Derwent River Walks: The Colours of New Norfolk

[Continuing a series featuring short walks along Tasmania's Derwent River]

[The Derwent River at New Norfolk] 

Any time of the year is a good time to try the short walks around New Norfolk. But could there be a better season than autumn, when the poplars and willows colour up; the winds calm down; and the broad Derwent seems in no rush to get to the sea?

I planned to do a circuit walk, so left my car at Tynwald Park, just on the Hobart side of town. An inviting gap in the golden poplars revealed a pedestrian bridge over the Lachlan River. This led to the Bicentennial Track, which follows the river upstream. I sampled the track for a while, then walked across town to access the New Norfolk Esplanade.

[Autumn colours in Tynwald Park] 

A 1km trail goes right along the southern bank of the Derwent. There I paused to chat with an angler (no, the fish weren’t biting) and to photograph some of the deciduous reflections in the beautiful, calm waters.

[Steep steps on the Derwent Cliffs Walk] 

I continued along the Esplanade north-east to the start/finish of the Derwent Cliffs Walk (it can be walked in either direction). I climbed steep stairs around some riverbank cliffs, before topping out some 20m above the Derwent. The sandstone cliffs offered great views both up and down the river, and was the perfect place for a scenic drink break. A few ducks were feeding busily on the river, and some lapwings “ack-acked” along the bank. But otherwise all was calm and quiet.

[Ducks on the Derwent River] 

As I continued downstream from the cliffs, I met the first of several dogs being walked around this popular track. Much of the well-made, multi-use track is also suitable for prams and bicycles. The cliffs had finished on my side of the river, but large cliffs still dominated the far bank. A popular walk to Pulpit Rock can be accessed via the Boyer Rd opposite this track. I’ve heard the views are great: that’s one for next time.

[The view from Derwent Cliffs] 

As the track curved around the river bend it flattened out. Now there was water on both sides of the track, the river itself to one side and some billabong-like ponds on the other. Waterbirds, honeyeaters and other smaller birds chatted and flitted all around. After a very leisurely hour and a quarter I was soon back at Tynwald Park, walking again alongside the tiny Lachlan River rather than the mighty Derwent.  

[Alongside the Lachlan River] 

I decided I still had time to drive to the Peppermint Hill Lookout for a view over the town and valley. Finally I wanted to walk across the main bridge over the Derwent. On such a calm, fine day, close to the peak of the valley’s autumn colouring, it was a perfect way to round off my visit. But as usual I’d found plenty of reasons to come back for more.

*This series was prepared for the Derwent Estuary Program and Greater Hobart Trails

Derwent River Walks: Shag Bay Track

[Part 3 of a series featuring short walks along Tasmania's Derwent River]

What do you do when you have a free morning, but the rest of your day is busy? For the two of us the Shag Bay Track looked a good choice, given it’s one of the shortest walks along the Derwent. But if we were expecting the walk to be short on interest, we soon found otherwise. It may be less than 2km long (each way), but this walk packs a great deal into a short distance.

[Near the start, above Geilston Bay] 

We parked at the start, in suburban Geilston Bay, on Hobart's Eastern Shore, and walked up a well-marked and easy track. Through the sparse trees we looked out at dozens of colourful yachts that bobbed at anchor in sheltered Koomela Bay.

Just a few minutes up the track we started to get broader views across the Derwent. To the south the Tasman Bridge, almost side on, looked particularly impressive. To the west we had glimpses of the Royal Tasmanian Botanical Gardens, its exotic and deciduous trees a contrast to the muted colours of the drier Eastern Shore bushland.

[View downstream to the Tasman Bridge] 

As we turned north we could hear and see the Nyrstar Zinc Works across the Derwent. For nearly 100 years the factory has processed minerals from Tasmania and beyond, turning them into zinc for use in galvanising. If a century old factory seemed ancient, we were in for a surprise when we got down to Shag Bay itself.

[The Zinc Works across the Derwent] 

A steepish track led us to the narrow, bush-enclosed bay, where we found remnants of old industry, including a rusty boiler. Shag Bay was once the site of a mill that transformed bones into fertiliser. But it was also the scene of a tragedy. A high-pressure boiler exploded in 1915 killing two workers and destroying the factory. Today’s peaceful setting seemed at odds with that sad story.

[Remains of a boiler at Shag Bay] 

We soon found a far deeper story. Aboriginal middens, with shell and bone fragments from thousands of years of food gathering, still sat there alongside recent industrial ruins. Given the whole area’s panoramic setting, its proximity to the shortest crossing point of the lower Derwent, and its access to rich marine resources, we weren’t surprise that it was favoured by Aboriginal groups.

[Aboriginal midden alongside industrial remains] 

We sat awhile to contemplate the many generations of Aboriginal people who must have known and loved this place. Their long history was changed forever by the arrival of Europeans in 1803. The first British settlement at Risdon Cove, only a short walk from Shag Bay, was also the site of the first violent Aboriginal deaths.

[An ideal spot for quiet contemplation] 

With our minds full of deep time and sad stories, we were quiet on the return walk. As we ambled slowly down the track, it took the sharp call of some honeyeaters to bring us back to the present. We soon found ourselves back in yacht-dotted Geilston Bay. We were surprised it had taken us barely an hour to do a walk that truly spans thousands of years of history.

*This series was prepared for the Derwent Estuary Program and Greater Hobart Trails 

Derwent River Walks: Cornelian Bay to the Botanical Gardens

[Part 2 of a series featuring short walks along Tasmania's Derwent River]

Are you suspicious when you hear the words “suitable for all ages”? I usually am. But I must say it’s actually true for the walk from Cornelian Bay to the Botanical Gardens. 

[Looking upriver from the Botanical Gardens] 

 Still dubious? Consider these attractions:

• Easy waterside walking
• Two quality cafes
• A children’s playground
• Colourful boat sheds
• Boats on the water
• Wildlife
• A superb botanical garden
• Extensive and ever-changing river views

[The Derwent from the Boathouse Restaurant, Cornelian Bay] 

We chose a warm morning to try out the walk. The Derwent was silky and shimmering, the breeze just a whisper.  Testing out the “all ages” theory – our group ranged in age from two months to over sixty – we started our walk near Cornelian Bay Point.

[Our toddler enjoying the ducks at Cornelian Bay] 

The pram-friendly track soon led us to Cornelian Bay itself, where the playground was a magnet for the group’s two year old. The adjacent Boathouse Restaurant would have been the same for the adults if we hadn’t just had a coffee.

[On the shady, pram-friendly path beside the Derwent] 

At the city end of the bay sits a huddle of quaint, multi-coloured boat sheds. As we walked past them along  the undulating gravel path, we welcomed the shade of she-oaks. From the path we had views of the Derwent, the Tasman Bridge, and a lone white-sailed yacht, which barely kept ahead of us in the calm conditions.

[Walking towards the Gardens from near Cornelian Bay]

[Cornelian Bay's boat sheds] 

By the time we’d reached the Royal Tasmanian Botanical Gardens, both children were asleep. That left three adults to enjoy the green tranquility of the gardens, surely among the best in Australia, if not anywhere. Boasting everything from huge trees to tiny blooms; and wide lawns to intimate themes gardens, it could have held our interests for hours. 

[Parental peace in the Botanical Gardens] 

But the sleeping children would soon need wrangling, so we decided one adult should go back for the car. That left the rest of us to buy lunch at the kiosk and keep exploring the gardens.

[There always some colour in the Gardens] 

Allowing for toddler stops and photographic pauses, it had taken us about an hour to walk the 2km from Cornelian Bay to the Gardens. Onward options from there include walks to central Hobart via the Garden and/or the Cenotaph, but for our group two hours out was enough. There would always be other days for further walks.

*This series was prepared for the Derwent Estuary Program and Greater Hobart Trails 

Derwent River Walks: Alum Cliffs Track

[Part 1 of a series featuring short walks along Tasmania's Derwent River]

What’s the best direction to walk the Alum Cliffs Track along the Derwent? That’s what I was wondering when a fine afternoon seemed to invite me to try the walk for the first time. As I was doing it by myself, a neat solution occurred. I could walk it both ways! That would not only solve the transport issue, it’d give me twice the walk distance.

[Alum Cliffs above the Derwent Estuary near Taroona] 

That sorted I drove to the end of Taronga Road in Bonnet Hill, not far past Taroona’s Shot Tower. The track here is around 100m above sea level, and it wasn’t long before I was getting glimpses of the Derwent between the trees. After about a kilometre of easy undulating walking, the glimpses turned into a full-blown view. From a cleared and fenced lookout I was looking straight across the beautiful, broad Derwent estuary towards South Arm. An old tall ship, a modern yacht and a cargo vessel slipped slowly past, reminders of the continuing maritime story of the Derwent.

[Views toward South Arm across the wide Derwent Estuary] 

The track wound up and down, weaving inland through damper gullies before returning to the drier cliff tops. At various points fences protect unwary walkers from the steep cliffs that give the area their name. The “Alum” part of the name derives from the alum compound that was found in the local rocks.

[One of the wetter gullies along the track] 

The track was now trending downhill as it curved south-west towards Kingston. I tried to ignore the fact that my return trip would be mostly uphill. The views were a good distraction, with a large part of the Derwent estuary and Storm Bay stretching out before me. Below a group of sea kayakers hugged the shore, heading towards the cliffs.

[Looking out to Storm Bay from the track]

[Sea kayaks near Kingston Beach] 

Less than 3km into the walk I could now see Tyndall Beach, best known as the Kingston Dog Beach, below me through the trees. Right on cue a couple walked by with their dog. Two more dogs weren’t far behind. With the popular dog beach below, and parts of the track open to off-lead dog walking, it’s no surprise that the track attracts dog owners. (Some sections of the walk are for “on-lead” walking: signs clearly indicate requirements.)

[Dog walkers on the 'on-lead' section of the track] 

Above the dog beach I again had a choice. One steep track wound down to the beach, while another more evenly graded track lead to Tyndall Rd carpark, and Browns River. I took the steep track down to the beach, where a good number of humans and dogs seemed to be having some relaxing fun. But for me it was time to turn around, and do the walk in reverse.

[Dogs and their people enjoying Kingston Dog Beach]

[Steep steps lead to/from the Dog Beach] 

In total the walk there and back was just shy of 6km, and it had taken less than 2 hours. And which direction did I prefer doing the walk? To be honest each direction has its attractions, and I’d probably do the same again. But if I was walking with children or a group with mixed abilities, I’d be inclined to leave cars at both ends, and do the one-way, mainly downhill walk from Bonnet Hill to Tyndall Beach. If that wasn’t enough, a walk along Kingston Beach – with a café stop and a swim – or an even a longer walk on the Boronia Beach Track, would be good add-ons.

*This series was prepared for the Derwent Estuary Program and Greater Hobart Trails 

Walking Like Water

[a new and experimental piece, potentially for my walking book]

It is my habit, practice perhaps, to walk the five and a half kilometres from home to work every day.

The first few times it felt a very long way. It was months before I did it more than a couple of days a week, and then only in fine weather. I’ve now been at it for over a decade, and tend to walk it every week day, whatever the weather. I find that on the days I don’t walk, I feel sluggish all morning.

Walking gets my blood flowing, starts my brain ticking over, helps shift mental roadblocks. It has become a kind of meditation for me – a great steadier, a creator of perspective, a moving still-point in a sometimes complex life.

Each week day I walk away from the mountain – often with a germ of regret that I’m not walking the other way – and with the flow of the Hobart Rivulet towards town. This is Australia, where creeks and even rivers often fail to flow, yet in 23 years of living in this catchment, I have never seen the flow stop. It’s why the earliest white settlement of southern Tasmania shifted from the drier eastern shore of the Derwent to this wetter western shore. The waters flowing from the cloud-rich mountain are plentiful and reliable.

The Hobart Rivulet is a narrow, brief, rushing thing, literally cobbled together from dolerite boulders torn off the crumbling flanks of the mountain. Steep-banked, scrubby-sided, pocked and youthful, it is a duckling with few prospects of a serene swanhood. We get along companionably.

One morning, walking alongside Cascade Gardens, I glance left towards the Rivulet where its usually cobbled course is smoothed and funnelled into a concrete race that plunges into a broad concrete pond. The pond has a large metal grate on the townward side which jags boulders and logs, reducing the risk of flooding downstream.

But this particular morning, as the jouncy, glistening water courses over the elevated race towards the pond, what catches my eye is that I am moving at the same tempo as the water: both of us flowing from mountain to sea at the speed of water.

The phrase “at the speed of water” makes me smile. I’m aware that the speed of light is fixed and known, but what of the speed of water? I walk on, the thought coming with me. Maybe I haven’t just walked like water this particular morning. Perhaps I am always walking like water.

When I’m exhausted, slowed to a trickle like ooze through the peat of the south-west; boulder hopping with glee down a dolerite scree; making plain progress through duck-boarded buttongrass; trudging and huffing towards yet another false summit; resting still as a pool during a welcome pause from walking; all my movements and thoughts, inward, upward, downward, sideward, outward, sometimes vapour thin, sometimes glacially solid and slow, have something of the fluid about them.

At a purely physiological level, I recognize that there’s plenty of water within me. The human body is made up of between 60% and 70% water. In fact a new-born baby is 78% water: amazing and fancified water, but H20 nonetheless.

And like water, I am restless even in rest. I find whispers of the eternal in the water cycle: evaporation bearing rumours of resurrection; freezing and thawing mumbling of metamorphosis.