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| Sunrise and a riot of parrots at Meetus Falls, N.E. Tasmania |
I always wondered what lay between those sparse main roads
in the north east of our state, shown as large sections of green on my map. Many
years ago when my son was learning to drive, we looked for the Lost Falls in
this area and found only a dry landscape of rocks - definitely lost. Given that it had rained
heavily in the North East – it happens every few years or so, I thought it might
be time to have another look. Unfortunately the look of Lake Leake where I had
planned to spend the night, was rather desolate - still low, with branches of
submerged trees reaching up like ghostly arms from a grave, was enough to put
me off. Instead I headed towards a larger fall – Meetus Falls, 10 Km to the
north.
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| Lake Leake - maybe it's a good fishing spot |
The unsealed road to Meetus Falls wasn't too bad, but for
the last few kilometres where the track branched off. The Reserve itself, run
by Forestry, was probably very pretty once, but now looked a little neglected in
these straightened times. To my delight there were other people there around a
roaring fire in the shelter. I’d almost forgotten what a primeval pleasure that
was, to be swapping stories around a fire, one so rarely possible these days. In
one of those wonderful coincidences, one man had a book which showed several other
falls in this area, so I spent the evening copying out directions.
In the morning I took the short walk to the falls accompanied by the raucous calls of parrots. Meetus Falls,
between 45 and 64 metres according to
Bonzle, did not disappoint. There was a good flow of
water tumbling into a deep gorge which rather made me regret that I hadn’t
bothered to check on Lost Falls again. I am not sure what it is about falling
water that mesmerises humans. Some ancient instinct I’m sure, on the same level
as gazing into fires.
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| Meetus Falls from the lookout - wish I could give you more idea of the scale |
Tearing myself away, I continued northward on
what is apparently the C301, once the old coach road to Cranbrook.
It wasn’t too bad until I came upon what must
have been a landslip. There was no possibility of turning around and with the
thought of reversing for around 9 km. on this often steep and winding road I gritted my teeth, muttered what might have been a prayer or a curse and squeezed between large
boulders and broken rock, doing my best to ignore the rattles and clunks, the
shuddering of the steering
and the whine
of the gear box
and that nagging voice in my head (I'm sure it's son - in- law’s - Automobile Club serviceman in a former life), still warning me about not taking my trusty van on unmade roads.
My next car will be a Humvee or maybe a D 9,
that way I could make my own way or clear the road as I go. Wonder what their fuel consumption is
like?
Normally I would have contacted Forestry first about the condition of the
roads, but in most of the East as in most of the West, there’s no signal here
on phone or computer, not even in most of the major towns. The nearest
information I'd been able to find on my computer at home said," “
Beware of changing
rough and slippery road conditions, blind corners, and the massive log trucks
speeding deathly loads and frenetically returning along these roads between
clearfell coups and the Triabunna woodchip mill.” though I doubt that the Triabunna woodchip mill is their present destination. Forestry accepts no liability.
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| Normal hazards |
At last my next objective came into view – The Harding's Falls
Reserve. Again the section from the main road is poor, but mercifully not as
long as the previous one. Here too, there’s a toilet and a picnic table and
even water, which was not available at Meetus Falls, unless you wanted to
abseil down a mighty slope. Alas, the shortish track to the Falls lookout
brings you to the top of these falls. The view of this gorge with the river
meandering through it far below is
stupendous and you can hear much roaring and gurgling, but even after climbing
down to the much longer River Loop, I still seemed to be standing on top of the
falls. I could see no way down to the base without climbing over wet and slippery
rocks. I am not quite the nimble - footed mountain goat my children think I am. Let's just say that my survival instinct marginally exceeds my insatiable curiosity,
so sorry folks, no great pictures of Harding’s Falls, though I can tell you they do
sound fantasti
c.
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| Harding's Falls - one of several small cascades at the top |
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| Glimpse of the gorge below |
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| And you want me to walk where? |
My attempt to visit the third waterfall in this area was
also a failure.
Meadstone Falls in the
Mt. Puzzler Forest Reserve is supposed to be the highest in Tasmania (how often
have I heard that before). Alas, the road to it ends abruptly at a river crossing
where a bridge has been washed away.
I was thus obliged to take the lesser of
the evils, the road west to Royal George, a mere 9km away where a thin red line
of sealed road began.
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| End of the Line |
Despite the
probable damage to my car, I was beginning to understand why this area has remained
largely undeveloped.
It is rugged,
pinched and folded, fractured, upthrust, riven and ruptured by forces much
stronger than those in evidence today. Its abrupt gorges and rocky outcrops are
variously clothed in gnarly twisted gums with much bark and debris at their
feet or occasional stands of tall white gums surrounded by ferny gullies and rushing
creeks. It is not however, quite as trackless as the map would indicate. Apart
from frequent drives for forestry purposes which all looked better than the
road I was on, there was signage every now and then that offered links to the highways, St. Helens, Bicheno and the Douglas Apsley National Park, but I have
had enough of roads that start out looking quite good only to deteriorate
alarmingly when it’s too far to go back and too narrow to turn around.
Royal George (pop. 127), now mostly a farming community, takes
its name from a long gone mine which was itself named after a C19th naval ship
(Thanks Wiki).
After the wild and isolated
country I had driven through, it was lovely to come upon its green hilly
paddocks. That they weren’t green for long was evident from the dust clouds which rose from the odd sheep paddock where every last shred of vegetation had been
nibbled away. No doubt the farmers were even more thrilled than I was that it
had rained.
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| Through the windscreen - the greenness and sealed road of Royal George were a welcome relief |
There was an unexpected bonus. In some paddocks I saw what
looked like large white stones set in circles, though I couldn’t imagine what
for - Helicopter pads? Crop circles? Petrified cow pats? After I had passed the
third or fourth such paddock, I stopped the car to investigate more closely.
Carefully avoiding the electric fences I turned
one of these objects over. It was a mushroom the size of dinner plate – many were even bigger. I
picked a few to prove that they weren’t a figment of my imagination and then
beat a hasty retreat. I also ate one for tea that night and I’m pretty sure that was
my mushroom quota for the year.
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| Eat your heart out - these were just the babies! |
PS Apologies for the poor picture quality in these photos - it was mostly overcast or drizzly on this mission, but the farmers will be happy
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