The Mountain

I have always been stirred by Mount Wellington. To me it is a place of deep, brooding power. For as long as I can remember it has seemed incredible to me that such a place exists so close to a city; it seems not quite to belong in the same dimension. I have never been able to shake off a sense of bewilderment that tens of thousands of people live and work, often literally in the shadow of this extraordinary, ancient force, but remain blithely indifferent to it, and disinterested in exploring it.

Perhaps I feel this way about The Mountain because my father took me there when I was a boy - but then he took me to all sorts of places when I was a boy, and I have no remarkable feelings about them now, whereas I sense The Mountain almost as a life force.

Not all that long ago I learned that my great-great-grandfather, Charles Gadd, was the first Ranger at Mount Wellington. He lived with his family in a cottage at The Springs, about 2500' above Hobart. At that time, prior to the opening of the Springs Hotel (which puts me in mind of The Shining whenever I see a photo of it), I'm not sure that there was a road even as far as The Springs. A road was certainly built by the time the hotel opened, and was later continued on to the pinnacle during the 1920's, which is also when most of the walking tracks were made.

Yesterday, walking back from the Organ Pipes I passed across the area known as The Springs. That night my father showed me this photograph, which someone had noticed for sale on the wall of a shop in town.

A very strange feeling came over me when I realised I had just walked over the spot where my great-great-grandparents had lived for at least 20 years. The child in the photo is possibly my great-grandmother.

Charles Gadd's grandson, my grandfather, Max, is now about 86. Every time he sees me he says, "You and I are the only ones left who still care about the mountain." He told me he used to camp up there, on Snake Plains, back in the 30's. Absolutely no-one overnights it up there now.

My father, on seeing this photo, said he couldn't understand why Charles had built up there in the first place. I think he was referring to the logistics of the idea. For instance, God knows how the kids got to school - presumably they didn't. Or maybe they hacked their way through the rainforest, and sat there picking leeches of themselves all through their classes. Anyway, if as I suspect, my love of Mount Wellington comes partly from Charles, I think I know why he decided to raise his family there.

Most of the photographs here and in the gallery were taken within a few kilometres of where Charles's home used to be. Some, like this one, were taken virtually on the very spot. This is the sort of sunrise he would have seen.

It's strange knowing that the mountain which I find so compelling was my ancestors' home, over 100 years ago. They lived there, alone, surrounded by that same silent force.

I don�t know if they 'felt' it too; perhaps they loathed the place. Perhaps Charles's wife suffered the isolation in miserable silence. Maybe my feelings for the place have no connection with them at all, but I can't quite convince myself of that. For whatit's worth, these pages are dedicated to Charles Gadd, Mount Wellington's first Ranger, and his family. I must be honest though. Most of all, these pages are dedicated to The Mountain, and whatever it is that slumbers there.

Tim Gadd, July 1998.