Journey Across Tasmania

I struggled to squeeze into our tiny, clown car-sized rental after retrieving our baggage in the Launceston airport. When I turned the key, the squirrels in their wheeled cage resisted at first, but soon the engine was humming. The route south on the A1 highway traveled into Tasmania’s eastern half through dry, rolling hills with plenty of grazing sheep and a variety of wineries where one could stop and try a sip from the vine. The road was littered with roadkill, dead wallabies and other strange looking animals, similar to the way one would see deer and squirrels on the roadways in the Upper Midwest of the U.S.

We veered toward the coast where we checked into our comfortable bungalow located in the small village of Coles Bay. Our camp area included other bungalows, RV and tent sites, and a youth hostel. I noticed some young people looking lost as they wandered around and pointed out the hostel after learning that was what they were looking for.

Wineglass Bay

The next morning dawned with beautiful skies and equally beautiful weather. It was one of those days where you were perfectly comfortable in the sun, but just a bit chilly once in the shade. This, plus light winds, made for a spectacular day.

We headed to Wineglass Bay in Freycinet National Park where the trail began its steep ascent right after leaving the car park. At length, we reached the saddle where the trees opened up allowing for magnificent views of the bay far below. The crescent shape of the beach and the handful of sailboats sparkled like tiny stars when contrasted with the deep green forests and the still, turquoise blue waters. An equally steep descent brought us to the bay and on its beach with sand so white and so bright, that one could not go on without a hat and sunglasses.

There were few people. The waves that came ashore washed away our footprints soon after we, or the others before us, made them. It left the entire beach with an untouched feel, one with the loneliness and isolation that marked the area. The trail left the beach and crossed the isthmus that helped form the peninsula that separated Wineglass and the next bay, Hazards. Like Wineglass, Hazards’ beach is the trail. We walked a long distance right next to the waves that lapped at the shoreline before it veered away from the water and into the forest.

While in the forest, wallabies (the kangaroo’s smaller cousin) hopped and crossed our path. Nearing the Tourville lighthouse, many of them drank water from our cupped hands, thirsty from these drought-filled months. We finished our day by admiring the stunning cobalt blue waters fed by the open ocean below the lighthouse.

On the Road

We had a full day’s car ride in front of us as our plans included a route across the center of Tasmania via the A1 and then later the A10 to Cradle Mountain National Park on the western side of the state. There were shorter routes and distances to be sure, but we thought we’d likely never be back to Tasmania again, so it was necessary to see as much of it as we could via this longer route.

It wasn’t the first time, nor likely would be the last, where our drive on the left side – steering wheel on the right - type of driving and car design would confuse us. After I once again struggled to squeeze into our rental, MK approached the car the “normal” way, but after opening the doors, discovered there was a driver’s side steering wheel with me as the driver where the passenger seat should be located.

I'm one jelly donut away from not being able to fit in our tiny rental car.

After this bit of early morning humor, we headed out and, after a desire for a strong cup of coffee overwhelmed us, stopped at the small hamlet of Ross. A sign there announced we were at 42 degrees south latitude which was interesting to us since back home in the States, we are located around 42 degrees north latitude. On top of that, Tasmania is also darn near the exact antipode to our U.S. home in northern Illinois.

While walking around a bit, we admired the early 1800’s architecture of the town’s buildings. They were constructed at the time the town was founded as a military station and coaching stop along the Midlands Highway. The bridge leading into town that crossed the Macquarie River has many unique carvings sculpted by a convict who was given a pardon by the Queen for his work. The bridge itself was built with convict labor (Australia was originally a penal colony of the British empire), but there was no record if the Queen was as gracious with them as she was with the sculptor.

After this brief architectural, history, and geography lesson, we ducked into a small café where we bought our much desired proper cuppa from the friendly store clerk. We’ve become accustomed to the terminology used here in Australia where a “long black” is what we consider a normal, regular coffee while a “short black” is an espresso type of coffee. MK’s “long black - two sugars - but they must be artificial sweeteners - a little bit of milk – but not too much - and it must be decaffeinated” order left the clerk a little confused but she got it right when she repeated it back. When it was my turn, I simply requested a “long black - uncomplicated” which made the clerk smile with a sense of relief.

The Gas Station Encounter

We later stopped in a small town to top off our tank, not being sure when we’d see another gas station along our route. The one, lone gas station was located in the center of town. It was of the old school design; two simple and unadorned pumps, the sound of a “ding’-ding” as you drive over the rubber hose that lies on the small fuel and oil stained concrete apron, and the shrill of a pneumatic wrench operated by a man in greasy overalls who was changing the tires on a unidentifiable brand of an Australian car that was up on a lift in the one service bay.

Lording over all of this was a stone-faced older grey-haired woman, likely the matriarch of the family that owned the place. She sat up high on a stool behind a counter littered with papers, receipts, and wire stands holding dust covered snacks, candy bars, and other foodstuffs with expiration dates likely from the 1990s.  

Getting out of the car (again, a struggle), I attempted to fill the tank but had difficulty with the nozzle fitting into the fuel spout.  After I finally realized I was trying to fill our tank with diesel fuel (the pump wasn’t clearly marked, honest!), I sheepishly got back into the car (struggle) to pull up to the other pump. Back inside at the counter, the old lady looked on through her glasses rimmed with pearl-colored plastic attached to a chain around her neck, perched at the end of her nose. She was still expressionless but no doubt amused at my mistake.

When MK went inside to pay, she insisted that the cost was $25, but handed over $38 when the lady pointed out that the “25” on the pump was the number of liters, not the cost of the fill up. I was washing the windshields as MK was telling me about this mix-up and watched when she got into what she thought was the passenger side of the car but instead was the driver’s side.

I opened the door and asked her to look around for a bit. “What am I looking for?” she questioned me, looking left then right. “Look in front of you,” I insisted. “What do you see?” We both laughed out loud as she caught sight of the steering wheel and then exited to go around to the other side.

Again, the older lady inside the shop watched these antics but remained stone-faced. I am sure, though, at her family holiday parties for many years to come, she will want to repeat this story and to those gathered will say, “Did I ever tell you about the time when these two dumb-ass Americans came into the station and…..” “Yes, grandma,” they would interrupt, “yes you did.”

Back on the Road

The rolling hills with large expanses of sheep grazing lands, all with thousands of sheep, eventually gave way thickly forested mountains. The road’s two lanes narrowed and wound its way up, down, and around these mountains without relief. It reminded us of the Smoky Mountains’ twisting and winding back roads where the accelerator, brakes, and power steering all get an overtime workout.

We drove through large areas that were clear cut by a logging operation yet soon encountered a pine plantation designed to replace those trees that had been removed. An even larger area had been destroyed by a forest fire, fairly recently by the look of things. Interestingly, the road itself served as an effective fire block where the mountainside to our left was nothing but blackened ash while the mountainside on our right remained verdant, lush, and green. Some of this green turned to rusty brown though when, near the village of Queenstown, massive copper mining operations were underway. The ugly scars and slag heaps of their operations could be seen all along the sides of the cliffs and mountainsides.

After nine long and hard hours of driving along these twisting and narrow roads, we arrived at Cradle Mountain National Park and our accommodations for the next several days. We were as tired from this fatiguing drive as we were from the long-distance hiking on some of our previous days.

Wombat Poo

We arrived at the Dove Lake car park just as a tour bus disgorged about 60 people at the trailhead. We scrambled ahead to make sure we weren’t held up behind them, or for them to be in the frame of the pictures we wanted to take. The scene in front of us was spectacular. Cradle Mountain was brilliant in the early morning sunshine allowing it to reflect off of the very still waters of Dove Lake. It was one of those shots where if you were to turn the picture upside down, it would be hard to tell the difference between the real mountain or the one reflected off of the still waters.

Our route circled the lake in a clockwise direction and took us and many of the others close to the shoreline. Views of the mountains were many, and so too were the pictures we took. It was another picture-perfect day made possible by a stalled high-pressure system sitting right over the top of Tasmania.

The crowds thinned out a bit when we veered away from the lake and over to Ronny’s Creek and the trail up to Crater Lake. The trail followed a side stream that was the outlet for the lake which was far above, perched within a circle of mountains and, but for the creek, was as trapped now by its surrounding geology as it was when the glaciers formed it many millennia ago.

Above this lake was a junction of trails, some that will lead us to even greater heights tomorrow, others that would lead down to the Wombat Poo. Some practical jokers had scraped the “L” off of all the signs that indicated the way to the Wombat Pool which was another, albeit smaller, perched glacial lake up in the highlands of the area we were walking through.

I thought MK and I agreed to stay here at the top to take a water and rest break. I was taking pictures and pointing out several far-off trails to her when another hiker who was next to me said, “Hey mate, if you think you’re talking to your wife, well, she’s way down there.” I looked back over my shoulder and indeed discovered that she walked off down the trail without telling me. “But, thanks for the pointers anyway,” he said.

I caught up to MK and after walking a little further, we found a serene and peaceful spot next to Wombat Pool, a much nicer spot than the one we would have stopped at back up the trail. We broke out some of our food and considered what paths we would take tomorrow for many of them were visible on the sides of the mountains in the far-off distance, ones I mistakenly thought I was pointing out to MK earlier.

Into the Alpine Zone

I had trouble getting my sore muscles and bones out of bed. The daily hikes were starting to

take a toll. Recently, it was my 60^th birthday and, while brushing my teeth, I looked in the mirror to reflect on what in the hell has happened over these past six decades. My nose is getting bulbous. I’m considering an increase in the waist size of my next pair of pants. My hair? Well, there’s more on my back and in my ears than there is on the top of my head. I’m also getting age spots on my face and forehead. I’m starting to look like Mr. Burns from The Simpsons.

My first cup of coffee began to erase my need to critique and soon we were at the trailhead for our hike that would take us above tree line and into the alpine zone of the park. We began by retracing some of our steps from yesterday. The route from Ronny’s Creek would take us up above Crater Lake and the beginning of the route around the park far above the lower elevations we hiked yesterday when we circumnavigated Dove Lake.

The climb up to Marion’s Lookout was steep. In places, a chain has been affixed to the rocks to assist in the climb for there would be no other way to ascend the sheer rocks that marked the trail. As elsewhere in the park, the way is marked by an occasional white post with a red tip. These are absolutely necessary for those who may wish to navigate these trails in the winter months and are a basic convenience for those of us here in the summer when a turn on the trail is not otherwise obvious.

At the Lookout, the view of Dove Lake far below was tremendous. While admiring this view, a solo lady hiker from Nova Scotia soon joined us. She asked if we saw the large creature when we ascended up the trail. While we were shaking our heads no, she pulled out her camera to show us the large king snake that was only a few feet off of the trail, the same trail we were on only minutes before. To say it was huge would be an understatement. It was around six feet long and a body as thick as a small child’s waist. We shivered at the thought of it being so near. Thankfully, we were oblivious to its presence.

Further on, the trail reached a junction. For the brave and fearless, the route to the right went up to the summit of Cradle Mountain. It was steep requiring a scramble with not only feet, but hands and one’s rear end to ascend. We could see people far above on their climb. This was not for us. To the left we went and followed the Face Trail.

Named for the fact that it ran below the steep face of Cradle, the Face Trail was a rugged, rock and boulder strewn path. It took us right under the fractured basalt rock that gave Cradle is ragged look. Signs warned that we were to look out for falling rocks from the cliffs above. We were watchful for who knows when water and ice would pressure the rock and split it from the rest into a monstrous fall on unsuspecting hikers far below.

No such disaster befell us and we made our way safely through the slide zone and soon thereafter began our descent back below tree line. Like earlier in the day, chains were installed to assist us as we climbed down from the heights. It was getting late in the day and we were alarmed to see others just starting out on their climb. We weren’t sure there would be enough daylight left before they finished their hike.  

At certain spots, we were able to look back at the trail we had come from, far above us and well off into the distance. We saw that our route was quite rugged and exposed. With a congratulatory fist bump when we finished, we both remarked, “what in the world were we thinking?”

Launceston

A short drive the next day took us to Launceston where we spent the night before flying out of Tasmania the following morning. Along the way, we had to fill up the rental car with gas, only this time we did not perform any antics or shenanigans as we did the last time we got gas. In fact, this station was full service where a lady came out to fill our car for us. I can’t remember the last time I was in a filling station with this kind of service.

Launceston itself is a remarkable little town. Cataract Gorge is a park that bisects the city with a beautiful green space and interesting trails and facilities. We spent a couple of hours exploring this park and the downtown’s lively street scene full of shops and restaurants before retiring to our hotel for the night.  

The views and experiences of our entire time here in Tasmania were the complete opposite of what we envisioned it would be. In our minds’ eye, we expected a land that was cold, dreary, and windswept. It was the complete opposite. It was full of grandeur, splendor, and magnificence. On top of the that, the weather had been perfect. We could no longer complain how the weather usually conspires against us while on our worldwide hikes and adventures.  

A video of our journey is at the following link: