The start of today was 30km on a gravel surface, thankfully compressed. It was a bit like riding on a washboard and hoping for the best going downhill. How soft we must be considering what the Aborigines and settlers used. A desert scrub like landscape.
Crossing the East – West point, we’re near to the centre of Tasmania in Bronte. Must have been a favourite author of a settler. Different climates thanks to the hills (mountains) in the middle. “Annual means exceed 2000 mm over much of the exposed and elevated western half with a peak of about 3200 mm but range from about 500 mm to 700 mm throughout the midlands and in the drier parts of the south-east and east.” By comparison average annual precipitation in the UK typically ranges from approximately 800 mm to 1,400 mm.
It starts to rain as we enter West Coast Council. Another committee compromise? The landscape changes to rainforest and mountains. Like the rest of the middle there is very few settlements, mainly some huts. The world heritage Franklin-Gordon Wild Rivers national park, named after the two main river systems lying within the bounds of the park, is dissected by its only one road. Roughly twice the size of Snowdonia. And as wet.
We enter Queenstown through the ghost town of Linda, marked by the ruins of the one remaining building the Royal Hotel. Though there is a hopeful cafe. A former mining town. The area has been mined for copper, tin and other ores since the 1850s with recent new developments. The mountain’s sides are bare rock compared to the lush forest of earlier. Trees cut down for mining props and fuel, rain washing off the poor thing layer of topsoil. It a harsh look framing the small town of Queenstown in Tasmania’s wild west. No photos yet: it was hosing down for the last 10miles or so.
Tomorrow a short hop to Strahan, an even smaller town on the coast. Forecast is colder than today: it started at a balmy 5C and got to over 10. Long Johns coming out…
Travelling reflections 