EAGLE HAWK NECK

Eagle Hawk Neck is a narrow isthmus that separates the Port Arthur Penal Settlement from the rest of Tasmania. To an escaping convict it was a hundred metre barrier called the Dog Line where a collection of bull mastiffs and assorted mongrels spent their lives in chains, ready and willing to rip apart any escapee brave or desperate enough to attempt a crossing.

Eagle Hawk Neck is a magical place where squares of rock [or tessellated pavements] extend out from the coast like a chess board for giants.

Eagle Hawk Neck is Tasmania, where a savage history connects with extraordinary beauty.

Eagle Hawk Neck is also where our recent CHOIR TASMANIA stayed for two nights in the quirky Lufra Hotel which modestly proclaims itself as the "Hotel with the Best View in the World."

I have run a number of trips into Tasmania over the past decade or so. Indeed the very first extended walk I led was the Overland Track. That in turn had been the first long walk I'd undertaken as a young man. I stopped at Narcissus Hut for a week and read Lord of the Rings. Those were the days.

For five years I reprised that experience deep in the Tarkine Wilderness with a group of writers. Amongst giant gums and myrtle forests, remnants of the super continent of Gondwanaland, the New Year was welcomed in silence.

Tasmania has always worked its magic on me. On this latest trip it was much deeper, begging the question: why did I leave with such a powerful sense of the place? It's the choir I think.

Most travel simply looks at stuff. There might be a second to ponder the brutality of Port Arthur or the splendor of Mt Wellington but rarely is there an environment that allows for more than superficial appreciation.

Singing slows down time as it fast-tracks perception. Twenty minutes spent singing amongst giant ferns changes the nature of travel. Belting out a cappella gospel to an unsuspecting audience overlooking Wine Glass Bay offers something beyond looking. It becomes a communal celebration of the beauty.

Shine performed in the gardens of Port Arthur where Martin Bryant slaughtered 35 people in cold blood is at least an offering to the victims.

Blackbird sung in a sea cave at the base of three hundred metre cliffs quietens the soul long enough to feel the water lapping at the side of the boat.

The notes of a choir hold each voice within them. When that single voice resonates with the natural environment; it holds the sadness, the beauty, the insanity and the hope of that place as well.

I noticed something as I walked alone around Port Arthur. People didn't make eye contact as I passed. Perhaps a veiled nod but no more. Probably we now understand enough about ourselves to know that the insanity that existed in places like this is our insanity, not their insanity, whoever they may be. A Choir allows people to look at each other and impart those communal fears into one voice.

I had never thought a week anywhere could compare with the intensity of Central Australia. Especially given room service and comfortable beds replaced stars and Arrernte families around a campfire at night. This trip did, meaning that travel can be authentic AND luxurious. Until now I had never really believed that.

By nature the people attracted to walk and sing with others are communal souls. They seek to be part of something that is bigger than themselves.

Thank you to last weeks singers. Come and sing again some time.

Raymond

Ps. As each cloud has a silver lining, each DOG LINE has a funny story. In one case, the convict Billy Hunt disguised himself as a kangaroo and attempted to hop across the Neck. His plan was brought to a sudden halt when one of the soldiers decided to shoot the large boomer. Billy was forced to reveal his true identity.