Carnivorous Nights_ On the Trail of the Tasmanian Tiger - Margaret Mittelbach [128]
For a long stretch, the trail was unvaryingly mild, not steep or taxing, just a slow, steady slog up the side of the mountain. Then we reached the Zig Zag Track. It switchbacked dizzyingly toward the summit and seemed to suck our breath away. Though the air was cooler due to the higher elevation, we began pouring sweat. As we climbed up the steep slope, the vegetation continued to shrink. Rather than growing into trees or even shrubs, tiny plants clung desperately to the sheltered crevices between rocks. These alpine plants had adapted to freezing temperatures and high winds on the mountaintop by growing close to the ground. Surrounding us was a boulder field, and the rocks outnumbered the small, spiky plants by ten to one.
We continued to climb, boulder after boulder, and congratulated ourselves on being fit enough to tackle the mountain. Then a Lycra-clad gentleman raced by, kicking up tiny, sharp stones and leaving us in a haze of dolerite dust. He was running up. Immediately, we thought, We should be running, too. We attempted a couple of jogging steps and then doubled over, gasping for air. Maybe it was time for a rest. We leaned back against a boulder and wheezed.
While looking at the ocean below, we observed that next to us was an impressive rock formation. Titanic, 300-foot-high shafts of gray rock were lined up in rectangular pillars. They were called the Organ Pipes, and it's said that at certain times the wind whistled through the rocks and they moaned like a calliope. We imagined the Organ Pipes playing a symphony based on our hike, a jolly reel followed by a grinding dirge. Then we thought more about Darwin's log.
Perhaps Darwin had been fatigued from his long travels by the time he reached Hobart. Or maybe he was just excited to be in an Englishspeaking colony under the rule of the British crown. Whatever it was, he failed to notice how unusual Tasmania was. In his short description of his visit, he didn't write about seeing a single native animal and hardly observed anything about the island's singular flora and fauna. He never saw or looked for the thylacine or the devil. He never even mentioned them. But he must have known they were there. Both creatures had been written about in European scientific journals and it is unlikely that the existence of such odd creatures would have escaped his notice.
Our thoughts turned to a British explorer far less well-known than Darwin: George Prideaux Harris, one of the first settlers in Tasmania— and the first person to scientifically describe the Tasmanian tiger and devil.
Harris had been a lawyer in Plymouth, England, who, at the age of twenty-eight, had left his career and home to become part of the expedition to found Australia's second settlement. The expedition was headed by David Collins, who had participated in the founding of Sydney in 1788 (and was the man who first described a living platypus to the European public). Why Harris gave up his law practice is unknown. And why he signed on with the Collins expedition, or what even qualified him for it, is also mysterious. Just weeks before the Collins party departed with two ships bearing nearly three hundred convicts, a garrison of forty-six Royal Marines, and more than fifty free settlers, Harris was named Deputy Surveyor-General of New South Wales (as the entire Australian colony was then called). Though he lacked training as a surveyor, he was a skilled amateur when it came to painting, sketching, drafting, and architectural drawing. He also knew the art of taxidermy. In truth,