Milford Track Fiordland National Park

DAY 2 - March 23, 2017

Every morning, at five huts thus far, two packets of oatmeal have been heated in the pot using varying amounts of water, with mixed results.  Today, though, this keen logical mind has an epiphany.  What if we simply were to place the oatmeal in our eating bowls, then pour in whatever amount of boiling water is needed to produce the desired consistency?  That tactic proves wildly successful without the necessity of measuring anything, and we don't even have to wash the big pot!

Kiddies, that shows the importance of paying attention in school.

This will be a much longer trek than yesterday, along the Clinton River.  The weather report is favorable.

Subtle colors in the burn

In season, lots of water would be flowing there

We hope that the weather holds up

Interesting coloration

Creating the softest trail I ever walked on

A spur trail to Hidden Lake reveals an exquisite setting:

This is why I go hiking

Back toward the main trail
Back on the main trail

Selfheal
Red Clover

The next spur route leads to something most unusual:

What is it?  An alien?  A religious statue?

And what is this one?

The first image even had Dave stymied three days later.  Here's the explanation:

Reflections in Prairie Lake!  Incredible

Dave and I hang out here for about half an hour.  It is warm and sunny, and the sand flies are inexplicably absent.  This is a feel-good place.

Another look

After seeing some more of that tall yellow grass, I ask a nearby hiker whether he knows what it is; whereupon he promptly whips out a plant guide and identifies it for me.  What was the likelihood of that?

Pampas Grass
Polyporaceae Fungi

The man (Bob) and his partner admit to being from the Seattle area where, "If you see blue sky, it's going to rain; if you don't see blue sky, then it already is raining".

A chicken-sized weka

The weather definitely is holding up

A tiny woman is doing some trail maintenance with a shovel as tall as she is.

Ranger Laura, tonight's hostess, is toiling a two-hour walk from the hut

Red rocks, white rocks; there are all kinds

St. Quintin Falls, 755'

Close-up view

Even closer yet

Looking back

Almost there, I presume

None too soon, we reach the night's lodging, where once again boots are to be removed and once again the potty is down a trail — gravel, this time.  Ugh.

The Mintaro Hut

Tonight's meal consists of Jamaican Goat Curry.  I've not eaten goat previously to my knowledge; but I didn't do the shopping for this tramp, either.

After we eat, Dave resorts to his usual pastime of solitaire.  At our table, two European men are pouring themselves a treat of Tahitian Rum and Lime; and they offer Dave and me each a taste before resuming their own card game.  They need a pencil for their scoring; so I offer to share the one with which I am scribbling notes for this journal.

A pair of Australian gentlemen, David and Peter, are preparing a dinner of steak and mashed potatoes.  The good part about that is that I get to smell it; the bad part is that I have to watch them eat it.

David and Peter from Australia

Although Dave has mentioned nothing about his cold, his feet are in pain; also, my back is hurting as usual, and it won't calm down until I go to bed.

I already have tightened my belt up three notches since leaving home; yet more than once I actually consider asking the resident ranger whether there is an awl handy with which I might punch yet another hole.  It wouldn't do to have my hiking pants falling off.

During her talk, Ranger Laura tells us more about the efforts to keep the countryside pristine, including the disposal of human waste by helicopter in big barrels known affectionately by crewmen as "honey pots".