When an old man dies, a library burns to the ground. ~ Amadou Ba
Echoes from the Tasmanian High Country, Volume 2
By Simon Cubit
Spend any time in Tasmania’s remote high country and there is a tendency to wonder whether you might be among the first people to step foot there. The collective works of Simon Cubit not only dispel this notion, but reveal the region to have a thriving history of human interaction.
Tales abound of hardy trappers and wily poachers, pioneering bushwalkers wearing tweed jackets and trilby hats, families with offspring numbered well into double figures, bushmen hiking from Lake St Clair to the west coast sustained only by 36 hard-boiled eggs, ice thick enough to support a horse, and searches for missing hikers accompanied by maps almost always containing the words “body found here”.
The life and times of Tasmanian bush legends like Bert Nichols, Paddy Hartnett, Basil Steers, Reg Hall, Ray Miles and Sydney Higgs are retold to a backdrop of conservation proposals threatening to encroach on a lucrative fur trade. Fascinating chapters are dedicated to Ida McAulay’s account of her 1931 Overland Track excursion as told in letters to her English aunt; the magnificent New Pelion Hut built by hunter Lionel Connell with the help of his packhorse Dolly in 1940 which lasted just three years before being burnt down by an unattended campfire; the unique 1920s mail system whereby high country hunters exchanged letters with their loved ones in a tin under the Liena Bridge; and stockman Albert Squires who claimed to have killed 1,250 snakes but still kept one as a pet and treated it to a daily saucer of cow’s milk in return for keeping his Howells Plains hut rat-free.
A Tasmanian historian with a passion for unearthing and recording the state’s high country heritage, Simon Cubit died in May 2017 but his extensive catalogue of work keeps alive a way of life which has long since gone the same way as the thylacine.
Published shortly before his death, Mountain Stories: Echoes from the Tasmanian High Country, Volume 2 completed Cubit’s personal assignment.
“I find myself in a position where, some would say, I possess a rare overview of the history of the Cradle country, the Upper Mersey, and the broader Central Plateau,” he wrote in the introduction. “The consequence of all this has been a keenly felt responsibility to ‘download’ what I have learnt over time and leave a historical legacy.”
Stories fluctuate between humour and heartache. Who could not enjoy a book that includes the deadpan statement, “Ice yachting is not a sport well known in Tasmania”? That particular chapter tells of Ray McClinton, an American dentist living in Launceston who was a member of a group believing that participation in sport and outdoor activities contributed to the development of Christian morality and manly character. In 1916, McClinton designed and built the first ice boat sailed in Tasmania, a feat that would see him grace the cover of this book a century later. The impressive construction, which “performed admirably” and “skimmed along merrily”, was captured by Stephen Spurling III, the pioneering photographer featured in this article.
A popular ice-skating venue at the time, Pine Lake was chosen for the venture with the intention of establishing Tasmania as “the Switzerland of Australia”. Cubit draws the sad conclusion that “ice yachting never caught on” and any impetus for the creation of a Tasmanian winter sports centre was transferred to the ski fields of Ben Lomond.
Tasmania’s own version of Steven Spielberg’s 1998 film Saving Private Ryan features Irish-born guide, hunter and prospector Paddy Hartnett. One of “as many as 17 children”, Hartnett struggled to come to terms with losing three of his brothers on the battlefields of World War I and a fourth to suicide on the way home. Three more brothers did return, if forever affected, and although Paddy’s existence descended into alcoholism, his memory lives on in several wilderness locations including Hartnett Falls off the Overland Track.
Meanwhile, how many of us have traversed Hansons Peak on the eastern shore of Dove Lake blissfully unaware of the 17-year-old hunter it is named after? Waratah’s Bert Hanson went missing in freezing fog in 1905. His body took three months to find, could only be identified by clothing and was carried out in a coffin down the precarious descent now adorned with safety chains.
A similar tale details the fate of Edward Yeates, who was lost above Mole Creek four years later. Search parties numbering up to 200 men found no trace until, four months later, a bottle was found in the South Esk River containing a slip of paper and the scribbled words, “Bushed near Lake Lucy Long in the Western Tiers. Fell and broke my leg. Starving. Help. Yeates.”
Eventually the popular consensus was that the message was probably a hoax. Yeates’ remains were never found. The track to Lake Mackenzie and a nearby creek and lagoon now bear his name.
Of particular personal interest was the account of a 1919 expedition to carry a two-metre boat (bought by the Deloraine Tourist Association for £25) 14 kilometres up the Western Tiers to the 1,200m-high Lake Nameless where “some thought it was the highest boat in the Southern Hemisphere”. Cubit concludes the chapter by asking, “What happened to the boat? What was its ultimate fate?” However, on a visit to Lake Nameless in January 2020, before becoming aware of this tale, I and some hiking buddies noticed its remains submerged in the silt near the southern shore.
Simon Cubit, who had published Volume 1 of this collection just a year earlier, likened his situation to Malian scholar Amadou Ba who once said, “When an old man dies, a library burns to the ground.” Cubit added, “While Tasmanian society cannot be compared to traditional African societies … the proverb rings true. Failure to … record and communicate means that some distinctive human experiences with that extraordinary landscape are lost forever. This realisation has been a powerful motivation for me and, to some degree, has led me to the view that I have a particular responsibility.”
Tasmanians should be grateful for the legacy of Simon Cubit, who now has a plaque at the hut of his great uncle Lewis Lees paying tribute to “his magnificent obsession”.
For more about Simon Cubit, see simoncubit.com.au. His books are available through his website, or through the Forty South bookshop.
Rob Shaw was born and raised in England where he trained and worked as a journalist. Coming to Australia in 2002 with his young family was supposed to be temporary, but Tasmania had other ideas. He has since spent his time working as a sports reporter, exploring our state’s wilderness and realising that he is staying here for the term of his natural life.