Tarkine.

Tarkine Taster. 

Day 1.

We set out from home late, not reaching Waratah until a bit after lunchtime. Now in a rush. A man overhears that I'm on my way to the bottom of Philosopher Falls right now and asks if he can come too. He's already had a failed attempt. I size up his physique for the likelihood of rapid movement. No obvious problems. Jeans. Confident enough to have at least made a failed attempt (the average tourist stays on the track).

"Yeah. Sure, as long as you can keep pace." (I have driven several hours to be here. I don't want my attempt scuppered if he can't keep up with us. He is a total stranger, after all). 

"Are you certain?"

"Yeah, that'll be fine as long as you can keep pace," I repeat.

He joins us in the carpark at the falls. He's changed, out of jeans and into boots (good) … and pants that you'd wear out to dinner. Hm.

Off we set, me in the lead, hubby and Man following obediently, down the track to the point where we depart and go bush, from whence I head off on contour along the gps'd track I made last time. Man follows Gretel and Hansel through the forest, repeating oft that he could never do this by himself, and neither could he find his own way back (despite the appearance, once we have entered the deep forest, of bright orange tapes). I stop after 7 minutes to check on how closely these new tapes are sticking to the route I marked in last time. He is panting heavily. From exertion or fear? I decide both. Should I take him back and lose time that I don't have? Not time to give up yet. He makes strongly panicky noises to my husband while I sort things out on the next short stop. Bruce is unsure of what to say. What if he encourages him only to find out I've decided to take him back? Or if he agrees with the man (that we should turn around) when I've decided I can get him there despite the panic? Bruce makes equivocating mumbles. (He's expert at that).

For the present I continue, believing I still have enough light to get them down. Coming back up will be tricky, but I think things are still OK (apart from the obvious angst) for now. Terror noises grow in volume and frequency. After 20 mins I head back in the direction from whence we came, ending back on the precious path. Man is overjoyed to see it. He totally ignores the fact that we have failed to reach our destination and celebrates his safety. No one gets to see Philosopher Falls (bottom) that day. 

I photograph some pretty cascades elsewhere on the Arthur River, still accompanied by Happy Man, who is effervescent now we are near a navigational handrail he can relate to (flowing water). We then part, he returning to Waratah, while we continue on to Corinna. He tells us the road is shocking and will take us two and a half hours. We take this with a grain of salt, and do it in one. We have no booking and are very hungry on arrival. Luckily, this story has a happy end today (unmitigated pathos is hard to endure). There is room for us at the inn, and we even get to eat a hot dinner.

Wandering along the Pieman River on the morning of day 2.

Day 2.

The tiny stroll before breakfast morphs into a one hour ten minute walk (because the forest is so beautiful we just can't stop, and so overstay our intended schedule). The one hour walk in the other direction after eating almost doubled in size, so we don't get away until nearly 11. Running late again. 

Coastal scenery between Corinna and Arthur River

We stop to inspect coastal rocks and waves as we travel north, arriving at last at Arthur River, starving, at nearly 3pm. No accommodation, we are told. Worse, the only food here is greasy greasies. No salad; no coffee; no cake. Nothing appealing. I stare dimly at the world, hardly able to think due to wild starvation. We continue on to Marrawah. Ah, there's the Tavern. I stumble inside. Na. Too late for lunch, too early for dinner. She can offer me a slice of ham between two bits of cardboard. That's not what I call food. I lurch outside. (We have had car snacks, but I need real food.) We find a pie in the general store. I don't like that either, but I also found a lettuce which made it tolerable. Meanwhile, there's no accommodation in this place either … which means we have to go out of the Tarkine and drive to Smithton. Oh joy. That night I look at my photos of the coast - hastily taken and utterly sub-standard. Some forest ones seem OK. Our beautiful view is of a carpark.

More coastal scenery between Corinna and Arthur River. Next time we'll make sure we're very well armed with lots of food, and will camp here. 

Day 3.

Now, I wrote all that last night, as I thought Day 3 was going to spoil this theme of bad luck and be a fabulous day, and I wanted to write about the misadventures before the joy of a good day clouded my memories and ruined the trajectory. However, day 3 held all the trump cards. 

We set out straight after breakfast - no lingering this time - heading back into the Tarkine, bound for Wes Beckett Falls, which seemed very beautiful in the Tarkine Trails book we were using as our guide for this fabulous adventure.

There were mountain views to be had between Corinna and Arthur River as well - and many mountains and ridges that begged to be climbed. This trip was just to suss things out and see what's what so we know what we most want to do next time (apart from pack all our own food if not at Corinna).

The road was long and windy, but the book gave pretty clear instructions, and we ticked off the landmarks (such as Milkshake Hills Reserve) as we passed by, drawing closer to our goal. The road was a bit scary in places, as the forest fires from January are still burning, and in many places, trees were smouldering beside the road, and in one place, the smoke was so think I had trouble breathing and my eyes were sore. Down, down the Rapid River Road I drove, waiting for our turnoff after the bridge. Things weren't yet bad enough to turn around. However, after 1.5 hours' driving, we arrived at a sign that said "Road closed". Ahead there was no smoke at all. We'd passed through the worst of it and could see nothing untoward. If they'd said "Road closed" at or near Smithton, sure, we'd have not come, but after all this driving, and knowing that bureaucrats cry "Wolf" at the sight of a labrador puppy, I drove on.

All was fine … until we came to a huge pile of bulldozed trees cross the road. There was a turn to the left, however, and it was just the one I wanted, even if my husband had read nothing of this in the book, and was still maintaining I needed to drive another 5 or so kms. I trusted the map rather than his instructions, and headed left. Hm. Now I met a very deep pothole, but I could get my wheels one each side (just) so get through that hoop. Shortly afterwards, however, there was a series of three that were very challenging. I could still get through at a pinch, but, deciding to quit while ahead, I backed towards the first hole. There was no room for turning. Inch by inch, constantly getting out to check, I neared the hole. Drat, my left front wheel is sinking. I accelerate and manage somehow to get out before I entirely collapse into the ditch and ruin an axel. After a great deal more trouble, I manage to extricate myself from this situation and back the whole length of the road. (I can now say, having seen the rest, the worst was over, and I could have driven to the end, but I didn't know at the time).

We walked the rest of the way to the start, and then began looking out in the charred landscape for signs of a former track. The ground was exceptionally soggy (from water bombs?) and exceedingly slippery. We sank into ash the whole time and quickly got black from grabbing trees. Nevertheless, I eventually found signs of a track, and even came on some red tapes which we followed along the spur, wondering what route down they would take. 

At the head of the spur, right when we needed tapes most, as the descent looked dangerous, the tapes ran out. Should I use the gully to my right, go straight down, or swerve to the left, where the falls actually were? I tried a bit of all three, but by this stage my husband was doing a pretty good imitation of Man from day one, muttering about coming back some other year. When I looked over the slippery precipice and couldn't see a route I was prepared to take him on - especially considering the greasy, unstable nature of the ash-mud - I had to agree. It would have been out of character with the whole trip if we had found what we had gone to so much trouble to find, so we turned back.

I consoled myself with thoughts about lunch at Seabreeze, just east of Boat Harbour, and, unbelievably, (I hate to ruin the tone of this story) it was open, serving food, and the light meal was delicious. Our dog was very excited to see us home early, and didn't care at all that our faces and clothes were streaked with ugly black.