Georgia on my mind or I feel the earth move under my feet (Cradle Mountain, Tasmania)

Welcome to the 200th post of this blog. That's a fairly tidy achievement my dedicated reader - for both of us. The titles today? Well, that will become apparent dear reader. They are both famous songs, my favourite version of Georgia is by Willie Nelson and of course the other is by the brilliant Carole King. I recommend the musical Beautiful if you get the opportunity to see it. Absolutely superb, but I digress.

The possums of Ormiston House made themselves heard again last night but were a little more respectful and significantly quieter. This facilitated a small sleep-in and we arrived at breakfast to find the place deserted. All of the other guests had supped and gone. We, in no rush, had a leisurely breakfast and a chat with our host, Rose, before climbing the hidden staircase to the

The widow's lookout

‘widow’s lookout’. It has an excellent view of the harbour and is purported to be where the wife of the house would pace looking for the return of her husband’s vessel (albeit that now she would have great difficulty since the magnolia tree, commemorated in a photo of its planting as a sapling in the late 19th century, has grown somewhat and obliterates much of the harbour view these days).

We spent some time on the staircases leading up to the widow’s lookout and, from the photographic records lining the stairs, it turns out that the Ormiston name is actually the middle name of Frederick of the Henry family, quality importers, who owned the house and then subsequently sold off portions of its surrounding land and, finally, the mansion itself.   Maybe David and Teneille have a claim on the place through some distant relative?? Not that you would want to live here because by the locals’ own admission, the weather is pretty ordinary for the vast majority of the year and it appears we have been very fortunate.  It seems that heritage-listed rain forests require significant rainfall to proliferate – who knew?

It was then time to hit the road again on our way to Lemonthyme Wilderness Retreat. Where we stopped and what we would do was going to be dictated by the weather that in Strahan that morning was, as it usually is, overcast and grey with the hint of drizzle. The road to Cradle Mountain was another serpentine affair with random speed cornering signs that kept me very focused on the road.

Proof

As we were getting close to Cradle Mountain the cloud was breaking up. By the time we had braved the tourist centre and had our National Park Pass validated, the cloud had given way to sunshine. The tourist centre was packed, as it always seems to be. There doesn't seem to be a well organised structure, but we were fortunate. in and out relatively quickly. The breeze was still slightly brisk but it promised to be a wonderful afternoon. We discussed the possible options of Dove Lake and Marion’s Lookout and opted for the former dear reader. As you would know, Jayne is no lover of bushwalking, or exercise for that matter, and her participation was because of her love of and dedication to me. A circumnavigation of Dove Lake it would be - about three hours return.

The walk around the lake really is quite lovely. It is 6.2 km and graded ‘easy’. It is track or walking platform all the way and the climb (such as it is) occurs towards the end of the walk if you follow the advice of the rangers and walk in a clock-wise direction. This simple request proved to be too much for some patrons. I am unsure if it is as a result of the digital generation that they no longer understand the term clock-wise. Or they are just ignorant, entitled ‘me generation’ people, but they proved annoying because it meant people had to walk to the side to allow them pass by in the anti-clockwise direction. No doubt this accounts for some of the damage to sides of the track. Of course the other damage can be attributed to backpackers searching for the glamour-selfie, unsupervised children and people from a particular continent to whom the rules don’t apply. Yes, yes, dear reader you are correct I’m stereotyping and exaggerating for effect. Hyperbole if you will.

About 10 minutes into the walk at Glacier Rock we met the delightful Georgia for the first, but sadly not the last, time; an unaccompanied 10 year old girl who skipped away from her family – lucky them. She had a knack of taking up the best vantage point and not relinquishing it until her dawdling parent caught up. This created much frustration for people who patiently waited for the right shot. Ok, it caused frustration for me. As we walked dangerously close to the edge of the rock, Jayne grabbed my hand and gave me ‘the look’. There would be no child sacrifice at Glacier Rock today.

Not a Georgia in sight

Georgia managed to do this again further down the track by removing her jacket and jumper and throwing them into the fork of a tree, thereby destroying a beautiful, untouched panorama, while lounging in another tree waiting for the long-suffering, slow-walking parent, and yet again forcing people to wait their turn. No, dear reader, this time it was not I, it was a number of backpackers from Europe who displayed far more patience than I could muster. I took my photos and shopped the little cow out of them later.

Happily though that was the last we saw of Georgia. There were, however,  other children who ran and squealed and screamed their way around parts of the track. Really? At one point there was a screaming contest. Totally awesome. What were their parents doing? Ignoring them is the answer. It seems to be a new way of parenting. If my children had behaved in that manner, Glacier Rock would have been re-named Hanging Rock, we would have another mystery and Miranda would have more friends to play with (Google it kids).

The biggest joke or was that jerk of the day, was the guy who walked into the lake to fill up a water bottle and sample the water. Yes, I may have consumed water from less clean water sources over the years, but it was always a matter of necessity. He was filling bottles for his children to taste. While the water was probably OK, the equally pristine Lake St Clair comes with warnings. Anyway, he sampled the water and someone asked "what's it taste like"? Water? Colourless and odourless as I was taught at school - if it's not, then something has been added. His very witty reply? "Soap". Get it? Dove Lake, Dove is a brand of soap (and other cosmetics).

We completed the circuit in around two and a half hours. Yes we walked slowly, stopping to take many photos, admired the view and looked at the wildflowers. That, I thought was the point of the exercise. Although I did hear one couple boast that it had taken them only 90 minutes! Stop the press, get out the record books. Who cares? The idea is to look and to observe and take in what’s around you. It is a beautiful, magical walk. And the real magic? Jayne did it with me (and didn’t fall over once).

The iconic view

Our next stop was Lemonthyme Wilderness Retreat, which proved to be a challenge to find as it was hidden down 8km of unsealed road. In retrospect, neither of us is sure it was worth the drive.

Lemonthyme Wilderness Retreat it seems is neither retreat nor wilderness. As we alighted from the car the first sound that assailed us was not bird song or the gurgling of a nearby stream but the screams of an infant. Screams so ear piercing that they created a slight echo. Impressive. And impressively annoying. It was noticeable when the din ceased. I am now regretting choosing an early sitting for dinner.

The verandah

Car unpacked, bottle shop too far away, we decided to avail ourselves of the dreaded mini-bar. Once again though, similar to Sullivan’s Cove Apartments in Hobart, we found the prices quite reasonable. There is no price gouging here, perhaps that is a trait that belongs to the north island. Two half bottles of Ninth Island Chardonnay (2013) and Pinot Noir (2014) at the bargain price of $18 each. A quick fossick though our bags revealed a packet of peanuts and it was instant happy hour on the balcony.

Dinner was OK but nothing special, but we never really going to eat anywhere else. It was 8km back to the main road and then who knows how long to food. As a result all guests tend to eat at the restaurant. So, it was crowded, but they were reasonably efficient and the wait staff were pretty good. Except for one. He was like a bee in a bottle. He never walked anywhere, it was always fast, with purpose and while I get this on a busy night, it just made people feel uncomfortable. It was like he was trying to head off a catastrophe at every step.

The cabins were well appointed but the one bedroom cabins were a part of a duplex. While we did not hear the people next door to us we could feel the effects of them walking around. So, as Jayne and I settled into bed the cabin started moving, akin to an earthquake. My ever-witty partner quipped, “Did the earth move for you”? I hope we made the earth move for them too.

Breakfast proved to be a similar gastronomic affair, but without the anxious wait staff. It was crowded, as expected, but one would assume that they would keep an eye on food levels in the buffet. Nope. Jayne had to point out that they had run out of bread for toast, bacon, beans, eggs and juice. Yep, that was pretty much the buffet. It could be said that I am being critical, but there is a significant gap between marketing and reality and I don’t like the earth moving.