INTO FIORDLAND

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXI, Issue 21769, 7 April 1934, Page 1 (Supplement)

INTO FIORDLAND

FOREST AND RIVER TRAILS

UV IS LSI K K. MORTON

A day of steady rain followed that stormy night in our Fiordland camp on the shores of Lake Minerva, so there we. stayed until the weather cleared a couple of days later. On a morning of brilliant sunshine and flying shadows we set out for Fowler Pass, a walk of a mile and a-half of steady but easy up-grade to the Saddle, oSOOft. We were soon above bush-level, and our way lay across marshy uplands, rough and boulder strewn, set with innumerable pools and tiny lakelets left by the rain. A final steep pull up througlfi coarse snow-grass, a scramble up a narrow ravine, over a rough outcrop of rock, and we were 011 the Saddle itself. We had made a slight detour in order to see the cairn erected by the first pioneer explorer of this wild mountain region, James Fowler, who 20 years ago climbed the precipice from the other side of the Saddle from the Gorge Burn, not far from the South Fiord of Lake Te Anau, and built two cairns 011 the Pass.

It is this panorama from the Fowler Saddle that gives the new ManapouriBradshaw Sound track pre-eminence in sheer breath-taking beauty over every other mountain route in New Zealand save one. Wo were in a world of mountains, lakes and forests. Close at hand rose the majestic heights of the great cirque that enfolds the Minerva uplands and the Freeman Valley; three thousand feet below were unexplored forests that stretched for scores of miles down to Bradshaw Sound in the west, far into the north past Lake Te Anau, and right up to Milford itself, ninety miles distant. Glory of the Heights Over the forest-filled valleys rose the mountains, always the mountains, ridge upon ridge, piled one behind the other in impressive grandeur, shading in every degree of blue from the dark cobalt of the nearer ranges to the misty lilac of distant heights upon the horizon. Into the middle foreground crept a streak of silver blue, tlw? extreme tip of the South Fiord of Lak<? Te Anau. Not far distant, but at different levels, lay two sparkling strips of water, sapphire gems set in the heart of forest-clad mountains, Lake Cecil and Lake Hall. Pound to our left was yet another far-flung panorama of majestic beauty, the stark rock walls of the Pass sweeping down to Lake Turaki and to a lovely emerald-green glade in the heart of the forest at the head of the Camelot Valley. Beyond its peaceful beauty, the mountains again, range upon range, to the blue barrierline of distant peaks overshadowing the waters of the Camelot River and Bradshaw gound. It was hard, indeed, to come down from the heights and set our faces toward the lower world, for here was glory such as our eyes might not look upon again, a panorama of epic grandeur, destined to a lame that will surely draw thousands of sightseers from all parts of the world in days to come. Down the " Chimney " Over the rim of the Pass Ave descended cautiously into the Chimney, a narrow crevice sloping down nearly 300 ft. at a steep angle, between perpendicular walls of rock. .Snow-grass and rocks gave good foothold as we lowered ourselves carefully until we came to where a great boulder had fallen and blocked the way—almost, but not quite, tor there was still left a small aperture, a rocky man-hole, through which we lowered first our packs and then ourselves, continuing our descent another hundred feet to less exciting levels. Our way lay over rough lichencovered boulders, through mountain grasses and mosses starred with gentians, celmesias and eidehveiss, into a wido and beautiful alpine garden. The flowering season was almost over, but what glory must have lain on that rough mountain slope when all the ranunculi, the great golden buttercups, the dainty ourisias, senecio and silver-leafed mountain daisies were in full bloom. The track zig-zagged steadily down, round steep mountain bluffs, across shingle slopes and into the bush, opening out presently to a strange and arresting spectacle, y. tremendous precipice rising 2000 ft. above us, crowned by an extraordinary jumble of peaks, pinnacles and squarenut rocky battlements that have given this remarkable formation the name of the Norman Keep. For over six miles we followed the Turaki stream through the forest, until late in the afternoon the song of the river was lost in the thunder of an unseen waterfall. Beyond the mossgrown trunks and branches of the birch trees we caught a glimpse of the beautiful Bedevere Falls, descending in foaming cascades to a wide, 1111rippled poo] 300 ft. across, deep and clear, green as jade beneath the forest trees, and rimmed with silver sand In a little clearing at the edge of the pool was the Bedevere Camp, rather more pretentious than those farther back, for here was a picturesque little structure of ponga trunks with a row of real glass windows beneath the canvas tent roof! The Beautiful Camelot River And now we had come down from the mountains into a forest-filled valley of'matchless beauty, through which the track ran for five miles to the Gaer Arm of Bradshaw Sound. No lovelier forest track is there than this in all New Zealand, with its marvellous wealth of ferns and mosses. Reluctantly we left it, and set out on a mile row down the Camelot River to the launch landing at the head of Gaer Arm. We had thought the best was over, but here was beauty utterly unexpected, the beauty of exquisite reaches of unrippled water, holding the reflection of forest-clad mountain slopes rising a thousand feet from the water's edge, and of distant peaks cleaving the clear blue sky. Not even the Wanganui itself held a glory such as this exquisite, almost unknown river of Fiordland, nor could any voyaging excel in quiet joy this drifting down tin; silver reaches of the Camelot, out from the world of mountain and forest "co the majestic grandeur of the Sounds. At the head of Gaer Arm we boarded the Sounds launch and set out on the twenty-eight-miles run down Bradshaw and Thompson Sounds to Deep Cove, at the foot of Doubtful Sound. As we turned out of Gaer Arm into Bradshaw Sound a school of blackfish came racing to meet us, forty or fifty of them, leaping anrl gambolling, diving and rolling with marvellous grace of movement. They form a regular escort for every launch trip, appearing always at the same place, disappearing at a point two or three miles farther down the Sound. The sun was sinking behind the vast heights that guard the shores of Doubtful Sound as we sped down past the bush-clad islands at the entrance to Deep Cove. Straight ahead two mountains towered above a narrow cleft in the steep walls —Wilmot Pass, over which lay the eleven-mile track to Manapouri, the last stage in this wonderful trip. In a few days our sojourn'in Fiordland Mould be over.