In the heart of New Zealand's South Island, a mesmerizing adventure awaits within the mysterious glowworm caves. The first time stepping into the cave during daylight, I was captivated by the sight of the ceiling adorned with twinkling lights, a stark contrast to the darkness that enveloped us.

After a night spent camping nearby, we woke up to a cloudy sky, surrounded by families on summer holidays. We hastily packed our belongings and set off toward the scenic shore.

Having explored many caves previously, David and I were eager to discover what lay hidden in the depths of this mountain cave. Whether navigating narrow passageways or crossing water, caves have always intrigued us as explorers.

I had arranged for us to join a glowworm cave tour, a splurge compared to our usual hiking escapades, which often required more physical exertion but were less costly.

With excitement building as we walked alongside families with infants and toddlers, I wondered if everyone truly understood the adventure they were about to embark on.

Our journey commenced with a boat ride across Lake Te Anau, the largest glacial lake in the southern region. Surrounded by rolling hills to the east and lush forests and mountains to the west, this stunning body of water is part of the renowned Fiordland National Park and a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

After a brief safety briefing aboard the catamaran, David and I quickly made our way to the open deck, eager to escape the crowd.

Facing the brisk wind, we were thankful for our jackets as we took in the vibrant green surroundings. The shoreline showcased hidden beaches that sparked our imaginations for future camping trips.

While our tour guide shared interesting facts about the lake, I found myself captivated by a small island nestled in the South Fiord. A narrow strip of land connected two lush hills, framed by the steep mountains of the mainland.

As we approached the pier, we were greeted by a picturesque scene of temperate forest meeting the deep blue waters of the lake.

With over 70 passengers now on board, we made our way along a boardwalk leading to a small visitor center, where guides would take groups of 12 into the cave.

As the first group departed, we listened intently to a local guide discussing the geological activity of the cave, which is continually being shaped by rushing water.

Interestingly, it was in these very mountains surrounding Lake Te Anau that the takah?, a once-thought-extinct flightless bird, was rediscovered. This endangered species, native to New Zealand, now has a population of around 500.

With the sounds of babies crying and toddlers chatting, we questioned whether the parents would truly take their young ones into the dark cave, where silence is encouraged.

When the next guide announced he had space for two more, we quickly jumped at the chance, noticing no children younger than ten in line behind us.

While I have nothing against children, I felt it unfair to subject them—and other visitors—to the cave's darkness without lights, where silence is key.

We ducked under low rock formations to enter the cave, sharing a laugh as we were the last to follow the guide, who warned of slippery surfaces—a message that echoed down the line.

Once inside, a metal staircase and boardwalk guided us above rushing water, the sound of which filled the cave with an exhilarating roar. We found ourselves pausing, straining to hear the guide's explanations amidst the tumultuous noise.

Photography inside the cave was prohibited due to the potential harm to the glowworms, which thrive in the dark—an unfortunate restriction for those looking to capture the beauty of the moment.

As we ventured deeper, the ceiling dripped with what we initially thought was water, but soon learned were strands of saliva from glowworms, designed to ensnare prey.

We marveled at a stunning waterfall inside the cave, imagining how the passage of time and water has shaped its narrow corridors.

As we transitioned from lighted paths to total darkness, the first glowworms appeared, their bioluminescent glow illuminating the cave's ceiling as we settled into a boat.

When the lights extinguished, the darkness enveloped us, but soon, the cave's ceiling twinkled with hundreds of blue dots, resembling a starry night sky—a breathtaking sight that felt surreal.

The glowworms adorned the cave like delicate fairy lights, providing a glimpse into this relatively young cave's intimate size as we glided through the channels.

The guide navigated the boat by pulling on a rope above us, occasionally brushing against the rocky walls, yet we were assured that the boats were designed for such encounters.

In complete silence, we floated as the river's rushing sound faded, absorbed by the mesmerizing glow of the worms. Time lost meaning as I gazed at the glowing ceiling, feeling both serene and slightly eerie.

I sat still, hands resting on my knees, when a drop hit my face, a reminder of the cave's unique inhabitants—definitely not something I wanted to experience.

Deeper into the cave, the sound of rushing water diminished, and we floated into a wider expanse, illuminated only by the glowworms. A faint light in the distance signaled our return, and the glowworms continued to shine, providing a sense of tranquility.

Stepping out into daylight was astonishing, and our guide shared more insights about the unique ecosystem surrounding us, revealing a tree avalanche nearby and playfully admitting we had been slightly misled.

Those glowworms, it turns out, are actually maggots—though "glowworms" sounded much more appealing for tourism purposes. Regardless of their true identity, their radiant light in the darkness was a sight to behold.

Soon, our catamaran returned to ferry us back to Te Anau, but my day was far from over. After a light lunch, we drove further south to the famed Kepler Track, one of New Zealand's renowned multi-day hikes.

With only one night left, we chose not to ascend the mountains but instead wandered through the dense beech forest along a well-trodden path leading to Lake Manapouri.

Halfway across one of the trail's bridges, I paused to observe a sizable eel gliding through the shallow waters below, calling David over to share the moment before we had to clear the path for other hikers.

Exploring a side trail, we were treated to an open view of a wetland and a small pond, dotted with vividly colored flowers blooming amid the mud.

Taking our time, we paused frequently to listen to the delightful songs of birds, marveling at the vibrant lichens, mosses, and other flora thriving on the forest floor and hanging from branches. Eventually, we caught up to a family that had started their hike just before us.

They had stopped in the middle of the trail, rummaging through their bags for snacks and blocking the path without so much as a sideways glance or an apology.

As we squeezed past, David narrowly dodged a stick swung by one of the children, and we exchanged knowing glances, both frustrated by their thoughtlessness.

While I don't advocate against stopping to enjoy the hike, it's essential to ensure that larger groups remain considerate of others on busy trails.

Despite this minor annoyance, my spirits weren't dampened, knowing they wouldn't be camping near us that night as we veered off the Kepler Track toward the shores of Lake Manapouri.

The skies were partially blue with scattered clouds, but rain-laden clouds loomed over the distant mountains. More rain was forecast for the evening, yet we remained unfazed.

As we ventured along the beach, we scouted suitable camping spots, mindful of the impending storm. We opted for a protected area behind a row of bushes, nestled beneath healthy young trees. It's crucial to be aware of overhead hazards when pitching a tent, as falling branches can pose significant risks.

Observing one distant tree that might shed branches that night, we felt assured by the health of the surrounding foliage.

As we finished setting up our tent, a sudden drizzle reminded us of the gusty winds that had begun to pick up, the raindrops traveling from distant clouds.

After securing our tent, we continued our stroll along the beach, appreciating the untouched wilderness around us.

Though rain poured down in the mountains, we remained mostly dry and were treated to a stunning sunset before retreating to our tent for the night.

As I hung fairy lights to illuminate the entrance of our tent, I couldn't help but recall the glowworms from the cave. Though the darkness wasn’t nearly as profound, both the glowworms and my lights evoked a similar sense of wonder.

I had hoped to glimpse the stars that night, but the clouds obscured the view. I drifted off to sleep, dreaming of glowing lights reminiscent of stars in the night sky.

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