From chatting to her, I knew the route to George Sound Hut would be rugged. It is marked but unmaintained. For our level of experience it felt like a challenge but not an impossibility. Whenever I go on big tramps I hear Mum’s voice in my head telling me to enjoy myself but to be careful. I relished the thought of striking a good balance between adventure and adversity.  

At some point we invited Greta, our friend, to join us. She, in turn, invited three more – Anna, Tom and Hannah. We converged in Te Anau on New Year’s Day. Loading packs with food for six days, we looked with trepidation at Metvuw’s 10-day forecast, which showed splodges of yellow, green and red over Fiordland. Unless something changed, we were likely to be tramping through a deluge for a couple of days at least. But Fiordland is often wet. So we put our rain jackets at the top of our packs and set our alarms for an early rising. 

We went from Te Anau Downs to the North West Arm by water taxi, jumped out and hiked a short forested isthmus to Lake Hankinson. When Mum did this trip 44 years ago, her group lugged a small outboard motor across the isthmus. At Lake Hankinson they used an old dinghy, kept by the lake, and puttered to the mouth of the Wapiti River. For us, it was into the water taxi operator’s smaller boat to be whisked across the lake to the start of the track. 

Heavy clouds sagged over the mountaintops as we came ashore and got our bearings. Our destination was Lake Thomson Hut, about 2.5hr away. It was a fairly straightforward amble, although we did get tricked by the river flats at the head of Lake Thomson where we found ourselves in thigh-deep bog. 

We settled in the hut for the night and surprised Tom with a fruit cake for his birthday. I took the top bunk, realising too late there was barely any room between my nose and the ceiling when lying down. I thought about Mum’s trip. It was highly likely the hut hadn’t changed much in 44 years, but the hut book didn’t go back that far. I mused about how cool it would be if remote huts kept their hut books from many years gone by.  

Next morning was dry but still grey and heavy with cloud. We had hoped to get to Henry Pass and from there clamber southwest to explore the Marguerite tops. We weren’t pinning much on these hopes though as the rain clouds seemed ready to spill at any moment. 

Shortly after the Rugged Burn waterfall, the route started to deteriorate. Windfall was everywhere, and we spent a lot of time hopping over logs. At Deadwood Lagoon we alternated between log-hopping, bog-leaping, and stuffing ourselves with snacks so we could get back to log-hopping. 

Even though jackets were on, I was optimistic. We could see the tops and caught glimpses of Henry Pass. Mum had mentioned their cold night camping on the pass – the tarn had frozen overnight. I hoped we could also camp there. 

With this in mind we toiled up the route, eventually leaving most of the windfall but paying for it with a steep upward trajectory. Alas, the pass was completely clagged in, the fog so wet it was practically rain, and underfoot was swampy and slippery.

We dropped off Henry Pass into a wall of proper rain, and a section of slick rock. A rushing stream separated us from the next route marker, but we managed to pick our way across.

Around 2pm we stopped under a drippy rock overhang which seemed the perfect lunch stop. Soggy and tired under our meagre shelter we chowed down some proper kai: Cabin Bread laden with thick slices of tasty cheese. We carved off huge chunks of a venison salami. As we refuelled, we chatted through our next move. The previous night we had scoured the hut book and read of a good campsite at the confluence of Katherine Creek’s headwaters. We planned to stop there rather than pushing on to George Sound Hut.

The route was slippery and steep and it took a few hours to reach the campsite. Happily, there was ample room for our three tents. It was now raining steadily so we hurriedly pitched our shelters. While James prepared our dehy I visited each tent to offer a warming dose of whisky – much needed after a big day!

The sky was slightly lighter at dawn. Anna, Tom and Hannah are adventure racers. They’d looked at the lakes along the route and decided to carry a couple of packrafts. Today we would pull them out.

It took about four hours to reach Lake Katherine where the trail squeezes between the shoreline and the steep valley wall. This section has a nasty reputation, and safety chains are installed for trampers to cling to as they edge along the lake. While Hannah and Tom ferried a load of packs across the lake, the rest of us attempted progress around the shore on foot. We made just 100m before the packrafters were back to pick us up.

Fiordland wasn’t letting up. The trail from Lake Katherine to George Sound picked through ancient rock rubble and elfin forest debris, but at the shoreline, an hour later, the clouds were breaking to reveal a bit of blue sky.

At the hut, we gleefully draped our sodden jackets, tents, socks and pack covers on the surrounding shrubs, rocks and fallen tree trunks to dry. As the late afternoon sun beamed down we dug into our packs and produced a variety of ‘tramping cocktails’ to toast our marriage, then jumped in the icy cold water for a wash. The route to the sound had been a real grind, but the shared feeling of satisfaction was worth it. I wondered what Mum had done when she arrived at George Sound Hut. She later told me that her memories were of time alone on the shore while the rest of the party explored Lake Alice. Tūī and korimako song echoed around the steep bush-clad hills, and a pair of dolphins cruised slowly close to the shore. In classic Fiordland style, the tranquillity was balanced with her need for constant movement to escape the relentless sandflies.

After a joyful afternoon messing around on the shore and drying our gear, we crammed into the cosy hut. In the night, rain drummed steadily on the hut roof; a gentle reminder that water reigns supreme in Fiordland. In the morning,  we were all content to stay snug in our sleeping bags as sheets of rain slung down. Our one afternoon of sunshine seemed like a dream.

It was to be a hut day; eating our best treats and playing endless rounds of cards, and by afternoon we’d worked up enough cabin fever to venture outside. The sound was perfectly still save for the dimples of raindrops dancing on its surface. Clad in wet weather gear, we took turns in the packrafts to check out Alice Falls and the wee island near the outlet of Overlander Stream. The rain was so thick that the bush, reaching up from the shore, loomed as a haze of greyish green. The hills and mountains beyond were totally lost. Tom managed to catch a red wrasse, and we savoured a bite-sized afternoon tea of pan-fried fish.

Although we had accounted for a couple of extra days for side trips and hut days, we didn’t fancy two hut days in a row. So when we woke to rain again, we began the return journey. At any rate, it was only a light drizzle – practically ‘good weather’ by the standards we were now used to.

By the time we reached Henry Pass around 1pm the rain had lifted so that we could see the ridges along the pass and back down the valley. Elation was temporary for the rain set in again soon after.

After a mammoth 12-hour day, we finally made Lake Thomson Hut and used my Garmin InReach to bring our water taxi forward by a day. The ability to connect with the world outside was novel. I thought about all the adventures Mum had been on at my age. No PLBs, certainly no Garmin devices – just a tramping plan presumably left with a friend.

Catching the water taxi across Hankinson and Te Anau next day was bittersweet. Mum’s route had lived up to its rugged reputation. The almost constant presence of rain reminded us that we were deep in Fiordland, but also that one afternoon of sunshine on the shores of George Sound was exactly what I’d had in mind when James and I dreamed up our honeymoon.

We have now formed an unofficial tramping club nicknamed, the ‘Shammys’. It’s a spin on a conversation we had about the spelling of ‘chamois’ in the middle of a particularly long day up to Lake Unknown a year or so later. Greta recently even made us some merch – a set of matching caps featuring an embroidered chamois. I think Gran would have liked that.