Cradle Mountain National Park

Lots of pictures in this one, folks. Sorry if it takes so long to load. It's worth it.

I barely found lodgings—literally arrived five minutes before a backpacker/cabin community closed for the night. There weren’t many accommodations close to the mountains. I had a late dinner of PB&J and stocked up on water—had to boil before drinking. Showered. Probably annoyed my three other roommates by getting in so late.

I awoke to find the sun blocked by a thick layer of clouds. It was already 6:30, and I was surprised to find no other hikers up and about. I walked down a dirt road to the reception building, only to find that it wasn’t staffed until 8am. No wonder I was the only one awake! Couldn’t check out.

It was probably the last remnants of jet lag that helped me rise so early in the morning. It happened to work perfectly for me—I wanted to be outside to experience as much of Tasmania’s beauty as I could. I saw a path leading from the dirt road to the surrounding forest, and decided to explore a bit. Many wallabies were active, and I was able to approach within five feet of the braver ones. But the highlight of that detour was spotting a family of wombats in the base of a hollowed out tree. Wombats are much more timid than wallabies, and they look like a cute, furry cross between an koala and a pig. Being Australian, however, they can probably kill you in ten different ways. I stood about ten feet from the tree, engaging the daddy wombat in a staring contest. I had forgotten my camera, so I tried to permanently etch the scene in my mind. It worked rather well and stuck with me for the rest of the morning.

At 8:00 I checked out and drove a half mile to the Cradle Mountain information center. A park ranger advised me on a day hike. I asked why none of the day hikes took me past Lake St. Clair, which was 80.5 kilometers south. Oops. Thousands hike down from Cradle to St. Clair annually--the Overland Track--but it’s a weeklong trip by itself. I would basically be hiking south around Dove Lake and up toward Cradle Mountain, then follow around the other side of the lake, continue hiking north until I reached Ronney Creek. See?? The ranger said there was no way I could get lost.

I bought 1.5L of water and a sandwich (like Pulp Fiction and the $5 milkshake, but without a dancing partner) for $13, the price of convenience. A bus drove 20 of us further inside the park, and the driver showed us the points of interest, which included Fysh Creek, named after the woman who fell in it. “There aren’t many people in these parts, so you don’t need to accomplish much to find your name on something. But she had been on a horse when she fell,” the driver said.

We arrived at the northern end of Dove Lake, and the mountains were still hidden by the fog. Still looked nice.

I was pretty much floored by the beauty of the park, and stopped every twenty feet to take another picture. Could you blame me?

Dove Lake could have been a mirror for all I knew.

I only put the camera down when I was about to be overtaken by a gaggle of septuagenarians. Fortunately, we came to a fork in the road and they took the steeper path. I was able to slow down again. I could just make out half of Cradle Mountain in the mist.

I quickly arrived at the southern end of the lake, plunged into a small forest of trees and mushrooms, and was able to enjoy some relative cool while the fog was heated off.

At last, I was able to look upon the sight that had so mesmerized me throughout an extended winter break in Poughkeepsie. Cradle Mountain! Not just a state or national park, as the name might suggest, but a World Heritage Area protected in the interest of all mankind. Everything else I planned to do in Taz was peripheral. Go on, click on it.

And these too.

It was 10 or 11, and getting pretty hot. I couldn't find the sunscreen I had just bought a day before. I cursed my forgetfulness, not for the last time. There was enough food, but I was running low on water, so I went into Extreme Hiker Mode, which says if you're still sweating, you're not dehydrated enough. I don't know if I read that somewhere or made it up.

I passed by several groups of hikers along the way, some starting the Overland Track, others just day hiking. One group was sitting on a boulder as I passed, eating lunch. One shapeless guy was shirtless, while the fifteen other hikers were clothed. It struck me that they were all of different ages. I continued on.




Made it out alive after a five and a half hour hike, though with an empty water bottle for the last forty-five minutes or so. Drove to Devonport, for my three day east cost tour, which started the next morning at seven o'clock.