An Unlikely Ambassador

Eaglehawk Neck is the name of the 150 meter wide bridge that connects the Tasman peninsula to the rest of the island of Tasmania. While spending a few days in the area recently I realized that the Tasman peninsula contains everything I like about Tasmania. It has a rich and brutal history, an astounding collection of natural wonders, and an abundance of stunning views. Where each cell in our body contains our complete blueprint, I believe the Tasman peninsula reflects the identity of Australia.

The penal colony of Port Arthur was opened in the 1830's in a little tucked away harbour, and stood as the endpoint for some of the worst offenders to the British crown. Typically these were incorrigable men who wouldn't adapt to the prison system elsewhere. These men were tasked with carving out by hand their own prison. This harsh prison system had the men providing all the labor necessary to support their incarceration with no thought towards ease of conditions, or efficiency of action. Once they established a meager living and their numbers grew they then moved on to public works projects such as roads, increased farming, etc.

I'd wager that I am a lot like many modern people who have never felt awed by the power of agriculture, being conditioned to having instant access to every conceivable product. I have to admit that I became awestruck of the elements of primitive life in Tasmania, and how they resembled a machine getting up to speed. Cut trees down, and you get buildings, plant crops and you will get vegetables, raise sheep for wool, cows for milk and beef. There is a complicated relationship between all these pieces. There was no alternative than to exploit the land, no Wal-Mart, no air-drops, trains, or even highways as a supply line to any other resources. They were limited to what they could grow, harvest, or slaughter. This is akin to going camping in the remote woods, and then slowly building into a town with almost no outside assistance. Expansionism and fronteirism akin to manifest destiny was powered by the labor the detritus of society.

As with anyone who really wants to understand history, I often put myself into the position of those who were there. What must it have been like to be a British Solder in 19th century England to be shipped halfway across the world to a distant land? It must have felt like the beginning of time. Imagine being forced to leave everything you know and love for an indefinite period because of a criminal act. While there is certainty that many men were guilty of the crimes they were prosecuted for, there must also have been men who's guilt was a machination of state incompetence. Both men, innocent and guilty lined the sweltering and filthy bunks of the convict ships headed south.

I'm on a beach facing the sun, there is no noise but the waves, and the heaviness of the heat seems to push me deep into the hot sand. I have just walked across the thinnest part of Eaglehawk Neck, from the inner bay to the beach. I have followed slowly and methodically along the path of the infamous dog line. The reason this peninsula was selected was due to this particular feature, in concert with a similar neck to the north it forms a natural barrier to escape. The method to keep the convicts from escaping was to chain a line of ferocious dogs at intervals along this point. The line consisted of as few as 10, to as many as 18 snarling dogs stretching out onto platforms that extended far into the surf, taking account for the tide. There is a monument to the dog line that resides only a few feet from the road. From there I followed the short path to the sea. I struggle to look for any signs.. a raised mound, a rusty chain on the bushes, but they are all long gone by now.

The peninsula is a popular tourist destination now. In addition to the obvious historical interest the area attracts, it is filled with rare geological formations. There is the tesselated pavement only a few hundred meters from the dog line up the beach, as well as the Tasman Arch (see picture), and the Blowhole. Each one of these features would draw crowds on its own, but it is all within a few kilometers of area upon entering the peninsula.

Eaglehawk Neck is the reason for the Penal colony that was built here, and Port Arthur has become a thorough and informative national monument which respects both sides of the law whose history it bears. There are informative tours, that includes a moment when the visitors, rather sinisterly, select cards from a deck. Each card represents a former inhabitant of the prison, gaurd, or prisoner. You earn your card by chance, and I can't think of a more fitting way to instill a respect for past then this. What was once a prison, is now a place that people flock to, to learn about their own past and to gain insight to where they come from. I'm standing on an empty beach appreciating the contrast between my heaven and their hell.

As of 1 week ago I began my job search in earnest. I have created an "office" in the lounge room for the purpose of getting down to business. I have my laptop, a label maker, a desk, chair, and I'm open for business... finally.

Since finishing up at Tufts on December 18th, it has been 59 days that I have been essentially unemployed. That sounds like a lot of time, but consider that I spent the first week after leaving Tufts packing and shipping the remainder of my belongings. I also spent some time in a "farewell tour", traveling around and visiting friends and family. For a lot of the time I lived out of my carry-on luggage and was in a constant state of flux.

I arrived in Tasmania and was probably in a state of shock well into the first week. It was sunny out, warm, I was in a busy house with a lot of people and I was adapting to many different changes. It took a bit of time to acclimate to more clean living. As happens during going away celebrations people like to buy you drinks, take you out for dinner, buy you more drinks, and do several toasts. It is fantastic. I practically came into Australia with a drink in my hand. (see photo)

It took awhile to get back to normal, but I had several things working in my favor. The first was the weather. It was so nice out, I just had to be outside, and I felt like I owed it everyone stuck in New England under many feet of snow. I started running again. The other thing that works in my favor is the cost of booze here. With the average six pack costing $15 my desire to have a casual drink while being unemployed seems to have dissipated. I won't even mention the cost of Scotch.

But I digress...

As I mentioned it has been a week since I sat down to my desk determined to spend 8 hours a day on employment related tasks. Thanks to the book "Getting Things Done" by Dave Allen, I have been able to drastically improve my workflow. I won't go into the whole story, but in this $15 book I found a few things that once I put them into place, made me 1000 times more productive. The morning finds me eager to get to the computer to work on one of the many projects on my plate.  I am able to finally focus on the bigger picture.

I have a long laundry list of things to get done, the first was a project for Tufts, the second, is another project for Tufts, but the third... is my own portfolio website.  It is hard to sell your services as a web designer without one for yourself. You also need business cards if you want to do any freelance work.  At the end of the first week I had met with the owner of an advertising business and received a lead on another potential person to talk to.  I am also considering expanding into doing some photography. There seems to be a market for Photographers here, and thanks to Tufts University I received the training, and gear necessary to give such an undertaking a go. 

My prospects look surprisingly good. I have a lot going for me right now. I don't have to be desperate, thanks to our living situation, and can be selective about the work I choose. It is a tight community here, and word spreads fast, if I can do a good job on a project here, I think I'll see the dividends rather quickly.

I've got a lot of momentum, as much support as can be expected and am sincerely looking forward to working again.  Since it always good to end on a high note I will mention that I booked my first paying gig today. I will be photographing the Launceston Cup for the Tasmanian Turf Club.  The Cup draws a crowd of 25,000 people, and I'll be there with an all access pass to every tent and room in order to get decent photos for the management. I'm quite excited about the prospect really.

It should be noted that the Cup has a reputation for being a location for a lot of drinking.  Somewhat like Nascar is in the states, the horse races are here... including all the tailgating. Instead of Dale Jr. jackets and A-shirts, the attendants dress in glamorous clothing with big hats and proceed to get blotto.  I will be there with a camera to capture it all... soberly.  The circle has become complete.  I am open for business.

Matt

My wife planned a trip for the both of us to get away together during the first week of February 2010. Aware that I had just moved away from winter in my home country, and that I would certainly be missing family, friends, and some sort of normalcy, she quite rightly understood that a week away with her during the Tasmanian summer would be like an oasis for me.  Owing to the fact that a friend of ours spoke well of the place and since we could get a deal through her Mum's employment and we were able to book a weeks accommodation without leaking away too much of our financial reserves. The plan, as it existed when we left Launceston for the 180km drive was to relax, spend some time together without any distractions.


We left on a Sunday and traveled at a rocketing 110km/h with the windows open and were kept from overheating.  We had a GPS, a weeks worth of food, no hard and fast plans, and we couldn't be happier.  The drive was one I haven't done before. I have been all over Tasmania, but never north of Launceston. I've been east, and south, so heading on a rhumbline north was somewhat of a treat, and the first time you could remotely say that I was heading home. At the town of Devonport we tracked west and followed the sea to Sisters Beach. You smell the ocean before you see it and we were treated to the hazy blue horizon and the smell of salty air as we moved west.  I imagined we were on the Pacific Coast highway headed south, something I have never done, but could now imagine.  The ocean drives on the east coast of the USA are not this sparsely populated. Most of the places we pass through are towns, with a few blocks that would be considered busy.  Soon we are passing vineyards, and several poppy fields before we break off the main highway and turn down the narrow switchbacks that end at Sisters Beach.  The name comes from the group of mountains called "sisters". The town itself was settled by an ambitious family in the 30's, and a national park was declared in the 60's to keep the area from being over-developed.


Sisters Beach only has a few streets and we aren't far from the center of town when we arrive at our rental house.  It is straight out of the 70's and it is glorious.  We open the door to the place, and it is right out of a yellowed photography from my parents photo album, down to the silverware.  Wood paneling, brick walls, and sparse furniture.  After we unpack I get this feeling that this must have been what my parents felt like when they went away together, before they had us.  In that moment I can see in the timeline of our lives exactly where we are situated.  Logistically we quickly realize that we have no phone line, no internet connection, and no cellphone signal.  Even our parents probably had more when they went on vacation.  As you might expect, the reality of being unplugged is really a bit of a relief.  No email, no browsing the internet, and no making phone calls.  I've been in Tasmania for just over two weeks and real isolation has been achieved.  For me the lack of distractions proved be be quite useful, as i sunk my teeth into Dave Allen's book "How to get things done", which is exactly what I needed to read at this point in my career. For Lucy, it was an excuse to pore over a stack of magazines and plow through several books she had in her queue.  I can't believe how fast she reads. 

We head right to the ocean after we have unpacked.  Walking from our place to beach I am aware of the smell of sunscreen, and the feel of flip flops on the dirt path, and the bugs flying around, but they aren't serious, not like the Maine woods. Near the beach is a public area with several campervans housing a small number of travelers. They cook dinner in small groups enjoying the heat of the end of this day. The beach itself is wide, and as usual in Tasmania, practically empty.  There are several patches of sharp sable colored rocks exposed out of the beach sand.   The ocean is cold, and is dotted with glistening jellyfish along with shells and strange foreign things I'm still not used to seeing. which are more tropical in nature  We walk along for an hour or so, running in and out of the sea and laughing like kids.

We make ourselves busy with relaxing over the next few days.  Our goal of detoxifying is put into place and we find ourselves jogging along a dirt track in the brush set up from the beach a bit.  Running later in the evening when the heat has subsided is our method, and as the sun goes down I catch a wallaby out of the corner of my eye bounding along side us before disappearing behind some large scrub.  It is profoundly gorgeous out here, with just us. At night we fall asleep to the sounds of the wave's crashing just a few hundred yards off, and the fierce wind howls now and again and we feel safe and snug.

As we become accustomed to our surroundings we realize how many for sale signs are around. Sisters Beach, like a lot of coastal Tasmania, is up for sale.  It has yet to be subdivided, or crammed with vacationers and rental properties.  You can walk along the ocean and see small beach shacks that were built 50 or more years ago.  It is poised to grow, and there are reminders everywhere.. and for me I can't help but think that when I look back at this trip I will need to remember that I visited Sister Beach during a snapshot of its development. Like this point in my life, Sisters Beach is in the middle of changing and will never be the same for me as it is now.