|
Somewhere Under the Rainbow . . .
The Emerald Island of Tasmania
by Margaret Dornaus
There’s
a reason North Americans call Australia the Land of Oz. And it’s more than just
that this Southern Hemisphere country seems like a parallel, upside-down
universe. Nor is it just that many of its mammalian population sport designer
pouches sturdy enough for a Joey to withstand the rigors of a bush-country
hopscotch.
The
hardest-to-please would have trouble finding fault with Tasmania’s
offerings--hiking trails backdropped by spectacular, snowcapped mountains;
exotic marsupials (from kangaroos and wallabies to wombats to ant-eating
echidnas to the infamous eponymous devil named for the only place on earth it
still roams freely); lush, emerald-green countryside; rivers and ocean ports
for yachting and kayaking; world-class cuisine and wineries; and luxuriant,
multi-layered rainforests that envelop you in a soft primordial mist as you
stroll up cathedral-like aisles under arched canopies of pandani heath stretching
fingered limbs heavenward in search of light. There
are even fields of poppies if, like Dorothy, you feel the urge to drift away on
a mystical, magical carpet of intoxicating flowers. (Tasmania is the only state
in Australia allowed to cultivate opium poppies for export.) Those less anxious
to experience such heady vistas will, nevertheless, find it hard to resist
drinking in the sights (and smells) of rows upon nursery garden rows of
spring-flowering lavender--another of Tasmania’s leading export crops. Just
slightly larger than West Virginia, Tasmania approximates Ireland (that other
emerald isle) in size. Tasmania’s span from east to west is 189 miles, while
only 175 miles separate the northern portion of the island from its
southernmost tip. Such compactness, combined with a well-defined highway
system, make touring the island by car both efficient and painless. Visitors
will find they can cover a great deal of Tasmania in a short amount of time--an
added bonus for vacationers hungry to savor the island’s bounty. If
you start your Tasmanian exploration as I did in the northern town of
Launceston (a comfortable hour’s flight on Ansett Air from mainland Melbourne),
you can take in sights along the west coast before heading south to the state’s
capital city of Hobart and then up the eastern shore to return full circle.
Following this path, you’ll cover quite a lot of ground in a week’s
time--although the longer you have to luxuriate in Tasmania’s Oz-like
surroundings the better. (Sorry, Dorothy, homesickness just isn’t an issue
here.)
At
Cradle Mountain, you can check in to the (P&O Australian Resorts) lodge
perched on the edge of the wilderness area. Cabins here are warm and
comfortable, and, as you walk through the surrounding buttongrass fields to
dinner, you’re likely to be greeted by the locals--wallabies, wombats and
roly-poly pademelons (pronounced “paddy melons”)--out for their evening
constitutionals. The lodge’s dining room is commodious yet inviting, and the
food (under Chef Geoff Clark’s inimitable wand) is exceptional. After sating
myself on Tasmanian scallops with steamed asparagus spears wrapped in smoked
salmon, baked Macquarie Harbour salmon resting on a bed of sweet corn mash and
lavender mustard sabayon, and chocolate cake topped with a raspberry puree and
a justly famous double cream imported from nearby King Island, I am ready to
roll merrily down the proverbial yellow brick road toward the evening’s
activities. The
post-dinner entertainment--a 4x4 spotlighting tour of the buttongrass
paddock--is (like the dinner) not to be skipped. I volunteered to ride shotgun
beside our guide and driver as we took up the serious task of tracking down
Tasmania’s nocturnal wildlife. The assignment was an easy one; Cradle Mountain
literally rocks with nightlife. I let the chorus of oohs and ahs from my
back-seat companions guide me as I swept my torch in an arc across the
critter-crawling landscape. This side of Oz had, for us, turned out to be
wombat and wallaby heaven. After such a formidable early showing of Tasmanian
treasure, it’s hard to imagine that the island can perform any more magic on us
than it already has. The
next morning’s introduction to the land around Cradle Mountain took us to the
homestead of Gustav Weindorfer, an Austrian naturalist who first explored the
area in 1909. Enchanted by the region’s beauty, Weindorfer built a rough cabin
in the shadow of the mist-covered mountain. There, he pursued a lifelong study
of the area’s fauna and flora. Today, a reproduction of his 1912 cabin--known
as Waldheim Chalet--is open to the public; inside, artifacts and diaries attest
to the primitive lifestyle Weindorfer (and, in later years, his wife) led in
order to satisfy a passionate thirst for this land. Step outside the back door
of the cabin and into the mossy rainforest trail that surrounds it and you’ll
begin to understand that passion. Even the most jaded traveler will be moved by
the quiet tumult of this crowded landscape. It is, quite simply, one of the
most spiritual 20-minute walks you’re ever likely to encounter. On
our way to the west coast town of Strahan, we see not one but four rainbows
arch across the sky. The sightings, our group decides, are harbingers of
continued good times. It turns out we are not disappointed. Strahan is a
charming fishing village located at the base of the Macquarie Harbour. Its
maritime flavor is immediately evident from the collection of fishing and
pleasure boats docked at its centralized wharf. From here, you can take a
leisurely cruise up the mouth of the Gordon River, or charter a seaplane or
helicopter for unbelievably scenic views of the coast’s rugged pine-covered landscape. As
at other points in our Tasmanian adventure, we have the good fortune of staying
at historic guesthouses operated by a coalition of innkeepers called Cottages
of the Colony. In Strahan, I find myself lodged in the police superintendent’s
cottage--a multi-purpose structure in 1891, when it combined quarters for the
town’s courthouse and jail with its first public officer’s residence. My
friend, Clint, meanwhile, has the pleasure of lodging next door at the more
heavenly inspired Oratory--a former Methodist church that dates back to the
1870s. Both properties have been faithfully restored yet include updated
conveniences and luxuries. (The spa in my bath was encased in a lustrous burled
wood of native Huon pine.) And both cottages are hospitably managed by a couple
of enterprising and engaging brothers named Richard and Nigel Morgan.
Find
out more about the enchanting emerald isle of Tasmania at www.tourism.tas.gov.au
. E-mail Cottages of the Colony at herit@southcom.com.au
or visit their online website at www.view.com.au/cottages
. ©1999 Margaret Dornaus. Reproduction of this article and/or
images, in whole or in part, including reproduction in electronic media,
without the express permission of the author, is prohibited. For reprint information,
contact mdornaus@earthlink.net . Echidna photograph by Donnelle Oxley. All other images by
Margaret Dornaus. |
|
TM
Of course there is all that. But, due south of the mainland,
on the small island state of Tasmania, there is, in addition, such a profusion
of rainbows that you’ll find yourself searching daily for Dorothy, Toto, the
Scarecrow, the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion. You probably won’t find them.
(You won’t find any tigers, either. The last sighting of the now-extinct
Tasmanian tiger was more than 60 years ago, although natives still hold out
hope of spotting the legendary creature on treks through the wilderness.) One
thing, however, is certain--from the moment you touch down in this topsy-turvy
land down under the land down under, you won’t be in Kansas anymore. And,
chances are, you won’t be in a hurry to click your heels back home either.
From
Launceston, head south and west toward Cradle
Mountain--a stunning Wilderness World Heritage area. (One-fifth of Tasmania is
protected parkland--a distinction which makes the island one of the “greenest”
states you’re likely to find anywhere in the world.) Along the way, be sure to
stop at Trowunna Wildlife Park at Mole Creek for an intimate introduction to
some of Tasmania’s native creatures. Here, you’ll encounter kangas lounging mid-day
under a stand of eucalyptus. You can cuddle a furry wombat in your arms. Or
challenge a Tasmanian Devil to a staring match. (You’ll probably back down once
you’ve seen the devil’s razor-sharp bicuspids.) One additional warning--stay at
arm’s length from the koalas; although as cute as any Munchkin, they’ve been
known to get testy with the tourists.
It’s a relatively long drive (four-and-a-half hours) south
and east to the Tasmanian capital of Hobart. But, once there, you won’t regret
it. Surrounded by mountains, this seaport town--the site of the annual Sydney
to Hobart Yacht Race--is a jewel of a city (Australia’s second oldest) with a
population of around 175,000. As you might expect, everything here revolves
around the bustling waterfront. Take a sail down the River Derwent on the
Prudence--a Huon pine yacht captained by an affable Irishman who is as likely
to hoist a silver tray of fresh oysters on deck as he is to adjust the jib of
his craft. Afterwards, take time to explore Salamanca Place--site of a bustling
Saturday market filled with more than 300 vendors selling everything from
overwhelmingly beautiful comestibles to antiques to handmade woven goods. The
1830’s warehouses that line the marketplace also warrant exploration, with
many--like the Design Centre of Tasmania--highlighting the works of native
artisans and artists.
From Hobart, we travel to the former penal colony of
Port Arthur on the Tasman Peninsula. But first we stop to visit American
expatriate and sculptor Peter Adams at his Roaring Beach homestead. It is here
that the award-winning artist sculpts native wood into exquisitely carved
benches that have gained him international attention. But he captures my
attention even further when he picks up a violin and begins playing a credible
rendition of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Tasmania, it seems, is synonymous
with Serendipity. 
The
haunting beauty of Port Arthur breaks my spell. Our guide Kim tells us that
12,500 prisoners were incarcerated here from 1830 to 1877, and that their
crimes--whether petty or heinous--were met with the harshest of conditions in
this isolated peninsular work camp. It is difficult to imagine this magnificent
setting as the site of such unspeakable cruelty. 
Tomorrow,
we travel on to the seaside village of Swansea to encounter a rapturous sunset
and the delights of nearby Freycinet National Park (including the pristine
Wineglass Bay--ranked one of the most spectacular swimming beaches in the
world). Then it’s back on to Launceston (Australia’s third oldest city) to
conquer the Tamar River Valley wine trail. But that is a whole other story . . .
.