MOT Tour Day 47 - Queenstown to Mount Field

The Gravel

Driving days its always good to make an early start. We did, clearing the caravan park before 9:00amand then completed a couple of quick  tasks in town and on the way out. One of them - emptying the portapotty, took us to The Gravel or the Queenstown Oval. It earned its colloquial name from the days when its surface was gravel, not grass. For nearly 100 years, The Gravel was the setting for the final of the West Coast AFL Final. The surface is now compressed silicon. 

I had been considering the steep climb out of Queenstown and its many sharp bends and decided to apply the Subaru version of low range. I have two variations of the one theme available so when the gradient reach 8% I engaged it and we climbed the mountain at between 20 and 30 km/hr. It worked like a treat and the Forester pulled the Avan up comfortably like it wasn't there. Selecting the low range wasn't about power but traction. The only problem we had were the lack of commonsense of some of the motorbike riders who passed us. We were slow but there were many sections, despite the double lines, where it was same for them with their instantly available torque and acceleration to slip past. Unfortunately one bloke made a bad choice, made his move in far too tight a spot and missed going head on into a ute by the narrowest of margins. Another cut back into our lane in front of us, missing the front right of the Forester by less than a metre but the vast majority were sensible when taking their risks.

Lake Burbury

The landscape was so different today because it wasn't overcast or raining. To be honest, I'm glad we saw it that way. It bought out the vibrancy of the greens and made the silica in the rock faces glisten and shine. Today, the sun beamed down and by the time we reached Mount Field, it was a booming 23C. I only wish we could have secured photos of Lake Burbury and the surrounding mountains. Coming from Queenstown, you just emerge from a deep valley mountain pass and the whole area in front of you opens up, with the lake the centrepiece. Unfortunately, there were no safe places to stop with the van on.

The suspension bridge at
Frenchman's Cap

Sue came up with the outstanding suggestion of stopping at the track to Frenchman's Cap, as only fifteen minutes into the longer three day trek, there is a metal suspension bridge over the Franklin River. There was plenty of space in the carpark when we arrived, so we donned the boots and the gaters - we still fear those Tiger Snakes - and made for the track. In our fifteen we moved over rough ground with exposed rocks destined to trip someone (but not us today), boardwalks over a small wetland, down muddy earth steps with wet slippery logs on their leading edge, a narrow wooden bridge and finally, the suspension bridge. Its very narrow, maybe 20cm and has two cables at waist height which are maybe a metre apart. The bridge takes only one person at a time and I got to go first. I was armed with my three answers in case of any challenge. 

The Franklin, of course, was magnificent, albeit a little quieter than our previous encounter. 

We had a chance encounter with a young French woman and her father. I'm sure not all French women confirm the stereotype but all the ones I have met, including the lady this morning, have been bubbly and confident and gorgeous.

Returning to the vehicles, we soon had a reminder that one moment of lost concentration could be lethal when we came upon a hired camper, smashed into the rock wall on the slopes of Mt Arrowfield, above the Surprise River, before it flows into the Franklin. We knocked off the 25kms to Derwent Bridge rather soberly and stopped for lunch in the van.

After lunch, we again missed the chance to stop and photograph the cairn which marks the geographic centre of Tasmania, although I did at least notice it as we drove past. We had a toilet break at Tarraleah Rest stop, beside the power stations on the Nive River (where we stopped two weeks ago), and again, after Ouse, at Meadowbank. Since we were through here, the two weeks has continued a significant draining of the lake preparatory to the works being done down river. 

We were passing lakes all afternoon.

Click here for today's photos

It wasn't long before we were turning onto the Gordon River Road again and a short time later, our digs at Left of Field, a caravan park with a world of difference just a few kms from the Mount Field NP. We feel like a caged chook who has suddenly been introduced to free range. It will be interesting to see how it works out but we have power and water and plenty of space between ourselves and the other haphazardly placed guests. The one shower cubicle is an oversized, converted portloos with the bathroom being an au naturale setting and a chain to be placed across the opening to warn others that you are cleaning the day off.

Tomorrow its the three waterfalls of Mount Field, including the famed Russell Falls.

MOT Tour Day 43 - Derwent Bridge to Queenstown

An interesting day, dominated by the drive to Queenstown.

In the planning for this tour, it was this drive which was repeatedly highlighted as being a mixture of breathtaking, dangerous, demanding, exciting … almost as many adjectives of emotional response as the dictionary can throw up. The 99 Bends section in the 5kms before Queenstown has had a lot of attention from visitors. As a result and probably because we have spent the last seven days in hard dock and with only one drive, I was feeling a little uneasy about the drive.

The fog and mist and constant rain and signs warning of roads being slippery when wet and that one where a car is careening down a triangle, did nothing to ease my way into the ninety odd kilometres ahead of us.

I even had to turn off Bob Dylan during the drive, for heaven’s sake!

Retracing the ground we covered to Franklin River Nature Trail was probably the worst of the drive. The Lyell Highway, at that point, descends down to the Franklin in a steep and at times narrow section, with an inconsistent surface as a result of repairs, leading to water moving or sometimes pooling in different ways. Two adjacent surfaces react in different ways to your tyres and when you have another set behind you with a thousand kilograms sitting on them, the potential for problems is enhanced. Those problems can escalate quickly.

The answer, of course, is to take your time, so we did much of that longish descending section at 35kph. There were several descents and climbs after that but in the midst of them, we fluked a parking spot at Nelson Falls, in a tight parking area designed for cars.

Sue, adventurer though she is, wasn’t overly keen. It was raining and we had to change gear, donning the Drizabones for the first time on tour. However, off we went for a ten minute walk into the falls. The Nelson River was racing away beside us, boisterously on its way to eventually join the substantial Lake Burbury further to the west. Ferns of all types were thriving. You could almost hear them singing their satisfaction as rain got heavier. We didn’t stop at the viewing platforms along the way, wanting to make sure we got to the target before conditions turned us back.

Suddenly, there it was. What a beast! This was an engorged body of water, crashing over a 30 metre drop with a visual and auditory assault to your senses. The power and the abandonment of it as it seemed to threaten our safety just metres away from our viewing platform: a viewing platform set right in front of the waterfall. We were getting wetter but it was the falls which were doing the business.

Nelson Falls

We didn’t stay long. Once I noticed the rate at which the river was rising as it brushed past us. We had crossed a number of small bridges and I didn’t fancy wading across them on the way back. Returning to the car, you couldn’t escape the thrill we were both feeling at the experience.

On the road again, we were soon crossing and skirting along beside Lake Burbury. It was almost surreal - the huge lake on the right and more of those quickly vertical mountains on the left. The Lyell, at that point, threaded the needle and then climbed another mountain pass through Gormaston and delivered us to the famous 99 Bends.

Big, rugged mountains who had been interfered with during Queenstown’s extensive mining years, sat ugly at our side and then opened up, to reveal Queenstown below. To get there, we had to descend a steep, winding road. Now I’ve driven winding roads all over Australia, up and down mountain passes, some with the van on the back but this was an extended succession of tight bends, often back on themselves with the usual unstoppable fall on one side and full-stop rock faces on the other. I have no idea if there were 99 of them. I was too busy to count them but there were a lot.

I loved it!

Strange considering my reservations earlier in the day.

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The rest of the day was concerned with the more mundane things of restoring the larder and settling in for our four night stay. Another anticipated highlight in our planning for the tour tomorrow, when we ride the Wilderness Railway up into the mountains.