Chapter 16
The West Coast Beckons
In early November 2003, I was invited to the Piners’ Festival at Strahan, and after a tiring five-hour drive, I finally arrived at the only town on the wild west coast. The Piners’ Festival, then an annual event, celebrated Strahan’s rich history centred on the Huon Pine and culminated with a pine punt race on the harbour. Here I was to spend three enjoyable days undertaking speaking engagements, meeting old friends and enjoying the sights — as well as checking up on a few of the numerous Tasmanian tiger sightings emanating from this area of the island over many years. I was surprised at the amount of local interest in the tiger, quickly realising that this region was a veritable minefield of information. I was treated to a trip on the ABT Railway from Strahan to Queenstown as well as a voyage up the river on the Gordon River Cruise. This proved a most interesting experience, with the big boat at first venturing outside Hells Gates and into the open sea, before skirting the shores of Macquarie Harbour and cruising up the beautiful Gordon River. Stopping at Sarah Island on the return journey — the scene of untold horrors during its service as a penal settlement early in the nineteenth century — we were treated to an excellent historical commentary by park rangers, all well versed in local convict history.
Talking with the cruise boat’s captain, Graham Ridland, I discovered there had been a host of Tasmanian tiger sightings over the years by local rock lobster fishermen plying the rocky coastline between Macquarie Harbour and Port Davey. As I conversed with Captain Ridland, my brain raced ahead at a rate of knots, already planning an expedition to those same wilderness areas along one of the wildest coastlines to be found anywhere on earth. Mountainous seas and gale force winds driven by the Roaring Forties often tear into this exposed region, with winds and sea currents originating in far off Argentina. Although I questioned my sanity at even contemplating such a challenging exercise, the seeds of adventure had already been sown and now it seemed nothing could restrict them.
I afterwards spoke with a Strahan resident who told me that she and her canoe had been dropped off along the coast by a fishing boat some years previously in the vicinity of the Wanderer River. While camped along the river, she heard a dog barking during the night, a sound she could only attribute to the Tasmanian tiger. A local rock lobster fisherman claimed to have sighted the tiger several times over recent years as he tended his lobster pots between Bathurst and Macquarie Harbours. He offered to drop me off along the coast and pick me up again on his return journey a week or so later. I also discovered a rash of tiger sightings along the Queenstown–Strahan Road over the previous 20 years. If the locals were to be believed, the animal was most certainly alive and well in this part of Tasmania.
A Strahan fisherman suggested I try Kelly Basin along the shores of Macquarie Harbour, a place where he believed he had seen a tiger in recent years. He also offered to drop me off along the coast at Varna Bay, from where I could base my expedition, suggesting March and April as the best months because of the low swell factor. Following this, I began to plan in earnest for a week-long stay in the wilderness.
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In January 2004, I received calls from two overseas film crews, one from Germany and another from Denmark. Jesper Aero phoned to discuss visiting me at Maydena with his film crew while on their way around Tasmania filming a documentary to be shown on Danish television for the upcoming wedding of Prince Frederick to Tasmanian girl Mary Donaldson. Following this, I received an email from Helene Ferandi, who was producing a documentary on the Tasmanian tiger for the German TV company ARTE. She also expressed interest in accompanying me during the early stages of my expedition to the west coast. Two of the Danish film crew, already in the state chasing up material for their program, sat in on one of my thylacine lectures at Mount Field National Park in late January. They were on their way back from filming one of the devil feeding stations then being run by Tasmanian Parks and Wildlife officers in the far north of the state. They said they would be back in late February to spend a day filming with me in the bush. By the time they arrived, I was in a state of confusion as two other parties were pressing for on-camera interviews at the same time. The last Saturday in February was taken up with hosting the Danes. I took them into the south-west and Adamsfield, where we spent the day filming at various localities.
No sooner had they departed than Helene Ferandi and Chris Hooke from ARTE arrived on 29 February. They spent several hours filming in my tiger den, gathering material for their program as well as expressing interest in filming me leaving Strahan for my west coast expedition. A phone call to the fisherman put my plans on hold as his boat was in dry dock for repairs while the swell was up. This was to be the continuing saga for the next four weeks as the weather fluctuated and the swell factor ebbed and flowed, leaving me frustrated and thoroughly disillusioned.
I decided to travel with Ferandi and Hooke to Derwent Bridge, where they planned to film the historic Pearce homestead, from where many Tasmanian tigers were surrendered during the bounty days. To get access to the old Pearce property, we visited locals Greg and Marg Duncan. Greg, a woodcarver of some renown, was about to begin an ambitious project to be known as ‘The Wall in the Wilderness’. Over the years since, he has made significant progress on his ‘Wall’ and it is now a must-see for tourists travelling through Derwent Bridge. Greg’s quest was to undertake a massive portrayal of the history of the Central Highlands; all carved on huge panels of Huon Pine three metres high, including a segment dealing with the Tasmanian tiger. At the time he was busy preparing to erect a large wood and iron building in which to house his project, which he estimated would take him upwards of ten years to complete.
We spent several days filming in and around Derwent Bridge, concentrating for some time on the Pearce cottage in an attempt to capture the historical aura of this ancient dwelling.
Another check with Strahan revealed much the same weather pattern, the swell still too high to get me safely ashore. With the boat still under repair, I was beginning to become thoroughly disheartened by the constant delays, but there was little I could do but wait for the seas to abate.
A most interesting day was spent in the bush near Bronte Park with Hooke and Ferandi filming the field operations of the devil task force, which at the time was monitoring the spread and effects of the facial tumour disease on local devil populations. NPWS field officer Nick Mooney was heading the operation, obliging the pair with general information about the syndrome, as well as various aspects of the thylacine.
With their work completed in the Derwent Bridge area, Hooke and Ferandi left for Mole Creek, where they planned further filming at the local fauna park. They were, however, on standby to drive to Strahan as soon as I got word from the fisherman. After numerous phone calls, eight in all, finally the trip was on and I was to leave the following Saturday. By this time, Hooke and Ferandi were well out of range, and I was unable to make contact with them. Perhaps it was just as well, because as I was about to leave at 7 am on the Saturday, a call came through from Strahan to say the trip was off again, as the swell was still too high. It was now the middle of March and the opportunity was slowly slipping away. Out of sheer frustration I began phoning helicopter operators around Hobart enquiring about their fees to fly me to the west coast. I soon discovered it was not cheap to hire one of these machines – they cost around $1400 hour. The last charter company I phoned suggested I try Seair helicopter charters working out of Strahan. I contacted them and explained my plans, and they came back within the hour with a quote of $850 return to Varna Bay. Although my destination was only some 30 minutes flying time along the coast, their charges were by far the most reasonable. I decided that unless I received a positive answer from the lobster fisherman by week’s end, I would book a flight with Seair.
A friend at Strahan suggested I contact another local lobster fisherman before booking the helicopter. This fisherman explained that once I was dropped off along the coast, it could be at least seven days before he could pick me up again, and then I would have to remain on his boat for another few days until he finished his rock lobster run. He also told me about a tiger sighting that he and his son had made some 15 years before at Varna Bay. The pair had watched a strange dog-like animal walking slowly along the beach from about 100 yards away as they tended their lobster pots offshore. They believed it was a Tasmanian tiger because of the strange way it walked and carried its tail. It was a story they had shared with few since. Although this in no way heightened my expectations, it was nevertheless encouraging to hear that the animal I was seeking may have walked the same stretch of coastline, albeit some 15 years previously.
With March almost over and time fast running out, I had to make my move soon before seasonal autumn storms rendered my expedition too hazardous. At best, I had only a matter of two weeks left. Another phone call to Strahan brought further bad news of exactly the same pattern continuing with high swells and gale force winds preventing them putting to sea. Finally, enough was enough. My wife could see how utterly frustrated I was becoming and offered to shout me the helicopter trip, which after some deliberation I graciously accepted. I promptly phoned Seair at Strahan and booked a flight for 9 am on Tuesday 6 April 2005.