7 October 2014 - Big4 St Helens Holiday Park, St Helens, Tasmania

Firstly I must make brief mention of the Rugby League; we sat on the edge of our seats last night while the gladiatorial game was played out, with skill, speed, raw brute force and pumped up mania. The South Sydney Roosters won by a margin, much to my husband’s delight. I have never followed League but I have to say that this particular game was as mesmerising as the North Esk River flood; in other words, I struggled to tear myself away.

The rain had cleared by morning or at least long enough for us to organise ourselves. We headed off westwards, in the general direction of Scottsdale visited several days ago from Launceston.

The sealed road climbed up into the hills, heavily wooded, and down through fertile farmed valleys like green pockets between the high peaks. Goshen was the first dot on the map passed through, offering little but a gateway to the Blue Tier Forest Reserve twelve kilometres north. We continued on through Weldborough, little left here nowadays but yet another lush green oasis of farmland and an access road to the Mt Paris Dam. We could have stopped at the old Chinese cemetery at Moorina, but again chose not to and continued on again until we reached Derby, pronounced in the same way Derby in the north of Western Australia is: Derr-bee.

Here we crossed the Ringarooma River, and drove up from the depth of the severe canyon the river has carved out over the millennium, parking in the main street along the side of the hill at an elevation of 164 metres ASL. The town is strung out along the side of the canyon, the old buildings still evidence of the town’s historical existence.

The area was surveyed as early as 1855 but not settled until 1874. Soon after, a large lode of tin was discovered in the area, a mine was established assuring the town’s economic future. The town was initially named for The Brothers Mine, Brother’s Home, until 1897 when it was renamed Derby. By the late 19^th century, Derby reached its peak, with a population of over 3,000 and the mine producing more than 120 tonnes of tin per month.

In 1900 the Briseis Tin Mining Company was established and the Briseis Dam was constructed on the Cascade River to provide water for its hydraulic mining operations. The site, high above the town and mine had been chosen so that water could be piped to the mine at the high pressure that was necessary to remove the overburden material, which lay on top of the tin-bearing drift face. The wall of the dam was constructed of rock-fill with a concrete facing, about twenty three metres high at the centre and one hundred and forty five metres in length. The reservoir covered an area estimated at eight hectares and to contain 3.375 million litres of water when full.

Fame and disaster came to the town in April 1929 when this very dam burst after three consecutive days of heavy rains. Eyewitnesses later described the scene to be “like a Niagara” with 600 millilitres of water flowing over the full length of the wall and crashing in waves down onto the rock-fill at the back of the wall. Eventually the dam gave way under the strain, taking fourteen casualties. Some, like one family of five, were swept away with their house. Amazingly there was no loss of life from the flooding of the mine workings one hundred and forty feet below the normal level of the Ringarooma River. The open cut was so large that all workers were able to scramble to the far side.

The mine was closed until 1934 when repairs were completed, but then tragically, just two years later, the new mine was buried by further flooding of the river. One year later, the mine had been cleaned out and was in production once more, reaching its peak in the 1940s, supplying tin to the Government during World War II.

It was quite interesting to read somewhere today that the Briseis was once the richest tin mine in the region, at its height producing nearly 10% of the world’s tin.

Derby's Monument to the flood victims

It was cheaper tin from Malaya that finally put paid to the industry here; costs of blasting and washing the deep overburden became uneconomical. By 1956 the mine here was all closed up, with the machinery gone and its history to be resurrected fifty years later as part of the tourist trade. 

In 2006 a beautiful monument was erected in the museum precinct together with a plaque listing all those who perished in the dam burst. Today we found it quite charming and very moving.

Like so many towns through Tasmania, Australia at large and perhaps the world, the rail which was opened in 1919, finally closed in 1992. Today, although Derby is only twenty five kilometres from Scottsdale, it seems like a forgotten town, tucked away on the hillside above the river. The population has diminished to a modest two hundred or so and is not likely to increase anytime soon.

We called into the Tin Dragon Interpretative Centre and spoke to the attendant about the state of a road we wanted to return home on but were warned against it, just as we had been by the woman in the Visitor Centre in St Helens. Further along the street, we went into the Museum where we learned more about the dam disaster and were again warned of the road conditions, The elderly lady there was very chatty and told us how the storm last Wednesday had blown the roof off her shed and that of her neighbour. In fact, she could not recall a storm as ferocious for many years, hence the concern as to the state of the less important roads. Trees had been down everywhere and flood waters were still up everywhere.

One would hope that the raised flood waters will be long gone in the weeks ahead, because we are less than a couple of weeks from the big annual event of Derby; the Derby River Derby, when a whole pile of crazy people take to the Ringarooma River on rafts of every shape and size. We will be long gone.

The reference to the Tin Dragon relates to a tourist trail of the same name established as a theme to explain the tin mining industry in this part of the state, starting with the challenging environment the Chinese who came to work, make their fortunes and head off back to their homeland. We have learned of the trials many of these hardworking immigrant workers endured in the Victorian goldfields and elsewhere, and although not faced here with the ugly racial hatred and violence on the mainland, tensions did rise here in Blanxholm in 1877 when a group of Chinese miners on their way to Ruby Flats was stopped by a group of angry Europeans.

According to old newspaper reports, a gun was pulled out in a threatening manner. However the whole matter was a bit of a fizzler; the gun toting miner was told to put his gun away, the Chinese retreated to Scottsdale for the night, and then the next day, with police protection, were able to cross the bridge and proceed to Ruby Flats. Hardly on the scale of the Eureka Stockade debacle at Ballarat, but then that was not racially based.

About ten kilometres beyond Derby lies Branxholm with its Red Bridge, the site of a showdown between the Chinese and their European fellows. Tin was discovered here too, at Ruby Flats a little south. In 1888 the Ormuz Mining Company was registered in Branxholm and amalgamated with the Arba a year later. As the Arba Tin Mine, it operated until 1960.

The larger more profitable mines such as that at Derby, were operated by European syndicates that paid wages. The Chinese worked on sites that were least profitable and mostly on tribute, a system whereby they would offer work for a fixed rate per bag of tin ore. The owner of the mine would accept the lowest offer.

We parked up in Branxton’s small public park which also offers camping facilities, no doubt for a modest fee. Most of these small places we have travelled around are RV Friendly; again I would say, this seems a wonderful place to travel about in a motorhome. While we sat there eating our lunch, spits of rain fell on the windscreen and fully laden logging trucks turned down the road beside us, presumably to a chipping mill given the size and variety of the logs. We had also seen well-tended manicured orchards down the same side road; it seemed that Branxholm was a hive of economic activity and was not sitting about mourning the loss of tin mining. For all that, it really is the smallest of places with a tiny IGA store and a garage and very little else.

Legerwood's sculptures

About another five kilometres on, we turned south and headed to Legerwood, another small settlement, home of the carved timber sculptures.  This is a wonderful story, of memorial and recycling, art and craft. As has been so very common here in Australia, a row of trees was planted after the First World War to commemorate those lives lost fighting in far off lands; these were planted in 1918. In 2001 the trees here in the tiny settlement of Legerwood were declared a danger and were to be removed. To retain the memorial in the town, a large amount of fundraising and great community spirit led to the completed wood statues fashioned out of the dying trees. The artist, Eddie Freeman of Ross, not Legerwood as I suggested in an earlier post, carved these statues using chainsaws.

The road south west out of Legerwood continues on to Ringarooma, another delightful little rural settlement, surrounded by dairy farms amid lush green pastures. This road is the one we had been warned not to travel and is only sealed a little beyond Ringarooma. It is also a road on all the tourist maps, as the alternative route to the famed Ralphs Falls and the St Columba Falls.

The western access road to the Ralphs Falls is a one way narrow track along the steep mountain range rising to about 800 metres ASL. Much of it is over rock rather than gravel and all the while we were climbing up the outside edge of the mountain, we were expecting to meet a logging truck. I was scouting for pull-off places we might be able to back up to should this occur and at one time I heard a voice on the two-way radio say, ”Anyone coming up?”

I responded immediately, that yes, we were on our way up, however when I gave a few land marks to pinpoint our location, we agreed that we were on two different roads. The driver of that other vehicle could have been anywhere; far down in the Ringarooma Valley below or on some ridge far away. We arrived at the top of the eleven kilometres section thankfully without meeting any other traffic.

About another twenty kilometres on, along a much safer if not rougher track, we arrived at the Mt Victoria Forest Reserve, parked and walked the twenty minute return walk through a wonderland of moss, ferns and Myrtle Beech to Norms Lookout, adjacent to the 90 metre Ralphs Falls, Tasmania’s highest single drop waterfall, a streaming ribbon plunging over a sheer granite face.

The path to Norm's lookout

North of Goshen, there is another reserve area which lures tourists into its wilderness wonders with descriptions such as “mystical” and names such as “Goblin Forest Walk”. These names could also be attributed to the charming spot we wandered through near the Ralphs Falls today.

We pressed on along the forbidden road, finally reaching the sealed access to the St Columba Falls, better accessed from the eastern end via Pyengana. We had dodged dozens of fallen trees, partially cleared since the storm five days ago, and were glad to arrive without finding our way blocked, and so having to turn and go back around the way we had come.

At ninety four metres, the St Columba Falls are one of the highest in Tasmania, and surely the most spectacular, although there are many more ahead of our exploration of this wilderness  State. Part of the Georges River catchment, they are rarely dry; in fact seeing them today, I cannot imagine them ever so. The walk down to the base is well manicured, along a wide sealed wheelchair friendly path under a canopy of tree ferns, sassafras and myrtle trees. Even my husband, who has been dragged from one waterfall to another over the past nineteen years or so, had to admit these were very beautiful indeed.

St Columba Falls

From here it was a simple matter of continuing onto down to Pyengana where we did not call into the Cheese Factory or the Pub-in-the Paddock. Momentarily we were tempted to stop and sample the cheese, but then we would have felt duty bound to buy and would then have moaned about the rip-off price, so we passed on by. And as for the pub? Generally we do not do pubs, although I suspect we miss meeting a whole lot of interesting characters because of this.

Back on the road toward St Helens, we called into the Shop-in-the-Bush, because we had been told that it was a must-do and because the sign outside advertised it the best bric-a-brac shop in Australia. Inside we found a beautifully laid out store with old books, old jewellery, old crockery, kitsch tee-shirts and other small souvenir objects no doubt made in China. We wandered about impressed with the order but bought nothing; we rarely do in such stores. However the party of four middle aged women travelling together were buying up large so I suspect our frugality was of little account to the shopkeeper.

One could spend a week or two in this corner of Tasmania, but we will head off tomorrow morning, having only touched the surface. I doubt we will be back. Tonight I placed an advertisement in our New Zealand motorhome magazine; the Gumtree advertisement here in Australia has had little feedback apart from three very weird scam attempts. The sale or storage question is in the lap of the gods; in the meantime we will enjoy the remaining weeks or months or whatever is served up to us.