“Not all those who wander are lost”
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| Milford Sound |
What has roots as nobody sees,
Is taller than trees,
Up, up it goes,
And yet never Grows??
“Easy” said Bilbo, “Mountain I suppose”
We followed the small footsteps of Bilbo Baggins- the Hobbit
and set out for our camping trip to the Fiord Land National Park, to visit the famed
picture perfect Milford Sound located in the southern island of New Zealand. As per the Lord of the Rings Trilogy – Middle
Earth found much of it’s home around this fiord region. Our multigenerational group of eight had two five
year olds and my father in law pushing seventy was the senior most.
The pivot of the National park was the town of Te Anau, on
the bank of Eponymous lake. The 117-km drive from there to the National park,
hedged in by sea and mountains was an Alpine driving nirvana. The subtropical
rain forests growing at the feet of glistening glaciers was nature’s wonder. We
filled our tank as there were no gas stations on the way. This drive of a life
time turned our fantasy into reality. We got lost along a roller coaster road on
the South Island of New Zealand. Every turn brought fresh rewards, constantly
changing vistas, rolling meadows, water falls spilling down rock faces,
tantalizing forest tracks and remote settlements where life moves to its own
rhythm.
We would soon be at the sound but it was quite impossible to
predict who- knows-what weather would greet us upon arrival. Despite the
complicated logistics, things seemed to be going well for Dad. Although he
rarely bothered to record his moods (aside from an occasional announcement that
he needed to use the restroom), he appeared to be a man well pleased with the
world.
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| Road sheer- Rock wall near Homer tunnel |
Everywhere we paused we stared in disbelief. Finally, we
arrived the Road sheer- Rock wall near Homer tunnel, surrounded by towering
mountains and vertical rocks. The rain produced several long streams of water,
most of which spilled over the edges of rock face in a free fall. Some flows
were heavy enough to reach the valley floor as a steady torrent, while others
of less volume, turned into mist and vapour.
I had kept a studious silence about the approaching rain and
cloud that we would inevitably encounter. On arriving at the camp site, we
downed our backpacks and pouches and pitched the tents. The heavy sky soon sent
down a constant drizzle which later turned into a torrential downpour. The wind
picked up and we found ourselves amidst a tempest of sorts.
Our tents collapsed when the pegs blew off and we were out running
around late evening in our pyjamas trying to re-stake and prop them up. While Dad,
Subha and I held them down from inside, Arnab and Balaji placed our bags at the
corners of the tents to prevent them from blowing away. It was quite a task to
stake down the tents in such high winds. The children were a confused lot; much
too surprised to make a fuss.
We were well soaked and quite miserable. Even the umpteen
shots of vodka had failed to brighten our spirits. Rain continued to fall as we
zipped our jackets and huddled together for warmth. What’s the alternative?
What does that solve? This is Dad- ex principal of a hill school Darjeeling. He
makes all value judgements and argues for outcome. The restaurant in the camp
was closed, kids were starving and all we had were a few small packs of snacks.
At this moment, Dad produced as if by magic a large pack of Moori (puffed rice),
an Indian savoury snack. It is still a mystery as to how he had managed to
smuggle that pack of Moori into New Zealand right under the noses of the rather
sullen looking customs officials. Be that as it may, that bag of puffed rice
was a savior as at least the kids had something to munch.
As the sun came shouting over the hills, the troubled night
when “all Nature seemed to frown” was soon forgotten. The weather report read
“A very fine day”. Our spirits regained a bit of warmth after being dampened by
the wind and showers of the previous evening. The sun rose over the beautiful
green valley. It was warm enough that I only wore a shirt and sweater. After
having breakfast of cereals, yogurt and exotic fruits, we headed out for the
boat cruise.
We were sailing on a lake created by a glacier that pushed
the ground several feet deep before melting away. The water in the lake was so clear that I
could tell where the air ended and the water began. As the mist disappeared, we sailed across the
lake. The trees on both sides were overgrown with moss and, creeping vegetation
and lianas like those in the tropical forest
Cold stinging meltwater from old snowfield plummets over a
cliff, scouring clean whatever lies beneath. Deep inside the Sound, the Mitre
peak stands as a sentinel to the lake. Soaked in the spray of waterfall, we
enjoyed the ethereal view of the Mitre peak. String of waterfall cocooned
inside rain forest. Most of these waterfalls had no names. Many of these falls
appear suddenly, as the ponds higher up the mountain slopes overflow with
meltwater or sudden rain and spill over the cliffs edges. I nearly disappeared
as I stood next to the peaks.
I caught the play of the sunlight and shadow on the broad
blue lake, as I walked along the deck taking photos, each new composition
inspired by the last. It had been pleasantly hard work for over an hour and was
adjusting the focus for one last brilliant shot of the fall, when I heard
footsteps. At some stage, it was too loud to ignore, I turned and saw a group
of seals basking on the huge rock in the fjord. How they climbed that big rock
is still a mystery to me.
When I had read about middle earth of J.R.Tolkien’s Lord of the
Rings, I was not aware of the basic laws of science and had accepted the
written word for truth, thus there was still room for imagination. I felt that
I had entered the book when I came upon this unearthly scene at the sound. I
could hear the dull roar of distant waterfalls through the surrounding haze. Suddenly
a very vocal flock of birds flying low, flew piercing the fog with confidence.
Moments like these set the pace for the day and made the trip worthwhile and
memorable.
A 2-hour ride on the ferry brought us back to the head of
the lake. The sea was unusually
tranquil. Moments like these are sometimes bittersweet. I wanted to linger but deep
down knew that I had to continue my journey.
The owner of the restaurant opened a bottle of local
Obsidian red and we drank it on the deck. Shortly after, he emerged regally
from the kitchen to report on his work in progress and served a plate of
chicken fingers to tide us over. Halfway through the meal, ten-year-old Rishab leant
over to me and whispered with trepidation, “Are we again sleeping in a tent tonight”?
It was time to enjoy the luxury of just lazing about and enjoying
the feeling of being there, amidst the slowly setting sun playing hide and seek
with the clouds, changing their colours. The planet Venus appeared and so did
the stars, details on the hills were getting hazy, and the horizon had giant
sleeping shapes.
Milford Sound- the eighth wonder of the world!
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| Mitre peak |
