You never know what kind of weather to expect in Fiordland, but we weren’t going to let that uncertainty get us down. We drove toward Queensland, heading for Fiordland National Park with great anticipation.
The national park is located in the remotest corner of southwest New Zealand. Its serrated coastline is punctuated by beautiful fiords that stretch deep into the interior of the mountain parkland. Tropical rain forests, lush vegetation, alpine forests, and sheer mountain cliffs rise from the sea. Hundreds of cascading waterfalls caused by the relentless rainfall all come together in spectacular scenery that defies adequate description.
The long drive toward the sound was worth it; we took in super views of every description as we headed south.
We stopped for the night at Te Anau, calling ahead for yet another modestly priced mom and pop motel, Campbells Motel. Fragrant geraniums, marigolds and ferns made a brilliant display of color along the edge of the lake and in planters on our motel balcony facing the water.
Would that happen in America? I think not.
We were headed for the spectacular Doubtful Sound, with our wish for good weather holding, thus far. At Te Anau the rain from the previous day had disappeared by dawn. An early morning drizzle gradually turned into a cold, misty fog. By afternoon a ferocious wind blowing in from the Tasman Sea on the west cleared the overcast sky, and an incredibly beautiful day of brilliant sun and billowy white cumulous clouds followed.
Doubtful Sound is the deepest and second largest fiord in New Zealand. Three times longer than the more famous Milford Sound, Doubtful has a surface ten times larger, reflecting its greater length and many side arms. That’s why we chose to go to this more remote site.
Until fairly recently, only the most intrepid hikers could make it over the impenetrable mountains and tropical undergrowth to the interior sections of the sound. History tells us that Captain Cook, though he named it, didn’t enter Doubtful Sound. Remaining at the entrance to the mysterious body of water in 1770, he stated he was “doubtful” that the winds in the sound were strong enough to blow his ship back out to sea if he entered. So he didn’t.
The sound became more accessible after the road over Wilmot Pass was completed in 1959. We were taking a day trip with Real Journeys and approached the day with great anticipation that foggy morning on the day before Easter.
To get to Doubtful Sound first involved crossing a lake, then riding over a mountain pass and through an exotic rain forest, and finally boarding a catamaran at Deep Cove. This boat would take us on an afternoon cruise all the way through Doubtful Sound to its entrance on the Tasman Sea.
Our starting point at 8:30 a.m. was a boat ride across the crystal clear Lake Manapouri. Late that afternoon when we returned to that spot, we would conclude the day’s excursion by descending 200 feet beneath the earth’s surface to tour the huge underground Manapouri Power Plant, an interesting site in itself.
In preparation for our outing, we had carried parkas, fleece jackets and long johns half around the world to combat the projected freezing temperatures in this remote wilderness. It turned out the temperatures weren’t quite that frigid, but several layers of clothes kept us comfortable during the cruise.
After crossing Lake Manpouri, we boarded a bus to transport us over the Wilmot Pass. The high winding scenic pass was constructed with enormous difficulty in the mid 1960s to provide heavy equipment access for the construction of the controversial power station. The original plan had been to raise the level of the lake sufficiently to join Lake Manapouri with Lake Te Anau 17 km away. The notion that an enormous hydroelectric plant would destroy this pristine lake led to the first major environmental campaign in New Zealand. The local citizenry had blocked construction until an agreement was reached to build the power plant underground. Floods, snow, mud and landslides lengthened the project from 12 months to two years. As we drove through tunnels and over the difficult terrain, we could understand why.
Going over the pass, we were surrounded by a jungle-like tropical rain forest. Our guide let us off the bus several times to inspect the luxuriant plant life close up. We observed several varieties of delicate ground ferns growing in profusion along the mountainside; orchid-like plants popping up from hidden crevasses; moss gardens clinging to the mountainside, and thick groves of beech trees that dominate the forested mountains.
Numerous waterfalls tumble down the mountainsides along the way, the result of the 200 days of rainfall in the fiord region, the falls tinged the color of weak tea. Our guide told us they are stained by tannin and other organic matter covering the forest floor.
By mid morning, we boarded the three-decked catamaran that would transport us through Doubtful Sound. We encountered no other boats that day. We found ourselves much like the early Maori inhabitants alone in this place of intense silence, towering peaks, granite mountains, and aquamarine coves.
On the boat many of the passengers escaped the cold by settling down around tables in the glass observation lounge on a lower deck. Despite a chill wind that plastered our coats to our bodies and threatened to knock us off the open top deck, we refused to leave. Clinging to the railing when particularly strong gusts of wind almost knocked me off my feet, I continued to point my digital camera at the magnificent scenery, not satisfied until I could take yet another photo. It was impossible to truly capture the perfect images of nature surrounding us on all sides. I took in the dramatic peaks rising out of a sparkling sea, the foamy wake of our boat casting wide swaths in the silvery waves behind the boat, and a brilliant sun and blue sky replacing the grey misty morning fog that had hovered over the water. I couldn’t stop taking digital shots of this pristine wilderness in hopes of producing one perfect photo. Of course, I didn’t.
Remarkably, each passenger obeyed his command. Even every child aboard sat or stood absolutely still. You could sense the one moment when everyone aboard began peering out over this marine wonderland, standing or sitting, eyes closed or observing the horizon in absolute silence. For five minutes not a single sound broke the stillness except for an occasional birdcall sounding over the water. This memory ranks as a once-in-a-lifetime experience I will always remember with gratitude for that captain’s insight.
[Go to New Zealand Part Nine]
