A few years ago, you wouldn’t have expected Derby to be world-famous in anything.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve long loved Derby. This quiet village in north-eastern Tasmania sits amid of some of the most interesting and underrated landscapes of the island, a mosaic of farmland and wet forests criss-crossed with runnels, creeks and rivers. Where the Cascade River meets the delightfully-named Ringarooma River, you’ll find Derby, just beyond halfway between Launceston and the east coast.
I liked the free camping on the river, the second-hand bookshop and a couple of homely cafés. Someone had painted a big boulder on the edge of town into the vision of a rainbow trout. There was a river race, in which teams blundered downstream on home-made inflatable rafts, called the Derby River Derby (the first and last words sounding different, as the town’s name is pronounced der-bee). It was a town replete with beauty and odd characters. But for a long time, Derby was on struggle street.
Yet today it’s going off its chops, and it’s all thanks to mountain biking. A few years back, a decision was made to cut bike trails into the forests on the edge of town. Sometimes these things work; sometimes, when you get people who really, really know what they are doing, these things work extraordinarily well. As word spread about the Derby trails, mountain bikers from around the world started showing up, speeding around the bends, and tipping their money into the town in return for its hospitality. Derby’s alive.
Like so many smaller Tasmanian townships, Derby was built around a mine. These north-eastern districts were surveyed and mapped by James Scott in 1855. He returned to the authorities without a whole heap of good news on the practicability of agriculture or industry in the region. Then, in 1874, tin was discovered by George Renison Bell, and mining activity began. The mine would come to be known as the Briseis Mine, a name which came from the winning horse of the 1876 Melbourne Cup.
Thousands of miners flocked to diggings nearby, including a sizeable population of Chinese diggers who worked various operations in the area (although not at Derby). There is no shortage of Chinese history in the north-east, and today, these migrant workers are well commemorated in the area. There is a Chinese cemetery at the nearby hamlet of Moorina, and interpretation panels at other villages around here as part of ‘the Trail of the Tin Dragon’ tourist route. It begins at the Queen Victoria Museum and Art Gallery in Launceston, where a ‘joss house’, or Chinese temple, has been reconstructed, along with other Chinese miners’ artefacts.
Derby was the richest of the mines around here, producing more than 120 tonnes of tin per month. There was a population of about 3,000 people. But disaster struck in 1929, when the dam on the Cascade River burst, flooding the town and the mine and killing fourteen people. After five straight days of rain, a torrential 130cm fell in two hours.
The mine didn’t reopen until 1934. Its tin was particularly valuable during the years of World War II. Eventually, inevitably, mining here was no longer viable, leading to an economic slump. You can still find plenty of monuments from those days, including the rebuilt Cascade Dam and, even more impressive, Mt Paris Dam, defunct and disappearing into myrtle forest further upstream. There is also the ill-conceived Derby Tunnel, built by a miner in the 1880s in an effort to transfer his tailings elsewhere. Those who wish to slosh around in the tunnel may be rewarded with a glimpse of the Tasmanian cave spider (Hickmania troglodytes), a uniquely local spider of ancient lineage. Entering their lairs is not recommended for the faint of heart, however – they can have a leg span of up to 18 centimetres, and they build webs up to one metre in diameter.
Little Blue Lake is further to the north-east, near Gladstone. This is a small lake which now reflects a bright aqua blue, thanks to the mineral content left behind from tin mining operations. As a north-east Tasmania tourism brochure says, swimming isn’t recommended, even if the devil-may-care locals can be found water-skiing here in the summer months.
Better perhaps to cool off in the Ringarooma River, which runs through Derby. The town campsite is set along here and, nowadays, it gets pretty close to full, even through spring and autumn. The amenities are simple: barbeques and toilets. But it’s a picturesque spot along the river, and it’s right in the centre of town.
Not everyone who comes to Derby camps, of course. There are a handful of accommodation options, most of them reasonably new, various cottages and lodges and retreats. Many of them are previous homes, which were repurposed when tourism came to town. Good old-fashioned pub accommodation still exists, including in the neighbouring towns. There’s the Branxholm Imperial Hotel (about eight kilometres from Derby), which offers great home-cooked food and a hop plantation in the backyard; the Winnaleah Hotel (also about eight kilometres away) is a classic back-country pub, with big plates of country tucker and plentiful pints; and the Weldborough Hotel (about 20 kilometres away), set in resplendent rainforest, at the end of one of the main mountain bike trails. The Weldborough also boasts a full list of Tasmanian craft beers, good grub, and it offers cheap camping as well as rooms.
All of these neighbouring towns are advantaged by the mountain biking’s roaring trade, but Derby itself is positively swaggering. The first trails were opened, about 30 kilometres of them. It had cost a touch over $3 million to build them. They were an immediate success. Derby was featured in mountain biking magazines all over the world. In 2017, one of the major international mountain biking competitions took place here. Soon after that, there was an annual average of 30,000 visitors coming to Derby, and the trails are estimated to return about 10 times the initial investment.
That’s the money side of things. Of course, a rich town doesn’t necessarily make a wonderful town. And some locals are concerned with the changing identity of Derby. There’s no doubt that things are no longer as they were, and for those who, years ago, chose Derby as a genuine retreat, it must be uncomfortable to have so many visitors suddenly throng to your doorstep. There are always locals who are inconvenienced, or worse, engulfed by waves of change, prosperous or otherwise.
Small country towns don’t always breed connoisseurs of gourmet pizza or craft beer, and it’s not surprising that some locals initially furrowed their brow at the presence – not to mention the price – of such things in Derby.
There have been casualties, the one I regret most being the second-hand bookstore.
But the general mood in Derby is a positive one. Mountain bikers generally prove to be friendly guests, the new businesses and stakeholders are becoming part of the community, and Derby is settling into its new life. For now, the camping is still free, and the trout rock remains as a guardian over the town.
And is the mountain biking really that good? I asked my mate Carji Braid, who has worked as a bike guide on the Derby trails. He responded with some enthusiasm. ‘The trails are designed to allow beginner riders to acquire new skills safely but, ridden with speed and skill, give advanced riders an amazing, adrenaline-fuelled experience,’ he explained. On top of this, the trail builders have been vigilant in making sure that the surrounding bush and natural beauty of the area is showcased with each ride. Giant granite boulders, towering gums, hidden creek lines and fern glades litter the trails, truly immersing the rider in the natural beauty of the north east.
It’s a convincing invitation. The difficulty of the trails is also invitingly diverse: from challenging even the best mountain bikers, to offering a leisurely ride to clumsy numpties like me. There’s also an opportunity to run the trails, as part of a festival in late summer. Either way, travelling to the forests of Derby is a worthy excursion.
Previously:
Bert Spinks grew up in Beaconsfield and is now, mostly, a resident of Launceston. He is a writer, storyteller and bushwalking guide, each of which feed and reflect his interest in the way human communities interact with place and landscape. He focuses especially on journeys and movement, language and literature. Although based in Launceston, Bert spends much of his time without a home because he is in one of the world's wild or interesting places pursing local lore.
Pen Tayler is a Tasmanian writer and photographer. She photographed 12 towns for Towns of Tasmania, written by Bert Spinks, and has written and provided images for Hop Kilns of Tasmania (both Forty South Publishing). She has also written a book about Prospect House and Belmont House in the Coal River Valley.
