Central Highlands and West Country

            

On 19 Feb we left Stanley to make our way to the World Heritage 1262 square kilometres National Park at Cradle Mountain. This place is special… including alpine plains, rainforests, deep blue lakes and towering peaks. In the last ice age (some 10,000 years ago) the area was covered with ice and the glacial landforms look very different from the valleys and woodlands we traversed on our drive to Cradle Mountain. The area had experienced a couple of days of heavy rain before we arrived and remained freezing and wet during our stay.

By the time we booked-in and bought our park licences, it was 3 PM. We decided the weather was improving and we should tackle a short walk that evening. We jumped on board the shuttle bus and asked advice from the driver. He said we should start out on the 6-day walk track and see how the weather and fitness held out. On the return loop through Ronny Creek, the rain had stopped (temporarily) so we followed his advice. Water was pouring out of every crevasse on the hill side… all the colour of strong tea. The bus driver had explained that the water was stained by running through ‘button’ grass… the tasselly grass that covers the alpine hills and plains.
We made easy progress for the first kilometre up to the point where the paths diverge between the 6-day track, the lowland walk around Wombat Pool and the alpine climb up to Crater Lake. The track was clear of walkers on the alpine track, so we decided on that option. We passed through a valley of Teatree bushes in magnificent white flowers. We passed little waterfalls struggling to cope with the volume of water rushing their way. This was good walking… we were just getting our second wind… when the wind and rain picked up. We were half way to the peak so we were not going to turn back. The track on which we wanted to walk turned into a small stream… we had to straddle the path to avoid the rush of water. We tightened up our jackets against the wind and pressed on. We passed Crater Lake and pushed on to Marion’s Lookout. We had expected views of Cradle Mountain but all we saw through the biting rain was mist.

Rather than retracing our steps we chose to continue walking through and pick up the bus at Dove Lake. The descent was easier going, but we had to maintain our pace to make it in time for the last bus at 6:00 PM. All this went without a hitch… no slips… no strains or injury. We made our destination on time and returned to our cabin feeling exhilarated from taking some risks but defeating the elements. That evening we cooked ourselves a pasta meal and enjoyed alcohol won in Stanley on the previous night. We had a giant possum visit our cabin looking for a free feed. He looked twice the size of the possums we are used to at home.

The next day the weather forecast did not give rise for optimism. But the sky looked brighter and we were eager to tackle the slopes once more. We caught the shuttle bus to Dove Lake with the intention of taking the face walk across the base of Cradle Mountain. We stepped off the bus and were blown away with a freezing wind. We realised that risking the walk across the face of the mountain in high winds was one risk too many. We chose the walk around the edge of Dove Lake. To keep our jackets dry and warm for as long as possible, we each put on a light plastic poncho. By wrapping the poncho around so it did not flap we were able to get better wind resistance. Even though the wind and rain was worse than on the preceding day, the poncho gave us a warmer walk. The peaks of Cradle Mountain remain mysterious and shy… hiding in its shawl of cloud. It was only after two hours of walking that it momentarily showed its face. This occurred when we were at the boat shed… the best photo opportunity on the whole walk… so we were not disappointed. We saw other walkers above us battling the more difficult middle face walk. With the persistent high winds, we were comfortable we had made the right choice in not taking the risk in descending a slippery rocky outcrop in the prevailing conditions. Just to finally convince us, we experienced a small hail storm followed by sleet.

The shelter of the bus was much appreciated. We travelled to the edge of the National Park and walked a couple of short tracks. Each followed a river that thundered down small water falls… dramatic on that day because of the large volume of water.

That night finished with a home cooked meal and cards. Jammy Johnny did not win… perhaps he was being extra polite.

We left early the next day after light sleet/snow to make our way to Strahan on the west coast. More winding roads, more trees and more water. The temperature was some 3 degrees for most of the morning, so we were content to keep driving and not investigate each stray path we crossed.

 Strahan

There is an algorithm that determines how much you like a town. Sure, it depends upon the physical beauty of the place, the people you meet and the state of the weather. One profound finding discovered by our touring party is that the duration since consuming coffee also has an important bearing on your love of a place. Plenty of caffeine means plenty of admiring glances.

I mention this because we arrived in Strahan well primed in the caffeine department that gave us a rosy picture of the tiny community. The sun was shining (and of course the wind was blowing). The dark blue water of Macquarie Harbour contrasted with the red buildings, the green bush and the yellow rock faces. We grabbed some scallop pie for lunch (along with more coffee) found our cottage and settled in for the afternoon. We had enough sunlight to take a walk to the local waterfall. With 2 meters of rain falling on the West Coast each year, there is no shortage of waterfalls. We had an early dinner in the local pub that adjoined Macquarie Harbour, went home and watched some ICC World Cup Cricket on TV.

The next day was another early start for the Gordon River Cruise. The boat was remarkably big… reflecting the large number of tourists attracted to Strahan. The excursion is well suited to the elderly (like us!) with a minimum of exercise, plenty of food and comfortable lounging chairs. We saw the usual range of interests; the salmon farms, the sea eagles perched on the trees, the Huon Pines (only the young ones – a couple of hundred years old) overhanging the water, Hells Gate (at the mouth of Macquarie Harbour) and even a seal.

The highlight of the day was the stop-over at Sarah Island where recidivist offending convicts were kept. The guide providing the island tour was fully scripted and played the role of a convict using the Irish accent of the day. It was a first class performance and fully engaged the 20 tourists in our group. Rather than emphasise the brutal treatment handed out during the first two commandants of the settlement, time was taken to show the achievement of the third commandant who established a very productive ship building business that suppled Sydney with most of its early supply of boats. The abundant supply (in those days) of Huon Pine allowed high quality ships to be built efficiently. 

The guide told us that Sarah Island was closed by Governor Arthur (Hobart) because the third commandant was not sufficiently brutal in his management of the convicts. (This view was contradicted by the guide at Port Arthur who thought the Governor was well overdue for sainthood). (More on that later.) Only seven escaped convicts from Sarah Island remain unaccounted for… quite an excellent record of security given the large numbers and the low standards of moral fibre associated with the inmates. Our Irish-speaking guide told us that several historic buildings were destroyed by subsequent generations of Strahan residents who saw Sarah Island as an embarrassment. What a shame!

On our boat-trip back to Strahan we had time to view some excellent videos on the early ‘piners’ who rowed boats hundreds of miles up and down the Gordon and Franklin rivers to cut and float Huon Pine to the local saw-mill. That generation of pioneers lead a lifestyle very different from today.

In the late afternoon we relaxed and did a bit more sight-seeing… a time to rest-up in preparation for a long day’s drive on the next day. 

On the Road to Hobart

Trees… trees… trees… water… water… water! The west coast gives you the cleanest air in the world. It’s worth the visit just to experience the basic environment. The west coast is rugged terrain reflecting its unusual geology. In the Cretaceous period, the continental breakup of Gondwana started near Tasmania. Tasmania threw its lot in with Antarctica but this did not last. Tasmania was thrown away from Antarctica on its own micro tectonic plate. It has been buffeted, tossed and turned during its lonely tumultuous geological history ever since. It has had volcanic activity that covered over one-third of the island with dolomite rock (see Mt Wellington and Hastings Caves for examples). It has been buckled and turned with pressures that created numerous deposits of valuable minerals. Just remember Mainlanders, when Tasmania claims its national rights as part of Australia, this island is really an orphan that has landed on our door quite recently. It can claim relationships with Lord Howe Island, but it is part of the Antarctica family and not part of our ‘blood line’.

We descended into Queenstown and were surprised that vegetation of the slopes around the town had not re-grown to any significant extent from when we were there 32 years ago. It still has the hard industrial edge of a mining town that gives it a peculiar charm. It was sunny and we had a cup of coffee… so we liked the place. The drive out of Queenstown on the Hobart road was an exciting experience for the driver and somewhat terrifying for the passengers. The scenery is special and you get a real sense of the geological violence that shaped the landscape.

One of the most remarkable artistic centres in Tasmania is located on the Hobart Road near the edge of the State Forest at Derwent River. Some seven-years ago, a schoolteacher from Hobart decided to dedicate his professional life to building a museum consisting of a long wall of timber onto which he would carve scenes that celebrated the lives of the early timber workers. He is a little over half-way complete and what already exists is breath-taking. Unfortunately, the artist restricts the use of photography, so look at the website http://www.thewalltasmania.com/ . He has a special technique that gives skin and cloth a real-world feel. He goes to tremendous efforts to show the details of animals and vegetation.  

Even more remarkable is the work of his son. He has developed the art of representing everyday objects (e.g. whips, coat hanging from a peg on the wall, saddle and stirrups) in a 3-dimensional carving from one block of Huon Pine. Art studios in the future will be striving to get hold of his works for exhibition. If you have unmet urges of a collecting kind, invest your money in this guy’s art. (It’s as sure a bet as collecting the paintings from my sister-in-law… Anne).

We exited the forests and had an enjoyable drive down the Derwent Valley. We saw a turn-off to Australia’s first salmon farm. Johnny helps manage a stretch of Tyne River in Northumberland UK for a land owner leasing out the riverbank to recreational fishermen. Johnny is also very involved in a local fishing club. He saw a great opportunity to get some tax deduction on the expenses of his holiday by doing research into the Australian salmon industry. We called in at Salmon Ponds near New Norfolk and found a very pretty spot. Of most enjoyment was watching Johnny run his expert eye over the set up… visit the fisherman’s hall-of-fame…and see him run his loving hands over the antique fishing rods.