Day 24: The Sound of Milford

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What a day! What an amazing day. It began, a bit too early, in Queenstown at 5 a.m.. I had to catch the tour bus at 7:20 a.m. at a spot four blocks away. Everyone assured me that it was no more than a five-minute walk, but I knew that it would take me much longer than most people, even without my heavy-as-lead luggage. So I planned to leave at 6:30, and, in the event, I left about 6:20; I'd finished my packing and I was too anxious to wait.

Since I was leaving before reception opened, I couldn't ask for the promised help in bringing my luggage down six flights of stairs. Fortunately, "down" is much easier to manage than "up." I put my duffel at the top of each flight and gave it a kick.
I towed the rolling suitcase down behind me, bump-bump-bump, like Winnie-the-Pooh. And of course I carried the Pizza Bag over my shoulder as usual.

In the event, it took me about five minutes to get my bags down from the third floor, and about twenty minutes to walk the four blocks. (So I did waste the $15 I spent on the Super Shuttle....) I had a long wait in the cold, and at 7:05 a different tour bus left for Milford from the same stop. My bags were loaded onto it (by a couple of kind backpackers) before the driver discovered my mistake. The backpackers obligingly got my bags back off again.

The Great Sights bus was a Newman's Bus inside, except that it had skylights running the length of the bus. I was, I believe, the only person on the bus with a pair of seats to myself, for the very good reason that everyone could see that it would be a very tight fit for anyone who chose to sit next to me. I was immensely relieved not to have a seatmate, as my bad leg needed the space to stretch out after the effort of pulling the suitcase.

The tour was bilingual, English and Japanese. Our driver did the English commentary and a woman guide gave the Japanese commentary, which the Japanese tourists listened to through headphones.

The first part of the trip was the two-hour journey from Queenstown to Te Anau. As our driver pointed out, the first hour of that was in exactly the wrong direction to get to Milford Sound as the crow flies, but he explained that there was no other route by road.

It was a pleasant and scenic journey, but the scenery, while impressive, was the same sort of countryside I had seen coming in to Queenstown. There were more tribbles, I mean tussocks. 😊
These were larger. Our driver said they were a subspecies called the "red tussock," and very popular for landscaping. The tussocks are native plants.

At 9:55 we pulled in to Kiwi Country, a tourist stop in Te Anau with a snackbar and gift shop. We were given a twenty-minute break. My only breakfast had been the Cromwell apple and some of the Cromwell cherries, so I bought and wolfed a cranberry-and-chicken sandwich and a cup of hot chocolate.

Once out of Te Anau, we were officially on the Milford road, and our driver went more slowly and stopped at scenic points of interest. At the first such point, a wide valley covered with golden grass, I tried to take a step off the shoulder of the road into the grass, and promptly fell flat on my face.
Once again I had failed to see that there was a slight rise. Someone helped me up. I wasn't hurt, but the palms of my hands were a bit scuffed.

The next scenic stop was a short boardwalk along the Mirror Lakes, a chain of pools that supposedly give a good reflection on sunny days. As today was cloudy and sometimes drizzly, they gave only a feeble reflection at best, but they were very pretty in spite of that.

The next stop was a rest stop, followed by a stop at The Chasm. The Chasm was a river rushing through a gorge. A trail, part gravel, part boardwalk and part bridge, led to it and crossed

Our bus driver said sternly that we had a cruise boat to catch, that the trail took 15 minutes to walk, and that if we were any longer than that he would leave us. I believed him and took only one picture, knowing that I would need all the time I could get just to walk the trail.

He turned out to be bluffing. I arrived on the stroke of 1 p.m., just when he had said he would leave, but he waited for five minutes for two hale, hearty and healthy guys who came nonchalantly in. The driver asked them drily whether they had fallen into the Chasm, and then told the rest of us that at least one person really had once, a Canadian woman who was trying for a better camera angle. She survived with a broken arm.

The sole picture I took was of an intriguing grotto in the rock of the gorge. I wish I had taken two other pictures, one of the river itself and one of a lovely giant fern that was just beside it. I should mention that both boardwalk walks were through second-growth native temperate rainforest, with all sorts of ferns and an interesting white-flowered tree that our driver said was called a manuka. He said the flowers produced excellent honey.

Our last scenic stop was a stop at a traffic light.
This wasn't just any traffic light; it was red for a full 15 minutes! It was the traffic light at the end of the Homer Tunnel, a narrow tunnel over a half-mile long.

Our driver explained that although the tunnel is nominally a two-way road, it is too narrow to accommodate two buses, RVs, or other large vehicles abreast. So in the summertime the traffic light is used to turn the tunnel into a one-way road. In winter, drivers have to take their chances (there are pull-offs to use if two large vehicles meet) because of the fairly high risk of avalanches. It is simply not safe for traffic to wait in the open on that road for 15 minutes in winter. I was very glad I was visiting in the summertime.

The tunnel, which was begun in 1939 and finished in the late 1940's, was indeed narrow, and rounded, and the center was only slightly higher than our bus.
I like tunnels, so I enjoyed this one.

Once we were through the tunnel, we were suddenly in a land of sheer cliffs. A switchback road wound straight down from the tunnel to the sea.

Thanks to the slowness of the two hale-and-hearties, our boat was about to begin boarding as our bus parked. Since we were far from the only passengers, we had to scurry to the dock, or the "gate," as the wharf building called it.

We had been given cruise tickets; we handed them to a guard at the gate and boarded the boat. It was very much like the Sun Cruz gambling boat, though of course it wasn't a gambling boat. It was called the Pride of Milford. A lunch buffet was served as we boarded on the main deck. It cost $30. Most passengers who wanted it had pre-ordered it, but I hadn't been able to do so as I was travelling on a discount as part of my bus pass. They said I could pay $20 for one plateful or $30 for all I could eat.
I thought about it and decided to go for the $30, since I wasn't sure what I'd be able to get for supper.

It was a good buffet, though a bit limited. I had two platefuls, more to justify the extra $10 than for any othe reason. There were lamb chops and roast chicken drumsticks, and some rather good beets and some roasted potatoes that weren't to my taste.
There was also some very spicy pot roast. I had seconds on the lamb, the chicken and the beets.
We were all given a single serving of vanilla ice cream, too.

When I went back for my second plateful, I was thrown for a loop to discover that I was expected, as a matter of course, to bring my plate up for a refill. For all of my adult life, U.S. health and safety regulations have required businesses and organizations to forbid patrons to bring used plates back to a buffet, out of concern that food scraps from a dirty plate might fall and contaminate the buffet table. It felt wrong to bring up my old plate, but I did it, emptying as many food scraps as I could into a trash can first.

All the inside window seats on the main deck were reserved for VIP passengers. I'm not sure who they were, but I clearly wasn't in their group, so I had to eat my buffet in one of the interior seats instead. A crew member saw my disappointment and tried to tell me to go upstairs once I finished my buffet, but I did not understand until much later, when I did go upstairs, what she had meant. Upstairs there were similar window seats, not reserved. There was also a snack bar for those who chose not to pay the $30.

Instead, when I had finished, I went out onto the viewing deck outside. For the first half-hour or so that I was there I had it pretty much to myself, as the wind was so strong it was hard to walk against it, and it was pretty cold. It was no worse than Queenstown had been, though, and I was in my winter coat and hat and wearing my CozyWinters as a scarf. I figured the salt air would do me good. I stayed there for a full hour, sitting on a seat that probably contained life-jackets.

For a few minutes, we were far enough down the sound to feel the ocean waves, which were pretty choppy. I have always been a good sailor, but I had eaten a huge lunch. I steadied myself by thinking of my Dickerson ancestors who were merchant seamen in the 1600's, and I am glad to say that nothing untoward occurred.

Many of my fellow passengers cavorted about on deck, leaping into the air as the ship rocked in the swells. I was mildly surprised; I love the ocean but don't think of its motion as a novelty.

The weather was perfect for my purposes, if a bit cold -- overcast enough that I could sit out in the open for an hour without worrying at all about sunburn. Windburn was a concern for the first half-hour; then the boat turned and headed back and the natural wind was behind us, leaving only the gentle breeze caused by our making headway.

I had a chance to test the water resistance of my camera when the helmsman brought us so close to a waterfall that the spray swept the deck. Fortunately, it passed with flying colors.

We also saw fur seals, sunning themselves on a rock, supremely unconcerned by the boat passing by only a few yards from them. I was surprised to find them so tiny; I had always had the impression that seals were big creatures, but these were no bigger than otters, with soft golden-brown fur. They looked very cuddly and I wished I could pet one.

I took 250 pictures, only a few of which, obviously, can be posted here. For the first time, I expended the entire charge in my camera's battery. It lasted right up until the boat docked again, and then quit. It was just as well; I was exhausted. I watched the scenery sleepily as we went back to Te Anau. This time, we didn't stop anywhere.

When we got to Te Anau at 5 p.m., the driver announced a 15-minute rest stop and immediately headed off into Kiwi Country. I stood rather forlornly by the bus for about five minutes, wondering what to do. Then the driver came back. He apologized to me, saying that he had completely forgotten that I was getting off, and he got my luggage out of the bus.

I rolled it into Kiwi Country to ask directions. I must have looked like death warmed over, because a clerk rushed over to me and asked if she could help. I asked for directions to the YHA; she said that of course the YHA would come and pick me up, that she would call them for me. I protested that YHAs in my experience did not do that sort of thing. "This is Te Anau," she assured me. "They will. You can't carry that luggage that far!"

She called them, but she was wrong, of course. They had no interest in coming and picking me up, or in sending someone to help (her second suggestion). Of course, the YHA workers were not from Te Anau; they were working holidaymakers. Perhaps if they had been they would have.

She shook her head sadly, and offered to watch the luggage while I rested for a while. I said I'd really rather just get to my room. It was only a four-block walk. At the second block there was a turn, and I called up to a group of people to ask which way I should turn.

They pointed, and suddenly a woman in the group said, "Do you need help with those bags?" I admitted that I did. She said, "I'll help you."

The others in her group were thunderstruck. They protested to her that she mustn't and couldn't do any such thing. She said, "Just watch me!"

I gave her the rolling suitcase, as it was lighter and she was wearing heels. She soon noticed that I was having trouble with the duffel and offered to trade. She was setting a pace a good bit faster than I would have. Even with the duffel, she set a stiff pace. We chatted -- I was thanking her, of course, about every third step, and she said that was just how people were in Te Anau and that that was because Te Anau was a country place, not like a horrid city. She said she hated cities. I told her that I lived in a 2000-person town in the U.S., and she was delighted.

I tried to trade off and take the duffel about halfway there, as she seemed to be tiring, but she refused to let me. I asked if she were sure and she said she was.

Just as we got to the YHA, trying to think how I could possibly express my gratitude, as money would clearly be an insult, I said something incoherent about "if you're ever in Mannington...." and she laughed and said that at her age she wasn't likely to be going anywhere again. Then she said it was her birthday today. Of course I said "Happy Birthday!"

And then she said, "Yes, I'm 73 today."

I could have sunk through the floor. I tried to take the duffel back and said I would never have asked her if I had known, which is true. She said there was nothing wrong with her age. I said it was an age to be congratulated upon, but that it was wrong for older people to do work for younger people, even when as in this case she was clearly in better health than I was.

I swear I didn't have an inkling till she said that. I thought she was about my age. She looked older than I do, but people still take me for a 30-year-old, and sometimes I even get carded. I thought she was about 45 and looked her age.

Anyway, she told me not to be silly and when I still kept trying to take the duffel she wouldn't let me till we got all the way across the parking lot. Then she asked me if I was sure I could make it up the ramp and into the building, and when I said I could, she hugged me and said, "Welcome to Te Anau!"
and left.

I bolted upstairs to my room, fired up the Internet (which worked beautifully) and called Jim to tell him about the 73-year-old. As we discussed it, I suddenly realized that I did have an acceptable gift to give her: the remaining Cromwell Christmas Cherries. So I put them into a clean container, as the old container was full of pits and cherry stains at this point, and hurried back down to the place I'd met her. She was still there. I gave her the cherries and said, "Here, a birthday present. They're from Cromwell." She thanked me.

Actually I kept two of the cherries. I probably shouldn't have in retrospect, but they were all I had left of tangible items from Cromwell, as I had mailed the other souvenirs home in Queenstown. But I gave her six of them. I hope she likes them. And I really hope she didn't hurt herself carrying my duffel.

Maybe I'll see her again at church tomorrow. I hope so. I hope I'll know her if I do; this time was easy, because she hadn't changed clothes since I'd last seen her. (For those reading this who don't know, I have prosopagnosia, which means that I find it extremely hard to recognize people, even those I know well. I'm currently locked out of Facebook, for instance, because it realizes that I'm not at my usual computer and it wants me, as a safety precaution, to identify the photographs of several of my friends -- a task I can no more do than flap my arms and fly to the moon. So I'm off Facebook until March.)

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Photos

Grotto
At the Chasm