The mid-west of Tasmania also deserves exploring.

Happy birthday to Gen - my travel companion, my partner in crime and my rock. I hope that you are enjoying your holiday in Tasmania as much as I am.

 

After reading much on what to see, do, taste and experience in Tasmania, before we had left home, I was determined to try to see some of the lesser visited areas of this amazingly beautiful state. After our visit to the Cradle Mountain National Park, we awoke this morning looking up to an altogether different view. The clouds still hang low over the peaks, and as the day warms and the clouds and their trailing mist lift, the 'different beauty' of the peaks around us make themselves known.

Following a 6 episode binge of season 2 of Bridgerton last night, this morning we sleep in. Looking at touring options around here last night, (and knowing that Thursday has been set aside for Strahan) we decided to drive to Derwent Bridge to visit The Wall.  If you know of it, then this is enough information. For those who don't click here. 

The morning is drab, which is kind of fitting for the setting we find ourselves in. 

This is an active mining town. Queenstown sits low in the belly of the mining area, surrounded by mined waste, new tailings and rocky outcrops currently being sifted for copper. The past mining and mass logging has created a surreal and rocky 'moonscape'. There is a dusty air, touched with the whiff of rotting eggs - i.e. sulphur (previously used in the refining of gold). And with that dusty air, there is a divide in the town. It is obvious to my thought at least, that there is the old and the new.

The new part of town wears a coat of success - there are enterprises flourishing with locals and visitors alike popping in and out of mixed businesses,service ships and cafes. The Empire Hotel, home to the The Rusty Iron Thai restaurant where we purchased the delicious dinner last night has any number of people milling around outside, obviously waiting on orders. The library is new, bold and modern in design. The hospital and Council sit snug in one of the side streets and, on the same side of the railway line as our motel, there are newer, more modern and perhaps slightly more affluent homes.

In the back streets behind the main shopping area, up the hills of the old tailing mounds, the houses are older, smaller, tired and dusty. They sit tightly side by side on small blocks without adornment or gardens. Windows are small and the construction materials are mismatched at best, perhaps dangerous (think asbestos) at worst. Out in the open, the reality of class divide silently screams. 

But, there is someone with a quirky, cheeky outlook. One of the nameless shops, like many other regional towns, there are plenty of vacant shops - some more recent, others with the layer of ages old dirt. Although not appearing open, it is artistically displaying all things orange. Bold, brassy, colourful and confident ORANGE. Everything from orange tupperware containers that we (or our mums) all once had, to an orange vacuum cleaner to orange crockery to orange linens to orange furniture! And whilst having a look around town this afternoon, we think that we found his home - this one was painted the EXACT same shade. And Gen thinks she might have seen the owner earlier, a long-bearded gentleman and his family - and he and his she are dressed in that same bright hue. A spark of bright in a town of drab. Fascinating! 

Queenstown is where the historic Western Railway operates from, but no amount of pleading can secure us a seat, they are booked out until mid-April. Now we are getting worried, as we want to go on the Gordon and Franklin River Cruises while we are here on the west coast as well. Turns out, we buy the last two seats for tomorrow - we hear (in the background while on the phone to the company), the exclamation as the other salesgirl in the office is just too slow to snag those last two seats for her cliemts. 

Before we travelled from Queensland, and while we have been here, there have been numerous adverts extolling people to visit the West Coast. It seems that locals (or perhaps the tourism gurus) feel that the trinity of Devonport, Launceston and Hobart, have garnered too much of the tourism $ and they are looking to balance the state's income somewhat.  Well, I think that they might have been altogether too successful. Accommodation has been very hard to come by and tours too, we are finding are full, or close to. 

Queenstown is central - a great place to base yourself for visiting the west and central parts of the state. We will have a good look around here, visiting the rail and mining museums on Friday before we leave for the north.

Today, as I previously said, we went to Derwent Bridge to see The Wall in the Wilderness, generally just known as The Wall. This is an amazing undertaking by initially single artist Greg Duncan and more lately with his son. From his website:
"On the 1st March 2005 in one of the most beautiful parts of Tasmania I set out to undertake sculpting a wall that would be 3 metres high and over 100 metres in length.

The material would be Huon Pine.
Through an often arduous at times but also immensely satisfying journey and over a decade and half later I welcome you to visit what is simply known as The Wall."

He requests no photography as a sign of respect to the moral copyright that the artist has of his work.

The panels appear to consist of 21-22 pieces of laminated Huon that have been carved. Some parts are left unfinished, to allow the observer to better understand both the creative and carving processes. And he has achieved this beautifully. The outcome is amazing, outstanding, awe-inspiring and pure beauty. From an acknowledgement of the first peoples, to the flora and fauna of the region to the endeavours of people and industry. From the muscleature of the straining horses to the desperate tears of a bereaved woman with her lined face, the detail is exquisite. Greg Duncan now carves permanently, both in art and fine furniture. I can only imagine that the furniture through the impressive building is more of his wonderful works. The building is so fitting. A large long barn style with The Wall displayed down the centre back to back in two long constructed pieces - at times quite separate, at others, flowing seamlessly across the joins.

We make a purchase to share with a wood carving artist friend who will be absolutely appreciative of this skill. I hope that he shares it with other wood-carvers locally as they too deserve to see this skill.  

The building is warm against the chill wind outside. At one end is a huge open fire. At the other, unobtrusive yet also large with a diameter of just under a metre round is a large wood fired stove. It is almost sad to walk out into the chill air again.

The air is very nippy and Gen, in her inimitable style basely states "It's good I'm wearing my padded bra!"

Stomachs are telling us that its time for lunch. There is a small cafe a kilometre back down the road called the Hungry Wombat. Its small, but clean. Gen decides on a beef and salad burger and I have a Ham, Cheese and Pineapple (yeah, yeah I know there are no pineapples here) toastie. Now, as far as toasties go, that was probably the best I have ever had. It was toasted to the edge, but soft inside, and filled with good quality ingredients. So both crunchy and soft. 

The only disappointment is that there are no wombats!

Despite all the signs, and a little road-kill on Bruny Island, we have yet to see any wildlife in the wild!

Its 84kms from Queenstown to Derwent Bridge, but the road is very winding with tight corners, its up and down hills and mountains. It takes a full hour and a half to do that drive. We average about 60 kph and I am sure that Gen's arms and legs are aching. There were times when she not only sounded tense, she looked it too. The concentration on her face tells me she is a good driver (asif I had any doubts).

Travelling back, we turn right and make a stop at Lake St Clair. Another iconic jewel in the crown of Tasmania. The Tourism Board must be congratulated. They have done such a stellar job, that the bookings for accommodation and tour operations are at a premium at the moment. Not only have we had trouble finding accommodation, we have missed out on seats on the Queenstown Historic Rail trip. It is booked out for the next six weeks. That is a real disappointment as this was one of the two tours we had hoped to do from here. So first thing this morning, Gen places a call to the operators of the Gordon River Cruises - who traverse the Gordon and Franklin River Wilderness areas.  There are only two seats left and we can hear the other salesgirl in the background exclaim when she realises that those last two tickets have been sold to us! Awe had wanted the Upper Deck as the views are meant to be better, but cannot get a seat at any time in the next month. Robyn Dowling tells me that she booked six months in advance to ensure she had tickets for John's birthday celebrations when they visited. Too bad that I had not known that before I left. Trouble was, I don't have the luxury of being able to plan my life that far out!

Lake St Clair is one of Tasmania's jewels. It sits high on a plateau, surrounded by smaller, less impressive lakes. Carved out by glaciers over millions of years, Lake St Clair is Australia's deepest freshwater lake. Located at the southern end of the Cradle Mountain-Lake St Clair National Park, it forms part of Tasmania's Wilderness World Heritage Area and offers spectacular scenery. The environment around Lake St Clair is among Tasmania's most spectacular. Deep glacial lakes are fringed by dense forests of ancient pines, and the high mountains provide a dramatic backdrop. Despite an abundance of native wildlife in the area – we see none.

Lake St Clair is also one of the start/finish points of the 5-8 day Overland Track, one of the country's greatest bushwalks. As we arrive at the Visitor Centre, there is a group of what seems to be experienced, very committed walkers assembling to begin the trek. Certainly not my cup of tea, although Gen remarks that it is a walk that perhaps one day she would like to do - you have my blessing my sweet, I do hope that you do indeed give it a go.

Like at Cradle Mountain, there are a number of walks that leave from this spot. There is a short walk to the Viewing Platform that we can do. Its late enough in the afternoon that there are few people around, and as we stop initially at the top of the viewing platform and then later on the beach below, we have the vista before us to ourselves alone. It is truly a breath-taking sight. Just to the right is the jetty fro which the ferry leaves. It stands, alone, jutting into the waters like the man-made intrusion it is.

The only difference between the drive over was that it was a little easier as the rain had stopped. It seems that daily average temperatures here are not reached until between 2 and 3 in the afternoon. Its is a good day for driving as there is enough cloud cover that we are not squinting in the afternoon sun. Nearing Queenstown on our return journey, the fuel light comes on. Gen can't believe how much fuel we have gone through in the last two days, but trips up and down mountains, braking then accelerating (forget cruise control on a day like today) guzzles the gas so to speak.

Our repast tonight is simple fare. We break out some crackers, the rest of our smoked salmon, a couple of cheeses and chutneys and the Old Kempton Distillery Barrel Aged Gin with a local Mandarin, Lime and Bitters soda water - very tasty.

Tomorrow we are headed to Strahan for our cruise and then an early dinner before we go to see the play 'The Ship that Never Was' on the recommendation of so many people - friends and members of the Travelling Tasmania Facebook page that we have been following. Friday we will have a good look at the two museums here - Mining and Rail - before we head for the north-west coast.

Gen has had lots of phone calls, and messages for her birthday today - thanks for helping to make her feel special. 

And on a sad note to finish today's tale, we received news of the early passing of a friend back home. Farewell Michele, you will be missed, but not forgotten. 

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!