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Cycling in Tasmania

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(Continued from page 1)

The following morning he woke us at 3.30 a.m. It was a strange morning. The darkness had a strange warm caress; it moved the leaves in the trees and stirred the grass with its tepid breath. We went into the house where Alvin gave us some breakfast.

Then he drove us into Dover where we picked up our guides. Alvin dropped us at the track and we started off at a spanking pace. Our guides were young and one of them a wiry red haired one led the way. We followed the telephone wire that leads to the lookout. This led through some burnt out timber where a very dangerous fire had swept through and nearly destroyed the town of Raminea, Only a provident wind saving it.

We crossed a button grass plain from where we could see but not admire Adamson’s Peak, for Mac of the red hair was tripping nimbly over logs that had once served as a tramway. To keep UP with him we had to perform aerialist feats. The trolley way led into the timber and we stopped at a fern bowered stream of rare untouched beauty and drank from its crystal depths.

We began to climb through tall stringy barks and were pleased to note that our other guide found the going as hard as we did. We began to sweat freely and although the time was not yet six the weather was hot. A snake slid slowly off our path and Ivor who was carrying a shovel killed it. It was whip snake, a not particularly dangerous snake and I for one was sorry he had to kill it. There is a certain lithe sleep beauty about a snake and this one seemed only too willing to get out of our way.

The track became steeper and the gums gave place to myrtles. Soon we were using our hands to climb and finally we emerged on the plateau, which is some 3,000 feet up, and on it is a timber and corrugated iron shack, which is held to the ground by bracing wires around it. On three sides is a stone wall which serves as a wind and snow brake.

The wind on the plateau was high. Inside the shack was like being in a boat on a rough sea. Each buffet of the wind rocked the shack and each one seemed to say next time I'll capsize you. The fire spotters were a couple of young chaps and soon they got us a brew of tea and some hefty slices of toast ready.

After an hour we felt 'fit enough to make the ascent to the summit and with a few instructions and a telescope from the spotters we set off. Adamson's Peak from Dover looks like Fujiyama, especially when the cone is snow capped.. This cone is rather deceptive for in reality it is a long ridge seen end on with a large plateau at one side of it. We crossed this plateau whose vegetation was knee high shrubs, and headed for the end of the ridge where we were told we would pick up a track. We failed to find the track immediately and did quite a bit of hard scrub bashing through the more vigorous growths on the ridge before finding it. It was then quite easy, being just a matter of scrambling over large lichen covered boulders till the summit cairn was reached.

From here the view was, to say the least, extensive. To the south we could see all there was to see of Tasmania and the ocean beyond: Eastwards Bruny Island and the Tasman Peninsular, Westwards fantastic range upon range of serrated ridges and lofty peaks, Federation Peak (which was climbed for the first time in '49) looked magnificent, its obelisk like peak challenging from 50 miles away; Northwards and so near as to seem within stones throw the Hartz mountains blocked our distant view.

All this time the wind had in no way abated and standing clinging to the top of the summit cairn it lashed us with such fury that we soon climbed down. It was a hot wind, this wind from the North, a searing, tearing unkind wind that was doing damage below, making the bushfires stir and move from their overnight sluggishness, carrying with its own speed and heat through the virgin olive green forests not we climbed down from the ridge, hot curious exultation of the high lonely places. the plateau we stopped at one of the brackish bathed our hot tired feet. Had the pool been deeper we would also have bathed our heads.

Back at the spotters' hut we ate our lunch of sandwiches. The spotters gave us some more tea and offered us meat and fresh bread. When we had left the hut in the morning there had been no fires worth talking about, but now a dozen fires could be seen and their smoke impaired the visibility. One of the spotters explained to us the method of spotting. From the look-out one could map read the location of a fire. This was phoned to Dover, together with information as to the strength of the fire. Strength was gauged by the smoke; white smoke being undergrowth or a light fire; black being trees or a severe fire. One of the fires to the North East seemed bad; its smoke was black and it was burning on an extensive front.

As we watched, fresh fires broke out as if by magic. This was rather disconcerting as our track back went through 5 miles of tinder dry heavy timber and with this wind no man could out-distance a fire if it broke out. Our guides up had left earlier and so we said our Goodbyes to the spotters and left them to their lonely vigil. We walked quickly, at the same time keeping our eyes open for snakes, the chief' danger being in the fact that you might stand on one causing him to strike defensively.

We reached the button grass plain without incident and while our caution was relaxed I all but trod on a large black tiger snake. I froze in my tracks, furious yet frightened at having placed myself so close to death. The snake slid silently away and disappeared into the grass.

Ahead of us a fire was burning. It had apparently started from the edge of the old fire and was burning fast; flames leaping from one tree to another. As we could not fight it we skirted it and reached the road. We were by this time weary, the heat and the dash through the forest had sapped what remaining strength we had from the ascent. We sat down by the road hoping that a lift might come along soon. After half an hour we began to stagger on.

We had walked about a mile when a Forestry Commission utility stopped and picked us up. We clambered quickly aboard as the driver said he was going to a fire. He seemed abrupt and we thought that he had the impression that we had caused the fire down the road. He drove past Ramined where we had hoped to pick up some stores and a mile up the road was stopped by a Forestry Commission truck coming the other way. The truck driver told him that the fire he was on his way to was now under control but not before it had burnt down Southport's ancient church.As the utility was going back to Dover we alighted and walked the rest of the way to Alvin's house, where our camp was. These last two miles were the hardest. The hard gravel of the road and the reflected heat were more exhausting than the climb up the ridge.

We reached our camp and collapsed on our sleeping bags being too tired to make anything to eat. We had walked 18 miles during the day. As we lay there we noticed smoke from a fire blowing in our direction. It became apparent that if the wind did not change this fire would soon be upon us. Then the miracle happened, the sky which was cloudy became overcast and heavy. The wind changed and suddenly the rain poured down.

The fires that had begun as if by magic once again obeyed nature's wand and were out within the hour. The next day we were questioned by a Forestry Officer about the fire near the road. From what we told him and what he already knew he deduced that the fire had been started by peat burning below the ground from the old fire two weeks previously, which had been fanned up by the strong wind and then spread. It was as easy as that.

Alvin drove us into Dover which was on our way back to Hobart. It was during this ride that we asked him about a report that the fire spotters had shown us in the paper about him. He told us of how he had been fighting a fire and the wind had swung round and trapped another chap and himself. They had jumped in the jeep and driven through the fire to a creek. Before reaching it however the petrol in the carburettor due to the tremendous heat had dried up. Small wonder it didn't blow up. They jumped in the creek and swam and crawled through a mile and a half of fire until they reached safety. It is perhaps callous to think that these men nearly lost their lives because of someone's thoughtless action with a cigarette butt and that £2,000 worth of railway and 20 sq. miles of forest was utterly destroyed. There are sign on Tasmanian bush roads that say

"SAVE THE TIMBER: TASMANIA'S PRINCIPAL EXPORT".

To some people that sign and their cigarette butt have no connection. Some people argue that pieces of glass start fires or that fires start by spontaneous combustion, but in the areas where man does not lead his roads there are significantly less fires.

Having said goodbye to Alvin we hitch hiked back up the Huon and round the coast to Cygnet. This area is particularly fine, being the centre of Tasmanian apple orchards. Regimental lines of trees stretch over undulating hills to distant forest skirted mountains. Orchards that for one brief week in spring transform the Huon into a wonderland of pastel pinks. At Cygnet we camped by the river whose estuary water is salty and wide. We swam and washed some of the previous days sweat and toil off.

The day had been of exceptional brilliance, no cloud had smudged the sky and as evening drew near we finished our meal of new potatoes and beef steak pudding and while drinking our tea, watched the sun quietly settle behind the hills and the water resolve itself into a mirror like surface in the calm of the evening. These are things which must happen every day, but it is only when living close to the earth that one observes them. Morning broke as bright as the day before. The weather seemed too good to be true, for all this time.: it had not rained. Having packed we started walking along the road by the coast. No traffic passed and by lunch we had reached Garden Island Creek after a pleasant 8 mile walk through coastal hills studded with orchards.

There was no store at Garden Island Creek but at a small tea shop we had a make shift lunch of strawberries and cream, biscuits and chocolate. Food of any other sort being unprocurable We walked another four miles, coming out on the coast again to have views of Bruny Island and Adamson's Peak, across the wind ruffled surface of D’entrecasteux Channel. We stopped at a jewel of a beach framed by graceful gums with turquoise coloured aping the half mile stretch of clean untrodden sand. Here we bathed our feet which gave us new energy to walk on to Gordon, six miles away, and the nearest sfore in the vicinity.

This was important as the only food we had was oatmeal, a good standby but not very substantial. However before we had reached Gordon we picked up a lift. He was going to Hobart but as we wished to see more of the coast we asked to be dropped at Woodbridge. It was here while sitting on the beach contemplating a camp that a young girl approached us and asked if we knew that this was a private beach.

We assured her that there was no such thing as a private beach in Australia and that the beauty of a coast-line is the heritage of all mankind. This rather rocked her and she murmured that her father had told her that it was his property and went away. We reached Hobart the next day being driving up the coast in a car that had stopped to give us a lift. This coastline is quite fine and follows the D’entrecasteux Channel, the narrow stretch of water between the mainland and Bruny Island. At Hobart we picked up our bikes from the station and cycled out to Cornelian Bay where we were told there was a camping ground.

The Northern Arm or Cornelian Bay rises some 40 feet and juts out into the river. Here the dead or Heart lie, but there is also room for the living. There is a tap outside the cemetery and around this tap are grouped a number or tents belonging to people who cannot get houses or who cannot afford to pay the high prices that are being asked for houses.

Among these people was Harry, the Beach Ranger. A simple happy man, whose ch1ef interest lay in pulling fish out of the river at which spot he invited us to share a boat with him whenever we wished. We went into town to do some shopping and were surprised at the number or people dashing around shopping. Later we learnt to our surprise that it was the last shopping day before Christmas.

 

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