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!
