Tasmania Trip Part 3
Cradle Mountain Magic — Still Waters, Wandering Wombats, and a Whisper of Sunset
Between 3 and 5 a.m., I found myself waking a couple of times, peeking out the window in the hope of catching a glimpse of the aurora. But the sky was overcast, and a heavy fog draped itself over the hills like a thick woollen blanket. No luck tonight. Maybe tomorrow.
We took our time getting ready, embracing the slower pace we’d planned for the day. After breakfast, we wandered outside to explore the cottage grounds — and to our delight, discovered it was ringed with blooming irises, their delicate petals nodding in the morning breeze. A quiet, simple beauty, as if the landscape itself was easing us into the day.
Our first stop was the Cradle Mountain Visitor Centre, where we picked up our parks pass and asked about after-hours access — we were hoping to return for sunset at Dove Lake. The staff were warm and helpful, recommending a vehicle pass that would cover all of Tasmania’s national parks for the duration of our trip.
Passes in hand, coffee secured, we waited for the next shuttle to Dove Lake. Private vehicles aren’t permitted inside the park during the day, so all visitors take the shuttle or hike in. As the bus wound its way through the forest, we made mental notes of the stops we wanted to revisit later.
The shuttle dropped us off at the Dove Lake Viewing Shelter — a beautifully understated structure that blended into the alpine surroundings. From there, we descended to the lake itself, and the view that awaited us was every bit as breathtaking as the thousands of photos we’d seen online. The lake was still as glass, perfectly mirroring the surrounding peaks. It felt like we’d stepped into a living postcard.
We followed a short path to one of the lake’s most iconic spots: the Dove Lake Boatshed. Built in 1940 by Cradle Mountain’s first ranger, Lionel Connell, the rustic shelter once housed Huon pine boats and now stands as a picturesque testament to the park’s history.
Perched on the small wooden bridge beside it, feet dangling above the water, I soaked in the stillness. Just yesterday, I’d been clambering over fiery-orange boulders at the Bay of Fires, surrounded by sun, sea spray, and sand. And now — an entirely different world. Towering mountains, still waters, and the quiet hush of alpine wilderness. Both landscapes so different, yet equally soul-stirring.
We considered the full 6km Dove Lake Circuit but instead wandered off-trail in the opposite direction, eventually reaching a lookout point that gave us a sweeping view over the lake — another unplanned, rewarding detour.
Back on the shuttle, we headed to Ronny Creek. There, a winding boardwalk led us out into the open buttongrass plains, glowing golden under the midday sun. The trail meandered through a tapestry of native vegetation, and each turn revealed something new — including a few wombats, grazing quietly near the path, entirely at ease in our presence. Watching them trundle through the grass was a reminder of just how wild and well-protected this place remains.
The boardwalk branched toward the historic Waldheim Cabins and then veered toward a gentle creek, its waters threading through the plain. It was an easy, restorative walk — one that gave us a completely different perspective of Cradle Mountain’s layered beauty.
Back at the visitor centre, we were hoping for lunch, but the offerings were meagre and uninspiring. We spotted a sign for Devils @ Cradle, a conservation sanctuary nearby, and made our way there — hoping for better options. Sadly, it didn’t have a café either. So, we returned to our cottage, made a simple lunch from what we had, and took the opportunity to rest and recharge before returning to the park for sunset.
Later that afternoon, we scouted out the after-hours entrance — the northern gate near the visitor centre, which opens to private vehicles after 5 p.m. With time to spare, we explored two short walks that began near the Interpretive Centre.
The first was the Enchanted Walk, a 1.6 km loop along the edge of Pencil Pine Creek. Starting through open moorland, the trail quickly pulled us into a cool, temperate rainforest. Sunlight filtered through dense canopy, the sound of the creek whispering alongside us. It felt like stepping into a fairytale — every fern, mossy trunk, and birdsong adding to the sense of enchantment.
Our second walk, the Rainforest Walk, was a quick 10-minute loop that plunged even deeper into the lush green world. At one point, the trail opened into a clearing, offering a breathtaking view of Pencil Pine Falls. The scent of damp earth and eucalyptus filled the air, and the path — walled in by thick, mossy undergrowth — felt like a secret passage into another realm.
Back at the gate, we lined up with a few other vehicles, waiting for the green light. At 5 p.m. sharp, the light flickered to life and the first car passed through. Then another. And then… nothing. The light stayed red. No explanation, no sign, just an odd silence that stretched on. While we waited, I noticed something troubling — the rear passenger-side tyre was low. I hadn’t seen it earlier.
I decided to check it more thoroughly once we got through the gate — which eventually opened, letting us crawl our way into the park and back to Dove Lake.
Once parked, I inspected the tyre. No puncture was visible, but the pressure was definitely dropping. We decided to stay, but keep an eye on it. After all, this was our only chance to see Dove Lake at sunset.
And what a reward it was.
The crowds had vanished. The lake was still. The sky, though overcast, allowed slivers of sun to slip through in quiet, golden rays. Not a dramatic sunset — but something more subdued, more intimate. The kind of light that doesn’t demand attention but rewards patience. A whisper, not a shout. And in that whisper, a kind of magic.
When the final light faded and dusk settled over the lake, we headed back to the car and checked the tyre again — still holding, but noticeably softer. We drove cautiously, knowing we’d have to deal with it in the morning.
That drive back was its own kind of wonder. Wildlife emerged like shadows in the headlights. Wallabies darted across the road, an echidna paused mid-waddle, unsure where to go. And then came a wombat, waddling down the centre line like a king in his domain. He paused, looked at us, and kept going. Unbothered. As if to say, You’re the guest here. This is my world.
And he was right.
Back at our cottage, we settled in for the night — tired, grateful, and humbled by a day of quiet beauty and unforgettable moments. Cradle Mountain had whispered its secrets to us, and we were listening.