tarkine tales
Here are some stories about the Tarkine from the team of volunteers!
Geoff's Tale
February 2015
My days in the Tarkine were a rare chance to experience a genuine wilderness. Somewhere to be alone, free of the sounds and smells and relentless clutter of modern Australia. Somewhere to sink into deep, deep time - a pattern of existence mapped out in millennia and where every minute lasts forever. The landscape takes no interest in people – it has built an edifice of total self-reliance, self-regeneration, an easy capacity to drink in the wild climate, the cold, the jetstream clouds, the solid rain, the arc of the sun. Countless black Tiger Snakes maintain a watchful guard, unwilling to defer to human movement across their land. The myriad birds are rarely seen but provide a welcome to the dawn with songs that are not to be heard elsewhere. And at dusk the sea eagles float in pairs high above the treetops, feeling out that place in their territory where a nest is to be found – suddenly, silently tumbling over and over out of the sky as the last moments of sunlight show their pure white plumage.
This is geological time at work, countless generations of animals and plants beyond memory. This is a precious last remnant of a land whose borders once jostled with South America, with India, with Antarctica. We are dwarfed by its power, its magic. It deserves our greatest respect.
Geoff's Tale
February 2015
My days in the Tarkine were a rare chance to experience a genuine wilderness. Somewhere to be alone, free of the sounds and smells and relentless clutter of modern Australia. Somewhere to sink into deep, deep time - a pattern of existence mapped out in millennia and where every minute lasts forever. The landscape takes no interest in people – it has built an edifice of total self-reliance, self-regeneration, an easy capacity to drink in the wild climate, the cold, the jetstream clouds, the solid rain, the arc of the sun. Countless black Tiger Snakes maintain a watchful guard, unwilling to defer to human movement across their land. The myriad birds are rarely seen but provide a welcome to the dawn with songs that are not to be heard elsewhere. And at dusk the sea eagles float in pairs high above the treetops, feeling out that place in their territory where a nest is to be found – suddenly, silently tumbling over and over out of the sky as the last moments of sunlight show their pure white plumage.
This is geological time at work, countless generations of animals and plants beyond memory. This is a precious last remnant of a land whose borders once jostled with South America, with India, with Antarctica. We are dwarfed by its power, its magic. It deserves our greatest respect.
Emma's Tale
January 2009, February 2010, January 2014, July 2015
Over the years, I've experienced the Tarkine's macro and micro forests, it's raging rugged coastline, and the quiet mossy glades of its ridges. Some of my fondest memories are situated along the Tarkine trails looking up and up and up at the canopy, and squinting at the micro forest underneath. At hiding behind sand dunes as a storm rips apart the beach, whisking up the sea, the sand and us in a whirl of foam. Of late night cups of tea, huddled together by the tents, listening to the sounds of the forest, alive and moving. The Tassie devils screeching somewhere nearby late into the night. So alive.
In campaigning, there is nothing as motivating as experiencing, first hand, the place that you will then swear to protect. And what a place the Tarkine is. All I can say is that to go there is to step into another world, indeed many other worlds. It is not easy to do the Tarkine justice in writing alone.
It cuts deep into a place buried into my heart, that I can find the Tarkine so incredibly stunning - yet there are those who cannot, or will not, see that. As a part of TAV, I endeavour to change this.
Caitlin's Tale
January 2014, January 2015
Diary entry January 2014: “Dusk in the Tarkine. The Huskisson River is softly flowing beside our camp, Allan and Danny sit on the bank playing tunes on their tin whistles. Moss covers every surface in wide diversity, broken with sprays of lichen and miniature fern fronds. Everything is cool and damp, the sun is gentle through the canopy and the clear stream water fills our mouths and bottles.
This morning’s drive out was easier than yesterday’s drive into the Tarkine Trails route to the Arthur (via logging tracks) over rutted trenches and sandy puddles. The Arthur River was flooded and we couldn’t cross so we headed back home. The next day we called Tarkine Trails and asked for their advice. They were so excited to hear from us (as the group starting up campaigning in Melb) and invited us to use their own tagged trails at the southern end of the Tarkine. The loose plan was to meet a guy called Trev at the road that leads into Cradle Mountain from the Murchison Hwy at 9am. As we waited, all seven of us piled into my corolla for warmth, we blasted Genticorum and watched the cars driving past covered in snow. Must have been a chilly night up at Cradle.
Anyway, so Trev led the way along another rutted, bumpy road to the trail entrance. He stopped about halfway along and showed us a lookout over the proposed mining site for the Venture Minerals’ tin mine.
After parking our cars under a copse of trees off the road, we entered the magical Tarkine on foot via a log across the creek and then into dense forest. The smell of damp, clean moss instantly filled our lungs. We lugged our packs up a massive hill to Tiger Ridge and there, nestled amongst the massive Eucalypts and Nothofagus, was a beautiful wooden shelter with a fireplace and long communal dining table. These are the facilities of Tarkine Trails but were currently being used by a men’s retreat - a Vision Quest. There was a bit of a rescue mission going on as some of the men had crossed the river when it was shallower and got trapped after the rains swelled the Huskisson.
The wooden retreat lodge was so inspiring and homely, it made me teary. Then there was the tiny Japanese Bath house hidden amongst tall ferns, a quiet haven of solitude. This first day, even in it’s disorganised beginning and haphazard planning, was perfect…”
Aawa's Tale
January 2009, February 2010, January 2014, January 2015
To me, the Tarkine feels a bit like a secret, but one that I want to tell. Like a secret, the friends I have shared it with feel closer, because after a few days hiking in the Tarkine, there’s that feeling you sometimes get after attending a great concert, or visiting a remarkable place; that you’re held together by an experience that can’t really be described. There’s also the fact that so few people outside of Tasmania have heard of the Tarkine, yet it is so close to the hearts and so frequently on the minds of those who know it. And here’s the bitter part of the secret: that the next time you visit that same part of the forest those green valleys may no longer be there, and most people will have no idea of what they’ve lost. Because the language of wilderness and beauty is so much more complicated, more subtle and subjective, than the language of greed. Its value can’t be reduced to a figure or a price tag.
I remember the end of my first day hiking in the Tarkine. Fatigue after walking 9 hours with a heavy pack may have warped my perception, but I felt the most incredible calm and sense of wonder deep in this ancient rainforest. The purple twilight filtered between the huge trunks of myrtle-beech trees, gently illuminating the tumbling moss floor, the tree-ferns, and the delicate golden elf-paths of fallen leaves winding between the trees. Our footsteps barely made a sound, muffled by the moss that covered everything, and the forest was very still, not a breath of wind or a birdcall. As a group, we were silent (a very rare occurrence!) and the memory of that complete calm, that uniting stillness is somewhere I can go now whenever I need to.
Header photo by Danny White
