15 November 2013 - Deloraine Apex Caravan Park, Deloraine, Tasmania

Sunshine greeted us this morning; just as well because we had a big day of exploration planned. I know I do harp on about the weather; however it has become rather all-consuming since we have been here in Tasmania. Perhaps it is like that for all those who permanently live here on the Apple Isle.

My original plan for our exploration of the interior after we returned to Devonport was to travel south down the western bank of the Great Lake to Bothwell, than sweep around to Oatland, up to Ross and back up to the ferry terminal. Neither of us did too much research on this because it might have all been academic, and certainly would have been if we had stuck with our original booking to leave on 10 November. But rescheduled with over a week up our sleeve, we took our time completing the outside circuit. I was keen to return to Deloraine to spend some time in those tantalising dark Tiers, and when Chris saw that some of that road south of Deloraine was on gravel road, he suggested we base ourselves at Deloriane and not bother with Bothwell, Oatlands and Ross. I am such an amenable soul; I agreed to his suggestion and of course here we are. But I was still resolute that we would check out Great Lake and today was the day to do so.

The road directly south of Deloraine is the A5 and with such a label, one can expect a certain standard, but even so, Chris remarked several times today that he was glad we were not towing the caravan.

We travelled up the Meander Valley through lovely farm land then turned up into the Great Western Tiers, through plantation forest and absolutely stunning scenery. The new growth on the uniform eucalypts gleamed bronze and gold in the sunlight, and the same light caught the high cliffs; the Quamby and Prospector Bluffs.

We turned onto a gravel road marked Liffy Falls and followed this for about six kilometres, descending steeply on a very narrow road, devoid of passing spots for more than a kilometre. Fortunately on the descent we met no one but were not so lucky on the return.

Liffey Falls

The falls are absolutely gorgeous, falling in a series of cascades stretching for possibly half a kilometre. The pathway to the base and back to the car park takes about three quarters of an hour and is worth every minute, the track passing through lovely rainforest, with simple lookouts over each major fall. Apparently Tasmanians spend time debating which falls are the loveliest; the Russell Falls in the Mount Field National Park or these here in the Liffey Forest Reserve. We found them equally beautiful and will stay out of the debate.

Interestingly I found a rather unsubstantiated claim that up to sixty aborigines were massacred here in 1827 by European colonists. I suspect there is truth in this, given the history of Tasmania.

As we walked along the forest path, silhouettes of the large tree ferns appeared like works of art at our feet, the sunshine shining through the spaces in the canopy. The water flowing in this part of the river was untainted by tannin; so very clear and pure.

Another Big Tree

While in the reserve, we took advantage of another little walk, that to The Big Tree, yet another one. And this, just like the one seen a few days ago, is a Browntop Stringybark, standing fifty metres high with a diameter of 3.39 metres, worth a look if this is the first Tasmanian Big Tree you have come across.

Safely back on the main road, we continued south, intending to do the Pine Lake Walk about ten kilometres north of the Great Lake. Unfortunately any signage there might have otherwise been, has been removed. Here one can sometimes view pencil pines, but then we had seen these at Cradle Mountain. It was more the opportunity for a walk in the wild that I missed than the botany lesson.

We climbed higher into the mountains and then across a plateau, the Central Highlands Plateau, covered in heath and boulders, stopping at the top of Haulage Hill. At 1,210 metres ASL, the temperatures were cooler and the views south over the expansive lake stupendous.

The Great Lake

The Great Lake, at 1,030 metres ASL, is Australia’s second largest freshwater lake, Lake Pedder leading the charge, and has an area of 114 square kilometres according to Wikipedia, although the sign on the hill states a potential coverage area of 176,610 hectares. Its original size was much smaller before Tasmania’s first hydro-electric scheme began here in 1910. A private company, the Hydro-Electric Power and Metallurgy Co Ltd, built a small dam across the Shannon River at the southern outlet of Great Lake and began work on a canal to divert the water to a lagoon not far from a steep drop into the valley of the Ouse. When financial difficulties hit the company in 1914, the Tasmanian Government purchased the unfinished work.

In 1922, as part of hydro-electricity development, a multiple arch dam was completed to replace the first dam wall built in 1911. This wall of twenty seven arches was first built outside USA, was the longest in the world and is still recognised as a world-class engineering feat.

By the end of the Second World War, GreatLake water flowing south was powering a second station at Waddamana. And then a new plan was dreamed up; to change Great Lake’s outflow to the north by drilling a six kilometre tunnel through the northern rim of the Great Western Tiers, then dropping the water down the mountain through a penstock and shaft to the underground Poatina Power Station. The scheme was completed in 1965.

Miena's Three Walls dam

To increase the water available for Poatina, the storage capacity of Great Lake was enlarged by the construction of a third dam at Miena in 1967. The 22 metre rock fill dam was raised by another six metres in 1982. This multi-stage wall has given rise to the tourist slogan: “China has the Three Gorges Project; Miena, the Three Walls Dam”.

The lake is one of Tasmania’s premier trout fishing lakes, the trout first released here in 1864.

As we travelled down the shore, we were absolutely astounded at the number of dwellings in evidence, mainly holiday shacks, or baches, but some more regularly inhabited, most rather simple and aged, some quite modern. These were strewn along the shore at tiny settlements named Breona, Doctors Point, Brandum, Reynolds Neck, Liawenee and Miena. Most of these are most likely holiday spots for keen trout fishermen.

The tourist brochure suggested we call into the Visitor Centre at Lianwenee, however there we saw nothing but a police station and the fish hatchery. Again the signs had been removed; we were not welcome there today.

The European history of the Highland area began here in the 1830s when settlers carved the area up into freehold and leasehold grazing runs. Hunters were also attracted to the area by its animals’ thick winter pelts, and from the 1890s to the 1960s, the trapping and snaring of game was a significant industry. I made mention of this, or rather, to the end of the free-for-all, in my posting yesterday.

Beaumont Memorial

We pulled in beside the dam at the southern end of the lake to have lunch, then walked the short distance to the Beamont Memorial, the final resting place for a 19^th century naval officer and public servant, John Beamont, who explored the area in 1817 as well as the view point for Von Guerard’s painting “Great Lake”. What a spot to be left to enjoy your after life! Several small lizards scampered about the rocks as I tried to find the best view point.

It is less than twenty or so kilometres south to the Waddamana Power Station which is now a museum rather than a working power generator. There are tours one can take for a substantial fee, or better still, a self-guided wander about the station, which is open most days of the year. We examined the brochure and found that one could see turbines, transformers, exciters, spanners, alternators and valves, together with explanations as to how power is generated. This we have seen in other places and while there are apparently some photos and some notes about the social history of the place, we decided to forgo the detour.

The A5 carries on south to Bothwell and then to Hamilton or Brighton, both townships we had travelled through in the past weeks; we turned instead and travelled north travelling between Great Lake and Arthurs Lake, this second, surprisingly, also part  of the hydro system. It was created in the 1920s by damming the Upper Lake River. Today we noted the large pipe penstock between the two lakes, although were unable to ascertain whether it was still in use.

Poatina Headrace Adit

Reaching the north east corner of the lake, the road turned east and we started a very steep descent back down to the Meander Valley. We pulled into a lookout situated beside the Poatina Headrace Adit, the access tunnel to the guts of the water spillway tunnel. Signs warned of poisonous gases oozing out from the bowels of the earth, so we stood on the edge of the escarpment and enjoyed the views instead.

Views beyond Poatina

Near the bottom of the descent, we detoured into Poatina, the purpose built village to house those who constructed the power station of the same name. We drove in for a nosy and decided that it was more attractive than most settlements of the type, with many of the houses brick and tile. Later research revealed that Hydro Tasmania later sold the property to an outfit operating under the moniker Fusion Australia, a home grown not for profit Australian Christian Youth  & Community organisation; a commune in other words. We had no idea we were trespassing.

Soon we were down on the flat earth, travelling along a narrow sealed road, hemmed in by high hawthorn hedges, flowering white and pink, and for all the world, like scenes from rural England. Then the flat land gave way to gentle rolling hills, the Norfolk Plains where the hedges were lower and the land still most attractive.

Fields of commercial poppies

We crossed over the water race flowing from the Poatina Power Station into a trout fishing operation, and passed by fields of pale flowers, medicinal poppies nodding their heads behind signs that warned us away.

At Cressy, which took its name from an English syndicate formed to breed horses and other stock on a land grant of 20,000 acres in 1855, we learned that the area was once famous for its wheat and sheep farming. Although no longer known for its wheat industry, the wool growing industry and its sheep stations have survived and are still a predominant industry for the area. Today trout farming, the Cressy-Longford Irrigation Scheme and an abbatoir also contribute to the economy of the place. The central park sports a large trout sculpture to announce its claim to be Tasmania’s Trout Capital, a big name for a township of just 1,400 inhabitants.

Forbidden Fields

We decided to carry on through to Longford, just thirteen kilometres north, closing in on Launceston. Longford is a little more substantial than Cressy with a population of 3,757. It lies at 145 metres ASL at the convergence of the Macquarie and South Esk Rivers, this latter river the one so impressive in the Cataract Gorge just out of Launceston. Like Cressy, its economy revolves around wool, dairy produce and stock breeding and tourism, the tourists stopping to admire the many heritage buildings.

Lieutenant Thomas Laycock was recorded as being the first European known to travel through this area in 1807 en route to Hobart in search of famine relief. Although his efforts were unsuccessful, as Hobart was also struck by famine, he was rewarded with one cow in payment for his expedition, which gives a whole new meaning to the phrase, “Have a Cow”. He did also of course get enough recognition to go down in history and be named in this blog  two hundred and six years later.

Settlers started to arrive soon after, farmers moved from Norfolk Island, hence the Norfolk Plains. The town, initially named Latour, grew up around the pub built in 1827, then in 1833, was renamed Longford. More prominent settlers arrived from England, these who built a number of homesteads which are still amongst the finest in northern Tasmania. 

Heritage buildings still here for use or admiration include Christ Church built in 1839, the Queen’s Arms Hotel in 1835, the Blenheim and Tattersalls Hotels in 1846. Up and down the main street, colourful gardens bloomed brightly and offset the buildings this charming town.

Chris suggested we drive even further east but rain clouds were gathering and I was keen to take up Chris’s consent to colour my hair. So we joined the main Midland Highway and travelled on westward back to Deloraine. Chris once more has a bleach blond wife; husbands do have more uses than you might expect.