28 October 2013 - Queenstown Cabin & Tourist Park, Queenstown, Tasmania

The forecast was wrong; the temperature dropped to -1.6 degrees this morning and I swore that if we decided to stay another night, I would pull our sleeping bags out and pile them onto the duvets and blankets we were already using. However over breakfast we decided that we would stay with our resolve, to leave after our walk and risk travelling further west at dusk. So we struck camp and moved across to the Park Centre car park before going into the Lodge reception to hand back the amenities key and suggest how they might improve their camping facilities, particularly with reference to the water pressure.

It was 9.30 am when we set off along the Overland Track up the western shore of Lake St Clair. The day could not have been more perfect; the sub-zero temperatures heralded clear skies and comfortable walking conditions.

Preening pademalon

Our first encounter along the track was a pademelon, busy grooming him(or her)self, not bothered by our presence at all. We had been treated to a similar show over breakfast, as another pademalon fussed about in the sunshine within view of the caravan, but this second was far more relaxed and would not have looked out of place if a begging bowl were placed on the pathway for tasty titbits rather than the usual gold coin contribution.

Immediately after crossing the bridge at Watersmeet, where the Cuvier and Hugel Rivers converge and rush together into the Lake, we detoured off the Track around to Platypus Bay where we peered unsuccessfully through viewing windows down to the lake below. This did not surprise us; the sun was shining brightly on the lake water, lapping gently on the pebbly shore. Platypus prefer the obscurity of shade and hidden holes.

We walked for over two hours up the shoreline, or rather, along the path high above the shore. The track meandered up and down, along paths of confetti-like beech leaves, through shallow creeks, over muddy sections and all the way delighting in the incredible beauty of our surroundings. The snowy topped peaks were not visible from the pathway; they lay to the west of the ridge. Likewise we were protected from the wintery breeze and soon warmed up. I stripped my layers off as we continued; gloves, scarf, vest, jacket…. Fortunately it became no warmer.

We found ourselves beside the lake perched on rocks for lunch, a little earlier than normal, but suitable dining rooms were scarce, in fact this was the only easy access we found to the lake. Across the lake from our perch, we saw the imposing peak of  1241 metre Mt Isa standing to the north of the Traveller Range which runs up the eastern shore of the lake.

We calculated that we had walked half way up the length of the lake, and decided to call it enough, turning and heading back to Cynthia Bay where we were parked. On the way back we took time out to unblock water flow, refashioning the channels with our walking poles, this engineering our contribution to the planet. I have always enjoyed this pastime; it takes me back to puddling about in mud and water as a child, and no less for my husband. Funny the pastimes one shares.

There were few others on the track, only two couples, one Japanese who we shared our delight of the day and walk, and the other, two queers too queer to contemplate engagement with at all.

Once back at the car park, we did not waste time before setting off, first to seek out the old pumphouse, that to undergo renovation for accommodation purposes and the St Clair Lagoon and the birth of the River Derwent.

The pump house on the lake

The gravel road is now unmarked and we nearly missed it, but then it is understandable that they really don’t want the curious exploring. The buildings around the pumphouse are all fenced off and we probably were trespassing as we found our way around the barriers and out onto the long pumphouse access. It was near here that I encountered a snake, slim, fast and black; probably only two feet long but big enough to startle me.

I had to hop out a couple of times to break off branches, or hold them back, to facilitate easy access for the rig, not wanting to scratch the paint work. At the “dam” we stopped and walked across the structure which is simply an open spillway gate and has been like this for more years than anyone can probably remember. The Derwent River spilled out, rushed out, free to flow fast, ignorant of the route to come.

Satisfied with our exploration of the Lake St Clair area, given our time restrictions, we headed back out onto the Lyell Highway, for the eighty six kilometres or so through to Queenstown. It was 3 pm and we knew this would be a slow trip.

Views before the steep descent

“Highway” is a misnomer, the road is narrow even if two lane, and steep in places although for us travelling west, mainly downhill. The road winds down from the plateau to the young Franklin River, between high snowy peaks and ranges, forests that look as if they have never known fire, finally after about sixty kilometres arriving at Lake Burbury, formed by the Crotty Dam above the John Butter Hydro Station, yet another power scheme. We had dropped down into rain mist and very black storm clouds hovered in one corner of the sky putting an end to the wonderful weather.

The road crosses a narrow section of the lake and I did believe, erroneously as it turned out, that the road would stay fairly flat as we wound around the shore and Mt Owen before arriving at Queenstown. Interestingly, this very day we had been told by the Japanese walkers that they were warned against travelling through to the northern section of the Cradle Mountain National Park via Queenstown, because the road was very dangerous, very steep and narrow. I assumed that they had been referring to that we travelled before reaching Lake Burbury. Not so.

Five kilometres east of Queenstown, the road climbs up through barren looking land, growing only a scattering of feral pines, or wildlings, and then winds tightly down the side of what seems a deep bare open mine. At the base of the hole, through the rain mist, lay clusters of houses, and we presumed, correctly, that this was Queenstown.

Queenstown today has a population of less than 2,000, but it has fluctuated greatly over the last century, standing at over 5,000 in 1900. Gold was discovered soon after the area was first explored by Europeans in 1862. The Mount Lyell Gold Mining Company mined for gold from 1881, and then in 1892 began searching for copper.

Queenstown remained the centre of these mining operations right through to when these ceased in 1994, the mines during that time producing over 670,000 tonnes of copper, 510,000 kilograms of silver and 20,000 kilograms of gold.  Operations began again in 1995 and are now owned by the Indian Company, Sterlite Industries. The last census confirms that there are indeed quite reasonable employment rates in the town which belies first impressions.

As we drove through the town, directly to the caravan park through residential areas, we decided that these were indeed mining type houses, which looked like they hadn’t been maintained for the last fifty years. We assumed the population was mainly surviving on benefits and unable to stretch their budgets to non-essential repairs and maintenance. We are wrong; there must be some other reason the populace choose to live in such crummy houses. But we will learn more about this tomorrow.

It was not yet 5 pm but the caravan park office was unattended and the park empty. We telephoned the number on the door and were told that the manager would be right over. She had been visiting a neighbour; with little business, what else would you do to fill your day?

The park is immaculate, old but clean and we have the whole place to ourselves. And we have water!