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| Mists rise from Mt. Owen at the end of Orr Street, Queenstown's main street |
I finally had a ride on the West Coast Heritage Railway a couple of weeks ago. The last time I tried to do it, my van tossed its mortal coil halfway up the Tarraleah Hill, which is itself about halfway between Hobart and Queenstown. Although the van has since been fixed, I have been a bit apprehensive about doing it again as the van is getting on and those hills haven’t gotten less steep. To my delight, because of the high fuel prices, our State Government has made the buses free around the state - not just the urban ones, to help rural tourist operators.
A few of us were going to do this together, but we couldn’t agree on a mutually acceptable date when the train was also running, so here I was doing it alone. There was just one catch. The buses only ran on Tuesdays and Fridays to the West Coast, which meant spending three nights in Queenstown. I’d never been there as a tourist and it was the beginning of winter, but what the heck. What I would save on fuel, would just about cover that.
Usually, when I still lived in Tullah, Queenstown was one of the last places you passed through on your way to Hobart. You might grab some fuel or a bite to eat for the long stretch ahead, but you didn’t linger. Each of those mining towns was an island unto itself, marooned by mountains rather than the sea.
The day started out grey and drizzly, but the bus trip itself was surprisingly smooth, punctuated as it was with a morning tea stop at Ouse and another at Derwent Bridge where we changed buses. Calling them buses is a bit generous, they were mini vans not much bigger than mine, but also a bit newer, and the weather got better and better the nearer we got to Queenstown. The five -hour journey was certainly less exhausting than driving around all those bends yourself and you could even take your eyes off the road from time to time and see a bit more of the scenery.
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| A glimpse of the Empire Hotel, also in Orr Street with the all -important station behind it |
The Railway Hotel where I was staying Рabout the cheapest place in town, is now a fairly nondescript establishment, which is a bit of a shame. In the late '80s and early '90s I had campaigned to retain its two -storey predecessor with it's fine iron -lace balconies. Rumour had it then that half the population of Queenstown had been conceived there, but part of the fa̤ade was destroyed at night before the Heritage Council could put restrictions on it.
What I see now, is a low rise, motel -like structure with several wings out the back. I am in one of those, in a modest room, with two beds, a washbasin and shared bathrooms down the hall. It is warm however, and comes with towels, shampoo, a bar fridge, a kettle, some out of date milk and a TV. The addition of a chair to put one’s clothes on and a couple of hooks to hang coats or towels on would have been a big help. Same goes for the bathrooms.
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| My tiny room at the Railway Hotel but at least it was warm and dry |
I dumped my belonging and went in search of food. I hadn’t eaten much because winding roads and buses don't always agree with me. I had to get off a Redline bus once at Derwent Bridge on the way from Tullah to Hobart because I felt so wretched, but perhaps I am getting better at it. I have also brought Kwells with me this time.
I would have settled for one of those microwaved toasted sandwiches which nearly all pubs seem to have in great abundance, but this one did not, so off I went to see what else might be available.
There are two supermarkets in the main street and two small cafés, but the country bakery has gone since the last time I came this way and so has Axel’s which used to serve gigantic hamburgers and excellent chips. Two small galleries have opened and there is a kind of all -purpose dollar store cum hardware store with a couple of washing machines for sale at the back, but most other shops look empty and a little bit down -at -heel, except perhaps for the Museum and the Empire Hotel which reflect the once great wealth which animated the town.
From 1893 to 1994, the Mount Lyell Mine -the raison d’etre for the town, produced more than one million tonnes of copper, 750 tonnes of silver and 45 tonnes of gold. Although it reopened sporadically until 2014, it never achieved the same heights it had in the days of Bowes -Kelly.
In 1901 Queenstown was the third largest town in Tasmania and had a population of 5,051 people -10,000 at its peak, when combined with the surrounding townships such as Linda, Gormanston, Lynchford and Crotty, now all ghost towns except for Gormanston which has a population of 13. Back then Queenstown boasted 14 hotels, banks, schools and shops. Some of the hotels and the schools are still there, but by 1994 the population had shrunk to 3,000 and at the 2021 census, it was down to 1808.
It is pretty much the story of mining towns in general and the whole West Coast. Zeehan, the next town along, was the same. “The Silver City”as it was called, was Tasmania’s third largest town in the 1880s and 1890s with 8000 people and some of the state's most opulent buildings. Now there are around 600 people and there are more people buried in the cemetery than there are in the town.
Meanwhile, back in Queenstown, the Paragon theatre around the corner and now officially a theatre restaurant, has been restored to its Art Deco glory, but there didn’t seem to be much happening there either. In fact, the liveliest place seemed to be the Op -shop I found on the way back. I made a couple friends there and ended up buying a few things including a book.
Back at the first supermarket I bought some yoghurt, some buns for breakfast and a microwave meal because I’d seen a microwave in one of the communal areas. The meal wasn’t too bad, but I would have killed for some vegetables besides mashed potato and all up I had spent more than I would have for a counter meal, so that’s what I would do the following night.
Next morning as the sun made its way through the clouds, I did a little walk around the edge of town. Despite sporadic efforts to spruce it up, Queenstown's modest wooden workers' cottages were no match for the creeping mildew. It’s what happens when you are in one of the wettest places in Tasmania with an annual rainfall of over 2,400mm (94.8 inches) — nearly double that of Hobart. Still, it also makes everything lovely and green and allows the encroaching rainforest to flourish. Despite the riches which have come out of this region, each time I come there’s a little less of its past glory and a bit more desuetude.
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| You can't say people aren't trying |
Ambivalence
Tourism has taken up some of the slack since the mine closure and young people are embracing it eagerly, but the older generation which had respected, high paying jobs in the mining industry have a bit of a love -hate relationship with it. The tourist dollars are welcome and it’s great that young people don’t all have to leave to get a job, but visitors are outsiders, intruders and want things which were traditionally difficult to supply - Latte, almond milk, wholemeal bread, though if you look hard you can probably get those now. “What do they know?” they sigh. Not many fifty -year -old Hard Rock miners used to hard and dangerous work, want to be seen “poncing around serving coffee to tourists,” or at least that's what they used to tell me in the tea room.
Just like former coal miners, steel workers and others whose reason for being in a place has evaporated and despite vast amounts of money being spent on readjustment, the uncertainty of tourism is a poor substitute for steady lifelong jobs where sons followed fathers into the mines. The fact that Queenstown was an isolated and closed company town for much of its life would not make it all that enthusiastic about visitors and interlopers either.
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| Monument to the 42 miners who lost their lives in a 1912 fire at at the North Mount Lyell Mine in what was possibly Australia's worst mine disaster. Their names are recorded in plaques on the surrounding wall. One hundred others were rescued, in part because of the Abt Railway. |
There are a few monuments to mining history, a couple of nice green spaces and amenities. A cable car was built, but has now been dismantled. More recently, a walkway has been built to the sometimes running, sometimes not, Horse Tail Falls. It’s a great piece of engineering. There have also been many attempts to rehabilitate Queenstown’s bald mountains and a little greenery has taken, but to older residents there didn’t seem to be any reason to change anything at all. When I was still in Tullah in the late 1980s and early 90's rumour had it that the locals would go out at night to remove the poisoned carrots which were to stop the rabbits from eating the new growth. Denuded long ago by the sulphur from the smelters, it had been that way all their lives and the lives of those before. Queenstown's moonscape is distinctive and visible from satellites 400 km above the earth. Whether that bit of greenery will increase its tourism appeal remains to be seen. Same goes for rehabilitating Queenstown’s orange river.
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| The Queen River which runs through the town is stained orange by a century of mine tailings which were simply dumped into it. While there has been considerable effort to rehabilitate it, it will be many decades before it runs clear, if it ever does |
The West Coast Wilderness Railway – the reason I have come, is the exception. For a start it’s a living, breathing, rumbling bit of its history which reveals a little of the world which West Coasters inhabit. It is also a solid and substantial bit of machinery, kept in gleaming condition. Now that’s something even a Hard Rock Miner can get behind. Right on cue, just as I turned to go back to the hotel, I heard bells ringing and a whistle toot and saw smoke rising above the roofs of houses. It was the train snorting and puffing its way around the corner. It would be my turn the next day, but afraid it might rain or I wouldn't see that view again, I take a few pictures anyway.
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| A glimpse of the train as it passes through South Queenstown |
I would have liked a bit of time in the rainforest, but that proved harder than expected. The walk to the confluence of the King and Queen Rivers required a 14km taxi ride each way and I would probably have to pay for a return trip and either have them wait while I did the 25 minute walk or pay for the two -way journey again on the way back. Lake Margaret, deep in the rainforest with its lovely old power station, the Huon pine penstocks (pipeline) was one of the first hydro schemes in Tasmania, but it and its charming heritage village, are now fenced off entirely. Last time I looked, you could take a tour but it wasn't cheap either. A shuttle bus in the warmer months might make these places more accessible, but now with winter breathing down my neck, I was definitely out of luck. Not that I can complain about the weather. There's been a bit of drizzle here and there, but I heard that it was bucketing in Hobart which made me feel rather smug, that for once the boot was on the other foot.
I have a counter meal that night – at $27 it was over -budget for me, but having had a food business on the West Coast, I know how expensive it is to truck in supplies. It was very good value – so much so, I had enough for lunch the next day as well, and, wonder of wonders, it came with real vegetables, something I'd been craving since I left home. This is something the Railway Hotel does well. A couple of lost souls were sitting at the bar having drinks and playing Keno, but since I am not much of a drinker and haven't a clue how to play Keno, I wander off to read my Op -shop book instead. Perhaps it's livelier in summer.
As I was reading I found myself drifting off and thinking about what I'd do if I were Mayor of Queenstown. Those empty shops reminded me of a wonderful little place called Ariah Park which I visited in 2010. I don't know how things are there now, but when its last café was about to close, the locals bought shares in it at $1000 each and leased it to a young couple for a peppercorn rent. They turned it into a pancake parlour, which not only gave people a reason to stop in the town, but helped to bring new people in and keep people and services there. Queenstown has enough cafes, but what about other possibilities? You could for example, have an old - fashioned barber shop on the main street, a backpacker hostel and a newspaper office or a shop selling miner's rights and panning dishes.
Ariah Park also had another lovely idea. In each of its empty shop windows, they had set up a display about some historical aspect of the town, which was a lot more interesting than just seeing blank windows. I had thought I might make it compulsory for all the men to wear braces, top hats or flat caps, waistcoats and fob watches and for the ladies to wear lacy petticoats and bonnets. There could also be people dressed as notable characters such as Cornelius Lynch, James Crotty, Bowes -Kelly or Robert Sticht telling their stories, but that could wear thin after a while. It could work though, for a steam train festival once a year and that could even include the whole West Coast. Strahan, Zeehan, Rosebery, Tullah all have their railway stories and Tullah still has its original steam train too. Steam trains are making a comeback in many places. It would need a few movers and shakers like former telephone operator, Gwen, who joyously told me all about Ariah Park when I was there. She was 85 at the time and would be 101 now. I hope she's still going. Say Hi! if anyone is going by. It was above all, her enthusiastic welcome which kept me there. ZZZZzzzzzz
Thank you to Claude and ChatGPT for additional information for this post
PS. In the course of research for this post, have just found out that Queenstown has in fact had a festival every two years since 2010. Called The Unconformity it it is named after the geological fault beneath Queenstown and blends Queenstown's mining heritage and history with unusual artistic events. Watch out for it in October 2026.
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