Realising Maatsuyker wasn’t going to happen and having had a chat with Macca it was time to say goodbye to Cockle Creek. In relative terms this was going to be a big days drive, north to Hobart and then west clear across Tasmania to Strahan midway up the west coast. Six and a half hours on the road according to Dr. Google.

On the way south I’d noticed that Franklin, just south of Huonville, billed itself as the home of the famous but bygone Tasmanian huon pine boat building industry. I’ve always had a soft spot for wooden boats and decided to stop and have a look. Unfortunately like the town itself most had seen better days but still, even in their decrepit state some of these old girls had a style and grace that modern fibreglass and metal boat could ever match, and many over a hundred years old already will no doubt outlive their more modern incarnations.

With a long drive ahead of me I didn’t have time to hang around and seemed to be in Hobart in no time at all, being Sunday morning there was no traffic around and even though I had to pass through the city I was soon headed west following the surprisingly impressive Derwent river. After about 10 km the freeway gave way to a single lane country road that wound it’s way through a typical Australian rural landscape, low brown hills and dead trees, sparse livestock and down at heel towns.

After an hour or so the farmland gave way to forests, lakes and winding mountain roads which needed to be taken slowly due to intermittent rain and ice, but mostly because it was hard to keep your eyes on the road rather than the amazing scenery you were passing through in the hard won Franklin- Gordon Wild Rivers National Park, remembering the culture wars of the ’80’s (i.e. Hydro v’s Conservation). Thanks to the environmental activists of the day their children and children’s children (and me) get to enjoy what they so determinedly fought to preserve.

It was like awakening from a trace to be jolted back to reality with sudden arrival into the dilapidated old mining town of Queenstown who’s glory days are obviously well behind her, and to see the scars left on the landscape by our ongoing quest for gold and other mineral riches.

An hour beyond Queenstown, after negotiating what seemed like the windiest road on the planet in failing light I arrived in Strahan, a quaint village on the edge of Macquarie Harbour. Strahan has had various incarnations over the years from gold mining boom town to bust, only to be reinvented as the eco-tourism hub for the region and now the headquarters of the very controversial and clearly mismanaged salmon farming industry. The latest iteration of the ongoing culture war between the environment and industry. Thankfully there is a better way and the sooner we embrace the principles of the circular economy the sooner we will learn that they can coexist!

The entrance to Macquarie Harbour was named “Hell’s Gates” by convicts being transported to Sarah Island which was the worst of the worst penal colonies in Australia, no one ever escaped from there alive!

Thankfully my reason for visiting was less terminal, I was here to see the three lighthouses that guard the entrance, the smaller Entrance and Bonner Island lights and the imposing Cape Sorell lighthouse. Despite it’s grim history and threatening name to be here on this bright cold morning was exhilarating as I was looking forward with eager anticipation to what the day had in store for me.

After bidding farewell to “Hell’s Gates” it was on toward the Wild West, but first I had to pass through another old mining town called Zeehan.

If towns were judged in alphabetical order Zeehan would be where it needs to be… as Wayne Gardner once said “the best view of Wollongong is in the rear vision mirror”, the same could be said of Zeehan. Thankfully that was all about to change.

The Road to Nowhere:

While I was staying with Simon he mentioned there was a back road through the Tarkine wilderness on the west coast locally known as “The Road to Nowhere” which involved taking a barge across the Pieman River and traversing a dirt road that was totally off the grid and beyond the reach of modern technology! With a name and promise like that who could resist!

Just north of Zeehan you take a left turn off the main road and enter a place time has forgotten and man has barely touched. Words cannot do this place justice, it is more visceral than language can describe, it has to be experienced… felt, smelt and immersed in!

After crossing the Pieman River at the tiny settlement at Corinna you enter the Tarkine wilderness, 400,000 Ha of virgin temperate rainforest – thank you Bob Brown and your band of true Greenies for saving this jewel from the chainsaw and dam builders, your legacy will live forever!

Apart from the natural beauty there is something cleansing about being in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nature and out of reach of mobile phones and GPS. Literally out here no one can hear you scream (in delight) or laugh with the sheer joy of it!

All of a sudden my initial joy and euphoria was shattered by the shock arrival into a charred wasteland. To my absolute dismay a recent bushfire had laid waste to the forest as far as the eye could see, but strangely even in this black and barren landscape there was a harsh beauty in understanding this was part of a natural cycle* of creation, destruction and regrowth, and as if to underscore this eternal natural cycle there was evidence of this renewal.

*Thankfully I later discovered that this fire was caused by lightening rather than man’s carelessness or willfulness!

After about 30km of driving through this devastation the black turned to green and I re-entered my dreamlike state no doubt enhanced by the cleanest most oxygenated air on the planet!

The single lane bridge at Arthur River signified the end of nowhere and a return to somewhere, and it was the coast where the beauty and softness of the forest was replaced by the grandeur, harshness and explosive energy of the wild and ragged north west coast. Two contrasting environments, each with the power to awaken our most primal senses.

While a few hardy souls have tried to scratch out an existence on this, the edge of the World as they like to call it, nature remains the dominant force and daily life is dictated by it’s ever changing moods.

The final destination on this leg of my journey was another place I’d never heard of but which Simon had recommended. Marrawah consists of a pub and a community hall, that’s it, nothing else but the surrounding farmland and coast is spectacular in a very different way, gently rolling green hills cascading down to sandy beaches. It constantly amazes me how quickly things can change, especially down here in Tasmania where distances seem compressed and contrasts are extreme…and wonderful!

With a great “free camping” area by the beach, a terrific pub with good food and friendly locals who like me are old school surfers I decided to stay a few days and soak it up!