David Williams takes his family to Milford Sound and uncovers one of Fiordland’s jewels.
They say half the experience is getting there.
On a blazingly-hot day, driving from Queenstown to Milford Sound must be one of the most satisfying trips you can make.
Before entering the Eglinton Valley, north of Te Anau, you’re blowing over alluvial flats, meandering amongst areas of scrubby vegetation and crossing streams.
The views are reminiscent of some of the most scenic parts of Italy or France.
And on this Saturday morning in March there’s not another car on the road.
"Busy, busy New Zealand," my English wife muses.
We plunge under tree canopies, surrounded on all sides like a scenic hydroslide.
The light softens to a dapple and leaf debris coats the middle of the road.
We skirt the twin lakes of Gunn and Fergus before climbing towards the Homer Tunnel, the mountains rising threateningly on either side.
We lock the car at Milford Sound/Piopiotahi, grab our cases and walk to the jetty.
Once aboard Fiordland Discovery’s catamaran Fiordland Jewel, we diligently listen to the safety briefing and climb to the top deck.
Our boys strain against the rails, taking in rugged peaks and the sun-speckled, blue-green water.
With only 20 passengers — mainly Brits, Europeans and Kiwis — no-one’s crowding out anyone else’s views.
Unbeknown to us, hours earlier the deck had been turned into a helipad for some of our fellow guests.There are whispers a Gulf prince walked the same decks last summer.Our catamaran wafts past water-borne luxury in the form of the 293m cruise ship Radiance of the Seas.
The Jewel’s first stops are two crayfish pots; the first is empty, the second scores two skittering prizes.Fellow passengers crowd around wielding cameras and mobile phones to capture images of the pots coming up from the deep.
My mystified youngest son peers curiously into the bright-blue container, not realising the burnt-orange bounty is bound for a different type of pot.
The Jewel powers on to Milford Sound’s mouth.
The bush-clad hills slip away and the sky opens above the Tasman Sea.
Back in March 1851, the ship HMS Acheron entered Milford Sound.
George Hansard wrote at the time: "Milford Sound is the most remarkable harbour yet visited by the Acheron in New Zealand."
It stirs similar awe, even now.
Beyond the other-worldly landscapes, there are flirtations with wildlife.
Birds dive for their supper or survey the scene from mossy rocks. Seals laze in the sun.
As we amble past, my youngest says: "Are we going away from those seals? Are the waves making us go away?"
The Jewel pulls into a sheltered bay.
"Lifejackets on," calls our skipper.
While other passengers paddle the Sound in kayaks, we take a quick blat on a speed boat.
Giggles of delight escape our boys’ open mouths, as the spray churns behind the revving outboard motor.As night approaches, the Sound becomes divided; half bathed in harsh sunlight, half darkened by shadows.
My favourite place is in-between, where blazing light peeks around darkened corners, silhouetting craggy trees clinging to sheer cliffs.
Back on the boat, pre-dinner entertainment takes us back to the top deck.
Three young Brits dare a fit-looking silver-haired passenger to jump into the Sound. He takes up the challenge.
It was so good the first time, the youngsters do it again, one of them filming it with his mobile phone in hand.
"One, two, three, now!" calls my eldest son.
The black-undied trio jump as one, shouting out before hitting the water with pleasing splashy plumes.
"That was way better," one of them says, checking the footage in his hand.
As darkness descends, the passengers laze on the common deck, gorging on a sumptuous three-course meal from the galley (the prince might have had his own chef).
And then it’s to bed — but for broken sleep, as our youngest isn’t used to bunks or sleeping in the same room as his parents.
In the morning, rain.
Yesterday’s contrast of blues and greens, the openness of the sky and landscapes, has gone.
Replacing it is a claggy canopy, pierced by endless waterfalls, cascading down cliff faces.
This is what Milford is about.
When an area’s rain is measured in metres (9.26m last year) you know a fall is never far away.
Rain-soaked Milford is a neck-craning wonder.
As the Fiordland Jewel cruises towards the jetty, passengers crowd the decks, trying to achieve the near impossible of getting a good photo without soaking their electronics.
The catamaran noses towards the magnificent 151m Stirling Falls, the top shrouded in fog.
After goodbyes and thanks, we disembark, grab the car and head towards the tunnel.
The road is slick but the trickiest part of the journey is trying not to look above.
The cliffs above are alive with dozens of waterfalls, making you wonder what it’s like on the tops.
"This is as good as it gets," my wife says.
On the other side of the tunnel, with the rain easing, I reflect on a magnificent weekend.
Who could want for anything else, I think to myself.
From the back, my youngest shatters my contemplative calm: "Can I have something to eat?"
- David Williams and his family took an overnight trip on the Fiordland Jewel courtesy of Fiordland Discovery.
