Day 28. Doubtful Sound. Hanging with the brothers.

Conscious that there are still six long months ahead of us we've been fairly frugal on the trip so far. Each night I dust off the ledger, sharpen my quill and list everything we've bought that day.

And I mean everything.

Every stick of chewing gum, every cheesy wotsit, every sheet of toilet paper (200 sheets on a roll, and believe me, it's a thankless task itemising what each one's been used for).

Well, today was one of those glorious days when we just said stuff the ledger and bugger the budget. Let's charter a 50ft boat, hire a couple of crew, order in some lobster and champers, then spend the next 24 hours cruising the length of New Zealand's most impressive Fjord.

Yeah, right.

But in a crazy kind of mixed-up brilliant way, that's exactly what happened. We had promised ourselves an overnight cruise on one of the Sounds, and after exhaustive research decided an operation called Fiordland Expeditions would be just the ticket - other than not being able to spell Fjord, they ticked all our boxes:

- Small. Only taking a maximum of 12 passengers.
- Reasonable. If we'd taken a cabin with the main operator it'd have been 3 times the price.
- Existing. We didn't do any research at all, they were the first outfit we came across.

At some point on this trip something is going to go wrong. It has to, because up until now we've been coming up trumps left, right and straight down the middle. Forget trumps today though, when we arrived at the dock it felt like we'd been dealt 5 aces, it turned out that a grand total of two people had booked to go on the cruise.

Fiordland Expeditions consists of Richard, the skipper, his brother Roger, chef, engineer and entertainments officer and their pride & joy, a 17 metre motorised beauty called the MV Tutoko.

And two more genuine, likeable blokes you really would struggle to meet.

Initially we felt a bit guilty for making them sacrifice 24 hours of their time just to pander to two Brit landlubbers. But as Roger was cracking open the first lobster of the day (caught yesterday while Richard was diving) and pouring the champagne, he explained that only so many licenses are issued each year to operate on the Sound and if they didn't run the tours during quiet periods, they'd risk losing theirs.

More importantly though, they both just lived for being out on the water. Yes, it would have been nice to have some more fares that day, but as long as me and Wend had signed up it gave them the perfect excuse to do what they love most.

So anyway, Doubtful Sound.

In marked contrast to the sunshine and blue skies we'd encountered at Milford, today was one of mist, showers and a fair old breeze. It's amazing how the weather can transform the Fjords, turning them into very dark, forboding places.

Minutes after a downpour the waterfalls are in full flow, mainly because there's little in the way of earth or soil to retain the moisture. When the clouds are so low the cliff tops and mountains also quickly become obscured, so there's no way of telling exactly how big that big stuff is that's all around. Pretty big though, pretty damned big.

Maybe it's the satanic streak that lurks inside both me and the missus, but we actually preferred to sail the Sound under these leaden skies. Somehow it makes the place more atmospheric, or - at the risk of sounding a pretentious twerp - spiritual.

It took us a good 3 hours to reach the open water of the Tasmin Sea at the western end of the Sound (Doubtful is three times the length of Milford) and during the voyage, we discovered 4 interesting things:

i) A serious of small island stretch across the mouth of the Sound and it is because of these, that the Sound was given its name. Captain Cook was at anchor a few miles off shore, and couldn't see the extent of the inlet beyond the islands, he therefore reckoned if he'd sailed around them, it would be doubtful he'd be able to navigate his way back.

ii) Quite a few sea lions live on the islands. Richard managed to manoeuvre the boat to within yards of the colony to give us a decent gander.

iii) Dave starts to feel a bit sick when the waves become any bigger than 3 feet.

iv) Dave starts to feel really sick when the waves become bigger than 5 feet.

So it was back to the shelter of the Sound for some Kayaking action before dinner. I even had a shot at steering the boat, expertly negotiating the tricky 600 metre wide channel for a good 15 seconds without hitting anything.


Ever the professional, Richard took one look at my greyish green complexion and steered us to calmer waters along one of the smaller tributaries that feed the Sound. A huge relief, and not a moment too soon, as I could feel my lobster lunch slowly beginning to edge it's way back through my digestive system.

A quick spot of kayaking, which we were both rubbish at, then it was Dinner, beers and a quick game of Scrabble where Wend moaned about her letters and Roger introduced us to some words known only to him and a handful of Maoris, it was lights out.

It was a wonderful day that will live long in the memory, and if anyone is ever visiting this corner of NZ, we couldn't recommend staying on the MV Tutoko more strongly. We've added a link to the boy's website at the bottom of our homepage.

Sadly, however, and it pains me to write this, there is one area where both Richard and Roger really do need to make some improvements.

Their jokes are bloody awful.

Day 27. Milford Sound. Incoming superlative alert.

What a day. Set the alarm for 5.45 so we could beat the Japanese and Yank tour parties to the first boats out on the Sound, and although colder than ever, a clear sky told us we'd made the right call.

There'd been snow again overnight which meant the scenery on the 2 hour drive north was ridiculously impressive - a crisp coating of white stuff covering everything.

The big bonus when we reached the dock at Milford Sound was discovering that only a handful of folk had bothered getting out of their pits as early as we had, so there were more ducks than people milling about.

The cruise itself surpassed all expectations. Sorry to use the 'a' word, but it was truly awesome.

Sheer cliff walls tower thousands of feet on both sides of the gorge, making even the biggest boats seem very small and insignificant. Despite the steep incline, trees and shrubs somehow manage to find a toe-hold, so in effect, we were surrounded by vertical rainforest on both sides.

The scale of the place is quite baffling. Our captain gave a little commentary, explaining that in places the cliffs sink as far beneath the surface as they rise above it, which accounts for the water being such an eerie, inky black. On the off chance Nessie has any distant cousins living on this side of the planet, we think we know where they'll be hanging out.

Stayed in the National Park in the afternoon to go hiking and ended up tackling Key Summit. At first this 6000 footer looked quite a daunting challenge, but a well maintained path to the top ensured it was a relative stroll, especially for extreme athletes like me and the Wend.

Enough snow at the peak to build a snowman, but couldn't find a carrot for his nose. Improvised with a Salt n Vinegar crisp.

Day 26. Te Anau. Bound for the sounds.

The weather in this neck of the woods during November is definitely more barmy than balmy. Yesterday it was shorts, flip-flops and factor 25. Today it's been jumpers, jackets and long-johns.

It's about an 80 mile stretch from Queenstown to Te Anau, and normally you can count on seeing some of the country's most impressive scenery. Well, not today matey. The day started with low cloud which quickly became a full blown blizzard. So the only sites we saw were perishing sheep huddled up against dry stone walls and hedges trying to find shelter. To make matters worse for the poor sods, they look like they've just been sheared for the summer months. SHHHHEEEEEAAAAARERRR!

Anyway, Te Anau.

Yet another pretty little town sitting on another stonking great lake. Located between Milford Sound 65 miles to the north, and Doubtful Sound 15 miles to the south, it's the ideal base for exploring New Zealand's fjordland.

We arrived mid-afternoon. Thawed out. Planned our visits to both Sounds, then attempted a quick walk around the lake before it started snowing again, as the first flakes began to fall we wimped out and legged it back to the van.

By the way, Selina would love it here, there are only 3 main streets, one of which is called Wong Way.

Day 25. Queenstown. A day of extremes.

Ostensibly, Queenstown is an upmarket ski resort, sitting as it does in among some of the South island's most challenging slopes. Yet although the winter season has just finished the place still manages to retain a buzz, cleverly re-inventing itself for the warmer weather as a mecca for extreme sports enthusiasts.

Rad types can stoke themselves by taking part in extreme river boarding, extreme shotover jetting (whatever the hell that is) extreme bungyjumping, extreme caving or extreme heli-scending.

Having neither the inclination or the bank balance to bother with any of this stuff we tried our hand at some extreme loafing.

As with most of these pastimes it's all about building up one's self confidence. So once we'd plucked up the courage to park our bums on a nice bench next to the lake, we'd pretty much mastered it. Dude.

Day 24. Queenstown via Moeraki.

Infantile. Moronic. Peurile. Just three of the things Wend called me this morning when I likened a couple of the orb-like boulders on Moeraki beach to a pair of bosoms.

This was the highlight of a pretty dull 6 hours in the van as we made our way over to Queenstown on the west side of the island. We did pass a giant bowl of plastic fruit at one point, but unfortunately there were no melons, so I couldn't milk the breast analogy any further.

Day 23. Oamaru. Penguin town.

Not a lot to say about Oamaru. If it wasn't for the two colonies of Penguins that come ashore each evening I suspect the town wouldn't see many visitors. One thing we did notice is that a lot of the streets are named after UK rivers; so there's Ribble St, Thames St, Severn St and so on.

The coolest of these, of course, is Tyne Street. Ok, 'cool' might be overstating things, but it is the thoroughfare where all the museums and stuff are, so I can't help thinking one of the town's founding fathers must have been a domineering, loudmouth geordie. A theory backed up by the absence of any Wear or Tees Streets.

Oh, and the Penguins rocked.

It was a real thrill to stand within 10 yards of the funny fella's as they scampered from the beach to their nesting burrows beneath the cliffs. It's mating season, so as well as the enjoying the visual spectacle, we were treated to the aural delight of 200 males squawking their little beaks off in order to attract a lady (the bigger the squawk, the bigger the stud apparantly).

Just before the action got going some conservation type bloke imparted a few penguin facts and figures to impress our
friends with.

Did you know:

i) The Blue Penguin will swim over 50 Kilometres a day looking for grub.
ii) They can hold their breath for over 2 minutes and dive to 60 metres.
iii) Sometimes they don't come ashore for 7 days, bobbing on the ocean surface while they catch up on their kip.
iv) Only 2% of a Penguin chocolate biscuit is made from penguin meat. The rest is cocoa solids, tranfatty acids and whey.

Day 22.Lake Pukaki - Oamaru. Out of the woods.

Three days in the wilderness now, so I guess that makes us officially feral. Wend's grown a beard, I've stopped shaving my legs, we're eating a lot of nuts and we've even been washing our smalls in the lake.

Excuse the pun, but on reflection, we think our time by the lake will turn out to be one of the highlights of the entire trip. (reflection - lake, gettit?) A million miles from our hectic lives back in London, with only the views, the wildlife and each other for company. Total bliss.

Until the wind got up this afternoon, which was our cue to we pack the van and head for the electricity, flushing toilets and fried food of Oamaru.


Enjoyed the fried food in the evening and saw a really crap band in a bar.

Day 21. Mount Cook. Obscured by clouds.

Up at the crack to drive around the lake and hike up to the glacier that drops off the south-western side of Mount Cook.

It all looked so promising when we set off from our makeshift campsite, hardly a cloud in the sky and little wind. We were, however, going to be 1000 metres up, so Wend insisted we wore the gay long-johns she'd bought yesterday in Methven.

Apparently it's de rigeur this season to wear them under one's shorts, which is kind of ok for the ladies but made me look like one of the crappier dancers in Kids from Fame.

Anyway, by the time we reached the foot of the mountain the inevitable happened and the upper slopes were wrapped in thick white fluffy stuff. Still had a great day's walking though and it was a real thrill to see such a huge glacier close up.

Bits were breaking off and crashing into the stream beneath, giving me the perfect opportunity to pick up a lump and throw it at the missus. I thought this was absolutely hilarious, Wend thought otherwise. Bloke thing I suppose.

Once I'd become bored with the glacier tomfoolery I decided to concentrate on capturing Mount Cook in all its glory with some award winning photography, but unfortunately the clouds continued to play silly buggers all day long.

They'd suddenly clear, revealing the full 12,600 ft mass of mountain, so I'd whip out the camera and take some breathtaking shots of .....clouds. Then I'd put the camera away and ten minutes later they'd clear again, so I'd try again, and get some more shots of clouds. This charade went on, and on, and on. Until finally we were blessed with a huge dollop of unbroken blue. This time I smiled as I took out the camera, "your ass is mine" I said to NZ's biggest, baddest lump of rock, only to discover my sodding battery had run out.

So we bought a postcard of the mountain at the visitor's centre. and I took a picture of that instead.

Returned to our little spot in the wilderness for another night roughing it, which gave us a chance to try out our Solar shower. Essentially, this is a black rubber bag with a showerhead attatchment. You fill it with water, leave it to warm in the sun, and come the end of the day, Bob's your Uncle.

Checking first to make sure there were no Palestinian freedom fighters lurking in the bushes, we had a lovely old rinse.

A perfect end to an almost perfect day.

Day 20. Lake Pukaki via Methven. The day we met crazy Rick.

Opted to motor south today to see some of the country's bigger mountains. Little to say about the drive, lots of scenery, loads of sheep and a quick pit-stop at Methven to take on supplies and sample the local pies.

9 out of 10 for the pastry but only a 6 for the lack lustre filling. Steak for Wend, Mince for me.

We'd hoped to make Lake Tekapo our base for a couple of days but were a tad underwhelmed with the campsite so pushed on to the much quieter Lake Pukaki. That's what's brill about the van; you just keep going until somewhere suitably gorgeous comes along.

This was our first stab at proper wilderness camping - no toilets, showers or electricity, but no neighbours or fee - and it was lush.

We managed to find a spot beneath some trees right by the water's edge with an uninterupted view of Mount Cook on the other side of the lake (a big lake mind, so New Zealand's tallest mountain was still fairly small on the horizon).

Actually, when I say no fee, we did end up slipping a few bob to a chancer by the name of Rick who told us it was his life's ambition to plant indigenous flora all along the shoreline and that he needed donations from campers to help make his dream come true.

It all seemed plausable and very worthy, until he blew it by adding that he was a gun-runner for the PLO and was on the run from Israeli secret police.