Cradle Mountain is definitely not for the nursery

We had quite an unexpected good night last night. While we had not any prior knowledge, given that we got not only the last room at Cradle Mountain Highlanders, but the last room at Cradle Mountain period, I did not really hold the highest expectations for our accommodation. Perhaps I should have. For despite the quaint presentation, the cabin was very comfortable and apart from the over-priced Peppers Lodge, it was the closest to the action on the mountain. The small heater disguised as an olde-time wood burning stove, was ever so effective. Gen sweltered whilst I was toasty and ever so comfortable. We turned the heater down and even opened the door - in galloped the cool (cold) air and even I find it refreshing. The bedding was comfortable and I enjoyed nestling down in to a pillowy mattress under the warmth of woollen blankets and throws. However there was one terrifying moment when a leg cramp caught me in the wee hours of the morning. Gen worked wonders with some excellent massaging and it wasn't long before I was again enjoying warmth under the bedding.

This morning dawned bright and clear.  Gen's phone was informing us that the outdoor temperature at 7:30am was 9.1 degrees, but felt like 1.9 degrees. And I certainly wasn't going to argue with that - it seriously was that cold! But it was a lovely, sunny day. and there was much to look forward to.

Now, I am not sure how Cradle Mountain was given its name. It certainly has nothing to to with infants. And the only nursery it resembles is that of a cloud nursery - like any mountain of size. What I can tell you is that this whole area is the result of millenia of nature at work - the building of the initial range through the violent works of volcanic actions which was then followed by the work of water - in its liquid and solid states. There is still plenty of evidence of the work of one or more major glaciers - the steep side valley sides formed in the wide U that they leave in their wake, and still more recent waters trickling or roaring, from spot to spot dependent on where you are. Streams feed into the numerous lakes on the plateaux.

We drive across the road (almost quite literally, that was how close the Highlanders was to the entry of the Park. At this early time of the morning, we are amazed at the parking - not the lack of, but the plentiness of it! Fortunately for me, my Disabled Parking access allows me to get as close as I can to places to see, and thing to do. However, as the distances are not short, Gen has decided that this morning should be a wheelchair outing rather than crutches. The Visitor Information Centre has been well designed. It is striking in weathered steel and Tasmanian timbers, yet blends sympathetically into the apline landscape. The story of the first peoples, their understanding of such a delicate environment and their guardianship of the same is told with pride and reverence. The explanations of the development is both comprehensive and yet written in such a way to be understood by people of all levels of comprehension. Quite and art, as anyone who writes will know (😉😉 )

As we had purchased out National Parks Pass at the Visitor Information Centre in Hobart, there are no further payments needed to enter into and partake of the wonders of this place. I am quite amazed that there is not additional cost to access such splendour.  The information staff are very obliging and helpful in their suggestions of walks that are suitable for both the wheelchair and, for crutches. So it is decided, we will do the Dove Lake walk as far as the iconic Boat Shed - you know that one that graces almost every other poster for Tasmania - a simple, old boat shed sitting lonely by a lake. All starts well, we board the wheelchair accessible electric/diesel hybrid fuelled bus that departs almost without noise, almost as if not to interrupt the surrounding. If only it weren't huge and bright blue! Fails miserably to be unnoticed due to those two factors! It is a twenty minute ride to cover the ten kms from the Information Centre to Dove Lake. 

Our drive is a true Aussie icon. He has a sense of humour as dry as a cracker, sharing hilarious stories and jokes. Like the one where he tells the passengers of the last lady who died in the lake ( a doctor) after being "bitten on the bum" and followed it with the statement, almost as an afterthought that all others died in hospital! All too soon, we are at our destination - almost too soon! As the wheelchair is cumbersome and hardly a dainty exposure from a bus, we are the last to alight. This gives the opportunity for all the other people on this bus (they are full, with yet another bus-load waiting when we left our departure point.) The best of that is that by the time we are off, all the other people have already set out on their treks - some of them took their jaunts very seriously and I guess they might be in for the full 5-7 day walk of the Overland Trek - good on them. I have far less pretentious expectations - the Boat Shed will do me just fine. We walk along the boardwalk that meanders through the delicate landscape. I must commend the National Parks Service - they insist on people staying to formed paths, and then provide the means to effortlessly do so.

And then, disappointment looms. Ahead of us are a set of broad steps. No railing. Too narrow for the wheelchair, too wide for by current step. In other words, a roadblock so to speak. Bugger. I did so want to see it with my own eyes. But, it is what it is, as is my latest mantra. I insist that Gen continue on to see it. I have the most beautiful backdrop to my wait. Looking across the still waters of Dove Lake to the majestic peak of Cradle Mountain with its sweeping expanse to the valley below and the slightly taller Barn Bluff with the clouds enveloping its tallest peaks. They lift, and settle. As though the mountain itself is breathing, in and out, in and out. It is cathartic. And beautiful. Walkers in both directions pass me, waiting in my wheelchair. Most bid a good morning, the occasional one concerned that I am alone. I am happy to wait, watching one of the true wonders of the world while waiting for Gen. In time, she returns and we re-trace our steps to the bus. Disappointed that we have a different driver (sounds unfair).

Back at the Visitor Centre, it is time to warm up a little - yay, coffee! Gen and I shared a Tasmanian Meat Pie and a delightful piece of Coconut Kakadu Plum slice - fashioned after our grandmothers' coconut jam slice, but instead of a crushed biscuit base, this has a light chocolate sponge which allows the jam and the coconut to shine. Once done, it is back to the car. The receptionist had earlier explained that there were two flat, mobility friendly walks that we could do. The Rainforest Walk left from the back door of the Ranger Station. It is well designed for those with mobility restrictions, or for prams or little feet eager to run and jump. It follows a gentle grade down the hill to a small brook that leads into the Pine River falls that topple noisily over a rock ledge into the lower stream. Framed by Pencil Pines and myrtle trees, there is so much more to see. Signs remind walkers to not only look up, but also to look down. On the forest floor there is the detrious of the seasons passing, breaking down to provide feed for the lichens and the amazingly green, lush carpet of mosses. There are the sporadic fungi - a more common brown one and then right at eye level, an orange coloured, and orange named one, quite rare for this time of the year - more commonly seen around Christmas. Large and spongy, it looks right in place, and yet, is not. The sign for the Rainforest Walk says it is a 10 -20 minute walk and I am pleased to do it in under the half-hour with my crutches.

Back at the Ranger Station, a sign directs us 80m towards the Enchanted Walk - the other one recommended . At the end of the 80m, we come to a pedestrian crossing at the road with another sign pointing a further 30m on. At that point we have reached the start of the Enchanted walk path. Supposedly a 900m walk, traversing a much more open landscape now. Still some of those mosses but with few trees, and instead bushes of heath and bushes of native leptecophylla juniperina - the Mountain Pinkberry - supposedly edible, but Gen looked horrified when I said that i would eat one!
By now, in the base of the valley, and with the wind dropped, it is becoming warm, in fact very warm. I am still wearing my new cold-weather wind-proof jacket. Its heavy on my shoulders and I am really now feeling the length of these walks. Its time to recognise that I have limitations. We abandon the walk about 600m in and return to the road. I cross the small bidge, taking photos of yet more waterfalls, so I can reach a spot where Gen can bring the car to a stop.

Its now time to set out for Queenstown. The afternoon sun is dipping and the air has a decidely nippy edge once I had rid my shoulders of that jacket! We travel along the road with little other traffic. Probably just as well. The roads continue to travel up and down mountain sides, weaving around the bases of the peaks. There is evidence of landslips, and much roadworks, like in many places across the land. Whilst the state road speed limit might be 100 (unless otherwise posted, as we are oft reminded), poor Gen spends most of the time driving at about 60-65 kph. We head for Queenstown, and having read of the Montezuma Falls on a number of the Tasmanian Facebook pages, turn off but abandon the road in after about 6kms of narrow winding twists and turns when we cannot discern how much further the falls are on what has become a gravel road. Having missed the first turnandtowrds Queenstown, and so drive toward Rosebery and towards Zeehan before turning again towards Queenstown.

I obviously had not done enough research. while we are staying in Queenstown because of the lack of accommodation at Strahan, there is much to know of here. Perhaps the name of the motel, the Gold Rush Inn, should have provided a clue, but it didn't! Queenstown is a major mining town. Once a bustling centre of alluvial gold mining, they  now mine copper and have major hydro investments.  There is evidence of mining infrastructure from the past years, and you cannot miss the sight of current mining operations - the mine towers over the town - like a festering sore on the landscape. Whilst the mining operations must still clearly contribute well to the company that controls it, the town shows little of that wealth. The town, although with an air of permanence, looks and feels tired. I am not sure whether the dwellings are impacted by the outputs of the mine, or the lack of personal funds by the miners to spend on their homes.

The suite we have booked is large, we have a full kitchen, dining and loungeroom, bedroom and bathroom. I think that it might have been previously the manager's residence. And, joy of joys, we have Netflix! A bit puny of me, but tonight, sitting in front of the telly, eating Thai takeaway which rivals the best we have had anywhere, we revel in the tittilations of Season 2 of Brigerton!

Huonville to Cradle Mountain - most Taswegins don't go that far for their holidays!

An earlier start to the day today. Gen decided that she needed to sleep in another bed last night, so took herself off to one of the single beds in the family suite at The House on the Hill. Last night Paul had put out the fruit and vege scraps from the day for his visiting possums - daily visitors they are. About 8:30pm last night we could hear them arrive and Gen turned her camera to night mode and caught three red-handed with the paws in the bicky-barrel so to speak!

We had told Paul we didn't need dinner last night and when we returned, there were two bikes on the verandah - turns out the other guests tonight are a couple in their 60's who cycle just for pleasure! There is nothing pleasurable about the cycle up the very steep driveway to the B&B. Paul says that they were very knackered when they arrived!! We didn't see then - we think that they must have soaked in a tub and then gone straight be bed. Lord knows, if it had been me, Paul would have been digging my grave.

We book (well, try to book accommodation for Cradle Mountain. At first all we can find with a vacancy is the Peppers Resort at a ridiculous price, I tell Gen I am happy to splurge on this night, but now, that room is no longer available. We find one room - literally one room left on the mountain - the Bushman's Hut at the Cradle Mountain Highlanders. 

I posted the blog and we re-arranged clothes for the next day in Cradle Mountain.
Breakfast for both of us this morning is just a continental one - Gen doesn't want to be driving on a full stomach. After a quick peck on the cheek and a hug, we leave Paul ready for our next leg of this adventure.

 

We know that today is going to be the biggest day of driving that we will do, so I need to make sure that I am on top of my pain meds. Uhoh, that's right - we need to find a doctor pronto to have scripts re-written. We were smart enough to bring scripts with us, and even to have made arrangements to phone our surgery in Maryborough (Qld) to get more if needed. However, what none of us were aware of, is that a pharmacist cannot dispense a script written in another state. We didn't know, our doctor didn't know and more did my haematologist. But the first pharmacist we saw in Hobart did! Paul has advised that the Huon General Practice in the Main street was where he went. So after a quick trip to the local Woollies for coffee sachets (they are too expensive to buy at local shops), we call in to the doctor's practice. We explain our predicament, and I explain that I have Qld scripts AND a letter from my haematologist stating which drugs I am travelling with (experience told me to get this even though Dr Henden thought it was over-kill). The receptionists explain that the practice is fully booked for today - surprised? Not at all, this is a nation-wide issue. They tell us they will consult the doctor and see if she can squeeze us in). I can't thank Dr Tracey Rush for seeing us, and to her other patients for giving us fifteen minutes of her time. The receptionist apologises that the practice does not bulk-bill. That was the very least of my problems I assured her. Gen walks to the chemist next door to be told it will be a ten minute wait. And like ALL other pharmacies across the country - that 10 minutes stretches to 30.

Later than we had hoped, but pleased that we could now safely finish our trip with me covered for all my medications, we set off.  First stop was Willie Smith's Apple Shed again - to buy apples and the most delectable chocolate covered freeze-dried raspberries. OMG we wish these were growing on a tree up home! There has been rain forecast and now, the weather obliges - it is raining full on as we head back to Hobart before turning north-west on the Midland Highway for Cradle Mountain.

Now on the other side of the range, the rain has cleared and we are travelling in a beautiful autumn day. We pass the turn-off to MONA (been there done that) and continue to head away from Hobart towards the Midlands Highway. The suburbs of Hobart are thinning out and before long, we are in open fields. You know - those bucolic scenes (Gen has learned a new word) where cattle and sheep and horses graze on lush grasses. Overall, it looks dry, but orbital irrigators

We pass any number of tourist routes turn-offs and by the time we get to Kempton, we decide that it is such a small detour, that we will follow it for a look-see. Kempton is one of those quaint little towns filled with sandstone and timber homes of years gone by. Ooh, and there is a Distillery.  I didn't know this - or did I??! We pull up as the only other vehicle is leaving. It is one of those grand old lady of the era type of buildings - actually it was an 1840's Inn, that would be very comfortable against her British cousins. Beautiful rich sandstone, crushed sandstone paths around very neatly manicured garden beds filled with Lavender and Rosemary - and such healthy looking plants. There are only four steps up to the main entrance, but they are very high steps. We espy a sign that points to Disability Access around the back. In through the courtyard we go, set up with numerous wooden picnic and outdoor settings - testament to the frequent Sunday visitors from Hobart - less than 50kms way.

The Old Kempton Distillery manufactures - sounds too processed, distils both whiskey and gin. Too early yet to sample, and having had a tipple or two previously, we purchase a little of each. Turns out food and drink are fast becoming our no 1. spending item!! The building has been set up suitable for indulgences. The Club Lounge is luxe in every sense of the word. Lots of richly stuffed leather chesterfield armchairs and lounges with small wooden inlaid tables. There are a number of small casks lining one of the walls, all labelled with the contents.  We need to use the bathroom before we go and this is the first 5⭐ toilet I have ever seen.

Apart from the necessities of life, such as the Who Gives A Crap toilet paper, there is a beautiful wing armchair, again leather puffed full with stuffing. And a baby chage station complete with wipes and lotions and soft towels. A stunning period light hangs gracefully from the highlight ceiling. There is softly fragranced hand-lotion next to the soap for all to use. All in a room big enough to contain a wheelchair and two prams at the same time! Yep, 5⭐ all the way!

We are now conscious that the day is passing and we need to seriously get on the road. 

It is the kind of day that calls for us to turn off the car air-conditioning and wind down the windows. Its the kind of day perfect for a sports car with the top down to allow the wind to caress your hair and the sun to kiss your cheeks. There are three routes that we can take to travel to Cradle Mountain and decide to follow the southern-most road as it will take us through the Lakes District en-route to today's destination. Moving away from urbanlandscapes, we have entered the bucolic scenes (Gen learned a new word) where the cattle and the sheep and the horses and the goats eat their fill from lush pastures. And yet the land is much drier that I thought it would be. Farmlands are serviced by both travelling and pivot irrigators, shooting jets of water gently into the air and carried on the breeze. The smells of the countryside are changing - the smell of freshly cut grasses and grains, of wildflowers in bloom and of rich manure. Ahh - got to love that smell! And yet, it is still preferable to air-con.

Travelling along Highway 5 we head towards Deloraine.

The scenery changes with every turn of a corner, every climb up and over a hill. Before too long, we leave lush pastures for state forests, conservation areas and national parks. The trees thicken then thin again and finally there are none - just scruffy shrubs then miniature ferns and bright green carpets of moss amid lichen covered rocks. We know we are in alpine areas (apart from the signs) when we again see the orange roadside markers - orange so that you still stay on the road during snow and sleet. And yet, the lakes so named, are all dry. Imagine Lake George north of Canberra and you will understand the landscape. I feel a little cheated.

Then in the middle of nowhere, amoungst a stand of trees, we come upon the Steppes Sculptures. The 14 bronze sculptures on a circle of large stones in the middle of a forest created by Stephen Walker with each piece representing something from the area, either natural or of historical significance. Almost bizarre. Out in the middle of nowhere, unexpected. It leads to the question . . . if a tree in the forest falls and no-one sees it, does it crash.  If a monument is set in such an unexpected place, how many can experience it? Gen thinks that the twelve stones in a clearing in a forext, perfectly arranged in a circle with a large flat stone in the centre would be perfect for some sacrificial purpose (those are Gen's words - as though I need to tell you that!) They are quite stunning and lies beside a path leading to the original homestead of the Wilson family. A little more invigorated and much more animated, we push westwards. 

Passing through places with names like Nowhere Else and Promised Land and peckish now, we pull in to the Miena Roadhouse and Motel - a fairly new looking building - obviously to cater for the trout fishers at the nearby dam. And as we are there, so are two members of the Gideon Society - placing bibles in the rooms, and unsuccessfully trying to give one in person to the manager - no luck. Gen had just said that they looked like "bible salesmen' - turns out she was right! She must be a better judge of person than me!! lol.

Finally we top a hill and see water - lakes and lakes of water. Another lookout, another photo opportunity. We come across the Hydro-electric Power and Metallurgical Company built a small dam across the Shannon River at the southern outlet of the Great Lakes in 1914. It has been enlarged twice since and it now holds back 3,000 million cubic litres of water and 48% of Tasmania's total energy storage capacity. Think of Sydney Harbour set high in the mountains and you can begin to visualise what we are looking at. Its massive! 

All around the shores of the lakes there are any number of fishing hamlets - simple structures, many of them converted tin sheds. At first there are three or four, then we turn another corner and see perhaps fifty dwellings. Many of them appear deserted, but there are still a number in use today - evidenced by utes pulling boats on trailers or by wisps of smoke drifting on the wind from a log-burning stove.

The trip is a slow one, being dictated by the terrain we are crossing. Up and down hill, weaving along the bottom of valleys adjacent to watercourses. we are starting to feel a little anxious - despite the few small hamlets and villages, we have not passed a petrol station as the tank falls under 1/4 full.

None to soon, we reach Deloraine, a town classified by the National Trust for its historic buildings. We have been munching on apples, dried apples, meringues (mint) and chocolate covered raspberries, but are craving something a little more substantial. We park across the road from some cafes, but at 3pm we are too late for lunch and too early for dinner. The Cycles at Empire (cafe by day, restaurant by night) has one ham and cheese foccacia left for toasting, so that's what we share. Actually it was delicious, ham off the bone, seeded mustard, quality cheese, tomato and salad greens. Washed down with a milkshake, it filled a hole! Leaving Deloraine we see the Shell Service Station coming up. Gen pulls in, and an attendant springs into action. He comes around the back of the car to Gen's window, startling her somewhat. He starts to ask what she wants and I just say fill it please. Gen has never experienced full driveway service before and doesn't know what to do. I tell her just get out and follow him in to pay. She is chuffed! Yep, we are way out of the city in every sense and service is service. Unfortunately we don't have time to explore any more as we need to check in my 6pm. Google Maps has us arriving at 5:57pm, so we must push forward. We might have time to have a bit of a wander en-route to Queenstown late tomorrow.

The last stretch of the trip is slow. Hairpin turns abound, and the slope is increasing. Cradle Mountain looks more and more spectacular the closer that you get to it. There are towering cliffs and crevices where plant life clings precariously. The sun is slipping behind the mountains and the areas of shade are getting cooler. Yes, we are back in the mountains. The windows still down, the air becomes dank - damp and mossy and there are patches of water on the road. Its about now we decide that it is too cool and we somewhat reluctantly wind up the windows. Unlike yesterday where our progress was commented on by road signs, all of a sudden we find we are upon the driveway into the Cradle Mountains Highlanders.

Gen checks us in and gets directions to our cabin - The Bushmans Hut.

Its quaint. Think of those American cabins in the woods and you have it. Up four steps onto a verahdah, we open the door to find almost EVERYTHING constructed of timer. Beds are rustic with a rail ladder to a bunk over a double bed. There is a hand hewn table, a timber stool and timber shelves. Thankfully the bathroom has a working standard issue toilet and shower! AND there is a gas heater that is so efficient that after 20 minutes, we need to open the door to allow frosty fresh mountain air to balance the enveloping warmth. A simple dinner of crackers with cheese, a variety of relishes, smoked salmon and a bottle of cider!

Tomorrow we are off to the Cradle Mountain Visitor Centre for options for walks - we are pretty sure that Dove Lake is doable in part, and hopefully one or another of the smaller walks. Given the lack of accommodation, we are heading to Queenstown late tomorrow. We are staying at least 3 days and will do some tours from there.

The night air is chilling and both of us are tired after a long day of travel. We have left a few pieces of apple on the verandah and are keeping an ear out for creatures of the night. Time for bed. The eyes and my back are telling me so. Gute Nacht as some of our friends would say.