EscapeTAS
writer and photographer BRETT CHARLTON
I am sure most people have this moment (if not they should), a true appreciation of history under your feet and surrounding you. I am not talking about a generation or two, but real history – back through the ages of evolution, the glaciers moving over landscapes and melting, continents drifting on magma and settling in their positions under our star. Seconds are like centuries in this mindset. What was there before nothing is the only question unanswered during these contemplations.
I entered this portal of existence at Jackeys Marsh, Tasmania.
We stop en route to the Roundhouse in Jackeys Marsh to stand amongst the forest and be still. The sun is shining, but the closest star is a little further away than desired and the world feels like it is hibernating. No bird songs, no wind – just silence.
Apart from a dirt pathway carved out by apes with articulated thumbs and machines, it is easy to disappear into what used to be. A cathedral of nature with perfect reverb begged for song and my partner could not help but sing to the forest for a while, a rendition of Great Gig in the Sky with soaring vocals to the valley brought depth to the sleeping forest and some curious flying evolved dinosaurs gathered for a listen – respectful and non-interrupting, just perched on a branch of a tree observing and listening. It seemed like the perfect way to enter an oasis of relaxation and just being.
If the ingredients for existence are merely air, water, food and shelter, then the Roundhouse in Jackeys Marsh takes these essentials to another level. The Roundhouse is a creation of love, dedication and commitment, and from the moment your eyes absorb what was to be our home for the next four days, one cannot help but be in awe of what one man’s vision turned into reality absolute stands before you.
Kim meets us at the Roundhouse with wise eyes, lived-in skin and a radiance of pure knowledge of all there is, has been and will be. “Two of my children were born on this property, my daughter near that door just there,” is one of the first sentences uttered as we entered this mythical palace in the forest. From the spiral staircase up to the observatory, the mosaic that frames the bath, the front window overlooking Quamby Bluff, and everything in between, there is a sense that every centimetre of this home was placed there by Kim’s hands with respect and an understanding; that not everything is forever but, done right, can last quite a while.
And placed there by Kim’s hands it has been. The Roundhouse is one of three dwellings on the property, each created by Kim’s labour of love, art and fun from the ingredients that float above the Jurassic dolerite that is the solid base for when, should the ice melt, he will one day grow mangoes on.
We have arrived to escape the ones, zeroes and chaos of the planet and have come armed with guitars, microphones, Tasmanian beer, wine, spirits and enough food to live a lifetime should the aliens arrive. As we settle in and set up, we learn that Kim’s wife has prepared a Japanese feast for us, and plans are made for both Kim and Chintana to join us for dinner later that evening.
It is autumn, and the shadows are long and the sun is a bit further away, but we are in t-shirts and shorts due a large fire burning under the house and ducted to our living area (outside ice is still solid in the shadows). A single majestic gum tree towers in front of the house that sees beyond the peaks of Quamby Bluff and the Great Western Tiers bathed in afternoon light. In this light, the grey solid rock shines orange.
“I planted that tree,” says Kim in passing. Of course he did.
The winter sun fades and a platter of homemade sushi and rice arrives and we gather around the table battling for a break in stories to share stories. The guitars come out afterwards and Kim sings us some of his originals mixed with Paul Kelly numbers mixed with a story of the members of Yothu Yindi coming to stay.
Kim tells of his way of catching trout in the pristine rivers by tickling the fish’s tummy, in contrast to the folk from Yothu Yindi using spears that they bought with them. At some point the spiral staircase to the fire downstairs that needs stoking for the night starts looking precarious, the signal that way too much whisky has been had and we retire for the night.
. . .
The next day is spent exploring the rainforest and learning about the area in more detail. I embark on a solo drive and stumble upon a yellow fridge in the middle of nowhere next to a bridge over a river. I stop to open it and find a treasure chest of vegetables placed there by the locals to swap and share. Having nothing worthy to swap other than the tools of capitalism in the tray, I leave some gold coins and take some potatoes and artichokes so that I can experience the taste where I am. I feel guilty leaving such a meager offering such as money – it seems worthless here (if the people who left their produce in the fridge are reading this, please know that the food was amazing).
I recall stories from Kim the night before about the traditional owners living in the sandstone caves that are visible from where I stopped in the afternoon still landscape of paradise. Kim has walked up there and speaks of rocks from the east coast of Tasmania carried to the shelters as grinding stones and traded Darwin Glass (from a meteorite impact south of Queenstown) that can still be seen in the shelters as significant reminders of a society before stamps or iPhones.
A layer of sandstone between glacier eroded Dolerite beggars the belief that a mere 12,000 years ago the mountains that tower over this valley were covered in glaciers. Amongst the receding waters and wind-swept sandstone, homes nestled high in the cliffs sheltering families that lived here without fences, tractors or any concern about inflationary challenges (although I do not doubt there were still challenges to overcome).
In the evening we return the favour to Kim and Chintana (as well as another couple staying at the property) to join us for a feast of South American food cooked over the fire in iron pots as the sun sets again over the ranges. It is magical and the friendships are again enhanced with food, song, fresh air and a little too much wine and whisky.
Our final day is a little more subdued. We wander around the property and Kim again joins us to be our guide. He points out a part of his home that is mud brick. He made these bricks by hand (of course he did). Kim says casually that the entire structure is filled with fossils, and in utter amazement we observe the images of various flora that fell into a mud trap when the glaciers melted between the hard rock that Kim has made into a base for one of his dwellings. We go to the source, and I am personally in awe of the ability to split a piece of mud rock to find evidence of a plant untouched for more than 26,000 years. One of these sits on my mantle as a reminder of that moment.
During the course of our last day, Kim has been slowly, over eight hours, collecting water from his spring that comes from the top of the mountains through the Jurassic dolerite, filtered between the sandstone granules and mud pits with pre glacial fossils and washed again in the world heritage rainforest undergrowth around old growth tree roots and life rich soils. The water is then fed through pipes that turns a turbine to power the property as well as flowing to the showers and taps (the best water I have ever tasted). On this occasion the water is piped through a hand-made, wood-fired firebrick furnace with a truck brake drum for a door, where it is then stored in an old milk vat before being released to warm up the tiles of a handmade Japanese onsen built into a cathedral like glass house with kiwi fruit vines thriving.
At 6pm, when it is dark, and the outside temperature is minus 3 degrees, and each step cracks ice on the rocks, we meander down to the onsen where Kim has emptied and refilled (once the tiles are warmed up). Entering the cathedral, the moonlight filters through the stained-glass windows and captures the steam of the 43-degree water. It takes 10 minutes to get in as our bodies adjust to the temperature of the water. Once in and adjusted, the minerals of the filtered water hold you in suspended animation as you float in the history of the planet contained and adjusted to serve our bodies. It is bliss.
After an hour we walk back up the hill to the Roundhouse in shorts and thongs and discard doonas and sheets and wish for the fire to go out as our bodies emit a warmth that could be captured to brew coffee. We cannot keep our eyes open long after that and fall into a deep sleep that insomniacs would drool over, still sweating from the onsen-induced heat throughout the night.
The sun’s rays present us with a minus 6 degree morning and the entire world is white with ice and frost. We are dazed by relaxation, fresh air, good food and incredible company in paradise. Slowly we pack up and leave the Roundhouse to venture back to our worlds vowing to return, hopefully before the mangoes are picked. I have no doubt they will be the best mangoes on the planet.
Since my stay, Kim and Chintana have opened a restaurant at the property, the Butterfly Café. If you cannot stay at the Roundhouse then at least ensure you stop in for a meal. If you are reading this and considering travelling to Tasmania, look up Jackeys Marsh on your map – it is a hidden treasure not experienced by many Tasmanians let alone travellers from afar.
The Roundhouse, 540 Jackeys Marsh Rd, Jackeys Marsh, Tasmania.
http://the-roundhouse-holiday-home.tasmanianhotels.com
Brett Charlton is the Launceston-based, Tasmanian manager for global logistics company Agility, and a freelance writer in several areas, but primarily business commentary for the Tasmanian Business Reporter under thought leadership for shipping and logistics.
