May 9, 2010
“All we are is dust in the wind, dude” – Ted Theodore Logan, Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure
I’m in the heart of the Lakes District of the Fiordlands. Lakes Manapouri and Te Anau are separated by 20 or so kilometers. Te Anau is the largest lake on the South Island and the gateway to the most famous tourist attraction, Milford Sound, as well as a number of the more famous multiday tramps (hikes). It’s a clean and quiet touristy town that’s one third restaurants and another third sleeping accommodations. Manapouri is about half the size with almost no restaurants. Te Anau’s smaller and quieter neighbor, Manapouri is a primarily access to West Arm Hydroelectric power station and Doubtful Sound—my destination. I boarded a boat lunch time yesterday for an overnight cruise through the sound.
Departing from the town of Manipouri, the 50 minute boat ride across Lake Manipouri was brisk and peaceful. Lake levels were at a 20 year high even though the rest of the country was complaining of a mild drought. Lake Manipouri was the epicenter of the environmental movement of New Zealand in the 1970s when plans were revealed to dam up the west end of the lake and create a hydroelectric plant. The plans were to raise the water level by something like 20 meters which would have flooded a considerable part of the surrounding valley as well as destroy a lot of untouched forest. The public outcry was matched with 250,000 petition signatures which is a lot for a country that had less that 4 million people. The dam plans were revised to maintain traditional flood highs and drought lows and the long standing dominant government party of power was voted out in the subsequent election. The West Arm Power Station still creates enough power to satisfy a majority of the south island even though it runs well below capacity. Reaching the far end of the lake, a 25m bank of concrete walls with metal grate inlets, a quartet of transmission towers and a cat’s cradle of power lines stretching south into the forested hills are the only telltales of industry.
At the nearby dock, we disembarked from the boat and onto a pair of tour buses for the half hour ride down the mountain. The drive was fantastic and illicited more than a few ooh’s and aah’s from the 40ish passengers. Thick beech forests with fern underbrush and mossy carpets blanketed every inch of earth that wasn’t the gravel road. High above us on the craggy granite and gneiss peaks waterfalls, tree slips and rock slides were firm reminders that this was a world in constant flux. As quickly as tectonics could forced the land skyward, water and wind was ripping it down. The affable bus driver/tour guide regaled us with stories of the creation of the power station, the road and ecological tidbits about the forest and sound. At the bottom of the hill we reached the dock for the sound and our overnight boat: a 3 mast cruiser with a pair of diesel engines, multiple decks and an armada of plastic kayaks strung up on the back. We boarded and were shown to our respective quarters.
The weather when we reached the sound was perfect. The temperature was in the 50s but the sun was shining over a cloudless sky. The views of Doubtful Sound were astounding. 1500m peaks (~4500ft) rose nearly vertically from both sides of the waterways, and I do mean vertically. Onboard there were multiple tvs showing the navigation screen on the bridge which gave a constant depth sounding. At one point we pulled up under a rock overhand and the captain expertly navigated the boat to within inches of the cliff and we were still in more than 20m of water. Yet despite the shear faces, moss, ferns and trees were still clinging to the side in some curious defiance of gravity. Vertical swaths of rock face were wiped clean in 5 to 20 meter sections were older, bigger trees outgrew the capacity of their rock supports and started tree avalanches, taking out any vegetation between them and the water below. Numerous waterfalls flittered off the ledges above in flimsy veils of unknown origin. Elsewhere etching rivers created beautiful dark grooves in contrast to the web of green. According to our guides, the waterfalls were so fleeting that few had names. Every week or so, they would die out in one spot and spring up in another. The annual rainfall in Doubtful Sound was roughly 25’ which works out to an average of more than ¾ of an inch of rain per day. Factoring the larger watershed area—the area of land that drains into the sound—and the quantity of freshwater is substantial. Even though it directly links with the ocean and is more than 400 meters deep in some places, the top 4 to 40’ of water is fresh (depending on recent rainfall). Late in the afternoon we got to kayak around the Crooked Arm section of the sound and I scooped up a handful of water and dubiously tasted it. It was less salty than a Cup-o-noodle. Somehow, the combinations of sea and freshwater layers made really fertile fishing grounds so numerous pods of dolphins played around the boat. We also visited a seal colony on a rocky outcropping at the entrance to the sound and were told of a handful whales that populate the calm and protected waters during calving season. So why, given the abundance of fresh water, fish, hunt-able mammals and protected waterways, was the sound given its negative name? Captain Cook anchored off the entrance on his first circumnavigation of the country and resisted the desires of his crew to explore it. He was doubtful that his square rig boat would get the necessary easterly wind to get out once he was in, hence the name Doubtful Sound.
Our boat, however, was fantastic and made the relatively expensive voyage was worth every penny. A trip to the more famous Milford Sound is about half of the price, but with 5 times the crowd for a significantly smaller waterway. In addition to our transport and accommodations, tea, coffee, snacks, dinner and breakfast were free, plentiful and gourmet. The multiple desert selections elicited delighted squeals from a collection of fat wives in their early 60s. I haven’t eaten that well or that much in months. The company on the boat was excellent too. The crew was accommodating and congenial, and the other guests were social and quick to invite my party of 1 to join them for conversation or a meal.
In the morning the weather had shifted. The brisk winds and clear skies were replaced by heavy fog and a still silence. Periods of light rain kept most of the passengers indoors where they could stare at the now cascading waterfalls and swollen rivers in comfort and warmth. I braved the captain’s bridge and the open foredecks to snap numerous pictures. Even though we spent almost 24 hours in the Sound, the splendor and majesty was so incredible that it never got tiresome. I ended up taking more than 130 pictures and even though none of them truly capture the magnificence of the area, I’ve included some anyway. We were actually lucky to see the sound in both sunshine and overcast since both created vastly different auras. In the sunshine, scale was impossible to estimate. Paddling from one side of a seemingly narrow gorge to another could take 15 or 20 minutes when it seemed like only 5 minutes away. Rocks that looked like basketball sized boulders could dwarf our boat up close. In the wispy and clingy fog the dramatic seem ethereal and calm. The glassy water reflected an untouched world of pristine beauty. Late in the morning, once passengers started to brave the cold mist on the open decks, the captain killed the engines and let us drift in silent lucidity. Even the shutterbugs stopped looking through viewfinders and stood in quiet awe of our surroundings.
The trip was excellent and I couldn’t recommend it more.
