Skip to main content

Ideology has very little to do with 'consciousness' - it is profoundly unconscious.

The Tessellated Pavement. Eaglehawk Neck, January 2011.

Back at work again for the year, but I don’t want to talk about that. Yesterday we all went on a little road trip down to the in the general direction of the Tasman Peninsula. We didn’t venture too far into the Peninsula, sticking around the isthmus that connects it to mainland Tasmania,
Eaglehawk Neck
.

Some nice water above the Tessellated Pavement, Eaglehawk Neck, January 2011.

The isthmus itself is about 400 metres long and 30 metres wide at its narrowest point, and is the natural gateway to the peninsula. The British in the 1830s employed a line of starved and beaten (and consequently very angry) dogs were chained to posts across the neck to warn of any convicts attempting to escape the convict prison at Port Arthur (located further south). The area was also heavily patrolled by soldiers, and the guards' quarters is still there as a handy little museum.

For any convict foolhardy enough to attempt the swim, sharks patrol these waters. I am sure that filled their hearts with some joy. It certainly kept Henry a safe distance from the surf.

Pirates Bay, Eaglehawk Neck, January 2011.

The area is a lovely spot, and features a beautiful and rugged terrain with a number of extraordinary geological formations. These include the Tessellated Pavement; an area of flat rock that looks to be a human construction (see the photos), but is in fact formed by erosion. Also nearby are Tasman's Arch, the Blowhole and the Devil's Kitchen, all striking natural formations that I’ll post pictures of in the next few days.

You know it’s a scenic spot when you upload your photos after getting back from a half-day trip and you’ve somehow managed to take 950 photographs!

Pirates Bay, as seen from the Tessellated Pavement! January 2011.

Comments

Roddy said…
Like Boxing Day, 2009, 499 photo's of the days wood cutting. Fortunately I was only cutting the trees down.
They are all in my computer or on disc if you wish to see them.
Roddy said…
Looking at the picture again. It almost looks like the stones were cut to build some city. Hobart Town?? Nay. You are correct. A freak of nature.
No rivets were used in the cutting of trees. Honest. Ask your mum. She was there. Had her own chainsaw too.
Dina said…
That tessellation is natural?! Amazing, beautiful!
But a sad story of the dogs, sharks, convicts.
Kris McCracken said…
Roddy, 100% natural.

Dina, yes it is. It is a rare erosional feature formed in flat sedimentary rock formations lying on some ocean shores. The rock fractures into polygonal blocks that resemble tiles. The cracks are formed when the rock fractures through the action of stress on the Earth's crust and subsequently modified by sand and wave action.

Simple really!

Popular posts from this blog

If you want to be loved, be lovable.

Henry admires the view.

Zeal, n. A certain nervous disorder afflicting the young and inexperienced. A passion that goeth before a sprawl.

Here I have tried my hand at the homemade sepia-toned photo. I wasn’t happy with the way that the sun had washed out some of the colours in the original, so had a bit of a fiddle because I like the look on Henry’s face, and didn’t want to pass on posting it. I have a tip for those of you burdened with the great, unceasing weight of parenthood. I have a new recipe, in the vein of the quick microwaved chocolate cake . Get this, microwaved potato chips . I gave them a run on Sunday, Henry liked the so much I did it again last night. Tonight, I shall be experimenting with sweet potato. I think that the ground is open for me to exploit opportunities in the swede, turnip, carrot and maybe even explore in the area of pumpkins. Radical, I know. I’m a boundary-pusher by nature. It's pretty simple, take the potato. Slice it thinly (it doesn't have to be too thin, but thin enough). Lay the slices on the microwave plate, whack a bit of salt over the top and nuke the buggers for five minut

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral