Gertrude's Saddle 1

Here I am, in the library at Paraparaumu this time, continuing my story of our travels.

We had read the Department of Conservation's (Doc) information about the Fiordland walk to Gertrude's Saddle, and agreed that it sounded a fantastic one to do. At the same time we wondered (at least I certainly wondered) whether we were up to it. The info talked about needing alpine navigation and scrambling skills, of avalanches at all times of the year and of being suitable only for fit and experienced trampers.
Therefore, although on the Wednesday morning, when after leaving the Doc campsite at Cascade Creek we drove down the road towards Milford, and found the mountain we were contemplating climbing up obscured by low cloud,  I had mixed feelings.
We hadn't intended to go all the way to the head of Milford Sound; it's a very long road with no exit and we suspected that we wouldn't enjoy the tourist trap that it sounded Milford had become. But as we were now so far down the road and the weather didn't look promising we decided to press on.

Road between mountains down to Milford Sound

Approaching the head of the Sound we had to admit that it's easy to see why Milford has become a hotspot. The mountains press in upon the road on either side and the view ahead is of more, snowcapped, peaks. Once at the water's edge the narrow opening guarded by the sheer cliffs of towering mountains  is very dramatic.
We arrived in the village that has grown up to service tourists before the rush of the day had begun but it wasn't long before coaches began to arrive, a succession of boats followed each other out into the Sound and the air became alive with planes and helicopters on scenic flights. We decided we'd made the right decision to sail into the peace and quiet of Doubtful even if Milford might have extra drama.

View down Sound from boat wharf

So we pootled around Milford village, walking a nature trail, taking photos of a White Heron and doing a short tramp to the Chasm - a place where a fast flowing river had worn circular holes through boulders, and then, when in full flood, tossed great tree trunks into them like passing a needle through a buttonhole.
By now the sun was out so we started back down the road.