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

Rain fell in the night and again just before we rose, however the temperature was less formidable than the previous day; we are, after all, now much lower at 129 metres ASL. Opening the blinds we found ourselves still alone in the park and bumble bees already busy in the beautiful flowering azaleas alongside the caravan, one a pale lemon, the other a rich crimson.

After breakfast we headed back into the centre of town, perhaps a kilometre upstream on the Queen River, and parked in the main street. I found myself accosted by an elderly toothless portly gentleman, if "gentlemen" can be toothless, who was enjoying a mug of coffee on the pavement outside one of the several tearooms in the street.

Main Street Queenstown

He asked after our landcruiser, and shared that his was an 80 Series, as opposed to our 100 Series, and this triggered further chatter. He told us that it had snowed right here in town just last week although it had soon melted. We learned too that he and his wife had returned from the Sunshine Coast to their hometown after forty years of absence to care for a dying relative, who had since died. They were now twiddling their thumbs, enjoying the community warmth of Queenstown, looking forward to Christmas with their family and planning without too much commitment, a trip around Australia. He had travelled most of the tourist hotspots as a tour driver over his working life, but his wife had seen little of this country. Alas, I felt, as he sat there, rather stuck to his chair, that the trip was unlikely to be taken, despite the fact they had already invested in a camper trailer. It also occurred to me later that this man was probably little older than my own husband, and yet his physicality made him seem so much more ancient.

Across the road we met up with a woman of about my own age, who had returned after several years away, previously an import to this corner of Australia, and who was intent on spending the rest of her days here. I suspect however that a lover or a fascinating work opportunity might take her away again at some future time; she is a woman wide open to adventure, despite expressing satisfaction with her cat and patchwork. In love with this strange town, she encouraged us to drive hither and thither, and was full of advice about our next destination of Strahan.

Part of the Miners Siding installation

After picking up our favourite newspaper from the local newsagent, today’s no less, we made our way around to the Galley Museum pausing first to wander about the sculptural installation across the road. Titled “Miners Siding”, Stephen Walker’s bronze sculptures depicting twenty one facets of the evolution of the Mt Lyell Mines and surrounding areas, celebrate significant and traditional events of the 100 year old history of the Lyell District. The work is quite beautiful as well as both informative and very tasteful.

The Eric Thomas Galley Museum is situated in an old pub, filling a multitude of rooms with over one thousand photos, memorabilia and videos. The place has been run by volunteers since 1986 and the relatively modest entry fee from the few tourists who pass through probably does not cover the running costs.

Personally I found the crowded rooms all a bit much, and the fact that many of the captions had been typed up in capital letters, probably back in 1986, very difficult to read, or at least speed read the way I normally attack such places. Best of all, I enjoyed the rather antiquated video which explained the history of the area and probably should have watched this first, rather than try to make sense of the area’s history from the hundreds of photos.

It was well after midday by the time we left the museum, having only explored the ground floor and then not fully. It was the sort of day for toasted sandwiches, and an appropriate sort of lunch when one is back in the caravan and on mains power.

Dishes done and appetites satisfied, we headed out again, this time back toward Lake St Clair, up Mt Lyell on that very steep road of hairpin bends. This time without the caravan in tow and with visibility so much better than yesterday afternoon, we were both able to enjoy the views back down to the township and marvel at the colours on the barren rocky surrounds.We paused too to enjoy the sight of the long single drop of the Horsetail Falls, aptly named, we thought.

A drive up Mt Lyell

Continuing to the top of the saddle, we turned north to a lookout over the Iron Blow on Gormanston Hill, the very first local gold mine which made a fortune not from gold, but from the copper in the ore that continues to be Queenstown’s principal product.

The mine was discovered by three hardened prospectors, brothers Bill and Mick McDonough, and a Scandinavian seaman, Steve Karlson. It was taken over by three canny investors, William Dixon, James Crotty and Frederick Henry. In 1892, the mine was sold to a new company, The Mount Lyell Mining Company whose shareholders saw its real worth was not in the limited gold.

While the Iron Blow copper ore body was ultimately disappointing and was phased out in 1922, the Mount Lyell Company went on to buy other leases, making its investors into wealthy men. Of the six Mount Lyell pioneers, the three original prospectors ended their lives in poverty, injury and alcoholism. The three shrewd investors held onto their shares through difficult times, made their money and died in luxurious surrounds.

Colours of nature on Mt Lyell

The remnants of the settlement below us, Gormanton, or “Gormie” as the locals know it, is one of a string of local towns created in mud, forests, valleys and mountains, only to be destroyed by human weakness. They were the product of a bitter feud between two mining men and their rival companies. James Crotty and Bowes Kelly had by the end of the 1880s each built their own major mine, smelters, railway, port and series of towns, housing a total of 10,000 people.

Crotty had the richest mine, North Lyell, which suffered from poor management and financial blunders. Kelly’s Mount Lyell Mining Company had astute leadership but diminished ore reserves. A merger was inevitable. Locals waited nervously to see which railway, port and towns would die. The agreement was signed in 1903 and went against the North Lyell Company.

The town of Darwin, south of here, was abandoned almost overnight. Crotty was soon deserted; its site is now below manmade Lake Burbury. Pillinger, at Kelly Basin, with brand new wharves, houses, shops and brickworks, lingered for a few years. Gormanston and its sister town, Linda, despite much adversity, have managed to survive with a permanent population of around fifty people. New recreation opportunities rather than mining are now the life blood of the communities. Queenstown became the area’s main town and Strahan its port. But it could just as easily have been Gormanston and Pillinger.

Beyond the now water-filled mine, we could hear heavy machinery working, obviously that working deep in the earth. This one remaining mine, the renamed Copper Mines of Tasmania, is the sole survivor of forty four mining companies and syndicates, for whom many thousands of men, their supportive women and the environment spilt their blood, either actually or metaphorically.

In the boom years of the 1890s and the early 1900s, the once heavily forested hills met their fate. Felled to fuel the smelter furnaces, the hills were blackened by bushfires and the topsoil scoured by rain. For seventy three years a pall of sulphurous smoke from the furnace stacks killed any new growth, and surely must affected people’s health. And now seeping through the sulphide rich rock of the mine workings and waste dumps, water turns acid then flows into the rivers below, carrying a toxic concoction of metals.

Just as the hills have been made barren by sulphurous fumes, huge quantities of acid drainage from the Mt Lyell mine lease have devastated the Queen and King Rivers. The effects are still evident as far away as Strahan’s famous Macquarie Harbour. A clean-up program has begun, but restoring life in the lower reaches of the King River by removing acid and metals from the leaching drainage is not a simple process.

There was one particularly significant impact on the human aspect of the operation; that was the fire and resulting loss of life in 1912. On 12 October 1912, one hundred and seventy men descended the North Lyell shaft to begin their shift on six deep levels. Late in the morning, at a level of 700 feet (213 m), fire broke out in a pumphouse. The mine workings above and below rapidly filled with smoke and poisonous gas. Remarkably fifty one men were raised to safety on the following Wednesday; forty two had perished.

This terrible disaster followed on from a massive strike just over a year before, which if my memory serves me correctly, lasted about fifty six days. It was a terrible decade for those here in Queenstown indeed.

These stories and many more were supported by the many photos in the museum and were repeated all about the town on interpretative panels. This is a town with real history, but then, doesn’t every town have a history?

Other significant dates celebrated are:

• ·         In 1896 the Abt railway line between Queenstown and Strahan opened.
• ·         In 1932 motor traffic linked the West Coast to the outside world.
• ·         In 1963 the last train on the Abt railway closed.
• ·         In 1969, the Queenstown smelters closed after seventy three years of continuous operation.

Today the Western Wilderness Railway operates for the tourist trade, the original Mount Lyell Mine railway restored for the thirty five kilometre journey to Strahan through thick rainforest, past river gorges and across high trestle bridges stopping at little stations along the way. Nearly two months ago a landslip occurred toward the Queenstown end of the rail line and while the workers have been endeavouring to stabilise and repair the site in time for the onslaught of tourists, the train for now is out of operation. I do believe that it would be quite a delightful trip to take.

Queen River

On the advice of the blonde in the antique shop, we headed down the polluted orange Queen River, through healthy looking forest then on up to Mt Jukes from where we look east to Lake Burbury and the mountains beyond. Here the rock formations and colours thrilled us as much as those on the damaged hills of Mt Lyell.

From here we also looked north west and caught a glimpse of Lake Margaret, that created to provide the first hydroelectricity for the running of the smelters, as an alternative to the timber being stripped off the hill.

We could have driven on down to the shores of Lake Burbury and then south to Bird River and the upper reaches of the Macquarie Harbour, however chose to turn back, pulling into the entry to the John Butters Hydro Electric Station. Access was denied us, on foot or by vehicle; however we did manage a glimpse of the imposing white structure through the screen of trees. 

There is a real charm in this place; the tourist brochure describes the area as having the “bare grandeur of the hills”. We chuckled when we first read this but now having spent this little time here and driven about, we would agree with the description. We were glad too that we had stayed and walked the streets, talked to the locals and “felt” the community vibes to really appreciate this otherwise rather scruffy town tucked down in the bottom of the valley.

I was glad to have purged some of our accumulated possessions; a great bag of books enjoyed and now sacrificed, hopefully to be enjoyed by others who venture into the local Vinnies in search of diversion.

Returning to camp we found we were still alone, however since then, three other parties have arrived, two caravans and a motorhome. I am glad they have come; Queenstown deserves to be a stopover for tourists, even if the train is not running.