Stepping Back in Time
I opened the door. The room was dark. Antique tools lined the wall. Hand hewn cabinets displayed the town’s treasures. I had stepped back 150 years in the history of Tasmania.
Captain Tobia Furneaux an explorer arrived on Tasmania’s northeast coast in 1773 From the ship he saw numerous columns of smoke rising through the forest. “This country must be heavily developed.” The order to drop anchor was given. A smaller vessel was lowered to the ocean. The forward party bearing gifts cautiously made its way to shore.
Several hours later the party returned to the ship. With puzzlement they announced, “There are no dwellings, there are no people. All that exists are innumerable warming fires scattered over the hillside.”
“The Bay of Fires” was the name given the area by Captain Furneaux The name has remained. The people of the fires are gone – a cruel narrative of white arrogance. A civilization brutally obliterated. Not a single Tasmanian aboriginal remains today.
I arrived in St. Helens this afternoon. In most towns along the way the tourist information centre is my first stop. Sometimes it is a laborious effort to extract scant information from the staff. Other times the staff is bubbling with enthusiasm about their town. Today I found a group of volunteers willing to share.
My standard question first question is, “Where is the best birdwatching?” Sometimes I get the shocking answer of, “There are gulls down by the beach.” Today was different.
“Where is Denny? He is our expert.”
The counter clerk vanished into the back room. “We have somebody who wants to know where to go bird watching.”
“Denny just stepped out. He’ll be back by two for the meeting.” Another lady came out. “Humbug Point Nature Area, Binalong Bay and Grants Lagoon are my favorite places for birdwatching.” She made notes on the map for me.
In the mean time other staff was creating a package of information about the local natural areas. Then they pointed out all the free camping areas around town.
“Denny, Denny. We have a question for you.” Denny kept walking. “Denny”
He slowly turned to a familiar sound, “This person is looking for places to go birdwatching.”
“Do you have a map?” They handed him the local tourist map. “No that’s no good. How about a scrap of paper.”
“Will this do?”
“Anything that is blank.”
With great detail he described the area while drawing a map of the area. A hooded plover is nesting on Binalong Bay; a sea eagle nesting on the cliffs at Humbug Point; swift parrots should be on the blue gum; forty spotted pardalotes are hard to see put they are at Maria Island – you’re going there . . . right; as if a directive not a question.
Denny had been a teacher and administrator in the local schools. Now he is known as a wealth of knowledge about the local ecosystems.
“I have a meeting to go to. How long are you here?”
“I’ll be in Tasmania for another couple weeks and Australia for another six weeks.”
In the top, right corner of my map he wrote “Broome.” “This is an excellent place for little birds – the hard ones.”
“I spent several days at the Broome Bird Observatory. It is a wonderful place.”
“His eyes lit up. Did you see the canon? You know when the tide comes in it pushes the shore birds up the mudflat towards the shore. When it’s just right somebody pushes the button and BOOM the net lifts off, lands over the flock of little birds then people rush out to collect and band them.”
I had to admit I had not seen that although I heard about it. Unfortunately August was not the height of shorebird migration in Australia. They are all in Siberia and North America nesting and putting on weight for the winter holiday at Broome.
As he left, “Denny is the resident expert on everything outdoors. Isn’t he about 83? He’s still full of energy and a wealth of knowledge. I’ll never know as much as Denny.”
Sometime during my visit I had noticed a swinging, hardwood door: “History Room.”
I stopped mid-step. I had just stepped back 100 years. A pump organ from Peter’s Catholic Church (I’ll have to go back to see if it plays) manufactured by W. L Bell in Guelph, Ontario and a pipeset made of Tasmanian Blackwood.
The black Algre Barley, a carriage, complete with coffin. A corner dedicated to the early dairy industry; a display of early education; the chemist’s cabinet; a tribute to the Chinese laborourers who worked in the tin mines – at one time they outnumbered the northeast Caucasian population.
After visiting the West Coast Pioneer Museum in Zeehan this was a refreshing museum. The cost – a gold coin donation – not the ten dollar price tag from Zeehan.
Outside of town is the Humbug Nature Reserve – granite slabs dropping into the Bay of Fires. The granite is adorned with the most orange lichen I have ever seen. I spent this evening sitting atop a granite knob watching a sea eagle perched in a snag while gannets plunged into the ocean below. A full rainbow embraced the western horizon. Paradise at Stoop Reef.
This morning I woke to the sound of rushing water. I was at a small campsite just down stream from St Columba waterfall – “at 90 metres the highest in Tasmania.” The walk to the base of the falls was just ten minutes from the parking area. I’m quite sure it is not the highest. A few days ago I walked 10 kilometres to see Montezuma falls. It was 104 metres. I’m not sure how a waterfall is measured but without measuring Montezuma Falls plummeted much further than Columba Falls.
After the falls I stopped at Pyengana Dairy to sample their cloth bound cheese and had a hot chocolate in the Holy Cow Café before heading in to St Helens.
I did finally arrived at St. Helens – just two days later then planned.
