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Published: January 2nd 2008
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Happy New Year from Melbourne, having come full circle around Tasmania. Since our last update we progressed westwards from New Norfolk, stopping firstly at Mount Field National Park. There we had a super day, cycling up from the campsite to Lake Dobson, a three-hour-15 km uphill through Eucalyptus rain forest, moist and cool, then through mixed forest, where the air was fresher and the mighty gum trees allowed a few other plants to share the light. As we climbed higher, sub alpine plants appeared - shrubs with minute leaves, dusted with scatterings of tiny white flowers. Finally, we reached the open alpine region, where hardy little heath plants huddled, with their roots in water and their tops pruned by the wind; tough enough to withstand sun and snow, drench and drought. At night the campsite came alive; as we emerged from the tent in the darkness, we saw pandemelons (question: what is the collective noun for pandemelons? Answer: a pandemonium), bandicoot, quolls - spotted and striped - and possums. In the river nearby, Richard spotted his first duck-billed platypus.
Onwards then to Lake St Clair, via Tarraleah, site of a hydroelectric power scheme. And that can only mean two things
- lots of water and a big hill. Sure enough, we had some steady climbing, and within minutes of arriving in Tarraleah the heavens opened. By morning the rain had abated to showers and the air felt cleansed as we climbed alongside the huge sets of pipes which dropped the water from the hilltops around. There was a fresh, medicinal scent of eucalypus (ooo, just like a newly scrubbed bathroom) and, once we were above the forested slopes, we had a level ride amongst the lakes and lagoons which fed the turbines below. At Derwent Bridge we visited the Wall in the Wilderness - still a work-in-progress. Tall huan pine panels carved to depict the story of the region. All stages of the work can be seen, from untouched slabs of pine, through sketched outlines and rough-hewn figures to fine-finished details. Even more wonderful were the other sculptures by the artist: household garments - gloves, coats and hats, looking for all the world like soft, tanned leather. Our stop that night was Lake St Clair, reputedly quite beautiful but for us hidden behind a veil of mist and drizzle.
Onwards then to Queenstown, and what a beautiful ride, marred
only by worsening showers. Through woodland and heathland, with shrubs speckled with tiny white flowers and white trefoils bobbing by the roadside. In the boggy moorland rain-happy frogs croaked. As we crested the final hill we were treated to the sight of the town cradled amongst multicoloured stone in a weirdly beautiful mine-scarred landscape. We arrived at our accommodation soaked through, but after a good hot shower and with clothes laundered and a hot, meaty chilli bubbling away, we were soon restored. Christmas Eve dawned to the sound of hail bouncing off the tin roof, but as we headed to Strahan, the showers lessened and sunshine prevailed. We declined the riotous pleasures of Christmas Eve in Strahan, and instead went to Ocean Beach to watch a thousand short tailed manx shearwaters (mutton birds to their friends) return home after a fishing trip to the antarctic. Expert flyers, though somewhat challenged in the landing department, they swooped and glided around our heads before plopping out of the air at our feet and scuttling, chattering, to their burrows. They return home under cover of darkness to avoid attack by waiting ravens and gulls, though they could save themselves the trouble as, due
to a diet of krill alone, they taste so disgusting that no predator will take the place above them in the food chain. After a relaxing Christmas Day featuring a walk to a nearby waterfall and a rather excellent rump steak dinner (cut-price late Christmas Eve purchase), plus a spot of platypus watching, we were ready to head to the wilderness of Corinna, on the far west coast.
Showery weather returned, but we had a fine ride, through forest, woodland and across wind-swept moorland, finally dropping down to cross the Pieman River by barge and so into the tiny settlement of Corinna. Previously famed as a gold mining town, where the last exciting event was the funeral of the publican, Gem Webster, which unleashed a riot of binge drinking so severe that the Reverend had to seize the keys to the pub until sobriety and order were restored. (Note to the UK government - binge drinking must be inherent in the British psyche and extended opening hours do not engender a continental cafe culture!) Nowadays Corinna is famous for being the wettest place on the planet. Fortunately, just near to our tent was a retreat where we found the
dying embers of a previous fire which we were able to revive and so spend a cosy evening toasting our feet and watching bedraggled wallabies grazing outside. We were joined by a german couple who we had previously met at Mount Field. Feeling proprietorial about the fire, we resolutely stuck to our hearth-side seats; in the morning two beach towels had appeared. (I'm sorry; that was quite uncalled for.) The next day brought an undulating ride to finish with a big climb to Waratah. And what a little gem this place is. Formerly site of the most prosperous tin mine in the world, now tidy and neat and proudly showing off its old(ish) buildings. But best of all, it has a lake which is positively teeming with platypi and a roadhouse that serves the best fried fish and homemade cakes in Tasmania. By now the hilly terrain and colder weather had fuelled our appetites and we were collecting a variety of comments from bemused (non-cycling) onlookers, ranging from: "Are you going to eat all that - that would last me three days?" (Hiker, Lake St Claire); "You can pack it in can't you?" and "Have you finished eating now?" (motor
cyclists, Strahan) to "My, you have got the munchies" (Roadhouse cook, Waratah).
Our final leg around Tasmania took us up to the north coast; generally downhill (hurrah), we lunched in Hampshire then swooped down to Somerset, before settling in Wynyard for two days, where our little tent had a seaview. A ride along the north coast took us back to Devonport and the overnight ferry to Melbourne, whence we emerged on New Years Day to sweltering temperatures. After a couple of days resting and again enjoying the company of Peter and Roslyn and family, we shall move on to our next journey towards Sydney. See you there.
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Dave
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A happy New Year to Rich n Di and all their readers.