The Milford Track is, perhaps, the most heavily marketed and regulated of New Zealand's numerous walks. More than once, I heard the phrase, "World's Finest Walk." It's mandatory to do the tramp in 4days/3nights, to stay in the designated Huts (no camping), and complete the hike in the one permitted direction. No Exceptions. These restrictions tend to rub the experienced tramper the wrong way. Nevertheless, the 40 available spots for each day during the summer season will get booked up 3 months in advance.
Having just come off the glorious solitary freedom of the Dusky Track, Edith and I knew we were in for a different sort of experience. It only took the short ferry ride to the trail-head to tell us just how different. The boat, and later the Clinton Hut, was full of a hiking demographic we had yet to see on a tramp. On average, Milford trampers were slightly older, couples, a little less fit, more Kiwis, less experienced, and all together friendly. Spending 3 consecutive nights together in close quarters almost necessitates that you get to know the other 39 trampers. Some of my favorite memories are of candle-lit discussions after dinner, hearing the stories of people I'd never expected to meet, and likely will never see again. Thanks to an older couple from Invercargill, the Annapurna Circuit (a 300km trek in the Himalayas of Nepal) has found a prominent spot on my 'list'.
With the knowledge of our cushy amenities on the Milford, both Edith and I splurged on - what else? - food! No tent, sleeping pad, stove, or fuel means good eatin'. I went with fresh produce (3 apples, 2 peppers, 3 tomatoes), a huge bag of gourmet G.O.R.P. and a bottle of cabernet (which I transferred into a plastic squirt bottle of course).
The first two days of tramping were pretty, but nothing all together spectacular. Climbing the Clinton Valley, I was impressed with the massive valley, and trickle of waterfall now and again.
The third day might have bumped Day-1 on Cascade Saddle from its perch of "best day of tramping in New Zealand". The day started with cloud cover high enough to reward our ascent to Mackinnon Pass with grand views down both the Clinton and Arthur Valleys. At the high point of the track there was Pass Hut, possibly the best idea DOC has ever had. Furnished with a gas burner, we all enjoyed hot tea along with shelter from the rippin' winds. Not 5 minutes after leaving Pass Hut and beginning our descent from Mackinnon Pass, the skies opened up with Milford's legendary rain. Not just rain... try buckets of it, with some hail in there to spice it up, and lightning with nearly simultaneous thunder. It was like Mother Nature was showing of... putting on a display of power, intent upon humbling those of us who dared to walk in her domain. Barely 15 minutes after the storm began, the valley walls sprung to life with countless waterfalls.
It was like she took a giant paintbrush and slashed ribbons of white down the steep rock all around us. I lost count of how many times Edith and I stopped, looked above and about us, looked at each other, and just started laughing as rain pelted our faces. Don't get me wrong, I was soaked to the bone and cold, but those discomforts were almost unnoticeable... we were too busy reveling in the moment. It felt like we were walking through a painting... one of those old realist ones... a grand landscape made more emotive by a slight haziness.
The climax of the day, our side trip to the Sutherland Falls, had us running up the small river that had once been a trail. Splashing through puddles ringed with hail balls, and without the burden of water logged packs, we were like kids playing in the rain at recess. Soon we found ourselves at the foot of the 660m Sutherland Falls. The downpour of the last hour had the falls pumping out an incredible volume of water... the roar was deafening. There was so much rain, hail and mist I could scarcely take a photo. No matter, the vividness of the moment: falls roaring, hail stinging, Edith laughing, and the layers of valley wall disappearing into misty nothingness... will always be with me.
Later that night, having filled more journal pages than usual, I thanked Edith and told her, "You know? It just might be The World's Finest Walk."
Day 4 was much like the 3rd. It had rained through the night, and showed no signs of letting up. The abundance of rain and waterfall, rather than desensitizing us, lulled us into a dream-like state of blissful sogginess. Never once did we hesitate to stop and stare in awe through every break in the trees.
PICS:
Mackinnon Pass
Edith laughing, hail stinging...
Can you see the streaks of hail? 
Arthur Valley
Snow covered Fiord from Sandfly Point - the end of our tramp. Do you see our little ferry?
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