And then came the torrents of spring. Though we thought that we had dabbled in rain up until this point… we had grossly underestimated the amount of rainfall that could betide such a place.
To get into Milford Sound, you have to drive through a mountain. To drive through a mountain… one first has to tunnel through it. And, before tunnelling through a mountain… one has to have reason and conviction to allow this crazy idea to materialize.
I am thankful to the brave adventurers who had gone before me. They are the small handful of courageous men and women who had blazed forward through the toughest landscape one could imagine in search of AWESOMENESS. They had led the way through steep hard rock, fly ridden swamps, rainy seasons, avalanches, mud slides and other hazards, to give to the lazy camper the gift of absolute fascination and wonderment.
Once through the mountain, I pressed my face up against the window. My breath fogged up the glass and I had to wipe it clean every ten seconds. Through the streaks of condensation I watched as water fell from the peaks of the towering mountains. The thin streams had no apparent ponds or rivers at their base that would indicate that they were connected to a source. The waterfalls drifted off into the air and vanished before they even reached the ground.
The wind whipped and stirred the trees like it was testing them for their resilience. The mountains seemed to weep from every exposed crevasse. The most miraculous signs of life were the strange and wonderful aquatic-like birds. These birds have no natural predators. Their instinctive way of survival is their intelligence, though they freeze when they are scared. They have always flourished in their home but due to invasive species, they are on the verge of extinction. These poor, scared, high-minded creatures.
When we arrive at the campsite we immediately book a hut. Even a small metal box with a bed and a space heater will suffice as long as I am out of the claustrophobic van. I consumed more wine than was necessary… maybe because we bought a box instead of a bottle.
We walked along the shore line at the base of the imposing mountains. The rain tapered off and gave us the evening to explore. We hopped from boulder to boulder along the river-basin. Some brave souls kayaked down stream. I took in the last of the dewy light knowing that it must be savoured. Each sunset carries its own kind of magic. It’s funny how daily occurrences can be altogether so extraordinary.
Though, in the kitchen was posted this poem:
It rained and rained and rained-
The average was well maintained
And when our fields were simply bogs
It started raining cats and dogs.
After a drought of half an hour
There came the most refreshing shower.
And then the queerest thing of all
A gentle rain began to fall.
Next day ’twas pretty fairly dry
Save for a deluge from the sky.
This wetted people to the skin
But after that the rain set in.
– Isle of Mull, Scotland