A meditation on Tasmania

“By the way, my name’s Ian. We’ll try and take the short cut over the mountains but we may have to divert to the coast.” We made it as far as Mt Picton but soon changed course due to visibility and crossed the coast between Precipitous Bluff and the Ironbounds.

The Southern forests were a patchwork of coupes in various states of life and death. The view reminded me of some sort of man-made viral infection. However, this is not the point of the story.

Our intention was to beach-hop towards SW Cape and take six days. Sunday was the most amazing day I’ve spent on the south coast of Tasmania. Blue skies, flat seas and barely a shore break greeted us at New Harbour, Hidden Bay and Ketchem Bay. The only telltale signs of bigger seas were the holes and gutters in the sand.

The eastern end of New Harbour contained a reddish bloom that was so thick the waves had the appearance of pea soup. Later that day, we watched a pod of mostly juvenile dolphins schooling fish along the length of Ketchem Bay. The display included tail slapping, surges and complete somersaults. Two larger adult dolphins swam at a short distance. The show was interrupted by the arrival of a crayboat and a few dolphins remained for a short while to play in the bow waves.

The crayboat proceeded to lay pots around Ketchem Bay and retreated to the cliffs of Telopea Point for the night. For the first time on Sunday white caps were visible over the ocean. That night the wind intensified.

Ferocity of the seas

Early Monday morning we arose to windswept light showers and huge seas. I looked for the crayboat but it had moved. I then detected it further to the point and realised it was moving towards us in a direct line. The captain had decided to attempt recovery of the pots which by now were being dragged in a daisy chain towards the reefs. Personally, I could not believe he did what he did. Sitting sideway to the swells but just beyond the breakers the crayboat recovered the pots one by one. Two pots were cut free and sat ominously off one reef. Again to my disbelief, the crayboat then turned and exited Ketchem Bay towards Hidden Bay.

By this time we had packed our gear and climbed the headland to see the crayboat returning while the ferocity of the seas in Hidden Bay gave the reason. We could also detect a few craypot buoys straining in the swells.

I bow to the captain’s experience but the capital risk of ship and lives compared with craypots is a decision I would not have shared. I wondered many thoughts. Was the crayboat his? Surely they would have had clear weather forecasts. Why did they lay the pots in the first instance? But this is not the point of the story.

Man only has nature and its contrasts as his experience and has spent his entire existence trying to describe, understand, control and portray it. Due to man’s limitations, this takes the form of perception rather than reality. The written word and pictures can only reflect one person’s experience and perspective. Art is one person’s reflection and, holding it out to the world, waits for another like minded soul to appreciate the message. It is the height of arrogance to presume common understanding through such media.

Back at Melaleuca we sat in the Orange Bellied Parrot hide and waited for the weather to clear. A couple of volunteer birdwatchers filled us in with all the news. The Recherche Bay outcome, it was agreed, was brilliant. Politics aside, it was the right decision and congratulations to everyone involved.

“By the way, my name’s Kevin. I have a friend who is a pilot. His name is Ian.”