Cataract Gorge Residency: Day 19
Fri Dec 19, 2009
19:19 – at desk
a few more shots of this wonderful house on the hill
…and a few of Lonny’s CBD architecture – all captured within the space of 30 minutes
…pretty damn impressive for a town of only 100 000
And then we have a few words on behalf of The Grand Master …
NB – I like the ‘Hart Alarm’ system just above this billboard. And this one, above – a kind of oxymoron perhaps?
Cataract Gorge Residency: Days 15 – 18
Mon Dec 14, 2009
11:10 – KBC Balcony The greatest disappointment of this trip has been the fence around First Basin swimming pool, only erected 2 months ago; a sign of the creeping loss of common sense and personal responsibility, replaced instead by the "I’ll sue you" mentality. Tasmania seems to have been relatively immune to this mentality but it is unfortunately spilling over from the mainland.
Wed Dec 16, 2009
00:45 – Highest Lookout on Gorge Path
Sitting atop the lookout on a big dark mass of dolerite outside the barrier fence. It’s very dark here in the gorge. All the path lights have been turned off but my eyes have attuned and I can make out very vague features. The clouds have cleared again to reveal a starry sky. I saw a shooting star before the clouds glided over.
The rapids below hiss and froth and are my most obvious companion here. Others are the silhouettes (moulded hills, scraggly gums, symmetrical pines); the coolness of the stone beneath my legs, the harshness of its edge biting into my back; the background static of the second set of rapids further upstream; the coolness, almost softness of the air on my neck and its weight on my head; light clouds drifting overhead and the stars beyond, static yet floating, sparkling. Perhaps I can sense the most subtle of breezes but I am not sure.
A brief burst of scattered light just swept across the gorge, north to south – most likely car headlights passing through the foliage from the carpark upstream above the gorge restaurant. I am relaxed and content, pleased to be out here where nature reigns. It is a very mild night – no jumper required (and no ‘bouncer’ assessing my attire before allowing me entry).
Thurs Dec 17, 2009
08:59 – On Balcony
A storm is building. Weighty clouds glide south-east, their bases a velvety grey-blue, their colour and tone lightening gradually to a silvery white at the top.
Mt Barrow to the east is silhouetted against distant silver-white heavens, every detail of the mountaintop ridgeline magnificently delineated. One can even make out individual trees from this distance.
09:48
I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such relaxed days. Even the domestic duties are enjoyable. It is so simple to exist here. And when I step out the door, a turn to the left and I’m in town, a turn to the right and I’m in relative wilderness. A perfect balance.
Above – The Dividing Line
Things I like about Lonny:
– chicks driving utes
– The Gorge and First Basin
– the architecture
– the simplicity, the lifestyle, the lack of faux sophistication
– the proximity to nature and the lack of concrete
– the lack of traffic
– kids jumping from King’s Bridge and living like kids used to live, wildly, openly, expressively
– trading hours (when five thirty ticks around, the doors close and the shutters come down)
12:32 – Stillwater Cafe
Enigma Hair Design hairdressing salon makes me laugh and think that you’ll never know what you’ll come out of the salon looking like.
Cataract Gorge Residency: Days 8 – 14
Mon Dec 7, 2009
23:00 – at desk
The sound of the old Post Office tower bell striking eleven times drifts across town and up the gorge. It makes me feel like I’m in some medieval village, safe and reassured within the village walls.
You can see the town hall with the help of my beautiful assistant, the red arrow, out the mouth of the gorge and across town. The good Lady Launceston tourist boat is doing a u-turn in the mid-ground.
Wed Dec 9, 2009
08:13 – On the Couch
It’s ‘peak quarter’ here in Launceston and it’s bumper to nothing as far as the eye can see.
09:56 – can’t remember where
Someone stole my favourite gorge bench (the one pictured in earlier entries). It was angle-ground into non-existence, under the cover of daylight I suspect while I had my back turned. Damn those council workers and their ‘civic upgrade’ management plans!
Thurs and Fri Dec 10 & 11, 2009
In search of lost time – Not sure what happened to this bit of existence. Must have fallen asleep.
Sat Dec 12, 2009
19:35 – at desk
Sitting on the balcony, I look to my left and am confronted with civilisation. To my right, prehistory stares back at me.
Sun Dec 13, 2009
12:40 – on balcony
Open Day at KBC today and I just managed to lock myself in the toilet for five minutes, leaving the rest of the house and my gear unattended.
There’s been a good number of pax through – 60-odd at this stage.
14:29
Just finished. Mostly locals visiting but with a few mainlanders, Taiwanese, Dutch and even a couple from far flung Reunion Island – off the coast of Africa near Madagascar. ‘Twas lovely to speak with a few locals who’d always wanted to see inside but who had never had the opportunity. That felt great.
18:17 – First Basin Lawn by the Swimming Pool.
Just had my first swim in the pool. Such a wonderful setting – even ‘glorious’ wouldn’t be an exaggeration. This is the most incredible setting for a public swimming pool I have ever seen. And it’s free.
20:33 – KBC Balcony
Voluminous clouds hang over Mt Barrow, bathed in soft pink-orange hues. Minutes later the soft pink-orange is replaced with a medium to light slate grey-blue.
Earlier at First Basin a seagull passed over the pool, its underside turning blue as it did so.
From the balcony again…to the left sprawls the civilised world, to the right prehistory. I often want to head right…and not return. Here at the cottage I, and it, sit on what I’ve come to call The Dividing Line. The cottage itself is surrounded on all sides, above and below, by nature: lush and dense vegetation; rocks, boulders and tors; and the river below.
The river and gorge has given me strength.
21:04
Darkness descends quickly now and the Gorge floodlights begin again to take over the job the sun previously did. Slowly, subtly and softly at first but soon a surreal glow will emanate from the rocks on the south face – aggressively, almost violently and with the power to leave one spellbound.
A plane flies overhead, heading south to the airport. The roar of its engines descends into the cavernous gorge of my ears before its arrow shape comes into view, dividing the dusk blue laid out before it. The roar could be natural but it is human.
Last night a party boat, adorned with fluorescent red beading split the waters up the gorge as drunken voices split the night air with screams of "We love the Gorge!" and "Woo Hoo!" The surreal visual and party atmosphere within this timeless gorge reminded me of the concert scene by the river in Apocalypse Now as helicopters dropped through the sky and dancing girls descended on ropes to the stage below which was lit by multi-coloured lightbulbs strung across the military outpost.
The Spring Street Spider Affair… and other stories
Cataract Gorge Residency: Days 5 – 7.
Sun Dec 6, 2009
00:40 – In Bed.
Just finished my first night walk along the gorge path as far as the lookout. The moods and artificial colours from the floodlights were intense.
Fauna spotted: 1 x rat – ‘mmm, not quite what i was hoping for but fauna nonetheless!; 1 x brush-tail possum doin’ its thing in the tree branches; 1 x spider (huntsman-like but maybe it was the local trapdoor one – not sure yet).
At least this spider didn’t crawl up my leg like the one a few weeks ago on Spring St in Melbourne’s CBD. I was walking along when I noticed it, a decent sized huntsman, hangin’ out just below my knee on my left leg. I did what most standard humans would do – freaked out in an instant, jumping about a metre in the air with arms flailing as I tried to erratically swipe it off. Feeling just a little self-conscious after this epileptic-like performance in front of a dozen or so people I was at least hoping for a few smiles or laughs…but got nothing. It was as if nothing happened which made me feel even more self-conscious and I even began wondering if maybe I had imagined the spider. I sat down and waited for my tram but at regular intervals began ‘feeling’ creepy-crawly sensations on various parts of my body: at one moment in the hair on my head, the next on my neck, behind my shoulder, etc, etc.
Around this time I also started to wonder where the spider had ended up after I flicked it off. I began to look around. I was also hoping finding it would put to rest my slight concern that I had imagined its presence. I got up, looked under the seat, down in the tram tracks, in the gutter; nothing, nowhere to be seen. I sat down again and asked the lady next to me if she had seen the incident? No. So i described it to her and asked if she had seen a spider nearby. No.
Thirty seconds later, just as we stand to board the tram, a pained, alarmed cry, "Spider! Spider!" I look towards her and she is pointing back towards me, at my thigh. I look down and see the hairy bugger coming out of my shorts and trying to swing around to the front side in some sort of rock-climbing-like manoeuver. This time, without the acrobatics, and with one deliberate strike of my hand, I whisk the hairy fella off; maybe not so deliberately that I had thought about the trajectory of his flight path – he lands next to her foot, she squeals, and they both scurry away in different directions.
I find myself wondering how life in the concrete jungle is for a huntsman and whether he’ll make it safely across spring st. Or maybe he just hangs out round the tram stop for a bit of daily life-risking entertainment and adventure. I wish him well (but question his ethics of hangin’ out by my crotch uninvited) and board the tram. Life returns to relative normality.
16:17 – Atop the hill on the N side of the gorge, overlooking 1st basin below to the SW
This residency has brought me back to what i love – nature in all its simple, chaotic, wild, calm, frenzied, resorative beauty and glory.
The really unfortunate bit about Mr Funky Beetle, above, is that, see that yellow bit on the side of his back? ‘Mmm, well, that’s where I think I might have trod on him before even noticing his existence. Luckily, he was still getting about very well so I didn’t euthanase him, hoping instead that it was just a minor flesh wound and that he would be able to strut his funky stuff for some time to come! 😦
Sat Dec 5th
12:03 – KBC Balcony
The pool, the pool – it beckons; not for swimming but for photographing.
12:23 – KBC Balcony
Why is there this lone gum towering above the she-oaks on the south side hilltop. A sentinel and guardian, it takes the full force of the weather’s onslaught.
The swifts are doing their thing, diving and soaring, dipping and weaving, twisting and turning. What fun to be a swift. Meanwhile, in another part of the gorge galaxy not far away (about 50 metres), teenage boys do their thing, jumping from King’s Bridge into the South Esk River below. The first jumper yells from the murky water below, "Two top rails, Josh! Two top rails!" meaning Josh must jump from the two top rails if he is live up to some teenage challenge. I want to jump from the bridge.
While the boys drop from the bridge, I want to drop things, friendly things, surreptitiously from the balcony onto the passing folk below – notes or messages on leaves or ribbons. And secretly watch their response through the cracks in the balcony boards. Drop things that only some of them will notice because many are too busy talking or running, or because I design them so that they are made entirely from natural material, only noticed by the lucky or observant.
And ironically I feel conspicuous on this balcony. When people look up from the path or boat, or across from the bridge or the south face, I wonder how I, this watcher on the crafted-wood balcony, should respond,. As if there is a designated ‘appropriate’ response. I have waved a few times but have only succeed in generating a wave-response about 20% of the time. 🙂
13:14 – Stillwater cafe
My father always dreamed of living in a house in a forest by a river. I think I have found that house for him here at Kings Bridge Cottage where I stay in his place. I want to make a picture of it for him at least.
And here’s some local banter between concerned citizens…
So we’ve got the loggers, graffiti artists and greenies covered. How about one for the local monarchists perhaps…with King’s Bridge and King’s Bridge cottage in background.
I’d like to perhaps do some video/photographic vox pops with folk as they pass the old tollhouse at the beginning of the gorge path where they used to charge 4 pence to walk the path in days gone by. And I’d like to ask what is it they like most about the gorge…and whether it would be a good idea to have a McDonalds built at 1st Basin, or Coca-Cola vending machines at regular intervals along the path. Or condom vending machines perhaps? Reactions would be priceless on video.
21:00 Reclining on the couch at KBC
Mesmerising wave-like ripples moving across the wall above the fireplace. Caused by street light and car headlights passing through the old fashioned glass in balcony door. The static orange projection from the street light is overpowered from time to time by the moving, swimming bluish projection from the car headlights. They remind me of light reflecting off rippling water onto a rockface; or patterns projected on the sea floor through the water in the shallows.
Fri Dec 4
13:20 Stillwater Cafe
If I am aware that I can find beauty, wonder and peace in the smallest stone, is it simply greed that keeps me hungering for ongoing adventures and experiences?
Ha, it is true, not Coke machines but they did have lolly machines on the gorge path from the late 1890’s to 1935. p 213, ‘Launceston’s Cataract Gorge. Health, Wealth & Tribulation’, Richards, Paul A.C. & Johnson, M, Myola House of Publishing, South Launceston, Tasmania, 2007.
Some ‘sketches’ from today…
And the Rain Comes Tumbling Down
Thurs Dec 3, 2009 – Days 1 – 4 (Part Two), Cataract Gorge Residency, Launceston, Tasmania
20:21 – KBC, laying on balcony bench
Storm clouds built up over the late afternoon and into the evening. Slowly and softly at first they shed their burden but it gradually became heavy, steady rain; not a downpour but thick and persistent unlike bothersome and pathetic drizzle.
Here are a few intro pics of the cottage and post storm rainbow and clouds…
Thurs Dec 3, 2009 – Days 1 – 4 (Part One), Cataract Gorge Residency, Launceston, Tasmania
17:31 – Kings Bridge Cottage (KBC) desk
I’m sitting at my desk in Kings Bridge Cottage on day four of the Cataract Gorge residency in Launceston (Lonnie), Tasmania and my view, without moving an inch, is this…
…which I’m pretty happy about. It’s a breezy late afternoon, about 20 degrees C, and school kids are gliding by in rowing fours on the river below (The South Esk).
I’m here for 3 weeks in total as part of the City of Launceston’s (Parks & Rec) Cataract Gorge Artist-in-Residence program. It’s definitely a major privilege and marks my return to this town ten year’s after leaving to woo a woman and study photography in Melbourne. The photography is still going, the wooing is not. 🙂
I intend to spend the first week observing, researching and planning, and the last two weeks shooting. At this stage I’m predicting I’ll do a general documentary recording of the human/natural interaction between Kings Bridge and Alexandra suspension bridge at First Basin; and hopefully also a couple of stirling old school style wilderness pics harking back to my first loves – the late American B&W master Ansel Adams and late Tasmanian wilderness guru Peter Dombrovskis.
Keep reading below for extracts from my notes made over the last few days. And return again soon for regular updates. If you’d like more info about the residency program visit this mouthful… www.launceston.tas.gov.au/index.php/cataract-gorge-artist-in-residence-program-artsandevents-497
Extracts:
Thurs Dec 3, 2009
Found a similar disaster zone to that of the Myer building (refer Wed Dec 2nd entry) here on the South side of the Gorge up towards First Basin – what appears to be a private home erected on what must be about 3 – 4 foot diameter metal stilts, towering above the treeline in what seems likely to be a major ego trip with very little concern for the effect on the surrounding landscape or those whose eyes fall upon it. Who allowed that?! String them up I say!
On the other hand there is an equally out of place and bizarre bright blue swimming pool built within metres of the wonderful fresh water of First Basin swimming hole. But strangely, I’ve always sort of loved it, especially when it’s emptied pre-winter and then fills with logs and other detritus that comes downstream in the floods. And at least it’s open to the public free of charge
13:00, Stillwater Cafe
In 1804, William Collins (explorer and settler) wrote about the gorge:
"…I Observed a large fall of water over Rocks, near a quarter of a mile up a strait (sic) Gully, between perpendicular Rocks, about one hundred and fifty feet high; the beauty of the Scene is probably not surpassed in the world; this great Waterfall or Cataract is most likely one of the greatest sources of this beautiful River (The Tamar), every part of which abounds with Swans, Ducks, and other kinds of Wildfowl." p. 8, Launceston Heritage 1806 – 2006, Richards, Paul A. C., Myola House of Publishing, Launceston, Tasmania, 2006.
Wed Dec 2, 2009
17:45, Kings Bridge Cottage (KBC) Balcony
Feeling homesick for where I am – Launceston; experiencing a strong urge to move back here and start again.
18:36 – Some evening joggers in ‘vacuum-packed’ black lycra leggings produce unfortunate ‘jelly-roll’ effect in the glutii maximi. In fortunate contrast, early evening sun streams across the South face offering a shot of anti-venom to the preceding painful bite.
19:11 – Sun gone from lower 1/3rd of gorge wall at East end – may still be visible further up gorge.
20:30 – East Lonnie bathed in soft pink glow, slightly (but only slightly) lessening the magnificent clumsiness/stupidity of the Myer building which takes the ‘Superlative’ award for Lonnie’s biggest monstrosity! It’s a towering block of orange brick set against relatively lush green arboreal surrounds; and the name Myer screams out from a smaller white block atop, demanding attention like the proverbial dog’s b’s! Who allowed that?! String them up I say!
I feel sure I will find more than enough artistic inspiration between King’s Bridge and the Alexandra suspension bridge.
21:19 – Full moon rising over mountain ridgeline to the East.
Tues Dec 1, 2009 (Marker of Summer’s beginning for lazy folk like me)
14:00 – First Basin Lawn
Took Zig Zag track – 2 x Blue Tongues.
14:56 – KBC Balcony
Took North face path: Bumble Bee; Steel guy ropes. Mark the sun’s path over the coming days to determine best times to shoot for different locations.
This residency, this project, this sense of purpose helps motivate me.
Ahhhh, the superlative – don’t we humans love a superlative, especially when it comes to tourism promotion. Well, have I got one for you? Yes I have…The chairlift across First Basin is the World’s Longest Single-Span Chairlift in the world (superfluous superlative). So stick that in ya pipe and do with it what you will!
Mon Nov 30, 2009
19:30ish – Jetstar Flight JQ743
Flying South along the Tamar River. Verdant green, space and nature dominate. Long evening shadows across the fields.
20:39 – KBC Balcony
Dusk settling. The South cliff-face is mostly covered with she-oak (?) but punctuated by splashes of what may be wattle blossom in stark contrast to the she-oaks’ dusty grey-green. Not a breath of wind. A lone and silent gull flies East through the gorge. The river quiet, greeny brown…and then there’s humanity:
– the sound of motor cars humming, growling along the roads; the ‘click-click’ of the tyres as they cross a ‘join’ in the road
– beautiful cast-iron (?) King’s Bridge
– the startlingly different Tamar Highway bridge (50’s/60’s/70’s?)
– the odd couple or loner taking an evening constitutional along the gorge path or bridge
– the artificial lights (green and orange casts) slowly but surely overpowering nature’s light and illuminating the South face
– powerlines silhouetted against the sky as they cross the gorge
– aeroplanes occassionally slicing through the sky, gracefully but imposingly.
The sound of children’s voices peaking and troughing on the Spring wind like ocean waves from the primary school a few blocks away gives me hope.
It is a crazily windy Spring day; one of those days where dogs’ barks carry for miles on the wind, people go a little bit mad and insights make themselves known, albeit briefly, before they are lost again in a fresh gust if they are not grasped and tamed.
The following is the full version of my article which appeared in edition 321 of ‘The Big Issue‘ magazine in Jan 2009.
I fell in love at first sight once – her name was Inishbofin. Voluptuous, curvaceous yet rugged and rough around the edges, independent and powerful, she is an island unto herself. I spend only a matter of hours in her company but am infatuated and inspired by her to this day.
One version of folklore claims that, long ago, fisherman lost in fog became stranded on this island. After lighting a fire which dispersed the mist, they witnessed an old woman driving a white cow along a shingle beach between a lake and the sea. The old woman struck the cow, which turned to stone and when one of the fisherman challenged her, he also was transformed into stone. A far less dramatic version has it that a white cow was seen rising slowly from a lake by a shepherd tending his flock on the island. The lake in question took the name Lake Bofina and it is from these tales that Inishbofin takes her name: Inish meaning ‘island’ in Gaelic.
On this occasion, as I rolled across the sea and finally emerged into her harbour past the ruins of Cromwell’s 16 century barracks on the headland, goose bumps erupted joyously across my body in wave after wave. Months of pain gave way to a sense of euphoria as the serotonin gateways were flung open with abandon. It seems I may be more capable of falling in love with a place than a person – somewhere to plant my feet and lay my head with relative certainty. I feel more capable of withstanding (and in fact enjoying) the vicissitudes of Mother Nature than those of a lover. Perhaps it is because Mother Nature is honestly doing what comes naturally whereas humans’ motivations are too greatly influenced by the pressures of socialisation to be wholeheartedly trusted.
Disembarking the ferry I took up the opportunity of joining the local island ‘Tour’ aboard a rickety van driven by an equally rickety man: bony, unshaven and missing teeth, but with a wry smile and a glint in his eye which made me both wary yet excited about the journey ahead. It was as if he knew something that we didn’t (which of course he did). He had first visited the island some 30 years ago for a friend’s wedding and had now returned, minus the teeth, for a woman of his own.
The van, the man and the tour were from the textbook of stereotypical isolated small island experiences…and it was great. A no-frills, plain label tour consisting of inaudible commentary delivered by our one and only driver cum guide. Our first official stop after leaving the pier was approximately 100 metres away… for a toilet break. Fifteen minutes later and it was off and away for the next hour during which our speed ranged from 3 kms/hour (at which point those who had previously decided against embarking on the ‘tour’ passed us on foot) to about 15 kms/hr, all along one-lane roads (with two way traffic).
Inishbofin lies 11 kms off the West coast of Ireland in the Connemara region which is famed for its ponies, numerous lakes and mountainous terrain. Inishbofin’s population of approximately 160 folk is dwarfed by thousands of sheep whose backs are painted in patterns of iridescent red or blue – a method of identifying ownership. Farming and an increasing reliance on tourism provide the main income for the island. While there is an abundance of slate and sheep virtually all other supplies must be shipped in, including the local priest. He holds mass on a Saturday at the only church, St Colman’s, where the holy water is dispensed from a 20 litre plastic keg on a card table in the entrance foyer, while Pope John Paul II looks on from a poster in the background.
No police, one nurse, a once per week doctor, the once per week priest and of course the one pub form the essential services. National School No. 18 has two teachers for the 20 primary aged children who are later shipped off to the mainland for their secondary education.
Early into the tour the driver interrupts his mumbled, inaudible commentary to answer his mobile phone. With one hand on the wheel and one on the phone we remain stuck in first gear – perhaps not such a bad idea given the narrowness of these one lane roads hemmed in by dry-stone walls and interspersed with random cyclists and pedestrians. After the safe conclusion to his phone call he explains we must make a detour to pick up a VIP. Now stop and think, what type of VIP is likely to visit this small and insignificant isle? The distinguished Prime Minister, heroic footballer or powerful sheep trader? We should’ve guessed – the Guinness Man. He has come from the mainland to clean the lines at the one pub and three hotels where this essential vitamin is dispensed.
The tour comes to an end back at the pier. We have seen wonderful mountain and coastal scenery, a magnificent array of wildflowers, industrial detritus from the old fishing days, intricate dry-stone walling surrounding fertile pastures and traditional cottages, and we have survived modern eyesores like the ubiquitous prefab building and the airstrip which is currently under construction. We heard about the fur seal colony and the blow-hole, smelt the sweet essence of burning peat warming the cottages, witnessed the obligatory memorials to those lost at sea, scoured the ruins and overgrown cemetery and, most importantly, had the honour of being joined by the country’s leading VIP.
I take the last boat out, determined to return and see her again. And I do, the very next day. And after my second day, spent walking and talking, I am no less infatuated by her. Again, I take the last boat out, scheming in my mind as to how I can make her part of my life. Perhaps I could combine my previous incarnation as a tourism manager with my current existence as a photographer? But I would need to tread carefully around the ‘once bitten twice shy’ locals who were psychologically scared on a relatively recent occasion when a writer spent a winter there unearthing and then publishing some scandalous gossip. No doubt, as in any community, there are various dirty little secrets and family feuds lying just beneath the surface in the fertile soil, waiting for the right/wrong conditions to erupt.
Inishbofin is a strange yet endearing mix of pristine rugged beauty and wildlife, quaint cottages and ugly pre-fab buildings and discarded industrial items. But it works somehow to create an inspiring and intriguing atmosphere. Despite its proximity to the mainland and bustling village of Clifden, it has a sense of isolation and remoteness which refreshes the spirit. And a short enough tourist season (May – September) to keep the locals friendly and sane. Bitter winters and isolation are broken up by cool summers and visitors from foreign lands. A good balance and manageable love affair.
Today, my housemate and I (two men in the prime of their lives), sat in the backyard with a cup of tea each and found ourselves discussing which brand of tupperware we think is best. Can anyone imagine this a generation ago?!
Pabulum 