Shadow of the Thylacine by Col Bailey

Author:Col Bailey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Natural history, Shadow of the Thylacine, Tasmania, Australia, Tasmanian tiger, Thylacine, Australia, Tiger wolf, Tasmania devil disease, Thylacine skull, Tasmanian tiger footprints, Tasmanian tiger sightings Tiger Tales, Thylacine Museum, Tiger Range, Tiger quoll Tiger cat, Eric Guiler, Nick Mooney, Dr Stephen Sleightholme, Cameron Campbell, Reg Trigg, David Fleay, Prof. Heinz Moeller, Elias Churchill, Wilf Batty, Deny King, Walter Mullins, Albert Quarrell, Pearce Family, Arthur ‘Cutter’ Murray, Bob Warne, Alison Reid, Arthur Reid, Hans Naarding, Jim Hall, Lucy, Weld Valley, Weld River, Snake River, Jane River, Erebus River, Coorong, Styx Valley, Florentine Valley, Upper Florentine Valley, West Coast Road, Lyell Highway, Mount Arrowsmith, Jane River country, Jane River goldfields, Derwent Bridge, Gordon River, Lake St Clair National Park, Walls of Jerusalem National Park, Mount Field National Park, Wild Rivers National Park, South West National Park, Adamsfield, Franklin River, Jubilee Range, Mount Anne, Mount Mueller, Mount Field, Central Highlands, Central Plateau, Gordonvale, Vale of Rasselas, New Norfolk, Tyenna, Denison Range, Arthur River, Arthur-Pieman Conservation Area, Frenchman’s Cap, Jane River Track, Button grass plains, Cutting Grass, Bauera, Forestry Tasmania, NPWS, National Parks & Wildlife Service, Lake King William, Lake Gordon, Healesville Sanctuary, Log truck drivers, Osmiridium, Beaumaris Zoo, Hobart Zoo, Adelaide Zoo, Balfour, Ernie Bond, Menna Jones, Derwent Valley Gazette, The Great Depression, Automatic cameras, Forestry Tasmania, Wood mills, Fauna Board, Animals & Birds Protection Board, Zygomatic arch
Published: 2013-04-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

The Arrival of the Movie-Makers

Following an interesting sighting report, I began routinely investi­gating a section of the southern Florentine Valley bordering the Gordon Plains. I had had a phone call from two bushwalkers who claimed to have trekked through to the Vale of Rasselas from the West Coast Road, a mighty tough journey these days, considering it has been some time since that section had a decent lightning burn-out. They told me they had sighted a tiger along the banks of the Gordon, not far along the track from Gordonvale. Their description of the animal was sobering, for although it undoubtedly appeared to be a Tasmanian tiger, the future for that particular animal did not look promising. They told me the tiger looked worn out, had a dirty yellow-brown coat and appeared very thin. The stripes were clearly distinguishable, as was the long, stiff tail. The animal moved off somewhat sluggishly into surrounding bush as they came upon it along the river. They admitted to being quite shocked at the sight of it, believing, like so many others, that the animal was long gone. Thankfully they resisted the temptation to run to the newspapers with their story.

In early November 1997 I hiked across the boggy button grass flats to the Gordon River, being careful to evade the odd tiger snake lurking in the undergrowth. Crossing the slow-flowing Gordon on a conveniently fallen log, I pressed on to Gordon Vale, once the home of the legendary bushman Ernie Bond. It was here that Bond took up his selection in 1934 after some years spent prospecting for osmiridium at Adamsfield. He purchased a mining lease in 1927 and fossicked with moderate success before eventually finding himself some suitable grazing land at the foot of the Denison Range in the Valley of Rasselas.

Ernie Bond was a mountain of a man who thrived on hard work, and after clearing the thickest forest and building his haven, he turned the area into a veritable Garden of Eden. Legend has it he built the bulk of his sprawling homestead from one huge swamp gum he felled and hewed on site. Calling his paradise Gordon Vale, Bond became widely renowned for his genial hospitality to all who ventured his way.

The big man had long gone by the time I reached his selection, having finally departed during the early 1950s. All that remained were rusting sheets of iron, piles of rotting timbers, the remains of post and rail fences and some rusting farm implements. A few cleared areas were still discernable, but the bush was doing its usual efficient job of reclaiming the lot, and soon there would be little left to bear testimony to Bond’s grand establishment.

I pitched my tent near a creek and prepared to spend the night with the ghosts of the past. To my knowledge, no one had ever died at Gordonvale, but Bond told of often seeing Tasmanian tigers in the area. It was a still, cool evening and I was kept entertained by a family of bats skilfully skimming the air for insects.

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