Trains, Planes, and Bicycles: Christmas in the Tasmanian Wilderness

Christmas was approaching (yes this blog is a month and a half behind!) and other than listening to carols on our ipod, and posing at the Christchurch Museum with a green robed Father Christmas (represented as he was before his Coca Cola engineered transformation into red garb),

we had had very little time to ponder the time of year. Arriving in Launceston in northern Tasmania the weather was hot and sunny and being in summer kept Christmas feeling distant.

Launceston was mostly a stop to get ready for the epic eight day hike we had ahead of us, but we still got out and about enough to appreciate the charms of the small city. There were retro buildings everywhere, looking like new but dating back to 1950's

and even earlier into the late 1800s.

The colonial character of the streets was largely intact and the modern development that had been done provided good public spaces with colourful sculptures,

scenic walkways

and the preservation of a park with an elaborate fountain at its core.

The farming history of the town was evident in the bold titles engraved on the facades of the Woolgrowers Building and the Farmers and Graziers Associations.

The sky was clear and as it faded to night it developed the most stunning palate of buttery yellow, pale rose, violet and finally inky navy, all reflecting on the river below,

Our apartment was the aptly named Quirky Cottage which felt like a farm homestead itself, with an old wooden fence lining the property and a tree full of ripe plums we snacked on during our walks.

Area residents are lucky to have an incredible gorge with cool swimming and hillsides covered in trees as their recreational area, just a ten minute walk from the middle of town.

That night we called Paul's parents and skyped mine to have our last contact with home before setting off into the wilderness. My parents and sisters were gathered together and we could see the Christmas tree in the background as they prepared for the feasts and celebrations ahead. We sang Feliz Navidad to one another and then said a somewhat tearful good-bye.

While I've always loved the holiday season, I thought it wouldn't be too hard to be away on the 25th, after all, it was only one Christmas and there would be many more to celebrate together again once we were back. We certainly had more than enough to distract us from what we were missing.

First of all, there was the time consuming and careful preparation of eight days of food for our hike. Even with all the thought we'd put into our meals we still managed to come up one meal short at our campsite at the trailhead, and ended up eating our leftover breakfast cereal with milk powder another camper had left behind (we heated up some water to mix with it so at least it was warm powdered milk). yum!

Then there was the excitement of setting off on the epic Overland Track on Christmas Eve.

The sky was blue,

and the dolerite stone columns soaring to the sky beckoned us to climb their heights.

Our first ascent was to the top of Cradle Mountain, grappling up and over boulders

then reaching the summit with exhilaration,

enjoying the speccy (Australian for spectacular) panoramic view.

The descent over the rocks was a little tricky

until we got back to the boardwalk at which point it was smooth sailing.

Dancing outside our hut on the helipad to Queen's "Thank God it's Christmas" on the speaker was fun,

but even in spite of the amazing day and evening we'd had, we still went to sleep feeling a little sad on Christmas Eve - Kyra crying and Tom vehemently insisting that without Santa, family and Toronto, it was the worst Christmas in the world.

The sadness brought its own insight into what Christmas means to us. We have always loved all that surrounds our mostly secular celebration of the season - the time with family and friends, the food, the parties and of course the excitement about Santa. On the spiritual side we try to honour the historical significance of the day and the ideals of peace and hope for the world. I had felt that we could reflect on those ideals and celebrate in our own way while we were travelling, but we found that just wasn't enough. We ended up feeling like we had largely skipped Christmas altogether. In cultures around the world tradition and ritual play a big role in binding people together and celebrating life's milestones, whereas in ours the two are seldom present. I realized that Christmas at home is one of the very few rituals we consistently observe in our family, not only bringing us closer together but also marking the passage of time in a meaningful way. I vowed not to take it for granted in the future.

While December 25 was very different, we ended up having a terrific day, and everyone's spirits rose with the dawn. We had spent the night in the hut with two separate families who had brought presents along for their teenage kids. Amazingly some secret Santa had hung chocolate stockings on the wall for our kids, and I took out my very small stash of presents which the kids opened as the kids ate their oatmeal (cranberries and cinnamon made it seasonal). They loved their gifts (a necklace for Kyra, a kiwi stamp for Tom and a pen for Jacob, woohoo!).

Then another group of campers showed up to have breakfast in our hut. One of them had a Santa hat and a big red Santa bag, and as they played carols on their phone he walked around bestowing gifts on his friends. At the bottom of the bag he pulled out a bag of gummies and gave them to our kids, who were delighted. Tom said he had changed his mind and that this was in fact a great Christmas.

The sun was out which meant we were warm enough to swim with a buff Santa at Lake Wills

where we stopped for lunch. We had a beautiful hike and reached the hut with plenty of time left in the day. It was sunny and hot so after ditching our packs we went to Lake Windermere for another cold but refreshing swim.

We celebrated the night with games and conversation with our trail buddies, and went to sleep having had a merry Christmas after all.

We awoke the next day to pouring rain and a feverish Tom, who vomited all over the floor, then went back to sleep for two hours. We were given various medications - it turned out one group we were hiking alongside was comprised of doctors and dentists packing everything one could possibly need in an emergency - and offers of help with our packs to keep us going. We gratefully declined the help and pondered whether to keep hiking or take a day off so Tom could rest. When he woke up he was the same bouncy boy as ever, so we set off in the rain,

warm and dry under our rain gear.

Plants with beautiful berries in many shades of pink lined the walking path. It took us forever to find out the name - we kept asking people "what is the name of the plant with those pink berries" - it turned out to be Pinkberry.

When we caught up with our friends they were delighted that Tom was back to normal, and the kids ended the evening building Santa out of nano lego (another gift from fellow hikers!)

and playing card games.

Despite the great camaraderie we said good-bye to our hiking cohorts the next day so that we could take a side trip and spend one more night at the same hut. On the Overland track hikers can take as long or as short as they want to do the track, so some people do it in three days or less, while others take eight or nine days to experience it to the fullest.

Our side trip was to the top of Mount Oakleigh. To get to the top we passed through many layers of changing landscape. First was the boggy marsh, whose mud puddles seemed innocuous enough until Jacob stepped into one and plunged in up to his chest. We contemplated turning back but he was wearing rain pants and jacket so we figured it would all just shake off as we walked.

Next were the enchanted forests

with jumping pademelons (marsupials that look like mini wallabies), then a band of giant grass trees,

and finally prickly alpine vegetation that scratched us as we squeezed through the narrow path.

It was cloudy so the panorama couldn't quite compare with the amazing one we'd experiencd from Cradle Mountain, but we still had a pretty good view.

On our way back to the hut we reached the marsh so I reminded everyone to be extra careful of the deep mud pits disguised as shallow puddles. Kyra said "mom that looks like one right there" and stepping towards it I said "no it's noooooooot" as I sank waist deep into the muck.

No showers at the hut of course so I just rinsed off a bit in the stream then hung my stuff out to "dry", which it wasn't the next morning but I wore it just the same!

Fortunately the weather turned back into glorious sunshine so I didn't mind being a bit damp and muddy. That day's climb was to the top of Mount Ossa, the highest mountain in Tasmania. Starting off along the boardwalk through eucalyptus forest and clumps of buttongrass,

we came to a junction where we could leave our heavy packs and then start the ascent. An echidna joined us for our hike along the ridge.

The way to the top involved more boulder climbing.

We stopped on the plateau to have a snack at the edge of an alpine tarn, clear as a looking glass.

We could see for miles at the summit,

then headed back down and along the boardwalk

to the junction where our packs awaited - some of their contents somewhat redistributed by curious currawongs (from the crow family) who knew how to open zippers. Fortunately the food was securely protected but our first aid kit had been ransacked.

Normally the weather on the track is wet, grey and cold, but an unusually (and dangerously) dry spell continued to hold and the rest of the hike was beautiful and warm.

Sun dappled the leaves of the forest we trekked through,

and though it failed to heat the water at Hartnett Falls where we stopped for lunch and an icy swim,

it cast a warm glow on the mountains behind our campsite.

By this time we had bonded with a new group of hikers, including two separate groups from Melbourne. Maree, Kym and her dad were just in Tasmania to do the Overland, while Hugh and Zoe were here a bit longer to do the track and visit with friends. It was 11 km over mostly easy terrain and a suspension bridge

to Narcissus Hut, where we said bye to Maree, Kym and Peter.

Most hikers caught a ferry to the end of the track, but Hugh and Zoe continued on foot to the end of the track as we did, after a swim of course.

Our final night on the track was the camp at Echo Point, where we met a dad and his son who had kayaked in for the night. They took Tom for a paddle

and afterwards the two boys spent most of the evening fishing off the dock with a stick and some plastic wire baited with a wood chip with a fish painted on it. We looked for platypus with Hugh and Zoe