D.G. O’May authored Ferries of the Derwent A History of the Ferry Services on the Derwent River in 1988.
The O’May family is well known for their connection with the maritime history of the Derwent River over many decades. The chapters of the book cover different aspects of the ferries that travelled across and up and down the river, and many old photographs of ferries, key people and historic documentation including licenses have been reproduced.
Increasingly blog followers have questioned my enigmatic no-name status. I have been secretive about my identity to protect myself from predators and weirdos. My surname is so rare that I wouldn’t want someone to track me to my house. When the walk was over I intended to reveal and explain more about myself so everyone could understand why I presented myself only as Tasmanian Traveller.
Despite this approach, for people who have emailed me, I have opened up a little more. For the woman from upstate New York who visited me and asked to walk on some of the sections she had read about in my blog, of course she got to learn so much more about me. And she, and others, have been most respectful and careful to keep my gender and characteristics neutral and non-identifying. Thank you.
Now that the process for my walk from the mouth to the source of the Derwent River is evolving, I no longer see a need to retain my protective shell. From now on, there will be safety in numbers as I walk with one or more friends.
So who am I? My name is Helen Tyzack and I come from a working history in the visual arts and museology industries, plus an overlay of working in or for many different types of education institutions, government agencies and not-for-profit organisations. All my life I have walked to get around, keep costs down, to be kinder to the climate, and to experience the beauties of the natural environment at close quarters. A few years ago I sold my car and have walked or used public transport ever since. As a female, I have wanted to walk alone in remote and isolated country and by maintaining my anonymity this has been comfortably possible. I am on the mature side of 60 years of age, short in stature with an overweight body, various health challenges and perpetual problems with my feet. But I refuse to let these characteristics and impediments prevent me living; they slow me but they do not stop me. I will not let them stop me. I am energised by the possibilities of discovering new places, and my walk along the Derwent River has exceeded all my expectations. In recent years I have flown off to different countries around the world to learn and experience new adventures. It has been one of the greatest surprises that the Derwent has offered so many revelations that the thought of overseas travel has been halted. I guess it is always easier to think somewhere else will be more interesting yet a place right on your own doorstep can offer ‘the world’.
The photo of me above was taken by a passer-by as I walked past Otago Bay at the end of last year on Stage 7 of my walk along the Derwent River.
For each of the 15 walking stages completed so far, I have walked alone and independently, and have only been supported by public transport when buses deposited me at a starting point and collected me from each walk’s destination. I have realised this practice cannot continue because of the limited public transport options available in central Tasmania. As an alternative, I have decided to try a UBER-style approach to transport – friends are offering to be my chauffeur and in some cases they are offering to walk with me.
To cope with the constraints of private property restrictions, I am working with locals and others to obtain various kinds of alternative access to the Derwent River. No project ever goes totally to plan and that is the joy of exploration: discovering new ways to meet changing personal expectations keeps my brain active and my mind vitally alive.
During my last walk, I reached the township of Gretna. From now on, as I head inland towards Lake St Clair, I expect to be accompanied by a friend who will drive me to key locations. Whenever we ‘touch’ the river I will walk north and south along the edge to the extent that the river and the landscape allow. Gradually, I will walk past the river until I sink down with pleasure on the dam wall at the southern end of St Clair Lagoon with my goal achieved. The next stages of my walk will represent the collection of the final pieces of a fabulous patchwork quilt – and once I have all the pieces, I will stitch them together into my blog to record a sequential and seamless walk from Gretna to Lake St Clair. And then I will write two books: one will be a how-to-do-it publication for tourists and locals who want to understand how to use public transport to discover the river edges, and the second book will be a fictionalised account of my walk.
I have compiled a list of those locations where I believe, with a vehicle, it will be possible to ‘touch’ the Derwent River occasionally along its length between Gretna and Lake St Clair. Please let me know if any section listed below takes your fancy and if you would be interested to try it out.
Almost all sections include driving on bitumen highway, gravel roads and poor tracks. Some of these may be forestry roads. If you wish to volunteer to take me to one of these sections (let me know on walkingthederwent@gmail.com), please feel comfortable that your car can handle the different conditions. Of course, common sense will prevail and we will never push on if a road is too rough for your vehicle and your peace of mind.
If you are happy to help me reach my goal, albeit differently than originally expected, I would like to fill up your tank with petrol as some compensation. You know my ‘walking the Derwent’ is a non-commercial project, but since I do not own a car nor drive, I need transport – and therefore, I am happy to cover the cost.
Blog followers know that electrified and barbed wire fences, unenterable gates, tangles of thorny blackberry canes and impassable private property have limited my direct access to walk against the Derwent River. Since my project is not to walk on the highways and byways, and knowing I cannot start out from Gretna and go further by the River as I have hoped and wanted, I believe I need to change my ‘rules’ about this project.
The changes must happen because I am determined to get to the source of the River at Lake St Clair, even if it means doing so by using transport provided by friends, and if it means I can’t be near the river every metre of its length. I feel I must accept what is possible rather than wailing about the impossible.
Therefore, I am researching all the main roads, backroads and tracks that go towards the river with its dams and lakes, and which do not have locked gates across them preventing access. I plan to create a list of these opportunities and then ask friends whether they would like to volunteer to drive me to one or more of the options. In the next few days I will post the list on this blog – perhaps there may be other southern Tasmanian blog followers who would like to volunteer to drive me to one or more of these ‘touchings of the river’ – if so, when you see the list please email me at walkingthederwent@gmail.com.
Wherever I ‘touch’ the river I hope to be able to walk north and/or south as far as possible simply to feel more comfortable about saying, in the future, that “I did my best to walk from the mouth to the source”. That is, I want to limit the amount of qualification I will have to give to that statement. Quite possibly when I reach one of the touch points, I may determine a longer walk can be achieved. If I find this to be the situation, then I will return with backpack and tent if necessary. In this way, the touchings of the river will amount to a reconnaissance.
Another option that I am investigating is whether I might fly either in a small plane or helicopter and follow the curves of the Derwent River, photograph it from on high and then incorporate the photos into stories about those edges of the river on which I cannot walk or otherwise reach. I suspect flying may be out of reach financially so the thought of crowd funding has crossed my mind. But before then, more research will be needed.
The option to canoe/kayak along sections of the River scares me half to death. A family friend recently travelled in this way over a short section and has never been so frightened. Apart from the dangers of the Derwent River’s water levels being unexpectedly changed as the water volume in upstream dams are managed, the dozens of rapids that punctuate so many stretches of the river present unsupportable dangers. I guess I lack the courage to try. Or maybe it’s the unbelievably cold water I don’t want to fall into.
What haven’t I thought of? Any suggestions will be welcome. This idea is too much fun to be stymied by physical barriers.
Throughout my project to walk from the mouth to the source of the Derwent River, I have been urging readers to walk some or all of the stages I have undertaken just for the pleasure of it. But I cannot do so for Stage 15. I cannot recommend that you follow in my footsteps and take this walk from New Norfolk to Gretna. I cannot suggest you walk on private property without permission. I cannot encourage you to walk on the narrow roads with speeding drivers where no pedestrian access has been provided.
I am so sorry to say that, if some of my recent posts inspired you to put on your walking boots and tackle the roads and paths and tracks, you must take them off. I must only recommend you access a car and drive the road route for Stage 15. It will mean you will miss out on seeing the black velvet ears of cattle in the moonlight, hearing the river ripping along towards Hobart, meeting those who move cattle or wheelie bins, and enjoying the smell of fresh air. It will mean you will pass some of my favoured finds so quickly that, in a blink, you miss them altogether. However, you may not grind your teeth in frustration that access to the Derwent River is denied you so often, you may not get run over, and you may not be shot by a gun toting land owner.
Take care.
When the Tassie Link bus rolled to a halt at Gretna, I was surprised it was only a small one designed to carry approximately 20 people. I later learnt that if there are minimal bookings the small bus is used but with more bookings a standard larger bus is put into service. This is the main bus line that links the historic west coast to Hobart via Lake St Clair. Previously, I had been surprised that the service only runs four days a week, making the development of travel plans more challenging for tourists and locals alike. Obviously most people drive.
As the driver got out to collect my fare, the side door was swung open by a happy guy and everyone on the bus called out a friendly “Hi” followed by the command, “Give us y’ pack”. My pack joined a high pile at the back of the bus and once I sat, the happy chat began and lasted through to Hobart. Everyone was on holiday from different part of mainland Australia and they had all just finished walking the Overland Track from the famed Cradle Mountain to Lake St Clair. Similarly to me they had been at the Derwent Bridge pub for a few hours waiting for the bus to arrive. So we were all very merry regaling each other with the stories of our walks. It was the perfect ending to a brilliant two days of discovery.
When I walked in through my front door at 11pm, a warm glow spread across my face. I was home!
After two days more or less being by myself, arriving at an increasingly busy pub initially assaulted my senses. All that people activity. All the chatter. All the laughter. I needed time and the right state of mind to ease into this happy pub scene at Gretna Green Hotel. I found a comfortable armchair in another small room, sent off text messages and phoned friends. I sorted myself out and generally arrived at a state where I was ready to be social.
Once I fronted the bar, my friend Brad thoughtfully relocated my pack to a secure room, and I settled into meeting the locals. I chose to drink a red wine so he opened a bottle for me – this is a pub where wine wasn’t the drink of choice. Around 6pm they suggested I order a meal. A while later I ate dinner alone, by choice, in the dining room with its vases of false sunflowers. I needed to clear my head and regain my equilibrium.
One of the publicans, Colleen, stopped by to introduce herself and have a chat. Meanwhile hotel regulars ate their meals at the bar or took them outside – a typical Friday night practice apparently. My meal was an excellent freshly cooked plate of fish and chips accompanied by a fresh garden salad. This was the sort of place where I felt comfortable to return my empty plate directly into the kitchen, a move which allowed me to thank the cook.
Back out in the bar and over the next few hours, I learnt more about the area and its personalities. Tim, a barman, was leaving Tassie and with the night off work, he was getting free beers from the endless stream of locals who came to say farewell. By the time I left he was still standing, able to hold down some sort of chat, but rather glassy eyed. A woman was celebrating her birthday. So Friday night at the Gretna Green Hotel was party time. All brilliantly aided and abetted by publican Colleen, whose manner was light and jokey, yet clever and appropriate. She kept everyone feeling good about themselves, and lined up the drinks as new arrivals came through the door. I was very impressed with how she managed the patrons as they became more inebriated. She was very professional yet made people feel warmly welcome. These days so many pubs have lost their customers, yet Gretna Green Hotel is thriving. I firmly believe it was Brad, Rick and Colleen behind the bar which makes this Hotel so successful.
As the night progressed, the bar people made sure everyone knew I was waiting to catch the Tassie Link bus. As the departure time of 9.30 pm came closer, Colleen instructed all the drinkers outside to run and stop the bus if it came through early. Regardless, I was on time ready to flag down the bus when I waited on the roadside in the dark, with barking dogs bidding me farewell.
I loved my time at the Gretna Green Hotel. The time passed quickly and I was so pleased that people were friendly and welcoming to me despite my being an outsider. A local would never have lined up a bottle of water, cup of tea and a red wine on the bar!
Once inside the Gretna Green Hotel, immediately I felt comfortable. I walked out to a back room, plonked my gear and then hung onto the bar looking eager.
“Would it be possible to have a shower? I’m happy to pay. I don’t care if the shower is in the private residential quarters upstairs. I’ll even clean it afterwards if that will help. I’d REALLY like a shower.” All said with pleading eyes. ‘No. Can’t do,” said the barman. I stared with desperate eyes, waiting for an explanation. Apparently TasWater, which manages water quality and delivery around Tasmania, has declared the water at Gretna to be so unsafe that no-one should drink it, and the locals deem it so bad that there is a flow on risk with showering and washing your clothes in it. “Well we all shower in it, but that’s the risk we take”, barman Brad informed me. “But we won’t let you take the risk.” I spoke up. “If you shower in it then I am happy to shower in it and will even sign a slip of paper saying I am accepting the risk against your advice.” “No can do. Nah. Sorry. The publicans won’t allow it,” was the barman’s response. He was trying to be helpful and so I saw no point in putting him offside. After all, my bus back to Hobart wasn’t passing through Gretna for another 7 hours – I reckoned that creating an aggro situation wouldn’t be smart.
“OK. A bottle of water and a cup of black tea please.” The cup with its tea bag was soon in front of me. While the hot drink cooled, I sculled the bottle all the time sitting and chatting to friendly and informative Brad. After the second bottle and second cup of tea, I began to feel refreshed. I made up my mind to get clean including brushing my teeth (in the offending water) and to change my clothes, so off I went to the toilets and slowly completed the ablutions and the makeover. When I left the cubicle, I felt like a new person. I was rehydrated within from having imbibed the fluids earlier, and now I knew I looked different. I felt so much more alive. I only had to survive the waiting time until the bus came through. Only 6 hours to go.
Footsore and weary but exhilarated, I walked the final metres into the tiny township of Gretna by passing the exotic bright yellow flowering weed, which when a child I knew as, ‘Broom’.
I took my second last look at the Derwent River, and across to the land known as Triffitts Neck.
With slumped shoulders I passed the two locked gates which signalled a barrier to my starting the next stage of my walk.
But up above me on the immediate hill sat something remarkable.
You can see the Derwent curving around the bottom of the hill, in the distance. An earlier posting included a professional photographer’s shot of this cemetery cross taken from a different angle.
Finally, step after step I reached the town sign and gave myself a mental pat on the back.
The pastures continued lush and green.
You can see a short stretch of the Derwent River in the second photo and the township of Gretna (the destination for this stage) is located on the hill above.
Massive log trucks, taking their pickings to market from our pristine wilderness forests, roared past me.
Before long the Lyell Highway, which connects Hobart to the west coast mining towns of Queenstown, Zeehan, Strahan and Rosebery, appeared in view.
I turned left towards the township of Gretna (which, I note was not listed on any of the signs in the vicinity of this intersection). A few isolated properties, of various vintages, edged the highway.
Each step took me closer to my destination for the day.
Then the Derwent River came back into view as it snaked its way beneath Gretna.
The sign indicating only 500 metres to the Gretna Green Hotel brought on the thought of a long cold drink and filled me with excitement.
The area is known for its hop growing and apparently the demand is increasing. On the river banks opposite the Bushy Park Sports Oval, new hop fields were being constructed.
Did you spot the snow on the distant mountains in the second photo?
In stages over more than the past year, I have walked as near to the Derwent River as I can, and each time I see it up close again I am thrilled. Its scale, its colour, and its texture are always different. The changing effects of the sky on the water’s surface are fleeting, and I love seeing every view.
On Day two, I had left Bushy Park, crossed the Styx River and was now on my way to the Lyell Highway with a despondent resignation that no more close encounters with the River would be possible this day excepting when I crossed the bridge.
The bridge was long and offered one lane for traffic and no pedestrian path. This is an area where powerful log trucks, various large transports, farm vehicles, massive four wheel drives, and all manner of smaller cars and motorcycles power along the road. I considered hitching a ride over the bridge with the intention of travelling across in safety. Thankfully the vehicles do not come in a continuous stream, so I looked for a gap in the traffic.
With an ear to the wind, I listened to hear approaching vehicles. In a moment of quiet I made my ‘run’ for it. Friends would know no running was involved. Rather I stepped out purposefully and as quickly as I could, humping my backpack along with me.
Two thirds of the way across I felt indignant. I wanted to have a look at the river but the fact that it was dangerous to be on the bridge unnerved me. Nevertheless, I glanced around and noticed the magnificence of the views up and down the river. As I readied to take a quick photo I could hear an approaching vehicle. But I stood my ground. Then I flattened myself against the bridge railing as a monster dual cab ute whizzed past with the driver glaring at me. I glared back; I hoped my stony look, backgrounded by thoughts of frustration that walkers were not considered in the bridge design, communicated to him. I know I know I know. Of course it didn’t. I am sure he simply thought my presence was the impediment to his safe progress.
Before long I was off the bridge crossing the Derwent River and heading eastwards to the Lyell Highway. Getting down to the water was impossible. In this case it was the tangled Blackberry canes that stood in the way.
From a distance, the structural framework designed to hold the hop vines ‘caught’ a church like a spider’s web. I walked quickly to find out more about this decorative little building.
I learned that this very pretty St Augustine’s Church, which sits a short distance from the township of Bushy Park, is part of the Anglican Parish of Hamilton.
A very large tree effectively blocked opportunities to take full frontal photographs. From the Gretna end of the building, the church appeared as follows:
I found little background on this church. The foundation stone was laid on the 20th July 1904 by the Right Reverend J.E. Mercer D.D. who was then Bishop of Tasmania. According to the Tasmanian Anglican,‘St Augustine’s church is nestled in the picturesque hop fields at Macquarie Plains. This beautiful little church has experienced huge floods over the years, with the 1960 flood almost reaching the guttering, where a small plaque now records the level. It was during such floods that many records were lost or damaged’.
The church is listed on the Tasmanian Heritage Register.
Bushy Park’s sports arena was a typical rural affair; a large expanse of featureless green, a toilet block, a tiny visitor building (‘geez mate it’s starting to rain let’s go and stand under the verandah’), a track, and not much more. No football goal sticks in sight.
Barbed wire fences prevented me entering this area and therefore I could not walk to and then walk by the river. I continued along the road, and turned right at the T-junction. A left turn would have taken me away from the Derwent River to Glenora, Mount Field National Park and further afield to Strathgordon and Lake Gordon. By turning right I was on the way to the day’s destination of Gretna.
The local hops growing association seems to own the Bushy Park sports oval and offers ‘day use’ only from this entrance point on the road to Gretna.
Looking back along the road:
Looking forward along the road:
This glorious afternoon was improved by the sensational golden blossoms of this wattle tree:
After leaving the Text Kiln and the other specialist hop buildings in that wonderful grassy green precinct, I continued along a dusty road expecting to connect with Bushy Park’s main road. Earlier in the day I had read the HPA signs about the need for good farm hygiene so I was surprised no gate existed to stop me walking along this road, and that an unfenced hop field was located directly on my left.
This made it easy for me to take photos of the sprouting hop vines.
In the second photo you can see the ropes up which the vine will grow.
Just before I reached the main road, a farm gate was propped open and looked like it had been a long while since it had been closed. The sign on that gate said Private Property.
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Walking the Derwent River 