Discover the abandoned dam in Tassie's North-East that hides plenty of secrets

In North-East Tasmania, a dam built to supply the Mount Paris tin mine in 1936 hides away in the bush, ununsed for decades, and is the destination for this week's road trip.

I left Launceston on the Tasman Highway on a lovely cold, clear winter day, where the sun makes you believe it's much warmer than eight degrees.

The ABC's Mushroom Case Daily podcast was keeping me company as I pulled up for the first photo stop at Nunamara, at the foot of Mount Barrow.

The lamp post outside what looks like a former hotel must lead straight to Narnia, I thought. With these frosty mornings it certainly seems like we are in the land of perpetual winter.

One of the things I used to like about travelling with kids, back in a past life, was their enthusiasm about going on drives in the country.

We'd jump in the car with a picnic in the boot and go off to a play park in the middle of nowhere, with maybe a kite or a ball or bikes. We'd explore, play a game, throw a frisbee, run around. Eat toasted sandwiches or sausages in bread at a picnic table like we were royalty at a banquet.

So why was I so wistfully reminiscing as I tore along the Tasman Highway?

I'd just rounded a bend at Myrtle Bank Road where, triggering my memory by not being there anymore, a fallen log with a large knot at the base once lay parallel to the highway.

Over time people decorated the knot to make it look like a gorilla head - a mudflap for teeth, cans for eyes - and it constantly changed as items were added and subtracted. And one day, on one of our country drives, we pulled our car over for a roadside photo with the kids.

In that second of driving time past a familiar, yet unfamiliar place unfolded hours of memories of a past life with the delights and demands of little kids, one that, like the roadside tree gorilla face, has long gone.

And then, how was it that my thoughts had travelled so far, for so long, and yet I had to rewind the podcast only a few seconds to catch up to where I was?

Tasman Highway A3 took me further up into the hills over the Sideling, through Scottsdale. The old houses I aimed my camera at roadside at Winnaleah, as I bypassed Derby, had not been lived in for quite a while.

After Branxholm, a right turn directed me onto C425, a good gravel road, minus the odd pothole here and there, towards Mount Paris Dam.

About 15 minutes later I pulled into a clearing, having skirted the edge of the former lake without even knowing it.

Built in 1936, the dam was originally called the Morning Star Dam and supplied water for the Mount Paris tin mine.

In the '90s holes were cut through the base to allow the Cascade River to flow through. I walked down a track to the river and spent the next 20 minutes playing with the camera, tripod and long exposures.

Looking on a map, I was interested to see Frome Dam on the other side of the Tasman Highway. It might be worth a look too, I thought, and made my way through Weldborough to Moorina.

Frome Road started off well but soon I was down to walking pace. The slow going continued for a few minutes - maybe 10, when the shimmering blue of Frome Dam appeared through the trees.

And suddenly, a house!

Way out in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the Frome Forest. It had certainly seen better days - broken windows, frayed curtains hanging, an untamed hydraengea in what would have been a garden.

Frome Dam was constructed in 1908 to power the Pioneer tin mine and is a concrete-faced rockfill dam, the first of its kind in Australia.

The track to the dam wall descended steeply over a few rocks and was definitely beyond the capability of an i30.

I mean, I could have got it down there without any problems, but it would be like Beer O'Clock Hill to get back up again.

I couldn't imagine too many cars would come by this way at this time of day to rescue me if I was stuck. So it was out of the car for a short hike.

As I was about to leave, a small grave caught my eye.

Thomas Dunsburgh, read the incription, killed by a fall of earth.

The enrgaving was difficult to read. He was aged 24 years, excavating on the Frome River on January 9, 1878, when the bank collapsed.

"The Lord giveth, and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord", finished the inscription, quite aptly, partially buried in the dirt.

Retreating to the car, I had another quick glance on the map and was intrigued to see the Moorina Power Station pinpointed at a nearby bridge over the Frome River.

This didn't add up, I thought, as I stood on the bridge in the cold air looking at the sunlight filtering through the trees onto the mossy rocks.

Referring to the phone, up popped few seconds of video showing an area of the forest I wasn't looking at. Even with only one bar of 4G I was able to work out that there was more to see than I was seeing.

After following my nose for a few minutes - well, quite a few minutes - I found myself looking at the ruins of houses and buildings from the Moorina Power Station.

It was a bit spooky out there as nature reclaimed the site. It was silent but for the wind in the trees - and the ringing in my ears.

The power station operated from 1909 using water from the nearby Frome Dam. When decommissioned in 2008 it was the oldest operating power station in Australia.

I'd easily got my 10,000 steps up by the time I got back to the car. Back in civilisation, I was able to watch the video fully and found an interesting story, with a visit to the working power station by Scottsdale High School, as well as an old ABC interview about the Pioneer tin mine.

Night was falling as I drove back over the Sideling, past the ghost of the gorilla face. I'm looking forward to seeing what else I can find in the forest on my next road trip.