At the end of the Milford Road the mountains seem to stand straight up out of the sea. The road emerges from the Homer Tunnel, a rough, unlit passage about 1.2 kilometres long, cut through solid granite and opened in 1953 after construction that began in the 1930s with picks, shovels and wheelbarrows. The tunnel drops steeply on the far side, and the road descends in a series of hairpins down the valley of the Cleddau River toward the sound.
The tunnel needs respect. Traffic is controlled by lights at busy times, and queues can build in summer, so be ready to wait. Inside, the surface is rough and wet, the gradient is steep, and the walls are bare rock with no lining in places. Keep your lights on, your speed low and your distance generous, and be alert for oncoming vehicles. Kea parrots gather at the entrance and are notorious for tearing at rubber, seats and anything loose, so keep an eye on your bike while you wait.
Milford Sound is a misnomer, because it is a fiord, carved by glacier, not a sound carved by river. It was named by a sealer after Milford Haven in Wales. Mitre Peak, a pyramid of rock rising nearly 1,700 metres from the water, dominates the view, and waterfalls fall from the cliffs after rain, sometimes in their hundreds. The water is dark, cold and still, and boat cruises set off from the terminal several times a day, a worthwhile way to see the scale of the place.
The road itself is quiet in the early morning and evening, when most tour buses are gone, and the return in late light is memorable. Be careful of tired drivers and tourists who are unfamiliar with the road.
Rain is the rule rather than the exception, with Milford among the wettest inhabited places on earth. Waterproofs are essential, and a dry change of gloves is a luxury worth packing. In fine weather, the view is unforgettable, and in rain, the waterfalls are even more spectacular. Sandflies are fierce here, so repellent is a good idea.