Power to the people



The great pipeline bringing water 900m down
 the mountain to Poatina, deep underground.

 
 

We are back on the road again after a lovely few days at Longford, meeting several new friends, exploring the mountains to the west and the city of Launceston (Lonny to the locals) about 30 minutes away to the north.

And yes, we are quite safe from those disastrous bushfires in the south, though our plan to visit the Tasman Peninsula (Port Arthur etc) has been scrapped for the time being.

Our mountain trip took us in the direction of the great Poatina hydro power station, which itself operates in a cavern in the mountain, but the huge penstock (pipeline) bringing water from the Great Lake in the west, through the mountain, emerges and drops 900 metres to that station, which pumps out 300,000 kW.

As we drove up we could see the great pipeline and were able to get in close to it. To our amusement, there was a sign there saying: Hang Gliding Prohibited. Obviously, the boys had been there, flinging themselves off that section halfway up the mountain.

We kept going after we reached the top and were once again in the highland lakes area, this time on the eastern shore of the Great Lake, where we pulled in to make lunch in the shacks area of Cramps Bay.

Shacks are a deeply held tradition of Tasmanian life. Sometimes I think every second Tasmanian has a shack on the north, west, and south coasts and around the lakes. On the east coast it is a bit more upmarket and they are ‘holiday homes’.

 

This is Johnsy's Jetty on Great Lake.





The lakes shacks are wonderful. They have every known method of generating power, are made from lots of bits and pieces, with sections added over the years and bear names like ‘Pete‘n’Perc’s Shack'. Somehow I think it’s a fairly male domain. When they’re not out in their boats on the lakes trying to catch fish, they’re probably sitting around telling lies about what they caught, or tying their own flies to try to attract the trout.

Anyway, on the way back down the mountain, we called into a lookout to see the headrace tunnel for Poatina (through a locked mesh opening) and look out over the huge farmlands of the midlands, through the prevailing smoke haze from the fires further south.

The next day we drove to Launceston and spent the whole day visiting the two sites of the Queen Victoria Museum and Art Gallery. The wonderful thing about Tasmania is that nobody ever seems to throw anything away and people have collected stuff from the colonial era, then donated it to the museum for people like us to enjoy.

The history of the place is wonderful, well-preserved, and presented so well for visitors to see.



When we left Longford this morning we set our sights on the heritage villages along the Midland Highway, Campbell Town, Ross and Oatlands. At the same time the weather had changed from hot, clear days, to overcast with strong winds and by the time we reached Oatlands it was threatening rain, and I swear the temperature had dropped about eight degrees.

Once again, wonderful history preserved in Campbell Town and Ross (we’ll check out Oatlands tomorrow). We travelled from Longford along some back roads, rather than the highway and at times one could have been driving through the Darling Downs or even western Queensland.

 

Is this really Tasmania? It's the fertile but dry midlands.



Wheat harvesting is in full swing, there were sheep and cattle everywhere, fairly dry plains all around and the poppies will be harvested soon. Tasmania produces half the world’s requirements of medicinal opiates, e.g. morphine and codeine. There were lots of green fields of poppies in the north, some flowering their pink-tinged white, but in the midlands, obviously the flowering is over and the pods seem ready to be harvested. There are signs on the fences around these crops warning of death if the plants are stolen and ingested.

We had not realized how much wheat was grown in Tasmania, along with onions and potatoes (with supermarkets and greengrocers sporting potato sections with up to eight varieties) as well as all the glorious cherries, apricots and raspberries.

We are camped beside Lake Dulverton at Oatlands, just metres from the shoreline, with black swans, coots and even seagulls all milling around on the water’s edge. After days of heat, this afternoon it’s so cold we’re reaching for jackets, and may well start wearing the thick woollen socks we bought at the Tasmanian Wool Centre at Ross today. Brrr!