We’ve found ourselves deep in the rugged heart of Southwest, Tasmania, where the mountains seem to hold their breath and the clouds hang low enough to touch. There’s a stillness here that’s hard to find anywhere else, a feeling of being at the very edge of the world. As we made our way through Mount Field National Park, we came across a sculpture called ‘Bitumen Bones’. It sits there against the backdrop of those jagged, ancient peaks, looking like a ribcage rising out of the earth. Lisa stood for ages just taking in the contrast of the black steel against the grey stone of the mountains, while Steve was more interested in how they managed to bolt the thing down so securely in such a wild place.
By the time we reached Strathgordon and pulled up beside Lake Pedder for morning tea, the weather was certainly turning. The sky turned a moody, bruised purple, threatening to drench us at any moment. We sat by the water, which was so still it looked like glass. Looking out from the timber jetty, it’s hard to wrap our heads around the fact that the original Lake Pedder—a place so many people fought to save—is actually submerged deep beneath the water we were looking at. It’s a beautiful spot, but there’s a definite sense of melancholy in the air when you know what lies beneath.
We pushed on another few kilometres to the Gordon Dam wall, and nothing quite prepares you for the sheer scale of it. It’s a massive, curving beast of concrete tucked away in a deep, forested gorge. Standing at the top and looking down the 140-metre drop is enough to make anyone’s stomach do a backflip. Steve leaned right over the rail to get a look at the concrete face, marveling at how they built a rockfill embankment and then basically plastered it with concrete to keep the river at bay. Lisa, on the other hand, kept a very firm grip on the railing and preferred looking out at the vast expanse of Lake Gordon.
We spent a long time walking along that narrow crest. Knowing that this whole project started back in the sixties and took years to finish makes you appreciate the sweat and toil that went into it. It’s a bit of a double-edged sword, isn’t it? On one hand, you’ve got this incredible source of renewable power for the state, but on the other, you think about the wilderness and the homes that were lost when the valleys were flooded. You can really feel that history whispering through the trees down there.
On the drive back toward our camp, we stopped in the little town of Maydena. We popped into a quirky little spot called the Fika Time Cafe. It’s themed around a Swedish tradition where you’re supposed to stop everything and just enjoy a coffee and a chat. We think it’s a brilliant way to live. While we were waiting for our tea, we spotted a box of "Pig Farts" bubblegum on the counter. We both had a good chuckle thinking about how much you kids would have been pestering us to buy a packet of "tutti frutti farts" for fifty cents!
We decided to skip the pig farts and settled for a nice hot cup of tea and a burger to share. It was the perfect way to warm up after a morning of dodging raindrops and peering over dam walls. Lisa loved the "Fika" concept so much she reckons we should start enforcing it at home—no phones, no chores, just a proper sit-down and a chat. Steve reckons he’s been practicing "Fika" for years; he just used to call it "having a spell."
It’s been a day of big sights and small, quiet moments. We’re tucked up now, listening to the Tasmanian rain start to patter on the roof, feeling very lucky to be seeing this wild corner of our country together.
