MOT Tour Day 15 - Stanley

Stanley is a different place when the wind blows from the East. It disturbs the town more because its the side which is most exposed or maybe its because its when its worst events have happened. 

Patrick Hursey died when the wind was wild and from the East. In 1986 he took his boat out to rescue a lone, long-distance kayaker who was attempting to cross Bass Strait. As he tried to maneuver in close, a huge wave, in already mountainous seas, swamped the boat. Patrick was lost at sea, as was the kayaker. Only deckhand Phil Critchlow survived.

Stanley doesn't like it when the wind blows from the East.

We had a quiet morning. I tidied the finances and Sue went window shopping, although she was under strict instructions not to buy any. I joined her over coffee at Marleys, which has an elevated back deck looking over the town and across to Tatlows Beach in its long arc back to The Inlet. Coffee was good and we stayed until past the one o'clock closing time. Strange time to shut but I think its a siesta thing.

We walked back along The Terrace, our favourite street in Stanley, with its string of old houses, many of which date back to the 1890's and have all been fastidiously renovated. There are many holiday rentals among them. Towards the end of the row, Joe Lyons Cottage, managed by Tasmanian National Parks but manned by volunteers, sits in all its humility. It was the birthplace of the former Premier of Tasmania and Prime Minister of Australia. A tiny two or three bedroom dwelling, it has be restored lovingly and there is plenty of information about Lyons and his even more estimable wife, Dame Edith Lyons, the first female member of the House of Representatives. A remarkable lady. I particularly liked the picture of then Prime Minister Lyons, standing on the deck of the ship bringing him home to Australia, with a little, ringleted Shirley Temple holding his hand.

We were too close to Hurseys so had to have some hot chips for lunch while the seagulls surrounded us. We enjoyed the antics of the self-appointed boss seagull, who chased the others back into second receiver positions by a combination of head held high and wide beak screeching or stooping low and running at the others.

We didn't give them any.

A scale model of Arthur Long's D9

Late in the afternoon we drove to the top of the spine which runs down the length of the isthmus, for photos through one of those giant photo frames. Its a fairly useless exercise, especially when the wind is howling in your face. We made it worse for ourselves by climbing an elevated tower for a better view. It has to be said, there is no better view of The Nut - whatever angle you see it from is a good one.

While there we discovered the story of Lieutenant Arthur Long, who in May 1919, took off from Stanley in a Boulton and Paul P9 and made the first successful crossing of Bass Strait by an aircraft. He landed at Torquay and then on to Fisherman's Bend in Melbourne. Interviewed after the flight, he said "I do not, for a moment, consider a daily air service is possible between Hobart and Melbourne." Brave, yes. Imaginative, no.

We wandered about out there, follow signs and our noses and got nowhere. "The Old Telegraph Station" turned out to be accommodation and we dead-ended at several other spots with signs of unwelcome on their gates.

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We hope to go to the viewing platform above Godfrey's Beach this evening and watch the Little Penguins coming ashore. Sue did see several last night at the caravan park, hopping up the steps that lead from the beach and then wandering along the esplanade until finding their rocky hideaway and climbing out of view. I'm not sure what to expect tonight. Lots of people doing unhelpful Little Penguin things I suspect, such as using flash photography or standing between them and their destination, which stresses the little buggers out no end. Not sure this will be good for me to see, not withstanding how cute the little buggers are. Given the time of their arrival, I'll be dressed in my pyjamas.

Moving on tomorrow to Burnie. This has been a very pleasant stay.

POSTSCRIPT

Despite the threat of rain, late in our day - 9:30 this evening - we went down to the National Parks viewing platform to see if could catch a glimpse of the Little Penguins coming ashore. Ten minutes in, the rain started and although it was only a bit heavier than a sprinkle, the driving wind gave it a potency even the rain had not intended. There must have been twenty people waiting but because of the way the platform is designed, there was plenty of viewing space. Essentially a raised platform at the end of a fifty metre walkway, all lit in discrete red which is part of the light spectrum penguins can't see. After about twenty minutes, the first penguin arrived and then another two and before long, twenty or so could be seen at the edges of the red light … and there they stayed for another fifteen or twenty minutes, preening and making small talk. The majority of the watches had taken their photos - respectfully under red light - and were starting to feel the rain inside their coats. The remaining five of us got to watch the rush made by the bigger group up past us, under the walkway and out of sight.

A final comment about the penguins’ perseverance. The area where they come ashore has no sand. It’s all bowling ball or bigger dolerite rock, broken in all sorts of angles and sizes. Yet these creatures of about 40cm height make their way across the rock field - there is no through - and then scramble up the grassy slopes to home. Quite remarkable.

MOT Tour Day 14 - The Nut & Highfield

The view from the Nut

Another pleasant day in Stanley. A little cloudy today but still, enough sunshine and no hint of rain so a good day to be out and about.

Leaving our digs about 10 - showers and general faffing about - we walked up into the Main Street and found the Brown Dog Cafe, where it seemed prudent to have a coffee. Sue was there before me and had caught up on some local knowledge. Coffee quaffed, we made our way through small passages and laneways, up the early slopes of the Nut.

The Nut is what is left when the outer cone of a volcano is eroded away, leaving only the hard, inner flow chamber, long since dead and solidified as rock. It’s known as a volcanic plug but has other names in other settings. For instance, you’ve seen all those great cowboy movies in which John Wayne rides through the desert, surrounded by Indians and flat topped mountains. Those mountains are called mesas. Skinny ones are called buttes. They are volcanic plugs.

The weird thing about the Nut is that it sits on the end of an isthmus - pronounced the way someone with a lisp might say Christmas. Like a gigantic full stop, about two thirds of its sides are vertical cliffs of about fifty metres, while on the Stanley side, there is a talus slope which provides access. On the right angle, it looks like one of those raccoon skin hats Davie Crocket wore.

Stanley just sort of rests at its feet.

There are two ways for the public to climb to the top of the Nut and once there, enjoy a two km loop of the mostly flat surface. You can walk up a very steep and reasonably direct, well defined track or you can ride a chair lift. We chose the chairlift … to hell with it, we don’t have to offer excuses!

Bit of a problem. We paid our money. We stood on the painted footprints, as instructed but that were the only instructions we received. Chair arrived behind us and Sue got knocked base over apex but some home recovered and scrambled back on the chair. I was ropeable. Sue claimed no damage done so we enjoyed the ride. The view was behind us, of course, so this leg was about the thrill and exhilaration.

Unfortunately, more trouble at the top. We made the dismount okay but I asked a question and got a pretty sharpish, I thought unnecessary reply and given my anger at Sue being knocked over below, I offered what I’ll call a correction. Sue dragged me away.

It was soon forgotten. The walk around the top of the Nut offered spectacular views and the unexpected experience of walking through a quite serene forest, at one point. We had expected tracks surrounded by grass and rocks and yes, there was a fair bit of that. There were Shearwater nests, which are holes they burrow into the ground, usually amongst the grasses. Also known as Mutton Birds, a name early English sailors gave them for obvious reasons and locally as Yolanda or Moonbirds, they migrate here for the summer, from great distances - try Siberia - and live for prodigious lengths of time, well into their thirties.

We wondered about snakes and wore our gaters in cases but were told there were none. Defies reason when you imagine Shearwater’s eggs so available.

Lots of fabulous lookouts and only one decent rise in the track, it was a really pleasant walk.

Returning to the chairlift station, I detected a change in attitude and by the time we reached the base at the bottom, the operator spent some time talking with me and several times offered a genuine apology. I made a few points about the danger of complacency and we shook hands. I gave them a chance to be reasonable and they were. Fair enough.

Highfields

On the walk back to the van, we stopped and chatted with a couple tending to their garden of assorted berries. They moved here from Melbourne fifteen years ago and are on their second Bed and Breakfast venture.

A quick lunch and then we drove up to Highfield, originally built by convict labour in 1826 for the previously mentioned boss of the Van Demons Land Company in the north west of Tasmania, Edward Curr. A two story timber building then, later to be encased in bricks and mortar, it was a building that would epitomise the difference between Curr and everyone else and the indifference with which he treated convicts and aborigines. He and his wife had 15 children but not all of them lived at Highfield, being sent to England for their education ... including a three year old. It was the scene of social dinners where gossip was shared. Two of the more famous, regular diners at the Highfield dinner table were Jorgen Jorgensen and the explorer and architect Henry Hellyer. Sadly, the latter died by suicide in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

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Highfield has a long and interesting history which I won't attempt to unpack here. The building has been carefully restored whilst still providing examples of how it was built by exposing layers of walls etc. The outbuilding, including stables and a combination chapel/classroom are in excellent condition.

Highfield sits high on a hill facing the Nut and overlooking Stanley or Circular Head, as it was known then.

Nice day.

MOT Tour Day 13 - Woolnorth

An early start as we had a bit of a drive to get to our tour of the Woolnorth Station to the west.

Established in 1827 when the Van Demon Land Company landed six shepherds on the point at the extreme north of the area, the property has never really escaped from the violence those same shepherds perpetrated on the aboriginal mob who lived there. After twelve months living in harmony, the appointment of a new head of VDL, Edward Curr, marked a change in approach. In the words spoken today, he was a bastard. Convicts were the lowest form of life and they were expendable. Aborigines rated lower than that and VDL men knew that anything goes, after all, Curr was also the Chief Magistrate.

The scene of the massacre

In 1828, with no apparent provocation but definite planning, the shepherds waited until the men of the tribe had gone east for the annual trading with other mobs, and stormed into the camp and abducted six teenage girls. The returning men, chased some of the sheep off the cliff at what is known locally as slaughter hill. From there, it descended quickly into a blood bath. The shepherds soon after sighted a group of elders, women and children down on the black sand beach at Cape Grim and started shooting at them but with muskets were no chance of hitting their target from 70m above. The sound of the shooting drew the men to the cliff top, where they were massacred and their bodies thrown over the cliffs to the others below. With no way out except where the shepherds waited, it was only a matter of time.

A few survived but an entire group and their lore and traditions were wiped out.

The shepherds faced no charges.

Part of the Woolnorth Wind Farm

The property operated as a sheep and dairy concern for most of its life, although sheep were woefully unsuited to the climate and landscape. They finally ended in the 1980’s. It does remain an extremely valuable dairy producing farm and one of the main reasons why the area from Woolnorth to Devonport produces 35% of Australia’s dairy products. In recent years, Woolnorth has become well known as one of Australia’s first and still leading wind farm, with Tasmanian Hydro providing a large part of the power it supplies to the grid from Woolnorth.

50% of all of Tasmania’s energy needs are sourced from wind generators.

Our tour included an up close and personal look at one of the wind towers. These particular ones are 80 metres high and have 60 metre long, carbon fibre blades. The newer generation of towers are 120 metres high and have blades that are 100 metres long.

We had morning tea in the now unused shearing shed, where our guide, Laura, told us the heart-rending tale of the massacre at Cape Grim. We travelled up to the point and the coastal scenery was spectacular. On this clear, sunny day in light winds, it was hard to imagine threat but the winds here have been measured up to 160kph and the swells can be as high as 16 metres. It is more often a dangerous place and when the wind and rain aren’t providing mayhem, the Tiger Snakes who are prolific in the area, are happy to raise the threat level higher.

Restored bond store house

Hard to imagine on a day like today. Looking down on the black sand, it was even harder to imagine the cruelty handed out to a peaceful and generous host.

We have heard some disturbing tales in our travels and no doubt more await us at places like Port Arthur but this was disgusting.

Good tour. Laura was an excellent guide with lots of information and lots of courage.

This afternoon we had a late afternoon stroll around Stanley, with its old and well preserved buildings which have held many lives and been called on for many uses. We spoke with one couple who have bought what was once the bond store opposite one of the wharves. They have been three years on the task of not just bringing it back to a former glory but enhancing it in the process. All of the houses along two terraces look back across the wide bay to Rocky Cape, which is maybe 18 kms to the south east.

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Of course, behind them is the imposing rocky mesa of The Nut, a volcanic plug remnant. We haven't explored it but like most tourists, its the reason we came. Tomorrow maybe.

MOT Tour Day 12 - Cradle Mountain to Stanley

The old Waratah in old Waratah

It was hard to leave but we had to just remind ourselves that we have other new, startling, unexpected experiences ahead of us which we'll miss out on if we just stay comfortable in the shoes of current amazement.

It was hard to leave because we were both km sore. The pack up was slow and we only just beat the 10:00am pings. Cradle Mountain was back to type so we pushed through mist and drizzle for the first half hour, keeping us to about 70kph. We passed up the terrific view to the south from - I think - Black Range, because neither of our x-ray vision was up for it. The ups and downs of Belvoir Rd changed once we turned onto the Murchison Highway which would take us north.

About half way to Hellyer Gorge, we turned west to visit the town of Waratah. Like many of these small once-were-bigger town, it has an interesting past. Going from the five year wanderings in the wilderness of a Burnie farmer, James "Philosopher" Smith, who found tin at Mount Bischoff, to a thriving miners town. Its also the home a water wheel, designed and made by Duncan Kenworthy and when attached to a rudimentary turbine, the supplier in 1883 of the first hydro electricity in Australia. It was used mostly to supply electricity to the Mount Bischoff tin mine. There's a nice little museum run by volunteers with a sign that informs you the museum is only open from Wednesday to Monday. I did wonder why it didn't just say "closed on Tuesday". There is a quaint, two storey pub with a long history.

It is also one of the few places you will find with a waterfall in the centre of town! We had a cuppa in the aforementioned pub, The Bischoff Hotel and watched the water tumble over as we sipped away in the front window of the bar. So many contrasts but a waterfall and a dirty, ugly mine looming over the town are just two.

As we were leaving, vans and RV's and touring rentals clogged the road into town and were lined up along the main street, hoping to get a spot in the "caravan park" - spaces behind the town hall.

The Evergreen Archway

Between Waratah and Hellyer Gorge, back on the Murchison Highway, we passed through the Evergreen Archway, a section of road where the trees have grown over to meet those on the opposite side. Very pretty.

About 40kms up the Murchison is Hellyer Gorge, with winding, steep approaches from both sides. We stopped at the camping/rest where the road bottoms out and an elevated bridge crosses the Hellyer River. Named for the explorer - Henry Hellyer - it flows for 61 kms before joining the Arthur River. The rest area was underdeveloped but pleasant enough, with a set of flushing toilets. Before eating lunch in the van, we walked down to the river and followed in downstream until it met the road bridge. In my minds eye, it is what I imagined Tasmania inland rivers to be.

The rest of the afternoon was given over to reaching our spot for the next four nights, Stanley.

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Postscript: after what seemed like a forever set up at the caravan park, we had fish and chips the famous
Hursey's Seafood Restaurant (from the takeaway downstairs) and after dark, Sue led me to the telephone box in the caravan park, on a tip off from people we met at Cradle Mountain. Just as they said, sitting beside the telephone box as though they were auditioning for Rainman, two fairy penguins, apparently waiting for they mother.

Tomorrow, a tour on the wild side on Tasmania's west coast where the greatest danger will be being blown off a cliff.

331 km @ 13.63 (1665 @ 12.25 km/100 L)