Sacred Waters & Ancient Paths

The journey beyond Derwent Bridge stirred memories deep within our souls as we sought out the spot where we had once camped with Grammy on Lake King William's parched bed. Nature's cycles had transformed this cherished place - where our bus once stood on dusty earth, water now rippled and lapped at the shores, the broken drought bringing renewal to this sacred corner of our memories.

Our westward passage along the Lyell Highway drew us deeper into Tasmania's ancient wilderness, each mile a step further into nature's embrace. The Franklin River Nature Trail beckoned us into its mysterious realm, where moss-draped trees stood as ancient guardians of time immemorial. We wandered in reverent silence along the banks of the fast-flowing Surprise and Franklin rivers, their waters singing songs of countless seasons past, the very air thick with the weight of history and natural wonder.

Just minutes drive further along our path, the trailhead to Frenchman's Cap emerged - a multi-day adventure we lovingly tucked away in our hearts for future sharing with our adult children. Today's journey led us instead to the swing bridge spanning the Franklin River. One by one, we crossed its suspended path, letting the gentle rain wash over us as we paused midway, each lost in contemplation of how deeply our nomadic life had transformed our very beings. As if orchestrated by fate, a fellow wanderer emerged from the trail just as we stepped off the bridge - another outdoor educator, the fifth we'd encountered in Tasmania, his spirit kindred to ours as he shared tales of his hitchhiking adventures across the island.

Donaghys Hill Lookout called to us next, its relatively modest two-kilometer ascent offering rewards that far outweighed the effort. Standing at its summit, the panoramic views served as nature's consolation for the longer hikes we'd chosen to postpone, each vista a promise of adventures yet to come.

Twenty minutes along the winding road, another trail beckoned, adding another precious chapter to our day of short but soul-stirring walks. The Nelson River greeted us with its swift-flowing waters, cutting through moss-covered rainforest like time itself. The recent rains had transformed the river into a powerful force, building our anticipation for the waterfall that awaited us. When we finally reached the cascade, it greeted us in full, magnificent flow, its mist embracing us on the viewing platform like a cool blessing. We captured this moment both in pixels and in our hearts, each droplet adding to the day's growing epic, despite - or perhaps enhanced by - the persistent rain.

Lake Burbury appeared transformed from our last crossing, its waters now shrouded in mystery by clouds and mist, so different from the clear skies that had blessed our passage at the year's beginning. Through Gormanston's mining vestiges we traveled, ascending bare hills that told silent stories of industrial past. The Iron Blow Lookout revealed its copper-infused waters, a startling blue jewel set in the scarred landscape below.

The story of these mountains unfolded before us - trees sacrificed to feed the copper smelter's hungry furnaces, while toxic sulphur fumes and acid rain created a wasteland where forests once stood. Without the protective embrace of trees, the earth withered, and heavy rains stripped away the precious topsoil. The sulphur-saturated ground painted the landscape in unusual pastel hues, a haunting beauty born from environmental tragedy.

Returning to the Lyell Highway, we answered the call of Horsetail Falls, a sight that had tantalized us during our previous passage. The boardwalk guided us along the hillside, the falls thundering with renewed power from recent rains, its fifty-meter descent commanding our attention throughout the journey. A newly completed section of track led us to the fall's summit, where Queenstown spread out below us in the valley. A conversation with a part-time local, full of pride for his town, added human warmth to the natural splendor surrounding us.

Queenstown welcomed us to its famous 'Gravel' - the unique Australian Rules Football oval that spurned grass for stone. As we settled in for the night, fate brought us neighbors from our old Sunshine Coast home, fellow travelers circling Australia's vast expanse. The day's abundance of experiences had filled our souls to overflowing, leading us to forgo our usual evening entertainment in favor of peaceful reflection.

Dawn brought overcast skies and practical necessities - long-overdue laundry and fuel stops becoming moments of quiet contemplation in this historic mining town. We savored a rare treat of coffee in a local café, each sip a small gesture of support for a community that had witnessed such dramatic transformation - from a bustling 20,000 souls to today's resilient 1,500. As we set our course toward Lake Burbury's shores, we carried with us the whispered echoes of Tasmania's wild heart, each moment a treasure in our continuing journey of discovery and growth.Okumaya devam et