Edges

People who are born or raised from an early age on an island often find something happens to their psyche. There is a noticeable discomfort when out of view of the sea’s edge for too long and there is a sense of being vulnerable without the protective barrier that a ferry delivers. I wan’t born on an island, but, because I moved to one at age 5, island life courses through me. I’ve lived lots of other places, some completely land-locked to the point that one of my boyfriends broke up with me because he couldn’t stand being out of sight of water when he visited me in Denver, Colorado. (He went on to join the Merchant Marines, and I think he married and had a couple of kids and lived happily ever after.) But, at the time, the Rocky Mountain range was a good enough edge for me. Edges are needed to define one’s boundaries, the beginning and ending of themselves. You are either on the island or off, or you are on the east or the west side of the continental divide, or you live on the east or the west coast of the USA. Many things in life are edgy and if you get too close to the actual edge it can result in rips in your membrane. For instance, how close to the middle road you are in politics is akin to driving so close to the center lane that your mirrors are ripped off by the opposing traffic. Or, getting too close to another human being can result in the loss of oneself if there are too many rips in the fabric of where I end and you begin.

Hobart

Landing in Hobart, Tasmania, was an introduction to yet another edgy experience. The Tasmanians are convinced there is no better place on earth and some mainland Australians don’t understand the allure. One’s thoughts about Tasmania are fertile ground to witness how your mind creates stories. How you think of it and what you say about Tasmania speaks more about you than it does about the actual terrain. Having said that, I’m feeling some hesitation about going on with my impressions, it might be too revealing.

It was early to mid-autumn when I was there, and the rains hadn’t yet established themselves. The grasses were crunchy, the gum trees (eucalyptus) were in their element showing how fire-resistant and strong they are at the end of months of dryness. As we drove on the roads there were various piles of road kill with long tails, a tribute to the lack of car-wise wallabys. The city of Hobart is the capital of Tasmania. It started as a penal colony, but now is a thriving, lively city. High above it is a mountain.

Kunanyi/Mt. Wellington is a 4170′ high wind swept peak overlooking Hobart on the south end of the island. Pinnacle Road goes to the top and an observatory with constructed walkways for tourists, as well as tower. The weather can change in an instant from relatively friendly, to a hostile gale with low temperatures. The trees are almost non-existent at the top. The change in vegetation from the sea-level Hobart to the top of the mountain is dramatic.

Further down the mountain there are views to the south that, for a north-hemisphereian, the idea that you are gazing out over the edge of ocean water across which Antarctica is the next land mass, is awe-inspiring.

In town I stayed at an edge lodging: The Alabama Hotel. If you’ve stayed at budget hotels, or hostels in Europe and around the world then you know what it’s like to stay at a place with a shared bathroom. But, you would not be prepared for the unique character of this little hotel. In the street level entrance you are faced with a flight of stairs and a large bluish painting on the left of a mural-type representation of a toilet (I didn’t get a picture, sorry). There is an old bicycle in front of the painting. So I groaned a little, hefting my suitcase up the stairs and wondering what that painting portended.

At the 2nd floor counter was a big happy woman with brightly colored hair and a big smile as she looked up at me from her laptop computer sitting on the counter. Off to the left were a couple of sitting rooms with comfy furniture, and to the right was a fully stocked bar. They have a balcony so you can sip your drink overlooking the street activity. The rooms were clean and utilitarian and utterly satisfactory if you just needed a place to sleep and spend your days out and about. The nights were very quiet, so sleep was sound – what more can you ask? I will stay there again, I loved the vibe and it was right in the middle of town.

The harbor is a few blocks away and even as the fall approached it was full of activity. Tourists were wandering around looking for fish and chips to eat, boats were coming in and out, and kayakers were threading their way through floats of tied-up boats and gangways. It’s worthy to check with locals before choosing a place to eat, I didn’t and so mistakenly chose a highly visible restaurant, but one with high priced mediocre fish and chips.

Rosie Hilton, my friend from Whidbey Island who owns Island Time Tours (a wonderful little tour company on Tasmania), took me to her family’s retreat out in the Pelham bush. About 10 years ago I set up a website for the Hilton family as they took 6 months out of their lives to finish a log house Rosie’s father had started before he unexpectedly died. He was a forestry educator and loved Australian nature.

Rosie drove us along dirt roads going from Pelham to Mt. Field National Park and I got some great bird pictures. The Tasmanian Wedge Tailed Eagle is an endangered species, so it was a thrill to come across it pecking away at a dead critter on the side of the road. You can’t tell, but this is one heck of a big bird. The Sulphur Crested Cockatoos are a scourge, but they still look cool as they sit in trees or litter fields.

Parks and Distilleries

Tasmania has vast amounts of wilderness. Most of it is on the west side of the island. But there are some parks that are accessible to the more casual tourist.  Mt. Field National Park is not too far from Hobart and has a popular visitor’s center with access to Russell Falls and the Fern Forest.

The Fern Forest was astonishing in both the moist air and the size of the ferns. These “trees” were much taller than the humans who were walking alongside.

The Redlands Distillery is sited on an estate that includes a convict bakery.

The estates on Tasmania are everywhere, and recognizable by their distinctly English look of important trees and style of landscape design. These estates are often associated with farms or wineries. This one is particularly old, having been granted to the original owner in 1819. At this point, I will leave you to imagine yourself coming down this lovely tree lined drive as I go ahead into the distillery and see what they are up to.

(More on Tasmania will be posted and linked here.)