Winding Roads

April 21, 2013  •  Leave a Comment

The Turning Of The FagusThe Turning Of The FagusCradle Mountain, Tasmania

On my arrival in Launceston I was greeted with the typical tassie chill. A reminder that I’m no longer in Queensland, Dorothy.  It’s almost comforting to feel such cold again. The best bit, was driving through tree-lined roads. The trees are golden yellow. Poplars. Yellow. Photographers will understand what this means. My returning journey will most definitely be stops for these. As well as cheese, chocolate and raspberries fresh  from their respective factories and farms.

As soon as it had begun to get dark I was yearning to put my feet up. Houses chimneys smoked in the last lights of dusk, the woodsy aroma of a log fire was attempting to draw me into a strangers home. Late 20th century designed homes. Large windows. Central heating. aromatic...

As the birds called last-drinks on the day, I tuckered down into my last hundred kilometers. Determined for my pub meal waiting at the Stanley hotel. I'm on my way to meet David Murphy. Gallery owner of the Cow'n'Calf. Looking for some gourmet Tassie grub and swathes of red wine to wash it down with.

I had been driving for hours. Two and a half. Two hundred and twenty two kilometers. One stop for water and leg stretches before I reached Stanley with a collection of bugs on the front if my car, that an entimologist would be proud of. That is, if they weren’t a mashed mess in my grill. I have a little Hyundai i20. It feels like a cheap plastic box with an “I think I can” attitude. It bounces about on the Tassie roads happily, blissfully unaware that every other car is making fun of it. I still haven’t named it. It’s happiness and optimism make the journey pleasant, but plastic-y. It has all the hallmarks of a real car, but its missing the sure-footedness of its relatives. 

So after this long journey, I was passing through Burnie, thinking myself grateful for only having an hour more to go. Nobody mentioned that last hour would be the most difficult.,100kmh on the most unlit winding roads, with an angry local up my rear, and nowhere for him to pass. Suck it up buttercup I’m a tourist. Isn’t that obvious. I don’t know how anyone can go over 80.

Turns out that Burnie was the last civilization. There’s no signs that warn you of this fact. No progress reports (how many kms left signs). I kept driving blindly on the assumption that I hadn’t seen my turnoff.

The wind whips and howls around the cottage, a mere roadblock in its path to infinite freedom. Clouds are no match for its intensity. Feint sounds of the ocean break through when it settles, and then it rises once again to show dominance.

It’s up early in the morning. Sunrise. If it doesn’t rain…
Even if it does. Time to put the d800 into its natural habitat. See how this workhorse handles the load.

Postscript:

So good so far! I have managed to avoid soaking the camera, thankfully. Seascapes always put a bit of a lump in my throat when trying to navigate around rocky and unstable footing, but all good. My shots so far look great, I’m really happy with them. When I get a little more time, I’ll post a few. But right now, it’s packing up time, as the Fagus is turning faster than we had imagined and it’s time to get to the mountain.

 


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