The oddly-named Doubtful Sound received its moniker from none other than Capt. James Cook who, while sailing New Zealand’s west coast looking for a harbor, and after watching the breakers on the rocks and tracking the prevailing winds, came to the conclusion that it was doubtful that he could get his ship out easily once he sailed in.
However doubtful, the sound is inaccurately named since it’s not a sound, but a fjord. A fjord is a valley carved by a glacier and then filled with the water from the glacier melting. A fjord typically has a rise where it meets the sea, a moraine of silt left behind. This moraine is usually under water.
Stefan the travel agent had mentioned that I would want to take a cruise on either Milford or Doubtful Sound, and after reviewing the materials, I knew I wanted to take an overnight cruise on the Navigator, a schooner ship that accommodates only 70 people and offered an affordable quad-share room. (I didn’t have to come up with the four people, they put four together.) The price was a bit of a splurge, but this is the part of the trip where I really did become a tourist. I had come to understand that if I was going to see the countryside and its scenic areas, the choice was either rent a car or pay for tours. Since I’m not quite sure about driving on the other side of the road and hadn’t done the planning, I was quite pleased to have Stefan handle it for me. Not a bad way to go, as much as I abhor traveling on a coach with hordes of other people. Then again, I learned a lot and met a couple nice folks and achieved my objective which, after all, was to actually see New Zealand.
The trip to Doubtful Sound is a series of over land and over water excursions that takes the better part of a day. We left Queenstown at 7:30 a.m. under a partly cloudy but mercifully dry sky, stopping a couple places along the way, including the Kingston Flyer, an old steam locomotive-driven train that has been restored, along with the tracks it rides. The train held little fascination, since the twisty-turny road had left my stomach a little green. Instead, I found a ginger beer (a much more potent and tasty version of ginger ale) and settled in with Spy, the resident Border Collie. Spy was great company, and we chatted about the train and all the people he meets. Spy, however, would not sit still for a photograph, saying that he and his buddy, a Jack Russell Terrier cross, needed to get back on patrol.
Most of the track that used to accommodate the Flyer has been removed, but plans are in motion to convert that piling into a path for push bikes (that’s a bicycle to you and me). Bike traffic out of Q-town will follow a route taking riders through Wye Creek and up to Kingston where the Flyer is, and then riders can take the SS Earnshaw steamer back to its dock in Queenstown. Great way to bring revenue to the surrounding towns. I’m confident that there will be some sort of extreme version of riding that track developed soon.
The coach arrived at the Lake Manapouri dock around noon, and I had 20 minutes to grab a quick bit at their limited café. (Digression alert! If I never see another toasted sandwich again, it will be too soon. Every café in Australia and New Zealand has a version of a “toastie” that is usually ham and cheese and tomato on a packaged white bread or croissant, spread with margarine and flattened into submission on a toasting iron. Perhaps a few months from now, I’ll be interested in a combination of Honey Baked Ham with a fine brie and thinly sliced Granny Smith apples on a chewy sourdough. Maybe.)
The voyage across Lake Manpouri was gray and misty, since it was (surprise!) raining again. I guess they call it a rainforest for a reason. Once we crossed the lake, we were met by another coach that took us the rest of the way to Doubtful Sound on another twisty-turny road – gravel this time – which slowed the bus down. Along the way we were allowed opportunities to traipse out into the rain and take photographs of stunning waterfalls gushing down the mountains.
At the Navigator we were welcomed by the crew and treated to afternoon tea complete with homemade raspberry muffins. (Second digression! New Zealand – and Australia, to a lesser extent – has a thing for muffins that contain chocolate chips and some sort of fruit. Chocolate chip and apple, chocolate chip and pear, chocolate chip and berry, white chocolate and apricot, chocolate chip and banana, chocolate chip and salmon … What is with that? The only muffin I’ve found that is untouched by this craze is the good ol’ blueberry, which probably could use something to snazz it up. As much as I love chocolate, it has no place in a muffin. Or a pancake. Clearly, these sweets are for those who can’t take their chocolate straight up. Would you put ketchup on fine, aged filet mignon? Amateurs.)
Anyway. For my money, I got: 1) picked up at the hostel, transported to and from the ship on coaches that were comfortable and driven by people who had terrific commentary on the area; 2) excellent food, including an arrival tea, soup service, a buffet dinner that included prime rib and lamb, and a complete breakfast buffet, 3) a cruise with the nature expert in a smaller boat, plus another interpretive presentation about the areas geological history after dinner and just about constant commentary throughout the cruise about where we were sailing, what we were seeing, who was there first, why it’s cool, and so on. They also had a stock of jackets for those who had none, or hadn’t the type for the cold, rainy weather.( After this cruise, I understand why wool is for sale year round in the southland.) An incredible value and a wonderful experience. Not to be an advertisement, but really, it was an amazing cruise, despite the rain and cold. I’m Norwegian and Swedish. You think the Vikings whined about a little rain and cold? And those guys were wearing skirts.
As we cruised, the weather broke and we were treated to a little sunshine. The captain made a point of getting close to waterfalls and flora for photo ops, and a nice older gentleman offered to take my picture by one of the water falls. At the soup service after the boat excursion, he approached me with several photos he had taken of me (without my knowledge) while we were out on the nature cruise, and wanted my email address so that he could send them to me. He even saved me a seat at dinner. I waved from where I was sitting with my quad-share mates.
The southwestern edge of the South Island is called Fiordland, because there are fjords there, obviously. Most are referred to as sounds, although we went over that already. All were formed by glaciers growing and receding over the millennia, carving out valleys in the granite. Glaciers still exist a bit farther north, pushing right up to the tree ferns and mountain beeches in the temperate rainforest.
The ship motored all the way out to the mouth of the fjord where we could feel the swell, past the rocks and breakers that Cook saw, past a seal colony where we think there was a female giving birth, this being the season and all. Our overnight anchorage in the cove was smooth, and the engines started up again at 6:30 a.m.
