Meeting the elements in Milford Sound
‘The rain spoke to me slowly, saying, what joy to come falling out of the brisk cloud… That’s what it said as it dropped, smelling of iron, and vanished…’ – the start of Mary Oliver’s poem, Last Night the Rain Spoke to Me.
An Anniversary.
Two years ago today, I boarded a flight and returned to New Zealand for my first trip back in nearly three years. Today, in a world crippled by COVID and living in a country that has not handled the pandemic well, I can’t tell you how much I yearn to be back in New Zealand.
To an outsider looking in, they seem to have managed COVID well, effectively stamping it out. People can live their lives as normal, with little or no fear that they’ll be infected or pass on the virus. To exist in such a way right now feels like a luxury, afforded to few around the world. I long for those days to return here in the UK, but know that realistically, there’s a way to go before we have anything even remotely similar to New Zealand. Needless to say, the fact that Kiwis can go about as usual and not worry about community transmission makes me feel very jealous!
A Story from Milford Sound.
On days like today, all I want to do is look through my albums of photos from New Zealand and browse the archives on my blog to read all the stories from my time there. It’s pure, rose-tinted nostalgia and sometimes, that’s just what is required!
As I was looking through the New Zealand archives, I realised that I’ve never previously written about Milford Sound! That’s crazy. Milford Sound is one of the most beautiful and breathtaking places in the entire country. I love it there. It was named the ‘eighth wonder of the world’ by Rudyard Kipling and was a bucket list destination for me when I decided to move to New Zealand in 2014.
This anniversary, two years since I last flew to New Zealand, seems like the perfect opportunity to right that wrong. It’s time to share a story from Milford Sound.
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You are led slowly to the feast.
Milford Sound creeps up on you and then, bam! It’s all there, all around, dwarfing you.
I nearly don’t go. There is a relentless downpouring of rain. Endless steel-grey clouds hang low over the mountains, shrouding everything, cloaking the world. They contribute an air of mystery, with tendrils drifting slowly along the valley. I toughen up, don a raincoat and take State Highway 94, the car’s windscreen wipers working overtime.
It is soon clear that my decision to go, despite the heavy rain, is the best choice. When I visited Milford Sound in the past, it was sunny, a glorious day. It was beautiful, and Milford shone, but in the torrential rain there is a whole new element to explore.
Water...
Water everywhere. Pouring off cliffs. Spilling down hillsides. A deluge of endless, soaking, life-giving, revitalising water. The rivers are surging, the waterfalls are gushing at peak flow and when I step out of the car, all I can hear is water. Roaring, splashing, pattering raindrops, dripping foliage. My senses are overwhelmed by water.
I stop at every opportunity. Every waterfall, every short walk, every layby. I’m soaked, despite my raincoat, but now I don’t care. The rain is exhilarating. The sheer amount of water is magnificent.
Without stopping, the drive through the pass takes about an hour. However, with all my stops, it takes me a good couple of hours to reach the climax of the trip, the big finale. Milford Sound itself.
Calmness descends…
As I pull up and park, the rain miraculously stops. Just like that. I grab my camera and walk down to the edge of the sound, right onto the stony beach. Protected all around by mountains, the water here laps gently at the shore. I wander slowly along, taking photographs, the impressive landscape holding my rapt attention.
And slowly, oh so slowly, the clouds begin to unwrap themselves. They disengage from the mountain edges, slip back and the scene opens up. The mountains appear, sharp and black, against the silver sky. Mitre Peak, the perfect pyramid overshadowing the basin of the sound, rears up gloriously as it shakes off the last traces of clingy cloud.
Alone in Milford Sound.
The water stills, becomes mirrorlike. I drop to my knees to take photos of the mountains reflected in the smooth surface. The world is a million shades blue and silver and green and grey. It is nearing the end of the day and the majority of the other tourists have left. My world feels quiet, peaceful. The immense noise of the earlier flooding water has softened. Milford Sound has become the calmest place on earth.
I walk the periphery of the water, slipping and sliding on rocks and nearly falling a couple of times. All the boats are moored up, empty now, waiting for morning to come when they will be taken out to explore the wonders of the sound once again. Vessels of adventure. Part of me craves to go out on the water myself, scout Milford Sound on a boat and get deeper in. The bigger part of me knows I should enjoy the moment and live in the present.
Suddenly, sunshine!
A gloom descends, heralding the moment afternoon turns to evening and dusk begins to think about darkening the sky, I head back to my car. I strip off my raincoat and turn up the tunes as I drive slowly along the road, climbing higher and higher towards Homer Tunnel.
On the other side of the divide, the world is basking in late afternoon golden sunshine. The contrast to earlier is stark. Light bathes the valley. Waterfalls become rivers of liquid gold, cascading gracefully down the mountainsides. Droplets sparkle like diamonds on grass stems. The road, previously slick with water, is drying up, patches of lighter grey emerging among the remaining puddles.
When I pull over for photos and step out of the car, the world is hushed. Gone is the earlier melodrama of the pounding rain, the rushing rivers and waterfalls threatening to spill over and flood the world. Everything is still magnificent, still incredibly beautiful, but it’s tamed by the sun and the warmth that brings.
I’ve had today.
One last stop on the Te Anau Downs. I sit in the car and eat a very late lunch. The sky is now brilliant blue, soft wisps of white cloud hovering up overhead. Across the flats, the grass is yellow-green, leading the eye to the dramatic, darker shoulders of the mountains.
In my rearview mirror I look back and see where I’ve just come from. Snow-capped peaks, even in the middle of summer, still blighted by low-hanging persistent clouds. It’s like I’ve been in a different world. The afternoon, nearly given up, has come good. Milford Sound has proved its beauty and majesty in both rain and sunshine. I have experienced the raw power of the elements, gotten soaked to the skin and felt more exhilarated than I have in months.
This view in my mirror is the last goodbye. The last hurrah from Milford Sound. I smile to myself and start the engine. It’s time to go back to normal life. Tomorrow, I’ll be in Glenorchy and back to work for a few days.
But I’ve had today. From start to finish, one perfect, glorious, thrilling, water-soaked feast.
Milford Sound isn’t the only fiord I’ve visited in New Zealand! Read all about my thirtieth birthday trip to Doubtful Sound here!
