Lake St. Clair

Snakes. Tasmania has three snakes: the Tiger snake, which is

long and black; the White-lipped snake, also known as a whip snake, which is

mid-sized, compact, moves in a vigorous manner and is a dusky green; and the

copperhead. On my walk from the end of Lake St. Clair, Narcissus, back to the

Visitor’s Center, 16.2 kilometers I encountered two human beings, two tiger snakes

and two whip snakes. Which means that by the end of the hike I feel more like a

snake than a person, more a part of the land than of civilization, more fond of

dirt than the internet, more silent, fast and sleek than ever before. 

Lake St. Clair is the end of the famous Cradle Mountain

hike, which begins 65 kilometers to the north. Fifty hikers a day start their

journey there and end up six days later at Lake St. Clair. You would think

given this volume that the trail might be crowded with humans. It is not.

The campground is nicely divided: vans on one side, tents on

the other. In the tent area, most people look like serious hikers with good

packs and firm calf muscles. There are few children and more young couples,

girls giggling in the tents, and a couple of young Asian women dabbing cream

onto their faces in the bathroom. I woke to the sound of wind in the trees.

Imagining bad weather, I parted my tent door to blue sky and am transformed. Weather-wise

luck was with me on this trip. I

was lucky in other ways as well.

I headed out for a magnificent day. I boarded a small motor

boat for a quick ride to the end of the lake. I would hike back from there. The boat stops first at Echo Point where

the other four people on the boat get off. From Echo Point it is a three hour

return hike. As we dock, I spied a

bird on a rock just offshore. A Welcome Sparrow, which has a vivid rust-orange

bib. It feels like a good omen for the day.

Alone with the captain, I continue on to Narcissus. I ask

him the names of the mountains—the Acropolis, the Parthenon. Indeed they have a

similar blocky structure. Finally I had asked too many questions and he admits

he does not know, has only worked this boat for ten days. He and his wife had

been traveling for six months, looking for what life might toss them. And here

they now are, living in Derwent Bridge, he the captain of a small boat on Lake

St. Clair. This is a familiar story to Australians, I imagine, the six month

drive about a tale I heard many times from people I met. Pack up and go, see

what you can see, begin life anew. It’s an appealing story. And every version I

heard ended happily.

At Narcissus, a dozen people were waiting, having just

finished the Cradle Mountain Trail. Rather than hike the final day, they have

opted for a ride. It looks like a boy scout group, with two leaders.

Once the boat pulled away silence descended. I marveled at

the color of the stream leading into the lake, a blue-black but clear. Again, I

had one of those wonderful Tasmanian boardwalk trails as I head off for what

should have been a five and a half hour walk, but which in fact takes me seven.

Perhaps I walked slowly. I know I stopped a long time for lunch. I took dozens

of photos. I dodged snakes, tried to spy birds calling, taunting me from the

green forest. I did not have a single thought that extended beyond the horizon. In other words, I had finally been gone

from the world long enough, been alone long enough (had not had a conversation

beyond “hello” for four days), been hiking long enough that my mind had leveled

into a meditative state. The simple way of saying this is I was happy.

The sky was azure blue. I could see far into the distance—the

lake is cradled by low lying mountains, some rising abruptly (Mt. Ida) others

table-topped. I was feeling pretty pleased with everything: the weather, my

mood, the scenery. The stretch of trail from Narcissus to Echo is glorious,

with lots of sandy scallop beaches just off the trail. Myrtle trees with their

feathery leaves dominate the trail side. I stopped and sat in the sand, contemplated

swimming but decided the effort would not be worth it. I ate lunch under a high

sun and cooled by a glorious wind.

It was just before lunch that I spied my first snake. A long

black Tiger snake. It wandered off in elongated confidence, knowing it owned

the trail, the woods. Its appearance, so sudden, put me on edge. In fact, I

stopped for lunch early in the hopes that a break and some food would calm me

down so that I did not walk in anticipation of the next snake. Ten minutes

after lunch my first whip snake dashed into the undercover, its taught greenish

body moving in a tight S.

At Echo Point the boat was pulling out after making an

afternoon drop off. A young couple sat rolling a cigarette. We shared hellos. I

told them about the snakes. We walked a bit together. She worked in an outdoor

store, he is a firefighter. They were on their Australian six-month drive

around. They had started in Darwin and headed straight south, through Alice Springs.

“Lots of desert,” she reported.

I toodled ahead of them and there right in the middle of the

trail, moving toward me was another tiger snake. I assumed he would veer off

but he did not as I backed up and he kept on his merry way. I backed up a few

yards, then some more, then some more. The snake was cheerfully oblivious that

I was losing ground. When the couple caught up to me I was standing in the

trail, hoping the snake had left.

“There was a snake,” I reported, feelinga bit foolish.

The man and I walked forward and peered over the log where

he was last seen. Mr. snake was right there, taking a break. As I screamed and

backed up, the man took a stick and encouraged it into the brush. I slipped by.

The trail after Echo is not as nice as the stretch from

Narcissus.The lovely myrtle changed

to the enormous sweet gum, which so shelters the forest floor that the only

thing that survives are ferns. Before there was some real diversity—silver

wattle, for instance. And several bushes in bloom, white, light pink.

I returned to my tent, stretched out for a bit until an

echidna mooched its way through the camp ground. It waddled along, then shoved

its long snoot into the ground, looking for grubs and ants. Though the echidna

looks like an anteater or a hedgehog they are not related; the similarities are

due to convergent evolution (that is, similar characteristics that develop in

different lineages). In Greek Echidna means “she viper,” and in ancient

mythology the Echidna was the mother of all monsters. Hard to believe, given

the almost square creature I followed with my video while two little girls

decided it must be someone’s pet and their father tells them it is waddling off

to its bed.

I walked back to the visitor center hoping for a lamb chop

dinner. When I arrived, the place had folded up, the chef and workers at a

table finishing off their own dinners.

“I thought you were open until 8,” I said.

“No one came to eat tonight, so we closed early,” the young

man explained.

I stepped back, the disappointment obvious on my face. I

tried to imagine what I might pull together to call dinner. I was hungry beyond

the peanut butter, stale bread, and cup of soup that I had. I tried to convince myself I’d be fine.

The chef called to me as I left. “Listen,” he said, “go to

the hotel in Derwent Bridge.”

“Will they still be serving?”

“I’ll call and confirm,” he said. “I got a young woman here who needs a meal,” he said into the

phone, “she’s wearing a Penn State t-shirt.” Pause. “I won’t tell her you asked

that.”

He hung up. “He wanted to know if you are wearing a bra.”

Over dinner I read more of In Tasmania. The passage was apt for my day. An early

settler, Travers, was bit by a Tiger Snake. His foot swelled up and he was

bleeding from the ears. Then his foot turned black. At this point, his

companions, Greenhill and Pearce, (Greenhill and Travers were, according to

this narrative, lovers) ate him. Cheerful. Cackling over this tale it was now

clear what would happen to me if one of those snakes got me.

At five the next morning I was awake with my own excitement.

I knew that if I walked out to the platypus viewing area, I’d see one. So I

did. And I did. It swam out in the lake, dove, resurfaced, dove. And I watched

the sun rise and knew I was set for another perfect day.