooking and hanging out. Large decks are usually attached, but
the sandflies (what's known as black flies to all of us New
Englanders), outside at most of the huts tended to force you
inside. The locals were wise to call these flies something other
than black flies, or most of us would never come. The sandflies
were limited mostly to the huts and beach landings, but otherwise
were rarely seen or bothersome, and then only when you were
sitting still. Even at their worst, they were no comparison
to our local blackfly back home.
Sleeping quarters consisted of bunk beds with comfortable
sleeping pads. Blankets were available, but never necessary,
as we carried our own sleeping bags. We were warned not to leave
ANYTHING outside on the deck, as the local kea would make quick
fodder of anything you left outside. The kea is a bird that
looks like a parrot with a short tail. It has a very sharp beak
that works perfectly at tearing apart leather boots, backpacks,
clothes, or anything else you treasure, should you make the
mistake of forgetting it on the deck overnight. They are playful
and friendly, however, and tend to hang out at the huts looking
for leftovers. Park rangers request that you donn't feed them.
The only downside to our stay was having a loud snorer or two
in the bunk house. We were warned by friends who had hiked the
track to bring ear plugs, but we were blessed the first night
with a quiet crew of sleepers. Over morning coffee we heard
things hadn't been so peaceful in the bunk-house next to ours.
Each night everyone gathers at the communal house to cook,
eat, and chat. The communal house has plenty of gas stoves that
run off a main line, so it was rare to have to wait for one
to become available. Sinks were pretty much the same. The hut
ranger, Ranger Mark, gave a speech after dinner about proper
hut care, wildlife, and the local environment. He told us the
official word on drinking any native water was to filter it,
yet he and his mates had been drinking it for years with no
problem. That's pretty much the case throughout the South Island,
where the water is almost always pure. We gulped the water down
by the gallon without filtering it, with no ill affects.
We awoke at dawn the next morning, and slipped quietly out
of bed to the cook house for breakfast and to pack for the day
ahead. We chose to start each morning at dawn to have the opportunity
to hike ahead of the pack. This routine afforded us the solitude
we were accustomed to when we hike. We only bumped into two
or three people on the trail each day. Due to the limit of the
number of hikers allowed on the track, it is never really crowded.
This day we had 10 miles ahead of us walking through the Valley
of Falls to Mintaro Hut, the highest hut in the group and located
at an elevation of approximately 2000 feet. It was a perfect
blue-bell day. The trail narrowed as it snaked through an amphitheater
of cascading falls and streams, many over 1600 feet high, with
both sides of the 4000+ foot gorge squeezing the valley to a
width of only about 1/4-1/2 mile for much of the trail.
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