Tasmania, landscape photography above the clouds Ben Lomond and the Great Lakes

Every year, normally at Easter, I return to Tasmania with my camera, a tent, and a plan that changes with the weather. This year’s journey began aboard the Spirit of Tasmania — the familiar overnight crossing from Geelong to Devonport. By dawn, the island air greeted me: crisp, quiet, and full of promise.

Morning light breaks through the clouds above the Ben Lomond plateau in Tasmania. The world falls away below the cliffs, revealing a fleeting landscape of wind, mist, and silence.

I stocked up on supplies in Devonport for two weeks of camping, then headed inland toward the plateau of Ben Lomond National Park. I had scouted the area the previous year and was drawn back by its combination of alpine drama and solitude. Setting up camp at the campground, I woke before sunrise to a world that shifted hourly — from freezing fog, snow, rain to fierce, golden light. The first image of the trip, “Above the Clouds – Ben Lomond National Park,” set the tone: out of the cold morning darkness, silence merging above the fog filled valley. Completely unexpected, a photography frenzy followed. Over the following mornings, I worked along the cliffs and gullies, chasing fog and texture — pieces of the mountain that became “Dawn over the Plateau,” “Into the Mist – Jacob’s Ladder,” “Silent Forest,” and “Snow Gums and Stone.”

Each photograph became a conversation with the place.

"Textures of Time” explored the slow erosion of granite around Jacob's Ladder and the quiet persistence of snow gums that seem to hold the mountain together.

photography above the clouds Ben Lomond and the Great Lakes

Discovering the Great Lakes

After a week at Ben Lomond National Park, I moved south into the Great Lakes region, setting up camp once more — this time on the banks of Penstock Lagoon. This was my first visit and I did not know what to expect.

A still moment in a cold night at Tasmania’s Great Lakes where the Milky Way arcs across the sky, mirrored in the calm waters below. The air was completely still, the only sound a distant ripple — a reminder of the vastness and quiet beauty of this alpine region. An hour later the wind took control.

The landscape here is vast and changeable; light, cloud, rain and wind shift from moment to moment. One hour the water lies still and mirror-like, the next it’s whipped into whitecaps by sudden alpine gusts. The conditions were unpredictable, often testing my patience and equipment alike. Four sessions in one day does not do it justice.

Yet in those rare moments of calm, the rewards were extraordinary. The night skies gifted me “Celestial Reflection – Milky Way over the Great Lakes” — a nightscape exposure in perfect stillness, where the stars above and their reflections below seemed to merge into one.

“Silent Witness” came from a different kind of stillness — a subdued morning light over the hush of the high country settling in around me.

Both were very different experiences. Being my first visit, I struggled with the constant shifts in weather — heavy cloud, icy rain, and sudden gales. Good light was rare. I began to understand why I’d never heard of professional landscape photographers working here: it’s a place of great beauty but low predictability — a difficult investment of time and patience. Still, that challenge was its own reward. When the light did arrive, it exposed exceptional and unique beauty.

A solitary snow gum, cloaked in green lichen, stands resilient in the mist near Miena Dam Lookout and Tods Corner in Tasmania’s Central Highlands. Its twisting branches reach through the morning fog, a timeless symbol of the raw beauty and endurance of the Tasmanian wilderness.

Side trip Great Lakes to Cradle Mountain

A side trip to Cradle Mountain offered adventure but no new images — the kind of reminder every landscape photographer understands: not every journey yields results, but every hour in nature sharpens your vision and weather reports are only as reliable as the weather. There is always next year. Each year, I feel I get closer to what I’m looking for — not perfection, but presence.

Closing Reflections

Each trip to Tasmania feels like another step forward — not just in technical skill, but in understanding how light, weather, and patience shape the landscape and a photograph. These ten new images from Easter 2023 mark a turning point for me as a landscape photographer.

Whilst stunningly beautiful, Tasmania never makes it easy. The wind from the west, the fleeting rain, the ever changeable low cloud in the high country, the endless waiting — they test your persistence as much as your equipment. Yet, when everything aligns — when a mountain breaks through the mist, a shard of light pierces a foggy landscape or the Milky Way reflects perfectly across still water — those moments remind me of "why".

Every image in this collection carries a memory of quiet, solitude and resilience: the strength of snow gums clinging to rock, a frozen snow covered plateau, the reflection of the stars above a still body. Each photograph, in its own way, feels like a conversation with the land and nature — a relationship that deepens with every visit.

Tasmania landscape photography above the clouds Ben Lomond and the Great Lakes

I left Tasmania that year with ten new prints and a deeper appreciation of its untamed rhythm. I go back each year — not in search of more images, but for the experience of waiting for them, deep in self reflection.

Links:

View the full collection: Paul Mullins – Latest Prints

Website: www.paulmullinsphotography.com

Tasmania landscape photography above the clouds Ben Lomond and the Great Lakes