The name Carl Stackhouse might not ring any bells these days, but back in the 1930s he was a man about town.
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A barrister by trade, he spent his spare time mountaineering and was one of the few men that fought to ensure Cradle Mountain stayed as pristine as it is today.
He became friends with Gustav Weindorfer, an Austrian botanist who was so taken by Tasmania he lived on Cradle Mountain and devoted the rest of his life to ensuring it became a National Park.
"[Weindorfer] was Austrian and he came out here and in about the 1910s and 20s and he recognised what a beautiful place Cradle Mountain was," Carl Stackhouse's grandson Peter Stackhouse said.
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When Mr Weindorfer died he did not have a will, and all of the land he had so far fought to protect was at the mercy of loggers. That is where Carl Stackhouse mounted his momentous claim to unheralded fame.
"Because the area was surrounded by a number of King Billy Pine, which was much sought after by the government and by foresters in general, there were lots of people trying to pillage the timber," Peter Stackhouse said.
"There were four friends that got together and formed a syndicate and bought the land and the house where he lived."
"What they did, these four friends ... they put together a proposition to the government ... and it became the cornerstone to the Cradle Mountain National Park."
VIDEO: A view over Dove Lake in the Cradle Mountain National Park.
90 years later, Mr Stackhouse feels like he is fighting a similar battle to try and "keep the wild in Tasmanian wilderness".
"In a silly sort of way I feel as though I owe a bit to those sort of people," he said.
Mr Stackhouse is an avid mountaineer, hiker and walker, just like his grandfather, and has seen more of Tasmania than most could even dream of.
He was 16, in December 1964, when he got the opportunity to trek with Dick Reed - a famous Tasmanian bushwalker who has landmarks named after him - to Lake Malbena and Halls Island for the first time.
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Hot on their tail was Reg Hall - the man the island is named after. Years prior, Reg Hall had built a small hut on Halls Island that was open to anyone but so remote that he was just about the only one that used it.
"We were just travelling across the ground. I asked Dick a few days later, 'why don't we seem to be following any tracks?' And he said, 'I don't leave tracks, because vandals will follow me. He was always fearful that the wrong people would get into that country."
To this day the hut still remains and last year Mr Stackhouse revisited it.
"I opened the door, because I was the only one on the island at the time. And it was just like it was 50 years ago," he said. "It hasn't changed. It's untouched. It's like a museum, just like Reg Hall left it."
Mr Stackhouse said when he first visited the island it was in the aftermath of a major bushfire the year before.
Much of the land around Lake Malbena was in the early stages of rejuvenation, but Halls Island appeared as if it was oblivious to the fire that had ravaged its closest neighbours.
"The first time I'd been there, it was just magnificent," he said.
"It was a paradise to arrive there. Because we'd been riding through, and leading horses through, burned country all day. When we got there it was just bird life and native vegetation ... It was just magnificent. The island was just full of King Billy Pine and Celery Top and the fire hadn't affected it at all. Even as a kid it struck me then what a beautiful place it was."
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The affinity Mr Stackhouse has for Tasmanian wilderness has been instilled in him through a lifetime in which he has seen more of it than most, and a generational lesson from his grandfather that what he had under his feet was pretty special.
While the generational lesson he has learnt preaches the values of nature conservation and maintaining natural status quo, other pervading stories that are told from grandfather to grandchild are of capitalising on the natural resources on offer - but in a very different way.
Reading from a book about the history of Cradle Mountain, the plight of Gustav Weindofer and exploring Tasmania, Mr Stackhouse recited a line he believed encapsulated the ongoing tug of war between capitalism and conservation.
"'Mr Stubbs ... thought that people who put beauty before profit were slightly batty,'"
- Peter Stackhouse, Tasmanian trekker, reading from a book.
"'George Stubbs, a saw miller, had been trying for several years to persuade Gustav Weindorfer to sell him the superb forest of King Billy Pine on his holding. According to Jack Brannigan, Mr Stubbs was a nice old man who genuinely could not understand anyone wishing to preserve the trees. He thought that people who put beauty before profit were slightly batty'," Mr Stackhouse read.
The reading is an anecdote from before Mr Weindorfer was dead describing why he had committed his life to the preservation of Cradle Mountain.
Mr Stackhouse believes the plight of protection Mr Weindorfer faced is emblematic of the current discussion about whether or not a development on Lake Malbena, just over 40 kilometres South-East of Cradle Mountain, would be a sustainable venture.
"Here we are 80 years later, still coming up against people like that," he said.
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From his backyard Mr Stackhouse has a view of Ben Lomond, and it is a daily reminder to him that the wilderness that he holds so dearly is precariously placed.
It is a precariousness that over time has become physically noticeable.
"I was introduced to wilderness by my father who had been introduced by his father. But as time goes by I saw more snow on Ben Lomond than my kids saw on Ben Lomond, sadly," Mr Stackhouse said.
For him, the answer is simple - as soon as "wilderness" becomes accessible, it can hardly be classified as such.
Gazing over Ben Lomond Mr Stackhouse detailed how the mountain has changed over time to the point it is now possible to drive within a kilometre of the peak of Legges Tor - the second highest peak in Tasmania.
"When you get out of the car, and you get around a bit of a hill, you could be anywhere up in the highlands. But that's not wilderness, because you can get to it but you can get to it by car," he said.
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