It snowed during the night and to my delight, when I opened the
blinds, the landcrusier and the surrounding park was spotted with snow. I could
have said ‘buried” in snow, however to those who expect “buried” to mean an uninterrupted
layer of snow of at least six inches deep, this would have been misleading.
Suffice to say the snow was caught up in the trees, covering the front windscreen
and bonnet, and lying in every depression
within view. I was certainly glad we had left the heater blasting away all
night; I fear we might have otherwise been found frozen in our pyjamas.
We packed our lunch, today adding a thermos and cups, something we
don’t usually bother with when we are out walking with backpacks, but in these
weather conditions, we thought it might prove most welcome.
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| Toward Cradle Mountain |
At the Visitor Centre, we boarded the twenty four seater shuttle
bus, today still running about every twenty minutes or so because of the
statutory holiday in this neck of the State. Not to be outdone by Hobart’s last
weekend holiday for the annual show, the North Tasmanian’s have their own
annual holiday this weekend. Interestingly there was little evidence of an
influx of Tasmanian’s today in the National Park; most were like us, foreigners
of one kind or another.
Our driver was a mine of information perhaps encouraged by my
questions and I am always so very nosy, much to my husband’s embarrassment.
Today the prying led to the driver confiding about the life tenants living on
the land within the National Park.
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| Daffodils en route to the Chalet |
The land deal between the park facility people and the Ellis
brothers; Mort, Ossie and Alex, gave these three gentleman residency rights for
the term of their natural life. However the cunning plan to do so has been somewhat
thwarted because while Ossie has since passed away, brothers Alec and Mort still
hang on, now well into their nineties. In fact Mort is now ninety eight years
old, holds his car licence although puts his glasses on every year he had the
obligatory test and answers all fourteen questions with a 100% success rate. He
spends a few days a week at his residence here in the Valley and then drives on
over to Launceston or thereabouts for the rest of the week to check out his
nephews, nieces and friends who still survive. Apparently after having been
married three times and reaching eighty years of age, he has given up on women,
alothough with him still leading an active social life, who is to say that he won’t
return from his weekly outing with a rejuvenating chick in tow?
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| Tramper's hut for pause |
In the meantime the plans to build a brand new upmarket larger
Visitor Centre, on the land that will in due course be vacated on the passing
of these hardy old boys, funding has been stifled for National Parks and
everyone can rest easy and not worry about hiding the draft plans every time
one of the Ellis drops into to the centre. And just in case Mort is feeling a
little superfluous, one of the little Tasmanian Devils at “Devils at Cradle”,
the wildlife park which is working on breeding healthy Tasmanian Devils, has been
named after him.
It seems that younger brother Ossie leads a slightly more private
life, but he too is in his mid-nineties and must be up to something to promote
his longevity.
As we travelled up the valley, the driver pointed out a Bennett’s
Wallaby near the road and warned up to expect a bonus of normally nocturnal
animals about today because they had been housebound by the weather and now
hungry, would risk the daylight and public activity for a feed.
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| An out-building of the Chalet |
Arriving at Dove Lake we registered our intention in the Day Book and
set off for the six kilometre circuit around the lake. It is listed as a Grade
2 and is indeed an easy walk, or would be on a sunny summer day. Today the
boardwalk was covered in snow and slippery, and the path, not made easy by the
endless manicured wood and netting, was not much more than snowmelt creeks.
Apart from a small slip which caused no harm, for us the walk was uneventful
and incredibly beautiful.
The summit of Cradle Mountain never did emerge from
the cloud cover however there is more to be seen than that. We were amongst
many others who had set out mid-morning, and all I can say is, I am glad we are
here in November, not January through to March, which is apparently the busy
season. The beginning of the walk took us past the Glacier Rock, also known as
Suicide Rock, hence the child proof gate up to the lookout, passed yesterday
and at the other end of our walk, we again passed the boatshed, so there was a
degree of duplication.
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| Arriving at the Waldheim Chalet |
Back in the shelter we pulled our lunch out of the bag and took
sustenance while others, all waiting for the next shuttle watched us enviously.
Few had been as well prepared, or more the point, most rely on commercial meals
and the nearest café was some distance away. In fact the shuttle was long
delayed and when it did turn up, the driver cheerfully told everyone he had
been having lunch and not to worry because the next bus was just minutes behind
him. This was just as well because there was not enough space on the first bus
to take all those accumulating. Alas, the driver had no shame at all about
having left everyone waiting so long.
We rode only the short way back down to Ronny Creek and hopped off there
to take a walk up the hill to see the Waldheim Chalet, that built by the
Austrian born Gustav Weindorfer and his Australian wife, Kate, during World War I, the
precursor to the National Park. Kate died before the chalet was
completed but Gustav stayed on and eventually after his death in 1932, the
government purchased the 200 hectares or so and have since restored the property
as a monument to the man who made this all possible.
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| Bennetts Wallaby |
There was a small mob of wallabies sunning themselves near the entrance
and several wombats grazing on the mountain pasture below the chalet. We wandered
through the chalet listening to an audio tribute to the couple and their
friends, and reading again about these people, first encountered in the
Visitors Centre at Lake St Clair, but here so much more relevant.
While there, we took advantage of the
twenty minute Weindorfer’s Forest Walk behind the chalet, an easy walk up
through King Billy Pines, celery-top pines and myrtle beeches, almost prehistoric
beneath green veils of moss and great streams of water.
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| Mossy creeks on the Weindorfer's Forest Walk |
Back down at the road, we took the 5.5. kilometre Cradle Valley walk,
all on boardwalk across the glacial plains, much of it swampy and all of it
lovely. Chris commented along the way that here again was an example government
wombles wasting public money; walkers did not need high spec walkways and
handrails. I was more interested in the lizards darting off the boards and the
incredible amount of wombat scat strategically placed to mark their territory
all along our way. We had even seen some of these little faecal treasures up on
bench seats, which just goes to prove that these lumbering beasts are not
always so; they can leap and climb and dart away with the best of such beasts,
as can hippopotamus.
But by the time we reached the Ranger’s Station, I was quite done in and
took the opportunity to rest up in one of the most comfortable chairs I have
sat in for years, while Chris wandered about the building reading up on
everything about the park.
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| Along on the Weindorfer's Forest Walk |
We caught another shuttle back down to the Visitor Centre, where Chris
quizzed the woman behind the counter about the costs of doing the Overland Trek
these days, marvelled at the changes that had taken place since he had walked
it himself and nearly got talked into buying an expensive souvenir book. Chis
reported that she was a very good salesperson, at least for a Ranger.
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| View south through Cradle Valley |
Back at camp, we debated whether we would stay another day and do some
more walks on the morrow or head off. And if we were to head off, where exactly
would we stay for the next episode of out Tasmanian tour? No decisions were
made; tomorrow is another day and we can decide over breakfast.
The snow has all melted and the clear skies of the afternoon bode well
for tomorrow. Perhaps it is all a sign we should stay and enjoy the Park in
better weather?
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