From Chudleigh we headed ‘down south’. Well actually our route was more ‘up & down, than down. We truly had not appreciated how mountainous Tasmania was prior to our arrival. Nor indeed had we appreciated Tasmania’s size – we have named it the ’Tardis Island’ – bigger on the inside than on is on the outside. So much country squeezed inside it’s shores.
Our route took us up the Western Tiers, to the Central Plateau, stopping part way up to visit Liffey Falls. This series of pretty waterfalls accessed by a narrow track signposted for ‘short wheelbase vehicles only’ (if you wanted the shortest walk once parked). We did, because back at Trowunna Wildlife park my knee had given way on me whilst crouching to look at Tassie Devils, & continued to be painful & restricted, particularly on steep inclines. Another thing about Tasmania, unlike other parts of Australia, their road signs don’t mess about, they mean what they say! We managed to drive the very tight hairpin bends without dropping a wheel over the edge, but much care was required. The falls are a well publicised & popular tourist attraction, so once there we found plenty of other folk. Places of serenity are not quite the same when the sound of running water & birdsong has been replaced by human sounds. It was still pretty though, despite surprisingly low water flows.
Reaching the top of the Plateau gave us views over the Great Lake, you can see it on a map, but the first glimpse tells your senses that ahead lies almost an inland sea, at an altitude of around 1200 metres.
However the Great Lake is just a small part of the Plateau’s water holding ability. There are a huge number of lakes & waterways across the Plateau, a wild untamed place not unlike the moors of the Scottish Highlands. Rocky outcrops & small tumbling rivers emerge & snake through the scrub.
The Great Lake, like many coastal spots, sprouts ’shacks’. Some basic, some dilapidated, & some architect built, but all places of recreation & fun. We have heard that Tasmania has the highest percentage of shack owners & boat owners in the country. This is fishing & waterskiing country. Every second vehicle has a boat in tow. Perhaps we mistook what we saw, but it felt as though we were passing through ‘bogan country’, a place of ‘natural beauty unappreciated’ but where big motors, beer & the freedom to open the throttle whilst taking another swig were the go. Our limited evidence for this damning statement was uncared for appearances, litter (especially beer bottles & cans), roadsigns shot well & truly dead, a predominance of utes & loud exhausts. Yes I’m over generalising but this was our impression – & hence not somewhere we wanted to stay, especially as any decent camping spot had already become shacksville. Now don’t get me wrong, I love the idea of the relatively unregulated shack culture, but here it just seemed that rather than adding something special to the country it was instead degrading it. Thankfully we had already been given advice on where to go to camp in country that is much as it has always been & took a right turn at Liawenee, following a track which took us deeper into the Tasmanian moors, to places populated only by the occasional passionate fly fishermen lured by the promise of large trout.
The track wound back & forth for 20 or 30 kms, even taking us over dam walls at times, past tracks straight across lakes accessible of course only when low water levels allow, eventually petering out & becoming a much narrower track signposted ‘for high clearance vehicles only’ . They weren’t joking – we followed this track for a couple more kms, at slower than walking pace, rocking & rolling over large rocks sticking up out of the ground.
The Tvan just followed us along. At one point we saw a vehicle approaching us in the distance & pulled over, when we could, to wait to allow him to pass. As he drew level with us he wound down his window & called out “Where are you going with that?” We stopped when we found a small clearing large enough for us to turn around, right alongside a small lake & enjoyed a night by ‘our own’ private lake, shared only with a few ‘Forester’ Kangaroos , & a spotted quoll which wandered into our camp before scurrying off as soon as it realised we had intruded into it’s place. Needless to say attempts to hook a trout were a predictable dismal failure. I came to appreciate the value of fly fishing in water where the bottom is covered in boulders & rocks perfectly designed to snag every lure I tried.
After our night on the ‘moors’ we rocked & rolled our way back to the main track, & followed it back to Lianwee & the main (albeit still gravel) road, again continuing southward to the small settlement of Derwent River. No doubt once important as a place to cross the Derwent, but today as the location to visit the nearby & heavily promoted Lake St Clair, a jewel in the Parks & Wildlife’s portfolio which is milked for all it’s worth, the lakeside infrastucture being far greater than for the township of Derwent Bridge itself. Hundreds of cars parked & a multitude of ‘serious bushwalkers’ wearing the latest gear & carrying large packs to set off on, or returning from the iconic ‘Overland Track’, a multi day walk taking participants through the delights of country & weather only available to the committed. Part of me would have loved to undertaken that trek, but another part (specifically my bung knee) said otherwise. MrsTea also said not! Instead we took one of the many shorter walks, probably not the most therapeutic activity for a knee needing rest, but hey, when you’re there ya gotta do it! I limped back to the car some 3 hours later having enjoyed seeing a surprising variety of interesting & pretty country but sadly none of the iconic views associated with Lake St Clair, presumably these being reserved for those with better knees!
We camped a short distance outside Derwent Bridge alongside yet another large lake, Lake King William, where we rested up for a couple of days whilst trying & failing yet again to catch a fish.
There is today another major attraction at Derwent Bridge.It is known simply as ’The Wall’. Before leaving for Tassie, everyone we spoke to who has been to Tassie, EVERYONE, said “Don’t miss The Wall”. This we were told was a hugely impressive piece of art, a wall 100 metres long & twice the height of a man, constructed of multiple large panels of sculpted Huon Pine, depicting the history of Tasmania from the sculptor’s perspective. It sounded worth a look & the modest entry fee was not hard to part with. I thought I knew what we were paying for, but once inside I realised I had underestimated. Not only is the workmanship exquisite in it’s execution, the sculptors view of the the genocide conducted against the local Big River Tribe & indigenous peoples more generally, through to the unsustainable use of natural resources past & present, whilst encompassing the sweat & hardship of all who have populated this country met with my own personal views, but expressed them in such a powerful way that no one could fail to be moved by his work. As I turned the first corner & saw the wall for the first time it took my breath away & I was almost overcome by emotion. My eyes were very moist! As I slowly absorbed detail after detail I heard another chap whisper to his partner that “This is truly a National Treasure”. I felt like correcting him by saying “No mate, this is a World Treasure” but said nothing not wanting to appear facile, nor to interrupt his moment. Full size figures who’s carved & polished clothes look as though they are as soft & flowing as the real thing. Facial expressions which in themselves tell a story. Absolutely remarkable & all set in a huge purpose built building where every detail has had the artists attention. So……… to all those folk who told us not to miss The Wall I say a huge thank you, & to anyone planning a visit to Tasmania in the future I say “Dont miss The Wall!” (No pics of The Wall as photography is not allowed …. understandable as photos simply could not do the real thing justice, it really does need to be appreciated in it’s entirety).
We needed to get to Cygnet for our folk festival commitments & what has become the ‘Tasmanian norm’ influenced our ‘pushing on’. The ‘Tasmanian norm’ is it’s unpredictability. Unlike anywhere else we have travelled it just seems harder to know what is ahead. This applies particularly to driving conditions, driving times & weather. All can fluctuate greatly & do so regularly. ……. and so we felt the need to get somewhere close to Cygnet, so we knew with a degree of comfort we could manage to be on time. To achieve this we drove through many places stopping only briefly or not at all, until within a short distance of our goal. Down from the mountains, leaving behind the green, into straw coloured hills where rainfall was obviously less, into & through the island’s capital of Hobart & stopping when we found a lovely little waterside ’stealth camp’ on the coast some 60kms south of the city where we rested for a couple of nights, waking each morning looking out across the D’entrecasteax Channel to South Bruny Island from our bed. Alongside our hidden camp spot was a rocky promontory providing a perfect fishing platform where my optimism about catching a feed was once again ignited, helped by a couple of young locals who happily left me some bait when they finished up for the day. Oh joy of joy …… the curse has been broken …… fish were caught! One Flathead & 3 Wrasse, all duly cooked up. The Wrasse were not much good, flavour was ok, but very bony & a mushy texture. The Flathead was beautiful. This was our first night there.
Next day I tried to repeat my performance, with a view to getting some more Flathead ………. only to have it pointed out to me by a car driver who stopped by that I was fishing illegally in a ’no fishing’ marine reserve! Oops & bugger! Turned out he was correct, so that put an end to the days plans to become the great piscine provider……….. but there’ll always be another day & another place. 🙂 One day I’ll provide a full meal rather than just the starter!
Cygnet was now within easy reach & we took our time, exploring many of the small bays along the coast on the way. Our favourites were Randalls Bay & Abels Bay, but mention, only because of it’s quirky name must be made of Eggs & Bacon Bay. Really! 🙂
We arrived at Cygnet late afternoon, two days before the festival commenced & the day before we needed to sign in as volunteers, learn what was expected of us, & familiarise ourselves with the various locations throughout the town. We set up camp & observed the festival structure & community grow around us.
Our volunteer roles were ‘Traffic Management’ which we expected to mean car park attendants, walking up & down rows of cars showing patrons where to park. Turned out the roles were a bit easier than that. We each had two 3 hour shifts & one 4 hour shift over the 3 days, at similar times as each other as we had requested. One task was sitting at the end of a road preventing most folk from coming in to park, & just allowing certain festival traffic in (Performers dropping off instruments, folk setting up stalls etc) plus locals who lived along the street. The other was to take the $2 fees for parking in a paddock, whilst the SES volunteers did all running around to get patrons parked in neat rows. So the tasks were not onerous, although we were mostly on our feet. Not the best again for my knee, but I managed. What was rewarding were the frequent interchanges with all the folk we were dealing with. Mostly folk were appreciative of us orange shirt wearers & let us know. The festival itself was, apparently, unusually wet, with rain on & off for 2 of it’s 3 days, but all the main venues around the town were indoors so the impact was not huge, it just meant there were less day visitors for all the free stuff which happens on the streets & in the parks. Perhaps the many stallholders did less business, but the impact for festival ticket holders was minimal. So many performers, most of whom we had never heard of. So much great music from accomplished performers from around the world as well as local Tassie Talent. We expected a real smorgasbord of music & that is just what we got. Especially pleasing was the demographic of festival goers. The last folk festival we attended a couple of years ago had been attended by predominantly ‘old farts’ like us, & concerts where women sat & listened to footstomping music whilst doing their knitting & nattering together. It had the pair of us bemoaning the lack of vibrancy which goes with the presence of younger people. It seemed that 90+ percent of attendees were ‘old hippies’ now set in there ways. Alternative culture which had become mainstream. Not like it used to be where folk festivals were gathering places for alternative culture, political & eco-political commentary, optimism & anti-establishment energy. Well Cygnet’s demographic encompassed all ages & felt very much more like the festivals of our youth. Such gatherings always feel, for us, like ‘coming home’. They are venues where difference is accepted, even if only temporarily, & as such are validating places for anyone who views the world from anything other than a ‘mainstream’ vantage. point. When finished we left Cygnet feeling tired but nevertheless a little replenished.
Too much music & performers to list here, & many that we missed. At festivals like this it is always tempting to study the programme with a view to constantly venue hopping to see every band & performer of interest, but the reality is that it is far more relaxing & interesting to pick a venue/concert & see whatever is on. So we watched some whom we hoped to see, & had plenty of surprises & few disappointments. 4 bands/performers stood out for us. The most unlikely being a Japanese trio playing traditional Irish music! They did so with such energy, accomplishment & joy & were a real aural & visual treat. They had a strange name for a band, but we both highly recommend you take the opportunity to go see ‘John John Festival’ if you ever get the chance! Canadian Scott Cook was just as good as when we saw him a couple of years back at the ‘knitting’ festival – a wonderful wordsmith with the ability to place the emotions of daily life & universal truths into song in ways which everyone recognises. In the manner of Loudon Wainright 3rd, but in my view with an ability to connect with his listeners far more directly. Then there were The Edgelarks, a British duo from Devon. One playing dobro (slide) guitar & harmonica, the other fiddle, both singing. Together they were an impressive combo, but it was the dreadlocked chap’s harmonica playing which blew me away. Think Sonny Terry crossed with beatbox. Whew! Fantastic. And finally on my list of mentions were The Small Glories, more Canadians & another duo whose footstomping high energy goodtime music combined with audience communication skills went down a treat every time they played – & we saw them 3 times!
Early one morning we attended an ‘Earth Celebration’ MC’d by ex Franklin blockade organiser, ex Federal Greens Party leader & still passionate eco warrior, Dr Bob Brown, someone I have admired for decades, but had never seen personally before. “Everyone loves Bob” I overheard someone say & felt I could only agree. Later that day whilst on car park duty, Bob drove in, in his tiny little car & like everyone else handed me his 2 dollar parking fee with a smile. “Thanks Bob” I said with a self conscious grin on my face. He smiled back again & drove on to park his car. What I really wanted to do was to hug him & say ’Thanks for all you’ve done & continue to do”. Well I missed my opportunity & to make up for this I want to take this opportunity to share with you a video Bob shared with us. If the few minutes watching what the world famous Jane Goodall has to say about the current state of our planet either opens your eyes, makes you think, or validates the perspective you already hold & gives you some optimism then I know Bob would approve. Check it out (please) on Youtube at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=48mxaQtbUdU
And here are a few photos taken around Cygnet during the festival to give a feel for the event that words alone can’t convey.
I have to relate an incident to you all, a warning especially to bacon lovers , but also to anyone prone to talking with their mouth full. There I stood ‘on duty’ at the end of the road where I had been since 6am, now approaching 10am & feeling increasingly peckish, having missed breakfast. I (& my stomach) appreciated the arrival of MrsTea with some sausages & bacon purchased from the festival stall of the local “we smoke our own bacon’ butcher. Mmmm yum. As I ate the bacon, unknowingly complete with rind (we always trim the rind before cooking) two of the supervisors stopped by, checking that all was ok & problem free. Well we all know that it’s rude to talk with one’s mouth full don’t we? So I tried to swallow the bacon in haste in order to talk. MrsTea is talking to the supervisor whilst I start coughing. Supervisor hands me some water which I attempt to drink but not too successfully, I’m still coughing. Their conversation continues whilst I come close to karking it. It’s only when MrsTea notices me bent double, having turned a good shade of blue, that they realise I am in real trouble. MrsTea having had no success slapping me on the back, without hesitation sticks her fingers down my throat & extracts the entire rasher of bacon, allowing me once again to breathe! I guess that may just stop me trying to talk with my mouth full, bloody scary it was! The crazy thing was after saving my life MrsTea began beating herself up, carrying on about having done the wrong thing, saying correct protocol is to wait until someone is unconscious before sticking fingers down throats because of the risk of pushing the obstruction further down. I’m just glad she did what she did when she did it!
From Cygnet we took the coastal route up north stopping to fish (no luck) & just enjoy the serenity of several of the multitude of small bays as well as to buy cheap cherries, the plumpest & juiciest you’ve ever seen, from one of the many Huon Valley orchards with roadside stalls, arriving in Huonville for a major re-stock before following the Huon Valley south again on the western side of the water. Down through Franklin to Geeveston where we are now camped for the next day or three. Sun is shining. After setting up camp we made a foray to the little town’s renowned lolly shop (that’s sweet shop for the English among you all) – ‘The Wall Of Lollies’. So much to choose from including many English lollies we recalled from our childhoods. A child with his parents, & with eyes like saucers, was taking forever to make his choices, frustrating the father. I assured him (the father) that in a place like this making choices didn’t get any easier with age! We did finally leave with several bags of different teeth rotting sugary delights as well as an ice cream each from the huge selection of flavours. We’ll try to make them last …. honest! The weather forecast is good & we are now looking forward to a couple of lazy days perhaps with some gentle (ie. minimal walking) touring around the area, before continuing south as far as it’s possible to drive.