Tiger country
Depending on who you talk to, it’s either a tragic a story or a plaintively hopeful one. Either way – dead or alive – the plight of the Tasmanian tiger is as good excuse as any to trek into what once was, or is, thylacine territory: Tasmania’s wild west.
Words and images Chris Ord
THE FIRST RULE OF TIGER CLUB: you do not talk about it. To clarify: the thylacine – aka the Tasmanian tiger – is alive and well according to those in the Club. It’s just that if you’ve seen one you’re never, ever supposed to tell anyone.
While no one seems to be able to show and tell, you’d be surprised at how many people see and tell. Ask anyone if they’ve seen an alien and rarely will you hear “not personally but I know someone who has.” Ask the same question about the thylacine, a technically extinct mammal that heralds about as much mystique as a Martian, and more often than not you’ll get the affirmative: “Not personally but I do know someone who has…” And with not a hint of the incredulity that accompanies E.T. encounters.
So common are tiger sightings that you can play the Kevin Bacon ‘Six Degrees of Separation’ game, but usually you only two degrees are required. Or less, as I found out myself. I discover that my Mum – an apple-pie honest type, not prone to flights of fancy – reckons she saw one 30-odd years ago. In the Otways, Victoria, mind you. This, nearly 50 years after the world’s last captive thylacine died in Hobart Zoo, on 7 September 1936 (now National Endangered Species Day) and in the same decade that the thylacine was declared extinct by international standards (1986). And no, she wasn’t drinking on the night in question.
Here’s the sting: according to Tasmania-based thylacine expert Col Bailey, her sighting is plausible.
“I can show you a massive file of Victorian sightings over the years and I actually found out that they did take them over to Victoria. After I finished a talk at Mt Field National Park [Tasmania] about 10–12 years ago, two guys approached me and said: ‘You’re talking about tigers being seen in Victoria…well we’ll tell you how it happened. Our grandfather used to take them across on his fishing boat to Port Welshpool and trade them. What happened after that we don’t know.’ So they were definitely taken over, alive, and traded in the early 1900s.”
But if you’re going to join the Tiger Club, your best bet is Tasmania. Specifically the wild southwest, recognised by believers as the last refuge of the tiger. And as Col says, “It’s useless to point at a map and say they’re there. You have to go see with your own eyes.”
“Of course I expect many to scoff and snigger at my claim [that they are alive]. To believe the animal still exists, it is imperative that one ventures into these areas and to see for oneself. For to see firsthand the nature of this wilderness, is to believe implicitly that the thylacine could still survive.”
Col’s modest cottage in the small township of New Norfolk, an hour-and-a-half drive west of Hobart, is the first stop in our hunt for the Tassie tiger, and with good reason. He’s not just a buff – he’s the fulltime go-to guy for all things Tassie Tiger, as evidenced by his business card, possibly unique in the world: ‘Thylacine Consultant, Tasmania Tiger Research & Data Centre’. He’s also Tiger Club’s No.1 rule maker and, as it turns out, rule breaker.
“I became fascinated with tigers after I saw one, 40 years ago now, in South Australia in the Coorong. After a while my wife and I moved to Tassie. I’ve been on the Tassie tiger ever since.”
With some results, if you believe him. “I’ve seen things I can’t even tell you about…so yes, I’ve seen them with my own eyes. But not for a long time.”
Hang on. Back up a bit. A sighting in South Australia? Alarm bells ring. But Col’s claim, like my mother’s, isn’t outside the realms of possibility. Indeed, there is hard evidence that the tiger once roamed mainland Australia.
Aboriginal rock-paintings of thylacine-like animals can be seen in northern Australia including in the Kimberley region. Then there is the work at Riversleigh World Heritage fossil site in northwest Queensland, which has unearthed a spectacular array of fossils dating from 12–30 million years ago. The most spectacular find has been an almost complete skeleton, first seen in 1996 when a boulder was cracked to reveal part of the skull after 17 million years in a limestone tomb. In Riversleigh times there were several species but by eight million years ago only one remained: the powerful Thylacinus potens.
A number of this type have been found in caves across Western Australia. On the Nullabor, a well-preserved, almost mummified carcass was discovered in a hidden drop cave, now known as Thylacine Hole, in 1966. According to radiocarbon dating it lived 4000–5000 years ago, predating the introduction of the dingo.
Following his first sighting, Col was lured to the tiger’s plight like trappers were lured by the Tasmanian government’s £1 bounty offered in 1888 after pressure from farmers, who blamed the animal for stock losses. This compounded the cull encouraged by a private bounty placed in 1830 by Van Diemens Land Co. Experts agree that the bounties contributed majorly to the tigers’ official extinction. By 1909 when the Government bounty scheme was terminated, the state had paid out 2184 times. Experts also agree that the numbers being killed by farmers and bushmen at the time, egged on by widespread demonisation of the mammal, were much higher.
According to Col, it wasn’t the tiger responsible for sheep carcasses being found in paddocks. “It was the wild dogs. Packs of ’em. Sure the tiger may have killed the odd sheep, but the mass killings were wild dogs. The tiger was a scapegoat.”
In the forty years since Col’s first sighting on the Coorong, he has pieced together a plotted history of the Tiger and acted as record keeper of sightings. Aside from his book, Tiger Tales: stories of the Tasmanian Tiger, what he is most proud of is being the one to interview the last of the trappers who had direct contact with the Tiger, all since passed away. One of these, Elias Churchill, is a key character in our mission to explore tiger country.
Churchill was the trapper who captured the tiger seen yawning its fantastic gaping jaws in the famous black and white footage taken by naturalist David Fleay at Hobart Zoo in 1933. It died in captivity in 1936, the last tiger ever seen – verifiably – alive.
That very tiger – today a symbol of human brutality and environmental mismanagement – was trapped by Churchill only 5km from his bush hut, located on the flanks of Tiger Range in the Florentine Valley. The hut itself now stands as a symbol of lost wilderness, not to mention lost tiger habitat. When Churchill first built the hut it was set amid remote forest so thick you could get lost 10 steps ahead of yourself. Today it is protected by a mere sliver of trees from a logging coupe on three sides. Even so, it seems only appropriate to spend a night sleeping on the very boards that Churchill once snored over, to sup from a billy out the front and to stand out back, at the railing yard where Churchill once tied that last tiger. Alive.
THE AFTERNOON SUN clutters shadows from the remnant trees standing guard over Churchill’s Hut. Col, along with local adventure tour operator Richard Onn from Tasmanian Prestige Tours – who hopes to take tourists into the recently restored hut – guide us into the old trapper’s domain. The genial pair tell tales of a bushman’s existence on Tasmania’s frontier: rough lives at the mercy of the great forests that surrounded them. This one-room, hand-hewn dwelling was not Churchill’s permanent home, but he and others spent long periods here in trapping season. Most of the tigers Churchill caught were within cooee of our campfire.
An old trail cutting alongside the hut, spears off into the bush towards Adamsfield, both trail and ghost town an echo of tougher times when pioneers forged their way into the West, some members of survey parties, others trappers, miners or miscreants looking to escape society. The bush beat them all, eventually, as from here to the coast some 100km away, there is not one settlement aside from pub-less Strathgordon. The remainder is ringed by World Heritage areas encompassing the South West National Park and Franklin-Gordon Wild Rivers National Park. Immediately to the west are lakes Gordon and Pedder, both now technically dams, another people-less but permanent reminder of man scarring, if not taming, the bounds of nature. To the north of Churchill’s Hut are the upper reaches of the Gordon River and the wild Gordon Ranges. It’s no man’s land in the purest sense. But is it Tigerland?
WE CROSS THE GORDON, once tagged by pro-logging governments as a “leech-ridden ditch”. Despite a sign at the trailhead warning that treacherous, wet river crossings are necessary, a giant tree recently felled by nature’s wrath offers us a dry traverse. We’re looking to pick up Rasselas Track, a padded but barely marked trail that weaves north along the Vale of Rasselas. Despite being the driest period you could pray for in this part of the world, the route still harbours its muddy patches and the coarse foliage closes in often, scratching and pulling us down as much as the sinkholes suck us under.
It’s an eerie feeling passing through Gordonvale, a blip on the map that was once a private settlement of load hauler, Ernie Bond, the ‘King of Rasselas’ who lived here from 1933–50. His shingle roofed farm complex once included a bakehouse, butchery, office and visitor’s hut. Bond lived an isolated lifestyle growing his own produce and was famed for providing welcoming accommodation for occasional bushwalkers. It’s conceivable, although not recorded, that Ernie may have seen a tiger during his time at Gordonvale. If so, he stuck by Rule No.1.
Today, nothing remains bar Bond’s rusted farm machinery, concrete foundations and timber fences. Here, for once, the wilderness won, the wooden arteries of Tasmania closing back over.
For several hours we track alongside the Denison Ranges, imposing to the west, its sharp uprising a brooding wall of rock separating us from Lake Gordon.
The countryside reminds me of terrain not much further to the north scoured by renowned zoologist and Tiger hunter David Fleay in 1945–46 during his search for the thylacine.
“We tramped through button grass swamps which hid wet flats and peat bogs on the lower areas; the button grass and peat stained the creek and river water almost the colour of weak tea or coffee,” wrote his daughter Rosemary, who accompanied the expedition. “Jagged mountains, usually lost in swathes of cloud, reared snow-clad heads and the swift-running, icy mountain streams were difficult to cross. They seemed too wide to jump, and one had to be very skilful or risk a very cold dunking. The horizontal scrub was dense, borne down by its own constantly damp weight, and often we had to cross it by jumping onto the top and floundering across the mass of growth. The constantly wet forests were a dark, dripping tangle of scrub; mossy Beech trees, King William, Huon and Celery Pines.”
WITH HEAVY LEGS powered on by heady expectations we rise from the valley floor which, stretching out to the south, deceives as a vision of easy walking. Throbbing calves and shredded arms tell otherwise.
Punching over the 900-metre contour line we crest a hill and are nearly blown back into the valley by the vision ahead. Lake Rhona, a hanging lake fringed by a squint-your-eyes white sand beach sits at the foot of a ring of towering rock crowned by Reeds Peak, which tops out at 1290 metres. For a mainlander used to hills rather than mountains when on Australian soil, this is a revelation. While the actual metres may not mirror those experienced in Andean, Himalayan and European ranges, the sheer drama of geography does. It’s all I can do not to skip through the button grass tussocks like a muddy, sweaty, gaiter-clad von Trapp, eager to let the scene swallow me whole.
This is where adventurer Andrew Hughes stopped and propped, waiting for friends to visit him while on a 50-day trek north to south across Tasmania in 2002. As it happens, Hughes, like Col and Outer Edge, is now on the hunt for a Tasmanian tiger as part of his Expedition Class project (expeditionclass.com). From late September he will take students following him on the internet on a journey through southwest Tasmania and the exotic landscapes of Papua New Guinea looking for the thylacine.
“The story of the Tassie tiger is so full of mystery,” says Andrew. “The aim is to use it to open up a door for kids to an environment that they couldn’t otherwise walk through. You never know, the remote southwest wilderness of Tasmania and the exotic landscapes of PNG just might harbour a Tassie tiger. But even if we don’t find one the search will uncover new worlds of interest. Other animals, plants and people will take a virtual step into their classrooms.”
Andrew’s on the chase, but does he believe?
“Part of what I’m saying to kids is the best way to discover is to go out with an open mind and investigate all angles. If I’d already made my mind up, there wouldn’t be much point doing it in the first place.”
Notably, he didn’t see, nor hear, any tigers in a week of camping here at Lake Rhona. Luckily the stunning location makes up for the slim likelihood that a tiger is peeking at us from behind the bushes. Given that the tiger can reputedly sniff a human from 5–10km away and has, if alive, managed to skilfully avoid all contact for the last 80 years, we’re slowly admitting to ourselves that the odds of a sighting has dropped to that of Buckley’s. The slim slips to zero when you consider that on a hunt for an appropriate spot to contemplate nature, it isn’t hard to spot where previous trekkers have absolved the same urge. Let’s just say that an animal with a sensitive snoz would have fair warning on the right wind. Not that we’re camping in a cesspit here – exactly the opposite given visitation to Lake Rhona is in the hundreds, not thousands a year.
ACCEPTING OF THE FACT that a sighting is a long shot, we decide to summit Reed’s Peak to get a clearer overview of tiger country. A steep, off-piste scramble up the northern wall is aided by plenty of handholds and ledges and encouraged by the expanding view back over the Vale of Rasselas. Directly below, our tent appears as orange lint on the long slice of sand that is so out of place in the mountain setting. Once on the eastern ridge we scout around the main peak before rock hopping our way to the top from the west. We’re greeted by a swarm of flying insects obviously as appreciative as us of the 360º view taking in Lake Gordon in the west, Mount Field and Wylds Crag in the east and the King William Range – where Fleay located his tiger search party base camp – in the north. In the far south is Razorback and ostensibly Federation Peak, although we can’t tell if it is obscured by Mount Anne, which at 1425 metres is only a few hundred metres shy of Tasmania’s highest peak, Mount Ossa (1614 metres).
Without question, this is Australia’s premier mountain country, one that soars our impressions of the southwest wilderness higher than the wedge-tailed eagle circling above. Our perch gives perspective on more than just the view, however. Logging scars amid the carpet of green tell us that no tiger would venture east. To the west amid the Franklin-Gordon Wild Rivers National Park, there may be faint hope. Nothing but dense bush. No scars. No sign of human encroachment. Does the rugged Prince of Wales Range – reputedly the hardest off-trail trekking challenge in Australia – oversee the last remnant of thylacine existence? As we sit here ruminating, are they supping from the pure waters of the Denison River? Is this where they have finally found refuge from man, enough to fake their own extinction?
“YOU HAVE TO REMEMBER that the thylacine lived in areas in the middle of Tasmania and on the east coast,” says Catherine Medlock, curator of vertebrate zoology at the Tasmania Museum and Art Gallery in Hobart. “That’s where the largest populations were because that’s where the best habitat for them was, areas where there were grasslands and lots of prey. Sadly they are the areas that people also wanted to farm.” An expert on the thylacine from a historical perspective, Catherine once oversaw an exhibition on the Tasmanian tiger that toured internationally.
“Straight away those areas were settled by Europeans,” continues Catherine, “and thylacines were killed and driven off from their usual hunting grounds.”
The question then becomes: could they survive the ravages of existence out west?
“Animals don’t change habitat. They certainly would have lived in some of those more remote areas out west, but in lower numbers because the prey species aren’t there in sufficient numbers.”
“Certainly there’s some remote areas, but deepest darkest rainforest areas, well a thylacine would be struggling to live in those areas – [Tasmanian] devils don’t.”
Suddenly that vast expanse seen from atop Reeds, one that resonated as a last chance saloon for the tiger, seems like false hope.
Unlike Col, Catherine is not a believer and gives what is a common refrain for most Tasmanians asked the question.
“I would love for it to still be out there. I think it would be the most marvellous thing. I’m doubtful because I haven’t seen any incontrovertible evidence. No body. No roadkill. No recent skeleton found in the bush. I think it’s very sad.”
Finding a Tasmanian who rails against their own logical conclusion is, however, easy. In the pub, at the local milk bar, on the street – everyone we ask, believer or not, sits on that fence of hope knowing oblivion is likely, but wouldn’t it be nice if…
TASMANIA, IT SEEMS, is a place of internal struggle. As much as it is a place of fern-fringed peace, an adventurer’s playground, it is equally a battleground on many fronts. A war rages between loggers and environmentalists, between big business and local interest, the government and its people, wilderness and development, between nature and economics. Amid the carnage, the tiger rears its head, on state emblems, car numberplates, beer bottles and even as an icon for a radio shock-jock’s half-mock bid for the 2020 Olympics. Its visage is an omnipresent reminder of a wilder era, when more forests – and more mammals – survived. So as the wars wage, the tiger continues it’s own battle between life and death, as do those keeping the faith swing between belief and despair.
Gear on assignment
Vaude Hogan Ultralight Tent
Two people, unsupported, Tassie weather (unpredictable)…the Ultralight was an obvious choice. A 3-season+ weight watcher, its double-layer storm-proof skin kept us as snug as two blokes need to be in wild weather without exchanging vows. The accoutrements are minimalist and there’s not much room…actually there’s no room for packs inside, but otherwise this is a high-end choice for any terrain or environment Australia can throw at you. It’s easy to put up, its tensioning system works a treat and we like the internal height.
RRP $649 rucsac.com.au / vaude.com
The North Face Jannu GTX
Wearing hiking boots out of the box is a scary proposition. But I took a shot. Early impressions worried with a bit of ankle rub. But within barely a few hours meet and greet, foot and boots were getting along just fine. They handled the super boggy trail, which threw up rivers, roots and rough rock sections, with aplomb. Grip, Gore-tex lining, X-frame support and all round leather toughness performed to a degree that indicated these could take even more of a beating. The Gore-tex did cook my feet a smidge (warm Tassie days - whowoulda thought?) but otherwise these will be my go-to boot for the roughest Australian conditions and then some.
RRP $399.95 thenorthface.com.au
Osprey Argon 85 pack
I’ve had the Argon for a while but not near enough opportunity to give it a real heavy load workout. Packing 20kg plus on the tiger trail, I’d forgotten how good this bag is. Fancy sounding technology – ReCurve Suspension, AirScape backpanel and BioForm A/X components – add up to a pack that fits like a glove. No rub spots, the most efficient bio-mechanical load delivery to the right spots, and enough internal room to cope with my appalling packing strategy. Loved the multiple access points to main load bay. And all the bits and bobs – pockets, tensioning lines and whatnot were appreciated. This pack is tops for all round super comfort, especially the heat-molded belt individually tuned to my hip. Only complaint: no raincover included. Highly recommended.
RRP $569.95 ospreypacks.com
Tailing the tiger
TREK Churchill’s Hut and the trailhead to Rasselas Track and Lake Rhona are both accessed via logging trails beyond Maydena. The best trekking maps are Tiger 4427 and Gordonvale 4428, both from the Tasmania 1:25,000 series by Tasmap (tasmap.tas.gov.au).
KNOW & GO Drop in to the Maydena Adventure Hub (adventureforests.com.au/Maydena) for more information. A hire car (avis.com.au) is recommended for getting to Maydena, which has evolved itself into a gateway town for adventures in the region including Abbotts Lookout, Tim Shea, Styx valley, Mt Field National Park and the Southwest National Park.
STAY A great option in Maydena is South West Adventure Base (southwestadventurebase.com.au) – the owner/manager John Macallum is renowned for his hospitality and the odd cook up. Being a proficient trekker he’s also a wealth of information for any hikes you have planned in the southeast and takes 4WD tours of the region.
TOUR Richard Orr from Tasmanian Prestige Tours (tasmaniandaytours.com.au) can take you in to Churchill’s Hut and offers plenty more walking and 4WDing adventures in the region.
STUDY The Hobart Museum and Art Gallery
(tmag.tas.gov.au) has a small display on the Tasmanian tiger with plans to expand it in the future. A great online resource on the thylacine can be found at naturalworlds.org/thylacine/.
