Friday already? It’s been a busy time planning another travel adventure, this time a family wedding later in the year. So, memories of our Tasmanian journey way back in 2009, and a hike around Dove Lake on a perfect summer’s day.
[An unexpected shower while walking along the beach the other day reminded me of our Tasmanian adventure back in 2001, when our boys were young (about 11 and 8). That time Hubby was most concerned about keeping his charges dry. However, he went to great lengths to make sure all was done as frugally as possible.]
K-Team, the Younger: Tasmania 2001
Dove Lake Hike in Garbage Bags–Cradle Mountain National Park
Hubby paced the floor of the mountain cabin. ‘Yes, that’ll work. Garbage bags’ll work.’ He was in his frugal element and raced around the small room as if he’d won the lottery. ‘Oh, and so cheap!’
He spent the rest of the evening cutting and taping two garbage bags and fashioning them into ponchos for our young sons.
Sons 1 and 2, unaware of the fate that awaited them, marvelled at the possum perched on the balcony.
***
Next morning, a shroud of mist covered the valley.
‘Hmm, the weather doesn’t look good,’ my husband said. ‘Don’t know if we’ll see much of Cradle Mountain. Boys’ll definitely need the ponchos I made when we hike around Dove Lake.’
Hubby grinned as he pushed the garbage bags into our packs.
I slung my camera’s bulky telescopic lens in its case over my shoulder and tucked it under my parka. I remembered the words of a professional photographer friend who had visited Cradle Mountain before me. ‘Even on cloudy days, you never know when the peak will appear. So, be prepared.’ Besides, I thought, mist and fog give the scenery character.
In our hire car Ford sedan, we crawled in the tourist-congo to Dove Lake. Signs warned us of an unsealed section of road suitable only for four-wheel drive vehicles. But did that stop Hubby? No, we bumped along the track behind a bus with him plopping in remarks. ‘Brachina Gorge was worse.’ Or, ‘What are they talking about, this is nothing.’
After parking, Hubby leapt from the car. ‘Oh, looks like rain.’ He pulled out the “raincoats” and waved them in the air. ‘Come on boys, you need to be waterproof.’
Son 1 recoiled. ‘I’m not wearing that.’
‘No!’ Son 2 screamed and hid behind me.
‘Oh, yes, you will!’ their father said. ‘You’ll get wet and a chill and then catch a death of cold, if you don’t.’
‘No!’ both boys squealed and then scampered up the path.
A battle ensued; Hubby with garbage bag-ponchos verses sons refusing to wear the garbage bags.
Dad won, and with the g-b-ponchos draped over two unhappy boys, the young K-Team trooped along the Dove Lake track.
A blanket of cloud covered the mountain, and drizzle blurred the view of the lake. The shifting mist mesmerised me. I slowly pulled out my camera and then attached the telescopic lens.
‘Get this off me!’ Son 2 cried. He fought with his garbage bag in the wind, and then tore it off.
‘No! You must keep it on!’ his dad grabbed the bag-poncho and struggled to put it back over him. Then, with success, clasping his son’s hand, Dad marched ahead, dragging Son 2 behind him.
‘I hate this walk!’ Son 1 cried. ‘Why do I have to wear this sack!’
‘So you don’t get wet!’ Dad said as they disappeared around a bend of pine trees, branches like arms all twisted and gnarled; monsters in the fog.
As I progressed around that same bend, I spied No. 2 son sitting on a stump by the path. The sun peeped through the clouds. ‘I’m not wearing this,’ Son 2 said. ‘It’s too hot.’
I glanced around. No Hubby. ‘Okay.’ I took the garbage bag cloak off Son 2, then peeled off my parka.
The lake shimmered as rays of sun filtered through the mist and gaps in the cloud. A photographer’s paradise. I aimed my camera and snapped several shots of Dove Lake.
‘Wow!’ I halted, shed my rain-jacket, shrugged off the tangle of bags and camera equipment, then caught the image of the mountain before it disappeared.
Son 2 shed his garbage bag-cloak too. He sighed, ‘How embarrassing!’
I packed the embarrassing cover into my bag and we continued the trek around Dove Lake. Every few metres I paused to take another photo.
‘Are we there yet?’ Son 2 asked as we crossed a stream.
Hubby stood before us. ‘What’s taking you so long?’
‘There’s so many beautiful scenes to capture,’ I said. ‘The clouds are always shifting and changing. How can I resist?’
‘Should only take an hour. It’s been two hours and we’re only half-way.’ Hubby said.
‘But, the photos…’
A pair of hikers passed us from the other direction.
‘How far to go?’ they asked.
‘A couple of hours,’ I said. ‘How long have you been hiking?’
‘From the boathouse, about half-an-hour.’
‘Not long to go then.’
‘Right, I’m off,’ Hubby said. ‘See you at the boathouse.’
Hubby and Son 1 marched off while Son 2 and I shuffled behind. We tried to keep up.
Emerging through the twisted branches of snow-gums, the lake beckoned, then hints of Cradle Mountain begged me to photograph. Father and Son 1 drifted further…and further ahead, while I remained suspended in the fairyland of Dove Lake, Cradle Mountain and fast-shifting mist and cloud. Even Son 2 deserted me to catch up with his dad and brother.
I arrived at the boathouse.
‘Four hours!’ Hubby greeted me. ‘That must be a record.’
Our sons, minus garbage bags, skipped stones on the smooth surface of the lake while mist descended over the mountain. I extracted my camera and aimed, taking care to focus.
‘Hurry up!’ Hubby snapped, ‘It’s way past lunch.’
During lunch Hubby scrunched up the green plastic of garbage bags and dumped them into a nearby bin.
[Stay tune for next fortnight and see what a difference a few years make. And how the K-Team the younger, just a little bit older, tackle the hike around Dove Lake on a perfect sunny day in the summer of 2009.
Next week I will be sharing some of my discoveries in my venture into family history, perhaps I can find the reason why I would take 4 hours to walk around Dove Lake. Is it written into my genetic code???]
***
Want more? More than before?
Take a virtual trip with the T-Team and their adventures in Central Australia.
The pinnacle of the K-T-Y’s (K-Team, the Younger) road trip around Tasmania was Cradle Mountain. I might add here that we’d abandoned my husband (Hubby)in Poatina on a Christian Leaders Training course, while I chauffeured the younger members of our family to the scenic sights in the Central Highlands and East Coast.
So, Sunday January 18, 2009, with Cradle Mountain National Park our goal, we drove the hills, dales, twists and turns. And we fended off near-misses with drivers who apparently didn’t know which side of the road they were meant to be on.
Before entering the National Park, we had to buy The Pass. And the K-Team kids took the opportunity to have some lunch at the café in the Visitors’ Centre.
Then another wait on the sealed but narrow road. We watched the procession of cars squeeze past us as they exited the park. The boom gate took what seemed an eternity to rise. I reminded my “lambs” that good things come to those who wait. However, the only positive my 15-year-old Son 2 could muster was more atheistic zeal to preach to his captive audience.
Finally, the boom gate rose, and I ferried the K-Team Young’uns to a highly sought-after carpark. We piled out of the car, sorted out backpacks, and with the sun warming our backs, commenced the hike around Dove Lake. At first, I had to drag a reluctant Son 2 to join us on this adventure, but soon, wooed by the brilliant scenery, he raced ahead to catch up to his older brother.
This time we hiked the opposite way around the lake from the way we did in 2001. Following the well-trodden path, a small lake emerged.
‘I don’t think so,’ I replied. ‘I remember it being bigger than this.’
A sign designated to the pond, confirmed that it wasn’t Dove Lake.
A little further on, we reached the boat house and Cradle Mountain framing the view of Dove Lake. On the shore of pebbles and sand, a photographer perched near his sturdy tripod and SLR camera with telescopic lens, while his wife, long-suffering, sat under a beach umbrella enjoying a novel.
We continued our trek around the lake. Son 2 ceased his drone about the meaninglessness of life, while Son 1 captured the beauty on the little digital camera I had lent him.
We marvelled at the sun sparkling diamonds on ripples of water.
Within an hour, the K-T-Y had reached the halfway mark. What a difference eight years make! What took more than two hours in 2001, half the time this time.
Over a hotel dinner at Deloraine, the result of the boys needing a “dunny stop” and me not wanting to cook tea that night, we reminisced the tale of two Cradle Mountain trips. And Son 2 had to admit that the hike around Dove Lake this time was not bad. And maybe, just maybe, there was a God who created this amazing world.
Tru-Kling Creations 