How to Tackle This Seven-Day Tasmanian Hike the “Easy” Way

“This is Waldheim, where there is no time and nothing matters,” proclaims the sign. It’s quoting Gustav Weindorfer, who together with wife Kate, established a guest house called Waldheim here in the rugged Tasmanian mountains in 1912. Their chalet marked the start of the state’s wilderness tourism industry, and today it marks the beginning of the 65-kilometer Overland Track, the most famous Tasmanian hike. 

Peering down the track from Waldheim, I consider the six days of walking ahead. I’m about to hike through timeless glacial carved valleys, alpine meadows of tufty buttongrass, and ancient, Gondwanan rainforest.  

Many tackle the hike unassisted, carrying heavy packs and sleeping in rustic National Park bunk rooms. We, on the other hand, have flown in with only our hiking boots, placing ourselves in the expert care of Tasmanian Walking Company. We’ll be staying in the only private huts along the track, and our knowledgeable guides, with countless Tasmanian hikes under their belts, will interpret the nature and history of this cherished reserve.  

So, off we stride, eight visitors and two guides, stepping into a wilderness that still contains no roads, no towns, and almost no signs of modern life. 

The first day is the hardest, I’m told, as I huff and puff up a hill that seems never ending. Finally reaching Marion’s Lookout, we’re rewarded by views of dark and moody Dove Lake, with the backdrop of Cradle Mountain, its ragged fingers of dolerite reaching for the sky.  

The landscape above here is pristine, and we fill our water bottles directly from streams. We’re soon passing Fury Gorge, the deepest in Australia, before beholding Barn Bluff, another prominent remnant of ancient glacial erosion.  

The buttongrass plains of the lower country give way to perched lakes and mossy cushions. In other areas, forests of snow gums or thousand-year-old King Billy pines sway in the breeze. My Tasmanian hike takes place in the late Australian spring, and the wildflowers dazzle, from tiny white orchids to Scoparia shrubs in yellow, orange and red and the spectacular red-flowering waratah trees. 

Secreted down a side track, we enter our first private hut, a humble wooden lodge tucked into the trees. Tasmanian Walking Company has operated these huts inside the Cradle Mountain-Lake St Clair National Park since 1987, and they are a triumph of design in a fragile environment, incorporating rainwater tanks and solar power along with gas. Supplies are flown in by helicopter twice per season, and all waste, including compost and toilet waste, is flown out.  

The company takes sustainability seriously, planting trees through organisation Carbon Neutral and being certified a Green Travel Leader by Ecotourism Australia. Tasmanian Walking Company has its own not-for-profit foundation, supporting nature rehabilitation and Indigenous cultural projects. 

These sustainability measures by no means detract from the guest experience, and we feel indulged with our steamy, four-minute timed showers, and leave our soggy boots in the drying cupboard overnight.  

Our twin-bed rooms are cosy, and the huts have lounges, with picture windows framing the mountains beyond. Woollen tapestries adorn the interior of huts, each depicting a scene from the track nearby. A Tasmanian library is replicated in each hut, handy for those that wish to continue reading the same book.  

As becomes the pattern, one guide has powered ahead to prepare afternoon tea. Today, it’s a cheese platter, other days; freshly baked scones. Our guides create delicious two-course dinners, like chicken with noodles or mushroom and pea risotto and a crispy crème brulée for dessert. No Tasmanian hike would be complete without Tasmanian wines, and we quaff on the likes of Josef Chromy Chardonnay and Holm Oak Pinot Noir. Breakfasts are a hearty affair of spiced porridge, pancakes, muesli and freshly baked bread.  

Out on the track, we keep an eye out for animals, spotting signs of wombats and Tasmanian devils, but not the animals themselves. We do spy two types of wallabies; the fluffy Bennett’s wallaby and rotund pademelons and waddling through the grass, a spiky echidna.  

Easier to locate are the birds, the bushland ringing with the chatter of olive whistlers and crescent honey eaters. Assistant guide Brandon Hill, points out the yellow wattle bird with its unique warble.  

“It always sounds like it’s throwing up,” he laughs.  

For a different perspective, lead guide Sam Deighton suggests we try walking silently for about half an hour, and disperses the group. Alone on the track, my senses are heightened. Birds are louder, lichens on trees are greener, and roots underfoot are more entwined. Looking skywards, silvery raindrops float down to my face.  

I think of the Big River people, the Indigenous group who cared for this land for millennia. They were removed from their country or killed by European settlers, and here in the silence, I can almost feel their spirits from another time.  

From a time even older, Sam shows us ancient shellfish, fossilized 360 million years ago in the riverbed. From a history more recent, we step inside wooden huts that were used by early miners, fur trappers, graziers, and eventually, hikers.  

There’s not always a hut when you want one, and one day, we picnic in the rain. With waterproof clothing and pack covers, we’re well prepared, and Sam is particularly delighted. His favorite patch of forest features alpine yellow gums, and today the wet trunks are glowing golden. 

“You don’t get to really experience this place without the rain,” Sam says, water dripping off his hood. “If you get six days of sunshine on the Overland Track, it’s just not right. This place is actually defined by its weather.” 

The changeability of that weather becomes apparent, as does the value of excellent guiding. Sam has offered us all an optional side trip up Mount Ossa. At 1,617 meters high, it’s Tasmania’s highest peak. Right now, the entire mountain is engulfed in cloud. Brandon explains that should there be an accident, clouds make a helicopter rescue impossible. However, the clouds are forecast to lift around lunchtime, so we hike up to a point called Japanese Gardens, waiting below the mist. 

Right on time, the cloud lifts, revealing the boulder-strewn summit. Clambering past patches of snow, rock-hopping and taking Brandon’s advice on footholds, our whole group cheers as we stand on the roof of Tasmania. 

Gazing northwards, we see Cradle Mountain, where we started. To the south, we glimpse the shimmering Lake St Clair, Australia’s deepest lake and our final destination. Far below, we can just make out the track, and thrillingly, no other signs of humans. My heart races as I realise the privilege of being here. 

But all good Tasmanian hikes must come to an end, and on our final night, Sam warns us about an affliction that may hit us tomorrow.  

“It’s called end-in-sight-ness,” he says. “Symptoms include starting to look for phone signal and remembering flushing toilets. People start dreaming of ordering a burger.”  

For Gustav, there was no time, and nothing mattered. For us, we’ll soon be boarding our ferry, whipping across Lake St Clair, back to reality.  

I reluctantly check my watch; there’s still time to uphold a tradition. Kicking off our muddy boots, we dive into the lake; the freezing water and the entire adventure, leaving us tingling. 

Getting there:  

This Tasmanian hike starts and finishes in Launceston, reached via a short flight from Melbourne or Sydney with Qantas (Qantas.com), Jetstar (Jetstar.com) or Virgin Australia (Virginaustralia.com). 

Tour: 

Tasmanian Walking Company offers the seven-day Cradle Mountain Signature Walk between October and May. Prices start from A$4,495 per person twin share including night one in the historic Red Feather Inn, five nights in the Overland Track private huts, all food and wine, back packs and jackets. Hiking poles and gaiters may be hired (Taswalkingco.com.au). 

The writer traveled as a guest of Tasmanian Walking Company and Tourism Tasmania. 

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