The startlingly pink Pink Robin--really, they are this beautiful! Although not endemic to Tassie, the Pink Robin seemed to be our second-most sought after bird, after the 40-spotted Pardalote. We saw two of them the entire trip, one beautiful guy at Lake St. Claire, and another here at Mount Wellington near Hobart.
Trying to warm up with yummy hot chocolate at the Possum Shed in the hamlet of Westerway, just outside Mount Field National Park. We looked for "Flossie" the resident platypus in the creek beside the deck, but no luck this time.
Tasmanian Native Hens, one of the endemics. Nancy has a soft spot for the Raillidae family, big hen-like birds. These birds have a rakish red eye.
A River is the only living thing that never dies; there is no force in Nature so impressive...it is a symbol of the mystery and beauty of the world. --Charles Whitham 1949
A photo of the Gordon River by Peter Dombrovskis,widely regarded as Australia's finest wilderness photographer.
We enjoyed a nature walk in the Franklin-Gordon Wild Rivers National Park and were reminded that this was the site of some of the early environmental fights of the modern environmental movement - dams or wilderness?
"The Franklin-Gordon Wild Rivers National Park has a rich and remarkable heritage. In addition to being home of the last remaining truly wild rivers of Australia, it contains many Aboriginal sites which bear testimony to an Aboriginal heritage extending back over 36 thousand years; has been the scene of a rich European heritage of convicts and piners and has been the stage for the largest conservation battle in Australian history - a battle which led to the Tasmanian Wilderness World Heritage Area. " http://www.parks.tas.gov.au/index.aspx?base=3949
And then, just down the road, there is Queenstown...
"Queenstown, its hills stripped of timber to fire the local copper smelters and permanently denuded by the noisome sulphurous fumes which belch from the smelters, is a surreal nightmare. Its river is polluted. It has the appearance of a deserted moonscape. Yet beyond the reaches of its devastation lie undulating hills covered in the morning mists. In winter its skies are still heavy with dark, low clouds which are such a distinctive part of the climate of the western coast. By any measure Queenstown is one of the wonders of the world. It is a profound reminder of humanity's capacity to destroy and pollute and, in that sense, it deserves to be seen by everyone. "
http://www.theage.com.au/news/tasmania/queenstown/2005/02/17/1108500205909.html
Sculptures in Queenstown illustrating the hard life the miners lived. It's difficult to complain about an office job when you contemplate what life must have been like during these times. Note the Currawong in the cage behind the miner's head. Was this the bird he took into the mines, an Aussie "canary"?
An enticing Cafe in Linda Valley, another mining area near Queenstown. The cafe owner noticed Dirk taking a picture, and invited him in. Their customers might be few and far between.... The people of this area must have an odd sense of humour, though, see http://www.tasmaniacs.net/QUEENSTOWN/Linda%20Valley1.html
(note - the actually cafe was a small new building tacked onto the side of this 1910 hulk)
Dirk was more amused by this odd collection of troll statues than Nancy was. Somebody in Queenstown with much time on their hands. There is recent disagreement over attempts at revegetation of the landscape, some of the residents have voiced the opinion that the denuded landscape, old railroad and mining history is their opportunity for the tourist dollar. And collections of trolls might attract tourists, too?
A more creative soul in Strahan, on the west coast of Tasmania, near the fateful Parrot search.
Enjoying the sunshine after spending an almost fruitless search near Strahan for the Ground Parrot.
How difficult can it really be, seeing a Ground Parrot? Very difficult, it seems. After driving all the way to the west coast through the depressing area of Queenstown, we reach the "best" documented locale to find Ground Parrots, so we could hear the birds calling at dusk. We arrived to find the tussocky buttongrass plains recently burned to the ground. The second best site had been bulldozed and all the vegetation ripped out and in piles next to the road. We planned to come back the next morning at first light to see where else the parrots could have found refuge. Down a long, dark, dirt clearcut logging road, we searched for a campsite in a park we had spotted on the map. The area just felt like bad juju. Poor parrots! Unfriendly signs warned of "no camping" without permission. We finally found the damp place, fitfully slept, and drove back to the parrot site before the sun came up because Dirk didn't want Nancy to see the sheer devastation along the road in the light. Plus we were trying to hear the parrots calling to each other in the dawn. Maybe that was them? Dirk spotted some achingly diminuitive Southern emu wrens, in shrubby patches next to the road. How can such small birds survive in such a violent landscape? We finally found a close-by area that could be suitable habitat--an unbulldozed and un-recently-burnt site--and stumbled through the knee-high wet tussocks, trying to flush a parrot (they hide under the tussocks, and only fly low to the ground). It felt cruel--what if we unknowingly stepped on one? This was very un-fun birding--never would we have done this if we had known what we were getting ourselves into, coming to the west coast like this! I finally saw a flash of green flying low to the ground for maybe 3 seconds. We now understand this to be 2 seconds longer than most people see them (as documented by Sean Dooley in the book "The Big Twitch" who saw a parrot for maybe 5 seconds). Since he counted his bird, we counted mine--it could have been nothing else, and our siting was only 2 seconds less in duration than his! This is one of the few birds we've sought for whom the search was so disturbing... We high-tailed it out of there as quickly as we could.
We retreated from the human devastation of the West Coast at a lovely National Park called Mount Field, back towards Hobart. Apparently it is one of Tasmania's most loved National Parks.
"Few other national parks in Australia offer such a diversity in vegetation, ranging from tall swamp gum forests and massive tree ferns at the base of the mountain, through rainforest along the Lake Dobson Road, to alpine vegetation at the higher elevations."
http://www.parks.tas.gov.au/?base=3589http://www.parks.tas.gov.au/?base=3589
This is the beautiful bark of a Snow Gum tree, found just at treeline on Mount Field.
An alpine ecosystem! The "duck-board" was fantastic for protecting the delicate tundra (do you call it that, here?) vegetation.
Note large "square" wombat droppings on boardwalk - they are shaped this way (we have read) so they don't roll off what they are placed to mark. Wiley wombats...
We had perfect time to see the autumn splendor of Tasmania's one and only native deciduous tree,
Nothofagus gunnii, affectionately known as "Fagus." Apparently this area is a favourite place for autumn hikes to see the golden leaves. We encountered a group of maybe 20 seniors who had hike up to the hut near this lake to see the autumn colours, many had been coming here for years.
It's difficult to imagine skiing in Australia, even here in Tassie. We wonder how often they get enough snow. One of the senior hikers we met says they used to get more snow...
Sadly a small plaque at the ski hut (tiny building on far right of photo) commemorated a skier who died in....
an avalanche. In Australia....
Nancy's beloved Native hens roosting on a rock in the middle of the river next to our camp. Exactly what predators they were insuring they were safe from is a mystery (Devils and quolls? Or maybe relict fears of the Tasmanian Tiger?). But there they were for 2 nights!
They did seem to squabble rather loudly during the night..
One of the many waterfalls, this one illuminated at night...
We never did decipher the intent of the sign but we stayed *over* the bridge anyway
Tessellated pavement out on the Tasman Peninsula
Dirk had to make the pilgrimage out to the iconic "Totem Pole." This view is from the end of the trail - the Pole is the free-standing tower in the lower left. (2 pitches 25,24). Maybe next time
There was no way to get a good shot of the whole thing - this is just the top bit. It was a perfect day for it - almost no swell. The problem is getting to the base - rap down - swing across the ocean and get onto the hanging belay just above the waves- if it's rough or high tide, your poor belayer may get seriously damp!
Light on the ocean through the rain
AU has figured to make tourist attractions from its convict past. This is a poster at Port Arthur - one of the largest and financially most successful prison enterprises in AU.
I wonder how many actual prisons had nice picket fences and flower gardens?
Model of Port Arthur. This place was quite an enterprise using prisoners slave-labour for timbering, coal mining, and ship building. Its penal techniques were based on the british panoptican but were extended to include solitary confinement and the "Silent System" - it was known as a real hell-hole. Enough prisoners developed (or had) psychological disorders that an asylum was built right next door.
In 1996, it was the site of a spree killing which resulted in an AU ban on semi-automatic rifles.
We opted for the evening ghost tour where we were regaled with tales of "real" hauntings. I can't attest to any particular experiences but our guide swore by some of the testimonials of workers and visitors over the years.....
It was probably a much more eerie place before it underwent renovation and became a World Heritage site. The kept lawns, polished wood floors, new paint and overall tidiness provide a pretty civilized atmosphere even in the dark. But the oil lamps we carried were a nice touch...
Inside the church where one man murdered another just to escape a life sentence at Port Arthur. He was hanged...
We were reminded again why travel over the holidays is silly - the national park out on the Tasman Peninsula was totally awash in people 2 days BEFORE the long Easter weekend. People with humongous tents, multiple barbecues, entire trailers of firewood, generators. One group even brought a stand of high-intensity worklites to light up their camp (and the entire area). We were glad to be leaving...
Dirk funning around at the "Dogline" Sculpture, by Ruth Waterhouse and Curtis Hore, Eaglehawk Neck, Tasman Peninsula, Southern Tasmania, Australia
This sculpture marks the spot where chained attack dogs were once stationed at the Eaglehawk Neck, a narrow piece of land connecting the Tasman and Forestier Peninsulas. The dogs were to prevent convicts escaping from the Port Arthur prison on the Tasman Peninsula from gaining access to the Forestier Peninsula and possible freedom. Melvile wrote that, “They were the black, the white, the brindle, the crop-eared, the lop-eared, the gaunt and the grim. Every four-footed, black-fanged individual among them would have taken first prize in his own class for ugliness and ferocity at any show” We were surprised to meet one of the dog sculptors (Curtis) at the Hobart markets. We purposefully went to the market to find the lovely bird and animal jewelry made by Ruth, and saw pictures of the dog sculpture on display at their market stall. Only then we made the connection!
Port Arthur is 90 km from Hobart and many of the ghost tour folks declared they were driving back to Hobart. In the dark. As we drove that road back to Hobart the next day, I counted 27 roadkills of large animals in 70 km.
We never saw a live wombat. Just 4 dead ones in a 15 km stretch. Oddly, that leads some people to think they must be doing pretty well....
One last bird trip up Mt Wellington. But it was cold and windy so things were pretty hunkered down. As we headed for the car, I was beginning to despair of finding a Pink Robin when lo and behold, Nancy spotted one who sat on a branch and sang his little heart out (picture at the top of blog).
This was an amusing bus stop at Mount Wellington
As we headed down the hill we spotted this Rainbow over Hobart.
As good a note as any to leave on....
Finally! A glorious Glossy Black Cockatoo!
Two weeks ago we stayed up in Lamington on a twitch for a the Rufous Scrub-bird. The weather was - well it's a rainforest, so we trudged 6 miles out and back through some spectacular mud and constant drizzle to see nothing. Here we are staking out the Antacrtic beach trees they prefer. Lunch was cold, damp and leech infested. And short.
Back at O'Rielly's we spotted this King Parrot feeding its baby (THAT is a baby? Maybe "yout" is a better term.) The little one sure was vocal about food though!
We did go for a night-spotting walk before the rain settled in. This Southern Boobook owl was a treat particularly when he dropped to the ground to snap up some morsel. Later in the tent, we could hear him calling: "mo-poke, mo-poke"
