Backpacking in Fiordland (Doubtful Sound)

Fiordland National Park. A place that even the most eloquent description would not do justice to its infathomable beauty.

I spent last weekend on a 4-day backpacking trip through Doubtful Sound, one of most remote and untouched places to tramp in New Zealand. Nine lucky souls partook in this "Survivor"-like undertaking: Caroline(Norway), Daniel (Germany), 3 kiwis-Nick(OUTC VP), Stephen (OUTC former P), Adrian (leader), and 4 Americans- Emily, Angela, Laura and myself.

We set off on Friday evening from Dunedin and drove to Manapouri which borders Fiordland. We camped for the night by Lake Manapouri, woke up at 6am and boated across the lake. I knew that the biggest determinant of the trip, and where my apprehension lied, all revolved around the weather. Fiordland is more or less a rainforest, with odds of it raining 2 out of 3 days. The fact that we made it 4 days with no rain at all, sunshine, clear skies and warm weather has made me a religious person, haha. Adrian who has been to Fiordland countless times, said that our trip was the best weather he's ever had. With that said, the conditions we had made Doubtful Sound's mystical and stunning aura that much more pervasive.

With a breathtaking view of the sunrise and mountain ridgeline at our back, we boated to West Arm, passing a hydro-electric power plant that supplies 1/10 New Zealand's energy, a feat of engineering in 1965 when it was built. (Joe-you probably would have found this really cool!) We then got on a bus that towed our boat over to Doubtful Sound where we began our travels. Boating past lush green islands and striking views, we ate breakfast with the peaceful tranquility of the sound and mountains surrounding us. (I could spend every morning like this...)

We boated into a narrow inlet at the bottom of Evans peak where we secured the boat. For the next 5-6 hours we climbed 700m up the mountain, unfortunately with heavy and bulky packs on. We bushbashed the entire time seeing as there was no path or trail. Let me describe the scene here: Hour after hour entangled in vines, dodging branches that seemed to creep up on me at any second, falling into holes in the ground that I didn't expect, stubbling over rocks because enormous ferns blocked the sight of where I was walking, stepping into mud that slowly seeped into my boots, squeezing between trees and rocks as I climbed at some points at a 90 degree angle only to slip on slick moss and go tumbling down, my hands started to become raw after grabbing onto so many random plants to secure my balance, my calves started to burn but I couldn't stop because I knew I'd have to hike in the dark if I did, yet all the while I realized I was surrounded by a mysterious rainforest where at any moment I pictured a little gnome poking his head around a tree, and my inspiration lied in the incremental sneek peeks of the water where I started the tramp getting farther and farther away as I continued the rigorous trip up the mountain.

Finally at around 6pm we reached a reasonably flat spot at bushline where we decided to set up camp. We basically spent two nights on an overlook with endless mountains in the distance. We cooked dinner with the sunset surrounding us in shades of blues, pinks and purples and later that night we made a fire and drank Milo. (NZ hot cocoa) Five people slept under flies, and the other four (which thankfully included me!) slept in tents. Although Doubtful Sound was "undoubtedly" the most peaceful and remote place I've ever been to, part of me couldn't help but acknowledge the fact that if anything went wrong, we were in the middle of miles and miles (km and km, haha) of secluded mountains...a healthy mix of excitement and fear.

The following day was again gorgeous, and while 7 of us hiked to the top of Evans peak, Stephen and Nick went hunting. We spent 3 hours on the top (1200m) overlooking the plethora of mountains, admiring the view of the sound and how it flowed into the Tasman Sea, eating lunch and all the while engaged in good conversation. We then heard a gunshot and ran to discover that Nick had shot a buck!

Immediately Nick and Adrian began to cut open the deer, and we helped hold its legs back as they took turns gutting it. Because our packs were still down at the camp, we couldn't take all the meat, but we still managed to take a bit away. Daniel and I were in charge of alternatively carrying one hind leg down the mountain back to camp. We had quite an amusing time passing off "the leg" especially during steep parts.

By the time everyone was back down it was turning dark, but we managed to still have a delicious meal consisting of chunks of fresh venison, in a blackbean garlic sauce, with cooked veggies and rice. I had never felt more barbaric in my whole life. There I was in the middle of hundreds of mountains, secluded without a hint of civilization, I hadn't showered in days after more physical exertion than I'd ever felt, our only form of drinking water was a tiny pond/puddle that supplied us with brown-tinted water, and for dinner I ate an animal that I carried down a mountain (still warm on my shoulder) that had been running around only hours before we consumed it.

We concluded our night with some wine to warm us up and slept soundly. The next morning we packed up camp, and began the steep hike down the rest of the mountain. I wiped out nearly four times, and fell over 20 times. Even though it hadn't rained in a while, the soil, rocks and moss were still very slippery. An adjustment I kept having to make throughout the weekend was convincing myself of the fact that there are no snakes or dangerous animals to be weary of when hiking. (i.e. no snakes will slither out from under the rock that my boot was under) We took a slightly different way down the mountain, led by the kiwis, and all the rest of us were wondering how they were going to get back down to the boat since we weren't following a path. To our amazement, they led us directly to the boat and the sweaty nine of us jumped in the river immediately. We were immediately attacked by the notorious sandflies, which are the equivalent to Canadian blackflies. Even a week later now, I still am constantly itching!

We spent the rest of the day boating around the sound, passing through little islands and then eventually we boated out to the Tasman Sea. Our little 6m boat (roughly 18ft) went crashing into the waves as we got covered in salt water. The coast line was absolutely unreal especially with the sun beaming on it, and we were entertained as we watched the enormous waves slam into the rocks. We boated back into the sound and within 15 minutes we were greeted by a pod of about 30 dolphins that swam and jumped beside our boat. At that point, I was sitting on the bow and was nearly close enough to reach out and touch one of the dolphins.

It had been a surreal trip and I was reluctant to boat back to the dock. I felt as though Doubtful Sound embodied the essence of New Zealand and its fresh, untouched landscapes. On the 3 1/2 hr. drive back I couldn't help but think about how grateful I was to the kiwi bikers I met in Colorado last summer who persuaded me to come to their homeland instead of Sydney, and to my Mom who had always been in love with New Zealand who also encouraged me to come here. What divine adventure has resulted from such a choice!

Three particular aspects of the trip made it a truly inspiring experience. The first, knowing that while tramping (most likely) no one has ever stepped where I stepped before since Doubtful Sound is not a tramping destination by virtually anyone due to its inopportune location. Secondly, tramping and boating with tramping club which is led by experienced kiwis vs paying a commercial boat really makes the excursion feel more authentic as well as getting to personally know the people. And lastly, the sense of accomplishment you feel after hiking a mountain is much greater in NZ than in the states. In Colorado for example, although you may hike to the top, the trailhead where you begin is already nearly a quarter to halfway up the mountain, vs in NZ where you literally start from 150m above sea-level or less.

Random fact: Doubtful Sound got its name from Captain James Cook (English explorer who founded NZ around 1770) who entered the sound and indicated that it would be doubtful if they ever made it out once they sailed in.

Here's how my trip leader Adrian described Fiordland:
"The real Fiordland, the Fiordland of massive blocks of faulted rock plunging hundreds of meters into the glacial carved valleys below. Valleys so moist and dank; the air is thick with the pungency of impenetrable vegetation, that which is alive and that decaying. Valleys for which the long months of winter never feel the heat from the sun. Filled with a mist that hangs like your Grandmothers old curtains that should have blown out by now yet are persevering in there. Valley floors littered with ferns, fallen trees and bisected by crystal clear flowing rivers sparingly stocked with big fat old trout.

It is up one of these valleys, deep into the heart of Fiordland that I wish to go. The real Fiordland, the Fiordland across the lakes, themselves formed just a few thousand years ago when the glacial ice finally receded back towards the main divide.

The Falcon herself will be passing through a myriad of small islands, channels, and white sandy beaches until we get to where the valley begins. We then head across a wide and dangerous vertical walled lake and regroup in the flood prone forest at the foot of the real Fiordland."

If you're interested in pictures from the trip and don't have the link to my picture website, here it goes:
http://community.webshots.com/user/rebecky2113
Cheers!