Milford Sound to Colac Bay

The tourists quickly thinned out south of Milford Sound on the Southern Scenic Route where SH99 winds through rolling pasture.



We stopped at the now out-of-service Clifden Suspension Bridge for a late lunch/early dinner. The one-lane bridge crossing the once mighty Waiau River was a big deal when it was completed in 1899. At the time, it was the longest bridge in New Zealand and a major trade route. But no longer. Now it’s a quiet picnic park for locals.

Sawyer walked about halfway up to the east tower on the massive bundle of cables supporting the south side of the bridge before I told him to get down—“before you fall and brake your neck.” As he slid down on his butt I realized what gave the cables their bright red color. Grease!

I groaned. The stuff was all over his hands, shoes, and pants. As I stood by the campervan wiping grease off his shoes, a man who looked like a service station attendant from the 1950’s rode past on his bicycle. “Good day,” he said with a grin. The bridge must have been convenient way home from work. “A father’s work is never done,” he continued without interrupting his pedaling. I brightened and watched him disappear around the bend. Was that my conscience? I wondered. Ghostlike, he seemed. Whoever he was, he reminded me my job actually is to prevent my children from falling off bridges and to remove grease from their shoes. And that I should rejoice in the privilege of doing it on holiday in pastoral and remote New Zealand.

Here's Ivy giving the cables a shot.



On we drove through this desolate but beautiful landscape. We had not passed another vehicle for at least an hour. When the Waiau River spills into the Pacific at Te Waewae Bay, the highway heads east. Here, Antarctic winds batter the southern coast so relentlessly the trees look like they’re scrambling for cover.



We stopped at Colac Bay, a little fishing village with a great sea view but no tourists to admire it. Modest bungalows lined the road opposite the beach, but there was nothing going on. The town was spooky quiet. So quiet, in fact, we hesitated to park for the night at the deserted beachfront Department of Conservation campground. In my experience, free, beautiful beachfront destinations are packed with annoying tourists. Where was everyone?

We aimed the back campervan windows toward the sea to admire the view.





The drizzle let up long enough for us to watch the sun set behind the hills. Magically, as we watched cattle grazing on the hilltops turn to silhouettes, a rainbow appeared in the other direction over the bay. When the sun went down we ate chocolate and listened to rain lick the roof and waves lap the beach.





View Larger Map