The Gretna day dawned gloomy as we made ready to head for the hills. Heavy sheets of ragged cloud covered the greater part of the sky.
As it transpired, this set the scene more than appropriately for the day. It was to be the coldest we had experienced since arriving in Tasmania, but more of that later.
We had re-hitched the Cruiser after returning from Hamilton yesterday, and with nothing hanging out by way of the awning or other bits and pieces, we were soon on our way, back out onto the Lyell Highway and past the Hamilton turn-off.
We were heading up into the central highlands on the next leg of our trip to Queenstown. Today we were making the 140 kms journey to Derwent Bridge, a journey which was to take us through a pretty challenging section of the A10. The town of Tarraleah is home to one of several hydro power stations in the region and of course that means mountain country.
Once glance at the zig-zagging route line through the Tarraleah area on good old Google Earth
was more than enough to convince me that I was in for a somewhat busy morning. It may not look too challenging, but experience had taught me that this depiction meant very sharp corners, and quite a few of them.
Fortunately the early part of the drive was a doddle as we covered the first 25 kms or so and made our way towards the charming little country town of Ouse,
crossed the Ouse River
and ventured quietly through a main street which was yet to come alive with Saturday traffic......and the skies were not improving!
We were still on track.
and for some time happily toddled along a deserted highway through relatively open country.
But that didn't last for long. All too soon the grassy verges gave way to heavy timber
and this highway warning sign said it all....we were back in logging country. You beaut....big, 'take no prisoners' log trucks to deal with as well as bends.
Wayatinah hosts a delightful lakeside caravan park and we had initially considered this for an overnight stay until common sense kicked in. It was still school holiday time and we knew that this park was very popular with families and would undoubtedly be bedlam. We pushed on,
and in no time had our first reminder of the fact that we were indeed now in 'power' country.
Another stretch of heavily timbered highway
brought us to a section which had obviously been recently logged
before we were yet again surrounded by tall trees bordering an increasingly hilly highway.
The thought that we must be approaching Tarraleah was confirmed by this water channel which parallelled the highway for some distance,
before the open channel was replaced by these huge pipes known as 'penstocks' (when they deliver water to a hydro power station).
Surely Tarraleah must be just around the corner, and indeed it was, but the corners were now becoming serous..
We had hit the tricky bit. I needed no further encouragement to slow down.
Sharp bends and steep slopes were now the order of the day (and again the photos do not provide a true picture).
Signs like this always made us chuckle a little......in country like this we were crawling along at no more than 20 kph at best!
After what seemed like an eternity we finally crawled down to the valley floor, where this junction gave us the option to turn off right into Tarraleah or to keep going.
We kept on and in no distance at all beyond the junction, one of the ten power stations which make up the Derwent Valley Hydropower Scheme came into view.
Unlike the Gordon station, for example, the Tungatinah generators are housed above ground, right next to the highway.
This station is part of a complex system. Construction of the Derwent scheme began in 1934 with the last power station commissioned in 1968.
I did manage to glean a few details from the Hydro Tasmania website.
"There are two sections in the Derwent hydropower scheme – the upper and lower. This is because of the difference in how the water is stored in the sections. Visually the scheme resembles a Y shape.
The upper section of the scheme uses larger, deeper lakes for water storage than the lower section. The four main power stations in the upper section release water when it is needed to generate electricity. The upper section is formed from the Nive River system in the east and the Derwent River system in the west, making up the top of the Y.
The lower section is called run-of-river, which means water flows to
power stations directly from a river, and cascades through a series of
power stations. This means the same water is used to generate energy
multiple times. There are six power stations in the lower section and
they use water from the Derwent River multiple times. The lower section
forms the ‘tail’ of the Y."
Hopefully the diagram I also filched from the same source makes some sense of all this. I must say that what impressed me the most about this system is the fact that they use the same water over and over to drive different sets of turbines. That's clever.
And although we did not actually visit Tarraleah, thanks to 'worldpress' I can at least bring you a photo of that power station with its six penstocks bringing water hurtling down the mountainside and through the turbines.
As you would expect, the road past the Tungatinah station climbed steeply through heavy timber for some kilometres
until we came to the brown grassland plateau at the top of this section of the range
where the temperature was steadily dropping and the distant hilltops were shrouded in misting showers.
Given its significance in the hydro scheme we had just passed, the Nive River over which this narrow bridge carried the Lyell Highway, seemed to be far too small to provide the water it does.
We suspected that we were well below the dams which store and utilise this flow and that all we were seeing here through the misty haze was the residual trickle down the lower part of the river's ancient course.
By now we were beginning to get a bit excited. We were within about 20 kms of one of Tasmania's most extraordinary attractions, the Wall in the Wilderness.
This remarkable place is reached via the entrance roadway which runs off the Lyell Highway a few kilometres shy of Derwent Bridge itself.
Those towing caravans are encouraged to visit, and we had no difficulty finding an adequate parking spot in the large gravelled car park in front of this odd looking building.
We scurried quickly through the now very chilly mist, past the carved wooden eagle and on into the reception area.
And from this point on folks, I am gong to have to rely on The Wall website and other sources to share this utterly incredible place and its story......photography is banned inside the building....seriously banned......a 'click and be thrown out' type banned!
So this is what the relevant website tells and shows us:
"Something special is taking place in the heart of Tasmania, and you are invited to witness its creation.
Sculptor Greg Duncan is carving the history of Tasmanian Highlands in
the form of a sculpted wall. So far, Greg has carved scenes depicting
the workers of the Hydro-Electric Scheme and of the forestry industry,
and scenes concerning the environmental plight of the wedge-tail eagle
and the extinction of the Thylacine (the Tasmanian Tiger).
“I’m not trying to push any particular line,” Greg explains. “I just
want to bring the history of the area into the light. There were
mistakes and successes in our past. If I am trying to say anything it is
that we must learn from the past, good and bad, in order to move into a
better future. I want The Wall to be an educational as well as an artistic experience.”
Tasmania’s Premier Paul Lennon described The Wall as having world
significance; others have likened Greg’s undertaking to Michelangelo
painting the Sistine Chapel.
“The idea for The Wall is quite a simple one,” Greg says. “I’m
carving a series of 100 panels. Each panel is one metre wide and three
metres high. The panels will be placed back-to-back. So, by the time I
finish, I’ll have created a wall 50 metres long with carvings on both
sides - 100 metres all up.”
The idea may be simple, but the scale is breath-taking: Greg is aiming to carve 300 square metres of wood to form The Wall, a task he estimates will take ten years to complete.
In the meantime, you are welcome to visit The Wall and see history in the making."
The entire interior of this long building, in literally the middle of nowhere, is stunning. Soft lighting and honey coloured wooden floors and beams give the place a real glow. Here in the reception area chunky tables and large leather chairs add to the ambiance.
The fire was blazing in the hearth and small pieces of wooden sculpture were dotted everywhere, many of them produced by Greg and Marg Duncan's equally talented son.
The detail in all pieces is exquisite. This tiny thylacine is a typical example.
But all these charming little pieces are merely an adjunct to the main event. This shot from 'thinktasmania'
and this, courtesy of 'discovertasmania', will hopefully give you some idea of the scale of this enterprise.
Here is the artist hard at it.
As the artist freely admits, this is a work in progress, and we were fascinated to find sections such as this where one piece of the sculpture had been completed with the remainder still only at the base drawing stage on the adjoining panel.
As I noted earlier, the detail is breathtaking.
So just who is it who is responsible for this incredible creation? I'll return to The Wall website to complete the story:
"Greg Duncan was born in Belgrave, a country town in Victoria’s Dandenong
Ranges. Greg has always had a fascination with sculpting in wood. In
1982, he decided to take up sculpting as a full-time career.
“I am self-taught,” Greg says. “At first I began working with timbers such as mallee and redgum. They were a real education and they taught me the differing characteristics and qualities of timber as a medium. My first pieces were small; and after making all the mistakes a beginner can make, I began creating bigger works. At that time, back in the Eighties, I never thought I would end up working on a sculpture 100 metres long.”
Greg and his family moved to Tasmania in 1994, first settling in the Channel area south of Hobart. After running a successful studio for nine years, Greg decided to pursue his dream of creating a large-scale work in the Tasmanian Highlands.
“I was captured by the beauty of the Highlands right from the start. When I first visited here in 1990, I knew this was the place I wanted to be. The area has a fascinating history, and that is what I want to document through my carving of The Wall."
In 2003, Greg and his wife Marg moved to Derwent Bridge in the Tasmanian Highlands, where they constructed a purpose-built gallery to house Greg’s work.
“Life has been a great adventure,” Greg says, “and The Wall is the next step along the trail. I look forward to sharing it with those who enjoy something a bit different.”
Sadly none of the photos I've gleaned really adequately presents the stunning spectacle of the 50 metre long walls of wood surrounded by all manner of other carvings on tables and in nooks and crannies in the outer walls. The Wall in The Wilderness can genuinely claim to be unique. The entry fee of $15 each was the best money we had laid out for some time.
As could be expected, The Wall has its own on-site cafe. At the time of our visit we had no need for coffee and cake, or soup and a sandwich, so I cannot comment further.
We had read that Greg Duncan can be a touch prickly at times. Well that is something about which I can comment. He was standing in reception as we left and I felt obliged to compliment him personally on his work. We ended up having quite a chat and I am more than happy to offer the opinion that those who have found him to be less than charming must have struck him on a bad day....artists do have them from time to time I've been told!
After over an hour and a half in the hall of The Wall we reluctantly made our way back into the bleak outdoors again for the last few kilometres to our next and final destination for today, the Derwent Bridge Wilderness Hotel, well, its car park actually.
We had been told that we should not miss Lake St Clair and that this was a far better camping option than the car park of the pub, but there was only one snag....whilst the sign and the advertising does talk about caravans, all the sites are unusually small......we were far too long to even have a crack!
With a name like Derwent Bridge one would expect to find a bridge......we did...and used it.
The River Derwent was there too, rushing over the rocky shelf directly below the bridge. This river actually rises in nearby lake St Clair before wending its way down through the central highlands and the Derwent Valley to empty into Storm Bay some 200 kms distant.
Before reaching the bridge we passed a garage and a couple of houses on the edge of the Lyell Highway. As the excellent 'Aussie Towns' notes, "Derwent Bridge is hardly a town. It is really little more than a tiny service centre for Lake St Clair which has become such a magnet for travellers that it recently built an extensive car parking area and a very handsome Visitor Information Centre."
As for the name, the comment on this same site may explain why I refer to it so often.
"One more example of the "bleeding obvious", the town was named after the bridge which crosses the Derwent River."
End of story, and no argument from yours truly!
As we drove across the bridge, we realised that we would have no difficulty finding the hotel
or the entrance road into its very large front car park.
The large rocks which delineate the narrow sites are not to be trifled with. I later heard someone in the pub grizzling about them. I thought they were a great idea, an excellent way to ensure that the limited space was fairly shared by all visiting. I did get the impression 'Mr Grump' was one who would take up far more space in camps like this than he deserved where ever he could.
As this shot shows, we did not have far to go to get to the hotel. We were a little surprised to see just how many vans and motor homes were already in situ on our arrival, but there was a story to this which I'll share shortly. This angle also gives a good idea of just how tight these sites were, but lets face it, here there was no need to haul out the awning and we did have room for our step (just!).
By the time we had settled in the weather had taken a distinct turn for the worse. We did manage a quick gallop across the highway to check out the information bay
and the more than adequate public picnic and BBQ area, but this demanded an accurate assessment of the sky above us to avoid the periods of freezing cold, misting rain which came with each passing grey, heaped cloud bank.
As all good information bays should, the Derwent Bridge facility did include this colourful and
detailed map of the route we had just taken, and as it clearly shows, we were well and truly in the 'lakes area'.
I have to confess we did not spend too much time outdoors after this quick walk. We knew that Tassie could be cold, but for goodness sake this was the middle of January......the middle of bloody summer!
Believe it or not the temperature for our entire stay here at Derwent Bridge just managed to struggle up to 8 degrees (and that's without taking wind chill into account!)
Despite the fact that by now we had acclimatised to some degree, and had dragged our entire limited supply of warm kit out of the dungeon like depths below the bed, today we froze. And, of course, this had to be the day when we had no power. Never had we been so grateful for the diesel heater!
The bitter chill overnight, when it plunged to minus three degrees, even produced a previously unseen phenomenon.
Max will normally run a mile if covered by anything.....not so here...he did a real 'Garfield' imitation and did not move!
By the time the late afternoon was upon us and we decided it was high time to venture forth to the warmth and amenity of the very large pub across the car park, we had neighbours galore. This was a very popular place.
As this next series of photos will show, this was a pub of a very different stripe to that in which we had spent the previous evening. The main entrance foyer led directly to the hotel clothing and souvenir shop, where unsurprisingly there were oodles of woollen pullovers, scarves, socks and beanies on display.
Here the tiny snug and intimate little nooks of the Gretna Green Hotel were replaced by bars of a much more commercial size. The huge fireplace in between this front bar
and the one behind it, dwarfed the household hearths at Gretna.
And before I leave this shot, the tale I previously promised. You may note the heads of a few folk who were sunk deep into the long grey lounge facing the fireplace. They were the occupants of two of the motor homes which we noticed when we arrived. They had landed here yesterday with the intention of spending one night only, but decided that the weather was so cold that they would sit tight for another 24 hours.
They had spent the entire day here in the cosy warmth of the hotel lounge, and I strongly suspect that by the time we showed up here the phrase 'sitting tight' might well have had more than one meaning! They were giving the red wine a real thump. God only knows how much they spent....the prices here were off the planet.
But briefly back to the fireplace, or more to the point, the decoration on it.
A closer look showed that this was a very familiar style of work. This had 'The Wall' stamped all over it! Again the detail was superb, and I did wonder just how much the pub owners paid for this? There's nothing like a bit of local cross advertising!
The large, 'bush' style hotel dining area was virtually unoccupied during the short time we spent in here enjoying a few glasses of red, and as far as the Mobile Marshies were concerned that would remain the case. An explanation is warranted.
This is a photo (from the pub website) of their 'signature dish', a King Billy porterhouse coupled with a pretty reasonable red. I had previously read about this man's meat meal and was enthused, an emotion which withered on the financial vine as soon as we took a look at the menu board. Indulgence as desired would have set me back over $100! 'Spag Bog' in the van took on a whole new appeal!
Sadly this was par for the course for the entire menu and the liquid refreshments. I cannot now accurately recall what our couple of glasses of 'red around the fire' set us back, but it was in the order of $15 each. Admittedly we were drinking a Josef Cromy offering (one of Tasmania's best wine makers) but even so we decided that this pub was another example of that old truism...there is nothing which beats a monopoly.
But at least the signs over the bar did provide some light relief. This is one example.
And for an hour or so we did adopt a 'hang the expense' attitude', and I was well on the way to settling right in when it all got too much for 'The Treasurer'. And rightly so. We had good wine in the van.
So after farewelling our new found friends (for whom I suspect the concept of a wander across the car park to their mobile homes was becoming more anathema and impractical by the glass) we repaired 'home', lit the mechanical fire and the gas stove and warmed up with a hearty plate of pasta and a few glasses of a good local (Devils Corner) pinot.
And then my nearest and dearest was struck by a thunderclap of awful realisation......she would have to spent the night under the quilt with no electric blanket! It was time for a whisky nightcap.
The morrow was to bring the widely publicised and much dreaded sharp highway twists and turns of the final stages of the road into Queenstown. I was wisely less indulgent with the late night warming liqueurs than might have otherwise been the case.
“I am self-taught,” Greg says. “At first I began working with timbers such as mallee and redgum. They were a real education and they taught me the differing characteristics and qualities of timber as a medium. My first pieces were small; and after making all the mistakes a beginner can make, I began creating bigger works. At that time, back in the Eighties, I never thought I would end up working on a sculpture 100 metres long.”
Greg and his family moved to Tasmania in 1994, first settling in the Channel area south of Hobart. After running a successful studio for nine years, Greg decided to pursue his dream of creating a large-scale work in the Tasmanian Highlands.
“I was captured by the beauty of the Highlands right from the start. When I first visited here in 1990, I knew this was the place I wanted to be. The area has a fascinating history, and that is what I want to document through my carving of The Wall."
In 2003, Greg and his wife Marg moved to Derwent Bridge in the Tasmanian Highlands, where they constructed a purpose-built gallery to house Greg’s work.
“Life has been a great adventure,” Greg says, “and The Wall is the next step along the trail. I look forward to sharing it with those who enjoy something a bit different.”
Sadly none of the photos I've gleaned really adequately presents the stunning spectacle of the 50 metre long walls of wood surrounded by all manner of other carvings on tables and in nooks and crannies in the outer walls. The Wall in The Wilderness can genuinely claim to be unique. The entry fee of $15 each was the best money we had laid out for some time.
As could be expected, The Wall has its own on-site cafe. At the time of our visit we had no need for coffee and cake, or soup and a sandwich, so I cannot comment further.
We had read that Greg Duncan can be a touch prickly at times. Well that is something about which I can comment. He was standing in reception as we left and I felt obliged to compliment him personally on his work. We ended up having quite a chat and I am more than happy to offer the opinion that those who have found him to be less than charming must have struck him on a bad day....artists do have them from time to time I've been told!
After over an hour and a half in the hall of The Wall we reluctantly made our way back into the bleak outdoors again for the last few kilometres to our next and final destination for today, the Derwent Bridge Wilderness Hotel, well, its car park actually.
We had been told that we should not miss Lake St Clair and that this was a far better camping option than the car park of the pub, but there was only one snag....whilst the sign and the advertising does talk about caravans, all the sites are unusually small......we were far too long to even have a crack!
With a name like Derwent Bridge one would expect to find a bridge......we did...and used it.
The River Derwent was there too, rushing over the rocky shelf directly below the bridge. This river actually rises in nearby lake St Clair before wending its way down through the central highlands and the Derwent Valley to empty into Storm Bay some 200 kms distant.
Before reaching the bridge we passed a garage and a couple of houses on the edge of the Lyell Highway. As the excellent 'Aussie Towns' notes, "Derwent Bridge is hardly a town. It is really little more than a tiny service centre for Lake St Clair which has become such a magnet for travellers that it recently built an extensive car parking area and a very handsome Visitor Information Centre."
As for the name, the comment on this same site may explain why I refer to it so often.
"One more example of the "bleeding obvious", the town was named after the bridge which crosses the Derwent River."
End of story, and no argument from yours truly!
As we drove across the bridge, we realised that we would have no difficulty finding the hotel
or the entrance road into its very large front car park.
The large rocks which delineate the narrow sites are not to be trifled with. I later heard someone in the pub grizzling about them. I thought they were a great idea, an excellent way to ensure that the limited space was fairly shared by all visiting. I did get the impression 'Mr Grump' was one who would take up far more space in camps like this than he deserved where ever he could.
As this shot shows, we did not have far to go to get to the hotel. We were a little surprised to see just how many vans and motor homes were already in situ on our arrival, but there was a story to this which I'll share shortly. This angle also gives a good idea of just how tight these sites were, but lets face it, here there was no need to haul out the awning and we did have room for our step (just!).
By the time we had settled in the weather had taken a distinct turn for the worse. We did manage a quick gallop across the highway to check out the information bay
and the more than adequate public picnic and BBQ area, but this demanded an accurate assessment of the sky above us to avoid the periods of freezing cold, misting rain which came with each passing grey, heaped cloud bank.
As all good information bays should, the Derwent Bridge facility did include this colourful and
detailed map of the route we had just taken, and as it clearly shows, we were well and truly in the 'lakes area'.
I have to confess we did not spend too much time outdoors after this quick walk. We knew that Tassie could be cold, but for goodness sake this was the middle of January......the middle of bloody summer!
Believe it or not the temperature for our entire stay here at Derwent Bridge just managed to struggle up to 8 degrees (and that's without taking wind chill into account!)
Despite the fact that by now we had acclimatised to some degree, and had dragged our entire limited supply of warm kit out of the dungeon like depths below the bed, today we froze. And, of course, this had to be the day when we had no power. Never had we been so grateful for the diesel heater!
The bitter chill overnight, when it plunged to minus three degrees, even produced a previously unseen phenomenon.
Max will normally run a mile if covered by anything.....not so here...he did a real 'Garfield' imitation and did not move!
By the time the late afternoon was upon us and we decided it was high time to venture forth to the warmth and amenity of the very large pub across the car park, we had neighbours galore. This was a very popular place.
As this next series of photos will show, this was a pub of a very different stripe to that in which we had spent the previous evening. The main entrance foyer led directly to the hotel clothing and souvenir shop, where unsurprisingly there were oodles of woollen pullovers, scarves, socks and beanies on display.
Here the tiny snug and intimate little nooks of the Gretna Green Hotel were replaced by bars of a much more commercial size. The huge fireplace in between this front bar
and the one behind it, dwarfed the household hearths at Gretna.
And before I leave this shot, the tale I previously promised. You may note the heads of a few folk who were sunk deep into the long grey lounge facing the fireplace. They were the occupants of two of the motor homes which we noticed when we arrived. They had landed here yesterday with the intention of spending one night only, but decided that the weather was so cold that they would sit tight for another 24 hours.
They had spent the entire day here in the cosy warmth of the hotel lounge, and I strongly suspect that by the time we showed up here the phrase 'sitting tight' might well have had more than one meaning! They were giving the red wine a real thump. God only knows how much they spent....the prices here were off the planet.
But briefly back to the fireplace, or more to the point, the decoration on it.
A closer look showed that this was a very familiar style of work. This had 'The Wall' stamped all over it! Again the detail was superb, and I did wonder just how much the pub owners paid for this? There's nothing like a bit of local cross advertising!
The large, 'bush' style hotel dining area was virtually unoccupied during the short time we spent in here enjoying a few glasses of red, and as far as the Mobile Marshies were concerned that would remain the case. An explanation is warranted.
This is a photo (from the pub website) of their 'signature dish', a King Billy porterhouse coupled with a pretty reasonable red. I had previously read about this man's meat meal and was enthused, an emotion which withered on the financial vine as soon as we took a look at the menu board. Indulgence as desired would have set me back over $100! 'Spag Bog' in the van took on a whole new appeal!
Sadly this was par for the course for the entire menu and the liquid refreshments. I cannot now accurately recall what our couple of glasses of 'red around the fire' set us back, but it was in the order of $15 each. Admittedly we were drinking a Josef Cromy offering (one of Tasmania's best wine makers) but even so we decided that this pub was another example of that old truism...there is nothing which beats a monopoly.
But at least the signs over the bar did provide some light relief. This is one example.
And for an hour or so we did adopt a 'hang the expense' attitude', and I was well on the way to settling right in when it all got too much for 'The Treasurer'. And rightly so. We had good wine in the van.
So after farewelling our new found friends (for whom I suspect the concept of a wander across the car park to their mobile homes was becoming more anathema and impractical by the glass) we repaired 'home', lit the mechanical fire and the gas stove and warmed up with a hearty plate of pasta and a few glasses of a good local (Devils Corner) pinot.
And then my nearest and dearest was struck by a thunderclap of awful realisation......she would have to spent the night under the quilt with no electric blanket! It was time for a whisky nightcap.
The morrow was to bring the widely publicised and much dreaded sharp highway twists and turns of the final stages of the road into Queenstown. I was wisely less indulgent with the late night warming liqueurs than might have otherwise been the case.
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