Derwent River flows and present people

Cities can be inexplicable— even though spots feel comfortable or even ideal— travelling across them one feels that something’s amiss. The remedy is to find out why they germinated there in the first place and check if that’s reflected in the current whole, amidst the gigantic population and urbanisation booms that engulfed the seed. Hobart seems ambiguous until you notice that it was once probably like Portwenn on Doc Martin (‘Elingham’, http://www.itv.com/docmartin/ )— a small, seaside fishing village. The whale-blubber boiling pots on Salamanca wharf (for oil) and the nearby shops advertising fish are clues. And now? Battery Point, a quaint living fossil, has kept most of its older buildings, some now plush and others student share houses— once a dockyard residential area, now tourist honey. What of the kilometres of the other suburbs and thousands of hectares of bitumen connecting them? Don’t dwell too long there though as its explanation and prognosis is unsavoury— instead see why Hobart is unique in Australia— the river Derwent still flows and the sea water still goes in and out, and the sea remains close to Hobart.

For most people the constant toil of 19^th century life has been replaced with an intangible connection between work and reward: the rigorous physical strains have mostly been replaced with neural hyperactivity (although some workers displace that too, with ‘music’ piped into their skulls or by relying totally on documented procedures), and there arises a by-product called leisure time, to rest those brains and to occasionally experience a little hedonistic freedom.  It’s not a closed-system anymore though— there is an energy leak: the cream of modern toil is sapped via share trading (financial trading)— and with even government departments being changed into such leaky systems, leisure time becomes an ever-more important escape.

 

The Derwent River drains from the full range of human activity, from the near-absence of humans in the snowy heights, through what was probably amongst the world’s most heavily forested valleys in modern times, mostly converted to paper now but with remnants reserved (http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article23668307 , http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article25555201 http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/11263504.2011.638332 ), down through hop farms (Oast houses for beer), a swan’s brackish haven in upstream Hobart, past Cadbury’s chocolate factory, the Entertainment Centre for Tasmanauts staging such bands as the Eurythmics, from city bridges and out to sea, being ~5km wide at the mouth.

 

The sides of the Derwent are a welcome breather from normal city life (as are the wider, northern beaches of Adelaide, but in Taswith the dunes replaced by the sequence of typically Australian-southeast-coast bays and cliffs).

 On Kingston Beach I was enjoying a warmish, early winter, walking on the dog-free side of the ‘dog-beach’ (where one mingles with a range of surprisingly dog-like creatures) and noticed an older than average somewhat heavy-built lady with rolled up trousers behaving oddly— continually staring at her feet in the water, her dogs trustingly watched from the shore and were trying to experience the reason they’d gone there in the first place. She said she’d lost her prescription glasses in the water and they had blue frames. Neither dogs nor fish were helping. I searched for a little while and considered that the good side of the event was that some fish might be able see better that evening. I wandered with the current to one side a little and suddenly their sparkling dark blue with pink splashes was unmistakably an unnatural object by my feet— the frames matched her blouse— she seemed happy and said thank you, nearly forgot her doggie bag and leash then went on playing with the dogs in the water as she had been doing beforehand, looking like the glasses would get washed again.

The local children are quite adapted to the Derwent and make the most of it. At the top of a ‘blowhole’ (where the waves have undercut the cliff but left the top edge as a bridge), at the next bay down— Blackman’s Bay, I heard some boys swearing down below but on going all around the fenced top of the hole I couldn’t see them down there, though still wondered if they had fallen in and were trapped or were just playing. I looked for the long way around to the sea-level entrance, along the cliff base and was giving up but two teenage girls were heading comfortably in that direction. They said it led to the blowhole. I wouldn’t have gone that way but they seemed to fit in the channels of the wall and made it look easy. If they could do it then surely I could too? (even though my back doesn’t bend as much?) and I decided to be intrepid (Bear Grylls eat your heart out http://www.angusrobertson.com.au/by/bear-grylls/ )— and made my way along successfully. Children were enjoying their time diving into the seaward chasm by the blowhole entrance. Some said the water was warm but those having climbed out didn’t look warm. I was able to return back, although the tide had risen and I only just made it up the ledges— the local children must know their own route to scramble back.

The mouth of the Derwent looks like the biggest escape of all, in Hobart, but it has human usage too: the slow gateway to the rest of the world, the Sydney-to-Hobart Christmas yacht race enters, and cargo ships and the scientific expedition vessels to the colder south pass to and fro.

And a lively array of sealife still feeds in the lower Derwent.

 

Bonnet Hill's colour, air and tunnel.

When you think there’s probably nothing new to feel immersed in that is enjoyable and is surprising, it still could happen. Maybe. When you think you’ve seen all the cruelty that humans have to offer, that their tortures— their own inventions rather than mistakes of happenchance, are the worst thing on the planet, there still might be something bright enough to remind you that there can be enjoyment that delights many senses simultaneously. Nevertheless, for those of you that have to make a serious decision due to unfortunate circumstances, then what I’m saying here is not to suggest that it is better for you to not make that decision. Instead I’m hopefully able to just show something delightful.

The period in the morning around, either side of and near sunrise, in not too hot and not too cold weather, riding my bike up a hill then down and curling around— Bonnet Hill, Between Kingston Beach and Sandy Bay Tasmania. Once driving the route by car before relocating from the suburban Adelaide plains to Kingston Beach, I noticed there were several gear changes; meaning that I might get worn out cycling regularly to get to work, at my advanced age of 51 years and with crunchy joints. But...a great surprise happened— the morning colours were brilliant (though not too bright) and the morning air smelt so fresh and up away from the more-dense housing and with few cars passing— it was a brand new experience. There’s no camera that could capture the colours, the low light, the freshness of the air and the quietness, the distant views to either the mountain (Mt Wellington) on one side, or across a very wide river (Derwent River) to distant bays on the other. Maybe one day Virtual Reality can capture all that. Not yet though. — An unexpected new experience. A small patch of nasturtiums were the brightest colour at one spot— elsewhere ordinary and sometimes a weed, but very scenic on the sloping verge at sunrise. (Remember the old children’s story of the house covered in nasturtiums but mistaken as on fire and the fire brigade called?) At other points it is just the pink early morning light, the steep hillsides, in some places very Australian due to the closeness of the gum trees to the roadside breaking up the sunlight and providing the fresh smell of their oils, turpenoids; and in other places English-looking due to the hillside ploughed in rows and the hawthorn trees.

Later in the day the distant hills are covered with a blue haze, again the aerosols from the eucalypts (hence the name ‘Blue Mountains’ up near Sydney) and very very quickly in the morning the pinkness of the volcanic basalt columns on Mt Wellington becomes brown and more mundane (until the next morning). The pinkness, just as the first sunlight goes onto the rocks of Mt Wellington, and the brightness of roadside plants then, are due to the different scattering of lights’ wavelengths when it comes sideways through what is a thicker atmosphere, compared with later in the day when the sun is higher and its light comes through less atmosphere and with more evaporated water in the air. Elsewhere...there can also be amazing colours after midday— in humid polluted cities in midsummer afternoons— sometimes in Cambridge and London (my recollections from 1986), amongst the bricks and asphalt, in less-ventilated street corners the air would become purple, purpley-brown— equally stunning although the cause was somewhat to be not noticed. In mild summer sunsets young grass tips have a brilliant green: greener than green, almost like the washing detergent ads that say whiter than white (which is actually true due to some non-visible wavelengths being absorbed by the added chemicals, then with some energy loss, being emitted in the visible spectrum).  

Bonnet Hill seems like quite a ride, but it's worth it, surprisingly, maybe not least of all because of the vistas meanwhile along the way. So although a tunnel through Bonnet Hill seems the obvious transport solution, one would miss out on something there. It is popular with cyclists (http://marc.durdin.net/2011/11/hobarts-top-10-climbs-3-bonnet-hill.html ).

Also, surprisingly, at only 155 metres in elevation (from the low point at Browns River bridge by the golf course http://www.kbgc.com.au/), it is less than the 300 metre climb in Adelaide up to Belair from the CBD, but it seems more. Maybe because it must be done twice (to work and from work) but maybe because of the many bumps after the hill before work (the university at Sandy Bay in my case), and because of the attention needed to keep on the thin road edge on the tight corners away from the cars. (The road along the riverside into Hobart doesn’t follow the contours for some reason.) Also, for me, there is another 60 metre climb at the end of the day in Kinston to get up to my present home.  The hill itself seems a little easier on the way home (when you get to Shot Tower you know you’ve done the hardest bit) and I'm grateful then for the cool air drifting down the gullies on the tight left-hand bends, although its nowhere near as scenic as first thing in the morning, and there’s more traffic later in the day. To mark how unique it is, people (more than half) seem to greet each other in some way in passing— more than in Adelaide up to Belair; when away from the more-populated parts.

Many tourists to Tasmania comment on the number of animals squashed on the roads. The Bonnet Hill route is no exception. The first morning I noticed a freshly squashed wallaby near my street corner in Kingston: the pool of blood was still flowing downhill from its mouth. The next morning on Bonnet Hill I noted a squashed rat and was surprised but that was followed by a brush-tailed possum, then another and a wallaby and a New Holland Honeyeater (a small bird) then still more mammals further on. Hopefully they had quick deaths, and that was indicated by some of the wallabies which had been hit in the head and one or two eyes bulging right out. What are we as humans doing? But I know that for most people who hit an animal it is a very regrettable experience for them and something they really want to avoid. Some bigger highways interstate have tunnels for the wildlife. A Bonnet Hill bypass tunnel would save a lot of animal deaths and save a lot of unnecessary car pollution (by cutting out the uphill then downhill).   

Cyclists are not necessarily immune to this fate on the road, although a cycle lane has been proposed:

http://www.cyclingsouth.org/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=63&Itemid=0

Too many cyclists these days in Australia, especially those in racing–type clothing are road-hogs by not using cycle lanes when they are provided. Maybe they think that the fancy clothes make them go fast enough to be like a car. More attention to detail by cyclists and motorists could make the roads more usable. It doesn’t hurt as a cyclist to keep left— giving drivers room to overtake. And drivers should make sure that the place where they perfect their spatial skills and reaction times is not on public roads, but instead practicing where it is safer, e.g. by playing some sport requiring good coordination and at speed. The drivers who lack the spatial skills to overtake when it is technically safe to do so are hazardous to the motorists queuing behind them and to the cyclists. — A tunnel would help many meanwhile and add up to be environmentally positive and the colours and air would still be there aboveground on the hill for those who may experience it.

Now to get ready for the morning, a cooler one.

Bye for now. Chris.

Introduction to this blog series

So many ideas for books, especially one on humans (perhaps even in the 'Dummies Guide' series),  with a substantial part on the evolutionary reasons for the contrasts between females and males compared with the cultural aspects we see; and one book (or paragraph) about time. But there's so little time to write while earning a living and doing imperatives, including trying to adjust observed events that are impinging unfairly on other living beings (something we are allowed to adjust), and to meanwhile keep oneself healthy by exercise, learning and entertainment.

Using contemporary technology writing a blog (or blogs?) rather than a book, may be the way to get some thoughts and photos [I've taken] seen elsehwere before my existence here comes to an end, which it does for us all.

Hopefully if there are any readers (friends or relatives or ...) then they will find this series, the text or the pictures, to be helpful in some way or another, either by offering some insight, some type of pleasure, or entertainment, or whatever.

Inspiration for this has come from many sources over many years. Not least of all from a friend called Micky (Mireille), a French lady (who has a blog at: http://narnia.best.friend.over-blog.com/articles-blog.html , which is really an artwork but one that is still alive because it is ongoing, a humble, picturesque and heartfelt one, but well-founded, and one that is more like a subtle art collection— a new form of art and story writing combined). She also shows a refreshing and practical wisdom about people, which is rare, and on which I may comment later on. Inspiration also came from several other people— quite varied. Such as Christopher Hitchens (a British author now deceased); Father Bob (an Australian priest); Alain de Botton (a British author); Charles Dickens (a British author now deceased); Emma Ayres (a morning radio presenter on ABC Classic FM); Nana Mouskouri (a Greek singer); Anne Lancaster, Max Cross, Peter Clarkson (the latter now deceased), and many other good friends; Abba (the Swedish singers/composers), Dusty Springfield, Petula Clark, Roy Orbison, France Gall, Avril Lavine; and a new boss of mine called Professor Jamie Kirkpatrick (a scientist and proficient author); and many others too, more reasons about which may be aired later. These people may wonder how they are possibly connected. Time will tell, perhaps. Inspiration also inevitably comes from the life and scenary around.

My blog will be quite different though. (Because it's me writing it.) There is little to be lost at this stage. I have spoken out before and suffered the consequences but have been subdued for too long now. Although the portrayals will hopefully be mostly pleasurable, I will cover such topics as religion, race, the nature of time and light, beauty, environmental concerns, sex, the outdoors, cruelty, government corruption, ethics. People will be respected though, so do not worry.

So much is not allowed to be said these days— emails within the government do not get a reply if they contain the 'c' word (corruption), people get death threats for writing their ideas on religion or animals, people get hit everyday on Australian live-TV, commercials, or dramas for saying their thoughts or even observing something they see as nice (and we are expected to agree with it, or to laugh). But while we are alive, so long as we don't avoidably damage another person or animal (physically or mentally), then pleasure and our own health and attending to matters that seem important, are valid activities.

My work that has already been done and some photos are at: http://sites.google.com/site/cdeanpages/home/
But this blog is a very different undertaking.
Sorry, but the entries will probably not be in chronological order.

Bye for now, Chris.

Trial blog-- a new one, I will have to find a way to put posts both backwards and forwards in time from this one.

The trip to here, early Sunday monring 11th March 2012 after little sleep in a good cabin and leaving Devonport, from the ferry from Melbourne, after a grand rest and adventures at Apollo Bay, after camping in the Grampians, after packing my things and leaving Adelaide, for Hobart.
To see what had happened to Meander meanwhile (since I last lived there) and to get some fresh air, drove into corner of the Huntsman, up Stags Road upper Meander (base of the Great Western Tiers), Tasmania.