Mismatched Travel Diaries - Tasmania - Hells Gates, Strahan.

Both of my grandfathers were sailors in their day. In some ways, it explains why everyone in my family has such an affinity with the ocean. There are multiple seafarers in our family, but we all have grown up in the surf, or by the ocean.

On my Mothers side, Grandad, as he is called by us children, was a sailor for the British Merchant Navy. He joined as a young man in England and spent the war sailing provisions and supplies all around the world. On my fathers side, Opa, sailed for the Dutch merchant navy. In the war, his shipped was sunk by a Japanese Submarine in the Indian Ocean, and he and his crew miraculously survived after 5 or 6 days floating roughly from the Maldives toward Madagascar, but that is a story for a different post, one in which I need to get the details straight from my Dad and the understandably meticulous diaries from my Opa himself.

^{Click Any Image In This Blog To See It Full Screeen}

Grandad sailed all over the world. Every time we speak to him, he mentions another harbour, another port, another river in a country which he knows by a different name entirely to us. He often talks about Valparaiso, Chile, as I think most sailors of the day do. It seems to have a resonating love from the sailors of old. Maybe it was the grog, the tobacco, the bars or maybe the women, I dunno, to be honest, I don't ask about them!

^{A brief taste of the roaring forties hitting the Tasmanian coast}

When we told grandad we were heading down to Tasmania, he told us that we must visit the small seaside town of Strahan (pronounced Strawn). When we asked why, he mentioned that it was one of the few safe havens along the west coast of Tasmania, if not the only one. A hit-or-miss port, it copped the brunt of the Roaring Forties, the fierce southern hemisphere wind currents which blow roughly between 40 and 50 degree latitudes. A gift from god for the time when sails were the pinnacle of ocean going technology, but also sometimes completely untameable and often deadly from the swells and harsh conditions it produced.

^{Hells Gates from inside the harbour}

During the time in which my Grandad sailed, he often frequented Strahan, which was guarded by the aptly named Hells Gates. A small opening into a relatively shallow and quiet harbour which made the perfect stop over for a ship sailing south to Hobart and beyond to New Zealand. The issue was that the entrance to the harbour was affected by multiple variables like tide, wind, swell and the weather in general. The two things that didn't change, were the width of 120 metres (roughly 400ft), and the depth of around 70 metres (230ft), if my memory is correct. But the depth was the only good condition for a vessel the pass through the headland, the small island, and the sandbar covered opening on the other side.

^{The view back into the harbour}

The lighthouse was probably a good landmark to give a ship some sort of bearing while navigating this thin opening, but often brought bad news with it.

Grandad told us that they would often sail the whole way down the west coast of Tasmania, only to find the conditions at Hells Gates too dangerous or just simply impassible, which meant that they would have to turn around, sail back up the coast and hide on the lee side of on of the islands on the north-western tip of Tasmania (They had four options - King Island, Hunter Island, Three Hummock Island, or Robbins Island, but usually opted for King Island due to its size). Not an easy feat. Especially considering they would often have to repeat this three times until they get the right conditions to navigate through into Macquarie Harbour.

^{A well-timed trip to the bridge to pass through Hells Gates.}

Now it would be easy to assume, and rightly so, that the name Hells Gates is derived from the hellish conditions that were faced when trying to enter the harbour, but this is not correct. In the early 1800's, there was a convict settlement on the small but ominous Sarah Island in Macquarie Harbour, which is the 2nd largest harbour in Australia. The convicts branded the small opening into the harbour as Hells Gates as it was their 'entrance to hell' referring to the convict penal station, from which (much like Alcatraz), escape was basically impossible.

There were attempts, mostly fatal, some involving cannibalism, but the conditions of the harbour, which were unpredictable at the best of times, and the sheer ruggedness and density of bushland surrounding the harbour were deterrent enough.

As for the our journey around Macquarie Harbour, we sat up front on the huge ferry which took us around the harbour over about 3-4 hours. We went up the Gordon River, which is home to the Huon Pine, a spectacularly hardy tree, which can grow for thousands of years - I will post about that later in the week probably. The ferry then took us on the long journey to and through the Hells Gates, which we had almost perfect conditions for, then all the way back into dock at Strahan.

It was a long, exciting day which was steeped in Australian history, both Aboriginal and Settler; Natural History and also, most importantly, personal history. Having never really been a sailor, but more of a wave-rider, I felt I had touched on the true sense of history by visiting one of Grandads most coveted ports, especially since I got to experience going through the heads, and being able to go home and show grandad the journey, and the fact that very little, if anything but the addition of a rock wall, had changed since his sailing years.

He chuckled, stating that it was probably too easy to enter Hells Gates, these days.

'Onya Grandad!

DanedeBeau