day 1
The Tarkine! I am sitting in the Longhouse at Tiger Ridge, a purpose built camp base for the Tarkine Trails tours. It's 8am, cold and quite dark. So cold, in fact, that my fingers are struggling to type. It's raining a little, but here the rain isn't a nuisance; without it there would be no rainforest to visit so one can hardly begrudge it its presence.
I was collected from Launceston yesterday morning by our guides Trevor and Jane. There are eight of us in the group and it's a wonderful group - everyone shares a sense of humour and nobody has complained about anything. Perhaps a bushwalking tour attracts the more intrepid of the population. First on the bus was Michael, a Sydneysider who has travelled from Hobart. He is cheerful and very easy to talk to. He is one of those people who is always smiling, and he is easy company. Next on the bus was Mary. I had seen Mary briefly the day before,as we both returned from a walk to Cataract Gorge. She was sitting under a tree on the lawn and writing, and she struck me because she seemed very much at peace. She has beautiful, curly white hair and is gentle, with a quietly confident intelligence and sense of calm.
David and Shelly joined us next. David sits contentedly in the background and then embarks on the conversation long enough to drop a funny story or a pertinent observation into the mix. He told a hilarious story about their grandson that had Shelly cringing with embarrassment, and the rest of laughing and settling into a camaraderie, with others telling similar stories about young nephews and sons. Shelly tells interesting little anecdotes that run like a stream under the general observations of others, drawing everyone together and sparking off new discussions about the topic of the moment. Virginia was next - bold and witty and fun. And finally, Fergus and Gillian. Fergus is a gentleman with a keen intellect that you can almost see sparking up behind his smiling eyes. He is modest, sensible and has well balanced views. Gillian is similar, independent and clever with a gentle streak.
Our guides, Trevor and Jane are a perfectly synchronous pair; Trevor with the energy and enthusiasm to constantly keep us laughing, moving on time, and well informed, while Jane keeps things going in the background, and keeps Trevor going as well! They are both cheerful, capable, knowledgeable and entertaining. It's a brilliant tour group, with everyone having enough in common to get along well. (Uh oh - there is always one annoying person - perhaps it is me!?)
After some driving, some stories, and some warnings about jack jumpers (angry bullants that have killed more bush walkers than snakes have in Australia since the 60s) we assembled at the foot of our climb into the rainforest. A small gap in the trees, a small stream to wade across, and suddenly we were in the Tarkine.
When you arrive here, you hold your breath. The trees close behind you and the stream marks the boundary of two worlds. It's like walking behind a veil, with the modern world outside, and the ancient world in here. If a group of elves trotted past, or a velociraptor peered through the bushes at you, you would hardly be surprised. The silence here hushes your thoughts into submission, reaches into your lungs and draws out your breath, replacing it with new air and a meditative calm that tastes of eternity. You look up and your gaze is drawn to the towering heights of ancient trees. This place is like a fairytale come to life.
There are so many details to take in. The Tarkine distracts you with little subtleties while its spirit rages like the powerful undercurrent of a river. You see fungi as big as dinner plates as black as polished iron ore. Little green pearls are scattered on the ground underfoot - the seeds of the sassafrass tree. About the size of peas, they shimmer in the light and wouldn't be out of place on a necklace. If you crush the leaves of their tree you are greeted with an olfactory rainbow. The first crush smells of lemon, before it morphs into an orange scent, then briefly becoming peppermint before finally developing notes of aniseed. This manyscented leaf is a hint to understanding the Tarkine itself; at first glance it's just a forest, until you walk within it and realise it is one of the organs that give life to the earth. It sinks into your consciousness and takes root - while you are here you become just one more creature of the forest.
day 2
Our walk through the forest on day two brought us to the Huskisson river for lunch. We had seen giant myrtles, groves of 400 year old ferns, and towering eucalypts that had invaded the forest a few centuries ago when this place was last visited by fire, earning themselves the Tasmanian nickname of "fireweeds". We had admired the many colours of the fungi perched on the branches of trees, passed to each other pieces of lichen, seed pods, and leaves, slipped our way through miles of mud and brushed past leech-ridden palm fronds. When we arrived at our lunch spot the ground under foot was sponge-soft, the bounce a testament to centuries of leaves and bark and moss falling and rotting in layers upon layers, like the rainforest version of a London street. The river sparkled and glinted at us through the trees as Trevor pointed out the locations of wasp nests that must, at all costs, be avoided. Those wasps once chased him for two kilometres...
The lasting image of the Tarkine for me will be the green, endless green. Your eyes are constantly adjusting to new shades. The sun will strike the moss from above and the deep mossy green earns itself a yellowy halo. The sun races behind a cloud and the moss returns to its depths. Trees nestle against each other in a paintbox array of sage, chartreuse, olive and lime - there is more than I can begin to describe. Colour is fickle but constant, so many shades but all of them green, and each hue shifting from one moment to the next. Everything is moving and everything is still; you know there must be a million tiny insects skittering around, there are grubs inside the trees, water is shifting from the ground to the sky and turning into vapour, sinking into the ground to make mud, swirling in the air to become mist, but your mind is quiet and the blood in your veins echoes the water in the trees.
It's been cold, and wet, but water from the sky feels different here. It's the lifeblood of the rainforest and when it rains, it is like being in the lungs of a living creature, listening to the beating pulse that helps it breathe and brings it life. The rain has been gentle and it makes little clicking sounds all around as though you are surrounded by a million dancing beetles that are shaking tiny droplets of water off their wings. The forest is quiet because there are few mammals, and fewer birds than expected, so the only sounds you hear are the clicking ticking drops of rain, the birds calling in the distance, and the wind trying to assert itself far overhead. It is so quiet, so green, so alive, and so completely timeless.
When you leave, you are changed forever.
The Tarkine! I am sitting in the Longhouse at Tiger Ridge, a purpose built camp base for the Tarkine Trails tours. It's 8am, cold and quite dark. So cold, in fact, that my fingers are struggling to type. It's raining a little, but here the rain isn't a nuisance; without it there would be no rainforest to visit so one can hardly begrudge it its presence.
I was collected from Launceston yesterday morning by our guides Trevor and Jane. There are eight of us in the group and it's a wonderful group - everyone shares a sense of humour and nobody has complained about anything. Perhaps a bushwalking tour attracts the more intrepid of the population. First on the bus was Michael, a Sydneysider who has travelled from Hobart. He is cheerful and very easy to talk to. He is one of those people who is always smiling, and he is easy company. Next on the bus was Mary. I had seen Mary briefly the day before,as we both returned from a walk to Cataract Gorge. She was sitting under a tree on the lawn and writing, and she struck me because she seemed very much at peace. She has beautiful, curly white hair and is gentle, with a quietly confident intelligence and sense of calm.
David and Shelly joined us next. David sits contentedly in the background and then embarks on the conversation long enough to drop a funny story or a pertinent observation into the mix. He told a hilarious story about their grandson that had Shelly cringing with embarrassment, and the rest of laughing and settling into a camaraderie, with others telling similar stories about young nephews and sons. Shelly tells interesting little anecdotes that run like a stream under the general observations of others, drawing everyone together and sparking off new discussions about the topic of the moment. Virginia was next - bold and witty and fun. And finally, Fergus and Gillian. Fergus is a gentleman with a keen intellect that you can almost see sparking up behind his smiling eyes. He is modest, sensible and has well balanced views. Gillian is similar, independent and clever with a gentle streak.
Our guides, Trevor and Jane are a perfectly synchronous pair; Trevor with the energy and enthusiasm to constantly keep us laughing, moving on time, and well informed, while Jane keeps things going in the background, and keeps Trevor going as well! They are both cheerful, capable, knowledgeable and entertaining. It's a brilliant tour group, with everyone having enough in common to get along well. (Uh oh - there is always one annoying person - perhaps it is me!?)
After some driving, some stories, and some warnings about jack jumpers (angry bullants that have killed more bush walkers than snakes have in Australia since the 60s) we assembled at the foot of our climb into the rainforest. A small gap in the trees, a small stream to wade across, and suddenly we were in the Tarkine.
When you arrive here, you hold your breath. The trees close behind you and the stream marks the boundary of two worlds. It's like walking behind a veil, with the modern world outside, and the ancient world in here. If a group of elves trotted past, or a velociraptor peered through the bushes at you, you would hardly be surprised. The silence here hushes your thoughts into submission, reaches into your lungs and draws out your breath, replacing it with new air and a meditative calm that tastes of eternity. You look up and your gaze is drawn to the towering heights of ancient trees. This place is like a fairytale come to life.
There are so many details to take in. The Tarkine distracts you with little subtleties while its spirit rages like the powerful undercurrent of a river. You see fungi as big as dinner plates as black as polished iron ore. Little green pearls are scattered on the ground underfoot - the seeds of the sassafrass tree. About the size of peas, they shimmer in the light and wouldn't be out of place on a necklace. If you crush the leaves of their tree you are greeted with an olfactory rainbow. The first crush smells of lemon, before it morphs into an orange scent, then briefly becoming peppermint before finally developing notes of aniseed. This manyscented leaf is a hint to understanding the Tarkine itself; at first glance it's just a forest, until you walk within it and realise it is one of the organs that give life to the earth. It sinks into your consciousness and takes root - while you are here you become just one more creature of the forest.
 |
| Tarkine typical scene - trees covered in moss |
Our walk through the forest on day two brought us to the Huskisson river for lunch. We had seen giant myrtles, groves of 400 year old ferns, and towering eucalypts that had invaded the forest a few centuries ago when this place was last visited by fire, earning themselves the Tasmanian nickname of "fireweeds". We had admired the many colours of the fungi perched on the branches of trees, passed to each other pieces of lichen, seed pods, and leaves, slipped our way through miles of mud and brushed past leech-ridden palm fronds. When we arrived at our lunch spot the ground under foot was sponge-soft, the bounce a testament to centuries of leaves and bark and moss falling and rotting in layers upon layers, like the rainforest version of a London street. The river sparkled and glinted at us through the trees as Trevor pointed out the locations of wasp nests that must, at all costs, be avoided. Those wasps once chased him for two kilometres...
The lasting image of the Tarkine for me will be the green, endless green. Your eyes are constantly adjusting to new shades. The sun will strike the moss from above and the deep mossy green earns itself a yellowy halo. The sun races behind a cloud and the moss returns to its depths. Trees nestle against each other in a paintbox array of sage, chartreuse, olive and lime - there is more than I can begin to describe. Colour is fickle but constant, so many shades but all of them green, and each hue shifting from one moment to the next. Everything is moving and everything is still; you know there must be a million tiny insects skittering around, there are grubs inside the trees, water is shifting from the ground to the sky and turning into vapour, sinking into the ground to make mud, swirling in the air to become mist, but your mind is quiet and the blood in your veins echoes the water in the trees.
It's been cold, and wet, but water from the sky feels different here. It's the lifeblood of the rainforest and when it rains, it is like being in the lungs of a living creature, listening to the beating pulse that helps it breathe and brings it life. The rain has been gentle and it makes little clicking sounds all around as though you are surrounded by a million dancing beetles that are shaking tiny droplets of water off their wings. The forest is quiet because there are few mammals, and fewer birds than expected, so the only sounds you hear are the clicking ticking drops of rain, the birds calling in the distance, and the wind trying to assert itself far overhead. It is so quiet, so green, so alive, and so completely timeless.
When you leave, you are changed forever.
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| Fern fronds about to unfold |
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| The tips of the myrtle leaves are red to catch a different spectrum of light |
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| Fungi |
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| White lichen |
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| Broken-off tree stump in detail |
2 comments:
I do love your personification of the Ttarkine, especially "you see fungi as big as dinner plates as black as polished iron ore".. haha.. typical miner! anyway love your work as always and keep the similes and metaphors coming like bhp and its profiteering!
It really does sound fantastic and as always, your writing and descriptions, makes me want to visit this part of the world!
You do have a great talant for travel writing.
Vickio
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