Wynyard and Beyond

[Kyle]With a forecast for a day of strong westerlies, we decided to harness the wind and continue east along Tasmania's North Coast to Wynyard, where we would stop for a night to break up the trip.

It was a pretty miserable sail. Since rain was forecast later we had left Stanley as early as possible with the hope of beating it to Wynyard. We didn't make it. With only a quarter of our jib unrolled, we fairly flew down the coast in the big winds, but I was pretty much being continually drenched by cold, heavy rain the whole time. Down here, weather like this is frequent enough that it often becomes a choice of having it on a sailing day or a shore day. Since the wind was at least a strong one in the right direction, we got to endure it while underway.

When we arrived just outside of the town of Wynyard, we tucked into the lee behind Table Cape and set anchor in refreshingly flat water. It even stopped raining long enough for Maryanne to get the anchor down between showers. Time for a nice, cozy indoor day!

Then Maryanne got a message from a local sailor, Jan, who had noticed our AIS target on Marine Traffic. She was surprised anyone would deliberately be out in that weather and wrote to ask if we knew about the harbor at the town.

Our charts and guidebooks are irritatingly vague about Wynyard. According to them, the harbor is tiny and completely dries out at low tide. We assumed it was only suitable for tinnies launched from trailers at high tide. Jan told us that was not the case. The town had a dock where we could tie up and remain afloat through the entire tide cycle and we should be okay to get there from sea as long as we were on the top half of the tide to clear the bar. We decided to change our plans and stay in the area longer than one night. At the next morning's high tide, we went in.

Jan came down to meet us at the dock and brought her friend Linda. They and their husbands had circumnavigated Tasmania aboard Linda's boat (Ariel). We were then given a tour of the area, which included a drive to the Table Cape Lighthouse as well as a few other sweeping viewpoints. We finished with a trip to Jan's house on a hill overlooking nearby Burnie. There, we met her and Linda's husbands, Bill and Ian, respectively.

We arrived at the dock and were soon escorted by Jan and Linda on a area tour that included Table Cape Lighthouse

It is hard to imagine that this tiny LED light (last photo) is all that it takes for Table Cape Lighthouse to beam 16nm to sea (with a little help from the lens)!

Just before we left, rather than driving us home, Linda and Ian offered to lend us their spare car for a couple of days so we could see more of the area. Well, that was nice!

We swung by the Penguin nesting area (where the local scouts have made nesting 'igloos' to help protect the birds), and we also visited Fossil Bluff before dark

The next day, we drove up into the hills to Cradle Mountain National Park to hike the loop trail around Dove Lake. It was a bit cold and overcast, but the views all around the lake were still just so stunning, with the steep spires of Cradle Mountain looming overhead. All of the trails in the park are built with monumental effort. Since the area can be quite boggy, almost the entire trail system consists of raised boardwalks fitted with sturdy handrails. The rest is made from heavy stones positioned to make stairs or flat footpaths.

We stopped at Vale of Belvior Lookout (top picture)
but focussed on time in Cradle Mountain National Park

Our 6km circuit around Dove Lake was a bit overcast, but a pleasant stroll with plenty of WOW scenery to enjoy (just not great for photos)

We wanted to hike every trail in the park. However, we had a dinner invitation with the group at Ian and Linda's house, and we were looking forward to it; that was dictating our time in the park. It was probably for the best, since it is not a good idea to drive through the bush at dusk as the quantity of the roadkill along the way in had attested.

Since the park is a sensitive area for wildlife, the road to Dove Lake is only one lane and only accessed by busses from the Visitor Center car park. As we were being driven out of the park, someone on the bus spotted wombats grazing in the hills above. Half of the occupants, ourselves included, decided to make an impromptu stop and get the next bus so that we could go see them.

Kyle was thrilled to see wombats in the wild, we both were but Kyle thinks they are the cutest thing EVER!

Wombats are just too cute. They look like super-sized guinea pigs. After seeing them in captivity (at the visit to the Bonorong Sanctuary during our Hobart based roadtrip), we thought we would never spot one in the wild. For some reason, I was expecting them to be hidden in the undergrowth of thick forests. Here, they were out in the open, munching their way across the grassland. All we had to do was stare at each rock or clump of grass for a while. If it moved, it was a wombat. That was worth the stop, but it was now uncertain whether we would make it to dinner on time.

We made it ten seconds before the appointed hour, just as if we had planned it that way all along. Dinner was delicious and we had an amazing view of the sunset all of the way back to our first anchorage at Table Cape.

We were having a little fun with Bill, who kept trying to tell us he didn't like whisky, just to wind us up. Since we knew this, we had brought a delicious bottle of Shiraz that we liked from Jacob's Creek in the Barossa Valley. It was matured in whisky barrels. He liked that. We all did. Given enough time, I think we could turn him.

Good food, good company, AND whisky - what a night!

Feeling sufficiently tipsy, except for Maryanne, who agreed to drive, we were just getting ready to leave when Ian produced a bottle of his own whisky. This was not merely a whisky that he owned, but one that he had commissioned. He had gone in on a whole barrel, into which a local distiller would age their latest run.

Well, things didn't go exactly as planned. The distiller was (allegedly) mostly pocketing people's investments. They also did things like sell several barrels with the same lot number, which is a big no-no to Customs and Excise. In the end, after a prolonged negotiation, they were shut down and Ian got most of his investment back. Included were two bottles, one from 'his' cask and one from another. Each is valued at more than we would ever likely pay for a bottle of whisky. That was before you even factor in that they are two of only a handful in existence.

We thought he was just showing us the bottle with it's amusing label, part of which was redacted "for legal reasons", and its carefully applied wax seal. Then, he decided that since we were such aficionados, he cracked through the wax and produced a serving for us each to try. Mine seemed especially generous. Oh, that was some good stuff! My only regret is that we could never buy one and the only place we know that has it only has two-thirds of a bottle left. Thanks, Ian! That was quite an honor.

We still had their car for one more day, so we drove back inland to see the little town of Waratah, set in the hills beneath Mt Bischoff at the edge of the remote Tarkine wilderness district. On the way we drove the windy road through Hellyer Gorge and took the short walk along the river before continuing on to Waratah. The town is quiet and pretty, set in a valley of the most spectacular biodiversity. The only detractor is the scar of the tin mine (once the world's largest) high above. The mine used water wheels at the falls in the center of town to power its crushing equipment, known as stampers. Waratah is the first town in Australia to be powered by hydroelectricity using those same falls as a power source.

A stop at Hellyer Gorge on the way

We took a walk down the path to the lookout at the bottom of the falls, which are pretty impressive. We were both amazed to see that there were so many different types of foliage that the opposite side of the gorge seemed to only have enough room for one of each type. No monoculture there.

Scenic old mining town of Waratah

Back in the town, we visited the small, but comprehensive museum, which of course included so many mineral samples that my eyes started to glaze over a bit at the end. They really like their mining up here. Then we went to the stamper.

After the main mine's production tapered off following a tin price drop in 1923, a few locals stayed behind and kept processing what was left. One beloved man liked it so much that he built a smaller version of the big stampers so that he could spend his retirement crushing rocks into gravel. When he passed, the community disassembled it, moved the whole thing into town and then rebuilt it piece by piece. Now you can go inside the shed where it is housed, read all about it and, best of all, push a button and see how it works.

For some reason, we had been expecting something like one of those scale models of steam engines that you see now and then, thumping along, minus the steam, while the little electric motor that powers it is whirring away. The stamper is not like that. Maryanne pushed the button and the whole thing roared to life. WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! The whole building started shaking and the ground started pulsing. EVERYBODY in town knew that Maryanne had pushed that button.

During the mine's heyday, there were seven much bigger stampers running twenty-four hours a day, six days a week. It was said that Sunday was the only day you could hear the birds singing. That's the sound of progress, son.

”What?”

”I say, THAT'S THE SOUND OF PROGRESS, SON!”

”WHAT?”

I doubt any of them could hear much of anything. Ear plugs were not a thing back then.

Time for a walk along the River Inglis

We were so glad to have been guided in to Wynyard - thanks Jan!

Stanley and The Nut

[Kyle]Stanley's main geologic feature is known as The Nut. Our plan for our day ashore there was centered around getting up it, walking around its table-top, and then getting back down. I hadn't expected to do much else. This was mainly because the anchorage at Stanley faces the least attractive part of the town, which we did not yet know.

From Begonia, apart from The Nut, our main view was of the commercial fishing boat harbor. The boats themselves were picturesque in their purposefulness and attractively painted in bright colors. Their main detractor was the loading docks and warehouses behind, hemmed in by rusty fences and the smell of old fish.

Stanley Harbour has a fishing fleet, one fisherman stands in front of his boat all ready for squid fishing (attracted to the lights)

There was no real place to land the dinghy in the harbor, so we climbed a ladder and tied a long line to a railing in a corner where we hoped it would be out of the way. We then met a few of the fishermen, who looked rough as guts from a hard life at sea, but were just the nicest people you could meet; thankfully they verified that our dinghy was fine right where it was.

We took about ten steps away from the seafood warehouses and Stanley was immediately transformed into a perfectly picturesque little town. This was the part that had been blocked from our view from the boat.

My plan for the day was to head straight up to the top and then do the meander through town afterwards. Almost as soon as we left sea level, the trail intercepted the Moby Dick cafe that was too tempting to pass up. Maryanne wanted some toast, which she hasn't managed to ever get quite right on the boat, and I figured I could always use another cup of coffee. Then I discovered they had waffles on special and it kind of snowballed after that.

Strolling around we spotted plenty of birds (even penguins)

Okay, NOW we were ready to be fit and healthy and climb a hill.

We didn't have to. At The Nut, there is the option of taking a short chairlift ride to the top, which is billed as being northwestern Tasmania's longest or some such thing. I was keen to take the trail, since the top wasn't that far up and I figured it would help us burn off our last breakfast. Maryanne still wanted to inquire about the lift.

As we were approaching the bottom of the lift, she conveniently stepped on a nail. That was no big deal because it was just lying on the ground, but then she stepped on another nail that went right through the sole of her shoe. Also, her whole foot and the top of the shoe as well. Eeeww!

Oh, it was a big, rusty thing. She bellowed just a little too melodramatically. She didn't want me to touch it, but I just braced myself, grabbed her leg and freed her. I'm a hero. She'll be fine. She was having trouble putting weight on it, but there was the unexpected bonus that she left a little trail of evenly spaced red dots behind her so she would be easy to find.

We asked about the lift. It was 15¢ for the round trip. Oh, that's how they get ya. No, thanks. We'll walk first!

{Maryanne: For those who don't really know Kyle - I'll tell you, for clarity, that the above four paragraphs, prices, and all, are entirely a figment of his wild imagination! We did actually climb the hill (rather than take the lift) - for the exercise - the rest is his wild musings and my foot is thankfully without any hole!}

Maryanne was feeling a little light headed by then, so she went to sit down for a minute while I read a few information boards about the place. When she rejoined me, I told her that I had found two things of interest: First was that there was a tiny species of snail that only lived on The Nut. It was interesting because it was one of only two in the world that has a shell that forms counter-clockwise. The other was that there were also pademelons in the area, which I had not expected.

When I told Maryanne about the pademelons, she responded with a skeptical, "Really? Where are they?" Then, right on cue, one hopped out from behind a tree directly in front of us.

"There's one right there", I said and pointed it out. Those things are so cute.

At the top of the trail at the chairlift drop-off, they have a little reading room where you can peruse through old newspaper clippings and such. It was here that we learned the origin of the prominence's strange name. The Nut is really just the central plug of a long-extinct volcano. The softer rock and ash surrounding the harder, denser plug has long since eroded away, leaving a big chunk of rock behind.

The story goes that at one point early after Stanley's founding in 1892, it was decided that they would enlarge the breakwater for the harbor by blasting off a piece of what was then called Circular Head. After using tons of explosive, a lot of dust and noise was made, but no rock fell. Someone then apparently made the comment that, "That was one tough nut to crack!" The name stuck and it has been known as The Nut ever since.

We also learned more about the Van Diemen's Land Company, or VDLC. They were responsible for bringing much of the industry to Tasmania, or Van Diemen's Land, as it was known then. They are credited with being the backbone of the economy back in those early days, but of course, much of that was based on slave labor from the indigenous population. At Stanley, they didn't bother with all of that, choosing instead to hunt down and slaughter almost the original inhabitants. It was an evil, shameful thing.

At the top of The Nut is a loop-trail that stops at various clifftop viewpoints. In honor of the snail, we chose to go counter-clockwise. We were expecting it to be pretty uniform and exposed up there. Instead, the trail meandered through several zones, including dense forest, grassland and thick ferns. Most of the grassland was occupied with mutton bird nests. It was currently the part of the season just before the hatchlings make their first forays out of the nest. That made it very important to keep to the trail.

Sweeping views

After descending back into Stanley, we had a meander around, taking in the beach, the old graveyard and, of course, the town museum. We were heading for the three-establishment dining district for a late lunch when I noticed the sign above the door of a building that looked like it used to be a bank. It read, The Angel's Share.

There wasn't a lot to do in town, but Kyle soon found the whisky!

Well, that was intriguing! We've been through enough distillery tours to know the angel's share is what they call the portion of the whisky that is lost to evaporation during its time in the barrel.

The place was indeed a former bank. Now it was a souvenir shop with a vault full of whisky and a tiny, two-seat bar at an old teller window. When we asked the guy there about tastings or possibly a small flight, he said they didn't really do that, but he would be happy to sell us taste-sized portions on an á-la-carte basis. Maryanne agreed that as long as they were less than 15¢ each, I could have a few as compensation for having to do the driving on our South Australia wine tours.

Well, there was some kind of funny symbol on the menu next to the prices. I thought it was a ¢, but I'm not really good with those things. There were too many to chose from, so I let the knowledgeable guy in the teller box guide me.

I must say, everything I tried was much nicer than the stuff at my last Tasmanian whisky tasting on Bruny Island. Each could hold its own against most of the Scottish stuff we like so much. Of interest was that a lot of the local distilleries like to move their whiskies around between different barrel types during aging, which made for some nice flavors. They had one that was aged in tawny barrels, which tasted so much like tawny that, in a blind taste test, I might have thought it was a whisky-flavored tawny. It could also be that I got better stuff because it was just better stuff. I was following the pourer's recommendations and not looking at the prices. Our final bill was significantly more than the $1.50 I had been expecting. Oh, that guy saw me coming!