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Doubtful Sound
Apr. 18th, 2009 12:12 pmThe ferry let me off in Picton, which doesn't have much for air travel; I'd debated taking a bus to Nelson (where the One Ring was made for the films), but instead, opted to take a train down to Christchurch. The train was lovely (and its staff are the sweetest people ever): gorgeous views of the countryside, teas with scones and clotted cream and jam, and even an open-air car: you can feel the wind rushing past, and smell the salt on the sea air. Christchurch was rather more buttoned down than most of New Zealand; the British influence is much stronger here than elsewhere, and churches do, indeed, play a major part in how this city is put together. I thought often of the Heavenly Creatures story while I was there; its air of repression (compared to the rest of New Zealand) made me understand it better.
The next morning, I went to Christchurch airport, which was almost like a trip back in time: our plane was an old two-engined prop job, and there was no security at the airport whatsoever- we simply walked across the runway, like they do in old movies. Disembark at Queenstown, with the Remarkables looming over the town, and parasailers drifting through the air like birds (Queenstown is essentially a sports town: skiing; rafting; all manner of other dangerous things. In a three-block walk up the main drag, I saw four doctor's offices.) I entertained myself for a bit by taking a ski lift to the top of one of the Remarkables, and looked out at the countryside (David Lean should have made a movie here). Finally, I got on the bus to Te Anau. It's a smaller town- perhaps two thousand people to Queenstown's ten thousand or so- the sort of town I was quite used to, growing up in rural northern New York. I checked in at the local backpacker's hostel, and was asleep almost at once (I've been getting up with the sun here- which, when you consider that NYC is seven hours ahead of and a day behind New Zealand time, is actually about right.)
In the morning, the bus came to pick us up (our guide for the day had a smile like Sean Bean's); we took a boat across the lake, then a bus ride, then embarked onto a larger boat, and the sound itself. Doubtful Sound is a larger body of water than Milford Sound, its more touristy cousin; it's a bit less accessible, without the tourist spots such as Mitre Rock- it's less traveled, which suited me just fine. We saw a couple of boats on our way through the sound, but generally we were on our own; apart from the guide's occasional commentary, the only sound was the low rumble of the engine, and the rush of the occasional waterfall. (At one point, our guide maneuvered us close enough to one of the waterfalls that I was able to stretch out my cupped hands; it was the purest, most delicious thing I've ever tasted.)
I spent most of my time out on deck, even when it began raining, and the deck began pitching up and down; I was struggling to aim my camera with one hand, while holding on to a rope with the other. (By the end of the day, my card was full, and the lens had misted over beyond my ability to clean it.) Most of all, though, I simply experienced the full majesty of the sound- of a world far, far away from job hassles and tax payments and the countless other trivialities which seem to fill up the days. Doubtful Sound has a presence that most places don't: the closest way I can describe it, is that this feels like the moment when Aslan first sang the world, and evil had not yet left its mark. The skitterings of one's mind are driven away, and there is only the immense, healing, profound silence. I was quiet on the ride back to the dock; as I stepped out of the boat, I thought This is it. From now on, I'm heading back, away from New Zealand- Te Anau to Queenstown; Queenstown to Auckland; Auckland to America. It makes me sad to think of it- but this has been my greatest adventure, and one I'll always carry in my heart.
The next morning, I went to Christchurch airport, which was almost like a trip back in time: our plane was an old two-engined prop job, and there was no security at the airport whatsoever- we simply walked across the runway, like they do in old movies. Disembark at Queenstown, with the Remarkables looming over the town, and parasailers drifting through the air like birds (Queenstown is essentially a sports town: skiing; rafting; all manner of other dangerous things. In a three-block walk up the main drag, I saw four doctor's offices.) I entertained myself for a bit by taking a ski lift to the top of one of the Remarkables, and looked out at the countryside (David Lean should have made a movie here). Finally, I got on the bus to Te Anau. It's a smaller town- perhaps two thousand people to Queenstown's ten thousand or so- the sort of town I was quite used to, growing up in rural northern New York. I checked in at the local backpacker's hostel, and was asleep almost at once (I've been getting up with the sun here- which, when you consider that NYC is seven hours ahead of and a day behind New Zealand time, is actually about right.)
In the morning, the bus came to pick us up (our guide for the day had a smile like Sean Bean's); we took a boat across the lake, then a bus ride, then embarked onto a larger boat, and the sound itself. Doubtful Sound is a larger body of water than Milford Sound, its more touristy cousin; it's a bit less accessible, without the tourist spots such as Mitre Rock- it's less traveled, which suited me just fine. We saw a couple of boats on our way through the sound, but generally we were on our own; apart from the guide's occasional commentary, the only sound was the low rumble of the engine, and the rush of the occasional waterfall. (At one point, our guide maneuvered us close enough to one of the waterfalls that I was able to stretch out my cupped hands; it was the purest, most delicious thing I've ever tasted.)
I spent most of my time out on deck, even when it began raining, and the deck began pitching up and down; I was struggling to aim my camera with one hand, while holding on to a rope with the other. (By the end of the day, my card was full, and the lens had misted over beyond my ability to clean it.) Most of all, though, I simply experienced the full majesty of the sound- of a world far, far away from job hassles and tax payments and the countless other trivialities which seem to fill up the days. Doubtful Sound has a presence that most places don't: the closest way I can describe it, is that this feels like the moment when Aslan first sang the world, and evil had not yet left its mark. The skitterings of one's mind are driven away, and there is only the immense, healing, profound silence. I was quiet on the ride back to the dock; as I stepped out of the boat, I thought This is it. From now on, I'm heading back, away from New Zealand- Te Anau to Queenstown; Queenstown to Auckland; Auckland to America. It makes me sad to think of it- but this has been my greatest adventure, and one I'll always carry in my heart.
