Australia 1998

Saturday 3 January — Devonport to Launceston

As it was time to return the car, it was necessary to stuff everything into my pack, which I managed though not without some difficulty. I never cease to be amazed at just how much junk I can accumulate on the back seat of a car. I filled the tank on the way into town then checked bus times and booked a seat on the 1450 bus to Launceston before driving round to the other side of the river to return the car with half an hour to spare. Another trip across the Mersey on the small ferry Torquay returned me to town where I sat awhile by the berth watching lifeboat drill on the Spirit of Tasmania.

Then it was time to attend to the essentials of life, I found a tobacconist who stocked Erinmore (two discount cigarette shops didn’t) and after rejection by Westpac, an ANZ machine accepted my Giro card. Which was a puzzle as I was sure I’d used a Westpac machine before. After sitting in the park for an hour, I had a couple of beers before heading for the bus depot. The bus (coming from Burnie) was declared to be five or ten minutes late, but was in fact twenty, and we were still twenty minutes late when we arrived at Launceston just before five o’clock.

I proceeded directly to the youth hostel and booked in for three nights. This is a summer-only hostel, being a school hostel for the rest of the year. Accommodation is a number of 2x2 bed rooms sharing a bathroom and kitchen/dinette. Very well appointed and comfortable but socially isolating (no common room) and could be claustrophobic if you were stuck with a non-compatible person or group. As it was, I had the unit to myself for the whole of my stay.

It was some days since I had sat down to dinner so I found a steakhouse (Ball & Chain Grill) where I consumed as Scotch Fillet (medium size, medium rare) with some potatoes and vegetables, washed down with a Dalrymple Pinot Noir 1995, about the most expensive wine on the menu at $25.50. Pavlova for dessert was a bit disappointing, tinned mandarin oranges being the only fruit.

I meandered a bit on my way back to the hostel through the town and did some shopping at a late-night garage.

Sunday 4 January — Launceston

The paddle “steamer” Lady Stelfox was built in 1982 as part of a tourist operation. 48 tons and 52 feet long, she is mostly of huon pine, a lovely wood, very well finished, and contains a fine beam engine. However, I began to think that all was not as it seemed when I reached the wharf at quarter to ten and there was not a wisp of smoke or steam arising from her. Not even a heat-haze from the funnel. And indeed, on boarding, I found that the boiler gauges and firebox door are dummies stuck on a bulkhead behind which lurks a diesel engine to provide the power for the paddle wheels, and a screw! There is a power take-off to rock the beam engine, if someone remembers to switch on. Having said all that, it was still a pleasant cruise (45 minutes, $6.50) a short distance down the Tamar past North Wharf and then a couple of hundred yards up Cataract Gorge (South Esk River).

When I went ashore, I returned to the gorge and walked up the ZigZag Track on the south bank to First Basin, an early water supply for Launceston, now a public park with all amenities. There is little water in the South Esk at this time of year but what there is is dammed here to provide an outdoor swimming pool. Further progress up the ravine was blocked as fire fighters were still damping down after a bit of a bush fire, so I took tea and a ham and cheese sandwich at the kiosk in the park before wandering around a bit admiring the gardens and returning down the gorge by the main track on the north bank to King’s Bridge, which is actually two single track bridges 40 years apart.

Having dealt with the South Esk, I proceeded up the North Esk river bank for a couple of bridges then back through the town, with a couple of beers en route, to the hostel where I had a light snack before going out again for more wandering and a couple more beers.

Monday 5 January — A Cruise on the Tamar

Time for another cruise, longer this time (and more expensive at $48) on the 15 metre catamaran Tamar Odyssey. We started with the same 200 yards up Cataract Gorge then down the Tamar as far as Batman Bridge (46 km) with an interesting commentary on the passing scene. There was myself, a couple from Cheshire, another from Melbourne and three locals, one of whom did most of the driving. The included lunch turned out to be a platter of sandwiches followed by a cheese board, of which I got my fair share.

We were back at Launceston about two o’clock for more wandering around the town, including a visit to the bus depot to arrange my onward journey to Hobart for the morrow. I found a pub called Irish Murphy’s (it must be a chain as there was one similarly named in Hobart) where I had a couple of pints of (expensive) Beamish Red (and I don’t know why I bothered). Later on, I went down to see the Cataract Gorge illuminations - there’s a limit to what effect you can achieve shining coloured lights on a scrubby rockface. The lights on the path were more hindrance than help.

Tuesday 6 January — Launceston to Hobart

I sat in a pleasant park smoking my pipe until it was time for the 1100 bus to Hobart. It was as well I bought my ticket yesterday as the bus was full. This particular service is listed as semi-express, I’d hate to see a stopping service. We seemed to stop at most places, though often it was just for parcels. When we arrived in Hobart at quarter to two, I had a pot of tea and a pie in the bus station cafeteria while making up my mind to walk the 3 km north to Hobart YH, though I did stop for a couple of beers en route.

There were beds available so I booked in for three nights in a 4-bed dorm, has a shower and changed and finally threw out the $10 shirt I bought in Canada in 1989. It has served my well but the collar was tearing away and it had now split down the back. There were no grocery shops between the hostel and the local supermarket so I had to do my shopping there. It always feels a bit odd wandering round a large shop full of potential discretionary purchases when all I want is a few of life’s necessities, milk, tea, cheese and some carbohydrate. Back to the hostel for tea then a visit to a couple of local hostelries.

Wednesday 7 January — Hobart

Having walked up the road to the hostel yesterday, I decided to walk down into town through the Queens Domain, a large park lying between North Hobart and the River Derwent, which proved a much more pleasant route. At the Quantas office, I changed the date of my flight to Melbourne to next Monday. Then there was time for a pleasant browse in the Tasmanian Government map shop where I spent almost $100 on some maps for the more interesting areas I have visited before wandering along to the Tasmanian Maritime Museum at Battery Point. My eye was caught by a book on Bass Strait Ferries, most of the early vessels were Clyde-built. I drew the attention of the custodian to two occurrences of “Glascow” and he promised they would be corrected when the book was reprinted. I bought the book anyway, along with a tea towel.

Back in the city centre, I bought some more film and discovered the shop offered 2-hour slide processing. I had a pleasant amble around the town, seems like a nice place to spend a few days, and bought a book on the Cartela, once a local ferry now offering harbour cruises., and drifted back to the hostel.

Thursday 8 January — Mount Wellington

On a cloudy morning, I booked another three nights at the hostel and set off just before eight for Mount Wellington (1270m) which looms over Hobart. My route started with a boring 40 minutes on Augusta Road (though some of the gardens were very nice), then half an hour up Lenah Valley Road before I reached the end of the sealed road and started the ascent proper by crossing the New Town Rivulet. There was an elderly lady there filling bottles with water - she much prefers it to the town supply, even then the flow was little enough to make me think twice about drinking it.

I followed the Old Hobartian Track uphill to the “Lost World”, a jumble of gargantuan boulders below a cliff, very like a giants’ quarry but in fact a natural occurrence. The track markers (splodges of paint) vanished here and I got a bit lost amongst the boulders until I spotted some other walkers descending into the quarry and realised where I should be heading (and it wasn’t the obvious direction either!). When I reached the road, rather than following it to the summit, I took a “shortcut” and walked downhill a short distance to pick up the Panorama Track which took me in a more pleasant manner almost to the summit. I do wish they had added a tea-room to the observation shelter.

There had been icing problems with the radio and television mast on the summit, so the authorities modified it to look like a toxic waste incinerator chimney.

After three quarters of an hour, I left the summit about 1345 by the ZigZag and Pinnacle Tracks to The Springs (car park, shelter hut and toilets) before taking Radford’s Track (named after a man who died on a hill run a long time ago) to finish on the road at Fern Tree at 1515. The local shop supplied me with milk before I headed into the pub for a badly needed refreshment.

From Fern Tree, I followed the Pipeline Track down to the waterworks before being forced on to the road for the last couple of miles into Hobart where I arrived in the centre about half past five for yet another trudge out to the hostel.

Friday 9 January — A Cruise on the Derwent

It was clearer this morning so I headed into town via the top of the hill in the Queens Domain where I admired the view and took yet another photo of Mt. Wellington. Then it was down to Brooke Street Pier in Sullivan’s Cove. Since the Tasman Bridge was opened, there is only a single occasional ferry across the Derwent to Bellerive but several vessels offering harbour cruises including the Cartela (Aboriginal word for “bull seal”), sole survivor of the once substantial ferry fleet. She was built by Pudron & Featherstone in Hobart in 1912 for the Houn, Channel and Peninsula Steam Ship Company, overall length 123 feet, beam 24½ feet and moulded depth 8½ feet with a triple expansion steam engine built by Plenty & Sons, Newbury, England and rated at 500 ihp at 300 rpm driving a 4½ foot diameter four bladed screw. The boiler was built by Neilson of Glasgow, 11 feet long and 11 inches in diameter, operating at 180 PSI. Unfortunately, her steam engine was replaced by a diesel in 1958 (and that engine replaced again in 1975).

So, I took the two hour morning cruise, some distance down the Derwent then up to admire the Tasman Bridge where the skipper pointed out the section which was rebuilt after being demolished by a wayward bulk ore carrier in 1975. (Five people on the bridge and seven crew lost their lives in that accident.) The steward on the Cartela came from Campbeltown via Paisley a long time ago.

The afternoon cruise had been a 2.5 hour cruise mostly upriver but that hadn’t been popular and had been replaced by two 1.25 hour cruises which would add nothing to what I had already seen so I didn’t go; instead I spent the afternoon rushing around pubs, souvenir shops, the hostel and the Post office to send off another parcel home (and still had several T-shirts left to carry). For supper I had trevalla balinese (some sort of fish dish) in a pub but took umbrage when the price of beer went up 20 cents to subsidise a live music session and headed back to the hostel and bed.

Saturday 10 January — Tasmanian Transport Museum

I set off for a walk along the former railway line, now a cycle path, out to Glenorchy, a north Hobart suburb and home of the Tasmanian Transport Museum. Despite setting a very leisurely pace, I arrived before the museum opened so I nipped into the nearest cafe for tea and a sandwich. Then a stroll up and down the main street before spending the last half hour sitting under a tree outside the museum (and swimming pool) smoking my pipe. But it was worth it.

The museum is small but well stocked with a good selection of Tasmanian transport relics, both trains and Hobart trams. I have now seen three of the four surviving Abt rack locomotives built by Dubs for the Mt. Lyell Mining and Railway Company. The fourth (built later by NBL) is at Menzies Creek on the Puffing Billy Railway near Melbourne so I shall make a point of seeing it when I am there. I spent two hours poking around and taking some photographs then another hour chatting with the custodian and another volunteer. Definitely worth a visit. Only $2 to get in and then I spent $68 on souvenirs!

I had a leisurely beer or two in the Elrick Hotel then returned by my outward route to the hostel for tea, a quiet evening and bed.

Sunday 11 January — A walk in the Park

I was out early to phone home, all is well. Then it was over to the Botanical Gardens in the Queens Domain, a very pleasant place with an excellent show of begonias in the Conservatory, followed by an expensive pot of Darjeeling and huonberry strudel with King Island cream in the tearoom.

From the sublime to the ridiculous, I went in search of the remnants of interesting transport systems - one wall of the tram depot still stands but the site of the railway station is a roundabout. I spent a couple of hours in the Tasmanian Art Gallery and Museum where the Maritime Room has been reduced to an alcove. I had a few beers on the way back to the hostel.

Monday 12 January — Back to the mainland

An early morning view of Mt Wellington from Stoke Street in front of the Youth Hostel

The 0735 airport bus failed to materialise despite my having booked the pickup so I had to wait for the 0905, which was full, but a backup bus arrived a couple of minutes later. This left me at the back of the queue booking in for the flight to Melbourne, which was full, and I was stuck with an aisle seat, a big disappointment as the only thing which compensates for being stuck in an aircraft is the chance to take photos when leaving or arriving somewhere. The temperature at Hobart was about 16° Celsius, it was 32° on arrival at Melbourne an hour later!

I took the airport bus to Spencer Street, stuck my bag in a locker, bought a copy of the Age and retired to the bar to work out where the office was. And the answer was — just up the street. So I wrote out an ad seeking our Dunne/McKenzie cousins on a brown paper bag and went along to the office to place it. The cost was a nasty shock and I had to retire to the nearest pub, the Kilkenny Inn, for a restorative draught and found that the beer was only $1.80 — happy hour. So I had a few before returning to the station to check train times, still some time to wait so retired to the bar (again) and found that their beer was now $1.50 (it had been $2 earlier in the day)! Happy Hour was following me around, but, alas I had to go.

I bought a ticket to Lorne, travelling by train to Geelong (behind N466 City of Warnambool) then by bus to Lorne. There were spots of rain en route but it came to nothing until I got off the bus at Lorne where I had to resort to the umbrella for the short walk to the hostel. Luckily, there was one bed left which I booked for two nights. After a while the rain slackened so I went out for an amble and dined on a pint of milk, a couple of beers and a large packet of crisps.

Tuesday 13 January — Lorne

More milk for breakfast and I bought a copy of the Age to check the advert. It looked all right but was inconspicuously placed and would have passed unnoticed had I not been looking for it. Oh well, we’ll see what happens. [And the answer is - nothing.]

I had more breakfast in a cafe before buying a map and setting off about half past nine west along the Great Ocean Road for about three kilometres to the Sheoak Creek where a track leads into the Angahook - Lorne Park. This was a pleasant woodland walk, climbing past the Sheoak Falls and Swallow Cave. Then along a forest road to the Saint George River to pick up another track downstream past other waterfalls to the road. I had nearly reached the road when it started to rain and I had to resort to the umbrella again, the day being too warm for a waterproof jacket. The rain went off, and came on again so I nipped into a pub on the edge of town for shelter, came out in the dry but had walked only a couple of hundred yards when it rained again, torrentially, and I had to dive into another pub.

When I finally reached the hostel, I cleaned up a bit and went out to dine on char-grilled baby snapper with a liberal amount of wine to wash it down. The desert was not well chosen; the menu mentioned figs but it turned out to be crackers, brie and some sticky concoction of preserved figs, and proved a little heavy. Still, I enjoyed most of it.