I'd been wanting to go to Evercreech since I had first seen it as a place that might present a wealth of fungi for my fungi heart, captured as I was by the breadth of colour and shape of the autumnal goings on in Tassie forests last Easter. Refusing Jamie's indecisiveness, I thrust a finger at Google Maps and said firmly: 'we're going to Evercreech', to which he complied, because anything is better than making decisions sometimes.

To get to Evercreech from the east coast was of course about dirt tracks, which is what we did, rattling down a deserted dusty road again from St Helens, heading to a maze of tracks in the forest. A lone van appeared in front of us, then disappeared in our rear view as we overtook it. Not twenty minutes later, as we found ourselves deeper into the bush with the blue dot on map winking at us like it knew that we knew that it didn't know where it was going, the van appeared behind us as we were scratching our heads and vowing yet again to buy Hema maps and never trust Google again.

Backtrack we did, the van slow behind us and us waiting as we were worried the two girls within would not make it up the hill. Consequently, we were much later to the picnic area when we finally found it, and knew it'd likely end up our camp for the night. It's one of those places that are immediately pretty even before exploring, so it didn't seem like a bad option.

We were here, however, to see the White Knights. Lovely name for a few lonely trees, the largest of their kind, and saved from the loggers. In fact, the whole picnic area was built around them. These white gums towered at some 90 metres, but as I looked up, I wondered if they were even alive. Some argue they aren't, just the dead shells of trees that mourn the loss of their forest around them. It did make me feel uncomfortable and sad, as much of the regeneration forests do.

But still, there was a whole tangle of forest around it, treeferns twisted with sassafras, myrtle, young white gums. They entwined around each other as if to weather the storm, to refuse intervention, to clasp onto each other in a long dark night of destruction.

Man had been, of course, laid bridges over fallen limbs, left placards and handrails and chairs, but all was becoming green and decaying the way wet wood will in wild winters. Moss and lichen work their magic, leaves stick and rot, insects sing and birds defecate and trill.

The walk to the Knights themselves is only minutes, and should you return to the carpark, it's not a long diversion if you are onwards to the coast. But we kept going on a big loop, stopping to look at moss, usnea, lichens, spiders, tiny flowers. Sometimes a landscape makes you a toddler.

The walk takes you up a small incline and then along a path where you look down into the valley and onto the Knights. I feel bad that I don't find them more spectacular, preferring the whole scene and not the tourist drawcard. But sometimes I guess you have to lure people to appreciate nature by shouting about something big and tangible.

After we get back to the carpark and have a quick drink, we head in the other direction to the Evercreech Falls, the longer walk of some 40 minutes to an hour and a half, depending on how you're dallying and whether you're taking pictures and losing your shit over mushrooms and the stunning beauty of a forest path splattered every shade of green.

The walk takes you alongside a river, one of Tassie's amazing features - water seems to be everywhere. Hence all the moss and ferns. Eventually the walk led us to a river crossing which you probably couldn't cross in the winter. In fact, there was one of those signs I often include in my writing on Australia's great walks. They do like to warn you in advance of mishaps, in case you didn't know that water on rocks might be slippery, and that the rope is there to hold onto. Here's Jamie on the other side, suggesting I put my phone away so I don't drop it in the water. Good plan.

Then at last the waterfall appears behind the trees, a blur of white and a rush of noise. It's not the only waterfall I've seen on this trip and it won't be the last, but it's beautiful of course, in the way waterfalls are.

Here's a selfie with me and the waterfall. I couldn't get the waterfall to smile but I don't think it's their thing. By this time Jamie was telling me to hurry up and put my phone away, but little did he know the last part of the walk would be fungi territory so I had a few snaps yet to take.

I haven't even got to the mushrooms yet - but perhaps I'll save them for another post. They seem to deserve a bit of love of their own, and plus, I want to share with you a poem an AI wrote about mushrooms.

So let's skip the mushroom part of the walk for tomorrow, and instead focus on this really cool hut. Tassie has some great shelters and this is one of my favourites. It's roof is wooden shingle and inside are a few picnic tables.

Get in closer, and there's a fireplace too. Amazing huh? It was fireban time but gee this would be amazing in winter wouldn't it? As it is we didn't see many other people so we couldn't imagine how quiet and beautiful it would be in Winter.

We camped the night by the stream and there was only one other guy there, a young bloke who'd just got off the ferry. Turned out he was only from the next town over from us which was funny. It was his first trip away from home and this was where he ended up. Tassie sure was going to have some treats for him.

With Love,

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