Lake St Clair

by

At around 170 metres deep, Lake St Clair is the deepest freshwater lake in Australia.  The local indigenous people call it Leeawuleena, or ‘Sleeping Water’. 

Formed by ice over glaciations two million years ago, it is the head of the Derwent River.

It is also the end of the Overland Track from Cradle Mountain, as I could see at the glitzy Visitors Centre, which was more like a ski lodge. There were many young people there doffing enormous packs and relievedly taking off walking shoes and wriggling freed toes. 

The campground is expensive (even hot showers were extra), having more cabins than camping spots, and only a tiny section was allotted to non-powered sites like mine.

There are several short walks here, and it is often through eucalypt forest for a change.

The new red leaves of these plentiful blue-green gum leaves were eye-catching.

So too were the Pink Mountain Berry shrubs, which here get an information marker of their own; this says it is Cyathodes parvifolium.

This is called Watersmeet, for obvious reasons.

Right beside the bridge there was a white-flowering small tree; I have seen several of these and keep wanting it to be Leatherwood, but I am told that shouldn’t be in bloom now.

So if anyone can tell me what these shrubs/trees are, I’d be grateful.

For me the beauties on this walk were close at hand, like this spectacular coral fungus, which I think is Ramaria anziana. I had bought a FungiFlip, a stunning pictorial guide to Tassie fungi, by the University of Tasmania, so that may be right.

I assume these wonderful pale blue/green balls are lichens… new to me… and wow!

The embracing habit of these lichens was so decorative that I saw them as braceleting the tree trunk, as jewellery.

For pattern and colour this little grove won the day; I don’t know what the trees are, but it made me feel as if I was definitely in another land. Or another world.

As I am…

From wrecked to wild

by

Queenstown was so appallingly man-wrecked, so barren, on such a vast scale, that I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I could barely stand to stop and take a few photos. The ‘moonscape’ just went on and on. 

Environmental vandalism to rival the Hunter Valley’s open cut coalscape… except Queenstown’s is in the past; the Hunter’s is ongoing.

I later learnt that this devastation is from decades of deforestation, sulphurous fumes from the copper smelters, and topsoil erosion. I am told that some locals resent the small amount of vegetation growing back, as it spoils the now-famous barren look…

I camped near Lake Burbury to recover, and next day headed into Frankin Gordon Wild Rivers National Park.

First stop was Nelson Falls, where a gentle and green short walk led to this soothing split waterfall.

I aimed to stop at every short walk chance, and next along the Lyell Highway was Donaghys Hill. Great lookout at the top, but with uninformative signs; poetic verse when I wanted to know what I was looking at. I can only assume it was the Franklin River and Valley I could see. Wilderness, in any case. The much-needed antidote to Queenstown.

On that short steep walk I saw many of these shrubs, which I have now seen elsewhere; I think it is the unimaginatively named Pink Mountain Berry, which could be Leucophophylla juniperiana?

There was a Franklin River picnic area, with a short nature trail. While these all seem to feature lots of moss, the forest is always slightly different.

I note the way the moss is disposed, as on this greenly lumpy trunk, or the size of the fungi that share the trunks.

It’s still all a sort of fairyland to me.

I am to camp at Lake St Clair tonight, which will be a different world again… the other end of the Cradle Mountain Lake St Clair National Park.

The fate of the skate?

by

Around Tullah, the bushfire smoke was dense, as was that familiar smell, and a firefighters’ camp was nearby.  I was told the fires were contained, but still burning, and in inaccessible regions. Rain would be the only solution.

The winding road from Tullah to Rosebery took me through what I felt was quintessentially Tasmania: towering trees and towering mountains.

Feeling like I’d landed in a Tolkien universe, I wandered through the old mining town of Zeehan, which reminded me of Lithgow in NSW, hilly and quaint. Apart from the Museum and takeaways, the main businesses open were two op shops, which of course I entered, seeking books as always.

My destination was Strahan, where I’d decided to splurge on the 6 hour Heritage cruise round Macquarie Harbour and up the Gordon River.

Strahan was tourist mecca, and all sites but one full in the local caravan parks; I took that one, which was powered, my first ever. I made full use of it!

Although the cruise proved to be a disappointment, the astonishingly narrow entry to the Harbour, Hell’s Gates, was amazing. The boat went through and then back, just to show it could.

The annoyingly jokey loudspeaker man told us that this harbour is five and a half times the size of Sydney Harbour. After seeing the entry to it I can see why it has not become a commercial one.

We had passed eleven of these round salmon fishing pens, all looking small and innocuous. The loudspeaker told us that they were the pride and saviour of Strahan, so to speak. He did not mention any of the adverse impacts, or that what lies below the surface is the major part of the ‘farms’, all foreign-owned.

He did not mention the endangered Maugean Skate, being further endangered by the de-oxygenation caused by the faeces and food waste.

Unique to Macquarie Harbour, and not called The Thylacine of the Sea lightly, this skate is a living Gondwanaland relic, and its extinction would have global significance.

The greenwashing I’d heard on the boat was common; unfortunately the skate is not cute and furry, like the koala. Oh, but I forgot; that’s now on the path to extinction too. So what chance does the skate have?

Well, with Jacqui Lambie fighting for it, maybe 50/50. Do read her rant, as the article has a lot of facts about the skate and the salmon industry too. Both state and federal governments are obliged to protect the skate; are you listening, Albo?

The boat stopped at the ex-convict penal settlement of Sarah Island, immortalised in Marcus Clarke’s novel, For the term of his natural life. It became a major boat building yard; now self-revegetated, it is only ruins and piles of bricks, but its story remains both intriguing and horrifying. ‘Hell’s Gates’ was named by the convicts, as it led to Sarah Island.

We do head up the Gordon River but only a short way, to dock at Heritage Landing in the UNESCO World Heritage Wilderness.

The best part was a moving video where Bob Brown spoke of how the collaboration between the ‘Pineys’, the descendants of the Huon Pine cutters, played a major part in saving this river from the dam. 

And of course Bob Hawke stepping in to stop it.

Are you listening, Albo?

The walk there was disappointing, although I could see by the tangled forest how hard it would have been for any convict escapees to get through.

We left the Gordon River and its hidden wilderness behind, me thinking this was the closest I’d get. I was later proved wrong…

The Tarkine Drive

by

The Tarkine Drive didn’t take me through any country that matched my image of the Tarkine Wilderrness. Turns out the Tarkine is a big and varied area and I was ignorant. It was taking me back towards Burnie…!

But near the end of it I did do some pleasant short walks, where tree ferns were so plentiful and well-spaced that they formed a sort of tree fern park, like at Julius River and Trowutta Arch.

And I kept being fascinated by the mossed tentative toe roots of big old myrtle trees.

Easy walking, gorgeous tree ferns – my kind of bushwalking.

Not to mention trees dotted with substantial fungi.

I think I am getting the hang of these cool temperate rainforests. Unlike the warm temperate ones I am used to, there are no vines, and there is always lots of moss.

But then I climbed up to the lookout at Milkshake Hills (don’t know why the great name), thanking my stars it wasn’t summer, as it was a hot, exposed and quite steep walk.

Totally different country, with totally different plants, all low. Mainly she-oaks and tea-trees, I think.

Across the button grass slopes below, the eucalypt forest showed how badly it had been burnt.

I saw button grass stretches, mainly on plains, everywhere; apparently they had been kept from returning to forest by indigenous fire management over centuries. And I’d say it is called button grass because its flowers/seed heads are like small buttons on the end of the long stalks.

Too tired of driving to care, I camped that night at Waratah; not recommended!

Coast to country

by

This is the ‘Edge of the World’ at the mouth of the Arthur River. I was struck by the piles of huge logs on every beach; not your usual driftwood.

The sea here is wild, so I can see how it could bring such timber onto shore. I try to imagine being shipwrecked on this west coast.

In every direction there are high log piles, on rocks as well as beaches.

This is in the Arthur-Pieman Conservation Area, 100,000 protected ha. and part of the Tarkine area.

That night I camp in one of the many bush nooks in the Prickly Moses campground. Although the strip is well shielded from the western sea, the surf is so loud and relentless that even with my hearing aids out it is hard to sleep.

I keep thinking of that wild surf at the Edge of the World.

An amazing sky greets me as I head out on what is called the Tarkine Drive. I learn that the road to Corinna, which I had planned to take, is closed due to the ongoing fires. More plan changes…

The Arthur-Pieman is mainly coastal heath, and flat.

I soon find myself among plantations again, where these speed breakers are frequently inset on the roads.

i don’t think I know any more what natural bush looks like here, as beyond the road sides I keep seeing the regular monotony of vast plantations.

The other common roadside feature was settings of beehives; they aren’t kidding about the significance of the Tasmanian honey industry. I can see why you aren’t allowed to bring honey into the state.

I didn’t, but I’ll be taking a lot out…

Round the Nut

by

Walking around the town of Stanley, I was impressed that it was still a working fishing port. Lobsters seem a big part of this, as you can see from the traps.

It’s not a commercial port any more, but was very important once, given that there were no roads in. Timber came first, but sheep farming was the aim of the settlement.

It is full of charming historic houses from the 1840s. Almost every one is now a holiday rental, if it’s not a museum.  The shops are now mostly cafés.

But I see that estates are planned and being sold…

I managed the Zig-zag walk up to the Nut, slowly; the chairlift does not appeal.

I walked around the top, which is mostly heath type vegetation, and discover a forest of real trees hidden in a sheltered dip of the Nut’s top.

Looking back, it is a secret place amongst much desolation.

The Nut and the surrounding hills were once covered in stringybark trees; all felled. Even where it was unusable tea-tree, it was cleared: sheep need grass.

A very common plant up there was this Coastal Saltbush, with its bright red fruits just starting to show.

As I walked I noticed vast areas of the centre were filled with what seemed a weed, and it was: hemlock. They also have a gorse problem up here on top of the Nut.

I was wondering what feral animal could be doing all this digging, but then saw several signs informing me that these were the nesting burrows of the migratory Short-tailed Shearwater birds.

In stark contrast to the wildlife of the Nut is the historic site of Highfields House. 

Built for the Van Diemen’s Land Company agent Edward Curr, this elegant Scottish-flavoured house was largely made from items brought on their first ship. Can you imagine all the fittings and furniture, the windows and doors,  even the nails, that came all that way?

Hardly a humpy!

But the planned sheep enterprise failed; the sheep didn’t like Tassie cold. Timber, land sales and horse breeding did better.

I loved seeing the lath and plaster construction behind all that elegance.

Outbuildings and the cellars were of stone, like the perimeter wall that was meant to protect the gentry from the ‘natives’.

Now knowing that all those bare hillls around Stanley had been cleared, where on earth would the feared ‘natives’ have lived, or hidden?

Highfields is quite beautiful but it highlights the huge gulfs of the time in class and race.

I’m heading for the bush after this…

Weathering plans

by

Next day I woke early at Waldheim to pack and drive to the start of my big walk.

Raining.

As I am no hardcore bushwalker, I changed plans and sat in the van at the Ronny Creek carpark to wait to follow the first shuttle bus out. Following the bus is mandatory as the road is only one lane in parts. 

A few intrepid souls did set off on the boardwalk start from there. It was wet and cold. Am I a wuss or what?

I have since been told by several people that I was very lucky to strike one sunny day at Cradle Mountain.

So I guess I’d better take back that whinge…

On the way to Burnie (where I wasn’t meant to go; lost again!), I drove past many, many kilometres of plantation forests, at all stages of growth.  Including the clearfelled acres of what I could only hope had not been native forest.

Plantations are good for the timber industry, but as monocultures they do not make good habitat for wildlife.

Burnie used to be the heart of the wood chip industry, so known as the town ’where the forest meets the sea’… in piles of woodchips to go off in ships.

Next whinge:

I also passed many, many dead animals, roadkill. They were black and they were brown and some were just dark red smears; bodies by the side of the road, semi-squashed or whole bodies on the road (I veered to avoid these), and so many flattened flesh and fur splats that I wondered if locals deliberately drove over the bodies. 

I know in Queensland that driving over cane toads on roads was almost a sport… and they were live toads.

There was often a roadkill every 50 metres or so. Staggeringly frequent.

And no, I didn’t stop and take photos of them.

Many of the bodies were small mammals; hard to say what they once were. I am told there is so much roadkill because there is so much wildlife. Not sure if this makes sense as an excuse.

There are black possums here, but I wondered how many of the black splats were the endangered and carnivorous Tassie Devils, who are fond of roadkill.

There was plenty of mixed farming on hills that ran beside the coast to cheer me up. 

I’d decided to get to Stanley that night, to the famous Nut. 

And there it is, an obvious standout in the low coastal land.

It turned out to be Touristville, but nevertheless charming and fascinating, historic… and sad…

Dove Lake splendour

by

The shuttle bus lets us all off at the Dove Lake Visitor Centre, as modern and spacious as the main one. This is our first view of the lake around which we will walk for the next few hours.

There are many, many strangely shaped and often tall shrubs of what I am told is a Leptospermum, a tea-tree.

The sunlight is fitful, lighting patches on the opposite shore’s rocky mountain faces. I try to imagine them under snow cover.

The clear — and surprisingly not so cold — water laps at several sandy/gritty ‘beaches’.

On this side of the lake the path is easy, of boards overlaid with netting. It is narrow, skirting cliffs at times. I wonder why some people are ignoring the suggested clockwise direction for the walk; there is little space to pass.

I keep an eye on the clouds as they lift their skirts to show peaks, and then hide them again. Just as well I have a walking stick, since I am not always watching where I put my feet…

I suspect Dr Seuss designed quite a few of the trees here. The Pandani (Richea pandanifolius) are sort of ridiculous, with their tussocky heads and shaggy trunks covered in persistent dead leaves. They grow quite tall, and I can spot their stout pale trunks, like asparagus stalks, on the near mountain. There were quite a few at Waldheim.

Walking along the opposite shore, I pass several pebbly beaches below the steep slopes, where the tea-brown water is clear.

The vegetation is different on this second leg of the walk, not counting this pine which couldn’t decide which way to grow, so chose both.

I think these spectacularly coloured trunks belong to the Alpine Yellow Gum (Eucalyptus subcrenulata).

It’s a welcome distraction, as this side of the walk has too many steep and rocky step sections… uphill.

Looking back over the Boatshed (for kayaks) as I near the end of the circuit, I am so glad I did it, and that the weather stayed clear and the sky became blue. In fact, folk were stripping off to shirts as they walked.

Tomorrow I plan to get up early and do the Crater Lake Walk. Weather permitting, as I have been warned to keep in mind for here.

Waldheim pioneers

by

This is the view that Gustav and Kate Weindorfer would have had when they chose to build a chalet here at Waldheim (Forest home) near Cradle Mountain.

They are credited with inspiring the formation of this world famous national park. Gustav used to say he wanted ‘a national park for all people for all time’.

I encourage you to read this brief summary of their extraordinary story. 

The original Austrian-style chalet burnt down and a reproduction now exists, with interactive information. Kate facilitated his spending a lot of time up here building it… and there were no roads then. I found the relics of their efforts quite saddening.

Gustav liked to use the King Billy Pines common in the area, due to the straight grain of the timber. Shingles and boards for walls and floors were all from this timber.

On the Weindorfer Forest walk just behind their home there are some very large and old King Billy Pines.

Overall, it was a fantasy forest of twisted shapes and moss creations.

It looked like the moss had engulfed everything that had halted or lain down; I’m not sure I would call the inhabitants of this forest ‘trees’.

In fact, I think I disturbed some of its creatures in mid- action. Tolkein kept coming to my mind.

Sometimes the moss made a less fantastical shape, yet this perfect ball didn’t seem natural either…

The local wombats, appropriately furrier than our NSW ones, seem to have adopted the visitors’ amenities block as their home.

I was told that the local echidnas, smaller than ours, are also furrier… and with less spines.

Whinge alert:

My stay at Waldheim was less than idyllic, not the atmosphere for which I was hoping, as roadworks on the guest cabins’ carparks happened to have been postponed until the very two days I was there. Weather is paramount here.

So not only could I not partk next to my cabin but the roadworking machines outside the window and the smell of tar made it hard to rest after the next day’s walk around Dove Lake.

That walk was stunning, as you’ll see next post, but I needed that rest!

Green world plus

by

Arriving at Cradle Mountain Visitors Centre was like being plunged into Touristville. So many vehicles and so many people! Most would leave their vehicles here and get a shuttle bus, which runs every 15 minutes or so, up into the Park.

I was not able to check into the Waldheim Cabins until 2pm, so I did a few short walks down here. The Rainforest Walk and the Enchanted Forest Walks took me into a green world of mostly unfamiliar plants and trees.

In the open there was a field of Buttongrass, a sedge plant that grows in mounds up to 1m diameter, edged by Alpine Coral Fern. I liked the clever signs asking walkers not to leave the path: ‘Plants grow by inches but die by feet’.

The forest was mostly of Myrtles (Nothofagus cunninghamii), ragged of bark and mossed on their buttressed feet. It is not deciduous, but the new leaves will be reddish.

Some lichen (I think) was such a bright green that it put the moss to shame.

The green was relieved by the many fallen Myrtle leaves, dotting the moss like confetti, or caught in spiderwebs on the bark.

Grotesque shapes were united by the green moss, somehow ratified…. or preserved. They had become more sculptures than trees.

On several occasions the green was shockingly broken by a flash of reddish orange, a fungus growing in the cleft of a tree. It seems to be Strawberry Bracket (Aurantiporus pulcherrimus) but mostly was more of a ball, not open enough to form a bracket.

But there were other similar colour notes, as in the berries of this prickly shrub, which I think is Native Currant (Coprosma quadrifida) but it could be Mountain Currant Bush (Coprosma nitida). I don’t have a Tasmanian Facebook group of boffins as I do in NSW and Queensland, so I’m guessing, depending on books…  so don’t quote me!

I am sure of these prolific small plants, called Mountain Rocket for their hanging bunches of flat red papery fruits (Bellendena montana).

Dainty and simple white cup blossoms of this small shrub (unidentified) proliferated in more open parts of the walks.

Also white, but not exactly blossoms, were my favourites, and they were lichen that seemed to have opened up… again, I think!! Wish I knew more about lichens. They were scattered over the ground as if they were indeed blossoms, fallen from a tree.

Next post I’ll take you to Waldheim and the amazing world of Kate and Gustav Weindorfer.

Tassie Spirit

by

Being in a slow-moving queue of cars and caravans and motorhomes and campervans for a few hours while dawn breaks is not pleasant. Nor is getting up before 5am without even a sunrise in mind… and no breakfast.

I was worried about getting lost again, as I had the afternoon before, so took the advice of the showground camp manager and followed the ‘conga line’ of caravans heading for the Geelong terminal for the Spirit of Tasmania ferry.

But once through the terminal, waiting in the open, I saw this odd rainbow band in a dense dark cloud that had been sort of pink a little earlier. A treat.

Fortunately the loading of about 500 vehicles was well directed by the many staff. It must be a logistical nightmare as to where to put what. I and my ‘low campervan’ ended up in the bowels on the ship, facing the wrong way in a very packed level to get back up the ramp later.

Many people headed to the windy deck rails to watch as we left Victoria and the mainland behind. This is Point Nepean, on the tip of the Mornington Peninsula.

It was a quarantine station, but its main fame is as a navy base, since it was from here that the first shot of the First World War was fired for the British Empire. It missed the German cargo ship, as innocent of the war declaration as those who had cleared it to leave. However, it had to turn back. 

In the Second World War, the first shot of the Australian forces was also fired from here.

The other side of the ‘heads’ was Point Lonsdale, and you can see how the ocean waves of Bass Strait were already distinctly different from the calm waters through which we’d been steadily travelling.

There was a small amount of sea leg swaying, but not enough for sea sickness. I was wary as I ate my pizza…

And about 6.30 that evening, we had our first sighting of the Tasmanian coastline, with high mountains appropriately looming.

A long wait for all those vehicles to be guided out, but in all an easy day trip… and I will count it as my first ocean voyage. Is Bass Strait an ocean? We’d crossed 448 kms of nought but heaving white-capped waves, so I think it is.

If I did it again, I’d know to first of all grab two comfy seats (so you can put your shoeless feet up) by a window and bags them for the day, and avoid any TV or video game screens, or proximity to kids’ entertainment.

So after a catch-up day in Devonport, watching other Spirits depart or enter, I’ll head to Cradle Mountain tomorrow. Can’t wait!

Flatness freaking

by

After leaving the most uncharming Condobolin I drove for ages through flat, flat land. Until I went to the NSW north-west near Narrabri in 2010 to research for the coal book, I had never seen such flat land, where the vast paddocks disappeared into dancing mirages.

Here in Central NSW it was the norm.

Cleared for sheep or wheat, broadacre farmed, bisected by long, long straight roads. Any rare bend was treated as an event and much advised.

I was appalled at the scale of historic clearing.

From uncharming Lake Cargelligo I could look back at a forest fire I’d driven past, and hope it would be extinguished.

Somehow I took the wrong way out of West Wyalong and drove hundreds more kilometres in flat cleared land.

Even where it undulated a bit, it was cleared and machine striped. Man-machinery-manipulated. 

Sometimes it was colour striped, as the soils ranged from orange to pink; never just brown.

I had to get used to the orange clouds I saw being dust, rather than the nitrous oxide ‘blasts-gone-wrong’ of the coalfields.

I was beginning have to quell a rising panic after several days of such flatness, over thousands of hectares; I am, after all, a Mountain Woman. 

Would this sort of country ever end? Let me up higher, soon! I needed elevation like I need air.

Any isolated rise in the land was notable, and feted. Unsurprisingly and unimaginatively, this is called The Rock.

With the Lachlan Sculpture Trail fresh on my mind, when I first saw this monumental steel structure I stopped, perceiving it as another such creation. 

It could have been, as yet unfinished, with no wires, and sci-fi creature-like.

But there were hundreds of them, standing in readiness across the flatlands, some with workers still high up in their entrails.

I stopped in Mathoura near the closed Info centre to check emails, hotspotting off my phone, then drove to Swifts Creek campground in Murray Valley National Park.  It was the furthest along the riverside dirt road of any campgrounds there, but not very appealing…

Getting my van set up just as I like it, level, panels facing north, etc. took a while; then I thought to check reception.

No phone. Emptied everything out, shone the torch under seats. No phone.

Heart sink.

Packed up, took some Rescue Remedy drops and a deep breath, drove all the way back to Mathoura to where I’d last used it, trying to work out what I’d do.

Searched and searched again. Scuffled leaves in the gutters even. No phone.

Found the police station, which was shut.

BUT, hanging from the door handle of that station was my phone.

Thank you, thank you, honest Mathoura person!!

The joy almost made up for the depression of the flatlands…