Tasmania among the spirits of cannibalistic convicts, cagey trout, thick brush, devils, marsupials and other things to make your hair stand on end. You weren’t going to use that limb, were you?
Words: Jacob Baynham
“There are bones in the bush.
I have been following a faint game trail for an hour, clawing through neck-high desert scrub, heading, I hope, toward a trophy brown trout lake in the Tasmanian wilderness. My father is similarly entangled several meters away. Now and then I see his rod spring from the understory like a signal flag. I try to keep him close; the bush feels like a spider web and the harder we struggle, the more ensnared we become.”
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