Field Guide to Falling in Love in Tasmania

Currently showing posts tagged trappers

  • The Baron in the Mountains

    The Baron in the Mountains

    Tasmanian national parks celebrate their 100th birthday this year. In 1916, two inaugural national parks were gazetted after promotion by pioneer supporters of tourism and conservation; a century later, national parks cover nearly a half of Tasmania’s land mass.

    Mount Field, 70 kilometres north-west of Hobart, was one of these first parks. In its early days, Mount Field was a hub for skiing and memorabilia still remains from the days when social Hobartians dragged the necessaries for a gala ball to a hut above Lake Dobson, and skated on the frozen lake.

    Snowfall is less common in Tasmania these days; the ski lift still operates occasionally during winters at Mount Field, and in the summer time, thousands of tourists flock to the park for short walks or multiple-day hikes, taking in the waterfalls, the giant swamp gums, the flowering heath, or the broad alpine vistas.

    An early tourist to Mount Field was Baron Ferdinand von Mueller.

    Guided by local trappers the Rayner brothers, Baron von Mueller arrived to investigate the unique botanical characteristics of the region. Born Ferdinand Jakob Heinrich Müller in 1825, the Baron relocated to Australia following the death of his eldest sister from tuberculosis. Now known as von Mueller, he and other family members joined a plethora of other German migrants in newly-settled Adelaide in 1847.

    Having been trained in botanising while working as a pharmacist’s apprentice in his native northern Germany, von Mueller gained  job at the pharmacy on Adelaide’s main street, and set about learning the local flora with journeys into the Mount Lofty Ranges, Mount Gambier, the Flinders Ranges and Lake Torrens.

    Shortly after, he received work in Victoria, and was the first curator of the Botanical Gardens in Melbourne.

    It was 1867 when Baron von Mueller went with the Rayners to Mount Field. Spending a week in the foothills of Mount Field East, he observed the unique species of the region, including making the first descriptions of a variety of cushion plant (Donatia novae-zelandiae) and several eucalypts – the snow peppermint, urn gum and cider gum, as well as taking in the glacial geology of the area.

    The Rayners’ memory of the journey came through a humorous observation: the Baron, the trapper noted, “persisted in wearing his two flannel scarves”, which von Mueller (it is said) would do whether he was in the town or the bush.

  • Boy Miles

    Boy Miles

    There is no track between the Mersey River and the Middle East. On the sea, you cut a path across emptiness; the wilderness of waves covers over it immediately. Boy Miles was on a ship coming home in 1942 when the enemy intercepted. He was taken as a prisoner-of-war and forced to work on the Thai-Burma Railway. The Death Railway.

    It’s a long way from the jungles of south-east Asia to the Central Plateau. Further still, perhaps, from the shrill screech of human depravity to the silent warmth of friendship and family. In monsoon, Boy toiled with body bared, his hide riddled with ulcers and sores. Around him, fellow-slaves took on cholera, starved, went demented with illness, and died by the thousands.

    But maybe in moments of pause Boy Miles took himself back to the grazing plains beneath that mountain range, where, alongside his brother, he rode through the valleys, trapping possums and rabbits, sleeping out, swimming in the river. It may seem like a small life to some, especially compared to what they called ‘the grandeur of war’: but what a mighty stage.

    The war ended. The medics discharged Boy Miles just as the waratahs came into bloom in the summer of 1945, and coming home, the bright bush gleamed, the clean air shimmered and the broad country beckoned him. Things weren’t the same; any fright would send Boy to the floor, curled up in the foetal position. People were difficult creatures to be around. There were scars, things mangled inside him. So it was only in the mountains that any solace was to be found.

    In the years to come, Boy Miles felled pines and split shingles and built himself some huts to shelter him at night when he went out with a dog and a gun to Liena, Deception Plains, Lake Ball, Dublin Road. They were simple buildings: a fireplace, a bunk, somewhere to hang the skins. It was all he wanted from a home. To keep him safe and sound, and more importantly still, to keep him free to roam the bush.