INTO THE WILD

The Hollyford Wilderness Experience offers Liz French a rare chance to explore remote Fiordland in comfort.

PHOTOS LIZ FRENCH + SUPPLIED

Sometimes it takes the eyes of foreigners to make you appreciate your own country. While I was walking (more like striding) along the native foliage canopied track, thinking, “This is a lovely bit of bush, but no more spectacular than I’ve seen on many tramps before,” two American women in our group were in tears of awe at the beauty of it, at greens so vivid they seemed artificially enhanced.

We were on the first day of the three-day Hollyford Wilderness Experience. There were 14 in our group: a fun-loving family of five from Chicago, two gobsmacked girls from Denver, another from Sydney, an acerbic retired medical professor and his quick-witted wife from Nelson, my partner Mark and me from Tauranga, plus our two guides, Jack and Rosie, both in their twenties, both people you would trust your life with.

Lunch above the river broke up the day. The track is mainly flat with one gentle incline over the 168-metre Little Homer Saddle. We had a hell of a time getting to Te Anau the day before, plagued by Air New Zealand cancellations and postponements, and finally arriving, minus bags, after midnight. Luckily, we had the prescience to wear our boots and have all we needed for this trip in our backpacks.

As I was a bit fatigued before I even started, it was a relief to finally arrive at Ka Tuku (Pyke Lodge) and be welcomed by our hosts, Stephane and Caro, who told us this was the first fine day in weeks. As Fiordland gets something like 300 days of rain a year, you do have to be prepared for it. The first day is the longest walk by far — 19.5 kilometres from the Hollyford Road end to the first lodge.

I love a river walk so I was delighted to find that, while we spent a lot of time shrouded in bush, we also had views across the Hollyford River to the Darren Mountains, giving us a good sky quotient.

A couple of dramatic waterfalls and Talk about sophisticated rustic luxury. A comfy room with ensuite, drying room (good when you are only carrying 4kg and one spare pair of knickers), and a big lounge where we enjoyed a pre-dinner platter with as much beer or wine as we wanted, followed by venison for dinner. We were in bed before the lemon tart.

The second day delivered the expected drizzle and an easier and more varied experience. Fortified by a good sleep and eggs benedict for breakfast I revelled in the return walk to Lake Alabaster in all its mystic glory, the greens of surrounding bush glowing even brighter in the rain.

Hidden Falls.

We took a slight detour over the longest swing bridge in Fiordland, which is also the start of the Demon Trail, suitable for highly experienced trampers only, and which the Hollyford Wilderness Experience avoids by scooting us past in a jetboat.

The hour-long trip followed the river into Lake McKerrow via a stop at Jamestown, the site of a failed West Coast settlement. You feel pathetic in your high-tech gear when you hear the horrendous hardships of the pioneers, and the sheer tenacity of people like Davey Gunn, who farmed in the valley, routinely walking 50kms a day, until he drowned there in 1955.

The day wasn’t over yet. We were jet boated across the river from the lodge to traverse the wild, wet and deserted coastline of Martins Bay. We had walked about 15kms that day so I was well ready to relax in the hot tubs across the lawn from rooms even lovelier than the previous night’s.

Sandflies are an issue on the coast and, as I had refused a funereal black net to cover my head, I resorted to repellent and arm flapping.

Rare bright blue skies greeted us the next day as we jetted up the river and walked back through the soaring trees of ancient podocarp forest. One giant Rimu had such a girth it took seven people to hug it.

Liz French on the wild west coast.

You can’t get a much better finale to a trip than a thrilling helicopter flight along rugged coastline and into dramatic Milford Sound, with the bonus of perfect visibility. A slightly intrepid wander through bush led to a clearing with a safari tent where a long table was set up for a lunch of soup and delicious salads. I wondered how they did this until I discovered a four-wheel drive track to our second night’s accommodation, Waitai (Martins Bay) Lodge.

After the coach ride back to Te Anau on one of the country’s most scenic roads, we farewelled our new friends and I promised them a copy of my story in UNO.

Yes, it was expensive (around $4,000 per person), but priceless as an unforgettable experience.