Chasing Waterfalls
Ross is definitely the most organised and efficient packer in our family. He was up with the birds this morning, neatly rolling his clothes Marie Kondo-style, into their allocated packing cubes with military precision. By the time some of us are still coming to, rubbing our eyes and yawning, he’s showered, dressed and has his bag already zipped up and in the car.
Today’s drive, with Sam and Molly on driving and DJ duties respectively, was through untouched, uninhabited hinterland; rainforests, waterfalls lakes, rivers and glorious mountain views from the side of road.
Our first stop was sleepy Queenstown, a mining town, first settled in the 1860s, made sleepier due to the fact it was Saturday and only a handful of shops were open. The bike shop, bookshop and local supermarket had raised their shutters for business but the rest of the town remained tightly shuttered with no sign of life inside.
The Wilderness Railway station was the busiest part of town and we were grateful for the open coffee shop and provision of some morning sustenance to kickstart our day.
Apart from its working copper mine, (now owned by Indians, with all the copper sadly being shipped offshore to the subcontinent) this western Tassie town, in the shadow of Mount Lyall, is best known for its gravel football field (ouch) and its “slag heap” (sounds charming) along with its abundance of mountain bike tracks.
Iron Blow Lookout gave us a spectacular view down onto an old mining site, the copper coloured mountains so striking against the pale blue of the water it now contained. My environmental scientist husband was horrified at the state the old mine and scarred mountainside had been left in, stating that filling it with water was just like “putting lipstick on a pig”.
Coincidentally, we ran into one of Ross’ old environmentally aware colleagues and good friend at the lookout, who was equally unimpressed. Paul had brought his mountain-bike loving family to Queenstown for some outdoor adventure, excited about the zig-zagging, breathtakingly steep tracks that had been etched into the mountainside and could be seen for miles around. (I was relieved we hadn’t brought our bikes!)
There was a fantastic elevated track hugging the mountainside, that stretched for about 500m, and led to the pretty Horsetail Falls. “Hey!” I offered out loud, “the water flowing down looks a bit like an animal tail”, to which Ross answered, “maybe a horse’s tail?” Oh yeah.
While we may not have been up for the treacherous bike track, our idea of adventure was to accept Maisy’s challenge to walk the entire track, including the stairs, without bending our knees. It was a hoot!
We barrelled on down the winding highway through the Tasmanian Wilderness World Heritage National Park, cloud-topped mountains offering the backdrop for trout-filled, glassy rivers and lakes.
Anywhere we took a turn-off the highway for a stickybeak, we were rewarded with incredible scenery straight from the pages of a National Geographic magazine. Crotty Creek, leading into Lake Burbery, complete with its own islands and an amphitheatre of layered mountains watching on, was superb. Sam even sent his drone up for a better look. Feeling a bit weary from the last walk, her nose in a gripping book, Maisy had opted to stay in the car to sit this one out. Parked slightly around the corner, she was in the dark about how magnificent the view was. Sam decided: if Maisy wouldn’t come to the view, the view would come to Maisy and he jumped back in the car to drive her right down the boat ramp for a front row seat on the water’s edge. Can’t complain about the service.
A short drive later, we made a pitstop at the incredibly beautiful Nelson Falls, the sound of water trickling, tickling our ears as soon as we disembarked from the car. It was like being in an enchanted forest; all the trees covered in a carpet of soft, furry green moss.
The waterfall was like a giant multi-tiered wedding cake, water spilling over the layers to splash and spray the jagged rocks below. A water feature extraordinaire. God’s one heck of a landscape gardener.
Toby, Ross & l all thought we were clever, taking slow-mo videos of the falls. Each of us was excited to show off the results until we realised they were all exactly the same.
Back on the Wilderness Highway, we pulled off to take a gander at the mysteriously named Frenchman’s Cap, on the Franklin River. What would we find? A beret-wearing peak? This was either a 15 minute walk or 3 day trek - an important fork in the road to get right! Luckily we chose the right path and as we made our way to the Franklin River we kept a close eye out for blood-sucking leeches (that can “consume 2-3 times their own body weight in blood”) and the tiny carnivorous marsupial super forager, the “dusky antechinus”, that none of us had ever heard of.
Antechinus and leech sightings sadly eluded us but this track was mozzie central. We came to a very cool, single-person suspension bridge over the Franklin river and watched on as each of us crossed in turn. For the return journey, for some reason, we thought it would be fun to run across the bridge. Sadly, Miss Maisy took a tumble, hurting her knee and yanking her shoulder. It always starts in fun…
We tried to grab a bite to eat at the Derwent Bridge Wilderness Hotel and even though the car park was full of leather-jacketed bikers and their steel horses, it was closed for lunch. They suggested we try the Hungry Wombat at the servo up the road instead and the food was surprisingly delicious.
Our accommodation for the night was at a little place called Fitzgerald. If you blinked you’d easily miss it. Nestled in the mountains in the Mount Field National Park, we had a cute timber house with attic windows that would’ve looked at home on the prairie. By the time we arrived, it was already 6pm but we had planned to see one more waterfall for the road. Ross, Toby and Maisy had reached their waterfall threshold for the day, (one more could possibly tip them over the edge) so it was just Molly, Sam & I that mustered the enthusiasm for another walk through a cooling rainforest.
Each Tasmanian waterfall we’ve seen so far has been unique and Russell Falls was no exception. Absolutely worth a look, the massively tall trees its distinct feature. They were HUGE!!
For an extra 15 minutes of our time, we could have got value for money, ascending a quick track to see another waterfall - two for the price of one. Sam had seen a Google review saying this fall wasn’t much chop compared to big brother Russell and not to bother. A couple of German backpackers on their way down had concurred, telling us we’d enjoy it just as much by looking at a picture online.
We took their word for it and headed to the only pub in town - the National - for dinner. The dinner kitchen closed at 7:30pm (on a Saturday night!) so Molly and Sam had to sweet-talk the waitress into serving us close to curfew. Chef Pablo had a dedicated menu for Parmies - “Pablo’s Parmy Pagent” - offering a staggering 25 options for dressing your naked schnitty.
Inside the pub, the owner had a special purpose-built showroom of sorts, adjacent to the bistro, where he stored his squadron of motorbikes for diners to check out while they ate. Not something you see everyday. There was also a poodle (crossed with something very big) that was just mingling with the guests and cleaning up the scraps off the floor. Only in Tasmania.
Well tonight is our last night on this wonderful island. We have thoroughly enjoyed our time here in Van Dieman’s Land - the history, the stunning natural beauty, the friendly locals and the food and culture.
Tasmania, you’ve been a blast. Hope to see you again someday.
Thanks for reading along with us!
