The end of the pond

The boat stopped near the far end of the fjord so a group of hikers could get off and start a three-day hike out through the park.

Though it was a little bit like the setup of a bad horror movie, I was most impressed by the idea of carrying all the food and water you would need for three days -- plus a tent and a sleeping bag -- to hike over the mountains. I know people do it, but I don't think I ever actually saw a group of people hoisting all that gear on their backs and heading off into the trees.

And smiling as they waved goodbye.

Cliffs

I've been lucky enough to sail through several fjords now. Although the cliffs at Western Brook Pond rise a mere 2,000 feet -- half the height of Milford Sound -- there's nothing quite like sailing through still deep waters while walls of rock tower overhead.

But it's definitely a different experience with this heavy mist draped over the clifftops -- solemn, a little spooky. Though I rode on the top deck of the boat all the way out, when we turned around and the wind was in my face, I only lasted about fifteen minutes before moving inside.

Where, in typical Newfoundland fashion, a singalong was in progress. One of the crew was playing guitar, and I played the spoons on a couple of songs, which was so much fun I may buy a set to play at home.

Sailing into the fjord

Made it

At the end of the trail, the boats that sail Western Brook Pond.

The lake waters are pristine, and the boats are designed to have minimal impact on the environment.

Getting closer...

I would like to see these views on a sunny day sometime, but once again, the Newfoundland mist and the fog created such a beautiful, if eerie, atmosphere that I'm having a hard time picking just a few of the pictures.

...And the trees

Through the bogs...

Back to Western Brook Pond

Western Brook Pond is called a fjord but it's actually landlocked now. The surrounding cliffs tower up to 2,000 feet over the water, and you can see them from miles away.

You have to walk two miles on a trail through trees and boggy land to reach the edge of the water and board the boat.

Pissing Mare Falls

This waterfall is more than 1100 feet above the freshwater fjord Western Brook Pond in Gros Morne National Park.

I hadn't actually processed most of the Gros Morne pictures yet, so posting will take a couple of days. I have been cursing The Good Place all day because I have the 1-877-Karz-4-Kids jingle running through my brain on an infinite loop. On the other hand, making that truly hellish bit of music the anthem for the demons in the Bad Place was such a stroke of genius I really can't complain.

Mitre Peak

You are not supposed to have perfect weather every day at this time of year in New Zealand, but we have been extraordinarily lucky. I didn't even bother with a jacket on a couple of the short hikes we took to break up the long bus ride.

This is Mitre Peak, which rises 5500 feet above the sound, but apparently most visitors never see it because it's clouded by mists or rain (Milford Sound gets 250 inches of rain per year, making it one of the rainiest inhabited places in the world.) If this means I've used up all my good weather karma for the year, I promise I won't complain.

Much.

Two more

Those brown lumps on the rock to the right of the waterfall are seals.

Speaking of Middle Earth

These trees have a witchy, Elvish look about them, and would have played the role of any forest in Middle Earth admirably.

Obligatory perspective shot

Pictures of cliffs and waterfalls always benefit from a reference point -- a house, a truck, a boat -- to give you some idea of the scale.

The cliffs here are up to three-quarters of a mile high, which is impressively tall when that cliff is looming over your head. We sailed out to the end of the fjord, where it meets the Tasman Sea, and that was just rocks and waves like a normal seacoast. But for the first eight and a half miles or so of the nine miles of fjord, you do feel like Frodo sailing down the river from Lothlorien.

At the end of the rainbow

The light on that rock at the bottom of the rainbow -- one of many created by the waterfalls -- does almost look like a pot of gold. Unfortunately, I couldn't get close enough to check it out.

Milford Sound

This part of New Zealand is called Fiordland, and we spent much of the day traveling through it on a bus on our way to Milford Sound and back. Milford, despite the name, is a fiord and not a sound because it was cut out of the earth by glaciers (or as we say in New Zealand, glassiers) and not by a river.

That it's really a fiord/fjord is no surprise to me, as it bears more than a passing resemblance to its cousins in Norway.

Complete with waterfalls.

Abstract

A closeup of the waves in the fjord.

Photographer's dilemma

Which is better, a detail of yet more waterfalls, with the texture of the rock and the moss, or a long shot of the water falling from the heights?

Or just post both?

Mountain farms

Some of the farms we passed as we sailed through the mountains.

The Seven Sisters from sea level

The waterfall I photographed earlier from Eagle Bend, a lot closer and looking up rather than down.

Leaving Geiranger

Five minutes before the engines started up and we left Geiranger, the sun came out.

On the one hand, it was almost a taunt -- imagine some of the magnificent views we could have seen if the weather had just cleared up a little sooner.

But if the sunlight was rationed -- and in this part of Norway it might actually be -- then maybe this was the best way to use it after all, when we were sailing through the length of the fjord on our way back to the sea.

Those funny scallop shapes in the water are the ship's wake. The waters in the fjord are so calm and so deep that this enormous ship leaves only a sedate line of small stylized waves behind, instead of the usual great crashing and thrashing and spewing and spraying I'm used to.