By Steven Cooke |
Last September, Michelle and I walked the Three Capes Track carrying everything ourselves. No pack transfers, no shortcuts. Just weight on our backs and some of the most raw, spectacular scenery Tasmania has to offer.
The track is beautifully built, but the packs change the deal. Every climb is earned. Every descent felt in the knees. The effort strips things back and sharpens the experience.
Then the views arrive.
Cliffs dropping clean into the Southern Ocean.
Dolerite columns standing there, unmoved and indifferent.
Wind, salt, scale.
You stop talking because there’s nothing useful to add.
Cape Pillar was the standout. Brutal wind, endless horizon, that humbling sense of being very small in a very old place. We stood there longer than planned, shoulders sore, completely present.
Each night ended the same way. Simple food, tired bodies, deep sleep. The kind you only get after honest miles.
By Cape Hauy, the rhythm had settled in. Walk. Breathe. Adjust straps. Repeat. The final stretch back felt quiet and reflective, like the track had said what it needed to say.
The Three Capes isn’t just spectacular. It’s grounding.
Carrying your life on your back changes how you see it.
We finished tired, salt-stung, and lighter than when we started. Tasmania has a way of doing that.
