15 January 2025

This morning I got up before Pen, had a shower, and packed away the clothing that had dried over the night. She got up and was getting dressed when I went down to the hotel’s guest kitchen area, which had a toaster and microwave, cutlery and crockery, and nothing else. Because I was having Hubbards’ porridge and it needed a sachet of water, I had to go into the restaurant where those who’d paid for their breakfast were feasting, and pour some water out of one of their carafes. Then I went back to the “kitchen” area and microwaved my breakfast.

And I have to say, that I think I’ve found a contender for a shower that’s worse than mine. Mine’s not bad – when you don’t know any difference – but most of the ones we’ve had have been higher pressure, and lovely and massaging. This one had reasonable pressure when only running on cold, but get it up to a reasonable temperature, and it lost a lot of the flow. Plus you kind of had to lean over the bath’s taps in order to wash your hair.

Still, at least it left me clean.

The hotel has kindly allowed us to leave our suitcases in our room, and were planning on moving them into storage later. We wouldn’t be surprised if they leave our bags there, change our linen, and we find ourselves in room 223 again.

We checked out, with our overnight bags for Doubtful Sound, and then headed into town for the Real NZ office. They allowed us to leave our bags, freeing us up to wander the streets. First stop was the i-SITE information centre to see if we could leave our cases there on… We had to work out which day. “Today’s Wednesday. We come back from Doubtful Sound tomorrow, so that’s Thursday. We’re spending two nights in Te Anau, so that’s Thursday night and Friday night, so… Yes. We need to leave our bags on Saturday.”

The i-SITE couldn’t help with the bags, but, after a phone call to check, apparently the InterCity office could. As we’d only seen a stop, we hadn’t realised that there was an office there. So that was that sorted.

We bought some sandwiches from the 4Square, as our trip today required us to bring our lunch before the trip. What a waste of time that was.

For the nth time this morning, I decided that I needed to go to the toilet, so I took off to the nearest, which was a very swish, and large, building just for the task. It even had an attendant on hand. On the way back I saw a ginger cat (wearing a collar) cross the road across to the foreshore. This attracted the attention of a passing dog, who was more interested in telling the cat what it thought of it than walking the way its owners wanted to walk.

I got back before the bus driver was ready to load up, and when he was, we managed to score a front seat. The driver’s name was Chris and he used to work on the Franz Josef Glacier, and before that had a degree in Biology and Geology, so he was pretty clued up on the former glacial country that made up the area around Te Anau and Lake Manapouri. Which was as far as he took us, as we were unloaded at Real NZ’s dock.

As he said he could tell us about “the birds, and the bees, and the flowers…”

“And the trees… And the stars up above,” I chimed in.

He laughed. “Someone else knows that song. I’ve got it on a 45. In the North Island, I think.”

Pen’s just reminded me of what I said yesterday. I was taking photos of the heritage boat and I was saying that the swan pedalos in front didn’t match the ambiance of the scene. At least that’s what I wanted to say. What came out, and I knew full well it was wrong as I was saying it, was that “the swan pedalos did nothing for the ambulance of the scene.” That’s similar to the time that I was at work and we were discussing Covid-19. I was saying how it was possible to have it, yet be “asymmetrical”. (Asymptomatic.)

Because Pen and I were booked into the 1.00pm tour, but had to join the 12.00pm tour to get to Lake Manapouri (that was a mission and a half to organise), we had time to kill. So we booked in and got our boarding passes, from one of yesterday’s ladies, bought a cheese scone (as recommended by Chris – so long as you didn’t suffer from high cholesterol) and then took ¼ hour each to explore. I jogged up a steep walkway (I can still jog upwards!) to the carpark, which gave lovely views of the Waiau River.

I then retraced my steps, went to the toilet (just in case), and returned along the river’s edge. And all the time I was thinking of John Hanlon’s protest song “Damn the Dam.” Damn the dam cried the fantail, as it flew into, it flew into the sky. To give power to the people, all this beauty has to die.

Thank heavens it didn’t.

We were finally invited on board by our young, female, skipper and handed over our boarding passes. Most of the passengers headed to the top deck, but we stayed in the cabin. Until we started off and discovered that it wasn’t as unpleasant up top as we thought it may have been.

I stayed up there for a time, but was concerned that I wasn’t wearing a hat, and came back downstairs and enjoyed the scene from the rear of the boat, in the shadow of the top deck.

The berth for the catamaran was the same dock as that that supported the Manapouri Power Station, and we had a clear view of this above ground level. The plant goes 100m into the cliff and then 100m below ground level are the turbines. Water pours in the… What did Tony call it. Something that seemed a little odd. Traps? Anyway, it drops down past the turbines and is ejected out into Doubtful Sound.

The original plan for this generation unit was to raise the level of Lake Manapouri 30 metres, which would have flooded Manapouri township, much of Te Anau, and wiped out another town further downstream. This so raised the ire of the New Zealand public, especially since that power was only going to be used by the Tiwai Point aluminium smelter at Bluff when there was enough to power the entire South Island, that a quarter of the population of the time signed a petition against it. (Hence John Hanlon’s song.)

There was an election, a change of government, and for once a government kept its election promise, and that plan was amended so the river levels weren’t drastically changed.

Our new coach driver was Tony, and he was playing the dour Aussie role. Starting with trying to find the phone of the people who’d been in the bus before us. It couldn’t be found, so we went off anyway.

For such a rough, metalled, road, it was a lovely trip. Especially, as we’d managed to score the front seats. I had the window seat, and I was able to look forward, out, and up, and, yes, the scenery is majestic… Or magnificent as Microsoft’s auto-suggest suggested.

Shortly after we set off, we came across the only STOP sign in Fiordland – according to Tony. He also reckoned that he’d never had to wait for another vehicle. But, the other day, he did see a big red stag in the middle of the road.

As we continued on, he showed us a number of sights, some unintentional. Like the Weka that crossed the road in front of us. Because we were in the front seats, we were probably the only ones to see it.

He told us about how when Peter Jackson was preparing to film Lord of the Rings, he spent six weeks in Fiordland taking photos of the gnarled trees to replicate into Ents. Or, as Pen just said, which was a combination of a malapropism and accent mangling, “Michael Jackson coming to Fiordland for Ants.”

As least I’m not the only way getting my words mixed up.

We stopped in two locations. The first gave us a chance to look into the valley… Which was pretty awesome, but, according to Tony, was nothing.

The second stop allowed us to look down into Doubtful Sound… Which, admittedly, was more than awesome. However, at that point, there was a plaque to a young surveyor who’d died at that spot. Although, the remoteness of the location offered more questions about how he died than answers.

He also showed us the sign pointing the way to the Golf Course. There is no golf course, but there is a sign showing where to go.

When we finally arrived at Deep Cove we had to wait until the crew and finalised the finishing touches before we boarded the Milford Wanderer. As we weren’t in a hurry, I let everyone else disembark the bus first. One passenger stopped, withdrew a phone from under our seat and asked if it was ours. I said it was probably the one Tony had been looking for and hung onto it until I was able to give it back to him – for which he was grateful and the owner even more so.

We were asked to board the Milford Wanderer and wait in the saloon whilst we were welcomed aboard by the captain and given the safety instructions, before Hilary, the purser, came around and gave us our cabins, and took our dessert selections for tonight. We were given room 5, and promptly went down the wrong set of steps. (Numerous times. Even after 24-hours I still had to stop and think about which way to turn.

The Milford Wander, built in Invercargill, is a 32-year-old pseudo-sailing ship is based on a coastal trading scow, but one that, despite the mast and “sails” can’t actually move under sail. The original scows had retractable keels, which, in this vessel, had been replaced with our cabins. If they tried to sail under sail, they’d keel over.

There were four cabins in our section, and there was a bathroom attached. I’ll let them off calling it a bathroom as it was made up of four showers, four hand basins, and two toilets. One of which, rather unnervingly, also contained a ladder that led the fire exit.

We’d no sooner dumped our bags when we were fed cheese muffins, freshly baked by our in-boat cook.

Naturally, as soon as I had the opportunity, I started taking photographs.

We were also fed grazing platters.

4.54pm we passed Stephen’s Island, the tallest island in New Zealand, outside of the North and South Islands. It was totally pest free, aside from two stoats. With traps every 50 metres hopefully it WILL be totally pest free.

5:02pm we anchored in Blanket Bay.

Here we had an option to either climb onto the tender and be motored around the bay, with the opportunity to take photographs, or go kayaking.

I was leaning towards the tender.

Pen wanted to go kayaking. (Since she’d missed out on doing so at Abel Tasman National Park.)

Okay. I’ll give it a go.

Naturally, I wasn’t going to take my “new” DSLR camera, so I slipped D.C.’s waterproof point-and-shoot into the pocket of my waterproof trousers. (I can’t call them over-trousers as I took off the ones I’d been wearing.)

Both Pen and I were surprised that some form of “how to paddle your canoe” training wasn’t given, although the process wasn’t that hard. We were able to step into the kayak on a flat platform at the stern of the boat and then were pushed off into the water. The kayaks were pretty wide, too, which meant they were unlikely to overturn – although a little more reassurance in this matter would have been reassuring.

There were three crew members in kayaks with us. One at the front, one at the rear, and one floating around in the middle. I didn’t enjoy it that much at first as there was a bit of a chop and it made it more difficult to steer. (Pen was told by tail-end Charlie that if they’d realised it was this choppy, they would have found another bay.) As it was hard going with the chop pushing you around, I took the viewpoint that the closer to the front you were, the closer you were to reaching the end and getting out again, so I powered forward. Pen, for some reason, couldn’t get any speed up and managed to enjoy a private tour with tail-end Charlie.

I did enjoy it a little more when the chop died and I had a bit more control over the direction that I was going. That didn’t stop me from thinking that if we’d been worried about the aftereffects of cycling the other day, then this was going to be worse! And hoping that the leader would start heading back to the Wanderer.

We did find some very nice spots, beside a waterfall was of note, and where the current let me, I just sat and drifted – which was much easier on the arms, back, legs… (We were near the end when I discovered a couple of footrests that I could just on reach. That made it a lot more comfortable.)

I’d take some photographs and then decide that I was NOT going to take anymore, because I didn’t want to risk losing my grip on the camera. And then I kept on seeing photographic scenes that I just had to take. Like the Wanderer at anchor in the lee of the mountains. So it was tuck my oar into my kayak so I wouldn’t lose it, unzip the pocket, haul the camera out (hoping I had a good grip on it), try not to get it too wet, take a photo as best as I could when the kayak was moving in the wrong direction and swinging around, click a few times, and then try to get the camera back into my pocket and zipped up without losing it or getting it wet.

I also had to prove that I’d done this, so I tried to take a selfie. But, because this is a proper, if more old school, camera, it’s not set up for taking selfies, so I had to face the lens in my direction, press the shutter button, and hope.

I didn’t hear anything.

I tried a few more times and eventually decided that I was too close for the camera to focus on. Another lady did take my photo, but I haven’t got her details.

But I did get some of Pen, even if she was getting further and further behind.

However, this evening, when I downloaded my photos…

But one thing that I know for sure, is that I’m no Dame Lisa Carrington.

After we’d finally, happily, got back to the Wanderer, I went to get changed. I’d just got some dry clothes on when there was an announcement at 6.00pm that anyone who wanted to, could go for a swim in the Fiord. I wasn’t sure that I did want to, but, as I’d carted my swimming togs the length of the country, I decided it was time to find a use for them. So, I arranged with Pen that she’d get a photo of me in the water – not with her camera, which only takes good photos in certain lights, but with her phone, and got changed.

She wasn’t with me when I reached the stern of the boat, but, as there weren’t too many people there, I couldn’t really hang around losing the will to do it. So I stepped up to the jumping in platform and the captain reminded me of the bragging rights I’d have if I’d swum in a fiord.

So, I jumped in feet first and went right under.

It wasn’t as cold as it might have been, certainly not as cold as it could have been, but it wasn’t tropical. What was really daunting was the knowledge that there was no bottom to push off and that the sea floor could have been as much as 420 metres beneath my feet. I swam out a short way to get clear of anyone else who wanted to jump in, and then decided that I’d done what I set out to, and that I’d get out.

It’s been a while since I’ve done any swimming. Plus, my arms had just had a workout with the kayaking. With that, and the current pushing me sideways, I began to have serious doubts about whether or not I could reach the boat unaided. But I did make it to the platform, grabbing hold with some relief.

I pulled myself out of the water, the captain congratulated me and said I could go and have a warm shower.

I was seriously miffed when I got back to my room to get my clothes to find Pen still mucking about with whatever she was doing.

So, I have no visual record of me swimming in a fiord.

But I did have a warm shower. Something which I hadn’t planned on doing whilst on the voyage, as I didn’t want to waste what had to be the boat’s limited water supply.

They were starting to serve dinner at 7.10pm, when we had notification that a pod of dolphins had decided to join us. Naturally, dinner, no matter how tasty, was going to take second fiddle to this, so we all crowded the bow instead.

These were bottlenose dolphins, and the members of this pod were about a metre longer than most others because they needed extra warmth from the icy waters of the fiords. I had my DSLR camera with me, but it only had the wide angle lens on it (which pretty much lived on it for this entire voyage) and Pen had the only key to our cabin. She was jammed in at the bow of the Wanderer and I couldn’t get to her, nor could I ask her to leave her place, so I had to get what photos I could, through the boat’s infrastructure, using D.C.’s camera, which is small enough to fit in the leg pockets of my travelling cargo pants. So, they’re not great photos, but they are a record.

Finally, after having a joyous time surfing our bow wave for about ten minutes plus, and doing so awesome jumping out of the water, the dolphins left us and we left to have dinner – lamb, pork, duck, with gourmet potatoes, mix steamed vegetables, mustard cream sauce, and a collection of salads. Dessert was a choice of chocolate nut brownie with mango or Honey Pannacotta with berries and shortbread – both with ice cream. I had the Honey Pannacotta and, like the mains, it was delicious.

We shared our table with a couple of German men who were travelling together. One spoke good English, but the other evidently didn’t speak any. As it felt mean that he wasn’t really involved in our conversation, I was frantically trying to remember my fourth and fifth form German and failing as much as I had when I sat it for School Certificate. This was translated to the non-English speaker and then I got to try out some words on him. Like remembering how to count from one to ten, which he approved of. He (translated) said that he was looking forward to being rocked to sleep by the boat, and I said he needed some Brahms (Brahms Lullaby), which he seemed to get and find amusing.

After dinner, a cheeseboard was on offer, which we didn’t partake in as we’d already had plenty to eat.

Then Pen and I sat up in the saloon, and typed up our records of the day, hoping that the clouds would stop closing in and we’d see the southern sky without any light pollution. There was a brief interruption in lights when the crew swapped over from the noisy, but more powerful generator, to the quieter, but less powerful (not enough power for showers) generator.

I went up on deck and looked at the skies and decided that it was very pleasant, very cloudy, and very disconcerting to see the silhouettes of the mountains around us when there was no motor running.

And so I went to bed, hoping to get a good night’s sleep…

Did you know, any of you who are Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy fans, that there is a fish in Fiordland called the Slartibartfast Fish?

I should have written up today’s blog today, but didn’t have the energy after a busy couple of days, so I’ll do it tomorrow.

After we’ve had a wild wildlife day.

Steps = 11,428 (mainly around the boat)

Kilometres = 7.9