Milford unSound Part 1 of 2

Dear reader, if you have ever met me personally then you will know that I am not the stereotypical Coloradan. I am not a hardcore nature enthusiast in any sense barring my absolute adoration of daytime porch drinking. I am a smoker, I am a drinker and if I had my way I would sleep fourteen hours a day. That being said, I am about to embark on the 33.5 mile Milford Track. Did I mention that I have to carry in all my supplies and there are no showers? Yup, this promises to be one hell of a beautiful disaster.

The week before the track I was already upset. We had spent over two hundred dollars just to have the privilege of walking around with a heap of shit attached to our backs. Why do people do this, I wondered? I cunningly fooled myself into believing that my holey New Balances and my definitively non-waterproof coat would suffice, I also held fast to the false idea that all those lunges in the vineyard would have my body prepped for grueling wilderness trekking. Yeah, no problem, piece of cake, all the while shaking my head. I was utterly fucked.

During the week prior, I made minor mention about my worries and tried my best not to break down and tell Katie that she was on her own. I actually found that the best strategy was not to think about it at all. I mean, the brochure does say that the walk is suitable for those aged 10-70+, so if grandpas can do it, so can I. All was going well until we made out stop in Te Anau, the last town before Milford Sound.

Our first stop was the Department of Conservation to pick up our tickets (yes, that's right, we had to have tickets, front row seats to the arena of suffering) the lady at the DOC told us the weather was going to be nothing but rain and snow. SNOW! Katie had never mentioned the s word and I had not conceived that we would be walking through that cold, white powdery substance sent directly from Lucifer's wings way down in the center of hell. Then in a most condescending tone she added, “you do have rain jackets, right?” And, “you aren't planning on hiking in jeans?” Excuse me lady, I am from Colorado! Demoralized and insulted we went to the outdoor equipment store since I needed to rent a backpack to carry my gear. Katie insisted that we rent waterproof pants, then she added that I should get a coat. Then to top it all off, in a manner most practical, she suggested that we rent boots as well, which of course meant that we had to buy appropriate socks.

It was here, in front of Gareth, our friendly teenage salesman that I was on the verge of bursting into tears. In fact, finding socks was the perfect excuse to walk away so that I could dry my eyes and pull my shit together. Below pretty much sums up why I was crying

$70 gas to reach the fairly inaccessible fiordlands
$110 renting equipment
$40 fancy wool water wicking socks
$65 tuna, crackers, cheese, trailmix and apples
$135 three nights of deluxe accommodation with 40 complete strangers in a barrack
$61 ferry to start of track
$30 ferry back to mainland
$53 bus back to where we parked our car
Grand Total : $564

To put it into perspective in two weeks of dreadful vineyard work I made $718. So, not only was I about to be physically pillaged, but my bank account had already been plundered. What the hell am I doing? Next stop: Painsville.