Aboriginal Name - Not found
One of the most secluded walking tracks in Australia is the iconic South-Coast Track. Located in the isolated South-West National Park in Tasmania, the trail brings you over beaches, rainforest, grass plains, and mountains as it hugs the exposed coastline along the bottom of the island state. I walked the track from West to East with my partner and friend from Hobart starting in Melaleuca and finishing seven days later in the southern-most town in Tasmania, Cockle Creek.
The only access to Melaleuca is by small plane from Hobart. The flight was a sneak preview of our week in the wilderness as the plane flew south towards the south cape of Tasmania before heading west as the flight path followed the track in reverse. The rugged coastline punctuated by river inlets was spectacular from above. When arriving at Melaleuca, it’s impossible not to feel overwhelmed—like you have landed in another world. Other than the airstrip, there was only a research centre, and a hut showing us which way to begin. A few of the researchers came out to wish us luck on our adventure.
When we first researched the track, we read reviews from jaded walkers talking of days wading through waist high mud and getting battered by wind when crossing the Ironbound Range. To an extent, these stories are true. We encountered mud—lots of mud—especially on day six when walked 4kms in four hours after a night of rain.
And yes, the Ironbound Range, the highest point on the trip was spectacular but we could not stay up there long enough to catch our breath or take a decent photograph. The wind was too strong, we felt like we were going to be blown off the top of the mountain.
What I was not entirely prepared for is the sense of isolation and adventure the track brings. We did not see another person until the final day of the walk except for workers laying duckboards to improve the track intermittently along the trail.
The camping on the track is the best I had ever experienced. The campsites along the track were well-maintained and located next to water so it was easy to swim or rehydrate. In particular, the campsite at Granite Beach is perched above a rocky beach and is only accessible by scaling a rocky bluff. A river runs down over the bluff and forms a natural waterfall about ten metres in height as the water falls onto the rocky beach below.
I am not much of a boat person. In fact, none of us were. So when we had to row a dinghy at sunset across New River Lagoon to our campsite for the evening we were more than a little nervous. The dingy was tied up on the western sides of the bank at one of the widest parts of the river. The crossing was probably only 300-400 metres in width but the cross winds and our weariness from a day walking made it a difficult task. The size of our packs meant only two of us could fit in the one dinghy with our packs. I ended up having to make the crossing three times, which involved towing the dinghy on the other eastern bank of the river back with me to to the western side so the next person doing the walk was not stranded without a dinghy. It took a couple of hours to complete the task, mostly because of my terrible rowing skills but we all made it to our campsite, semi dry and with all our gear.
Water crossings are a reoccurring theme of this walk. We tried to plan ahead each day and not get caught out on high tide—which was difficult since we did not carry a tide chart. Inevitably, we did have a close call on day six trying to cross a fast flowing river mouth at South Cape Rivulet. The day had been a struggle as we walked for seven hours through dense rain forest without any views while needing to take regular breaks to pull leaches out of our shoes and strap my partners swollen ankles. We arrived at the rivulet on high tide in the dwindling light. The rivulet water level was knee high when it drained but was overhead when it rushed out to sea. The body of water moved incredibly quick and the sand bed underneath our feet fell away every time the water drained. We all somehow made it across without losing gear or ourselves. But I did have one scary moment when I was crossing. I had water up to my chest and had to wiggle my feet deeper into the sand so I could anchor myself as the water flowed out to sea. I was so relieved when the sand bed started to stabilise beneath me and the water slowed enough for me to grab Paul’s hand as he pulled me to safety. Lesson learnt—don’t mess with water crossings.
By Lachlan Cloak
LFRF acknowledges all the Traditional Owners of the land [or country] and pay our respects to the Elders, past and present of all of Tasmania and urges you to please do the same.
