Tasmania

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“What would you like to do tomorrow?”

“How about a hike?” I suggest.

This is how I came to be traipsing round Salamanca market on Saturday looking at clothes and jewelry with Mags and Karen, Malcolm having wisely dropped us off and headed back home. We’re moving at snail’s pace and I’m walking as slowly as I can, but after a few minutes I glance around they’re stuck in another stall. Eventually, I pace up and down doing laps of the market; at least I get a walk of sorts. Eventually, we head off to a bar on the square behind the market to celebrate Mags’ two cute new tops.

We’ve arrived coincidentally for the start of the Sexpo exhibition in Hobart town centre. While sipping our drinks we watch as a man in a pink top hat and matching codpiece, and not much else, walks into a local café and comes out with several Devonshire cream teas. We later see him sharing these at the side if the exhibition with some men in leathers and beards.

Next day, the other three take pity on me and we head to Mt. Field national park.

We have a really enjoyable walk through a beautiful emerald forest full of never ending trees and giant ferns, the stream’s promise always nearby. We see a couple of Pademelon. No, not an exotic Irish fruit, but a small marsupial.

 

 

 


















Next we head on up further where the temperature drops 8C but we’re still bathed in warming sunshine. A magical short walk around a small lake with gum trees with trunks of swirling reds and grays, and alpine bushes all fruiting with small berries in red, pink, black, white and tangerine.

One of the great things about Tasmania, and there are many, is that it is one of the few places left in the world where you can really get away from everyone else. The great South Western wilderness is one such area, and the part we chose to explore was Hartz national park. An alpine region above the tree line leading to magnificent views along the Huon valley.  

The walk is on a well maintained boardwalk that protects the delicate flora underfoot. There’s a myriad of plants here interspersed with crystal clear tarns and small lakes where crayfish burrows are glimpsed in the banks, all fringed by stony hills and peaks. A fragile moss here grows slowly in the cold climate, made up of thousands of tiny intricate plants meshed together for survival.

 

On the way back, we stopped at an apple museum (It wasn’t a long stop), and sampled some cider.

We drove out to the Tasman peninsula, south east of Hobart. Another scenic drive through country peppered with blow holes, worn sandstone cliffs and tessellated pavements. Our destination Port Arthur, a convict settlement and Tasmania’s most popular tourist destination. This is a large site built up during the nineteenth century with several buildings still standing and carefully restored such as the commandant’s cottage. The most prominent building is the penitentiary used for lodging convicts, the ones deemed the worst offenders in cells at the bottom. The settlement started modestly as a logging operation to replenish the timber stocks in the UK depleted from the Napoleonic wars, but soon expanded. The penitentiary started life as a mill, build over the creek. Unfortunately, the water flow was insufficient to drive the mill and convicts were used, like hamsters, to tread the wheels. This was dangerous work and resulted in several casualties.

We hopped aboard a ferry to ‘dead man’s island’ or ‘Ilse de mort’. This is where all the dead from the settlement were buried. The fist reverend of the town declared that convicts should not have headstones, so around 900 to 1500 bodies are here in unmarked graves. It was also used for free settlers, soldiers and their families, and later cnvicts who did erect gravestones. Our tour was conducted by a very entertaining Canadian chap of Scots descent who brought the place alive (no pun intended) with stories of a selection of the departed; how they come to be in the settlement, their ‘crimes’ life and eventual death. Needless to say, there were a few characters who ended up there. Back at the main settlement, we mooched around for a few hours wandering around the buildings including the ruined hospital and a cottage that housed some Irish nationalists and English Chartists; interesting to see that most of the Chartists’ demands have since been passed into law.

There was a feature in the local news about underwater hockey while we were here. People are actually trying to move a puck around a swimming pool floor while holding their breath. Apparently, Tasmania is a world leader.

Bay of Fires Walk, Tasmania

Another trip, another crazy walk.

We were picked up early on Saturday morning from our hotel in Launceston and transferred to the rendezvous point at Quamby where we packed our kit bags and met our fellow walkers and guides. Ours was a portered walk so we transferred our clothes and other stuff into a bag to be carried for us to camp, while we packed a day pack containing extra layers, raincoat, water and the all important lunch. Sheer luxury.

We drove out to Mount William National Park to start our walk watching the weather carefully. October in Tasmania was always going to be risky. We started out in fine weather but soon the sky filled in and the rain started. Just when we were all resigned to get soggy, the clouds parted, hallelujah, and we started in bright sunshine. We emerged from a small car park onto a small creek and a few paces later onto a pristine white beach on the North Eastern Tasmanian coast.

The walking was easy going, flat along the beach with a little scrabbling over some boulders. Beautiful, beautiful scenery, the sea gently sweeping in to the beach dotted occasionally with seashells of brilliant kaleidoscope colours. Sea birds busily working the shoreline with the bush providing a tranquil green border and haven for wallabies and forrester Kangaroos.

We ended our 1^st day at a semi permanent camp where our guides prepared a hot meal washed down with some excellent Tasmanian Pinot Nior.

We awoke to another sunny day albeit a little sleepy after a night of wind and rain kept us awake. We continued south to Eddystone Point Lighthouse, the most easterly point of Tasmania.

We were in a group of 8 walkers with 2 guides. The other six were one group from Sydney who were old friends getting together for a long weekend, so we were the outsiders, but made very welcome all the same. The 6 decided to plough on after a short lunch to make the lodge in good time to start partying, while we decided to stay a while and visit the old lighthouse that still warns shipping today. Hard to believe, but there are some people in the world even more desperate than us to reach the bar for refreshment. The lighthouse, built in the 1890s and manned until the mid nineteen nineties, is a sandstone structure standing 35 metres tall on the peninsula. Its closed but we peeped through the key hole (I wonder who lives in a place like this?) and glimpsed an impressive wrought iron circular staircase. The light used to be visible from 35 kilometers but caused some difficulty for local birdlife apparently causing them to crash into the surrounding area. With all ships now using GPS as the primary navigation guide, the light has been dimmed to help the birds and this appears to have solved the problem.

Back down at the beach we collected our bags and prepared for the walk into camp. The weather was really fine and quite warm so we were taking layers off and slapping on the sunscreen. But this is Tasmania, and 5 minutes later a strong headwind hit us. We quickly emptied our daypacks and put on all our layers as the rain and then hail started. The next 3km down the beach took a little while leaning 45 degrees into the wind, but great fun anyway. The approach to the lodge is gained via some scrabbling over orange boulders that capture millions of bi-valve shells as they are washed up, and finally up through some scrub for 500 metres.

The lodge is a wonderful place, all bright pinewood, a long rectangular structure containing 10 rooms and two shower / toilet blocks. There’s a long communal area where the kitchen and dining area flow into a comfortable lounge where soft sofas are arranged around an enormous log fire. The North wall is covered in glass flooding the area with light and providing a window on the bush where wallabies with joeys are regularly seen nibbling the vegetation. There is a deck at each end with deck chairs looking out towards the sea and up and down the coast. After a hot shower we joined the others for drinks and dinner.

We had quite an evening. The other guests were clearly hell bent on partying. The music was cranked up, the wine flowed and before long we had a catwalk competition and dodgy dancing. Mags even pulled out the old Abba Shovel dance.

Next day the others decided on a quiet day at the lodge which left me and Mags as the only takers for the days walking and kayaking. We were transferred upstream on the Anson river after a short 30 minute walk through the bush. Judy was waiting for us with our 2 man kayak. Mags took the front berth leaving me to steer in the back. The river runs a channel through a steep gorge that is covered with gum trees providing a sheltered and tranquil area. We set off at a leisurely pace immediately passing a lone blue heron. We drifted calmly downstream admiring the wildlife and scenery and emerged at the mouth of Anson bay an hour or so later, past a squadron of Pelicans. There’s no sheltering hills here and the wind was whipping up white horses. This was our bail out point. Nikki, our guide, asked us if we wanted to cross the bay or be picked up here. Of course, we decided to plough on. The wind was fortunately behind us so we raced across the bay practically surfing the waves laughing all the way. We paddled for show as the wind would have propelled us across on its own. We saw what appeared to be two men walking on water near the end of the bay but turned out to be fishermen collecting pipi shells in very shallow water.

We lunched at a pretty clearing in the bush still buzzing from our kayak and walked back to the lodge along a long beach of white sand passing some rolling sand dunes (‘orance!)

Tasmanian Road Tour

Karen and Malcolm kindly lent us their four wheel drive and we blasted off into the Tasmanian wilderness. We headed north to a small village called Westbury via the scenic route alongside the great lake. We stopped briefly for a couple of short walks; one amongst some rare pencil pines, slow growing trees some of which were hundreds of years old; and another to a small waterfall through some impressive giant ferns, the tops of which were illuminated by bright sunshine that pebbledashed the forest floor.

Mags couldn’t do too much with her heel so I spent a day walking to Meander falls which was a fairly oppressive uphill climb through forest finally ending at the falls that, true to their name, were a mere trickle of water running into a rock pool below, but was a beautiful and peaceful spot for my packed lunch. This certainly was getting away from it all, as I only saw one other couple all day, and a solitary tiger snake which fled in one direction nearly as fast as I did in the other.

Strahan

Gradually we made our way West to Strahan, a small village that appears to be owned by one company; the accommodation, the cruise, and all three restaurants. Unfortunately for us, this monopoly has led to standards slipping as they clearly don’t have to try too hard to keep their customers. The food in the restaurants was truly terrible which is quite an achievement considering that the raw produce is superb. The main reason for visiting Strahan is to take the cruise along Gordon river into the rain forest covered with antique pines. The half day trip is fantastic with the still, wood stained river reflecting the forest all the way along its banks. There’s a brief stop for a walk in the forest with information boards dotted strategically around providing details of the unique flora. We also stopped at yet another old convict settlement at Sarah Island, where there is the option of a guided walk along the ruins. We detached ourselves from the group and generally wandered around for an hour.

We stopped at Queenstown on the way back to Hobart, a mining town stuck strangely in the past; the kind of place that Captain Kirk and Spock used to beam down to. The buildings had the wild west feel as seen by a 60s TV director, and looked as if they might be made of polystyrene. The locals also seemed strangely odd, as if they could be aliens masquerading as country folk.

Back in Hobart Karen and Malcolm completely spoiled us with day trips all over the place and Karen’s fantastic vegetarian cooking. We spent many idle hours on their terrace overlooking the river watching the ships sail by including the QE2 that was in the harbour for a couple of days.

Maria Island Walk

We arrived in Tasmania ready for a fortnight of hiking and, with military planning, had no idea what we were going to do. We were staying with our friends Karen and Malcolm who moved here a year ago from Brisbane. Karen brought out loads of tourist brochures on the first night and suggested the Maria Island walk that she’d read a favourable article about. We called up with the expectation that it would be fully booked, but were pleasantly surprised that there was one place left, leaving the next day. Ian, the owner of the firm, happened to live in the same district of Hobart, Taroona and came over 20 minutes later to show us what the walk involved. It looked fairly easy going and our heels had apparently healed, so we felt fairly confident

We set off the next day and met our fellow hikers and guides in the centre of Hobart, Pam, Jenny, Geoff, Anne, Lawrie, Naomi with our guides Stephan and Rosie. All Aussies and from Sydney except for Noami who lives in Melbourne. Typically, most tourists here are Australian as foreign tourists tend to do Sydney, the reef, and Uluru, and then run out of time.

We piled into our minibus and embarked on a gentle hours drive to the north where we boarded our private boat for the transfer to Maria Island. We were taken to a beautiful deserted beach to start our walk, where we jumped down into the shallows for our first taste of the cool crystal clear Tasmanian waters. Maria island is split into two distinct halves separated by an isthmus, a narrow sand bank that links the north and south parts of the island. We walked the short distance across the isthmus from one beach to the other where we were greeted by the rotting corpse of a seal. At least it kept the flies away from us. After a quick sandwich lunch we hauled our packs a short distance to our camp for the night. Yes, Mags and Gary camping – keep watching for those flying pigs. Each couple had a small, semi-permanent canvas cabin equipped with twin beds with foam mattresses. We slept in sleeping bags with the flap down and zipped to keep the bugs out so it was fairly comfortable. We can’t really claim to have been roughing it too much.

After settling in we trudged off on a hike across the southern part of the island to haunted bay. There’s a well worn path through the bush that takes about an hour at a brisk pace. Naomi charged off in front and we practically had to jog to keep up with her.

The end of the bush walk drops down steeply and clears to a large shelf of orange and green rock overlooking the bay. Stephan produced a few snacks from his backpack and we munched while watching dolphins and seals playing in the bay. Scrambling down the last few hundred metres, we encountered numerous fairly penguin fledglings, peering inquisitively at us from crevasses in the rock, where their parents make their nests. Some are surprisingly high up the cliff and it must be very hard work for the adult penguins to carry the catch up to feed the chicks.

On the way back Mags’ heel started to flare up again which wasn’t great as we had another 3 days of walking ahead of us. Back at base camp, we all made the short walk to the beach for a quick swim before dinner. This was also the only way really to wash as there are no showers at camp, just a composting toilet and some tank water from a small tap. The water was cool, but not cold, very invigorating. We all stuck closely to Jenny who is a life saver at Manley.

Later at camp we sat down to our first gourmet dinner cooked by Stephan, ably supported by the diminutive Rosie. The menu for the walk has been designed by top chefs, with complementary wines specially chosen. Our first meal consisted of scallops with black rice together with superb local Pinot Noir, really wonderful.

Next day we set off for a walk predominately along the coast northwards taking in five different beaches. This was easy walking which was just as well as Mags foot was deteriorating, but she limped along slowly at the back like a trouper. We paused at an old farm house. The island has a rich history, including its most recent use for agriculture. Now the whole island is a nature reserve with only one permanent resident, the park ranger. There are no cars, just a few cycle tracks and plenty of walking trails making hiking a very pleasant and peaceful experience.

We lunched under a tree near an old prison, its remains perched on top of a grassy hill overlooking the sapphire sea. These convicts must have been particularly unlucky to end up here; mainland Australia must have been a remote outpost back then (Well OK, it still is). But not content with that, these poor devils were expelled to the Island to the south, and then to an island off Tasmania. They might as well have been on the moon.

Our second camp was also conveniently located close to a beach where we again washed away the day’s exertions in the ocean. We became very excited at sighting two Cape Barren Geese that were wandering lazily along the beach. These protected animals are quite striking with their large blue, grey bodies and yellow beaks. They are very docile and let all of us get to within 5 metres or so to take pictures. It’s a good job for them that they are protected as they look like they would make a wonderful roast. They are probably roughly the same size as turkeys, but can fly really well. We needn’t have got so excited as we discovered dozens of them later in Darlington.

We had a relatively short walk to Darlington on our third day, although not without some excitement as Pam nearly trod on tiger snake that was sunning itself on the path. She noticed it just in time and it slithered quickly away into the bush. The tiger is one of 3 types of snakes found on Maria, all extremely poisonous. We had time on the way to spend a short time at the ‘painted’ caves. These are rock formations next to the beach with startling shapes and colourful stripes weathered by the sea.

Our base for our last night was an old colonial house beautifully restored to its former glory by Maria Island Walks, complete with a piano in the drawing room. We had a large room with a comfortable double bed and hot showers, sure bliss after our two nights in sleeping bags. Mags headed straight for the bath tub as she was all aches and pains by now and had limped in with gritted teeth. A few of us hardier souls decided to hike up Bishop and Clark, one of two hill walks available from Darlington. Naomi set off at breakneck speed as usual and, before long, the two of us were out of sight as we climbed steadily towards the peak. The more sensible walkers kept up a steady pace further back. The peak is 600 metres high and we inevitably slowed down as we trudged on. There’s a fair bit of clambering over rocks near the top, but we managed it without too much trouble and were joined at the top by Jenny and Rosie, the others having sensibly turned back to base. The views from the top are impressive, perched on the peak over a sheer drop of 600 metres to the sea below. We were feeling fairly pleased with ourselves when we were joined by a small group who were cycling around Tasmania. They had already cycled 70 kms that day and had hiked up here as an ‘extra’.

Darlington was initially established as a penal colony and later in the 19th century by the entrepreneurial Italian immigrant Diego Bernacchi as the centre of the island, and has been carefully preserved with interesting exhibitions in some of the many buildings left over from the previous settlements. One describes the story of William Smith O’Brian, a prominent Irish dissident who was exiled hereby the British for seeking Irish independence. Bernacchi seems to have been a man way ahead of his time. He tried wine making, tourism, and cement making on the island in a vain attempt to establish a prosperous settlement, but was doomed to failure.

On our last day we had the morning at leisure to explore Darlington before catching the ferry back around lunchtime. I spent a few hours strolling around town and decided to visit the nearby fossil cliff that, no surprise, is a cliff face of sedimentary rock containing countless tiny fossils from millions of years ago. It was these rocks that Bernacchi was turning into cement, but thankfully he left enough behind for scientists and tourists to examine.

The walk was a wonderful experience and we were lucky in having terrific guides and a convivial group comprising mostly of slightly more senior, ‘grey’ tourists. We were again the youngest, together with Naomi who is a nurse from Melbourne. She was great fun and a bit of a worry to all of us. At a rock pool near the painted caves she pointed to a Warratah Anemone and said to me, “Touch that Gary, it feels just like a pregnant cervix.” Given that I’m not likely to experience the real thing, or want to for that matter, I delved straight in.