Tag Archives: Gretna Green Hotel

Joining the masses

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.

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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!

Gretna Green Hotel advert

Settling in, indoors+

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.

Arriving at the Gretna Green Hotel

Earlier research indicated that a general store operated on the western side of the Gretna Green Hotel so I padded up the Lyell Highway, past the drinking establishment and its drinkers resting on their vehicles outside, and stood in front of the glass fronted shop. The dust was settled. The space was empty. Clearly no-one had been inside for a long time.

I turned and plodded down to the pub, giving the chatty locals something to take their minds off their beers, and entered a small historic building with many small rooms leading off each other.

Gretna Green Hotel

Strangely, I forgot to take a photograph when I first looked at the hotel.  This image comes from the internet – please note accommodation is no longer offered. I have just discovered the pub has its own Facebook site with more photos.  Hmm. I must write a review for them.

Nearing and then on the Lyell Highway

The pastures continued lush and green.

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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.

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Massive log trucks, taking their pickings to market from our pristine wilderness forests, roared past me.

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Before long the Lyell Highway, which connects Hobart to the west coast mining towns of Queenstown, Zeehan, Strahan and Rosebery, appeared in view.

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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.

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Each step took me closer to my destination for the day.

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Then the Derwent River came back into view as it snaked its way beneath Gretna.

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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.

Thwarted by barriers

I am deeply dispirited. I have some sad news. My impulsive project to walk from the mouth to the source of the Derwent River will be thwarted by greed and other human characteristics of a negative nature. Despite this situation, I am working on a new plan to reach the source of the Derwent River at Lake St Clair Lagoon in a physical and meaningful way and, once I have fleshed out the details, a future post will offer an explanation.  Meanwhile, after you read the following, your suggestions will be most welcome.

During stages 1-14, from time to time I recorded how access to the actual river edge was sometimes denied me because properties were fenced and gated.  I bemoaned the fact that across Tasmania, in many instances the law provides that property owners own land and water to half way across rivers. While a ‘grace and favour access’ or by ‘a permission granted approval’ process exists in some places, much of our river edges cannot be walked freely.  Yet in so many European countries ‘right of way’ paths and walking trails across the land have been taken for granted for centuries so there is much more freedom to simply enjoy being outdoors.  Non-indigenous settlement is too recent in Tasmania so a criss-cross of ‘ancient’ walking paths has not been established, and the pathways of the inhabitants prior to settlement, the aborigines, either have been obliterated or knowledge of their location is not easily available to the non-indigenous population.

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Photo of the Derwent River taken through a house block on the western edge of the town of New Norfolk.

The damage is done and to repeal laws and ‘take away’ land from owners would be political suicide, and cries of unfairness and for expensive compensation would abound. I can imagine the legislation arose partly from consideration of the practicality as to who or which organisation would maintain the thousands of kilometres of river edges across Tasmania and keep them clear from bracken, blackberry brambles and exotic weeds.

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Can you spot the River through these profusely growing weeds?

While walking for leisure purposes has a history in Tasmania since the beginning of European settlement, our early legislators did not have a crystal ball to see that the 21st century is one in which many people want a healthy lifestyle that involves exploring and accessing our natural environment without barriers.

Unfortunately, a damaging minority of people are greedy, thoughtless, and cannot be trusted to meet their promises.  The consequence is what I found during Stage 15 and what I can foresee for Stage 16.  I soon realised that almost no free/public access to the River exists between New Norfolk and Gretna, and it seems this will also be true for any future inland push along the River.

After leaving New Norfolk on the westward proceeding Glenora Road on the southern/western side of the Derwent River, I soon registered paddocks and more paddocks had been recently re-fenced with fresh spiky barbed-wire.

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Note second fence line inside and parallel to the barbed wire fence line.

This year, the Australian Federal Government budget made a concession for small business owners and granted an immediate full tax deduction for expenses up to $20,000.  My conclusion was that farmers in the Derwent Valley grabbed this opportunity and used it to protect the limits of their properties.

As a child my father showed me how to pass through barbed wire fences. The process is best with two people but one can do it. You put your shoed foot on a lower strand of wire to hold it down, then pull the next one up and slip through the enlarged space hoping not to be spiked by the barbs.  But today’s farmers in the Derwent Valley know this trick. Since they don’t want people on their land, the wires are now extremely taut and the spacing between many lines of wire is only about 10-15cm.  If an adult expects to pass through the barbed wire fences of Derwent Valley farmers then Dad’s technique cannot work.

Barbed wire fences were not my only barrier to accessing the Derwent River.  Gates presented insurmountable challenges.  Almost all gates that I arrived at were padlocked. That hasn’t always stopped people accessing a property because the use of strong square wires or other metals in gate construction usually helps you with a footing to lift up and over the top.  Not so with many Derwent Valley farmers’ gates.  The new gates either are ringed in barbed wire or are wrought iron with high straight verticals which provide no place for feet.  For me these were unclimbable.

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Very occasionally I came across older fencing that had minimal or no barbed wire and seemed very climbable. But alas. These fences had an additional strand attached; an electrified line. Intended to keep the cattle in and from trampling fence lines, these electric fences were an absolute barrier for walkers like me.

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In places, farmers had cleverly left overgrown tangles of thorny blackberry canes that extended down paddocks and into the river, as an impossible barrier near their fence lines.

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I came across signs such as ‘Private Property’ and on one occasion the sign warned that ‘Trespassers would be prosecuted’.

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Even access was limited to the very open Sports Ground at Bushy Park, one which contains almost no infrastructure. This Sports Ground edges the Styx River as it flows into the Derwent River.

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The sign pictured below was particularly annoying because it was suggesting that permission might be given if a request was made. However, I couldn’t get access to ask for permission to walk across the land.  Once on the spot, there was no way to discover who the landowner was and then to somehow connect with them using technology.

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On a particularly wonderful luscious green hill that wound around the Derwent heading for Gretna, one where walking close to the river would have been a great pleasure, the sign ‘Trespassers will be shot’ was a strong deterrent.

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During my walk I had decided that perhaps anglers had not respected the limited access they were given to the River at key points, via styles over fences. I mused that perhaps fishermen had strayed further than permitted, wrecked fences and generally not left the land as they found it.

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Blog follower Jo told me a story of how a few men had prearranged with a landowner to come and fish in his dam. After their weekend of fishing they emailed the landowner with thanks for the opportunity to take home 50kgs of fish. Needless to say, this greed was rewarded by the owner telling the fishing party never again to ask for permission to enter his land.

Later at the Gretna Green Hotel where I waited for the bus back to Hobart after completing the Stage 15 walk, I talked with a local about the reason for the impenetrable barriers to properties.  Apparently wood lifting, and cattle and sheep rustling used to be rife in the Derwent Valley until farmers closed their borders.  Not only would people drive onto properties to chop down trees and collect sufficient fire wood for their own personal needs, they would bring trucks in and take loads away to sell.  All without the permission of the land owner.  Similarly, whole cows and sheep would disappear in their droves overnight.  Regularly.  Modern day farmers’ costs are high, their income comparatively low for the hard work they put in, and so they were unprepared to subsidise the living of others. Their fences and gates have become good barriers – not perfect, because occasionally some unscrupulous wanderers bring bolt and fence cutters.  Nevertheless, as a walker with no intent to leave my mark on the land, I cannot proceed.

In my last steps walking into Gretna, I passed the two paddocks through which I envisaged Stage 16 would start. But both had impassable fences and gates with padlocks.  For the next stage, which was expected to cover the area from Gretna to Hamilton via the river, there are at least 4 property owners and who knows how many padlocked gates, bramble congested river edges, barbed wire and electric fences. It is not realistic to ask owners to come and unlock the padlocks and then relock them after I pass through.

While it is true, and you will read details in future posts, that I did access the river from time to time during Stage 15 and experienced some wonderful locations, for most of the walk I was deeply depressed about the limitations under which my project is being placed. I am pleased that writing this post has helped purge some of that anger and frustration. Now that the situation has been recorded, I feel much more ready to be positive again and determine a new way  to reach my goal.  The goal remains the same, but the process must be modified.