Milford Track Day 3: Mintaro Hut to Dumpling Hut, via Mc Kinnon Pass part of the New Zealand section on muellerworld

A few people were milling about in the kitchen when I woke up. No one had started cooking yet, but the hut was starting to come alive. Some sort of bird was making a really weird call over and over again from a nearby tree. I got up and started to pack up my camera gear and my sleeping bag. I put my mattress back in the bunk room just as Angi and Jenny were getting up.

Porridge. Again.

The day was off to an ominous start. The Clinton River Valley was socked in with thick morning fog and visibility was severely limited. Despite the cool temperature, I only wore a t-shirt and a light overshirt, I knew that I'd be working hard to get up the 600 meters to the pass. My only concern was that the moisture that was visibly flowing uphill with the fog would turn into a substantial rain, so I had my Gore-Tex jacket strapped on the outside of my pack, just under the waterproof pack cover that I depended so heavily on when I hiked back in December.

The trail is flat and simple for the first five minutes of hiking as you work your way around Mintaro Lake. There is a cool swingbridge that ends up in a big, old tree and then the hill climb welcomes you with a vengeance.

Tim must have had something special for breakfast, because he was full of energy and kept bounding in front of me to video us walking past or to capture the sights without anyone else in frame. Back-and-forth, back-and-forth, back-and-forth. I was tired just watching him.

Inspired by Tim's energy, we made good time up the hill and soon were switchbacking our way past some of the others who had made an earlier start. The fog was getting thicker and the air was getting heavier with moisture. The views were nil yet breathtakingly beautiful and mysterious. After only 45 minutes or so, we broke out of the trees and into the direct wind. It wasn't horrible, but we could see that the fog was actually flowing up and over the pass which meant that we were in for some strong winds in the next 5-10 minutes.

The pass begins to round its way to the top, and that's when the wind met us full-force. It wasn't enough to knock you over or anything, but it was whipping past, shaking our clothes and testing the strength of our pack covers.

In just over an hour from the Mintaro Hut we had made it to the easily recognizable stone memorial to Quintin McKinnon.

On clear days, the views are amazing. Today they were similar to what you might find if you were inside a milk bottle, only windier.

From December 25, 2000:

We hid in the lee of the rock cairn, dropped our packs and put on our rain jackets. A few other hikers did the same. I went over to the infamous cliff where a 12-second fall awaits anything unlucky enough to fall off it. It looked like a 3-meter fall into milk.

After the 15-minute stop, we were ready for a hot snack, and pressed on to the Pass Shelter for some refuse from the wind and moisture that was pounding us. Fifteen minutes of walking takes you up past the "Highest Point" sign and then back down to the smallish hut that is shared by both the Independent Walkers and the Guides ones (with a dividing wall in between to keep us from seeing the luxurious snack awaiting them).

About ten people were already inside doing all sorts of things, from repacking their pack, to having lunch, to talking and cooking. Tim had the cook kit and boiled some water for our cuppa soup. It was a lesson I learned on my first trip over the pass: have a hot snack on top! The soup and some crackers and M&Ms were a perfect light meal, and we were warmed and refreshed and ready for more of a beating outside.

As we were packing up, the Keas arrived. Of course, everyone with a camera rushed outside to see what they were up to. They kept their distance, but four or five of them were surrounding us, looking for something to destroy. They tolerated us well and then floated off to see what was happening elsewhere. I went back inside to change film and grab my pack for the hardest past of the track: the 1000-meter descent from McKinnon Pass.

1000 Meters Down

Day 3 is advertised at 6 hours, and many people are greatly relieved when they reach the Pass, knowing that it is all downhill from here. For me, this is where the hard works starts. Uphill is far more work and far more rewarding, downhill abuses my knees, back and feet. That's why I hike with two trekking poles, to absorb some of the weight with my arms.

We emerged into the fog and started the long descent to Quintin Hut near the Sutherland Falls. It is only 5.5 kilometers, but the elevation loss is about one kilometer.

The wind continued to lash at us as we made our way to the northeast across the pass. As we lost elevation, the peaks to the northand east started to come into view. There was even a little bit of blue skies visible through the clouds. Tim and I stopped. Eckhhardt and Petra stopped. The three older trampers stopped.

We waited.

The sun poked through the clouds. Discussions started about possibly going back up to the pass to wait it out to see if it would clear.

We waited.

Finally, Tim and I decided to return up the hill. We walked a back into the fog and regrouped. We realized that the fog was thick and heavy flowing out of the Clinton Valley, over the pass to just disappear shortly thereafter. Our view wouldn't materialize in the time we had available. We rejoined the group that had pressed on ahead and soon we were all peeling off the layers and zipping off the lower parts of our convertible pants. It was hot.

Off to the east there was a similar fog-flow coming across an unnamed saddle between Mt. Balloon and Mt. Wilmur far above us. It was very similar to the one across McKinnon Pass, so I hustled down the track to get around a prominent hump on the north side of Mt. Balloon to get a better view. I was just about where I wanted to be for a good view of the entire saddle when I came around the corner to find the 18-year-old Australian kid standing sideways with his hand out, silently (yet seriously) asking me to "STOP".

He was staring into the bush, just off to the left side of the trail with a real serious look on his face. I instantly thought snake, forgetting that there are no snakes in New Zealand. he slowly crouched down and pulled his camera out and started to move into the scrub where he had been staring.

A Weka darted out onto the trail between us, and just sort of stood there, sizing us both up for a second before he moved towards me and up on a small clump of earth less than a meter from me. It was about the size of a chicken, with a long pointed beak and smooth-looking brown feathers. He didn't seem camera shy and at one point I thought he was going to peck it out of my hand as I held it down towards him to snap a photo.

After two or three minutes, he just wandered off, leaving us with the marvelous view of the river of fog coming over the pass.

Tim and another guided walker came along as we were taking photos of the sights. The guided man was a successful London businessman who now lived in Suffolk east of London. He seemed like a typical Guided walker, wearing very new and very expensive trekking gear. He knew the kid and they joked about the sing-along the night before at the Pompolna Hut.

"I noticed you weren't singing along last night" the Englishman said.

"I couldn't understand a thing all those Japanese people were singing", he replied.

They then told the story of the gang of tourists who had pre-written songsheets and started a karaoke-type singalong at the hut.

"It was pretty weird" the Australian added. "I think my parents liked it".

The Englishman, Tom, snapped a photo of Tim and I and was off, down the trail. We paused for a few minutes and Tim took a little video of the surroundings. We were at the small single-person bridge that crosses the very top of the Roaring Burn, the river we would be following for the next three and a half kilometers. Just past the bridge, Sutherland Falls come into view for the first time. Only the top leap is visible, but it is still very impressive.

The next mile is mostly walking down wooden steps next to the Roaring Burn (a long series of waterfalls). They are slippery and steep and have viewing platforms at the more spectacular falls. I slipped my trekking poles into a side pocket on my pack to free my hands incase I slipped.

I stopped here and there to set up my tripod for a photo of a waterfall, Tim was sometime ahead of me and sometimes behind, but we met up again at the Quintin Hut for a short break before venturing back to the Sutherland Falls.

Sutherland Falls

The Qunitin Hut is another hut complex. Most of it is for the Guided Walkers (lots of "Private Property" signs), but there is a small section in one of the outlying buildings that is set aside for us Independents. The room is drty and cramped and has lots of spiders waiting around. There are no screens on the windows, so they're better off closed to keep the sandflies away. I grabbed a quick snack, unpacked my cameras and tripod as well as my rain jacket and then went up the trail towards the falls.

At first, the trail is flat and winds through a pretty section of rainforest. There are a few small bridges and streams to cross. About 10 minutes in, I ran into the Canadians, Bruce and Jill who were on their way out. They said the trail steepened just ahead, then it was a short walk to the base of the falls. Sure enough, the trail followed a very rough natural staircase up and up and up for about 10 minutes, gaining most of the 100 meters that the trail rises between the Quintin Hut and the falls.

After that, the trail flattened out again and lea right up to the waterfall. There was a lot of overspray from the force of the water hitting the rocks below, and the wind was whipping. I had to clean the lens of my camera between every shot I took. Some adventurous trampers walked around to the left and slid behind the falls. I didn't, but kind of wished I had (next time, I'll take something waterproof to protect my camera).

I walked back to the hut with Petra, who was telling me that she was a civil-servant in Germany in a wildlife-protection office. She told me that people make fun of civil-servants in Germany the same as anywhere else.

One of her favorite jokes:

"Two civil servants were walking down the hall of a large government building when they passed each other.

The first one said to the second one: 'I can't sleep either.'"

Back that the hut we pack up along with a few other trampers and set off for the last hour of trekking before the Dumpling Hut. The trail is flat and easy. ust as we were wondering where the hut was, we came to the wooden walkway that is the last thing before the hut. You can tell you're getting close when you see the black plastic waterline lashed to the left side of the walkway.

Dumpling Hut

Tim had selected a bunk for me and found the swimming hole, so a group of us changed and walked down to the Arthur River. Bruce and Jill were already there, Tim, Petra and I slowly jumped in and froze. I laid out on the rocky beach for a few minutes to let the sun dry me off. Masa finally got in, but the current was strong and he got swept down stream towards some rapids.

Somehow he got to a Volkswagen-sized boulder and sized up his situation: he couldn't swim back upstream, it wouldn't be good to hit the rapids, but he was a bit nervous about swimming through the deep pool towards the safe bank. Finally he jumped in and got caught in the current again, but some how just stood up right as he was going to enter the rapids. Then he just walked to the far bank that was isolated by water and woods. We all were adding our suggestions when Jenny and Angi saw an eel in the water, which was sort of freaky.

Masa bushwhacked his way through the woods, and after a few minutes he climbed down a steep fallen tree to rejoin us on the bank. We all walked back to the hut.

There were already several wet pieces of clothing hanging in the sun, and we just added our stuff to the clothesline and sat down and talked for a while before dinner. Jill told us about being a breast cancer survivor, having lymph nodes removed over seven years ago with no reoccurrence of symptoms. We all sat quietly listening to her inspirational story. She was from the Nelson area, but had met and married Bruce and moved to British Columbia many years ago. They were both doctors and very kind and interesting people.

A kea showed up and entertained us for a while, picking at things, and trying to figure out how to get at our clothes hanging just out of reach below the roof of the porch. A German doctor had left her shirt tied to the railing and the kea eventually found it. I couldn't get it untied, so I just took a photo of the bird on it when I heard a German voice say "get that bird off of my shirt!". I shooed the bird away, but still couldn't undo the tight knots. She never came out to rescue the shirt, but later it was gone. I hope she got it instead of the bird.

I built my dinner around a pre-packaged, all-in-one envelope of noodles with a dry, powdery creamy sauce that came to life with the addition of a little water. It took about 5 minutes to boil down to the creamy masterpiece that the package said it could be and I added the remainder of a bag of Surprise peas and carrots for some color.

Scotty, the thickly-bearded Ranger started his talk at about 7:40pm and related to us his method of getting to be a Ranger for the Department of Conservation. He started out as a volunteer and dug 67 kilometers of ditches one summer, followed by filling-in as a hut warden at various tracks. He told of his early days as a opossum hunter and traveler. Three years of backbreaking volunteer work gained him his first offer of a real DOC assignment, and now he was one of them.

Scotty was a big outdoorsman, funny and odd and he told funny stories about things that happen in the woods. No death and burning in his speech, just good common sense and fair judgment. He concluded his talk with a short description of an upcoming trip from Beijing to Moscow via train, followed by a tour of the Baltic Countries. Interesting guy.

Tim and I talked with Masa and Korai for a while, and I talked with Bruce a little before it was time for bed.

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