The Finest Walk in the World

The Milford Track in all its glory:

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For those of you who don't know, Rich is a bit of a fan of epic hikes (and by epic I mean 2,000 miles plus...) So after almost 18 months of travelling with him I knew that sooner or later an epic hike would be on the cards. Fortunately for me, the route of choice was epic in terms of its scenery and reputation rather than it's length - although at 4 full days it was still no mean feat for my, well, feet.

The Milford Track has been dubbed "the finest walk in the world." I haven't done that many walks (in the world or otherwise) to compare it to but as you can see from my photographic efforts above, it is pretty darn fine. A heady blend of rainforest, mountains, fjords and forests; the scenery we ambled through was breathtaking. The hike took 4 days, the first of which, at only 1.5 hours, lulled me into a false sense of security with it's shortness and flatness. Day two, although a longer 6 hour hike, was similarly unchallenging with glorious views of mountains and fjords and only a spot of drizzle and short climb at the end of the day to test us. Day three was a different story. We'd been promised a tough but relatively short climb from the hut to the top of McKinnon pass. Two hours of constant uphill on zig zagging paths later I was delighted to reach the top and the breathtaking views we'd been promised. It was amazing, with 360 degree panoramas across Fjordland and a toilet with arguably the best view in the world (see photos). Unfortunately, it was also so windy at the top of the pass that it was impossible to spend more than 30 seconds outside without succumbing to hypothermia or being blown unceremoniously off the edge of the mountain and into the 12 second drop to the bottom. Luckily for us the ranger at Mintaro hut had supplied us with cheese scones with which to bribe the rangers at the summit hut, thereby securing ourselves a well earned cup of tea.

Having dragged self and rucksack to the 1069m high summit I was quite looking forward to a leisurely downhill stroll to the bottom. Silly, silly me. The usual route down, which in itself was described as the toughest stretch of the hike, was closed due to avalanches and replaced by the "emergency" track. Unsurprisingly, this route was somewhat less well maintained, and involved scrambling unceremoniously down rocky, uneven stretches of track, clambering over boulders and navigating networks of low hanging tree branches, all to the ominous soundtrack of rumbling avalanches somewhere overhead. I don't think I've ever spent so long going constantly downhill. By the end, my legs had actually stopped working and rest breaks were threatening to outnumber the short bursts of walking. Even the sight of the rare blue duck, a prized achievement for Milford Track hikers, was viewed by me as nothing more than the opportunity to stand still for a couple of minutes to take a photograph. Never has a thin plastic mattress and a rickety bunk bed been greeted with such joy.

Anyone hoping to hike the Milford Track needs to plan ahead, as only 90 hikers are allowed to start the trail each day in peak season, all must hike northward and spend a night at each of the 3 DOC huts along the route (camping is not allowed). The huts are basic - bunk beds in dorm rooms and a few stoves in the kitchen and you need to carry your own food and bedding. Most people had stocked up on pouches of dehydrated chicken chasseur and beef stroganoff to reward themselves after a hard day's hiking. We of course, being 50% hard core superhiker, scoffed at such fripperies and dined on super noodles and pouches of tuna... The huts are manned by friendly rangers who take a register to make sure noone has fallen off a cliff en route, provide weather updates (usually involving rain) and deliver cautionary tales about kea flying off with your hiking boots if you leave them outside. Being new to wilderness hiking, I was impressed by the location of the huts (nestling under huge mountains in the middle of nowhere) and the relative comfort of the bunk rooms. The exception to this was the one in which the beds were completely encased at the head end by a partition wall, a very low sloping roof and a luggage locker prompting an embarrassing screaming fit when I woke up in pitch blackness from a nightmare about being buried alive. Luckily for me said pitch blackness prevented anyone from realising who the screaming person was, creating a much debated mystery at breakfast the next morning. If any of my fellow hikers are reading this - yes, it was me.

To get to and from the track itself you need to catch a ferry and a bus. There's only one ferry in each direction which means no dilly dallying on the last day. This was a bit of a shame, as approximately 30 minutes into the final day of hiking, having come through the previous 22 miles relatively unscathed, I was struck down with crippling stomach pains and general unwellness. Under any other circumstances these pains, along with their friends nausea and hot/cold sweats, would've dispatched me to bed or at the very least a duvet covered sofa. Sadly for me, unless I declared myself in need of a helicopter evacuation (tempting, but ultimately inadvisable), the only way to get to any sort of surface for lying down on was to complete the longest section of the hike at the brisk pace necessary to ensure I didn't miss the only ferry back to civilisation. This I managed to do with a mixture of steely determination, crying and a bit of swearing - it felt like the whole traumatic experience should've been accompanied by a camera crew, dramatic voice over and a sigur ros soundtrack. Even my triumphant sighting of the finishing line was marred by the realisation that (1) Sandfly Point is all too accurately named and I'd need to wait for the ferry not sprawled on the grass in the recovery position but sitting on a bench in the sweltering waiting hut and (2) that at the end of this my attempts at not throwing up would be further challenged by a half hour ferry crossing.

Despite my unexpectedly undignified end to the hike it was, all in all, an excellent trip.

Nugget View, Kaka Point & The Winding Thoughts Theatre

Photos:

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After leaving Tally Ho we had a few days to get ourselves up to the start of the Milford Track which gave us just enough time to have a bit of a mooch round the southern tip of NZ's South Island. First stop were the excellently named Nugget View motel and Kaka point in the Catlins, home of seal colonies, penguins and a v. nice lighthouse.

Just down the road at Papatowai is one of NZ's hidden gems - the Lost Gypsy Gallery and Winding Thoughts Theatre of sorts. Tucked away in an old green solar powered housebus at the side of the road is inventor Blair Somerville's wacky wonderland - a treasure trove of wind-up gurgling sea shells, bicycle powered televisions and other curiosities made of discarded bits of junk and jumble. It's hard to describe why this place is so excellent but these videos might give a bit more of a flavour...

A Big Day for Tiny Horses

Lots of miniature horses:

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I feel I should begin by saying Barb, if you're reading, I loved the miniature horse show and getting the horses ready for their close ups. But all things considered, it was also a pretty surreal day!

For a start Rich and I aren't the shortest of people, and spending so much time standing next to really small horses did nothing for our sense of perspective. Then there was the dizzying array of categories the horses could compete in, from the fairly straightforward "Best Filly 2 years old and under" and "Best Turned Out" to the slightly stranger "Best Mane & Tail" and "Best Head." And then there were the show names - again, thoroughly excellent, but at times pretty bonkers. Barb's horses had nice, sensible show names like "Tally Ho's Sir Lancelot." Others, like "Abba Diva Fury's Firecracker" weren't so lucky... . Of course, having the backstage access we did meant we got to refer to our superstars by their slightly less glamorous stable names: Lance, Button, Grace and Echo.

Without doubt the must surreal part of the day was also the most fun - grooming the horses in readiness for the showring. I think it's safe to say it's unlikely I'll be doing any of the following to a miniature horse again any time soon:

• painting hooves
• dyeing mane and tail with Just For Men
• "polishing" with Johnson's baby oil
• applying horse makeup
• shaving muzzles

When we were done with them they looked like the supermodels of the equine world...

But in all seriousness, mucho kudos must go to Barb and Robyn who put in a Herculean effort getting their horsey chums ribbon-winning ready. Hours of training, practice (their skills in the showmanship and obstacle events were remarkable), shampooing and grooming paid off in the armfuls of ribbons our miniature award winners came home with. After a long, extremely fun day we returned to Tally Ho tired but triumphant.