Tasmania

Lake St Clair

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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

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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?

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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

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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

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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

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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…