(so named by the silly british who’d never seen a fiord before)
It’s still shoulder season in NZ, but we’ve hit the peak tourist spot, Milford Sound in the heart of Fiordland. The Milford Sound Lodge (read: only lodging in town) was packed with campervans and backpackers, and there was actually someone else in a tent. In the bustling kitchen of the lodge where risotto, stir-fry, and boiled potatoes were being cooked alongside each other, some divers offered us the extras from their day’s crayfish catch, the start of 2 indulgent days. The next morning, we kayaked for 6 hours in the Milford Sound area. With sore shoulders but still not having our fill of the sheer cliffs rising from the sea (and with a 50% discount), we jumped on an overnight cruise with 6 other passengers back into the fiord. Chatting with the passengers and crew until late in the night on our small ship was almost as memorable as the huge waterfalls, hopping penguins and basking seals we viewed from the sunny top deck. The clouds and rain the next morning were softened by big fluffy pillows and hot brekkie. The national park had turned into a winter wonderland over night and when we disembarked to drive we found the mountain roads covered in snow. Recounting the details has made us realize this is an area we’re enraptured with which explains the 2 more days spent hiking through the area and 2 more nights settled in a rustic cabin at Gunn’s Camp, pre-writing our blog entries by candlelight with the nearest internet cafe over 100 kms away.
Back in civilization, it’s sunny again and we’re off to explore the Southland.
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