A musical whistle breaks the stillness followed by a harsh screech and an answering chord from the trees. Kākā stir as stars still linger in the sky, in the void so far above these steep and dark canyon walls. Weka call from opposite sides of the valley, their obnoxious volume radiating through the clear air and reaching my ears with a welcome pang of familiarity.
It is almost hard to tell when sunrise arrives as the sky is so far out of reach. I step outside onto the crunchy, frosty ground and notice that there is a touch of orange high above. Dawn at last. The honking of paradise shelducks boosts my departure, blaring through darkness in the otherwise frozen and silent world.
This is the second time I’ve been alone on the Milford Track in winter and I love it just as much as that first experience. Despite being known as the ‘finest walk in the world’, this track had never been at the top of my to-do list. Fond of out-of-the-way and other than ordinary tramping locations, I used to think the Milford Track sounded cliché. To my surprise though, I fell madly in love with it – its history, animal and plant communities, and landscape of grandeur. It really is all it’s cracked up to be.
I first set foot on the Milford Track as a shoulder season hut ranger in May 2018 and was hooked from the start. I made a point of walking all the way through the Clinton Valley as soon as the boat dropped me off so that I could spend my first morning in the place I most wanted to experience – Mackinnon Pass. Draping kōtukutuku (tree fuchsia) forests beckoned me onwards and my smile grew with each kilometre. After a night in the cold Mintaro staff quarters, I shot up to the pass to experience a powerful sunrise veiled by a mist of rain with only the company of a kea. I was intrigued as I absorbed the sheer aspect of Mt Balloon. This landscape was stunning but what else would I discover?
I spent the next few days running all over the track and covering as much ground as I could while also keeping the huts tidy and chatting to trampers, many of them young backpackers who had taken the opportunity to do the track ‘on the cheap’ with winter hut prices in force. The busy atmosphere suddenly changed as the weather worsened. Freezing wind and snow down to 300m caused walkers to hurry away, leaving the entire Clinton Valley to me: cloaked in white and magical beyond my expectations. This was anything other than worse weather, this was better by miles. The landscape was transformed and so was my connection to it.
The following days on the track were akin to an artist’s sabbatical. I ran, I wrote, I photographed and I became deeply enchanted with my surroundings. I read about the track’s origins while tucked beside the fires in Mintaro and Clinton huts. Every day was clear and colder than the last. As my senses became fine-tuned, I noticed the smallest things like the growth of ice crystals in the frost hollows, weka tracks in the snow, and kiwi calling at night.
This first experience of the Milford Track is etched deeply in my memory. The Clinton Valley, especially, has become a place of reprieve, connection to my roots, and a landscape in which I feel fully at ease.
I now visit the Milford Track for different reasons to most who tramp it. I spend long days, alone if I can, to further embrace this place that I have found and that I have chosen as home – Fiordland. Adding to my experiential memory, layer by layer, is such a gift. A walk, or a run, on the Milford Track reveals more than is expected, every time.
– Crystal is a Fiordland-based photographer with a profound love for all things wild and wonderful.
