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Friday, 7 September 2007

ON THE ROAD - travel & places...

Weak coffee below the Western Tiers

An hour earlier we had taken the easy, 30 minute walk to Liffey Falls, one of the island state’s lesser-known assets. The track is well made, in fact, it was still being made as we discovered when we encountered two men, one of whom was digging clay from an embankment.

Liffey Falls is a series of cascades in the rainforest

"Clay soil" I commented as I looked at the greyish-brown, plasticine-like slick where he was digging.

"It’s good to use on the track," he replied, gesturing to his mate a short distance downslope who was compacting the clay to form a stepped path. "We’re going to fix the track down by the falls later," he commented.

Liffey is a series of three falls linked by cascades formed where the fast flowing waters of the Liffey River have cut into the dolerite, a brown-coloured rock extruded from the earth’s interior in the geological past. The dark brown, almost black colour of the water is due to tannin that leaches from the vegetation that lines the river banks.

My first visit to these falls had been more than two decades ago. Then, the track had been rougher and there were none of the interpretive signs to tell you about the trees and the rocks. Tourism has brought more visitors and a need to upgrade the track to make access easier and safer.

Coffee time

Jay is a somewhat intense man with a long ponytail and an American accent who looks to be in his forties. We encountered him as we were walking up the path towards the teahouse. "Do you want something to eat or drink or just look around the grounds?" he called. "You can walk through the trees up the slope and down by the huts on the other side".

We opt for refreshments and discover that you cannot get cappuccino at Liffey Tea House - it is just too deep in the Tasmanian backblocks. You do, however, get raisin toast and, surprisingly, crumpets.

Visitors to this rustic tea house are surrounded by pastcards and photographs, some of which show the place in the depths of the Tasmanian winter when it is under a thick layer of snow. It must be lonely here then, the isolation more compete and business quiet, nonexistent perhaps, for much of the season.

Jay swaps the Credence Clearwater tape for the ambient sounds of a Tasmanian musician who performs at the annual music festival held on the property. The festival, he explains, is a popular event that attracts people from all over the island. It must also boost his income, which would otherwise surely be minimal.

But Jay's Liffey establishment is more than a tea house - there is a conference building, a large, square structure of timber with a steep roof rising to a cuppola - and a number of cabins for people to enjoy the peace and quiet of the Tasmanian bush.

"It used to be a hippy commune," Jay explains. An awfully industrious bunch of hippies, I think, looking at the building and landscaping. Jay arrived after that time and lives alone, a situation, he explains, that will change with the anticipated arrival from the mainland of his female companion.

The land

We drink Jay's weak coffee as listen to his story; he seems glad to have someone to talk to.

Afterwards, we take a walk over the steeply-sloping property, trudging uphill along the narrow trail through flowering rhododendrons and bushland. At the top, an access road leads us through a grove of exotic conifers and down to the conference centre.

The property occupies part of a south-facing slope in the corrugated terrain of Tasmania’s Western Tiers, the mountain rampart that abruptly lifts the Central Plateau from the farmland of the coastal plain. The tea house is dominated by the jagged spires and shaded gullies of Dry’s Bluff, the dolerite cliffs of which rise above steep, forested land to stamp their imposing presence on the area. According to Jay, Dry’s Bluff is the highest point on the Western Tiers.

Earlier at the tea house, I had asked Jay about the tourism potential of the area. This he had definite opinions on, explaining that the government should do more to promote the area. It is difficult to see just what that would achieve. Liffey Falls already appear in the tourist literature, but perhaps a walking track up to Dry’s Bluff for the hardy? There seems little potential for anything else out here. Increased government support might bring in a few more tourists, potential customers for Jay, but he would have to put in extra effort if he was to encourage return patronage.

Mainland tourists would be more interested in the authentic tastes of Tasmanian cuisine rather than the weak coffee and crumpets served in the tea house. The development of a local cuisine derived from produce grown on-site and sourced from local farmers seems to offer most potential.

A distinctive but unpretentious, country-style menu could be assembled from fresh, organically-grown herbs, vegetables and fruits planted in a tea house garden - in summer, at least. This would establish the tea house's credentials for quality, local produce. To this could be added selections from the island state's quality cheeses and wines. Tasmania's cool temperate climate is ideal for the cultivation of berry fruits such as raspberry, making the production of fresh fruit juices something worth exploring. Apples, pears and stone fruits are at home here and, were Jay to establish an orchard of unusual, traditional varieties of these fruits, they too could eventually be processed into delectable, tasty deserts and main courses. The aim would be to develop a menu reflecting the local, mountain country environment as far as that is practical. This would require a lot of work, however, too much, perhaps, for Jay and his soon-to-be partner.

Departure

Murray drives along the narrow rural roads at what I consider an exuberant speed. The Western Tiers, though still imposing, recede in scale, the grey-green of their forests taking on the bluish haze of eucalypt bush seen from afar.

We drive through small villages that are nothing more than clusters of old stone buildings around intersections, past farms growing opium poppy for the pharmaceutical market and open fields of a green so different to the rural colours familiar to mainlanders.

Here, I realise, is Jay’s solution to attarcting more customers. It is not just the falls that could attract summer’s tourists, it is the countryside they travel through to get there. The key might be the total package... the villages, the farmland, the falls... all followed by a distinctive Tasmanian meal and cabin accommodation at Liffey Tea House.

I look back to the rugged folds of the place Jay has chosen as his home, the ramparts of the Western Tiers. Alone, he somehow derives a modest living below the crags of Dry’s Bluff.

How do people create livelihoods out here, I wonder? The answer is self-evident for the farms we speed past, but what sort of living can you make with an unknown coffee house on an isolated Tasmanian road in the rugged backcountry? How do you live in a climate that goes from the heat of summer to the quietness and isolation of a snow-covered landscape in winter? And what is it like, day after day, to be there by yourself?