Heavy rain fell for most of the night and the thunder storms crashed all around us, louder than I have heard in a long while. I had visions of us paddling around in ankle deep water as we packed up this morning, however this was not so. The rain had passed and the day promised to be much better than yesterday. The morning news reported terrible storm damage in Melbourne, the worst for five years; I was glad we had not crossed the Strait last night!
We were soon on our way south out of Devonport
following Highway 1, an excellent sealed road with plenty of passing lanes,
something very necessary for slow traffic on hills. Visibility this morning was
so much better than yesterday; as soon as we rose up out of Devonport’s coastal
depression, we were able to clearly see the craggy top of Mount Roland, peaking
above the closer range, catching the sun and looking as impressive as that
depicted in the murals of Sheffield.
We had seen the many farm reservoirs full
yesterday, but today they bulged at the brim, and water lay about everywhere, drains
overflowing with turbulent flood water, creeks over their banks and pressing up
to the edge of the road. Today we saw black swans a-swimming in those dams and
fresh produce advertised at the farm gates: wattle grubs, fresh local grown
apples, cheese, to name but a few. We passed the locality of Sassafras where
opium poppies are grown, however the identifying blooms will not arrive for
another month or so. Perhaps we will see them when we return to the north
before we sail again.
About forty kilometres south of Devonport, we
came over the brow of a hill, one of many we had travelled up and over, and
below us lay the most beautiful landscape, the Meander Valley wide and fertile,
with the high mountain range to the south and the Alum Cliffs standing out in
the sunlight. We passed through the very small settlement of Elizabeth Town, a
few very old buildings still standing, a cheese factory and a raspberry farm offering soup and dessert
for $10, beckoning the tourist.
Just ten kilometres on, we turned off the
highway and drove into Deloraine, situated on the hilly banks of the Meander
River, Tasmania’s largest inland town according to one of our travel bibles. This
last fact alone is rather confusing; isn’t Launceston the largest inland town
in Tasmania? However Launceston is a city, not a town, and it is accessible
from the sea via the River Tamar, so technically perhaps not inland? But Deloraine only has a population of 2,745
and many of them artists who have taken up residence, no doubt drawn by the incredibly
picturesque surrounds. We parked near the river in one of the few flat and
spacious enough parks available, and walked up the hill on one side of the main
street, and down the other, picking up a newspaper from the one newsagent and a
bag of locally grown apples from the greengrocer, both shops attended by women
with absolutely no personality. It was therefore a delight to enter a bakery-café
to pick up a calorie laden delight for lunch and be served by a very friendly
woman, just full of life and personality.
Rather than return to the main highway, we took
the Meander Valley Road which was surely once-upon-a-time the main road before
the highway was relocated and bypassed several of these charming little
settlements. We passed through the tiny villages of Exton, Westbury, Hagley and
Carrick before arriving at Hadspen which we considered in the first instance
our destination for the day.
Westbury, with just over 2,000 people, is promoted
as a charming settlement in the style of an English village, especially because
of its village green. With such promotion, we had expected something more than
we found. We parked and walked up and down several streets about the well laid
out town, and while there are indeed some fabulous heritage buildings, most beautifully
maintained, an English village it is not. Westbury was surveyed in 1823 and
laid out in 1828, and today we saw buildings labelled with their construction
dates, 1832 and the like. It is worth a look, however it would seem that there
are many to match the appeal.
I had done a search of caravan parks for Launceston
which was loosely our next place to explore, and found one about ten kilometres
north, one the same distance west and another on the city’s southern edge. We
decided that the Discovery Park in Hadspen should be checked out but on
arrival, it seemed to have no more appeal that any other might, so we decided
to press on and try the more central camp. And that is how we arrived at this
one, set on the hill above the city, close to the highway but not so close to
be a nuisance.
After lunch we drove the few kilometres over
the hill to the Cataract Gorge, the river gorge at the lower section of the
South Esk River. This river and the North Esk River converge at Launceston and
become the River Tamar, but I have yet to see this for myself. Today we were
more intent on enjoying the spectacular scenery of the gorge and taking another
one of Tasmania’s 60 Short Walks.
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| Cataract Gorge's Cliff Grounds before the deluge |
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| High above Duck Reach |
The main part of the reserve where all these facilities
are located is the First Basin, and from here one can cross the river on a
suspension bridge built in 1904 and walk downstream to the town, or upstream
over a more challenging path to the power station at Duck Reach. Instead we
walked upriver along a well graded path along the cliff edge, well fenced for
safety purposes, from where we had wonderful views of the swirling cascading
fierce flood waters of the South Esk River. After a distance of about two and a
half kilometres, we arrived opposite the power station, and crossed the river
on another swing bridge to read the interpretative panels explaining the
history of this long decommissioned station.
Duck Reach, constructed in 1895, was the first
significant hydro-electric power development in Australia, the first major
supplier of electricity to a city in Australia, the largest hydro-electric
development of its day, in Australia, and the most comprehensive and ambitious
municipal scheme in Australia at that time.
The power station continued to run without
alteration or addition to the equipment from the 1920s until the 1950s, decommissioned
after almost sixty years of continuous service interrupted only by the 1929
flood damage.
Floods have swept down this river many times
and in 1929 washed both the station and the bridge away. Had I not learned this
and seen photos in the museum set up in the now empty power station, I would
have thought the deluge rushing through the gorge today was unique. The bridge
was rebuilt in 1930 but destroyed again except for the pylons by the 1969
flood. It was not until 1995 that it was rebuilt yet again.
The path ascends steeply from the power station
and there are warnings that this is a track not a walk. A series of steps which
today provided a water course for all that seeping and oozing out of the rocks,
make for a challenging climb, and I did wonder whether we should have taken the
more sensible option, returning by the same easier route which Chris had done
those years ago. However we pressed on, along tracks which were streams rather
than pathways, and finally arrived back at the Alexandra Suspension Bridge and
back to the landcruiser before our parking ticket expired.
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| South Esk River toward Duck Reach |
Here we had been particularly lucky. When we
arrived earlier I hopped out to check out the parking fee situation, an old
chap generously gave us his unexpired ticket, with still a couple of hours left
on it. Now this is something that raises my husband’s ire; that one should have
to pay for parking at a public reserve. I agree but don’t get quite so wound up
about it all. We managed to complete our walk with one minute up our sleeve.
The sun had continued to shine for most of the
day but clouds were gathering and we wondered whether we would have rain again.
Best return to camp, where we dealt with the chore we had put on the backburner
a few days ago because of the wind; to attend to the floors and mats. It was
while we were beating the carpets that a couple of fellow campers turned up and
spelled out doom and gloom for our travel plans.
I have already mentioned that we had changed
our planned direction of attack of Tasmania; it was now our intention to travel
north from here and then on east and down the eastern coast until we arrived at
Hobart. These fellow travellers told us about the roads to the north east, some
which they had set out on themselves and aborted because of the intense
steepness and tightness of the route, numerous hairpin
bends and equally numerous B-Train logging trucks, how locals told them they must not even
attempt certain routes, and which ones were suitable and which were not. After
they departed, we pulled out our map and thought again. Our two booked days
here in the park are most likely going to turn into four or more as we travel
out and explore the region to our north east from our base here rather than
dragging our home behind us. It is always difficult to gauge the truth or fear
that drives such statements; we can only hope we will not be over-reacting. We
do know that the hospitals here are particularly busy in this rainy season;
road accidents are more prevalent and we have no wish to be another statistic.
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