Idyll on an Isle - Tasmania

IDYLL ON AN  ISLE …TASMANIAIt caused consternation, my decision to take off alone on a backpacking trip to Tasmania barely five days after I had landed in Melbourne.  “But  what’s to see in Tasmania?”  protested one of my brother’s friends.  “Nothing but jungles!”It was indeed the lure of the bush that drew me to the tiny island south  of mainland Australia.  Tasmania, however,  has lots more to offer …Melbourne is the ideal departure point for Tasmania --- you can either fly down to Hobart or Launceston, or take the boat, aptly called `The Spirit of Tasmania’  which takes you to Devonport, across the 240 km. Bass Strait.  That’s what I did --- far more romantic,  even when you’re travelling alone!The Apple Isle, as it is also called, the only island state of Australia is stated to have been discovered in 1742 by Abel Tasman, the Dutch navigator.  Once used as an outpost of an Empire to hold the convicts deported from `genteel’ lands, this tiny island is now one of Australia’s major tourist attractions, the gory history of the convict past being but an added  attraction to hold visitors in thrall. I was told one week would be enough to explore the entire island --- I found that even the fortnight I’d scheduled for myself was insufficient.   This tiny island offers a fascinating diversity of natural splendour, has several places of  historical interest, (including ghostly ruins), charming towns with excellent facilities for tourists, heritage buildings and old-world cottages, warm, friendly people, and to top it all,   is cheaper than mainland Australia!  Like most cliches, this one is oh-so-true of the island of Tasmania:  it has a bit to offer every taste.  Whether you are a mountain person or a beach bum,  a history and heritage buff, one of the kulture-klatura, or an indefatigable trekker preferring long stretches in the woods, whether you  love wild life or have an eye for the birds, whether you have a yen for tribal lore or a passion for flora-fauna,  Tasmania offers it all. The Tasman House Backpacker’s Hostel, in Devonport, was the only place where I’d pre-booked, from Bombay.  The town of Devonport, cleft by the River Mersey,  despite its laid-back ambience, is an important business and retail centre.  There are several attractions surrounding Devonport, but  I was keen to trek in the Cradle Mountain.  David and Mike drove down a motley group of us from the hostel to the Cradle Mountain.  This is the starting point of the world-famous `Overland Track’, the dream of most trekkers round the world: an 85 km trek from Cradle Mountain to Lake St. Clair, through rainforests, alpine highlands, ancient pines, and deciduous beech, ablaze with colour during  autumn. Cradle Mountain was so named by one Joseph Fossey, in 1827, for reasons which become only too apparent at first sight.  The area however boasts several wonders not so readily apparent, and the best way to enjoy this or any other of Tasmania’s National Parks would be to camp inside.  Half a day is just not enough,  though I was lucky enough to spot a couple of wallabies, one delicately perched on a fallen log, feeding off the leaves, by the side of a crystalline rippling stream cascading into a minor waterfall by the side of the beech-wooded mountainside … “Not enough time to go rambling too much,  but we’ll make it round the Dove Lake all right,” David assured me.  We did.Strahan, on the West Coast, has been  listed as the world’s  best `little’ town by the travel editor of the Chicago Tribune.  It is also the gateway to the Franklin-Gordon National Park, part of the famed World Heritage site in Tasmania.   I’d been devoured by the desire to visit Strahan much before I left Bombay.  Strahan is indeed a lovely little town and the Youth Hostel correspondingly so, set in a rather  wild garden with a stream boasting a real, live platypus in it!  Strahan is the gateway to the Gordon River, which leads up to the Wild Rivers National park --- the Wild rivers being the Franklin and the Gordon, which hurtle down rainforested wilderness to empty into the vast Macquarie Harbour, on which the town of Strahan is situated.  These untamed rivers, which flow through lush valleys, spectacular gorges or `narrows’,  thundering over rapids, were very nearly tamed in the 1980’s, when a major controversy erupted over a decision to dam the rivers for hydroelectricity.  They were saved by a major environmental campaign, which is said to have caused a change of government!As you cruise down the Gordon, as I did, on the Wanderer III, you thank the campaigners, that the Gordon remains untamed, enjoying the reflection of the Huon pines and the celery-top pines in the clear waters, stained the colour of tea, the tannin leached down into the water from the button-grass proliferating  along  the banks.As the Wanderer III proceeded its majestic course up the river Gordon, we passed several `farms’, breeding fish.  (Tasmania, incidentally is a foodies’ paradise, especially if you enjoy sea-food!”)“We are now approaching the  Hell’s Gates”, came the sudden announcement, abruptly jolting me out of pleasant thoughts of grilled crayfish washed down by  sauvignon blanc.Hell’s Gates is a narrow stretch of water between two huge rocks, beyond which lies Sarah Island,  from 1822 to 1833 the site of a brutal penal colony,   dreaded by the transported convicts, who termed its approach the Gates to Hell.The name seems strangely incongruous in present times, the two dramatically rising rocks framing an island that seems serenely green  in the sun, from afar.  However, as you go around the island  in the wake of a guide realistically conjuring horrific visions of the convict past, foreboding seeps into the atmosphere rendered sinister by the imagined sound of the whiplash singing through the air to fall on bare flesh, wrenching heartrending cries from the convicts, the ruins of the original buildings a concrete reminder of that dark period of Tasmania’s history. A pleasanter halt was the Heritage Landing, where we  rambled through an ancient rainforest, the highlight of the walk being a gigantic 2000 year-old Huon Pine,  which, having survived man and nature alike, is now protected in this World heritage Area.Strahan is a delightful to walk around, especially along the Esplanade on the water front … and if you walk long enough, you can make it to the Hogarth Falls.  The actual waterfall is situated at the far end of  a rainforest full of huge man-ferns, almost my height, (5’7”)   and swamp gums towering overhead.      From Strahan it was to Hobart, the capital of the State, of which Charles Darwin had opined, way back in 1836:  “If I was obliged to emigrate I certainly should prefer this place … “Hobart is indeed one of the world’s loveliest cities, with a historic waterfront, elegant colonial architecture, stylish Georgian sandstone warehouses, (now housing boutiques, cafes, jewellery stores, art galleries!), and several patches of green.It was in Hobart that I had a proper introduction to the unique flora and fauna of Tasmania, at the Botanical Gardens, and at the Bonorong Wildlife park, where I could cuddle a koala, a creature after my heart --- in a day, it sleeps for twenty hours, feeds for three and a half, and moves about for --- at the most --- half an hour!   Angry yapping sounds attracted me to the adjoining enclosure,  holding the Tasmanian Devils.  The Devil, found only in Tasmania, more than lives up to its name.  It was feeding time, and the creatures were fighting over a leg of lamb.  The Devil is a small creature, black with a whitish patch on the back or the rump, and, to my prejudiced perception, red eyes!   Weighing barely 4.5 kg, it has a jaw strength of three tonnes, and is a voracious eater.  Known as the vacuum cleaner of the bush, one Tassie Devil can polish off a whole cow in one week, bones and horns and all!  It is a marsupial, rearing its young in its pouch;  (the mother is known to eat her young);  a nocturnal creature with bad eyesight and a keen sense of smell.  To top it all, it is basically a coward.  The high point of Hobart, literally, is Mt. Wellington, and a drive to the top is de rigueur indeed.  The view, however, depends upon the weather.   When I went up, it was windy, squally, chilly.  And no view!Otherwise, the high point is the Salamanca Market, on Saturdays --- so try to be in Hobart then! In the space of a Saturday afternoon,  I picked up a gorgeous hand-knitted blouse, found myself talking to a well-known historian, buying several souvenirs for friends back home, and eating Tayberry Ice-cream; (what’s a tayberry?  It’s somewhat like a loganberry, was the helpful answer.  what’s a loganberry?  ummnn… a sweet and sour berry.)  It was yum all right!There were still several places I wanted to visit, and time was running out.  I discovered a couple of companies running one-day tours.  One of these was aptly named `Bottom Bits’. I took the Bottom Bits tour (4 – 5 persons, in a jeep)  to Mt. Field National Park, and to Freycinet, which boasts the spectacular Wine Glass Bay.The main attraction of Mt. Filed are the Russell Falls, water cascading at several levels, more dramatic than any designer set could be!  What struck me about the trek from the entrance of the Park to the Falls was that not only was the path well maintained, but it allowed for access to handicapped persons as well!  Our tourism departments in India could take several lessons from the Tasmanians.Freycinet is a park of staggering contrasts --- rich forests full of wild flowers including a variety of gorgeous orchids, towering, jagged peaks of bare rock, mainly pink and gray granite, towering straight out of waters of the clearest aquamarine.The Wineglass Bay is listed as one of the ten best beaches in the world by the Travel Magazine, `Outside’.   It  does live up to its name --- it’s almost a perfect wine glass!   But the best vantage point is from the top of Mt. Amos, around 4000 feet of solid, yet slippery rock.  I was determined to climb up.  “You must be crazy!”  protested Rob, the driver/guide/owner of Bottom Bits.I told him not to worry about me.  But he wouldn’t let me go alone.  Ultimately, Rob, a British girl, Kate, and myself decided to venture up.  We made it.  And the view from the top was worth each grazed shin.A visit to Tasmania would not have been complete without taking in the Port Arthur Historical Site, on the Tasman  Peninsula. On the way to the Site, past what is called the Blow Hole (yes, it is, water blowing though a hole in a huge rock!),  is a town called `Doo’.  There is an unwritten rule, by and for all who live there, that each cottage must have the word `Doo’ in its name --- you can imagine the names:  “She’ll Doo,”  “Have-to-doo”, “Just Doo It”, “Love Me Doo”,   “Make Doo” …  think up some more?Initially colonized as a timber station, Port Arthur almost immediately became the gaol for an Empire.  Between 1830 and 1877, about 12,500 transported convicts were imprisoned at Port Arthur on the Tasman Peninsula, which was considered to be the ideal site for his new gaol by Lt.-governor George Arthur, being almost entirely surrounded by water, the only available escape being the narrow isthmus of Eaglehawk Neck, which was guarded by as many as 18 vicious dogs chained across the neck of the isthmus, double guard of sentries and armed constables.  It is perhaps a  triumph of the human spirit and ingenuity that despite this formidable guard, three bushrangers managed to escape in the 1840’s.The sandstone prison buildings, as also parts of the Church, are well preserved, and there are night-time lantern-lit guided tours, which tell chilling tales of ghostly apparitions and the clanking of chains in the chill of the night, evoking memories of the bloody punishments meted out to transportees, some barely in their twenties, some for offences no worse than stealing loaves of bread or a bundle of clothes!One of the girls I had met at a youth hostel had raved to me about Bruny Island.  Luckily, I found it was possible to do a short trip.  A car-cum-passenger ferry from Kettering, on the outskirts of Hobart, took me to Bruny Island.  And the manager of the YHA there, Simon, had come to fetch me in his car, right from the doorstep of my hostel in Hobart!Simon was a kindred soul!  A nature lover, and a keen conservationist.A narrow isthmus separates north Bruny from south Bruny, and a ride across the isthmus is a treat for the senses: almost  like driving through water. With a slight leap of imagination, it was driving through water!Bruny Island had several other delightful surprises in store:  it was in Bruny that I saw my first echidna in the wild, spotted the first white wallaby at night; it was in Bruny that I stayed overnight in a caravan for the first time in my life. The YHA, where I stayed the first night,  was in an idyllic location, bang on the beach at Adventure Bay.  I went for a long walk at night, alone on the beach, in the light of the moon, startled out of my skin to find something cold and wet rubbing against my knee --- it was Billy, the dog from the YHA --- He’d constituted himself my protector, and refused to go back to the hostel till I did!Bruny was a fine way to end the idyll on the Apple Isle, back to the beckoning  lights of Melbourne.   It was  a rare idyll, however, that would very well bear a revisit.****