Before I begin this blog I need to address an issue raised by the retired diplomat. She is concerned that my description of her as a retired diplomat has given readers the impression that she is some seventy three year old maniac obsessed with cross stitch. I would like to assure everyone who reads this blog that she is actually in her early forties.
With that out of the way normal programming can resume.
I woke the next day fresh, eager and only slightly hungover to see something unexpected, a bright blue sky. Stepping out into the atypical sunshine I staggered back in surprise.
“What the hell is that?” I demanded.
“That’s Cradle Mountain,” replied my correspondent.
“Has it always been there?”
Once breakfast had been completed and my surprise over the sudden appearance of an entire mountain range apparently overnight had died down we set off. Today we would drive to Strahan but first;
“We’re going for a walk around the lake,” announced my correspondent with what seemed like totally unnecessary enthusiasm. I glanced desperately at the retired diplomat but she appeared willing to acquiesce. We hopped on the bus (cars aren’t allowed) into the national park and headed lakeward.
Dove Lake is actually where my walk the previous day had ended. At the time I had admired the grey water under a grey sky against a grey background but it looked even better under a bright sun. The walk was a circuit of the lake and we lost the retired diplomat almost immediately as she surged ahead. Her basic attitude to bushwalking is to do it as quickly as possible, get to the end and then stop.
My correspondent and I strolled around the lake through foresty bits, hilly bits and sometimes (for variety) hilly, foresty bits. Cradle Mountain which had been invisible the previous day made up for its tardiness by looming impressively above us and pausing for photo opportunities. My correspondent pointed out the most inaccessible bits and mentioned how one could walk them with great enthusiasm. I smiled politely and took photos of fungi. Quite a lot of fungi actually.
Since we were walking a circuit we eventually returned to our starting point, my correspondent glowing with rude good health and myself glowing with an incipient heart attack. The retired diplomat was waiting to greet us, largely I suspect because my correspondent had sensibly kept the car keys in her own bag.
Also waiting for us when we returned was a collection of the most physically decrepit old people I have ever encountered. If the ancient Egyptians had seen this lot they would have started digging out the bandages and the brain hooks immediately.
As this collection of the (barely) walking near dead shuffled slowly past us I wondered not so much whether they would survive the journey but how on earth they had survived getting off the bus.
Abandoning the lake to those who would almost certainly be buried there we fled back to the car and pointed its nose in the direction of Strahan. Or rather we pointed it in the direction of Zeehan. Once in Zeehan we could point it in the direction of Strahan.
The scenery was beautiful and the road windy. We were going through forest now on our way to what was once one of Tasmania’s major ports but now isn’t.
But first, Zeehan. Zeehan is an old mining town and I asked if there were still any working mines in the area.
“We’ve passed two gold mines in the last twenty minutes,” replied my correspondent, “didn’t you notice?”
Apparently no I did not. There was mutual eye rolling on the part of those in the car who weren’t me. Zeehan has a very long main street, much longer than the town actually requires. It has sunk a long way since its heyday but should the day of hey ever return Zeehan has just the main street for the job.
Zeehan also has the West Coast Heritage Centre. In Zeehan “heritage” is synonymous with “mining”. I went in and was treated to one of the most extensive rock displays I’ve ever seen. There were also train engines. I took some photos but my heart wasn’t in it, in Strahan I would ride on an actual train.
Up ahead were trains, plays and no platypuses. Also the uncharacteristically pleasant weather was about to end.
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