A bird's eye view of Shipwright's Point campground - Port Huon
Scanning newspapers and notice boards in our job search and submitting an expression of interest as assistants in a caravan park had us seriously considering spending at least another year on this small but very appealing island State. Nothing came our way throughout February. We refuse to be downhearted and as our daughter Justy reminded us “if a river gets blocked it finds a new path…”
The wide Huon River we looked out upon from our site at Shipwrights Point dominates the valley. Sadly, the ancient Huon pines that were synonymous with this mighty river are long gone and in the heydays of the 60’s the valley became an international apple growing centre. Now it has diversified into fruit growing and salmon farming, wine and growing tourism. We were told of one little farm and popped in there for the best apples, peaches and nectarines we have tasted in a long time – literally just picked!
One afternoon we drove up into the Hartz Mountains with the intention of strolling through the forests in the vicinity of the rather expensive “Tahune Airwalk”. Our plans changed when we picked up a heavily laden hitch-hiker – a Defence man from Canberra about to undertake one of the State’s most hazardous hiking trails up to Federation Peak in the heart of the South West National Park. Arrangements to do this trip had steadily fallen apart as his team mates dropped out and the promise of transport failed. So here he was, all on his own, determined to accomplish this long held goal when we elected to take him to the start of the trail, saving him at least 5 hours of walking. Wow! This was some journey winding our way along rough forestry tracks down into the Picton River valley, wondering at times whether we’d ever find our way back again. Not a soul did we meet in the dense forests, and in odd places where the track opened up we found lots of bee hives. All this tended to accentuate the impact made by the two areas where logging activities were evident.
How timber is cut and extracted from such phenomenally steep terrain, defied all our imaginations. The resilience of the forest in its ability to recover from such complete devastation was equally remarkable. A week later cousin Alison arranged with a work colleague pilot to fly Amanda, George and Lea over the South West National Park as far as Port Davey. What an advantage it was to see the self same area we’d been exploring on the ground, from the air. Apart from being able to recognise our camp sites we were spell bound to look down on this vast World Heritage wilderness such a mountainous terrain - Federation Peak very distinctive! Wonderful rugged coastline and on the button grass plains a surprisingly well defined hiking trail. The true extent of the logging operations became far more apparent from up here, as did the widely voiced concern regarding the sustainability of the industry.
We made many a wasted trip into Huonville, the biggest town along here to avail ourselves of an internet cafe with broadband, only to find an exasperated technician and a wi-fi system that remained defunct. Saving grace, however, was to come across “The siege of Ladysmith”. Coming from Africa it seemed an odd spot to find a memorial but we forget that many soldiers of the Australian Colonies fought as part of the British Imperial Forces. We discovered that back in 1902, the Short Family planted a row of trees along the Huon River to commemorate the local men who volunteered for service in the Boer War and the lifting of the siege of Ladysmith. One hundred years later, at the end of the “safe life” of these trees (a novel concept to us, I may add) figures were sculptured from the stumps of the trees to maintain this historic link.
Commemorating the siege of Ladysmith, Huonville
A night in Gordon had an overcast sky close in on us followed by wind and rain lashing the ‘van all night. Such a chill in the air by morning that we stayed in bed and watched a fuzzy TV screen listening to our new Prime Minister in a defining moment of Australia history say “Sorry” to the Aboriginal people. Reality isn’t cured by this often difficult to say little word but it goes a long way towards easing the pain of this Nation. We set off to spend a few days in Howden, looking forward to catching up on family news now that Alison was back from South Africa. En route we had to smile at the sight of a sewage truck emblazoned “Yesterdays Meal on Wheels”! The wet weather never reached Howden and we were able to turn our rig and set up home in the very dry garden without a problem. As for Keanu! She hadn’t been contained… A new and heavier gauged mesh was evident around the boundary and the cage. We learnt later that Keanu had eaten a hole through the chicken wire George had reinforced her cage with.
Cinnamon, Alison and Keanu - don't fence me in!
We have certainly thrived on quality time with family in Tasmania. Leaving this family base for the last time was offset by the knowledge we were going to meet up with another cousin in Lime Bay. Tim & Les Howman from Queensland, holidaying their way around Tasmania were persuaded to give up a couple of nights in a B&B to “rough it” with us in a bush camp. Fortunately the tiger snake we’d encountered at the toilet block, on our last visit with Leecy appeared to have moved on… We arrived a day early to prepare for them and were taken aback to find most of the sites taken. We squeezed our way to a front corner, right up against a rock boundary protecting a small promontory jutting out into the bay – utterly perfect! Next day, with beds all made up we eagerly sat back to await their arrival. Only George was asleep in Skiv and Lea’s nose was buried in the computer when they turned up! Time passed all too fast that first day that we leapt up to prepare for bed far later than usual. Tim shot out to the car for their luggage only to be surprised by a “creature” which turned out to be one of the many pademelons that appear as dark falls. Unexpected squealing alerted us to a veritable posse of possums scrounging around inside two elevated 44 gallon drum waste bins close by. We haven’t seen that before and it was an amusing note to end the night on!
Morning broke heralding a magnificent day and an obviously hot one! Before breakfast we had a visit from a Ranger warning of a total fire ban. Bang went our proposed barbeque that evening! Sea breezes kept us relatively cool throughout the day as we exchanged family recollections and walked the beaches. That night with wild life abounding on our doorstep it was only when the call for bed was made, that the balmy night with an almost full moon, enticed us to stroll the beach instead. Heavenly to say the least…
Howman conflab on the beach at Lime Bay
Time is always fleeting when you enjoy yourselves and our time with Tim and Les was up. They were going to spend the day at Port Arthur before moving through to Howden for their last two nights with Alison. We set off for two nights in New Norfolk to enable us to get all the laundry done, despite drizzly weather. Our last morning we returned to Hobart just to see the film “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly”- a true and very moving story making for an extra-ordinary film that we would hate to have missed. Back home in time for lunch we were able to ensure everything was ship shape in readiness for our trip west through the World Heritage Wilderness area. We stopped for lunch at Brady’s Lake up in the central highlands and were concerned to find our Battery charge control in the red and blinking! We’d never been that low before and at first we thought we must have a fault. However, over lunch we realised we’d been reliant upon solar power for over a week and with the fridge working over time our batteries were in need of a boost. Five hours of generator time sorted that out and we stayed put on the edge of the lake shore as the afternoon grew progressively colder and we slept to the sound of gentle rain.
Long stays in places have enabled George to set up a mini workshop on Skiv’s tow-hitch and begin carving Australian animals out of local timbers with his Dremel. Curious campers come across to see what George is up to and mention the wood carver at Derwent Bridge. With whistling winds and heavy grey skies we made our way to Derwent Bridge lying just outside the Lake St Clair National Park.
Wall in the Wilderness housed in a large, striking, corrugated iron building and set within tall eucalypt woodland showcased the incredible artistry of Greg Duncan, a self taught woodcarver who is busy creating a record of the region’s history on massive panels of huon pine. Entering this starkly beautiful place with its wooden floors and cathedral like high ceilings, a massive log fire blazing away and reception desk constructed out of the original wooden pipeline used on the first hydro power station immediately indicated we were in for a remarkable experience. The WALL is a privately owned and funded work in progress, estimated to take 5-7 years to complete the 100 metre length by 3 metre high panels - portraying 10 different subjects of history. Greg has completed approximately 38 panels since he opened in March 2003. Besides this magnificent Wall – no doubt his magnum opus, there are quite the most magnificent three dimensional sculptures on view. What we found so inspirational about Greg’s work is his attention to detail and ability to soften the appearance of wood. Whether it was a garment or a thylacine foetus the reality was unbelievable.
A copy of the wood carver at his Wall in the Wilderness
The weather was closing in rapidly and by the time we reached the Visitors Centre on the edge of Lake St Clair we knew we could not face walking any trails thanks to the intermittent sleet like rain. Our fears grew at reading their weather forecast for snow. Accommodation is always at a premium here and we were forced to move on through the grandeur of the Franklin-Gordon Wild Rivers National Park. A marvellous drive taken very slowly as we pulled up and dropped down the steep winding road, which gave us odd glimpses of deep valleys and mountain tops obscured by mist and rain. Eventually we stopped on the shores of Lake Burberry and took cover behind some trees for protection from the wind driven rain. Never the less it beat down on the caravan so remorselessly that we could scarcely hear the DVD we’d put on to distract ourselves from the plummeting temperatures. During the second story of “Lucky to be Alive” involving chaps trapped in avalanches the advent of hail and winds sufficient to violently shake the caravan did little to improve our frozen state of mind.
Out came the long johns and themals for more of the same next day, as we chased down a powered site from Queenstown through to Warratah. We just wanted warmth! Rounding a corner we caught a view of snow topping Mt. Murchison near Roseberry. We stopped to capture this mid summer madness on camera only for stratocumulous to conceal it again – if George is right with his “Cloudspotter’s Guide”!
All three Queenstowns we know are encircled by mountains. From the one in South Africa where church bells resounded in the valley as they rang out Christmas carols and Lea’s Great-Great grandparents lived (1820 settlers), to New Zealand’s Adventure Capital with its adrenalin rush of activities, to this Tasmanian one that has you coming through heavenly mountains into a hellish moonscape. Mountain slopes stripped bare of vegetation leaving multi-coloured scree slopes of mining waste. Even stream signs warn of contaminated water. All this thanks to a heritage of copper mining dating back to the 1920’s. Apparently locals resist any thoughts of rehabilitation on the grounds that it is what makes Queenstown different. We’d like to have lingered longer here only the caravan park was a tight squeeze and had no powered sites available. We ended up in Waratah, required four wheel drive just to get over the wet grass to our powered site and thankfully turned on the heat to warm up Getaway. No wonder it is important to record where you have been… We had puzzled long and hard over the route we’d taken around this area back in January 2003. As soon as George had warmed up, he switched into his Computer Diary to check. We had absolutely no recall of Waratah and yet we had stopped here to see the Mt Bishof mine, once the world’s richest tin mine found by Philospher Smith.
A reconstruction of the prospector’s hut, the original stamp mill and a museum are beautifully cared for beside our attractive Council campground despite it being very open to the biting winds that blow. More ignominiously though, the last two verifiably breathing Tasmanian tigers were trapped in Waratah and shipped off to die in a zoo in 1936.
Reluctantly we left power behind and moved on in quite the most roundabout way ending up negotiating the devilish of inclines to get back onto to the correct road for Hellyer Gorge. All that we can say is we saw more, rather than less, of the surrounding countryside. The steep climb down into the gorge had to be backtracked when we discovered the little place at the base was really only suitable as a day picnic spot. We could easily have done without it! In hopes the coast would bring better weather we continued to Wynyard where George was forced to use a memory stick to laboriously transfer our e-mails through an Internet Access Centre if we were ever to send off our backlog. Disappointingly, he was unable to collect incoming mail. Through bouts of sun and rain we continued along the coast through volcanic landscape passing many dairy farms at milking time which added to the vista, towards the Northwest point of Tasmania. Wearily, we stopped for the night on the calm edge of a beach at Marrawah. As the bush camp was full we pulled into the beach car park giving ourselves a wonderful outlook of the rocky outcrops and waves breaking on the sand below us. With the sun beginning to wane we dressed warmly and took a stroll along Green Point beach thinking of the 38 sperm whales that stranded themselves and died here this very month, ten years ago.
Moving on to Arthur River Parks and Wildlife’s Mannuka Campground, we spent the last days of February there. A male pademelon adopted us within hours of our arrival, curiously checking on all we did throughout our days then disappearing at dusk. We had intended to do “the road to nowhere” as conservationist called it in their unsuccessful fight to prevent a road (only dirt) being built down the eastern border of the Tarkine Wilderness to come here. However, we discovered the ferry in Corrina would only take rigs no more that 9 metres in length, knocking us out. We weren’t disappointed as we did it in 2003 and the little exploring we did from this end satisfied us.
