The road to Milford Sound reminded me of the road to Zion National Park in the states. Like a Mingus Band blues riff, the visuals slowly built in scale and volume until we turn a corner, emerging from the tunnel, to find that all voices are in full shout.
Every corner uncovered new wonders. Unlike the night before, I shared most views with dozens. The park was a polyglot of a pilgrimage, speaking the same awe and wonder to us Midwesterners as each camper van renter, tour bus ride-along, and hill-weary cyclist.
The cruise through Milford Sound was gravy to what we'd witnessed en route, and the salty sea spray in the face on that gusty day, a savored bit of seasoning.