Titililating Tales of Tasmania

This adventure story is from my two month trip to Tasmania in 2002, which you might have guessed since it’s in the title! “Da” Not that long ago, considering I was born the same year that water was discovered!

Where is Tasmania and what is Tasmania? South of the unexplored and north of the unexploited. Geographically speaking, place your buttock towards Crocodile Dundeville and look towards the Antarctica. Five hundred miles south of the main land of Australia lies the largely unexplored island of Tasmania, which is affectionately known as Tassie.

Where do adventures start? My Tassie travels were born in a used book store with a box marked, books 50% off. I was intrigued with this half priced travel companion’s table of content. The South Coast Track, a ten day trek with magnificent beaches and dreadful weather. The Freycinet National Park known for Wineglass Bay and fine weather. The Franklin River is Tassie’s largest and most sensational river that only recently had been explored. It is known to have a wild side and with hazardous rafting. The weather can be both dreadful and fine at the drop of a life jacket in the river gorges!

Since I would be on the island for two months I wanted to experience all three of the adventures, but first I would do the Franklin River. I figured if I got killed right away it would save time and money in the long run. Tall tales that my newly purchased book had filled my risk starved entity with fuel for endless daydreams. The Franklin River, part of the Western Tasmania World Heritage Area, would be my main course, on this smorgasbord of adventures. Eight days of traversing deep gorges, only accessible by kayak and rafts by a guided travel service, promised to welcome me to Tassie’s back country! E mail addresses and foreign looking phone numbers from a country half way around the world, would prove to be a major stumbling block, before I even got started. Let’s face it, most people, especially long distance operators, don’t have a clue where Tasmania floats in the ocean. Repeated unanswered e mails from a lover is annoying but one from a adventure travel company is totally inexcusable when a grand adventure lies before me! I was wasting valuable daydreaming time, without a confirmation from the raft company. For $7.50 you can buy a Starbuck double latte or get brow beaten by some button pushing telephone operator, who has access to any phone number in the world for a price. After convincing the gum chewing operator that Tasmania was part of the world, I acquired the phone number of the travel agency. With a push of a few buttons on my phone I reached Tassie and made contact with a real live Tasinate. It was all worth the hassle because there was room on the raft and we would leave Hobart on January 10th. The travel agent described a physically demanding river trip with class four and five rapids for eight days. After the trip starts there is no turning back, come hell or high water. I told the agent to order me a large body bag and save me a spot on the raft with a warm seat and a river view, I was committed.

After flying for a zillion hours from LA to Sydney Australia, I could have gotten a straight flight to Hobart Tasmania, but that would be to easy. I wanted to fly along the surface of the ocean in a hydrofoil called the Devil Cat from the main land to Tassie. Just the name Devil Cat gave me goose bumps! The Devil Cat purrs over the Tasmania Sea from Melbourne to the Tassie coast for a distance of 429 km. Painted black from stem to stern, and with a shape that remained me of Moby Dick, I wondered if Captain Ahab was on board sharping a harpoon or two. I boarded the Cat and noticed the large distance between all the tables in the dining room. As we backed away from the dock one of the sailors on board mentioned that the Devil Cat could metamorphosis itself into a bucking bronco if we hit waves of 3 feet. As luck would have it the seas turned into 3 foot waves as soon as we pulled away from the dock. All the little cowboys and cowgirls on board that weren’t use to riding a bucking bronco had all turned a shade of green. I walked into the dining room with a idea of having lunch and it looked like the scene from Gone with the Wind when all those rebel soldiers are laying in the train station in Atlanta. I found out why there was so much space between the tables, it was to lay down the sick and dying from sea sickness. The waiters had turned into nurses with cold wet napkins for the patients foreheads. There was moaning going on just like in the movie and I half expected Scarlett to make appearance. I had to step over quite a few casualties in order to get my lasagna lunch served at the counter. I tried to be nice and ask if anybody wanted to share my lunch as they lay on the carpet but I didn’t have any takers. One fella thought he might die and then he was afraid he wouldn’t as his skin color turned from green to grey in color, after I made the offering. The crew mopping the floors weren’t the only ones glad to see the stable coast of Tasmania.

I walked into my hostel in Hobart and noticed two fellas on both sides of the door, like two stone lions guarding a grand building. Their plan didn’t call for much guarding, it was mostly to check out the female travelers as they arrived. After the proper introductions, the thirty something year old sheep shearer told me that cold fusion must have been invented right here on this door step. An invisible cold wave must be surrounding the door frame was his theory. As he scratched his head he explained the women all seem very warm and friendly when they ask him if this is the hostel but when they enter the dwelling they turn frigid. I speculated the frequency of his scheduled baths between sheep shearing and wind direction were also factors to be considered in his hypothesis.

Our rafting group that was going to take on the Franklin River was to rendezvous at a sporting goods store in downtown Hobart tonight. I nervously awaited the opportunity to meet my nine co-paddlers. Picture meeting nine blind dates in a sporting goods store and a commitment that would last for eight days. I started to whistle the song from the spaghetti western the Good the Bad and the Ugly as I walked down Hobart’s main street. The group represented all walks of life but all called the main land of Australia home, I was the only gringo. John and Jill were both doctors. The newlyweds were Don and Donnie, what a way to start a marriage, besides the cute names. Peter and Tom’s striking resemblances to each other confirmed a father and son team. The carefree acting Tony was single. Our guides Bruce and Kate that happened to be consultants on the Survivor series and had dealt with the Franklin River many times in the past. Bruce didn’t paint rose garden picture image of the raft trip as we sat around a dried food display case. Last month Bruce had guided a group down the Franklin and it rained eight days straight. Mud and mildew consumed the sleeping bags, they also endured bone shilling temperatures and strong winds blew the rafts around when they weren’t going over death defying rapids. I raised my arm and ask if I could call my exwife and explain our trip, my horrible misery and certain death would make her day, maybe the whole year a bit brighter for her!

The next morning our rafting group meet at a parking lot where our bus was hooked to a trailer that was piled high with rafts with all the items we would need to survive for eight days. The road trip to the river of no return would take three hours, which would be a good time for each one us to tell about their experience rafting and anything connected to the water. The combined experience of the doctors equaled zero. From the expression on the newly weds faces it was a surprise to found out for them and us that they each had very little experience in fast water. The father and son combo had mostly been spending time on the beach looking at the babies and hanging onto a surf board. The single fella named Tony had done some paddling in a kayak in the Northern Territory of Australia. I had been on half a dozen trips and have had the sensation of having the swift river currents treat you like a mouse being flushed down a toilet.

The three hours of driving zoomed by and we unloaded at the Collinswood River, which would lead us to the mighty Franklin River. We laid out the deflated yellow rafts on the river’s edge and as water lapped our heals, each one of us took turns using hand pump to inflate our rafts. Then came the chore of loading food barrels, tarps, and water tight bags that held our cloths and sleeping bags. This brought back memories as I remembered we would have to do this everyday for eight days. Our destination would be the head waters of the Franklin River which was only 4 hours away. Thick vegetation covered every square inch of the surrounding river bank. Huge myrtle trees with massive limbs stood guard over the river. The river water was the color of a very dark tea from all the tannins that leach through the terrarium like setting. Our group could drink water right out of the river because it was very pure due to the pristine setting.

It felt good to be on the water after months of planning and dreaming. As we pulled up to the headwaters of the Franklin River there was a large flat rocky beach that would be our first camp stop. Almost like magic a couple of rangers walked out of the forest with a list of does and don’t while we ventured into the depths of this Heritage area. The story of the last unlucky travelers was told to us as we unloaded the rafts. Because of the narrow gorge and the frequency of rain, the river level can rise very fast and without warning. Last week a group had be rescued by helicopter, and most of their gear was left behind after the last big gully washer. The ranger asked us to keep a eye out for the lost gear and report it’s location. I got to thinking this could be a very interesting trip on the river of no return.

The next morning I awoke to water dripping off the tarps that we had strung up for our shelter. I looked out from my sleeping bag and noticed a fine mist covering everything with a dew like consistence. Locally it’s known as Angel Rain since it’s so docile and friendly while you get soaked to the bone but you can’t feel any ill will towards it since it’s so melo. It’s like Canada as much anybody tries you can’t hate Canada, it’s like hating toast.

After eating a great breakfast and loading the rafts, the guides gave us a five minute instruction on paddling and self preservation if we got thrown from the raft. As usual with a teacher standing in front of everybody trying to get their attention, people where looking around, counting their toes and talking about this that and not paying much attention. After our class let out we raced to the rafts without knowing how the river gods would treat us.
I was told to go with Kate in her raft and sit in the front, incase my head was needed as a bumper against rocks and fallen trees. Everyone’s face had the look of anxiety as our yellow raft bobbed along in this sea of tranquility. I noticed the sound of water roaring first and then noticed our guides fasten down their life jackets a little tighter. The narrow gorge ahead resembled the mouth of a very hungry dragon as tons of roaring water was being poured down it’s throat. It looked like the safest escape route was being blocked by a fallen tree caused by the last major rain storm. The rushing river water traveling over the tree trunk made a loud whistling sound, as if it wanted us to come closer to kick our butt. The distance between two large boulder that marked our only escape route equaled the width of our quaking raft! If we made it between these two chess pieces then a large black boulder would have to navigated just on the other side as we came out.

Bruce with his raft was the first one to shoot the needle. Being a tad bit more experienced then Kate, his girlfriend he executed the maneuver with perfection and came out of the trap without touching the rocks. Now it was our turn to take on the big bad rocks. As we entered the area that would provide a perfect place to turn and take the rapids straight on we were swept sideways between the two rocks. Tony was trying to yell something to me as we sat in the front of the raft, it could have been his last will and testament, I don’t know because of the loud noise from the angry rapids made it impossible to hear. Our raft got stuck between the two rocks and got turned into a pretzel. The sounds of water rushing over the raft and the noise of rubber raft being sucked through a tiny opening, didn’t settle our nerves. Then in a matter of seconds we popped out from between the two chess player rocks, only to be thrown into the guard rock. When we collided with this rock we where going about 30 miles per hour and then we stopped dead in our tracks. John the doctor from the main land was almost catapulted back home. Him and his wife had been sitting behind Tony and I until we had this close encounter with the giant rock. He was thrown over me and then cleared the rock by two feet easy. He landed in choppy churning water and came to the surface gasping for air and a plane ticket home. Bruce was down river and threw our Flying Walinda a rope and pulled his ass into their boat. We started to paddle and where able to turn the raft around and come off the rock.

Just a few yards down from the rapids we pulled our raft into the shore and slowly got out and set our grateful bodies onto dry land. From then on when the guides where giving instruction on river survival everybody and their dog payed attention. With the throw ropes from the rafts we tied them between two trees we made a sort of shelter with the tarps thrown over them to form a tent. This is a very simple way to make a shelter but with simple comes problems. The ends of the shelter are open and it forms a perfect wind tunnel and the strong breezes carries in driving rain and annoying insects.

We all walked down to the river after dinner to look over our next set of rapids. They looked a lot worse then the ones we just had managed to live through. As the sun went down the temperature dropped and I put on all the cloths that I had brought. From the mishap in the rapids, our raft was covered with two feet of water and my cloths and sleeping bag was wet even though they where in a dry stuff bag. Luckily the sun was out for four hours and I followed it and hung my gear in the trees to dry, or it would have been a long night. I could see the bright stars in the sky and then I noticed a dark cloud ruining my sky show. Then the wind picked up and a heavy rain began to fall. We had to get up and dig a ditch with the paddles around our shelter to divert the water from our sleeping bag and cloths. The sound of the rapids in the river and with the driving rain serenaded us into a groggy half sleep.
The rain had raised the level of the river by two feet at least. Bruce decided to portage around the rapids below our camp. All the paying victims, I mean guests would have to carry food barrels and life jackets around the next obstacle. Bruce and Kate resembling cowpokes as they tied long ropes to the rafts and mosey the critters through the swirling rapids. We all meet up on the down stream side and reloaded the rafts as the river seemed to watch with devilish delight.

A symphony of sound echoed along the river surface, from a distant waterfall as it cascaded into our river. This part of the river was calm and it was relaxing as we drifted and paddled between monoliths of rock that sprouted out of the river twenty feet wide and in height. I looked up and noticed on top of one of these monster, a kayak and a life jacket. Bruce explained that the slow moving river now had risen that high and was a raging torrent just last week. The owners of that kayak had to rescued by helicopter twenty feet off the river. I got the feeling the river gods had control of everything that happened on their surface and out of the kindest of their heart they had let us pass. I was also glad I didn’t show up a week early for this trip!

Bruce announced that we would have lunch around the next bend in the river. He forgot to mention that a rock slide had made the river impossible to ride the rafts through. We would all have to carry the equipment over the mountain that had caused the rock slide, which added insult to injury. After climbing over the mountain in a drizzle of a rain, we carefully made our way back down to the river on the other side. The wet clay mud of the mountain side made for some entertaining moments as rafters turned into human toboggans, as they skidded down the slippery slope on their derrieres. After portaging all of our gear it seemed like we should be growing long ears and kicking up our heels like a burro. When we made it to the river bank, food was brought out for lunch. The food barrels held all types of surprises in way of delicious food. All of us flocked to the barrels like kids at Christmas, when we heard the lids being unscrewed. Because of the cool weather and cold water splashing the barrels, we didn’t need ice chests. Cold cuts and cheeses flowed out of the deep reaches of the container. Hot tea and hot chocolate was brought from a stove and all was right with the world. Sometimes we caught some trout from the river and we fried them in butter. It was great treat and tasted like it had been cooked in a fine restaurant, but we all know you could cook a shoe in butter and it would taste good!

In the afternoon our small rafts coasted to a stop along a gravel bank. High mountains with tree covered slopes seemed to really dwarf our little group of adventures. Little did I know that the biggest adventure was yet to unfold. Bruce made the announcement, that he wanted Tom and I to volunteer to help take the rafts through the next obstacle. Bruce said you couldn’t even call it rapids it was a bend in the river, that had two narrow channels with churning water running through it. He explained all the things that we would have to do, but it was to much to gather in at one time. I told him, lets make it to the other side of the river and then we would make a plan. The rest of the group would have to hike and crawl over the mountain and then we would meet them on the other side. Bruce and I where in one raft and we paddled like mad to cross the river. When we reached the shore I jumped out and pulled the raft up on a flat rock the size of a two car garage. I noticed water was swirling all around the rock, especially in a space that was two feet wide. It formed a perfect trough, in fact they call it the Pig Trough and it was full of roaring water. While we waited for the other raft, Bruce yelled in my ear, to not get to close to the water. Last year a friend of his, a guide was helping a fella with a kayak when he lost his balance and fell into the trough! Before anybody could reach him the suction of the water pulled him head first deeper into the trough with his legs sticking straight up. A rafter pulled out the pump they use to pump air into rafts and tried to get air to this poor guide, but to no avail. A ranger was called but because of the powerful current and recent rains, the rescuers could only wrap his legs in a tarp and put a tag on his toe and not release him. Needless to say I stayed back from the Pig Trough. Kate and Tom made it across the river and we all picked up the raft and carried it to the other side of the rock. There was a eight foot drop on that side and we lowered the raft down. Water was coming out from under the rock and the raft was acting like a surf board in this rushing water. Bruce and I held onto the ropes that where attached to the raft as Kate and Tom jumped into the raft. When we let go of the raft the current swept them down river and then they got stuck between two rocks in the middle of the river. Tom climbed out of the raft and stood on one of the rocks, just then the raft flipped! Kate was thrown into the river and the raft was carried around the bend in the river, which block our view of Kate’s survival. I ask Bruce about the river around the bend and he said there was more rapids unless Kate when far right. Now this was going to be very interesting since Bruce and I had held the raft for Kate and Tom to get in, but we where by ourselves. Bruce and I lowered our raft and he held the rope as I jumped the eight feet to the raft. The raft was bouncing up and down like a bucking bronco. I tried to hold onto the rocky sides of the canyon to some what steady it, but the water was to rough. Just then I noticed a large shadow come over me as Bruce made a leap of faith and landed in the raft. I threw him a paddle and off we when in a instant. We paddled towards Tom on the rock and just as he got ready to jump the raft was moved by the current and he missed the raft. I was able to grab his life jacket and pull him into the raft. By this time the rest of our team had made it down the mountain and had witnessed the while crazy thing. Bruce told everybody to get in the best the could since the raft is made for five and we had the whole crew except for Kate. We all paddled and wondered what we would find around the bend in the river. We saw the upside down raft and Kate was laying on top pretending she was sun bathing. I sure was glad it all turned out for the best and we didn’t loose anybody but we gained more respect for the mighty Franklin River.

That night at dinner we sure had some stories to share. Since it was early and we had plenty of light, Bruce knew of some caves that the Aborigines use to live in and we could explore. We walked into the caves and it was very dark as you might imagine a cave would be. Then within a few seconds of walking we came to a large room that was lite up with sun light. A hole the size of a one car garage opening had been eroded away from the cave wall and it had formed a perfect picture window. The dark interior with the bright outside with all it’s ferns and total green landscape, made it look like we where looking into a giant terrarium.

The next morning Bruce gathered us all together to make announcement that there wasn’t anymore rapids from this point on. I was some what disappointed but glad nobody got injured. I knew what it was like for a lion tamer when he puts his head into the lions mouth. I too felt the breath of the lion on my neck and was able to walk away from it.