Wild about the West Coast

So here we are in Strahan, on the beautiful west coast of Tasmania. West Coasters, who have a very dry wit, say it only rains twice a year in these parts . . . once for five months, and once for seven months.

In Queenstown, up in the mountains behind this harbour, they say it rains for nine months of the year . . . and it’s wet for the other three!

We came here across Tasmania, from the hop fields near New Norfolk, the trout and salmon hatchery at Plenty, and the last of the raspberries, through the great forests and lakes and close to some highly impressive hydro-electric power stations.



The historic salmon ponds at Plenty in a gorgeous
park setting.



While near New Norfolk, I had success in finding the grave of a First Fleet convict ancestor of a friend in NSW. I’d done some research which showed that this man, William Edmunds, was one of 4 Welshmen in the First Fleet, and that he was buried at a ‘Methodist chapel at Lawitta, near New Norfolk’. We found that plain little chapel on a country road, next to an orchard, with a lot of gravestones so old their inscriptions were obliterated. One had been fairly newly marked as that of Betty King, the first white woman to set foot on Australia (she was first off her convict boat).

I took photos of the whole place but was disappointed I couldn’t find the grave. We decided to visit the orchard to see if it had any fruit for sale, which it did, and the owners were incredibly helpful when I mentioned what I had been doing.

The wife dug out local histories and records of graves, the husband even phoned a neighbour who knew a lot about the First Fleeters buried around there, and we left with cherries and the last of the apricots as well as new info, showing that Edmunds was buried in New Norfolk itself. This was quite true, and we found the old cemetery where he’d been laid to rest, aged 92, in 1843. Once again, the old gravestones could not be read, and they’d been lined up against a side fence, but a new memorial listed all those buried there, including him.

On we went then, into the mountains, side-tracking at one stage for lunch and discovering some of the recently-burnt areas in those central highlands. We spent the night at a former hydro village, Tarraleah, built for one of the early schemes in the 1930s, so all the buildings are beautiful art deco style. Some of the later such villages, built in the 1950s, are pretty ordinary.



The water from the River Derwent going down
to the Tarraleah power station. It goes
through eight such stations, and then
becomes Hobart's drinking water.



The whole of Tarraleah was bought by a private company in 2005 and operates as a tourist resort, with people able to book one of the houses, or stay in a small caravan park. There’s an excellent pub, where we ate that night, and it was crowded with young men and women, Hydro employees who were visiting for some work on one of the two massive power stations at the bottom of the valley.

Our next night, after only a short drive, was Lake St Clair, with a detour to see the Wall in the Wilderness, a private project by a sculptor, who is creating a huge huon pine wall showing scenes from the region’s past. It’s highly impressive, in a wonderful timber building which houses it, and a gallery all around of his other works.

We had a lazy day at Lake St Clair, as the weather was fairly frightful. We felt for all the earnest walkers getting on the ferry to be taken to the northern end of the lake to start the Overland trek to Cradle Mountain. It also collects those who’ve done the six-day trek and brings them back to the excellent visitor centre. We had planned to go on the ferry, but frankly, in bad weather one wet lake’s surrounds are like lots of others.

That evening, as we sat outside the motorhome in a lovely bush setting, along came first a totally unafraid currawong to wander around the ground, then an echidna, later a wallaby, and just as were going to bed, we heard something outside, and there was a brush possum investigating our chairs.



Our cruise boat off Sarah Island, former convict station
in Macquarie Harbour.



The next morning, as we headed further west, we saw a wombat on the side of the road. The only other live one I’d seen on this trip had been at night at Petal Point, so I leapt out in the rain to photograph it . . . just as he turned and trundled off into the buttongrass plain.

Since arriving in Strahan we’ve had two wonderful excursions, one a cruise on Macquarie Harbour and up the Gordon River; the other the West Coast Wilderness Railway from Strahan to Queenstown.

We had taken the premium package for each, so it was bubbly all the way, and a hostess to cater to every need whether in the upper cabin of the big catamaran, or the beautifully-timbered railway carriages.



The interior of our carriage, with the steam engine in front.



We left Strahan in a train pulled by a diesel loco, but then changed halfway to a 117-year-old steam loco fitted with the special pinion wheels to haul us up the rack railway system which had been the only way to conquer a 250-metre hill on the original railway, which brought ore from Queenstown down to Strahan for shipping. After reaching Queenstown we returned by bus, making it a full day out.