Maps

The Derwent River will always be your guide if you choose to walk along its length, but sometimes it is difficult to walk directly next to the river; for example structures may be built to the edge, steep drop down cliffs may raise you many metres above the water, and gates and fences may make access impossibly impassable.  In addition, when the terrain forces you away from the river, the vegetation may be sufficiently dense so that you can get lost (without map and compass – and GPS if your technology allows).

If you choose to walk the entire length of Tasmania’s Derwent River you might consult one or more of the 17 maps which cover the territory. One value is that you learn the name and shape of landmarks. Have a look at the list below:

Maps

The Derwent River at night

Tasmania’s bush, its coast and urban areas offer a photographer’s paradise at all times of day and night across the four seasons.

This Amazing Planet  is one of many blogs that show spectacular photographs of Tasmania’s flora, fauna and landscape. Go to Nightscape-Hobart for a stunning visual treat. Enjoy looking at part of the glorious Greater Hobart Area, at night, photographed from on top of Mount Wellington. Between the two sides of the city, the rich blue Derwent River passes on its way to Stormy Bay and then the sea. The brightly lit Tasman Bridge can be seen to join the two shore lines.

From the sea to the source; stories of a river on the other side of the globe

Two years ago, Helen Ivison published River Derwent: From Sea to Source (Amberley Publishing).

 Ivison River Derwent

 The promotional puff declares this book ‘brings to light tales and stories of fascinating events, landmarks and people. River Derwent: From Sea to Source is essential reading for anyone who knows this river well, and also for those who are visiting the River Derwent for the first time.’  But what is the author referring to?

Hers is the Derwent River in the Cumbrian region of England which flows from the mountainous Lakes District in two strands, one of which starts near Styhead Tarn. The two strands meet at Grains Gill, and continue in a north easterly direction as a single river towards an expanse known as Derwent Water. The river passes through this ‘lake’ then eases into a north westerly direction across country before flowing onwards through Bassenthwaite Lake. Finally, the English Derwent River turns westwards and empties into the Irish Sea.

By contrast Tasmania’s Derwent River flows generally in a south easterly direction from Lake St Clair, through steep narrow gorges, curving around farmlands, before passing between the two sides of the Greater Hobart Area into Storm Bay. The man-made lakes of Lake King William, Wayatinah Lagoon, Lake Catagunya, Lake Repulse, Cluny Lagoon and Meadowbank Lake all disrupt the progress of the River. These lakes have resulted from dam building as part of hydro-electricity generating projects over the past century.

Internet records of measurements may be dodgy

Since my last post, some readers found Google has revealed the length of the Derwent River.  It gives the number of 249km without any indication of where that number was found or how it was calculated. Immediately below this information box are two listings both giving alternative conflicting distances.

My measurement of 214kms was from an arbitrary line between Cape Direction and Pearsons Point to mark the mouth of the Derwent River, and I stopped at the point where the river starts from the southern end of the Lake St Clair Lagoon.

I have noticed that one source indicates the measurement ought to be taken from the point where Lake St Clair meets the Lake St Clair Lagoon.  I have found another source which seems to indicate the mouth might be where Storm Bay meets the sea.  Even if the length of the Lagoon and the width of Storm Bay were added to my 214km, the Google number would not be reached.  I have asked Google to identify its sources because I cannot believe their number can be accurate. Unfortunately, I have not received any feedback.

STOP PRESS – JUST DISCOVERED THE AUTHORITATIVE LENGTH IS 215KMS.  Read my new November 2015 post.

The length of the Derwent River

Past readers of Frequently Asked Questions know that I have not been able to discover the ‘real’ length of the Derwent River.  In conversation recently with blog follower Yo, I was reminded of the challenges involved with determining river lengths.

If a river empties into a sea by more than one waterflow, then which is the ‘real’ river? Do we say there are two river lengths for the same river in such a circumstance?

If a river enters into a bay which opens onto a sea, where does the river end?

If the mouth of a river is a complex delta receiving silt flows and forever changing, can we pinpoint the location of the river mouth? At which time could a reliable measurement be made? No and never, are the answers to these questions.

At the source, rivers sometimes start with a dribble of water oozing from the ground. Is that enough to be able to define the water source as a river?  Some rivers pour from Lakes. Is the middle of the lake the start of the river or is that bank over which the water leaves the Lake, the official starting point? If a dam has been built at the junction of the lake and river, then the starting point may be the water at the top of the dam or at the bottom of the dam – leading to a different final river length.

What about rivers such as the Nile River which have at least two waterflows starting inland and which then meet to form one river?  Which waterflow counts towards the measurement of the river’s length? Or does the river start where the two or more waterflows merge?

Rivers do not travel in neat straight lines so should we measure the distance along the riverbank? If so, which bank?  The shape of the shoreline on either side of a river can be markedly different from each other and one side is usually longer than the other.

How about measuring the length of the river taking a centre line? Will that give the most accurate measurement?  This is the preferred method, however many of our measuring devices are straight – think ruler, think tape – so how can we make a reliable measurement?

On the first day in December 1873, the Commissioner of Patents for Inventions under England’s Patent Law Act 1852 recorded Edward Russell Morris’s invention of a pocket instrument which could measure distances on curved lines.  Since the 19th century, various variations have been developed.

If you check on EBay online, many historical versions of Opisometer Curvimeter Meilograph Map Measurers have been photographed, and are offered for sale. Opisometers have a tiny wheel at one end which, when rolled on a map along a road or river, connects with a graded scale in either a straight or circular format to read a distance. The unit markings refer either to kilometres or miles. You can watch a demonstration of one of these measuring tools on You Tube .

A bushwalking friend purchased an Opisometer many years ago and lent it to me so I could ascertain the length of the Derwent River more closely.  Today I used the Opisometer by rolling it on my maps, along an arbitrary ‘line’ in the centre of the river.

20150828_125903

After using the Opisometer on all seventeen 1:25,000 maps that cover the Derwent River, it seems the length is 214 Kilometres (refer to Frequently Asked Questions for a table showing the breakdown per map).

Based on my measurements today, so far I have walked against 61 kilometres of that length.  I can see that any previous measurements reported in my blog, have been wildly inaccurate – generally too low.

Religious wildernesses

I remember childhood Bible stories referred to the Wilderness. These days I find it interesting to consider most if not all religions link with the concept of the wilderness. Laura Feldt covered this topic in “Wilderness in Mythology and Religion”: ‘Wilderness is one of the most abiding creations in the history of religions.’ Her book ‘addresses the need for cross-cultural anthropological and history of religions analyses by offering in-depth case studies of the use and functions of wilderness spaces in a diverse range of contexts including, but not limited to, ancient Greece, early Christian asceticism, Old Norse religion, the shamanism-Buddhism encounter in Mongolia, contemporary paganism, and wilderness spirituality in the US.’

In her 2014 article ‘Religions need wilderness’, Kathleen Braden wrote “The three monotheistic religions based on a common root – Judaism, Christianity, and Islam – have an expression of nature and wilderness as places that allow perception of God’s sovereignty. … Wilderness is a territory (both on land and sea) where one encounters God, and it is not always an easy geography. For the ancient Israelites, it may be a place of repentance coupled with renewal. When the Israelites leave Egypt and displease God, they must wander in hostile lands before reaching a promised place. Abraham casts the slave woman, Hagar, into the wilderness, but she is saved by God, who renews her spirit and gives her a vision that she will build a great nation. Similarly, in the New Testament, the gospel of Mark begins with John the Baptist proclaiming God in the wilderness, foretelling the Christ who is to come, and calling for, again, repentance. Jesus has his own time in the wilderness being tested and honed for his ministry. For believing Muslims, creation is a gift from God and a sign of God’s grace. Similar to Judaic and Christian traditions, in Islam, nature reflects the dominion of God, not the hubris of human control. For these three monotheistic faiths that began in the Middle East, groups of believers through history have set themselves apart in monastic communities, often seeking out the wild places in self-imposed exile to allow the voice of God to be understood more clearly.

In other religions, nature and the sacred helps bring humanity into a right relationship with creation. Baha’i traditions hold that nature reflects the perfection of God and thus, sacred spaces help create a sense of harmony, transformation, and wholeness. In Hinduism and Jainism, nature reflects the abundance that the earth provides and also reminds us of the wholeness of humanity with all other life forms: there should be no barriers or separation.

Likewise, Buddhism suggests that nothing that exists is in isolation, but the sacred can lead us to understand the interdependence of all living things and help us express compassion for creation. Some sects of Buddhism also have, like the desert Christian communities, an ascetic tradition, adherents who must be removed from the material world. Their spiritual quests may be best realized in wilderness.

Religions or traditions with cultural hearths further east in Asia – Shintoism, Confucianism, Daoism – also have expressions of harmony and continuity with nature, but perhaps more in a cosmological view, although places, such as sacred stands of trees with shrines in Shintoism, may be manifest of the need to have a holy place of contemplation and refreshment.

Finally, Indigenous religious traditions are so varied and numerous that outlining them in a short essay might risk stereotyping these faiths. But in many regions, Indigenous spiritual traditions connect the wild with a worldview that interweaves humanity with nature in an unbroken relationship. Whether the shamanistic traditions of Central Asia, Native American religions of North and South America, pre-Christian European practices, animistic faiths of the African continent, or contemporary paganism, none are devoid of practices and stories related to the human relationship with nature. 

While the sacred does not have to be wilderness, wild places must be sacred. Religion needs wilderness. Whether we call this hunger an expression of God’s sovereignty or evidence of the union of all living things or connection with ancestors and a world of spirits, religion requires the wild – the not-us – to show a crucial interrelationship. The threats to wilderness, therefore, also pose a danger to the heart of humanity’s most treasured faith doctrines.”

As an atheist I don’t believe a God or other deities exist, whatever name is given by any religion. However, I am happy to be playful with one ancient Greek god who came out of retirement to meet me. A recent comment by my sister about the danger of snakes when I walk in the Tasmanian bush (all Tasmanian snakes inject their venom poisonously), reminded me of my meeting with Zeus last year. While walking in the visitor-less grounds of one of his temples located in Dion, northern eastern Greece, he and I surprised each other. Zeus has the ability to transform himself and appear as a snake. There he was basking in the sun near the end of the path I was following. Having welcomed me, he slipped away quickly.  I felt very safe then, as I will do when walking along the Derwent River. Besides, Tasmania’s Mt Olympus overlooks Lake St Clair on its western flank, and we all know Zeus’s home is Mt Olympus, albeit the one in Greece. I suspect Zeus will look out for me in some form, and make sure I reach Lake St Clair.

Despite not believing in a God, I do believe in the personally transformative power of the bush, wilderness, forests, whatever you may call those bunches of trees and natural collections of flora and fauna.

When with friends I have talked about walking, particularly in the bush, as a meditative practice. Sometimes the impact of the bush and its flora and fauna is so great that a well of great happiness is tapped – as evidenced, for example, by my bursting into song as described in an earlier post . At the end of any walk, words such as reinvigorated, revitalised, relaxed, uplifted, satisfied and at peace always come to mind. In addition, the power of the bush allows me to put the rest of life and living into perspective. Nature and its forces are so much stronger and more beautiful than any one of us, and it is a delight to be reminded of this in such profound ways. The rich rare world out there, rather than any religious connection, draws me to our wilderness.

Wilderness – what is it?

The word ‘wilderness’ has different meanings depending on context. Dictionaries offer a range of similar meanings:

  • An uncultivated, uninhabited, and inhospitable region. Neglected or abandoned.  A large area of land that has never been developed or used for growing crops because it is difficult to live there. (Oxford)
  • An unsettled, uncultivated region, especially a large tract of land that has not been significantly affected by human activities. A barren or desolate area; a wasteland. Something characterised by bewildering vastness, perilousness, or unchecked profusion. (The Free Dictionary)
  • A wild, uncultivated region, usually where humans do not live. Any desolate tract or area. (WordReference.com)
  • A tract or region uncultivated and uninhabited by human beings. An area essentially undisturbed by human activity together with its naturally developed life community. An empty or pathless area or region. (Mirriam Webster dictionary)

From Old English used in the 13th century, the word ‘wilderness’ is derived from wild dēor ‘wild deer’, wilddēoren ‘wild beasts’, and from wildēornes, ‘land inhabited only by wild animals’. From Middle English, wildern is ‘wild’.

Reflecting on these varying definitions, I realise some of the meanings ring true particularly in relation to the land along the Derwent River between Lake Catagunya and Derwent Bridge (I anticipate this part of the River will take at least 8 days to walk, over three stages).

Lake Catagunya to Derwent Bridge

The sides of the River will be uncultivated and uninhabited. Its dense forest, littered with generations of massive tree falls, will make some sections relatively inhospitable.  The only markers of human kind will be parts where old growth logging has or is occurring, and where the infrastructure associated with dam construction across the Derwent River has occurred and is being maintained.  The area will not be barren, desolate (although I might feel desolate when penetrating some of the denser bush hour after hour), and it is not neglected, abandoned nor a wasteland.  This wilderness will be rich with flourishing flora and fauna, have profound connections with the original indigenous population pre-European settlement of Van Diemen’s Land, hold a social history with the settlers who moved inland in the 1800s and 1900s, and include an occasional contemporary history with photographers, tourists and fishermen.

The United States of America has proclaimed special legislation. ‘The Wilderness Act bans all kinds of motors, roads, and permanent structures from large tracts of American territory. It provides a legal definition of wilderness, as land that’s “untrammelled by man” with a “primeval character and influence”.’  You can read more at this site.  What is the Australian situation?

The Wilderness Society of Aus logo

The Wilderness Society of Australia summarises our state-based rather than national legislation in relation to the wilderness. ‘Dedicated wilderness legislation exists in NSW and SA, which allows the nomination, assessment, declaration and management of wilderness. In other States, such as Victoria, Queensland, WA and the ACT, management of wilderness is provided for under general nature conservation legislation, with varying degrees of usefulness in terms of actually ensuring identification and appropriate protection.’

In Tasmania we have a range of legislation including the most recent Tasmanian Forest Agreement Act that was negotiated to include the requirements of the Tasmanian Wilderness World Heritage Area (TWWHA) – that is, those parts of Tasmania which have been recognised with World Heritage listing for their natural and cultural heritage that is important to the world community.  Tasmania’s Nature Conservation Act talks about biological and geological diversity, and historic sites and provides regulation for our fauna (and strangely it also covers animals which do not live in Tasmania such as dingos and wolves) and flora. The word ‘wilderness’ does not appear.

stock-photo-64271807-walking-boot-and-bike-tread-marks-on-muddy-trail(Image is a free iStock photo)

The land on which I will walk has been walked for thousands of years originally by our indigenous ancestors and more recently by their descendants and European settlers. However, there will be parts on my trek which will not have had many footfalls because of the isolation and the forest density.  Unless there was a purpose such as surveying the Derwent River as part of planning to build dams, sensible people would travel from Lake St Clair towards the coast  via the region around the township of Ouse, or by more hospitable routes. With or without the word ‘wilderness’ being written into our state legislation, much of the inland edges of the Derwent River edge are undoubtedly genuine wilderness.

Another Special Anniversary

Implementation Milestone remembered:

22 August 2014 was the date when I made the first walk and commenced my long journey from the mouth of the Derwent River on the northern side, in the South Arm area.

On that first walking stage I recorded the weather as: “The sky was blue and cloudless but I was rugged up and beanied to avoid the early morning chill.” At the start of stage 2 on the 5th September the blog recorded:  “The sun is shining. Air is crisp.”  I recall that on both occasions the day warmed so the walking was very comfortable.

Perhaps walking has similarities with cycling passions

As an avid spectator of professional international cycling (despite never having ridden a bike), when I watched the short video Pleasure in Pain – A Cycling Movie filmed in South Australia, I felt so much of what was said was true for me when I walk.  I listened to well-loved race commentator Phil Liggett’s dulcet tones as he explained the aspects which cyclists enjoy.

For ‘once cycling is in your blood you cannot get rid of it’, I would substitute ‘once walking is in your blood you cannot get rid of it’.  One of the quotations used in this movie reads ‘Sometimes I ride my bike to nowhere, to see nothing, just so I can ride my bike.’  Sometimes as I walk, I look down at the ground without seeing, and enjoy the sense of my body moving, feeling the air pressing by, and noticing the day heating or cooling my body, but all the while moving my feet one more step at a time. Walking just to walk. Being directly connected to the environment through which I am passing. Thrilling!

I suspect Phil’s sentiments also hold true for all manner of other athletes and sportspeople who push themselves outside their comfort zones, but love it despite the pain and go back for more.

The Santos Tour Down Under race will be held again next January in South Australia; information about the race and more about the video can be read at this link.

Derwent Valley Gazette

Despite the Derwent River emptying into the sea approximately 60Kms east from New Norfolk, reference to the Derwent Valley usually centres on New Norfolk and further west then north west. The reach of the Derwent Valley’s newspaper extends further to the highlands around the hundreds of lakes in central Tasmania. The Gazette (http://www.pressreader.com/australia/the-gazette-derwent-valley/textview)  is the ‘voice of the valley’.

The Gazette front page Aug 2015

I expect this regular newspaper will provide insights into local conditions and activities which might impact on my future walks.  For example, I have discovered there will be an Ouse & Highlands Festival on Saturday the 17th October. An entry on the Facebook site https://www.facebook.com/Ouse.festival) gives an indication of progress: ‘As part of the Children”s entertainment at the Festival we now have The Balloon Lady booked in as well as a Face Painter. It’s looking good.’ Another future activity will be the first stage of a trout fishing contest, the Tasmanian Trout Classic scheduled for the 29 and 30th August somewhere near New Norfolk.  Subsequent stages will be held at Arthurs Lake and the Great Lake.  Apparently last year’s contest attracted ‘huge interest from around the Valley, with a great crowd at daily weigh-in.’ It is a different world in the Valley: recent players at the New Norfolk Golf Club found ‘the entire course was frozen, but that didn’t stop some red-hot scoring.’

I look forward to reading more snippets of information about that new world inland from Hobart.

The weather in southern Tasmania

The early non-indigenous settlers in Van Diemen’s Land (now Tasmania), almost all of whom were formerly residents of the typically rainswept and cool British Isles or had lived in hot India, documented their thoughts on the weather.

Their descriptions of our weather were usually based on comparisons with the situation from which they had relocated. Generally the impression given is that the weather on this island is temperate, irritatingly variable, and considerably easier to live with compared to that experienced in the settlers’ original homelands. For example, in James Bischoff’s “Sketch of the History of Van Diemen’s Land” written in 1832, there are many references to the climate and its relationship to agriculture and animal husbandry. More generally he says: ‘To one accustomed to the moist climate and plentifully watered countries of England, Scotland, and Ireland, Van Diemen’s Land, at first sight, may present a dry and unproductive appearance; but upon a nearer acquaintance, it will put on a more inviting aspect.’  It was ‘the regularity and salubrity of its climate’ which Bischoff found attractive.  The author also claims that ‘A book was published at Calcutta, in 1830, giving an account of Van Diemen’s Land, principally intended for the use of persons residing in India, and shewing the advantages it holds out to them for their residence; the following is extracted from that work: Its climate seems so well adapted to the renovating of the constitution of those who have suffered from their residence in India, that it only requires to be pointed out, and the easiest manner of getting there made known, as also the cheapness and comfort of living, when there, to turn the tide of visitors to the Cape and the Isle of France, towards its shores.’

Godwins Guide to Emigrants to VDL

Godwin’s “Emigrants Guide to Van Diemen’s Land more properly called Tasmania held in the collection of the State Library of Victoria, written in 1823, offers the following: ‘This island has to boast of perhaps the most salubrious and congenial climate of any in the known world, for our European constitution: It has been ascertained by the thermometer to be similar to that of the south of France; the general temperature being about 60 degrees Fahrenheit, and the extremes from 43 to 80 degrees. The spring commences early in August, the summer in November, the autumn in March, and the winter in May. The winter, therefore, is not of more than three months’ duration, and the severest part only six weeks.’

Ros Haynes writes on a University of Tasmania site in 2006 ‘In most areas there was adequate rainfall, the climate was more conducive to growing the crops they were used to …. The temperature was also considered more invigorating than the heat and humidity that enervated settlers in the other Australian colonies. Van Diemen’s Land was soon marketing itself as the ‘Sanatorium of the South’, famous for its flowers, fruit and healthy inhabitants.’

Dixons cover

John Dixon, in his 1839 book (available as an E-book) “The Condition and Capabilities of Van Diemen’s Land, as a Place of Emigration: Being the Practical Experience of Nearly Ten Year’s Residence in the Colony“, explained, ‘Lingering illness is seldom heard of in Van Diemen’s Land: and, in consequence, the deaths always seem to be sudden.  These seeming sudden deaths may contribute to praise of the climate: for they may improve its salutary influence, by sustaining the body in health longer there, than in the climate of another country.

These days we would describe our climate as being cool temperate with four distinct seasons. However, across the island, our temperature and rainfall ratings vary according to topography, nearness to the coast and time of the year.  Despite Tasmania’s capital city Hobart being the Australian capital city located closest to South Pole, it is known as the nation’s driest capital city.  By contrast, parts of the west coast of Tasmania expects rain for more than 300 days each year – I lived in Queenstown once and it rained for three weeks straight leaving me feeling very sun deprived.

Helpful tip

When you visit Tasmania for the first time, you will find any and everyone will be happy to talk with you about the weather – for many minutes at a time.  Such conversations may help you to make new friends.  However, please avoid some pitfalls. If you normally live in a super cold climate it may not be appropriate to say our weather is so mild and lovely here, when powder snow tops our mountains in the distance and light drizzle saturates the ground – because we may not think highly of the weather under those circumstances.  Similarly if you come from a very hot climate it may not be appropriate to say the weather is so gorgeously moderate here when we have a 35 Celsius degree day, because it is likely we will consider that to be a hot day. I guess we all have our peculiarities.

Walking again – not yet

Regular blog readers know I am eager to restart my walk inland along the Derwent River, and that my next travel date is dependent on the weather being suitable.

Despite unexpected occasional snow flurries in the higher areas, Hobart’s rising temperature and minimal rainfall has become more agreeable by the day, so recently I decided that it was time to tackle the walk west from New Norfolk to Gretna at the end of this week.

Unfortunately, the long range weather forecasts in the Bushy Park area, where I will be camping overnight before passing through, indicate the mornings will be -3 degrees and the days only rising to 14 degrees maximum (I cannot see any pleasure in breaking the ice in the morning to make a cup of tea).  In addition, a few splashes of rain are forecast. In reading these projections, I am reminded that the climatic situation in Hobart is not the same as in areas located many kilometres inland.  So, regrettably I must let a few more weeks pass before continuing on.

For me the perfect walking environment includes a temperature of between 15 and 21 degrees Celsius, a sunny day preferably without a cloud in the sky, and almost no breeze (definitely no wind). Before each walk I hope rain has cleaned the air so that all the green vegetation sparkles – but that everything I stroll through is no longer wet. During the early walking stages, I had quite a few of such lucky days – and I am hoping for more.

Tent practice

I have slept in tents but not for many years. Over the past days I realised that I have never camped in a tent without a car nearby, except for my overnighters on the Overland Track (during which I stayed in huts). That is, all my bushwalking experiences have been day walks not requiring the carrying of a tent.

Recently I set out to practice sleeping in my new tent in order to accustom myself to the noises of the night (at home I have double glazed windows so that sleep time is a silent time).  In order to complete my record of all aspects of my trek along the Derwent, I am including this post – but you will recognise a nincompoop in capital letters when you read about my first experience.

Last week I was tired when I put on shoes and socks (trying to be a little authentic), slipped on my headlamp and treked off into the night from my home’s front door. A few metres down the hill into my backyard, where I had pitched my tent earlier in the day, I unzipped the rain-dropped tent fly, fumbled with the tent zip, and quickly fell through the hole created, into the tent. Twisting around, I was immediately sitting comfortably on my borrowed mattress (thanks Ju) all the while slipping around on the new sleeping bag, reaching out and rezipping my tent fly, and untying my shoe laces. Off came the shoes and I was really pleased with the way one side of the tent fly makes a little vestibule. The shoes could sit there on the grass protected from the rain. Pulled in the legs and zipped the tent. It was difficult to keep still; the shiny sleeping bag surface was constantly moving beneath me.

I have an incline for a back yard, not very steep but my block of land is not horizontal.  Earlier in the day I had installed the tent in a place where the trees and bushes wouldn’t scratch past the tent if there was any wind, and where it didn’t seem as steep a slope as elsewhere. Of course I discovered a shiny sleeping bag on a slope is not conducive for continuous sleep. Ridiculously hopeless from the beginning and a good lesson learnt.

Inside the tent I had plenty of room, and was perfectly set up for a good night’s sleep. The sleeping bag was snug and cocoon like. I was wearing a thermal top, socks and fleece trousers but it was too hot in that little tube to wear them all. So I am very happy with the ability of my new sleeping bag to keep me warm overnight.

But whenever I wriggled or turned over, down I slipped heading towards the bottom of the tent. Each downward slide required a new effort from me, inside that zipped up close-fitting cocoon, to lump/hump myself back up towards the top of the tent. Get positioned. Go to sleep. Wake up to find I am turning over in my sleep and heading south. Grunt and groan to get myself back uphill again. Super sleep. Oh oh. Going downhill again. Repeat the manoeuvre. Rest. Contemplate how happily warm I am. Fall deeply and happily asleep.

Waking yet again, I realised the mattress was turning cold. I was very warm inside my nylon tube but where my body touched, a penetrating cold was coming through. Why, I wondered. Was the mattress deflating? No it did not seem to be. Unexplainable but not good. I willed myself to sleep and slipped off yet again into the land of nod.

It was when I awoke around 4am, the mattress was too cold, and I was at the bottom of the tent heading towards a foetal position that I remembered I did have a bed to go to.  Feet into the shoes, out into the drizzle, and then ‘home’. Yes – later I did feel rested. Friends can see a cartoon or two coming out of this ‘adventure’!

This weekend I headed into the country and, thanks to blog follower Ju, I was able to camp on a more rural property out in an apple orchard. Deliberately I set the tent up in an area that is normally considered a possum and wallaby thoroughfare because I wanted to see if the scampering and vocal gymnastics of these native animals would wake or alarm me.

Tasmania is home to 5 species of possum.  The type most commonly found where I camped would have been the Common Brushtail Possum (photo below is from Tasmanian Wildlife Matters http://www.wildlifematters.org.au/Brushtail_Possum.htm)

Common Brushtail Possum

Which of Tasmania’s two species of wallaby were grazing around me overnight, I will never know. It could have been either or both the Bennett’s wallaby

Bennetts_Wallaby2

(Photo from Tasmanian Wildlife Matters http://www.wildlifematters.org.au/Bennetts_Wallaby.htm) or the Pademelon also known as the Rufous wallaby (Photo from Tasmanian Wildlife Matters http://www.wildlifematters.org.au/Tas_Pademelon.htm)

Pademelon

There are no funny stories from my night in the orchard. I slept flat. The mattress didn’t become cold. The animals didn’t wake me.  I slept.  Outside in the morning, a carpet of hard frost covered the land – but I was never cold inside the tent. Apprenticeship over!

A light rain dusted the tent before dismantling, and continued while I packed up. So my only issue now is to find a clever way to dry a tent before repacking when I am out and about on my walks.

Special Anniversary

Establishment Milestone remembered:

On 15 August 2014 I conceived the idea to walk the length of our Derwent River from the mouth to the source, and began this blog.  That was when I found the glorious photo of the Derwent River taken from the top of Mount Wellington and set it as my heading for permanent sharing with you.

Best Bester Bestest Good Gooder Goodest

Did I attract your attention? Did I make you cringe? Perhaps I need to improve my writing or some other feature.

Blogger and follower of my blog, Ma, recently forwarded me a connection to Karen Andrew’s ‘10 Tips to Improve Your Blogging’. If you subscribe to Andrew’s newsletter she forwards the e-book to you for free: go to her site  if interested. The intention of today’s post today is to try out one of her suggestions. Andrews recommends bloggers ask their readership for ideas for improvement.

If you read the Frequently Asked Questions section on my blogsite you can see a list of my intentions for this walking project. Do you think I can achieve some of these goals in a better way? If so, what should I do?  Should the content be different?  If so, what ideas do you have? How about the format of the blog – should that be different?  If so, what suggestions can you make?

A big thankyou

I have been delighted with the engagement of many of my blog’s followers – those who give me gifts of links and connections to information and ideas are truly valued. Thank you. And an additional special thank you to all the writers of those wonderful blogs that excite and motivate me, and for those that make me rethink my conditioned and tired old ways of thinking. Blogging has opened new worlds for me.