This writer (painfully) discovers the benefits of outdoor sports in the Tasmanian wilderness

For every “up”, there will almost always be a “down”. This reflects the vicissitudes of life — the cyclical nature of being. But as every mountain will tell you, you must take the rough with the smooth if you want to get to the top. 

There has always been something special about reaching the peak. You get to the point where you can ascend no further, and you’re as close as possible to the sky/heaven, depending on your cosmological or religious perspective. 

Tasked with identifying a slightly different form of “wellness”, Tourism Tasmania clearly had a few ideas when they suggested some adventurous exploits and an opportunity to see what the state had to offer in terms of mindful experiences — aerobic in all cases, as opposed to sedentary, supine, and quietly contemplative. Pampering, diaphragmatic breathing by a babbling brook and meditation were not on the menu.

I was to walk, climb, paddle, cycle and… do something genuinely silly at the journey’s end. What could possibly go wrong?

Take a hike

However, things weren’t going well at the start of the Tasmania Walking Company’s signature Three Capes Walk — four days, 50km. Upon arrival at Denman’s Cove, the venue for the tour’s first small steps, I wanted to go home. Immediately. 

Initially, I heard “Deadman’s Cove” and deemed it an inauspicious start. It was.

I had to remove footwear, roll trousers, and alight into the freezing-cold Southern Ocean waters before heading to shore. It was blowing a gale. The sand billowed off the beach, determined to invade every available crevice. There was grit in my teeth, for heaven’s sake, and we hadn’t even started walking yet.

While I enjoy creature comforts, I am not averse to the occasional bout of adventure. I was in situ trying to discover how far people are prepared to go and what they are ready to put themselves through to achieve “wellness”. This didn’t seem to be it. 

I was at the edge of the world. To the south, nothing but the chilled waters of the Southern Ocean to Antarctica. In the first few minutes of the walk, I thought that I might prefer to be among the penguins. I am gratified to say that matters improved thereafter, but at that point, I was struggling to imagine how the experience might make me feel good or even better.

I didn’t have to wait long for the answers.

Summit meetings

Scaling the heights, reaching the peaks, conquering all, and the self-congratulatory satisfaction of a climb well done is not to be sniffed at. It may take work. It may strain quite a few sinews and get the heart pumping at what must surely be an unhealthily fast rate, but there’s nothing quite like getting to the top.

The views are generally better the higher you go. In Tasmania, they are spectacular. 

When you witness first-hand the land and seascapes in this remote area, you begin to understand the deal. You have to work at it and for it. Nothing is more humbling yet enlivening than perching on a rock formation created more than 160 million years ago. 

One has to accept that the satisfaction upon completion is directly proportionate to the effort put in. There were moments when I felt that I couldn’t take another step, but with the encouragement of my fellow travellers, I pressed on, pushed through the exhaustion, and made it to one peak after another.

The beauties of buoyancy

Bruny Island lies southeast of Tasmania. Head south from there, and there’s nothing but ocean. The water is more than a might chilly, carrying with it a tincture of iciness, a glacial familiarity. 

Kayaking on the open sea is at once terrifying and peaceful — when the waves lap and you don’t implode, you get a sense that the gods of the sea are being kind as if to inform you that you’re ok for now, but be careful. 

I came into this experience off a bad one. I capsized many years ago while kayaking down a fast-flowing river in the UK’s Lake District. My head got stuck (underwater) between two rocks. I couldn’t get out of the boat. I thought I was going to die. The instinct of self-preservation prevailed, I guess, and I lived to kayak another day but haven’t ever since. 

And then came Tasmania, a spectacular beach, more freezing cold water, and…

At Southern Sea Ventures, no strap is left unsecured, no spray deck unattached, and not one piece of flora or fauna on the low seas is left unidentified, with history, provenance, and places in the ecosystem explained.

The guides who take you out to sea are experts in every aspect of oceanography and the particular ecosystems that have produced some of the most beautiful beaches in the world and are home to the few remaining giant kelp habitats. 

On your bike

As if more than hiking and sea kayaking were needed for purpose, Tourism Tasmania had a final treat in store — mountain biking, followed by… torture.

Most people can ride a bike, but a mountain bike is a different beast from your common or garden one. They’re challenging to handle. At least they were for me.

Derby (in the state’s northeast) has become the epicentre of mountain biking in Tasmania, if not in Australia, and Tailored Tours has risen as a company to cater to the demands of various adventurous tourists. There are trails for all levels of accomplishment, but even on the most basic, there were, for me, several pitstops and pitfalls. 

Fortunately, however, at the journey’s end, the only floating wood-fired sauna in Australia lay in wait, perched on Lake Derby, around which I had fallen, I mean, cycled.

That was the good news. The bad news was that you’re expected to do something else after a few minutes of sauna warmth. Jump into a freezing cold lake. Scandinavians have known about the hot/cold paradigm for centuries.

Ice-cold water has innumerable positive physical benefits, apparently, with improved circulation and reduced inflammation in the top ten. But you’ve still got to get in.

My first immersion was deeply unpleasant, and I couldn’t get out of the water fast enough. My body had never experienced anything quite like the shock, which was beyond shocking. It felt like an actual physical blow, a punch to the gut.

Overcoming the pain and suffering, embracing the discomfort, and doing it again and again was, somehow, wondrous. After four submersions in the lake, they had to fish me out. I was so happy to be there, enjoying the pain, wallowing in the self-satisfaction of perceived bravery.

The grazes and bloody cuts from my mountain biking escapades were but a distant memory.

In many ways, it was the perfect ending to a remarkable trip to an extraordinary place. Tasmania is magical; the people are wonderfully passionate about their state, and so many experiences can be had. I had pushed myself through my physical limits, conquered fears, and redefined, for me at least, the whole concept of wellness.