Published The Advocate, October 30, 2004
Tourists get downunder and dirty
AS KIDS we fished from the wharves while the ships around us had their cargoes unloaded, never a care given for our safety or for public liability insurance claims.
Now, most cargo is tucked away inside shipping containers behind chainmesh and protected by security gates and anti-terrorism units. And suddenly, fenced off, the wharves are tourist drawcards.
The only way into the docks for someone like me is under escort, so last week I was driven in a mini-bus around the Port of Burnie in the company of harbourmaster Captain Trevor Bozoky, among others.
Capt. Bozoky, a nice chap, believes the ``docks in the raw’’ could become a tourist lure for cruise ships such as the Pacific Princess, due in Burnie in a couple of weeks.
He said the attraction of a working port, for tourists, was ``you’re not in a passenger terminal, remote from all the dirty stuff’’. He kept a straight face.
We drove past stores of tallow, petroleum, wood pulp, fertilizer, limestone, pyrethrum and the mining concentrates from the West Coast. All tourist attractions, apparently.
We saw the quarantine washdown area where a special lookout was kept for Giant African Snails, which had reached Papua-New Guinea. And not a fox in sight.
In Burnie’s early days the steep hills of the hinterland offered protection from the sou’wester gales but a harbour had still to be reclaimed from the sea and rocky outcrops were constructed to calm the unruly moods of Bass Strait.
Now, the Toll ships sweep around the breakwater, skidding the tyres, do a dainty three-point turn, and can be tied-up backwards within 15 minutes and unloading. Stunt driving for the clap-happy Americans.
If the tourists want industrial chic, then Burnie has it in spades. Yet Capt Bozoky said just six cruise ships had visited Burnie since 1999.
The port could cope with many more passenger visits, he said, and once did. As recently as 1984, the old Empress of Tasmania regularly used what was now the woodchip berth.
Ah, yes, the woodchips. I could well imagine American tourists being gobsmacked by Burnie’s woodchip mountain.
In the early light, with the steam coming off it, the mountain certainly offers a great photo opportunity. At full capacity, it contains 200,000 tonnes of woodchips, which by my estimate takes about XXX trees.
Is Burnie happy for its woodchip mountain to be its tourist attraction? Sure is. Bring on the woodchip postcards and coasters.
The expansion of the Port of Burnie is unlimited in theory. It could keep extending all the way to Victoria.
It could happen. Take Ephesus, a major trading port in eastern Turkey a couple of thousand years ago and now a Greco-Roman ruin.
The main road, still there, once led a short distance to the docks. Except Ephesus now is half an hour by bus inland from the Mediterranean coast. The old port silted up.
I look forward to the day when I can drive to Melbourne in time for lunch.
Monday, October 25, 2004
Published The Advocate, October 23, 2004
Chill thoughts on tourism
ON THE road to Cradle Mountain, an overnight snowstorm had left the gum trees looking like a silver iodide print and the dashboard readout said the outside temperature was three degrees.
The tourist information centre offered warm refuge. One display gave the impression that Tasmania was still a refuge for living fossils and missing links. The wildlife, that is, not the people.
Except, the display said, white settlement had caused the disappearance of such species as the emu from Tasmania.
''European settlers are also responsible for the possible extinction of the thylacine or Tasmanian Tiger that once roamed the Cradle Mountain area." Possible extinction? Yeah right.
Outside, a chill breeze was coming off Cradle Mountain itself. The boardwalk was covered in snow and slush, and chicken wire had been laid underfoot to help prevent slapstick moments.
"Extreme cold, heavy rain, snowfalls and strong winds can be experienced at any time of the year," the warning sign read.
MODERATE HAZARD RISKS were also mentioned in capital letters.
"This means you are generally not protected from natural hazards such as cliffs and falling tree limbs… You must be properly prepared to meet these hazards on their own terms." Prepare to die.
No such fears had deterred Japanese photographer, Masaaki Aihara, whose depiction of rugged Tasmania was hanging in The Wilderness Gallery, alongside the Cradle Mountain Chateau.
Each picture was accompanied by a written explanation of the circumstances of the shoot. It always seemed to be raining or freezing.
Overnight once, Aihara’s sleeping bag froze from his own body moisture. Another time, he lost 15kg in weight. Aihara San seemed fortunate not to have met his fate several times over.
Tourism Minister Ken Bacon opened the exhibition in a room of people wearing polar fleece tops. He talked of Cradle Mountain’s "wild and mysterious beauty … a magical place". Quite.
Aihara told the audience that dead trees, in particular, talked to him. "Please take my picture!" he heard them say.
There were enough dead gum trees around Cradle Mountain to keep him occupied for decades, to the undoubted delight of the Fuji film company. Are that many dead gums normal? Just a thought.
All the photos were still lifes. They contained no creatures except for one frame into which a flock of cockatoos had flown by happenstance.
The moon appeared often. Aihara said the moon had cultural significance for him and he always tried to get it in his pictures.
Mostly, though, the Tasmanian photos were wet. Ice, frost, mist, fog and rain. The waterways were often crystalline or looked like flowing plastic.
Mr Bacon hoped Aihara’s photos would attract more Japanese tourists to Tasmania. One would have thought the Japanese had enough rain of their own.
Through the window, the eaves dripped and a mum was photographing her kids holding snow in the carpark - a safer place than letting them loose in Aihara’s wilderness.
("Talking to the Spirits of the Land" by Masaaki Aihara. The Wilderness Gallery until February 27, 2005.)
Chill thoughts on tourism
ON THE road to Cradle Mountain, an overnight snowstorm had left the gum trees looking like a silver iodide print and the dashboard readout said the outside temperature was three degrees.
The tourist information centre offered warm refuge. One display gave the impression that Tasmania was still a refuge for living fossils and missing links. The wildlife, that is, not the people.
Except, the display said, white settlement had caused the disappearance of such species as the emu from Tasmania.
''European settlers are also responsible for the possible extinction of the thylacine or Tasmanian Tiger that once roamed the Cradle Mountain area." Possible extinction? Yeah right.
Outside, a chill breeze was coming off Cradle Mountain itself. The boardwalk was covered in snow and slush, and chicken wire had been laid underfoot to help prevent slapstick moments.
"Extreme cold, heavy rain, snowfalls and strong winds can be experienced at any time of the year," the warning sign read.
MODERATE HAZARD RISKS were also mentioned in capital letters.
"This means you are generally not protected from natural hazards such as cliffs and falling tree limbs… You must be properly prepared to meet these hazards on their own terms." Prepare to die.
No such fears had deterred Japanese photographer, Masaaki Aihara, whose depiction of rugged Tasmania was hanging in The Wilderness Gallery, alongside the Cradle Mountain Chateau.
Each picture was accompanied by a written explanation of the circumstances of the shoot. It always seemed to be raining or freezing.
Overnight once, Aihara’s sleeping bag froze from his own body moisture. Another time, he lost 15kg in weight. Aihara San seemed fortunate not to have met his fate several times over.
Tourism Minister Ken Bacon opened the exhibition in a room of people wearing polar fleece tops. He talked of Cradle Mountain’s "wild and mysterious beauty … a magical place". Quite.
Aihara told the audience that dead trees, in particular, talked to him. "Please take my picture!" he heard them say.
There were enough dead gum trees around Cradle Mountain to keep him occupied for decades, to the undoubted delight of the Fuji film company. Are that many dead gums normal? Just a thought.
All the photos were still lifes. They contained no creatures except for one frame into which a flock of cockatoos had flown by happenstance.
The moon appeared often. Aihara said the moon had cultural significance for him and he always tried to get it in his pictures.
Mostly, though, the Tasmanian photos were wet. Ice, frost, mist, fog and rain. The waterways were often crystalline or looked like flowing plastic.
Mr Bacon hoped Aihara’s photos would attract more Japanese tourists to Tasmania. One would have thought the Japanese had enough rain of their own.
Through the window, the eaves dripped and a mum was photographing her kids holding snow in the carpark - a safer place than letting them loose in Aihara’s wilderness.
("Talking to the Spirits of the Land" by Masaaki Aihara. The Wilderness Gallery until February 27, 2005.)
