Organised tours are usually not our cup of tea (or coffee or Bonox for that matter). We much prefer to get out and about on our own, but there are occasions when that is neither practical nor smart. A short cruise on the Tamar and then up into the famous Cataract Gorge presented just such an occasion. This, we hoped, would provide us with views of Launceston we could not otherwise acquire.
And with poor old Lizzie still struggling with the wog, long sightseeing walks were out of the question, so, on an annoyingly gloomy day we fronted up to the Home Point wharf on the Tamar
where we found the good ship and true the 'Lady Launceston' tied up alongside awaiting our boarding.
This smart, stylish, all enclosed vessel, is one of two operated by Tamar River Cruises. It is used exclusively for the shortest of the varying cruises on offer, a fifty minute toddle around Launceston's riverfront precinct and a short distance up into the Cataract Gorge.
For those wishing to venture further afield or linger longer on the water, the much larger company catamaran will whisk one away on all sorts of aquatic adventures, complete with light lunch, cheese and fruit tastings, and, of course, an open bar. We had spotted this boat as she ploughed on past Rosevears a few days earlier....another lovely looking craft.
But we had no yen to lounge around a floating bar tippling away at undoubtedly inflated prices, and we had already seen much of the Tamar these trips took in, so it was the cosy cabin of the Lady L for us.
With the quite modest fee of $33 for herself and the concessional $28 for your (old fart) scribe duly paid, we went aboard with a small group of fellow sightseers and settled in for an introductory spiel provided by the most knowledgeable and entertaining skipper, a chap who obviously loved his job and was very good at it.
As expected, we first made our way past the quite short Launceston river front area
but only as far as the road bridge which carries the East Tamar Highway over what is by then no longer the Tamar, but the mouth of the North Esk River.
Now if this is beginning to sound a little confusing, that's because it is.....and it did take us a while to get to grips with the waterways around 'Lonnie'. Let me make use of this most helpful map, courtesy of the very company with which we were cruising, to explain how this all works.
Firstly, as I have noted previously, the Tamar 'River' is that in name only. As this chart shows, it is in fact a very long sea inlet, extending 70 kilometres from Bass Strait to Launceston. It is both brackish and tidal over its entire length.
At the bottom here you can see the that the head of the Tamar is also the point at which the genuinely fresh waters of both the North and South Esk Rivers empty into the 'sea'. The Launceston 'riverfront precinct' is in fact sited along the last stretch of the North Esk River
from where I took this shot looking back whence we had come.
Having plied this relatively short stretch our little craft turned about and we made our way back to the broader expanses of the Tamar, where the homes dotted along the western slopes presented a scene which we had learnt by now was typically Launceston.
Our cruise then took us downstream a kilometre or so past the old Kings Wharf precinct on the eastern bank. In its heyday this was a busy place indeed with large vessels tying up alongside at the extensive dock area.
Today the head of the Tamar is a shallow, silted mess. The constant muddy deposits from the Esk Rivers have rendered much of the upper Tamar non-navigable for larger ships. This, coupled with the development of a deep water port at Bell Bay (see chart above), has seen the end of large vessels docking in Launceston.
But it is not all maritime doom and gloom. Smaller ships still make their way up to Kings Wharf for refit, painting and other repairs, some surprisingly coming all the way from Port Melbourne. The marine services of Kings Wharf remain competitive despite all!
Here we went about yet again and as we made our way back downstream towards the entrance to Cataract Gorge, we were treated to a wonderful view of the homes above the western bank.
What a picture. Beautiful old two storey houses, many decorated with iron lattice work around their long verandahs, nestled in delightful confusion amongst the trees above the water. This was indeed 'toffy Lonnie'!
The mouth of the South Esk River loomed in front of us, crossed now by two bridges, with the old buildings of Richie's Mill, which began grinding grain in 1836, standing sentinel at one end.
At the head of the Tamar, just to the left of the previous shot, the latticed blades of this old windmill also stand as a reminder of the past.
By now we were silently slipping up towards the South Esk, past the yards, moorings and clubhouse of the Tamar Yacht Club.
Founded in 1837, the year (as the club website rather quaintly proclaims) in which Melbourne was named and its streets were first surveyed and Charles Dickens published Oliver Twist, this venerable establishment seems to be reasonably justified in its boast of being the oldest yacht club in the Southern Hemisphere.....for whatever that may be worth!
I could but wonder if the original inhabitants of this magnificent old mansion, high on the hill overlooking the yacht club, were members.
By now were were well and truly in the South Esk where the cement span of the new road bridge stood in complete functional contrast to the charming arch of its predecessor.
As we sailed beneath the West Tamar Highway we were confronted by what I suspect is one of the most well know sights of Launceston,
where Messrs Doyne and De Bercue (& Co) have left their indelible mark on the local Lonnie landscape in the form of the beautiful Kings Bridge.
Just upstream of the bridge itself was another part of the associated infrastructure, and not one which would have been welcomed by the locals I am sure. The small building perched on the rock to the right of this shot was in fact the Kings Bridge toll house where the fee for crossing was collected day and night. A toll road, no less....everything old is new again!
And imagine the views those living in the largish home, which appears to be clinging precariously to the side of the cliff, must have enjoyed.
A walking path along that same side of the gorge face was hosting a number of river spectators as we glided silently below. Once she enters the South Esk, the main engine of the Lady Launceston is cut and a completely noiseless electric motor is engaged.
This innovative propulsion had been designed to allow folk like us to take in the beauty of this rugged rocky ravine without the clatter of a motor echoing back and forth off the sheer gorge walls. Today, however, the silence was soon shattered in the most unusual and unexpected manner.
Could I possibly be hearing what I had come to know so well during my overseas posting alongside the British army unit The Gordon Highlanders, and later during my extensive roaming through the gloaming in Scotland? Indeed I could, and there, in the small shelter shed high above the river he was....
a piper no less, huffing and puffing as he inflated the bag of his instrument and filled the air of the gorge with that unmistakable skirl I knew so well. According to our worthy skipper, this 'pseudo Scot' busks at this spot on the walking path quite regularly, apparently much to the annoyance of those who live nearby. I thought it was wonderful.
Our sortie into this section of the Cataract Gorge did not take long. We had barely passed the piper and another section of the walking path where foot bridges take strollers across small cliff face ravines,
when further progress was barred by the mass of rock which forms a natural barrier to create what is known as the first basin.
At first glance it appeared that the river was actually dammed at this point, but a closer look revealed a trickle of water meandering its way downstream through the grey granite.
From this point we could see behind us down the length of this section of the gorge to the bridges in the distance, with the pedestrian path clinging to the northern wall.
What a benign picture this presented, but there were clear signs that this is not always so. The dark stains on the lower section of the rock walls showed that the water level was unusually low, a product of what was fast becoming one of the driest spring and summer periods the State had known.
And when the South Esk swells with the results of heavy rains in its catchment, it turns nasty. Then the story is very different. This river becomes a muddy maelstrom as the water hurls itself over the rapids within the narrow confines of the gorge, as this photo we saw later at the Cataract Gorge park so clearly showed.
But there was no such raging torrent hurling itself over the rocks today and this shag was able to dry off after diving for dinner in complete comfort.
Looking somewhat less serene were a couple of local rock hoppers we spied high on the eastern wall as we turned to make our way back downstream. If you look closely you can
just make out two figures perched on a ledge below the orange stained slab of rock at the left of the photo.
These sheer walls are magnets for those attracted to the sport of abseiling, a group of hardy souls who for some strange reason find it fun to bash pitons into the rock and trust their lives to their skill, the strength of their ropes and the proper functioning of their carabiners (which in this case were hanging festooned in significant numbers around the belt of the chap on the right). Each to their own as they say.
This innovative propulsion had been designed to allow folk like us to take in the beauty of this rugged rocky ravine without the clatter of a motor echoing back and forth off the sheer gorge walls. Today, however, the silence was soon shattered in the most unusual and unexpected manner.
Could I possibly be hearing what I had come to know so well during my overseas posting alongside the British army unit The Gordon Highlanders, and later during my extensive roaming through the gloaming in Scotland? Indeed I could, and there, in the small shelter shed high above the river he was....
a piper no less, huffing and puffing as he inflated the bag of his instrument and filled the air of the gorge with that unmistakable skirl I knew so well. According to our worthy skipper, this 'pseudo Scot' busks at this spot on the walking path quite regularly, apparently much to the annoyance of those who live nearby. I thought it was wonderful.
Our sortie into this section of the Cataract Gorge did not take long. We had barely passed the piper and another section of the walking path where foot bridges take strollers across small cliff face ravines,
when further progress was barred by the mass of rock which forms a natural barrier to create what is known as the first basin.
At first glance it appeared that the river was actually dammed at this point, but a closer look revealed a trickle of water meandering its way downstream through the grey granite.
From this point we could see behind us down the length of this section of the gorge to the bridges in the distance, with the pedestrian path clinging to the northern wall.
What a benign picture this presented, but there were clear signs that this is not always so. The dark stains on the lower section of the rock walls showed that the water level was unusually low, a product of what was fast becoming one of the driest spring and summer periods the State had known.
And when the South Esk swells with the results of heavy rains in its catchment, it turns nasty. Then the story is very different. This river becomes a muddy maelstrom as the water hurls itself over the rapids within the narrow confines of the gorge, as this photo we saw later at the Cataract Gorge park so clearly showed.
But there was no such raging torrent hurling itself over the rocks today and this shag was able to dry off after diving for dinner in complete comfort.
Looking somewhat less serene were a couple of local rock hoppers we spied high on the eastern wall as we turned to make our way back downstream. If you look closely you can
just make out two figures perched on a ledge below the orange stained slab of rock at the left of the photo.
These sheer walls are magnets for those attracted to the sport of abseiling, a group of hardy souls who for some strange reason find it fun to bash pitons into the rock and trust their lives to their skill, the strength of their ropes and the proper functioning of their carabiners (which in this case were hanging festooned in significant numbers around the belt of the chap on the right). Each to their own as they say.
It was about here that our attention was directed to another feature high on the rock face. This was one of a series of odd iron frames hammered into the cliffs, and I have to say we were indeed puzzled.
And once our good captain had provided the explanation, puzzlement turned into sheer amazement. These were what was now left of the supports for a flume which carried water down the gorge from the upper basin to Richie's flour mill at the mouth of the river.
To keep this structure clear of potential flood damage, it had to be secured high on the gorge wall (as you can see in the top left corner of this shot). As I gazed at these frames I tried to imagine just how difficult it must have been to lower men down the rock face to hammer all this into the incredibly hard granite......all by hand. How the engineers in charge of this project managed to ensure that the entire system ran continuously down hill on such an irregular surface was completely beyond me.
By now our allotted cruise time had almost come to an end, and with the normal motor again engaged as we exited the South Esk, we made our way back past this lovely old wooden cray boat back to the Home Point wharf,
which today the Lady Launceston was sharing with this beautiful ketch rigged yacht, the Georgia Alexis. So?
Well, this was the very boat I photographed a few days later from our perch high over the Tamar at Rosevears as she progressed downstream, presumably making for the much more challenging waters of Bass Strait and points far beyond.
And of course this just leaves one question.....was this short cruise worth the money? Every cent. Apart from the very different perspective of this part of Launceston it provided us, the captain's commentary was, as the brochure had promised, 'captivating'.
And once our good captain had provided the explanation, puzzlement turned into sheer amazement. These were what was now left of the supports for a flume which carried water down the gorge from the upper basin to Richie's flour mill at the mouth of the river.
To keep this structure clear of potential flood damage, it had to be secured high on the gorge wall (as you can see in the top left corner of this shot). As I gazed at these frames I tried to imagine just how difficult it must have been to lower men down the rock face to hammer all this into the incredibly hard granite......all by hand. How the engineers in charge of this project managed to ensure that the entire system ran continuously down hill on such an irregular surface was completely beyond me.
By now our allotted cruise time had almost come to an end, and with the normal motor again engaged as we exited the South Esk, we made our way back past this lovely old wooden cray boat back to the Home Point wharf,
which today the Lady Launceston was sharing with this beautiful ketch rigged yacht, the Georgia Alexis. So?
Well, this was the very boat I photographed a few days later from our perch high over the Tamar at Rosevears as she progressed downstream, presumably making for the much more challenging waters of Bass Strait and points far beyond.
And of course this just leaves one question.....was this short cruise worth the money? Every cent. Apart from the very different perspective of this part of Launceston it provided us, the captain's commentary was, as the brochure had promised, 'captivating'.
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