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Date: Sun, 16 Feb 1997 14:46:40 +1000To: nnews_don-l@netnews.peg.apc.org From: Don Pattenden <dpattenden@pegasus.com.au> Subject: The first standout - the Freycinet Peninsula Hello, This is the first of my Newsletters based on my recollections of the Tasmanian experience. This one is what I have called the "First Standout", hopefully the first of many as I make my way around this "Wide Brown Land". I knew there would be some "stand-outs" on this trip -- particular places or environments that stand out from everything else -- and here is the first of them, the Freycinet Peninsula in Coles Bay, Tasmania. If ever you come to Tasmania, don't miss it. It is by far the most stunning , awesome environment I've encountered so far on this trip. I'm quite sure it will emerge as one of the stand-outs, not only from Tasmania but from all of Australia. Since leaving Hobart I've had many interesting adventures I'm just itching to tell you about, but they will have to wait til I get to a computer. This was one time I really wished I could paint or sketch. That would be the only really valid means of conveying to you what I experienced when I entered that terrain. I couldn't even take a photo because my camera is suspect. So these postcards will have to suffice. They are better than nothing but they don't even come close to conveying what I saw and felt. It was grey and overcast on the day I rode to Coles Bay, so visibility was very poor and all I could see of Freycinet as I approached Swansea (on the mainland opposite to the peninsula) was a sort of grey mass, enshrouded in mist. Even so, I still had a sense of something vast, something very special - no ordinary landscape. Abel Tasman, navigating the east coast of Tasmania in 1642, mistakenly believed the peninsula to be a chain of islands and this belief persisted until 1802 when the French explorer Nicholas Baudin went close enough to see that it was in fact one continuous land mass. He commented thus:- "High granitic mountains whose summits are almost completely barren, form the whole eastern coast of this part of Van Diemen's Land. They rise sheer from the base. The country which adjoins them is extremely low and cannot be seen unless viewed from only a little distance at sea." Wouldn't it be fascinating to know the Aboriginal Dreaming stories that go with this dramatic, wild & rugged landscape? I assume though that they are completely lost along with the original occupants themselves who were treated so brutally by the early settlers. I was musing to myself about what the stories might have been as I cycled along on the grey & drizzly afternoon aware even from a distance that powerful spirits must be involved. The following afternoon though when I cycled down to the Freycinet National Park it was fine and sunny with a clear blue sky. I was seeing the landscape at its best. Then I found myself face with the choice of what to seen in the limited time available to me. All I had was that one afternoon. The next day, unfortunately, I had to move on. There are only two means of exploring the Freycinet available: by boat or on foot. By road, once you've reached the car park just inside the National Park, whether by car or by bike, your feet must carry you from there on. I decided on a walk to the Wineglass Bay Lookout, the shortest of the single day walks. The brochure described as "one hour return" though in fact it took me much longer because I lingered at the lookout for a very long time. It was a stiff climb but made somewhat easier by the provision of handrails & steps. It was a quite warm afternoon too but I didn't really notice the exertion because of stunning nature of the environment. Huge granite boulders were strewn randomly over the entire area, as if some great giant had rolled a handful of pebbles down the hillside. One theory is that this might have been the result of one enormous rock perched on the top of the mountain having toppled & fallen, breaking into pieces as it plunged downwards. Reflecting on the scale of such possibilities, perhaps thousands of years ago, made me feel very small, as small as the lizards I saw sunning themselves on the granite rocks. Measured alongside the geological time scale of the processes that formed the landscape, my lifespan was but the blink of a lizard's eye. As I climbed the final flight of steps leading up to the lookout was rather like passing through the ante-chamber of a great cathedral, preparing me for a deeply spiritual experience. Even so, I was totally unprepared for what I was to see when I turned the last corner and arrived at the lookout platform. No cathedral on earth could possibly compare. I had to sit down immediately - with eyes moist - and just gaze at the panorama, and continued to gaze for some 15 minutes. I was grateful that I was alone at the time because I wouldn't have been able to speak. In every direction there was something of beauty to be admired and revered. Above were great granite peaks, some enshrouded by mist or cloud and below beaches and bays, with white capped waves rolling in and breaking on golden beaches. For me it ranked as high as any view I have ever seen anywhere, including the Blue Mountains, or Broken Bay in Sydney, two of my favorite views from way back. Had my camera been working at the time, I wonder whether it would have captured the full profundity of the experience. Probably not, though I still wished I'd had it with me. The postcards I bought later don't even come close. However I think I'll see whether I can have some of them scanned and put up on the Web Site. I started writing this on the next morning after my visit to the Freycinet National Park, but because writing time was so limited while travelling, I am finishing it off here in Melbourne some two weeks after the even yet the power of the experience remains just as strong in my memory although the visual image has faded somewhat. All I can say is, if ever you travel to Tasmania, don't miss it! |