Launceston, Tasmania

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Launceston, Tasmania

Between Melbourne and Tasmania lies the Bass Strait, and across this, directly between King and Flinders islands, we sailed to Devonport where our ship docked early one Tuesday morning. Having retrieved our baggage, we headed to the coach for Launceston, and observed eagerly our new surroundings. The state of Tasmania is certainly a natural state, and we loooked forward to exploring our city for the day: Launceston.
Arriving at 11am, we made our way to Lindsay Street, over the Esk river to our hostel for the night. Mr Wattle, being of an introspective nature, and perhaps wishing to occupy the evening with the study of the islands ornithology, took a private room, while Messrs. Jones, Wilkins and I agreed upon a three bed, and arranged ourselves comfortably having settled the bill for the night. Upon a discourse of intentions, we agreed upon a visit to the Cataract Gorge, a plan approved by the hosteller, who upon the suggestion took out a green pen and etched a walk that would take us around the Gorge, through the most scenic parts of the city, and all within the few hours we had before evening. Placing the map in his pocket, Mr Wilkins took the lead, walking just far enough before his rambling stick for it to lead the way along the hostellers green line. Mr Wattle, with a gait that suggested some exotic creature we hoped to witness in the heart of the Tasmanian countryside, expressed his disapproval of the plan, and after sundry exhortations to the contrary, took his leave of us with the express promise of a return to the hostel early in the evening.
At the entrance to the Gorge we passed an old bridge, the parts of which we learnt were transported, part by part, from an English ship and erected at the point where we stood. We were told by a passer by, who noted our interest, that the oldest bridge in Australia was here in Tasmania, and was in Richmond, a quaint village to the north of Hobart, residency of the artists and writers of Tasmania.
With an intense gaze at the now ragged map, Mr Wilkins signalled the way with a 'hei-ho!', and followed with a finger the green line that followed the path from the bridge to the Gorge walk. We followed, and journeyed into the heart of the Gorge itself. An elevated pathway gave startling views of the raw beauty characteristic of Tasmania. The ragged rocks held the smooth course of the river and led to gentle falls seen in parts through the nodding myrtle trees that line the Gorge.
We held little conversation as we beheld the sights, and what little can be suggested by words is but slight upon a real acquantance with ones own eyes. Mr Jones was later to say, upon a meditation on the scenery taken in during the afternoon, 'you must forgive my laconic nature when travelling. It is not good for the conversation of a man: one has to observe and consume, words are but a poor relation to this ineffable beauty possessed of the consummate traveller.'
Mr Wattle having rejoined us, expressing a desire to move south where 'the ornithology I have heard is of greater interest', we retired for the night with the express intention of a journey to Hobart on the earliest possible coach the next morning.

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