27 April – Frankfurt to Cologne – It’s relocation day, off to Cologne. To be accurate, our destination is Lustheide, an outer suburb of Cologne. The host of our AirBnB seems very communicative and sent what appeared to be very clear instructions. We took the train into Frankfurt Central, spent some time having a coffee and bun before going to the bus station to await our Flixbus. Flixbus is our favourite in Europe, their bright green buses being comfortable and generally on-time, barring road events beyond their control. Since we were here last, the number of routes and cities serviced has increased greatly. The best part, is that a luxury seat with toilet access, charging and wifi is often only a third of the cost of a second class rail ticket. We considered a proper lunch but neither of us was too hungry (rare for us) and we took advantage of the fact that the busport was spanking new, and therefore clean, something most busports are not.
The Flixbus arrived dead on time and we found our pre-booked seats. We had booked the very front seats on the top deck, giving a wonderful panoramic view. You get to see a lot more from the bus than the train, the rail lines often being through industrial areas or the view obscured by thickets of scrub. The trip was set for a little over 2 hours to Cologne Airport and things were going really well until we caught up with the long line of almost stationary traffic following a major truck smash on the autobahn. It took more than an hour to clear the snarl and so by the time we had negotiated a train from the airport to Cologne Messe Deutz station to change to an underground, it was peak hour, and the U Bahn was packed. It is always fun with luggage squeezing onto a packed train.
We alighted at Lustheide and thought we had followed the instructions to walk the 450m walk to our lodgings, but after 600m or so, a helpful local confirmed that we were walking in the wrong direction altogether. We retraced our steps, disobeyed the first instruction we had and set off on the right track. Our apartment is the attic floor on the third level of a lovely house, set in a pretty street. Our host greeted us and showed us the ropes. He told us that he had once worked for TNT in Australia, which explained his excellent English. The apartment is quite charming, especially after the basic austerity of the one in Offenbach. The hosts have gone out of their way to provide comforts, a couple of cold local beers in the fridge, two types of coffee machines with plenty of coffee, a full range of bath products and lots of tourist information. This is the BnB part that so many AirBnB hosts ignore. Fortunately, there is a Lidl supermarket just across the road so we didn’t have to go far to pick up some supplies for dinner. We spent the evening watching the World Snooker Semi Final which was being live broadcast from somewhere local. It was quite fascinating and the only show we could find where the German didn’t matter.
View from our attic
28 April – Lustheide – The day started dark, wet and gloomy, with a forecast max of around 14º. It did not look like improving until the late afternoon and the forecast proved accurate. We chose to spend the day in, relaxing, reading and researching future travel options. Around 3 o’clock, the weather had improved so we did spend an hour or so walking around the neighbourhood, admiring the houses and gardens before the horizon turned black once more and we headed for home. We will have to become less precious about going out in the rain if we are going to travel for months in northern Europe but for now we are happy to hide inside in the dry warmth.
29 April – Cologne – The day opened to more rain but it was forecast as short lived and we got organized to head off to Cologne. We were temporarily stumped by the lack of ticket machines at the station but a local told us we could buy them on the train. The light rail train (which is more like a tram) took us to Cologne Mess Deutz, which is on the eastern bank of the Rhine and we walked a kilometre or so to cross the Rhine River via the Hohenzollernbruecke Bridge, a 409m long rail bridge built in the early 1900s. Despite daily bombing raids during the war that damaged 75% of the city, the bridge remained largely intact, until the retreating Germans blew it up in March 1945. By May, the Americans had it operational again.
The Hohenzollernbruecke Bridge
After the war
Behind the bridge, the towering spires of the Cologne Cathedral formed a wonderful backdrop as we crossed the river. This was our first encounter with the Rhine River. The width and powerful flow needs to be seen to be appreciated. I can appreciate the skills of the pre-motorized boatsmen who were somehow able to navigate such waters against a very powerful current. The passing parade of river boats and barges either painstakingly pushed their way upstream or raced their way downstream. We saw some kayakers making hard work of paddling upstream, even though they were using the backwaters and eddies along the bank. The guard rails of the bridge were covered in “lover’s padlocks”, many inscribed with the names of the couple. The concentration of them was heaviest in the middle sections but they were thick everywhere, probably more so than on the famed bridge over the Seine in Paris where authorities eventually removed them all due to concerns about the added weight. Here the number was estimated to be more than 500,000 back in 2015 but the estimated weight of more than 12 tonne was not seen to be an issue.
Love Locks, only some of the 1/2 million
Exploring the alleyways of the old town
Once over the bridge, we located the departure point for our booked 1 hour cruise on the river and spent another hour exploring the beautiful narrow winding alleyways of the old town. The majority of the medieval building seem to be pubs and restaurants, a thing that was greatly appreciated by the large numbers of people sporting team colours in preparation for the Football match between FC Cologne and Freilburg, later in the day. There was a lot of “pre-soaking” occurring among the throngs and some cheerful banter between the groups.
We boarded the boat, a multi decked river boat and took an outside table on the top near the bow. I was a bit surprised at just how bearable it was given that it was still only 10º. Most people seemed to arm themselves with a beer, despite the cold, so we thought it was only polite to follow local custom. Locals are very protective of the Cologne beer (Kölch) and it is said that trying to order any other form of beer will get you thrown out of some pubs. It is only served in tall narrow glasses. The important thing is, it tastes good, even in icy cold weather.
A great place to live
The scenery was excellent and the commentary informative. The boat struggled upstream for a half hour or so then turned to sail downstream. Unfortunately, this was also into the wind and the added wind chill factor sent us packing inside and down a deck before bits started to freeze and fall off. We thoroughly enjoyed the cruise and it was a terrific way of seeing a lot of the city.
Once off the boat, we headed for one of the many harbourside restaurants and opted for some lunch. Despite the weather, we sat outside, although we cheated by sitting underneath a heater and placing one of the provided blankets across our laps. We both settled on a burger because they sounded good and we hadn’t had one for ages. They came out looking like the promotional pictures of a Hungry Jack’s Whopper, but never really resemble in reality. These were delicious, with an excellent real beef burger. The side of sweet potato chips and truffle mayonnaise went down well too. I knew there was a reason we were doing so much walking.
After lunch, we set out again to follow the crowds up towards the cathedral. The crowds had now swollen enormously, not just soccer fans, but large groups of locals who seem to come to the city on a Saturday and walk or buy lunch. Near the Central Station and cathedral, the crowd became almost difficult to move through. There were hens party groups in tutus, bucks party groups downing copious beers, tour groups from the many river cruise ships and family groups out and about, all heavily rugged up of course.
Words fail me trying to describe the Cologne Cathedral. We have seen many wonderful such buildings, the Duomo in Milan, Notre Dame in Paris and Duomo di Firenze in Florence amongst them but this one takes the cake. The towering turrets once formed the World’s tallest man-made structure and the intricacy of the stonework is staggering. The building dominates the skyline across most of Cologne. Fortunately, the wartime damage was minimalized because of a deliberate policy by the US forces to avoid bombing it. Photographs dotted around the building show the damage done and some of the early restoration efforts.
Cologne Cathedral on a better day than we experienced
We followed the crowds through town to the Neumarkt area before catching a tram back to our lodgings, tired but well content with our day exploring this beautiful city. Cologne is a must-visit city.
30 April – Cologne – The day began with clear skies, almost a first for the trip. The forecast promised a very respectable 19º so we decided to get some washing out of the way in the morning and then head back into Cologne for the afternoon. There is a cable car running from the zoo across the Rhine to a park and thermal spa on the eastern bank so we figured that would be a great way to get some different views of the city.
Many other people also thought it was a lovely day to be out and about and the trams and walk ways were crowded. So too was the queue to get onto the cable car, but we persisted and took a wonderful ride across the river. The argument crops up regularly about a cable car connecting Perth with Kings Park and having ridden a few, I can’t have anything but positive thoughts on the subject. It would be a hit with tourists and locals alike if they managed to keep the cost down. This one was $8, which seems very reasonable.
Once on the other side, we ambled slowly through a large and pretty parkland, filled with family groups picnicking or just walking. We stopped at a beer garden that was filled with people and waited an age for a beer each, mostly because the couple running the bar were horribly inefficient and seemed to think that only one of them needed to work at a time.
We continued the walk to Cologne Deutz Mess Station and caught the tram home, well content with a lovely day in the sunshine. With an early start planned for the next day’s move to the Netherlands, we started the process of packing. Cologne has been well worth the visit.
20 April – Well, we have arrived, at long last, after a four year hiatus from overseas travel. As I write, we are settled in to a small but comfortable apartment in Offenbach, an outlying suburb of Frankfurt, Germany. As we grapple with the aftermath of an 18 hour flight from Perth and the attendant jet lag/disassociation that trips like that carry, we pinch ourselves that we are here again, starting out on what is to be a three month sojourn across seven countries.
The flight was bearable, which is pretty complimentary for a Perth to somewhere in Europe flight. We chose to fly Singapore Airlines, Economy Class to Singapore and Premium Economy Singapore to Frankfurt. The Economy class only served to prime us up to totally fall in love with Premium Economy. The cramped seats and 3-3-3 seat layout gave way to 2 secluded seats with loads of leg room, wide seats and enough lay-back and leg raise to allow an actual real sleep experience. I would still far rather teleport direct, but the Premium Economy is a worthwhile investment without breaking the bank.
Our last entry into Europe via Frankfurt was back in 2017 and went smoothly. This time, it was not so smooth. It was fine until getting through immigration and customs. It was trying to negotiate the train into the city that was an issue. Our preplanning suggested we needed to catch an S-Bahn to Ledermuseum (Leather Museum) , travelling through the Central Frankfurt station on the S9. OK, we found the S9 after a couple of aborted attempts. The ticket machine made no sense at all so we tried a friendly man at the ticket office. He looked at our written requirements, nodded, and sold us two tickets. We were pleased when the Commonwealth Bank travel card was accepted as payment, found the right platform, boarded the right train and set off. The train travelled through Frankfurt Central and continued towards Ledermuseum. The digital readout kept putting up a screen saying something in German at regular intervals and I began to fear that it was telling us that there was an issue with the journey forwards. My lack of German proved to be no barrier. I was right. The line was closed and we would not reach out destination. I was on the point of losing it. The same thing happened to us in Melbourne for the Australian Open, which makes two AirBnBs in a row where we have chosen them for the convenient rail links only to find the rail is busted.
On advice from some of the other passengers, we disembarked at the next stop and returned on another train to Frankfurt Central. Here we sought the assistance of two assistants sitting at a DB Help desk. “Can you help us in English?” They nodded an affirmative, the man grinning as he handed us over to the girl next to him, I suspect because he knew she would be out of her depth. She fluffed around with an app on her phone and pretty much failed before he came to the rescue and sorted us out. We were off again to find Platform 4 and a RE (Regional Express) to Offenbach and a 650m walk to our apartment. Platform 4 had an ICE (Intercity Express) train waiting, which threw us, but a young lady who was waiting said it would probably (hopefully, maybe?) be replaced by an RE train and to follow her lead, as she was wanting the same train as us. The ICE did indeed depart and the RE slide in. We found a seat. When it got to around ten minutes past the departure time, a lot of people got up and left, leading us to have doubts that things were going well. Asking around, it seems that there were issues with the automatic doors failing to operate and the train would be delayed for an indeterminate amount of time. Some had elected to leave and seek another train. We stuck it out, mainly because we didn’t know how to seek another train. Suddenly, the doors closed, remained closed, and we were off to Offenbach.
Offenbach station looked like something out of “A Clockwork Orange”, graffiti layering over more graffiti and corridors occupied with homeless. We had managed to get our travel SIMs working at long last in our phones so Google Maps directed us on the easy walk through the graffiti lined streets to our apartment. After mis-interpreting the entry directions three or four times, we hauled our bags up the one flight of steel stairs to a snug, quirky but reasonably comfortable apartment that would be home for the next week. The central heating worked (essential given that the max for most days was around 12 degrees) and there were enough comforts to keep us going. After dumping our gear, we set out to find a super market. We headed down a street with the amusing name of “Frankfurter Street” and asked a pair of young women if they spoke English and for directions to a supermarket, as luck for have it, one was an English teacher. They gave us the location of the local “Penny Mart”, which stocked a wide range of goods at surprisingly low prices. A basic shop of supplies for breakfast, lunch and dinner and a couple of wines set us back €30 ($A50), a great start to the tight budget. The centre of Offenbach looked exciting to explore, with numerous cafes, restaurants and interesting shops, many set in a walking precinct. Well content, we had a quick bite to eat and crashed to try to reset the biological clocks.
Our apartment is one level up on the left.
Offenbach – 21 April – We spent our first full day doing very little, needing to fully recover from the long flight. We both woke very early, around 5am, with dawn coming at just after 6. With breakfast down, we went out for a stroll around the Offenbach CBD. There are a number of walking only streets and promises of Friday market stalls. These didn’t really materialize, other than a few fruit and veg stalls along with some flower sellers. The fact that it was 5 degrees may have had something to do with it, with very few people out and about early. Otherwise, the range of shops is interesting, with lots of small variety stores side by side with some very upmarket fashion boutiques and swank jewelers. After a long walk around we dropped into the Penny Mart and grabbed a few more supplies. It is a challenge to find goods in small packages, because we have limited room to lug groceries between cities. Sometimes, we just have to accept that we will keep half a packet of something and leave the rest for the next guests in our apartment.
After lunch and watching a dismal performance by the Dockers against the Bulldogs (we have Kayo), we headed off for another walk the opposite way down Frankfurter Strasse to check out the tram terminus. A tram line that services Frankfurt Central terminates about a kilometre down the road and represents a much nicer and cheaper way to get around than the RE train. The walk took us through what was obviously once the elite part of Offenbach. Beautiful old houses set in spacious gardens adorned both sides of the road. Most were now apartments, some were professional suites and the odd one looked as though it was still a house of some grandeur. Opposite the tram stop was a park, Spielplatz Parkstraße, which was full of magnificent trees, now sporting the emerging spring leave coverage. We correctly identified a couple of English Oaks and a Holly bush before being stumped by some towering fir like trees. Christine has an app on the phone that identifies plants and we were surprised to find they were Giant Sequoias, or Californian Redwoods. It was a peaceful and lovely walk and we managed to soak up the charm of a beautiful part of this German City.
Frankfurter Strasse in Offenbach
Palmengarten – 22 April – It was an early rise (5:30) to watch the Eagles get beaten soundly by Port Adelaide. I have no idea why we thought this was a good idea but there it was. Later in the morning, we set off to the tram terminal to catch the No16 tram into Frankfurt, a trip of around 25 minutes. The tram ride was beautiful, winding its way through some truly lovely streets. When in Frankfurt before, we had stayed in the central part of the city where very few old buildings had survived the bombings of WWII. The only old buildings were reconstructions of gothic structures. On the south side of the river between Offenbach and Frankfurt, many of the streets were lined with stately 18th and 19th Century buildings, now turned into apartments. Green parks dotted the area, many still sporting flowering fruit trees and tulip and daffodil gardens were common. It being a Saturday, the sidewalk cafes were busy, made more so because it was the first day over 15 degrees for some time, the maximum predicted to reach 21 later in the day.
It was noticeable on the tram, and elsewhere, just how reserved and polite the people are. People stand back and let others alight before boarding, pass greetings and apologies if they get in someone’s way. We were surprised by the sight of several people boarding the tram with dogs on leads. A noticeable feature is how multicultural the population is, Germany having absorbed large numbers of migrants and refugees over the last two decades. In fact, more than half the population of Frankfurt has a migrant background and nearly a quarter are foreign nationals. Frankfurt is one of the World’s wealthiest cities and has the sixth highest number of ultra-wealthy individuals.
Frankfurt has an excellent tram system
We got off the tram at Frankfurt Central Station, Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof, thinking we would have to find another tram or underground to our destination, Palmengarten (Palm Garden Botanical Gardens). I looked at the maps and found that the No16 tram kept going right past Palmengarten. Before getting back on, we walked around and checked on the location of the Flixbus Terminal in preparation for our move to Cologne and the location of The Alder Hotel, where we would stay for one night in July before flying home. As is often the case, the area immediately surrounding central railway stations is a magnet to the homeless and some of the sidewalks were somewhat on the nose. The homeless are very much in evidence, mostly North African or Middle Eastern and one can only feel a sense of sadness that our World has enough resources to help everyone if only we can even up the distribution somehow. To its credit, Germany has done quite a lot to help, but the sight of so many people in difficulty is a tough one when we live in comparative luxury.
The Palmengarten proved to be a wonderful experience. The grounds are full of exotic trees and plants, although many are still to regain their foliage after winter and the rose garden had been pruned back completely. What carried the experience was the numerous enclosed climate controlled enclosures that featured palm collections, an amazing cactus garden, tropical rainforest plants from around the World and a fascinating butterfly enclosure, with a wonderful collection of free flying brightly coloured butterflies feeding on a variety of flowering plants in a moist tropical environment. The grounds are large enough that by the time we emerged from the butterfly enclosure, we decided the legs had done their work for the day and we made our way back to the tram, to ride all the way back to Offenbach, leaving further exploration for another day.
The Palmengarten
By the time we got back near the apartment, it was around 2pm so we decided to splash out on lunch at a seafood restaurant around the corner from our lodgings. It rates highly on Trip Advisor, and rightly so, because the food was sensational. It is a bit sad that here in an inland city far from the ocean one can get a better and cheaper feed of top quality fish, prawns and calamari than back home. The fish was Sea Bass fillets, perfectly grilled. The prawns and pieces of squid were also grilled, with a side of chilli sambal. It was fresh, crisp and really tasty. The meal was served with an excellent salad and a modest serving of small potato rounds fried. It was a far cry from the battered deep-fry-up that is the norm back home. All up, the meal, with two beers, was €34 ($A50).
Then it was home to crash out, perhaps too much so, as our sleeping clocks are still not synched yet.
Old Frankfurt – 23 April – We took the tram into Frankfurt again today to walk around the old city area and Romer. It being a Sunday, there were a lot of people out and about in the tourist plaza of the Romer and the nearby old streets of the reconstructed gothic city area. We have spent quite a bit of time in the area on a previous visit but this time the artificial appearance seemed accentuated and overly touristy. It makes for good photography but not much more. The area is filled with churches and they all seemed to peal their bells at once. It was quite jarring and discordant, with a lack of a good musical director. We stopped at a bakery and brought a couple of pretzels, which also proved to be a bit underwhelming. Abandoning the tourist area, we strolled down the roads to find a shopping precinct to look for some warm loungewear only to discover that most businesses close on Sunday, including the large shopping centres. This practice is at odds with some of our politicians back home who insist that the rest of the world is open 24/7 and Western Australia needs to catch up. Later, we found the “Closed on Sundays” rule extends to many restaurants and take-aways. The supermarkets in Offenbach, the Lidl and Penny, were both closed as well, leaving us with few food options later in the evening. Overall, it was a lack-lustre day but still far better than not being here at all.
Old Frankfurt
Offenbach – 24 April – We had a lazy day in. The manager of the apartment block came around to unblock the shower drain, otherwise, not a lot happened. We did go out a couple of times to walk the area and discover more shops and sights but it was a quiet day, and the body appreciated it. The temperature has dropped too, and the magic weekend weather has given way to a 14 degree max with grey skies and light rain. Tomorrow looks worse.
Offenbach – 25 April – We rugged up and headed out to the Oppenbach Markt, a local produce market operating on Tuesday, Friday and Saturday. It was interesting to see the variety of different fruit and vegetables. Most were labelled with the country of origin. There were some very strange turban shaped cabbage things from Portugal. White asparagus is very common and cheaper than the green variety. The fish and meat vans had pork, lamb and beef, although the beef is extremely expensive. All meat is pricey, with chicken being at least affordable and turkey even cheaper. Fish is more expensive than it is at home and there is far less choice. The flower stalls were outstanding, with beautiful arrangements available for around $A15. There were huge bunches of tulips and amazing bunches of bud roses.
The Offenbach Markt
We were excited to see a wurst stall, selling a variety of sausages with bread and a sauce. These are common further south, in Bavaria and especially in Austria but we had not seen many in the Rhineland. We chose a Bratwurst with a curry sauce and bread roll. It was delicious. We chose to share one serve and we both hoped the other would instantly take ill so we could eat it all.
What has surprised us is the lack of English amongst the general population. Granted, Offenbach is not a tourist area in any sense but Frankfurt is one of Europe’s biggest transport hubs and economic centres. Our feeling is that there is less English in this part of Germany than in Croatia or Italy. This extends to signage and menus, most of which are German only. Google Translate gets a good work out.
Wiesbaden – 26 April – We awoke to a temperature of -1ºC so before we headed out, we rugged up with the full thermals and jackets. We took a train to the nearby city of Wiesbaden, a journey of around 50km. We opted to buy an all day ticket, which proved useful because it is a slight saving on the return trip and it also gave us access to the bus system in Wiesbaden, the whole region falling under the RNV transport system. The trip took us through Mainz, another city on the junction of the Main and Rhine rivers. Although smaller than Frankfurt, Wiesbaden is the capital of Hesse, and Mainz is the capital of Rhineland-Palatinate. Wiesbaden has 15 thermal springs dotted around the city so it has been important since Roman times as a spa city. It enjoyed an almost cult status amongst the wealthy during the 19th Century and many fine houses can be seen throughout the city. Even today, the city has one of Europe’s highest number of ultra-wealthy people and very high overall average wealth.
As soon as we emerged from the central train station, the beauty of the city was obvious. Wide tree-lined streets lead away to the old town square, with numerous pretty parks, fountains and gardens, sporting a glorious array of tulips and the cherry trees in full bloom. Many of the stately homes are now either apartments or professional offices but the grandeur of life near the late 19th century was easy to picture. The city sustained very little damage during WWII and so there are fewer of the austere 1950s plain blocks of offices and apartments that characterise many other German cities. The town square was dominated by a majestic town hall and the towering triple spires of the Markikirche, an enormous protestant cathedral built entirely of brick. A fresh food market was in full swing, along with a wonderful array of food trucks, so we helped out the local economy by indulging in yet another “Curry Wurst und Brot”. It must be the cold weather because these things are getting addictive.
Around Wiesbaden
After getting some advice at the Tourist Centre, we caught the No1 bus out of town to the Nerobergbahn, a quirky little funicular railway that climbs 83m along a 400m track to the top of a hill overlooking the city. Built in 1888, this railway is famous because it uses an amazing system of water ballast. Two cars operate, one going up and the other down. When at the top, one car is filled with 7,000L of water, making it around 7 tonne heavier than the one at the bottom. As it descends, it hauls the other one up to the top. Once at the bottom, the railcar dumps all its water, which is pumped to the top of the hill again to fill the other car. The views from the top are sweeping, allowing us to take in the whole city. The hill is also home to a Russian Orthodox Church and a war memorial to the fallen in the Great War, which, seen the day after Anzac day, was a reminder that the tragedy of WW1 was not a one sided affair.
The Neobergbahn
Back down the hill, we caught the bus back into the city, alighting to inspect one of the thermal springs, a 66ºC fountain with multicoloured deposits creating a low dome in a small plaza.
A thermal spring
From there, we made our way back through picturesque streets to the town square, stopping along the way to have a lunch of salad rolls and coffee in a bakery. The Germans certainly do bakeries well, with an amazing variety of delicious goods at affordable prices.
We had considered stopped off in Mainz on the way home but we had already walked around 7km so decided enough was enough. Wiesbaden had delivered the goods. A beautiful city well worth the visit.
Tomorrow, we leave Offenbach to journey north to Cologne (Köln) via Flixbus. We are very happy with our choice of staying out of Frankfurt in Offenbach because it has given us the chance to really appreciate this interesting and comfortable city. It is not on the tourist lists, but we can recommend it.
Wow! Nothing about this trip went to plan. It was a trip a long time in the planning too, and well planned at that. But fate intervened, not once, but several times.
The Plan:
Abandon the very long standing family tradition of going to Shark Bay for the 1st term school holidays.
Travel to Giralia Station on the southern end of Exmouth Gulf with Trevor, Em and the kids, and Ron and Jo for a week of wilderness beach camping and fishing.
Trevor and Em to travel back to Hamelin Pool with us, drop the boat off in storage, then continue on across the unsealed Useless Loop road and winding sand tracks to Steep Point, Australia’s most Westerly Point.
Put the vehicles and Trev’s camper trailer on the barge across to Dirk Hartog Island for a four day stay, exploring the sights and fishing from a 3 metre plastic twin hulled boat.
Admittedly, there was a lot that could go wrong here, with mechanical failures, damage on the appalling tracks around Steep Point or problems with boat motors. In the end, a lot went wrong but it was none of the above.
The Preparation: With so many caravanning and boating trips lately, we forget just how much work there is preparing for a completely self-sufficient camping trip. Giralia Station requires fresh water, toilet and electrical provision. You get a lovely stretch of private beach, but nothing else, other than a couple of dump points. Dirk Hartog Homestead Camp has some excellent shower and toilet facilities but campers need their own power, fuel and must take out rubbish. Despite everyone’s determination to travel light, we all collected various objects that might prove useful, cramming them into every last nook and cranny. Ron and I spent some time checking over the trailer bearings and springs and throwing out all the unnecessary things from the boat. We had some appointments in Perth just prior to leaving so we loaded our box trailer with stuff and brought it down ready to load into the boat.
How Things Really Went: During all the packing, my back started to get increasingly sore. I tried to do the right things, wearing a brace for heavy lifting, stretching and taking a few anti-inflams but it just kept getting worse, heading steadily towards the point where the crippling spasms set in. I know from past episodes, that it is a two-week recovery from that point. Christine added her bit to the drama by waking in the middle of the night with a heart arrythmia and high blood pressure, something she has not had before. She wisely called an ambulance. When the ambos arrived, they took one look at me and declared they would do a two for one, and we both went in. Christine was the first call but she had to walk out and sit in the seat, whereas I got to have the green whistle and use the lie down. The doctor in the ED thought it was quite funny and kept us each up to date on the other’s progress. By 9am the next morning, we were both let go, Christine having had a jolt to reset the rhythm and me with some strong painkillers which did the job but left me pretty useless otherwise.
The decision was made for us. The Giralia part got the boot. Trevor, Em and the kids decided to spend the week exploring the Murchison along the Wool Wagon Pathway followed by the Kennedy Ranges, returning to meet us at Hamelin, when our medical problems eased. Ron and Jo headed to their place in Greenhead to pull some weeds and relax. Christine started a course of tablets and made a booking for further tests at a later date. I lay around and took my narcotics. We did have one stroke of luck in the form of bad luck. Our starter motor died and needed an RAC tow to the mechanic for a new one. Having that happen deep in the outback would have been horrific.
The Trip: We eventually set off, taking the box trailer with us. Trevor had off loaded some stuff, including the plastic dinghy, at Greenhead, so we picked that up along the way. I was still not up to driving so Christine did the lot, doing a fantastic job and getting us to Hamelin with no dramas. Trevor and Em had got there only an hour before us having had a wonderful week on the inland dirt roads and exploring some amazing country. I was still out for the heavy lifting so I supervised the kids in the swimming pool while the others made camp. The bad news was the weather forecast, with 15-20mm forecast across the Useless Loop Road for the following day. It was going to be a matter of getting through before the Shire closed it.
The old telegraph station homestead
True to the forecast, the rain started around 6am, forcing us to break camp in the wet and head to the camp kitchen. The camp kitchen tried hard to reflect the old station life but, in reality, it was a sub-standard facility by today’s standards. The only positive is that it was a higher standard than the ablutions. The Hamelin Caravan Park is remote and isolated, but that is not an excuse for the poor facilities in this day and age, especially when the prices were full Covid prices.
Breakfast in the campkitchen
When we reached the Useless Loop Road, the sign said “Closed When Wet” but there were no barriers up or other signage, so we drove past the shire truck, with the workers saying nothing and set off. The first 20 kms was sealed, a pleasant surprise, and the remaining 80kms to the National Park entrance was mostly freshly graded. In places, the rain was starting to sheet off forming small running creeks but it remained hard and not slippery. The further we went, the deeper the water got but the road surface stayed solid. Once into the National park and across the bar that holds water back for the Useless Loop Salt Works, the road turned into a heavily corrugated narrow track. The good thing was that the rain had wet the dunes to the point that the normally difficult dune climbs early in the NP section were really easy.
The scenery over the last 60km or so was spectacular, with huge windswept sand dunes, some totally devoid of vegetation, deep inlets of blue water and rolling hills of heathland. Of course, rain squalls swept across all of this. Kelsie and Ashton wanted Trevor to drive over the dunes but fortunately, they were over-ruled. We reached the ranger’s house and got directions to our allocated camp site. Booking is absolutely essential as all sites were full. There was a small city of tents and marquees spread along the beach at Shelter Cove and a small armada of fishing boats anchored off shore.
The rain came down with little relief. Trevor announced that they would opt to sleep in the car, it being just too hard to set up a camp in the conditions. We did manage to erect a 3X3m gazebo and use a car and a screen wall to get protection from the weather side.
Huddled in our gazebo at Shelter Bay
I dug out a portable gas heater and we all huddled around it, venturing forth in the rain lulls to fish. The kids even went for a swim, the water being so warm. We managed to get our 30 Second Tent up in a weather break so we were set for a good night’s sleep. By 8pm, the sky had cleared but it was too late for Trevor to set up, especially with a 7:30am barge to catch. By 6am, the rain returned, and we broke camp in rain once again.
The fishing fleet at dawn in Shelter Bay
The barge arrived, with a car and camper on it, and we watched as the guy backed off, veering slightly and only just keeping the front wheels on the ramp as he exited. There is no wharf or concrete ramp, just a sand beach. Trevor was waved forward, and he crossed the sand, hitting the barge a tad fast. It made for scary watching. It is one vehicle at a time so we had a half hour wait then our turn came and we approached the ramps at a more sedate pace, boarding without issue. Driving on and off the barge was the only time I drove, Christine did a refusal. Once parked, we went up onto the bridge to meet Kieran Wardle, the owner of Dirk Hartog Homestead. He briefed us on our stay and moving around the island.
Locked and loaded
At the other end, we backed off and set off across the 20km track to the homestead camp grounds. The track was a lot narrower on the island, and I did tell Christine off a few times when she allowed a thorny bush to rake down the side of the car. Strangely, it was always my side, never hers. A few flooded areas had to be negotiated, but again, the ground below proved hard, and we reached the homestead with no real problems, although Trevor had some fun backing up and getting off the road to allow three on-coming vehicles access.
We had camp sites 1 & 2, close to both the bar, camp kitchen and showers. What more could a person need? The sites are spacious and some kind soul had left a half a bag of firewood in a firepit. There is no wood collection on the island and we hadn’t brought in much. We set up camp, mostly on Trevor’s site, creating a sheltered camp big enough for us all. The wind was up so we just dumped the boat for another day. I walked along to watch a family fishing near the homestead lodge and they displayed a good catch of whiting and flathead, as well as the biggest blue swimmer crab I have ever encountered.
Encouraged by the sight of fish, we set up to fish in front of camp. Kelsie and Ashton are keen on their fishing, Kelsie especially so. She has a lot of patience. Unfortunately, it wasn’t well rewarded, with only a couple of small fish caught. We had missed the tide. Over the next three days, we fished a bit from the beach, the weather offshore never being kind enough to consider launching the boat. We had dragged the damn thing all that way for nothing. We had little success off the beach, a few whiting and flathead was it. We did enjoy a fine feed of plump juicy oysters from the headland a short walk down the beach.
One of the few fish caught
The kids played a lot of beach cricket, and there were frequent games of UNO. There was reading and relaxing, all in mild conditions, the temperature barely getting above 23 degrees, but at least the rain had left us. On Day Two, we set off to explore some features on the island. Some 15kms back towards South Passage are some blowholes on the cliff face. Previously, we had only ever seen the western side of the island from a boat and close exploration was not possible, due to the wild and dangerous nature of the coast. From land, it is easy to appreciate the scale and grandeur of the cliffs that make up the seaward side. The swell was just running enough to produce some blowhole effect. From there, we crossed back through the homestead and drove north to Notch Point, hoping to find a spot out of the wind. Of course, the wind had veered to the north so we once again were faced with an onshore wind. Despite that, we fished, the kids swam and played with their boogey boards and we made jaffles for lunch. Two big whiting at least gave dinner for the kids but there was little else.
At night, the mice would appear. These were not your ordinary domestic mice Mus Musculus, but a rare and endangered native species called the Shark Bay Mouse or Djoongari, Pseudomys Fieldi. It was once widespread across the western part of the continent but is now restricted to four islands in Shark Bay. It is shorter and more ball-like than the house mouse. At first, we found them to be incredibly cute, as they came right up and took food from our hands or nibbled at our toes. However, after we discovered that they had gotten into everything, including the drawers in our car, the attraction wore off. Every packet of food had little holes nibbled in them. They were so tame that it was easy to place a clear plastic box over one and watch as it showed no distress. Neither did it run away when the box was removed. Christine regularly screamed when she came across one in the car food drawer. This amused the kids no end. We began to worry that it would still be there when we left the island. In the end, as we went to drive off the barge, Christine spied a mouse running around on the deck so we assume that it got out just in time.
A Shark Bay Mouse nibbling Christine’s toes
Processionary Caterpillars
Another amusing wildlife sight was that of numerous trails of Processionary Caterpillars. These very hairy caterpillars live in tight clusters in acacia bushes, venturing forth on occasions to move location. They do so in a long head to tail conga line, travelling across the sands to a new tree. Sometimes, there were four or five such trails around the camp. They look soft and furry, but must never be touched. The millions of fine hairs are barbed and will penetrate skin, continuing to work their way down like fibreglass filaments. They are a major threat to the horse breeding industry in the Hunter Valley where the barbs penetrate so deeply they cause foals to abort.
Some evenings, we headed for the beachside bar for sundown. It is a very basic bar, with only two drinks on tap, Matso’s Ginger Beer and Single Finn Ale. Both are $15 a pint so putting in a big night is out of the question. A group usually gathered, some being campers, some staying in the lodge accommodation and some even coming off a cruising yacht. It added a nice touch in such a remote location. In fact, the whole setup is a credit to Kieran Wardle and the staff, with facilities beating many other outback tourist locations that have far easier access to supplies. Yes, it is on the pricey side, but why wouldn’t it be. Everything comes in by boat and staff are hard to find.
A check of the weather report showed another huge weather event approaching for the weekend. We were due to leave the island on the Friday, but the forecast suggested heavy rain starting Thursday night. Strangely, this was tropical rain, coming down in a mid level mass from the north. It was to link up on Saturday with a cold front from the south, making the chance of being rained in and stuck on the island for nearly a week very high. We decided to leave a day early. Later, we found that the area received more than 80mm of rain and the road was closed for 3 or 4 days.
Ominous signs for the weekend.
The exit off the island was uneventful, the barge loading and unloading just as scary but really quite easy.
The drive back across the road was far more comfortable than the drive in, the rain having flattened some of the corrugations. There was a lot more grading on the Useless Loop Road too and we shaved around half an hour off the previous three hour trip. Once back at Hamelin Pool, we picked up the trailer, transferred the boat to it, and headed off. We booked into the Dongara Hotel Motel for the night and enjoyed a wonderful meal at the bar while Trevor and Em made it back to Greenhead to stay at Ron’s place. By morning, the rain had caught up with us and the final drive home on Friday was in heavy rain. A few checks of the radar vindicated our decision to leave early, with many large storms going through South Passage. I wondered how all the fishing camps along the shores of Shelter Bay were faring.
Back in civilization – Dongara Hotel for dinner.
All in all, the trip was a series of disasters, yet it was still enjoyable. We went there as a bucket list exercise, and to that end, it worked. The kids certainly seemed to enjoy the adventure but then those two enjoy everything. We failed to see all of the island, partly because we had seriously misunderstood the amount of fuel we would need and just how horrible it is to drive for a full day on the Dirk Hartog tracks. Despite this, it was worth doing. Would we do it again? No! But then, we don’t have to because it has been crossed off our bucket list.
20 July 2020 – The cold days of winter in Dowerin have worn us down. We are not really used to having a winter at home, usually seeking the escape to warmth by going north or heading to Asia or Europe. Alas, the bleak days of Covid-19 have dragged us down to the point of having to live at home. But it has not been all doom and gloom. We have managed lots of maintenance jobs that have languished undone for years and worked hard to ensure that our toys (caravan and boat) are both ready and able to be put into action.
With a series of appointments in Perth looming, we figured we had a week long window to get to some place warmer. Consulting the map, I spied Coronation Beach, a camping location 25kms north of Geraldton. We had been past the turnoff sign so many times it would be impossible to estimate yet we had never gone in. What better to go to a place unknown? We had a few taskes around town so couldn’t leave first thing. A leisurely drive to Coal Seam Conservation Park, (another place we have never been) was indicated to cut the driving time to manageable levels.
The drive was interesting for the variety of crop conditions. Because different districts had planted at different times, it put the growth at vastly different stages, with some crops barely sprouted while others were at mid calf height. Some areas even had canola crops in near full bloom, while others were just a low coverage of emerging plants.
We stopped in Dalwallinu for lunch, pulling into a large parking area in the middle of town. We had the place to ourselves, until we started to hear a few voices. I stuck my head out of the van and saw at least seven rigs lined up behind us, most with Kalamunda plates. It was an invasion! The people are heading north!
The roads were full of caravans headed north
Then it was onwards through Wubin, Perenjori and Mullewa then Coalseam Conservation Park. Mullewa was looking prosperous, a sight at odds with what I had imagined the case to be given their poor crops over the last few years. The drive from Morawa towards Mingenew is quite charming, especially at this time of year with everything so green. The road winds gently through breakaway country and there are some magnificent groves of York Gums.
Coal Seam is equally pretty, the Irwin River cutting a low gorge through sandstone country, exposing fossil beds and small seams of coal. It is a little early for the wildflower displays that the place is famous for but a few pink everlastings were poking their heads out and the wattle and grevilia displays just starting. The bird life is wonderful, with red-tailed black cockatoos, blue wrens and red breasted robins all being present. A very restful place.
The Irwin River cuts a shallow gorge at Coal Seam
The little coal pit over the Irwin River
21 July 2020 – We rose early by our standards, mainly because the lack of internet meant that we couldn’t lie in bed and read the news. It was 11 degrees, warm by recent standards in Dowerin. After breakfast, we walked a short way to cross the Irwin River and take in the sights of a couple of mine shafts sunk in 1917 to recover coal. The seam proved too narrow to be viable as a mine and the site was abandoned. It was interesting though, with coal mullock heaps surrounding the small pit.
By 8:30, we were hitched up and on the road, exiting the gravel onto the Mingenew-Mullewa Road towards Walkaway. It was a beautiful drive, with the crops becoming progressively better as we headed west. There are a lot of lupins being grown around here, probably due to the sandy low nitrogen nature of the soils. They were going really well.
Once we finally got Internet coverage, we found that we had sold a few copies of our newly published book (“The Small Boat Cook”). It is so exciting to see orders coming in, mostly from return customers who had purchased our previous publication (“A Small Boat Cruising guide to Shark Bay”). Getting these orders is a double delight because not only do we sell a book, we get an affirmation via the older publication. It lifted our spirits.
We had some business to transact by way of posting out books and emailing e-book orders. We weren’t sure how crowded Coronation Beach would be so the decision was made to head straight to the camp site then return to Geraldton to complete the orders.
The Coronation Beach camp area only has 19 sites, each well spaced out. There are lots of very clean drop toilets and “showers”. This is a loose term because you have to bring your own water, bucket, pump, shower head and whatever else it takes to stand under a refreshing stream of hot water. In reality, the showers are just rooms with benches, and a drain hole. Still, it would be better than nothing when a fresh southerly rules out washing in the open sans clothing.
Coronation Beach camp site
Once set up in camp, and filled with coffee and sandwiches, we headed back into Geraldton to post off books and complete lots of urgent emails. Bunnings also rated a visit and their positioning of the sucker product bin at the entrance containing special Bunning beanies for $3 sucked us in almost as quickly as the old sausage sizzle used to do. At least the comfort from a beanie lasts longer than the short-lived joy of a sausage in a bun.
Then it was back to Coronation Beach to relax, change into shorts for the first time in three weeks, sit and do very little and luxuriate in the warmth. We had bought a bucket of home grown passionfruit with us which we placed at the front of our camp with a sign that carried the magic word “free”. This proved to be a pathway to meeting lots of people and we soon established ourselves as part of a very cheerful little community of campers. There was talk of rigging the rods for a beach fish. I got busy but left mine racked up against the van and took the easy way out by checking on the success or otherwise of others. It proved to be the latter and my decision to delay until the high tide the following morning was vindicated.
Coronation Beach
The last two days have been bliss, travelling with no real aims or goals and soaking up every delightful vista. Like so many experiences during the COVID era, this is teaching us to ease back and savour the good things around us, rather than having to chase ever more exotic experiences. Yeah sure! Just wait until the planes start flying again…
22 July 2020 – What a wonderful day of lazing around doing very little. It was sunny and warm with very light winds so living outside was comfortable. Christine busied herself with the task of applying new decals to the caravan, she having recently repainted it. The results were spectacular, although we decided to order another one for the front of the van to really finish it off. I spent time throwing bait and fishing rigs away to no avail. There was no shortage of equally unsuccessful fisher folk to talk to and the day passed in a very pleasant fashion, including a very rare afternoon nap.
23 July 2020 – Today we decided to do a day trip to Kalbarri, a 300km round trip but with lots on offer. We have never had a great deal to do with Kalbarri, having only visited a couple of times and stayed once. I’m not sure why because with spectacular coastal scenery, the amazing river gorges and now the World class skywalk facility over the river gorge, it is a class act. I admit to finding the town site still a little on the dull side, with the staff in the shops exuding a sense of “you are lucky to be here so don’t expect too much” but the scenery and the overall atmosphere makes up for it.
We drove through Northampton and on to Port Gregory, amazed at the number of tourists taking selfies at the Pink Lake lookout. The roads were very busy and the area is booming. The crops are the best I have ever seen north of Geraldton, although almost everything was wheat with none of the diversity of cropping seen further south.
The lake behind us is actually pink.
Before Kalbarri, we stopped at a number of the coastal gorges to watch the swells crash against the rocks. Offshore, an amazing number of humpback whales could be seen, some just cruising and others, probably excitable young males, leaving the water in majestic spiraling leaps. It was an incredible sight.
You can’t see the whales in the picture but there were a lot there.
Once in Kalbarri itself we found nothing much had changed. We purchased a light lunch and coffee from a girl in a cafe who looked like she would rather be sleeping than working and wandered an underwhelming set of shops. On the other hand, I viewed the waterfront in a new light. The last time we were here we were sailors and the river held few attractions because of its shallow nature and lack of sailing room. Now, however, with our Whittley caravan on the water machine, the river looked like a very likely prospect for a two or three day stay. The launching ramps are very good and there are plenty of attractive safe anchorages. We may be back with the boat to spend a couple of days living on the river. There is no way I’d consider going our through the river mouth. I just don’t need to go fishing that much.
After lunch, we headed out on the Ajana Road to the Kalbarri National Park. As Seniors, the entrance to the park was a mere $8 but our National Parks Pass gave us access and we found our way to the new skywalk. The road is new and is constructed so as to dissuade people from speeding. Despite crossing open flat sand plains, the road snakes like a drunken python, weaving left then right and extending the drive by fifty percent. It’s the sort of thing you get, but then don’t. It really is unnecessary.
The Sky Walk is spectacular. This is exactly the kind of attraction our government needs to invest in to lure international visitors (after COVID of course). The overhanging steel structures provide sensational views of the gorges and the river. The surrounding facilities and contextual displays are informative and relevant, giving an excellent insight into the life of the indigenous dwellers along the river before white settlement. It is so good to see World class tourism coming to WA at last.
The Sky Walk over the Murchison River
The sweeping Murchison River gorge
Once all gorged out, we hit the road again to complete the loop through Binnu and back to Northampton, where we had to stop to buy some knitting wool. Why you might ask? Why not? It’s what one does if there is any knitting wool to purchase. To be fair, Christine is knitting some mittens, which should be very handy given the temperatures lately. Hopefully, they will be finished before the weather warms.
Once back in camp, I spent another fruitless our casting a lure at the ocean in the hope of impaling a hapless tailor without success. A bloody good day.
24 July 2020 – The day was spent around camp today. Christine had planned to finish putting decals on the caravan but the wind outside was icy cold so she decided that could wait. I had planned to get up at first light and throw a few lures over the reef in search of a tailor but it was so snug and warm under the doona I stayed there until after 8 o’clock. In summary, we did very little.
While wandering around the camp, we noticed an old “Cabana” camper. Now our little caravan was born a “Cabana”, with fold down beds at each end and a pop-top, but was later reborn as a pop-top caravan by the previous owners. Keen to see what an original Cabana looked like we approached the owners for a chat. Somehow, as always happens, the girl part of the couple turned out to be the sister of friends from Wyalkatchem days. The World is always so small. We swapped lots of “Cabana notes” and shared lots of views about all the fancy new rigs that dotted the camping area, secure in the knowledge that the combined value of our accommodation was little more than the cost of the current trip. It was fun.
For lunch, we drove into Geraldton and did an extended walk of the main CBD. Unfortunately, the many vacant shops spoke heaps about the state of the economy in rural Australia. The city didn’t look to be in the depths of despair but the pain was showing. We bought a few little bits and pieces and shared a donner kebab at a nice little cafe. There is a lot to like about Geraldton (especially when the wind isn’t over 20 knots) but it often feels like it needs some help.
The rest of the afternoon was spent doing a lot more of nothing, including more useless lure casting at the mythical tailor.
25 July 2020 – Some friends, Helen and Mario, headed down from Monkey Mia today. Some days, all the available spots are taken up quickly so we waited for a suitable spot to become available and claimed it by putting our car on it and paying the fees for a couple of nights. This move proved to be vindicated because when our friends arrived around 12:30, they would have struggled without our reserved spot. We haven’t seen them since before COVID so we had lots of yarns to swap and stories to compare. Along with a few beers and a long walk on the beach in beautiful weather, it was a most relaxing and enjoyable afternoon. Helen and Christine did their usual wonders with a magnificent meal followed by a game of cards (which Christine and I won). This is the kind of day one goes caravanning for.
26 July 2020 – We rose late after a night that was really too warm for our winter doona. The wind has dropped again and the scenery out on the water is amazing, with glassy seas but a big enough swell to create a wonderful surf break. At Coronation Beach itself, the break is best suited to standup paddle boarders and kite surfers (although the lack of wind has kept them away). The surfing breaks are further south along a sandy track and fairly constant streams of board carrying vehicles come and go.
After breakfast and the news, we drove into Geraldton to go to the Platform Markets, an interesting array of stalls spread along and around the old central railway station. It is a good market, with more genuine local produce and crafts than a lot of metropolitan markets carry. Even the setting evokes memories of earlier times, when the rail station would have been the hub of the town. The pity is that the area that was once the marshalling and freight yards is now just a vast open space, providing places to park, but also leaving a massive hole in the city’s development. I guess plans exist for the redevelopment of the space and I hope that they include some way of celebrating the importance of the former use of the area. We ate some delicious spring rolls that our bodies really didn’t need, resisted the temptation to purchase some over-priced crafty things and grabbed some fine looking vegetables. After a stroll along the marina foreshore, it was back to camp to relax and mentally prepare for the Eagles Collingwood clash.
Fortunately, Mario managed to hook up excellent coverage of the game and set up a good sized TV on the outside of his van. We warned the neighbours about the noise to come and settled in, all doom and gloom for the first quarter followed by lots of celebration and “I told you so” type comments in the other three quarters. It was the best win of the year.
We followed up the footy with an excellent BBQ and more cards (which Mario won)
27/ July 2020 – With a string of Perth appointments looming, it was time to head home to Dowerin to park up the caravan. It is sad to head home after such a short trip, especially seeing the caravan traffic still streaming north and another cold front due this evening. Still, we have had a terrific stay at Coronation Beach and fully understand why the place has such a cult following. I am sure we will be back. If only I had caught a fish it would be 10/10.
We said our farewells to Helen and Mario before heading off south, through Geraldton, Walkaway and on to Mingenew. We stopped off at the bakery, along with the rest of the World. It was doing an amazing trade and rightly so. We sampled a sausage roll and it was excellent and the two bread rolls we bought for our lunch proved to be superb. It’s a long way to drive but the Mingenew Bakery is highly recommended.
From Mingenew, the route took us through Three Springs, Carnamah and Coorow, pretty little towns that look better than their recent economic fortunes would suggest. Partly as a result of the “Royalties for Regions” Program, the towns have been able to maintain and even upgrade public facilities that would otherwise have fallen in to disrepair as the local populations fell. If we are ever going to find a way to attract people back to rural towns, maintaining what we have at present is vital.
We worked our way along a series of back roads to Wongan Hills and finally Dowerin, seeing some pretty country that we have never driven through before. Another month and the country out here will be ablaze with wildflowers and 2020 promises to be a first class season. We may have to hitch up the van again.
10th March – The road north from Triabunna up to
St Helens is promoted as the Great Eastern Drive, a route of approximately
300km through the towns of Swansea, Bicheno, St Marys and St Helens. Two famous
National Parks are included, the Freycinet NP and the Douglas-Apsley NP. This
stretch could be the basis for a holiday alone, with lots of walks, nature and
delightful little seaside towns to keep us amused. Instead, we did it in a day.
We had done some sums and found that time was starting to
run short and something had to give. With quite a bit of nature viewing behind
us, we opted to forego the national parks along the route and make a day of
covering the 300km, stopping at the little towns along the way.
Swansea was very pretty and we were encouraged to stop, walk and have a coffee. The local IGA is housed in a wonderful old stone building and boasts the same owner/manager family for well over a hundred years. The shop was a true old time general store with lots of interesting bits and bobs inside.
An IGA With Character at Swansea
Bicheno is another gorgeous little town with stone Georgian buildings and an abundance of cute weatherboard cottages. There is a blow-hole of sorts which is really more of a good solid wave crash but fun all the same. We watched one really stupid man about my age walk right up to the edge for a photo during a lull in the wave pattern. Just after he left his position, a huge wave came through and sent tonnes of water over the very spot he had posed in. Why do people continue to do this kind of stuff?
The Bicheno Blowhole
The road continued to become an increasing challenge to towing vehicles. It twisted and turned up and down the hills with a surface that resembled a set of rapids than a road. Obviously, small cars that were not towing anything where little affected by the road surface and so appeared behind us as if by magic to sit a meter or so behind the caravan. The Tasmanians have the cheek to name the road the Tasman Highway but the term is a massive exaggeration.
We stopped for lunch at a little beach in a pretty forest
setting. A dozen or so vans were set up for camping there and we regretted that
we had already booked a site in St Helens. The problem that we have had is that
accommodation is difficult to get and booking ahead seems mandatory. It would
have been much better to have been able to just pull in when we felt like it
but the reality is that we would have missed out on many occasions.
St Helens proved to be a charming seaside and fishing town, set on the Georges Bay, really a long and deep inlet. It is the largest town in the north-west and has quite a good array of shopping and facilities. We rode our bikes along a very well formed cycle path along the water’s edge into town to explore. The tide was out and we marvelled at the clusters of enormous oysters exposed on the rocks. They were some of the biggest we have ever seen outside of Kalumburu. The problem is that all along the East Coast are signs warning people not to eat wild oysters. The signs may have been paid for by the oyster fishermen but it is too much to risk. We stopped at a seafood outlet at the wharf hoping to buy some scallops but were disappointed to once again find only fried gummy and chips on offer. We asked about other seafood but were only offered oysters at $28 a dozen. Having paid $13 a dozen in Smoky Bay for oysters nearly as big as the wild ones on the rocks outside, we laughed it off and left.
St Helens
That evening, we went to the caravan park’s bar for a beer
and found ourselves next to a Mandurah couple. Usually, it is our number plate
that invites comment as most WA travellers seem to have hired local vehicles
rather than bringing over their own.
11th March – The North Eastern Highlands were
once well known for the numerous tin mines which supported a considerable
workforce and brought in wealth to the state. We planned a day of driving that
largely followed a trail across many of the old mine sites. We left the van
behind in St Helens to give us a chance of negotiating the narrow mountain
roads.
The first target was a place called the Blue Tier. The road
led us through some stunning forest, with towering blue gum, blackwood and
sassafras. The feature of the forests is the giant tree fern, many of which are
over 4 metres high with a canopy spread of more than 2 metres. They are
incredibly beautiful.
The Blue Tier itself is above the heavy timber line and into an altitude where stunted but close packed trees predominate. Once beyond the tiny hamlet of Lottah, the road was basically a one lane affair, cut into the hillside. Signs promoted the use of UHF Channel 40 to communicate with busses and tour operators. This proved to be very effective. There is actually quite a lot of traffic because the Blue Tier nowadays is base for serious mountain bikers to ride down the mountains across many established trails. We encountered a couple of empty bike trailers being towed down the hill on our way up. Those with radios tended to keep clicking the handset at regular intervals so that you could tell when someone was approaching.
Once at the top, we parked up and went on a walk trail in
the Goblin Forest. This patch of forest is well named. If ever we could have
expected to encounter a goblin it was here amongst the twisted and gnarled
trees covered in and amazing variety of mosses and lichens. Beautifully
coloured fungi abounded. The area was once the site of a big tin mine but all
is now regrowth alpine vegetation. Occasionally, signs of the tin mining poked
through the growth but it was steadily being consumed by the environment.
We descended the mountain again to Lottah and turned off to drive to the site of the Anchor Mine, about half way down the tier. There, the vegetation was back to massive stands of timber, mostly blue gum, but with some good blackwood and sassafras. The walk to the main mine processing site was through amazing rainforest, which once again was all regrowth because the whole area was devoid of trees around the end of the nineteenth century. Nestled amongst the towering tree ferns and tall timbers was a massive 10 stamp battery, the remaining part of a hundred stamp crusher that operated at the mine’s height. At one stage, they even tried harvesting the flow of the Groom River with a massive waterwheel to drive the process. Sadly, the mine was never a huge success.
Next it was off further down the mountain to Halls Falls. The falls required a short easy walk through more amazing forest. They were a medium sized fall which were pretty enough and certainly active after all the recent rain.
Halls Falls
From Halls falls we drove to the small village of Pyengana, set in a picture postcard standard valley. This is dairy farm deluxe country and the number of cows per square metre is beyond belief. No wonder that it is the site for a very famous dairy that makes some of Tasmania’s finest cheeses. We stopped for lunch at the local oval. Then it was on to the end of the valley, where the South George River comes crashing over a cliff in a 90 metre drop called St Columba Falls. The falls are accessed from the top, which means an easy 900metre walk down to the base, but a steady climb back along the same path. Back along the valley again, we stopped at the cheese factory to sample their wares, purchasing a couple of varieties.
St Columba Falls
By the time we got back to the van we were ready to crash.
12th March – The drive out of St Helens to the
Blue Tier had convinced us that towing the van west out of St Helens across the
Tasman Highway was not likely to be fun. The map suggested that the mountainous
nature of the road would only continue and probably get worse. We therefore
made the decision to back track a bit and go through St Marys then across the
A4 and the Fingal Valley to pick up the A1 and turn north once more to
Launceston. We would miss out on a few
north eastern beauty spots but retain our sanity.
As it proved, we made the right decision. The road up to St
Marys was fun, it was just a matter of gripping the wheel hard and staying on
our side of an incredibly narrow mountain road. There were a few switch backs
involved but the other traffic was well behaved and once again the UHF radios were
well used.
After St Marys, the road was flat by Tasmanian standards as it weaved its way across a glorious valley of green farming country. We passed through the towns of Fingal and Avoca along the way. To the north, the towering mass of Ben Lommond, home of Tasmania’s premier ski field, created some wonderful views.
Once we reached the A1, we turned north through Perth and on
to Launceston, staying 8km out of the city in a caravan park at Hadspen.
Unfortunately, this proved to be the worst park we have yet stayed in. We were
parked in what was basically an overflow area which had a couple of unisex
toilet shower units that should have been overhauled years ago. The park had a
lot of cabin units and it was clear that the revenue stream from them was sufficient
to maintain them and that spending on caravan site facilities was sadly
lacking. Christine made a point of letting the management know.
13th March – Today was a bit of a disaster. Firstly, it was bitterly cold with a fair bit of rain forecast for the afternoon. We had booked a 2.5 hour cruise on the Tamar River with a visit to the famous Launceston Cataract Gorge. We drove in to the city, found parking and prepared to wait for the boat. I had a coughing fit in the car park, and immediately a woman nearby threw her hands up in horror. Like it or not, people with any flu like symptoms are lepers, only fit for stoning. I felt so embarrassed and there was no way I was getting on that boat. We negotiated a refund.
We spent the time wandering around Launceston, buying a few gifts for grandchildren and avoiding the increasing rain. All the time we walked, the tide had been dropping and by the time we got back to the river, the water had gone. The Tamar River Estuary looks huge on the maps, but up near its top it is heavily silted. All we could see was vast areas of mud with a tiny river of water flowing down the middle. The mud was so soft that the deep keeled yachts still sat upright, keels buried in the mush. We wandered the river banks, tried unsuccessfully to stop and buy a coffee and snack.
Downtown Launceston
We headed back to the caravan for lunch and to sulk as the afternoon rained down. We’ve seen more rain in Tasmania than we have in Dowerin over the last five years.
14th March – Today we explored the Tamar Estuary, driving up the western side, crossing the huge Batman Bridge to the eastern side and back down to Hobart. There are some pretty little places along the way, and some larger places like Beaconsfield, the site of the attention grabbing mine collapse back in 2006. The Tamar Valley is mostly rolling green hills with farming land and patches of forest. The river itself is shallow, with just a narrow channel of deeper water and large areas of mud flats.
Beaconsfield Mining Museum
Normally, a Saturday touring the Tamar Valley would produce lots of little markets and interesting cafes. Alas, we found everything to be very quiet. Most markets have been cancelled due to a restriction on gatherings of more than 500 people and it appears that restaurants and cafes are choosing to shut.
We dropped in to George Town, near the northern end of the
estuary, to catch up with friends who have their yacht moored at the yacht
club. That was a quick hello and an apologetic “Sorry, I have a bad cough” from
a down wind position. We now have to actively shun contact situations, even
though my cough could not possibly be coronavirus.
All in all, the daily escalation of the virus situation is
becoming alarming, with even a suggestion of closing state borders. I have read
that such an act is against the constitution but it might be hard to argue that
point at a border crossing. Besides, we need a ferry to get off the island.
Thankfully, the shopping lunacy that has gripped much of the rest of the
country has not affected regional Tasmania. We have even seen toilet paper in
supermarkets, although hand sanitiser is all out.
15th March – Today was a relocation day, driving the short distance from Launceston to Devonport, around 95km. We stayed in a caravan park at East Devonport, meaning we could see the city across the Mersey River but to get there we had to drive a few kms down to the bridge and back around. A ferry does operate from just near the caravan park but not on weekends. A shame. I would have liked to go on the “Ferry ‘cross the Mersey”.
A cute coffee house in East Devonport
We went in to the city itself to a Woolworths. Here we started to see the depletion of stock that the news is so full of. There were no stocks of toilet paper, flour or rice. The city is small but bustling, even on a Sunday. A couple of ships were loading, one a grain ship and the other full of semi trailers. Trains came and went, loading containers from the mainland. The car ferry berths on our side of the river so the whole thing creates a busy atmosphere.
We took it easy, not doing much else other than a walk
around the little village of East Devonport and took a stroll along the river
bank. We also got on to the internet and upgraded our upcoming ferry ticket
from a recliner seat to a cabin, figuring a degree of isolation was better for
us and better for other passengers.
16th March – What trip to Tasmania would be complete without a visit to Cradle Mountain? Our itinerary had originally planned for taking the caravan up close to the mountain and staying for a couple of nights to do some of the longer walks. However, the horrible cough was taking its toll, the temperature was forecast to be around zero and the roads were proving to be far worse than we had anticipated. We settled for a day trip.
The drive was only around 80kms but it took us nearly two hours. We chose to go on the more scenic route past Mt Roland and even drove up to the Mt Roland Lookout for some amazing views. The road was twisted and winding for much of the drive, though some spectacular forest areas and some picturesque farming land. Just out of Devonport, the apple orchards were really beautiful with the tree packed full of incredibly bright red fruit.
Mt Roland
Eventually, we reached the Cradle Mountain Visitor Centre and made some lunch in the car park before organising tickets for the bus. A shuttle service operates to take people to the various key areas and walk trail starts, a very sensible arrangement because the road beyond the Visitor Centre was definitely a one lane affair. We got out at Dove Lake and did two short walks around the lake to admire the changing vista of Cradle Mountain. It really is quite beautiful and lives up to all the hype. I enjoyed the flora as much as the scenery, with a huge variety of gorgeous plants lining the pathways we took.
We took a different and more leisurely route back to Devonport, stopping at one point to take in the amazing views of Mt Roland near the little town of Wilmot. It was getting late by the time we got back and we were pretty tired, me from coughing more than exertion. We slept well.
17th March – Another massive day of driving
today, at least by Tasmanian standards, with a 275km drive back south to Hobart.
It was really easy, along the A1, the only decent road on the whole island (I
know that it’s a big exaggeration but I have had enough of all the bad roads).
Surprisingly, we had had a lot of difficulty finding a place to stay in Hobart,
with the closer in caravan parks being booked out. I think this is partly
because rental values in Tassie are amongst the highest in the country and we
are seeing large numbers of people living in caravans right across the island.
Tasmanian plated vans vastly outnumber those from the mainland.
We booked in to a place out at Seven Mile Beach, a holiday village about 22km from Hobart itself. It is close to the airport so the access roads to the city are good but the area itself hold little for us, with a nice sand beach that the temperature rules out and not much else.
Seven Mile Beach
18th March – It was a day to tour Hobart city while the car got a much needed service. Rain was forecast to start around midday (which it did) so we went in around 9:00, dropped the car off and hopped on the “Red Hop On Hop Off” bus tour. You find these in many parts of the World. Some are excellent and others are rubbish (eg Canberra). Hobart’s is one of the better ones. Buses circuit once every hour and seemed to be very much on time. The commentary is informative and interesting, although we are just about over any talk of the convict era. It was a very relaxing way to see the sights without worrying about traffic or parking. We chose to sit in the open air on the upper deck in deference to the other passengers, although the coughing is a little more controlled now.
On the Red Bus
We got off the bus at the dock areas and wandered through the numerous beautiful docks that adorn Hobart’s waterfront, Victoria Dock, the famous Constitution Dock where the Sydney to Hobart boats cluster and the associated dockside eateries. Everything was pretty quiet, with relatively few people venturing out these days. There is a wonderful line of floating food outlets at Constitution Dock, mostly supplying seafood but some with Thai food and Pizza. This is the sort of vibe that Perth’s Elizabeth Quay so badly lacks. Further along, Salamanca Place hosts Australia’s largest outdoor market on Saturdays, supplementing the gorgeous line of shops set in the old Georgian stone warehouses. Salamanca Markets have currently been suspended, like everything else. For me, the highlight was the number of sailing ships tied up along the docks, with a couple of square riggers, a schooner and some smaller but still beautiful wooden boats. I never tire of looking at the complex rigging and timber work of these old boats. I sometimes think I was born a couple of centuries to late.
Once back on the bus, we drove through the wonderful Battery Point area, where every house seems to be a slice of old world charm. The bus did well in the narrow winding streets. What a place to live! The price of the houses might be a barrier.
Once through South Hobart, the bus climbed the foot of Mt Wellington to the Cascade Brewery, where we decided to alight and sample some wares. A sign posted on the front door announced that tours had been cancelled but that the bar and restaurant were still open. We ordered a tasting rack of a draught beer, pale ale and two ciders. We supplemented the drinks with a fabulous Tasman pizza with smoked salmon and caramelized onion. It was interesting to see that the dining area was more spread out than one usually finds, another technique some places are using. Cash was not being accepted, with contactless payment being the only way. While we ate, the rain got heavier so we abandoned any thought of walking down the Hobart Rivulet Walking Track.
We got word that the car was ready so we caught the next red
bus back down the hill and picked up the car. From there, we headed back to the
caravan to sit inside with yet more rain tumbling from the skies. One of the
most amazing facts we gleaned from the bus tour is that Hobart is Australia’s
second driest capital city, after Adelaide. This is a statistic that I
currently find it hard to believe. It may not be constant heavy rain, but a
rainless day has been rare.
19th March – With yet another rainy day forecast,
and some antibiotics finally obtained (don’t ask how), we decided to have a day
at home with a fair bit of it in bed. Christine busied herself with a bit of
caravan cleaning while I slept, far more than I realised at first, with some
noticeable improvement in the dreaded cough. The news is so full of doom and
gloom about the coronavirus and all we can do is keep fingers crossed that when
(and if) we finally make it to the mainland, we are free to keep driving west
and cross into SA and WA. We don’t care if we have to enter WA and face 14 days
isolation. We will be doing that anyway.
The news is also full of the lack of stuff in supermarkets
around the country. Fortunately, Tasmania still appears much better off than
the mainland and we have seen a few bare shelves, but nothing like the crazy
scenes across Bass Strait. Storage space limits our ability to buy and store
but we have enough stuff to keep us alive. Who knows; we might not get enough
food and lose some weight. As long as the wine taps stay on.
20th March – We had another day of exploring
Hobart planned but the day dawned cold and miserable. Nothing much is open in
the way of museum or attractions so in the end, we lazed around and watched a
couple of movies, did some washing, drove in to Sorrell to do some shopping and
started the process of organising to van
for hand over.
21 March – It rained most of the night so by the time we had
packed the car, the ground was slush, making the inside of the van pretty
dirty. We drove across the city and up to Mt Nelson to return the van to the
owners. We had a bit of a mental list of things that needed fixing but she
wasn’t much interested, announcing that she already had a buyer for it. Once
unhitched, we waved goodbye and set off north, a sense of relief and freedom at
being on the road without the van behind. The rain persisted for some distance
north but by the time we stopped in Perth for lunch, it was beginning to warm a
little and was relatively dry.
In Devonport, we set up the tent in a caravan park,
alongside lots of vans and camper trailers also waiting for the morning ferry.
The talk was all the same. Time to get out of Tassie while we still can.
Tomorrow, it is an early start and on to the ferry then back
to Melbourne, which is timed to arrive at around 7:30pm. All in all, the trip
has been disappointing. The weather has not been helpful, with very few days
that produced any warmth or were free from rain. We got to sit outside only a
couple of times. The caravan was serviceable but had a few issues. My cough was
a major problem, especially as the whole COVID-19 thing escalated. It has been
crazy. I have not been sick at any stage. I simply cough terribly for a couple
of hours in the late morning, making public appearances quite awkward.
Would we do Tassie again? I think not. It is ticked off the
list. Hobart itself is definitely worth a return visit by air. If I was to tour
again, I would hire a smallish car and stay in cabins along the way. I would
not tow again. Most other travellers we talked to that had towed things had a
similar viewpoint.
We are both looking forward to getting home, even if it does mean not socialising or seeing the grandies.
In the line for the ferry.
**** THE TRIP HOME **** We had a cabin organised for the trip home, both of us now having the dreaded cough (definitely not COVID-19). t meant we could isolate as much as possible. During the passage, the news came through that both SA and WA were closing borders, giving us only a two day window to cross the border. With the boat still in Smoky Bay, there was no way we could make it. A WA couple we had met in Devonport figured that with two big drives, they could make it, even towing their van.
Off the ferry, we drove out of Melbourne in the dark to Bacchus Marsh, 50km north, and stayed in a chalet for the night. The next day, we drove around 800km into SA to stay in another chalet in Clare, north of the Barossa Valley. All the way, we found things were closing down. All cafes and restaurants are now shut, although there were a few bakeries still doing takeaways. Pubs are shut and even some fuel outlets are credit card only with no one in attendance. Traffic remained quite heavy, mostly caravans and campers heading in both directions.
From Clare, we had a shorter drive to Smoky Bay and the boat. We spent time in the afternoon cleaning all the brown dust away and moving essentials from the car to the boat. A quick trip down to the local shop for what ever food we could find still on shelves produced some grumblings from locals who glared at us like we were pariahs.We had planned on spending a day or so in the area but with things the way they were, we chose to head off the following morning.
We made the border 24 hours after it had closed. Initially, the suggestion was that we would have to quarantine at Eucla for 14 days but the authorities obviously realised how impracticable that was and all we had to do was to sign an agreement to self isolate on the drive home and stay in Dowerin for the remainder. By now, the traffic had thinned considerably, although we still saw the occasional caravan with eastern plates driving towards Perth. The idea of isolating in Dowerin is not daunting, there are lots of people to help out sourcing anything we need. We are just so glad to be home.
It will be a chance to catch up on some much needed maintenance around the place.
27 February – We left Smoky Bay today, leaving the boat
behind safe and sound in the caravan park. The manager of the park very
generously offered to store it for free. The car was packed to the hilt, with a
few items on the roof as well. It was a bit of a guessing game trying to decide
what to take with us and what to leave behind. Driving the car without 3 ton of
boat behind was also novel but it was wonderful to see the fuel gauge stay
steady for a while.
Our route took us through Poochera, Iron Knob and on to Port
Augusta, where we took time out to shop and visit McCafe for lunch. When we are
on the road, McCafe becomes an essential stop. As Seniors, we can access a
special of a toasted sandwich and coffee each for the princely sum of $4 each.
Chips and burgers are not allowed. Included on our shopping list were a couple
more blankets, with some chilly weather forecast in coming days.
Then it was south to Adelaide, where we found we had made a
mistake. We would have been better to take a slightly longer route through the
Barossa Valley and Gawler to avoid the peak hour traffic on a cross Adelaide
trip. The GPS let us down a couple of times with totally unnecessary turns but
we eventually got through and wound our way up into the Adelaide Hills to
Murray Bridge.
The tent came off the roof and was quickly set up then it
was into the very well appointed camp kitchen to cook dinner and watch our
first television in nearly a month. We found we hadn’t missed much.
28 February – Another day of driving, not as long as the
previous day, having covered around 500km to cross the border into Victoria and
on to Ballarat. We seem to have been over the Western Highway a few times over
the last few years so it was mostly familiar territory, including a stop in
Horsham to buy a few supplies. The roads in Victoria are excellent, providing
frequent passing lanes and long stretches of dual carriageway but the surface
is terrible. Either the inital construction is lacking something or the
maintenance is not being done. We bumped our way over the wavy surface,
thankful that we were not towing anything to exacerbate the movement.
The night was spent at Lake Burrumbeet, about 18km west of Ballarat itself. We were thankful of a well appointed camp kitchen with a good television so we could enjoy the “State of Origin AFL” match. It was a game that truly showcased player skills but completely lacked any form of team tactics. Neither team showed any defensive plan. We shared the camp kitchen with a number of other campers, all of whom had come to Ballarat for a huge three day car parts swap meet. The mind boggles. It was rev-head heaven. We did show off a bit by having an amazing and delicious meal of Oysters Kilpatrick, enjoying the remainder of the ones we had bought in Smoky Bay. They were so big that half a dozen each was totally filling.
Oysters Kilpatrick ready to go
29 February – After covering 1300km in two days, we had a mere 185km to drive to get to Mike and Azba’s place in Mornington. A snap! Somehow, getting through Ballarat proved tedious. We have noticed that Victoria’s excellent road network does not run to ring-road bypasses around major centres and so we spent quite some time crawling through the Saturday morning shopping traffic in downtown Ballarat. Geelong was worse, not helped by a GPS that seemed to delight in taking us in a grand circuit of the city. Once finally on the road to Queenscliff to put the car on the ferry, we hit the road works. Plans of arriving in Queenscliff early with sufficient time to wander the old world streets were banished and we started to wonder whether we would actually meet our booked time of 1pm. Once through the road works, we made good time and arrived to find the noon ferry was running late anyway and we actually had made an early boat.
Leaving Queenscliff on the ferry
The ferry ride was very relaxing after the taxing drive and
we were soon off the other end in Sorrento. Saturday in Sorrento is not the
time and place to be. The crowds were chaotic and parking was at a premium. We
pushed on down the coast for a bit to Rye, a pretty little seaside village and
bought some fish and chips to eat in the foreshore park, seeking the cover of a
shelter shed to escape the warm sun. The fish was delicious. I had forgotten
just how tasty a good piece of gummy shark can be, it has become quite scarce
and rather expensive in WA. Lunch over, we headed back to the car and had
almost got there when Christine asked, “Where’s my phone? Where’s my bag?”
Panic started to set in and I took off, running back to the shelter, my mind
full of the horrors of cancelling our entire financial life. Thankfully, the
bag was still sitting on the bench, patiently waiting to be rescued. Disaster
averted.
We navigated our way to Azba and Mike’s place. They have moved since we were with them last, selling up and buying a block to build on. A rental would be home until plans and finances came together. Little Evie has grown so much, with speech developing rapidly (she can say Terry but not Christine) and trips and falls becoming less frequent. She is really gorgeous. Christine won her over easily while she mostly eyed me with great suspicion. Of course, Christine had a big advantage in that she had patiently knitted a Jemima (Play School) doll while we were driving across and she was able to bribe her way into Evie’s affections. Evie pretended to be rather off-hand about Jemima but she never let it get too far away. On the other hand, Pickle the dachshund perceived Christine as a threat and barked every time Christine moved whereas I had his measure. We had a wonderful time catching up with all the family news and sharing a glass or two of red wine.
Evie and Jemima get acquainted
1 March – Today was a much needed rest day, relaxing after
the days of travel. The annoying tickling cough that I had harboured for over a
week had suddenly developed into a full blown nasty cough. There was no pain,
no fever and no nausea. However, with the news full of the escalating
coronavirus pandemic, walking around coughing your heart out is not
recommended.
Christine went off early with Az and Mike to watch Evie’s swimming lesson while I had a sleep in. Later, we did a bit of shopping, took a drive to see the new block of land, took Evie to a park to play, a very relaxing way to spend a Sunday.
2 March – With Mike off early to work, Evie safely taken
to a day play thing, we packed the car and said our farewells to Azba. Then it
was unto the motorway for the drive north to Melbourne. Our destination was to
be a spectacle shop in Smith St, Fitzroy, so Christine could buy some of these
unique glasses. They offer swappable everything and the frames are completely
made from plastic (recycled at that), something Christine requires because of a
strange metal allergy. We made our way to the spot without problem and found a
parking spot marked 2P. Good enough. I did see a strange little sign saying
that there were sensors in operation and your time started immediately but we
were surprised that there were no tickets required. Further up the road, we
noticed the 2P was accompanied by a “METERED”. We were just lucky.
With the glasses ordered and some cough medicine purchased
at a pharmacy, we were done and headed back to the car. Oh no! The sign now
said “METERED”. I was sure it hadn’t said that before. There was no tell tale
parking ticket, but then it dawned. There didn’t have to be. The technology is
so good that the camera gets you and when you fail to input your number plate,
the notice is automatically generated. We should have a “Welcome to Fitzroy”
letter waiting for us when we get home.
It was a slow but easy drive across the city to Port Melbourne so we could check out the ferry boarding arrangements. We parked up, paid our parking fee, and walked over to the loading area. The Spirit of Tasmania 2 was docked and loading freight and large trucks. Another two cruise ships were also docked and there were lots of passengers milling around with suit cases. With the corona virus scare on and focussing on cruise ships, the idea of a sail didn’t appeal. At least the ferry trip is only 12 hours.
Having found out what we needed to do, we wandered down to
Bay St, Port Melbourne’s cafe strip, and had a pie and coffee in a cute little
cafe. Loading would not commence until 4:30 so we had quite a few hours to
kill. On advice from one of the boarding attendants, we drove a couple of
kilometres down to Sandridge Beach, where the parking is free, and walked,
dozed and read until the time came for boarding.
We joined the queue and proceeded through the vehicle
inspection point and were marshalled into Lane 3 of a 5 lane system. We were first
in line, so assumed we wouldn’t have to wait long. The next stage commenced,
and Lanes 1 and 2 emptied, the cars behind us were then directed to go around
us and Lane 3 emptied of all but us. Lanes 4 and 5 also emptied. The attendant
wandered around directing traffic but never offered any suggestion as to why he
hated us so much. Eventually, he had no choice but to direct us onto the ship.
Once inside, we passed long lines of freight semi-trailers
parked up and were eventually directed to a parking spot. Off we went to find
out cabin, a very comfortable job with 4 bunks, toilet and shower. By the time
the ship left port, nightfall was not far off so we only got to see a bit of
Melbourne’s receding skyline and the upper reaches of Port Phillip Bay. With
the ship through the Rip and into Bass Strait, the some motion commenced, a
lovely gentle rise and fall and more sleep inducing than sickness promoting.
Talking to others, the crossing can be horrible at times.
We found a bite to eat and had a few drinks. There is no shortage of choice, with everything from hot pies through buffet to fine dining. It is all a question of budget and inclination. We had delicious hot Turkish Rolls and chicken.
3 March – The ship’s alarm rang at 6am to get everyone out
of bed. A check out the window showed we were already in Devonport and the sun
was attempting to rise. We decided to skip breakfast on board and stop
somewhere on the road so when our parking deck was called, we headed straight
for the car. That proved to be a waste of time because the owners of the vehicle
behind us either slept in or enjoyed a long lazy breakfast. Once more, we sat
in frustration while all around us was cleared of cars while we sat waiting. The
parking attendants had to work hard to get cars to manoeuvre around the
abandoned vehicle and not everyone got to go. When the couple finally turned up
there was a quick wave of apology to the attendant but he wasn’t really the
party most inconvenienced.
Once off the ferry, we found Highway 1 and headed off towards Launceston. The countryside was mostly rolling green hills with patches of forest and altogether very European in appearance. The road system was excellent with good signage. We soon took the Launceston bypass and on to Perth, which we thought a good place to stop for breakfast. A roadhouse provided an excellent double egg and bacon toasted sandwich and pot of tea which sustained us as we travelled south following the A1 to Hobart.
The good thing about Tasmania is that distances are small,
compared to other parts of Australia. The entire trip from Devonport down to
Hobart (nearly the length of the island) is a mere 232km. It wasn’t long before
we were negotiating our way across Hobart to the suburb of Mount Nelson,
slightly south of the city itself, to pick up our caravan.
The caravan was hired privately using a web site called
Camplify, which allows people to put up their private vans for hire. We had
hired a 16’ older style van that had the basics yet was small enough to tow
easily. We met our hosts and went through the key points with them before
hooking up and driving a mere 20km or so further south to the little town of
Snug, overlooking the D’Entrecasteaux Channel. Snug has a timber history and a
tragic past dating from 1967 when most of the town was destroyed by fire and 22
people killed. We booked in to the caravan park for a three nights, set to use
it as a hub to explore the southern areas over a few days.
4th March – The day started badly. We awoke to
find the floor of the van awash, including the carpeted rear section and the
inside of many of the cupboards. A quick inspection revealed that the
connection to the sink tap was dodgy and that water was leaking under pressure.
Not too much damage done apart from the wet carpet smell and the need to mop
out. We contacted the owners to let them know. I figured I could probably fix
it with some plumber’s tape and a spanner but if not, we would just make do
with the water tank and hand pump.
We opened all the windows up to air out before heading off on a drive north again to Margate, another small forestry town. An interesting enterprise is a “train market”, where a restored 1950s steam loco and train of carriages serves as a set of shops and food outlets. It creates a terrific atmosphere. The only trouble is that almost everything was closed, except for a pancake restaurant. From the online reviews, this is normal. What a shame. It could be a big attraction.
The next stop was the delightful town of Huonville at the
head of the Huon Valley. A drive through the valley is reminiscent of a drive
from Donnybrook to Manjimup, with loads of apples, cherries and apricots, along
with vineyards and stands of towering timber. The biggest difference lies with
the surrounding mountains, low by European standards but big enough to justify
the title.
After Huonville, we drove south a little to Franklin, a lovely little village on the banks of the Huon River estuary. Franklin is home to Australia’s only wooden boat building works and we took some time to go through the museum display and watch the apprentices and master craftsmen at work. In times past, they built some serious ocean going ships here but nowadays it is mostly wooden dinghies. Tasmania still leads the World in the supply of premium boat building timber.
The Wooden Boat School
Next stop was the apple capital of Huonville then around in
a long loop to take in the seaside towns of Cygnet and Kettering. The scenery is absolutely
glorious, with views from the high country across the D’Entrecasteaux Channel
being quite breathtaking.
Back in the caravan park, I had a go at fixing the plumbing
to the tap. The owners had dropped in to pick up some stuff we didn’t need and
to drop off some plumber’s tape. It proved to be of little use. The problem was
a stripped thread on the attachment. Parts and some plumbing surgery would be
needed and we decided to make do with the tank water. Knowing that the tank had
been little used, I decided to drain it and refill. Climbing underneath to
drain the tank, I glanced across at the nearest tyre. What looked acceptable on
the outside was completely bald on the inside and there were even wires showing
through. It was about to blow. The other side proved to be the same. The spare
was unused, but an inspection showed it was 18 years old and had a large crack in
the sidewall. More bad news for the owners. We rang and made it clear that the
van was not safe to be towed.
They were full of apologies and organised to come and
collect it the next day for three new tyres.
This was fine by us. The weather forecast showed extraordinary rainfall
forecast for the entire east coast of Australia, including eastern Tasmania. We
would hunker down in the well appointed camp kitchen and forgo our planned
excursions further south. With 50 to 70mm forecast, we didn’t want to be out on
mountain roads.
5th March – The forecast rain started around 4am,
light at first but it held steady and when the sun rose, it looked unrelenting.
We had breakfast then relocated to the camp kitchen, along with a few other
campers. The owners arrived, encased in full wet weather gear, and had the
unenviable job of hooking up the caravan and towing into Kingston for new
tyres.
We occupied ourselves with reading, watching the news (all coronavirus and panic toilet paper buying) and chatting to other guests. Meanwhile. The caravan park filled up with water. The rain was steady and the ground boggy so the place became a swamp. We saw a few tent camps that were really struggling.
The van was returned, the owners looking rather water-logged, with a new set of tyres. We pondered setting out on an afternoon of exploration but decided to give travel a miss until the weather cleared. By the mid afternoon, the rain was down to light drizzle and we took a short walk along the coast. We spent some time reading through the history of the 1967 bush fires at a very moving memorial site.
6th March – We packed up the van in light drizzle
and negotiated our way across Hobart, up and over the huge Tasman Bridge and
along the Tasman Highway. Hobart and many fine sights to the south are left
behind but since we have to return the van to Hobart, we reserved four days at
the end of the island circuit to explore the city.
Our destination was the historic town of Richmond, set in the Coal River Valley. The town was established in the 1820s and many fine stone Georgian style buildings line the main street. The Richmond Bridge is a beautiful stone bridge built in 1823.
We stayed in a caravan park on the outskirts of town and got the bikes into action. We didn’t bother with the bikes back in Snug because of the very hilly terrain and the constant rain. The bikes proved to be a good way to get around Richmond and admire all the wonderful old buildings. There is a large model of old Hobart Town, creating a complete, if not dismal, picture of life in the early capital. The free settlers had it little better than the convicts. The vast majority of shops seem to be involved with antiques, curios or local wood carving. It is a bit of a worry when wandering through an antique curio shop I recognised many objects from my childhood days. Ok, I know.
The Model of Old Hobart Town
By early afternoon it was actually quite sunny and the tables outside the Richmond Arms looked inviting. We obliged with a beer and some chicken wings. It was a beautiful afternoon and almost approached warm.
7th March – The day began with drizzle and dull grey skies. The temperature promised to peak at around 15 degrees but the wind chill factor kept the “feels like” temp below 10. Heaven knows what Tasmania is like in Winter.
We drove the 90 odd kilometres to Port Arthur, through the town of Sorell. Once past Sorell, we were glad that we hadn’t bought the van down this way, with steep and winding roads the norm. A stop at Eaglehawk Neck was on the agenda and it impressed. The neck is a 200m wide strip of sand bar that joins the Tasman Peninsula to the rest of the island. It formed a perfect barrier to escape from the Port Arthur penal colony but to make sure, a horrible “dog line” of 18 savage dogs was set across the narrowest part of the neck. The dogs were chained up but their barking on disturbance was sure to alert the guards. A wooden officers’ cottage on the site is the oldest remaining timber building and has been left as a fascinating museum.
I brave the “Dog Line” at Eaglehawk Neck
The nearby attractions of Tasman’s Arch and the Devil’s Kitchen are spectacular landforms well worth a visit. Both are collapsed caves, exposing enormous holes in the great cliffs of the area. With surging seas and heart stopping sheer drops, both are fantastic views.
Port Arthur itself is a sombre place in many respects, not
least because of the awful shootings that occurred in 1996. The history of the
place is so grim that upon the decision to close it as a penal settlement in
1877, Queen Victoria desired that the place be levelled and that all signs of
its existence removed. The result was to rename it Carnarvon for 40 odd years.
A trip to Port Arthur starts with a 20 minute guided tour, designed to give an overview of the history and some insight into which parts of the ruins one can visit later. The guide was a hoot, easily one of the funniest spiels that we’ve ever heard. He actually made some really grim subject matter funny. Admittedly, some of his historical interpretations did not stand the scrutiny of some later Google research but then neither does that of our political leaders. The main problem with the talk is that it was conducted outside so we had to endure the bitingly cold wind. The weather report suggested that the temperature was 11 but felt like 8.5.
After the intro walk and talk, we headed back to the car to make lunch then explored some of the inside galleries of convict memorabilia. Anything to avoid going outside again. Then it was onto a boat to tour the harbour and get a look at the penal settlement from the sea and take a peek at “The Isle of the Dead”. There are quite a few of these scattered around Tassie, wherever there was a convict settlement, which is most places. The bad people were given unmarked graves while the good people got a headstone.
Once off the boat, we braced ourselves and walked up to a couple of old buildings, the church and the Government cottage. Buildings in Port Arthur don’t tend to have roofing, because of the devastating bushfires that raged through shortly after the penal closure. The stonework remains largely intact, despite the fact that in the 1880s the Government allowed pillaging of the stone for a very small sum. The church and the Government Cottage are beautiful examples of convict stonework. The imposing penitentiary is the dominant building but all around there are amazing remains of an enterprise that was fundamentally flawed and brutally executed.
With the weather more conducive to walking and exploring, we may have spent more time at Port Arthur but the feel of the place had definitely penetrated our cores and the wind had too so we made our farewells and departed. On the way home, we stopped briefly in Sorell to by something for tea and some more cough medicine (yes the cough is still an embarrassment).
8th March – From Richmond, we drove east then
north to the little town of Triabunna. Once the site of a huge woodchip
industry, today it has little going for it other than the ferry point to nearby
Maria Island. A short drive from Richmond had us back on the Tasman Highway,
although by now, the term “Highway” was fast becoming a bit of a joke. The
regular overtaking lanes and sections of dual carriageway are behind us and we
face mountain climbs on roads barely able to allow two large cars to pass.
We passed through the little won of Orford, which seemed to
be packjed to the hilt. The waters off shore appeared to be filled with small
sailing dinghies so we assumed that the town was hosting a regatta of sorts.
The caravan park at Triabunna is somewhat of a dump, certainly the lowest standard we have found to date. It was a shame that we booked and paid for two nights because later we found that it is free to park in the field across the road from the pub. Lots of people chose this option. It being a Sunday, little was open in the small town. We counted a pub, an IGA and a fish and chip van. We rode our bikes around to take in the few sights and buy some tickets for the ferry to Maria Island the next day. We also bought tickets for the bikes.
The pub at Triabunna.
9th March – After breakfast, Christine busied herself with putting together some essentials for our day on Maria Island. There are no food or drink outlets at all on the island so everything must be taken over. I suspect this would seriously challenge the coffee culture set.
We caught the 10:30 ferry, a fast vessel that takes a mere 30 minutes to cross over to the island, passing the abandoned woodchip loader and a salmon aquaculture farm along the way. The ferry berthed at a jetty near ruins of an old cement works near the small convict settlement of Darlington. Maria Island has a short convict history but the buildings from those days are largely the ones that remain today. Other uses for the island include sealing, whaling, concrete making and mixed farming. Today it is a nature reserve and tourist destination, with most choosing to day trip but others staying in the very basic accommodation available in the old penal settlement.
Access to wildlife encounters attracts many. There are wombats galore. They are everywhere and very approachable. A 2m approach limit is strongly enforced. There are also small wallabies, pademelons, a lot of Cape Barren geese and a colony of Tasmanian Devils. The devils were introduced as a disease free colony in 2012 after so many of the population across Tasmania showed signs of the facial cancer causing virus. Both the wombats and the geese do a great job of keeping the large areas of open grass neat and tidy, almost like a bowling green in places.
We used the bikes to follow a couple of different trails, one to the Fossil Cliffs, where 250 million year old shell fossils are in abundance. The views along the way are simply amazing. The hills on the trail are not so wonderful. Even our e-bikes couldn’t cope and there was a bit of pushing uphill to be done. It was all worth it. Back at the settlement, we found a spot out of the bitingly cold wind and had lunch. We sat on some benches outside a place called “The Coffee Palace”, which we, along with many others, thought might offer a coffee. Not to be. It was named that from as long ago as 1890 when it was a boarding house.
The settlement at Darlington
After lunch, we hit the bikes again to ride to the “Painted Cliffs”, a stretch of coastline with colourful sandstone cliffs. Unfortunately, Christine’s bike decided to play up and lose power intermittently, usually on a hill. This has happened before and remains a bit of a mystery. We’ve tried swapping batteries around to isolate the problem but we still aren’t sure what the issue is. I offered to take the sick bike but Christine declined (honest, I really tried). I tended to turn my power off and cycle the hard way out of sympathy.
The Painted Cliffs
After the Painted Cliffs, we found a spot to shelter up out of the even colder wind until it was time for our 3:30pm ferry. Unfortunately, the ferry ran over half an hour late. By the time we got home, we were exhausted and frozen but very satisfied with our day on Maria Island. It is one of the “must do” things in Tassie.
9th February – We arrived from Coffin Bay around noon and settled in to the Port Lincoln Caravan Park. The main task on the agenda was finding the necessary mechanical help for our respective issues, the Dawsons for their non-operative electric trailer brakes and us for our persistent boat motor problem with regular stoppages until the engine is fully warmed up. The caravan park showed the signs of damage from a recent storm, when an unprecedented rainfall deluged Port Lincoln. Signs of severe erosion were evident around the park and there were lots of piles of road base and some earth moving equipment parked around showing restoration was underway.
We hit the supermarkets and stocked up on essentials before
resting up, feeling somewhat bushed after a week on the water.
10th – 13th February – Bill and Mary
managed a contact at the local caravan repair place who pronounced the electric
hydraulic brake server as dead and in need of replacement. That pretty much
sealed them up for 3 or 4 days waiting for parts. In the meantime, we had gone
to “Sparks and Spanners”, a local mechanical firm with a name that sounded like
they could deal with either a mechanical or an electrical issue with our boat.
We were booked in for the following day for a diagnosis.
One day followed another, with one or the other towing our boats off site to visit the repair people. Ours failed to get a definitive diagnosis but then it failed to fail, running perfectly just when we promised it would fail. The Dawsons sat waiting on a courier delivery of the necessary parts. Each day we found some reason to visit the supermarkets, Bunnings or some place down town. The great joy of Port Lincoln is that visiting anywhere is relatively easy and parking is always available and free. It really is the perfect town. It has all the shops one could need, a traffic system that suffers a little from a rail line running through its centre but is otherwise very manageable, and plenty of parking. Add to all this, a glorious seaside vista and some picturesque hills surrounding the town and you have a little slice of heaven.
Port Lincoln Foreshore
Wednesday 12th February was a lay day for both of us, so we organised a trip to the “Whalers Way”, a coastal scenic tour some 33kms south of Lincoln. The route is a private road beyond the National Park and a key is needed (along with $33 a car) from the Port Lincoln Tourist Centre. The road is unsealed, not really 4WD but still rough in places. Along the way are numerous well sign posted spots to take in a coastal feature, whether it be a high cliff, a beautiful bay or one of the many “crevasses” in the region. The coast here is limestone overlaying ancient basalt and the basalt has suffered significant fractures in places, creating spectacular crevasses. The waves surging through these formations makes for a great spectacle, the most amazing being Theakstone Crevasse with its perfectly straight and deep walls.
Theakstone Crevasse
At Cape Wiles, we overlooked the rocks far below and saw large numbers of fur seals dotting the rocks. We had packed a picnic lunch so we headed for the marked BBQ area, expecting a few facilities to be present. There was very little to attract, with only a couple of ramshackle toilets and a scattering of concrete picnic tables. The designers of the tables had forgotten to measure the length of the average human torso because, when seated, the table height was just under the chin. It makes it easy to shovel your food in.
The whole area is due to change in the next few years with a company called Southern Launch set to build a commercial rocket launching facility not far from the BBQ area. The Koreans have already undertaken to launch a series of low orbit satellites from the facility.
Whalers Way is a pretty little diversion with some excellent scenery.
Look carefully and you will see the fur seals
14 February – Eventually, the Dawsons had a new brake system
on their trailer and we had a boat motor that appeared to be fixed. I say
“appeared” because it was working but it was not definitively clear what had
been wrong with it. It had been crawled over by a mechanic and a sparky from
“Sparks and Spanners”, been hooked up to a diagnostic computer that only showed
one non-fatal error and had a minor part replaced.
We organised to put to sea and test everything out with a
relatively short trip to Spalding Cove, about 6nm from Port Lincoln. Depending
on the boat’s performance and the weather, we could then venture further afield
to the Sir Joseph Banks Group of islands offshore. Both boats were fuelled at
the MoGas at the Lincoln Cove Marina which seems cheaper than elsewhere and is
also the only reliable source of block ice we have found.
Once at the launching ramp, we had to wait a few hours for the tide to ensure the Dawsons had enough water. A car turned up and a couple unloaded a catch to clean at the cleaning facility. Hoping to get some fish frames for crab bait, Bill and I joined them and admired their catch of three large bluefin tuna, a large blue groper and a respectable nannygai or bight red fish. They had caught the fish further up on the west coast of the peninsula, which was good because blue groper are protected around Port Lincoln. They generously gave us not only the tuna frames but some good slabs of tuna and all of the groper and nannygai. We suddenly had a surfeit of quality fish and crab bait. The couple told us to make sure we only washed the groper fillets in sea water, because fresh water would make the flesh rubbery. Later, it was to prove delicious and certainly not rubbery. The tuna too was really beautiful, a far cry from the tuna we have caught in tropical waters.
With the tide rising, our boat started and ran under idle at
the jetty while Bill and I parked the vehicles up next to a couple of grey
nomads that had taken up residence in the carpark. The general concensus
amongst locals was that the vehicles would be safe enough.
The run out to Spalding Cove was easy enough with only light
winds and our boat performed beautifully. Once around Surfleet Point, we pulled
up on some likely looking ground in the hope of catching some whiting. The
fishing was poor and the only action came from crabs, pulling slowly away at
the baits. Bill managed to get one up to the boat before it dropped the bait.
We decided to move to the southern end of the cove. Oh oh, a turn of the key
failed to produce the usual rumble of the fuel pump priming and the engine just
turned over without firing. We checked everything we could, sprayed a few
contacts, unplugged a few things and plugged them back but … nothing. This
time, it was not going to start. I checked further and pulled out the high
tension lead from the coil… and it came out in pieces. Now the fuel pump
didn’t matter. No wire, no fire.
We organised a tow and Bill towed us the 2 nm down to the bottom of the cove to set up an anchorage for the night. I dropped the plough anchor into the sand and hung back over the weed. Later, I used the dinghy to carry the marsh anchor into the weed, giving a little more peace of mind.
15th February – We all slept late, staying at anchor until late morning. We left our boat at anchor and joined Dawsons for a fishing trip, with whiting and crabs being the main targets. With the wind SE, Fishermans Point looked to be a quiet location so we headed off. A local had suggested that there was a professional crabber working the area and sure enough, we came across a line of half a dozen floats. He must have taken care of the crab population because we only managed one, admittedly a huge creature, but still only one. There were large numbers of a small rock crabs but no blue swimmers. The whiting were not much better, with only four across several hours. After lunch, we moved to the western side of the cove and put out the pots in 20’ of water. Here, the pots yielded a better return, with 4 enormous crabs, the biggest measuring 64cm across the nippers. Each crab was a full meal. The whiting also obliged and we ended up with 10 big fat king george and a flat head.
16th February – The next morning saw the wind had
shifted from southerly to ESE, pushing us around to even shallower water. I
spent an amusing half hour mucking around with the two anchors and the dinghy.
It is interesting trying to drag a 20lb anchor with 30 metres of chain attached
with an inflatable dinghy and 3.3hp outboard. The anchor wins every time.
Finally, I got things established and Bill was able to drag us into deeper
water.
Bill and I used the very low tide to go ashore and collect a
big supply of cockles. The cockles here are very numerous and if we hadn’t been
so well off for seafood, we would have collected some to make spaghetti
vongole.
We then moved the boats to a location were the water was deeper closer in and prepared to fish once again. We fished the same location on the western side of the cove and caught consistent whiting, ending with a dozen. The crab nets didn’t go in but Bill still managed another monster crab on a line.
17th February – With the weekend over, the crowds had thinned and we figured the ramps would be quiet enough to allow a towed boat to berth easily without interference from other boats. The tow back took an hour and a half but when we got to Billy Lights Point the tide was low and there was not enough room on the finger jetties for two boats. We waited on the tide for a number of hours, relaxing at anchor and even catching a couple of squid. Finally, the water was deemed high enough and the wind perfect, it blowing straight down the ramp. The tow in and subsequent berthing went without a hitch, other than me dropping my glasses overboard (later retrieved with Bill’s long handled landing net) and we were soon ashore once again.
The mechanics suggested we bring the boat straight in but we
held off for the night and organised an early morning inspection. It was back
to the caravan park.
18th February – The early morning trip to the
mechanic’s shed was becoming a ritual. The shed was an extra to the normal
“Sparks and Spanners” address but here they could use water and run boat motors
without flooding the auto shop. We had learnt to rise early, tow the boat to
the shed then settle down to make breakfast. Alan showed up just after
breakfast and starting in on the diagnostics again.
After the initial probes showed nothing but still no power
to the fuel pump, Alan pulled the relay, jiggled it and plugged it back in.
Magically, the fuel pump came to life. “Ah ah.. it’s the relay.” “Replace both
relays”, we said with more than average confidence the problem would go away.
The rest of day passed with chores, a long walk and lots of
reading.
19th February – It really was a matter of waiting
on the plane from Adelaide to (hopefully) deliver our relays. We busied
ourselves with a few tasks, shopping, and waiting for the plane. It was starting
prove awkward for the Dawsons, who had solved their mechanical issues and were
sitting in Lincoln waiting for us. We had organised to go to the movies at the
historic Port Lincoln Cinema at 4pm. Thankfully, we got a call to say the
relays were in around 2pm so we picked up the parts and fitted them. A turn of
the key… still no fuel pump. We wiggled things and jiggled things but still
no fuel pump. In a fit of deep depression, we headed for the movies.
The depression was hardly lifted by the movie. “1917” had
won an Oscar for best cinematography, and rightly so, but the movie itself was
two hours of utter terror. The main character was shot at, wounded, bashed,
stabbed, cut and spent the entire story in a state of terror. So did I. It was
an excellent movie but not one for the weak of heart.
20th February – It was back to the shed for
breakfast. Alan showed up once again and went back into his diagnostic pattern.
The computer again showed all normal and the testing showed power to the fuel
pump, but the pump was clearly not coming on. In a flash of inspiration, he
tested the final plug to the fuel pump. It had a good +ve connection but a very
flaky earth. A quick trip back to the shop for a new plug and a fitting. Our
sprits were lifting. This was a real find and even a simple visual inspection
of the negative terminal showed it was a different colour and looked “dodgy”.
In the meantime, Dawsons had determined that they would press
on for Streaky Bay, with their personal deadlines looming. On receiving news
that we might be on a winner, they parked up at the boat ramp at Billy Lights
Point to wait for us.
With the new plug fitted, the engine fired up immediately,
no questions asked. We thanked Alan and headed out to join Dawsons at Billy
Lights Point, where we spent the next couple of hours running the engine,
stopping it, starting it again etc, until we were confident that this dreadful
thing was finally behind us.
Fully assured of the fix, we all set off for Streaky Bay, a drive of around 350km, and settled in to the Foreshore Caravan Park. With camp established, we set off to explore the options for launching and anchoring up.
The Streaky Bay launching ramp is about 8km out of town at
Shag Point. The best thing about the facility is its expansive car park, one
that locals assured us was perfectly safe to use for leaving the car. A permit
is required, at $5 a day, $15 a week or $30 a month obtainable from the
Visitors Centre of one of the fuel outlets. However, the facility itself was in
a sad state of disrepair, with one of two jetties having been removed pending
replacement and the other looking like something out of “1917”. Shag Point gave
only cursory protection from the afternoon strong southerly. It did not look
like much fun.
21 February – We decided that we could afford to delay
launching at Streaky Bay and explore further. With a picnic lunch packed, we
set off with the cars to drive 70km north to Smoky Bay to check it out as a
possible alternative. Smoky Bay is a tiny hamlet with only the one shop, a
general everything type place. In contrast to Streaky Bay, it boasts a brand
new four lane launching ramp deep enough to handle almost all tides, and
protected from the south.
We talked to the fisher folk pulling boats from the water to
hear tales that varied from “the fishing’s very poor” through to “we bagged out
and left them biting”. Of course, we believed nothing anyway but it was good to
see some helpful cheerful people. After
a delicious sausage sizzle BBQ near the jetty, we did a full tour of town
(about 2 minutes worth) and headed off. Bill and Mary went exploring, which
actually consisted of Mary pleading with Bill to turn back before they got
bogged (again), while we stopped in at a quaint little caravan park just on the
edge of town to enquire about storing our boat for our trip to Tasmania. We met
a very helpful chap who assured us all would be well and we left with a feeling
of confidence in the security and care offered.
Once back in Streaky Bay, we organised for another move. The
Dawsons arrived, having seen many kilometres of sand tracks and mangroves but
not much else of interest.
22 February – We broke camp and towed the boats north to Smoky Bay, arriving to find a crowded car park with lots of little dinghies out and about. We first had to drop in to the general store (the only store) to purchase a ramp permit. We chose to buy a week’s permit at $25. Launching went without a hitch, except for Bill forgetting to take his tie-down strap off. Our motor behaved itself and soon we were both off to explore and load up on fish. The local boats seemed to be dotted everywhere so we just picked some likely looking water and tried our luck. Over a few hours, we only caught a few king George whiting between us. Oh well, the fridges were still full of fish from Port Lincoln.
Smoky Bay Launching Ramp
Things got a little trickier when looking for a nice
anchorage for the night. In front of town looked inviting in a southerly
through to north easterly but the wind had freshened to the SW and it was a
little sloppy. Bill and Mary anchored up in the lee of the jetty to wait for
the wind to swing south. We went and docked at the ramp to collect something
from the car and a small boat came in alongside. They advised us to headed into
the small bay south of the town and seek the other side, where a series of
estuaries offer great shelter. We were assured the depth was OK.
The next hour and a half consisted of slowly motoring around an impossible series of channels and flats, mostly running out of water and not managing the safe harbour we were promised. Eventually, we gave up and returned, to find the area in front of town was now far nicer, with the wind well and truly in the south. We put the plough anchor down and backed it up with our marsh anchor. As the evening progressed, the wind abated to produce a lovely evening, a pattern that was repeated for the next few days.
We anchored each night on the other side of the jetty.
23 February – We spent a fairly fruitless day searching for
fish, the most difficult day we have had the whole trip. The whiting seemed to
elude us. There were a lot of boats out and we sometimes even sat amongst a
group but no one appeared to be catching anything.
We explored as far afield as Cape D’Estrees and fished a big variety of waters but all was quiet. You get days like that. Bill and Mary stayed down near Eyre Island and fared no better than us. Eventually, with the tide high, we went ashore at a pretty little white sand bay with an attractive headland at Saddle Peak. We decided to wade ashore, finding the water warm and refreshing. A short distance from the boat, Christine spied a nice big crab so I went back to the boat for the landing net while she kept herding it back towards me. It was into the net, for the crab. We checked out the rocks on the headland for oysters but there were none. We scraped the sands with our hands for cockles but there were none. Heading back to the boat with our crab, we came across a lone king George whiting sunning himself over the shallow sands. He seemed to be relaxing, so I scooped him up to join the crab. He certainly came to life once in the net. We at least had a lunch.
In the afternoon, the fishing improved a little and I caught a couple of KG whiting. Bill had more success with five fish.
24 February – We decided to try crabbing, having seen others
with pots out and a few crabs in the shallows. Our boat was left at anchor and
we headed off in the Dawson’s boat. All we had for bait was a few trumpeters
from the previous day and the heads from the fish cleaning. Still, we rigged
these up and found some likely looking ground, drifting for squid between
pulls. Three runs produced only 1 crab so we moved spots. We must have moved to
stingray heaven because as quickly as we put the pots down, the baits were
eaten. We had to work hard catching herring between runs just to keep up but
the baits were gone within minutes. Twice, we pulled pots to see a crab on the
outside of the pot. Sadly, we ended with just the one.
By lunchtime, we had had enough and returned to our boat to relax for the rest of the afternoon. Bill and Mary were energetic enough to go ashore for a good walk but we just lazed around on the boat and watched the passing parade of dinghies and oyster boats. The oyster boats don’t seem to have any mode other than “flat out”. They are flat bottomed aluminium craft between 7 and 10 metres in length with an open deck and an outboard on the back. They arrive at the ramp on jinker type trailers, often hauled by tractor. We have seen some launched by a single operator, who just backs quickly down the ramp until the craft floats free, dashes off the tractor and out the jetty in time to grab the boat and secure it, tear back up the ramp to the tractor and hastily park it before sprinting back to the waiting boat. Then it’s off and racing. The same boats seem to come and go all day, sometimes carrying heavy loads of oyster cages and sometimes doing the same with just a couple of containers. Fuel must be a major expense. At $15 to $18 a dozen, I guess they can afford it. There are quite a number of operators in Smoky Bay, possibly 10 or more, and huge areas of beds scattered around the shallows. It must be a good employer.
Sorting OystersThere are several streets full of oyster sheds. Oysters are big business in Smoky Bay
25 February – It was haul out day, our last on the water for
this trip. With the tide very low in the morning, there was no great sense of
urgency and we lazily cleared a few things away, retrieved the inflatable and
stored it deflated on the front deck and generally readied the boat for the
ramp. The Dawsons tried a spot of fishing but there was nothing doing and they
followed us in around 11am.
We set up camp at Baldwins Caravan Park, on the road out of
town. It is a basic place with simple but clean amenities and a great rate of
$25 a night. Even better, they were prepared to store our boat for the three
weeks in Tasmania for no charge, a very generous offer.
We made a small start to the job of preparing for life out of the car, had an icecream at the on and only Smoky Bay shop and had a rather lengthy afternoon nap.
26 February – Bill and Mary left today, on their way home
with one last bit of boating at Ceduna, only 40kms to the north of us. We put
in pretty much a full day’s work, changing a tire, reorganising food, washing
clothes, cleaning the inflatable, spraying rust protectant over trailer brakes
and boat motor etc etc. We were very glad we had allocated ourselves the extra
day for organisation because we were surprised at just how much we had to do. We did find time to nip out and buy two dozen
fresh oysters at $12 a dozen. They are huge and, being live and closed up, will
last quite while. We can have a feast on the road.
Our S.A. cruising holiday has come to an end. It was not
quite everything we had planned because of the problems with the boat motor but
we still spent a total of 14 days on the water. Bill and Mary were wonderful
company and the alternate cooking arrangement meant that we each got to go out
to dinner every second night. In a way, the motor problems were a blessing,
because we were at least in an environment where it was easy to take it back to
the water, test it, then head back to the mechanic. I learnt an awful lot about
the motor and now have a large degree of confidence in it, especially the fuel
system.
The final tally for the motor repairs is frightening. We had a new fuel pump and fuel cooler fitted for around $1000, an air temperature sensor was another $140 plus labour, two relays added another $95 plus labour and finally, the part that was actually defective, the plug, cost a mere $14. The first person we took it to in Perth and who had the boat for a whole day wanted to lift the engine out and charge us around $3000. The horrible thing is there is just nothing one can do about it. In the case of the Port Lincoln mechanics, they worked with me alongside all the way and so I figure I at least got some excellent education for the money.
The $14 part that caused all the fuss.
Overall, the fishing was steady, though unspectacular. This also
was good because we easily had enough to eat without having to clean and store
more fish than we needed. The lack of squid was definitely disappointing,
despite many hours of trying. The last time we were in this part of the World,
we had lots of squid. I blame climate change and Donald Trump.
The grand plan consists of towing the boat over the Nullabor Plain to the Eyre Peninsula in South Australia, meeting Bill and Mary, whose boat (Larsen Cabrio 27) is currently in storage in Gawler SA, and spending a month exploring the many beautiful coastal locations that dot the triangular shaped feature. We have sailed many of the locations on our trailer sailer, Sandpiper, back in 2012. This time around, we have a power boat in the form of a Whittley Cruisemaster 700 called Lesueur, a seagoing caravan with lots of mod cons. The ability to move quickly when the southern coast’s fickle weather takes a turn for the worse will be a huge advantage.
We had a planned leaving date of January 27th,
after cooking an Australia Day breakfast for 46 at the caravan park in
Kingsley. However, a huge heat wave cell developed and the projections were to
make the entire 1900km trip to Ceduna in 40 degree plus temperatures. No way!
We made the 150km trip to Dowerin and holed up for three
days, staying inside and watching the Australian Open Tennis for most of the
time. To go outside was to get a lung roasting, the temperature on the back
patio peaking at 47 degrees.
By January 30th, we were able to set off, cutting through to Great Eastern Highway at Merredin and then heading east to Coolgardie and south to Norseman. The first night was spent in a woodland camp about 15km east of Norseman.
Our overnight camp outside of Norseman.
The second day was one of admiring the Western Woodlands,
for hour after hour. These huge extensive woodlands To quote DPAW, “It is regarded as the largest remaining area of intact
Mediterranean-climate woodland left on Earth and contains about 3000 species of
flowering plants, about a fifth of all known flora in Australia. It includes
nearly a quarter of Australia’s eucalypt species, many of which grow nowhere
else in the world, and its varied habitats are home to a diverse array of
mammals, reptiles, frogs and birds.” Wow! We actually saw no wildlife;
drove through many kilometres of burnt out woodland and saw huge piles of human
rubbish in every roadside stop we utilised. Despite this, the Woodlands are
beautiful, the variety of vegetation and the enormity of the area demands
acknowledgement.
We pushed on, putting in a 700km+ drive for the day and over
nighting in the Eucla Caravan Park for the princely sum of $25 a night. Along
the way, we were “entertained” by an idiot in a light coloured 4WD towing a
large van who passed us (80km/hr) at a considerable rate and proceeded to lose
control when pulling in front of us. We kept up the conversation of “Oh Oh..
they’re gone. Oh no, this is it!!” as we watched them fish tail down the road
trying to regain control. They managed once, before returning to the fish tail
dance before finally backing off the speed and getting control. Idiots!! I
really think we need a special licence for towing.
Our third night on the road was on the SA side of the Nullarbor, in Streaky Bay. Bill and Mary had picked up their rig in Gawler, SA and headed to Port Pirie to wait out the heat cell that had preceded us across the Nullarbor. They suffered 46 degree heat, 50mm rain storms and more before heading west to overnight in Tumby Bay ready for a rendezvous with us in Coffin Bay, at the bottom of the Eyre Peninsula.
On day four, we pulled into the caravan park at Coffin Bay
to find Dawsons parked up at reception, having beaten us by only 15 minutes or
so, an amazing rendezvous after a four day drive across the continent. We spent
the rest of the day checking out the launching facilities, changing a tyre,
swapping anchors to the locally favoured “Marsh Anchor”. This anchor is
designed to dig into the weed beds that are so predominant in SA waters. Bill
and Mary had our 8kg model that we had bought in 2014 when we were here with
Sandpiper, as well as a new 13kg beast that Bill worried was too big. I looked
at our Marsh anchor and worried it would not be enough.
By February 3rd, we were ready to launch,
although we rose late, fluffed around getting fuel and topping up water tanks.
It was around 10:30am by the time we actually got to the ramps and launched.
Bill and I drove the cars back to the caravan park to a fairly secure location
out the back and a very kind chap camped nearby drove us back the 1.2km back to
the ramp.
We motored off to the shelter of a small headland strangely named Point Misery at the start of Mount Dutton Bay and anchored up to fish. Between us, we caught enough for dinner, with 4 nice King George Whiting and a dozen or so herring. Then we headed north up Mount Dutton Bay to seek an overnight anchorage in Little Mount Dutton Bay, a shallow but fairly protected inlet. On our first night on the water, we dined on Dawson’s boat with Bill cooking up the day’s catch. As the wind picked up, it was obvious that our 8kg Marsh Anchor was not up to the job of holding a Whittley 700 and we swapped out to our normal 20lb plough anchor. Bill’s 13kg marsh proved more than adequate for the job on his big Larsen. That night, we had a grand feast on the proceeds of the day in wonderful surroundings with good company. What more could one ask for?
The sun setting over the Dawson’s Larsen
February 4th – The boat motor, which had previously
given trouble by cutting out on a regular basis, decided to revert to this
annoying behaviour when we went to raise anchor. After about four restarts, we
were underway and things went beautifully for the rest of the day. Still, it is
a worry and we are grateful that we have company.
We spent the day fishing, mostly in Mount Dutton Bay. The King George Whiting proved elusive, although Bill and Mary managed one big one each. I contented myself with collecting a bag full of mussels and huge oysters. Coffin bay is famous for its oysters and their cultivation forms the main industry of the town. Wild ones are not common but can be found in enough numbers to make collecting a dozen possible without a great deal of effort. As the afternoon wore on, the wind tended to shift away from SE to more S and we headed away from Mount Dutton Bay to seek a more protected overnight spot between Rabbit Island and the back of the township. It was our turn to host dinner and Christine cooked up Spaghetti Chilli Mussels so it was another night in paradise.
February 5th – Today was another day of trying to
find the King George Whiting, but not before we had a repeat of the engine
issues when first raising anchor. It seems the engine is not happy when cold.
The fishing didn’t go much better, with plenty of herring available but only
one whiting. Bill tried crabbing but he had no joy, feeding all his bait to a
seal that happily followed him around as he dropped his nets. We spent most of
the day in the Port Douglas area. There were quite a few other boats around and
we tried fishing near them, but without luck. It is still wonderful to be out
on the water and we certainly don’t lack for food. As the wind came around to
the SW we shifted and made our way around all the oyster farms and on to anchor
off Little Port Douglas, a small hamlet surrounding a tidal inlet. It was a big
bouncy but had good holding. An
afternoon nap was definitely in order but I snuck in a catch of two good sized
salmon before retiring.
However, the bouncy part increased as the wind shifted to true S and so we pushed on towards the open ocean and around into Farm Beach, where there were a half dozen or so boats moored and a scattering of small buildings on the beach. We anchored over what looked to be wonderful squidding water but the squid were either elusive or missing.
6th February – We woke late and had a lazy breakfast. We were all feeling the effects of life afloat and needed a walk somewhere so we decided to go back to Little Mount Douglas and explore the village. With the tide low, we had to take the long way around and so the trip took longer than expected. As we anchored up off the tiny mouth to Little Mount Dutton Creek, a couple of oyster boats appeared and charged towards the inlet at a huge rate. We were anchored a couple of hundred metres out because the water is only a foot and a bit deep but the oyster boats simply tilted their huge outboards and hit the throttle. Spewing an enormous rooster tail, they belted over the shallows and found the sanctuary of the slightly deeper water of the creek. It was an amazing feat.
The lagoon at Little Mount Dutton
Meanwhile, we putted in with the rubber ducks scraping the
bottom, anchored them on a pretty little beach and wandered up into a
surprisingly large collection of well made beach homes. At the top of the pathway
we met a local bloke, a retired whiting fisherman who was born and raised in
Little Mount Dutton. He bemoaned the coming of the oyster fisherman and
suggested that they were responsible for many of the things that are now wrong
with the place but we saw little to agree on and remained silent.
We walked for a bit and explored the limited area. There are
no shops or pubs or anything of that nature but there is a whole heap of
evident pride in the little location. Everything is incredibly neat and tidy.
Back on the boats, we decided to head back into the confines of Coffin Bay and followed a path around the massive oyster leases. The sight of some long stretches of white beach over towards the Black Springs area beckoned and we changed course to explore. With the wind in the south, there were any number of possible anchorages to try and fish and to settle in for the night. We settled on one small bay that was fine unless things went too far east. After a wonderful meal of fresh salmon with basil peso (don’t let anyone tell you Australian Salmon are poor eating), we settled in for a long game of “Phase 10” (an addictive but frustrating card game) with Dawsons.
By the time Bill finally won, it was starting to get a little rolly. By the time we woke up around 11pm, it was extremely rolly. For some reason (probably a tide flow), both boats hug across the waves, which were bigger than expected because of the ESE wind. We swung, lurched, banged against a wave, rocked then settled to a brief calm, before repeating the whole process. It was horrible. Both Bill and I separately considered the merits of a midnight move and rejected the idea. It was really horrible, but not dangerous so we all put up with a night from hell.
7th February – The wind and waves finally abated around 4am, and everyone got such much needed sleep. That didn’t stop me getting up at 7:30 and announcing that it was a quick breakfast and leave to seek the comfort of numerous anchorage choices closer to town. We motored off through Port Douglas and back to Point Misery for a short fish. Only the herring were biting so we didn’t stay long, electing to go to town for a spot of shopping and a pie (such indulgence).
Anchored off the Yacht Club at Coffin Bay townsite
Both boats anchored off the yacht club, the tide being far
too low to contemplate using the jetty, and we went ashore in the rubber ducks.
Unfortunately, the supplies of block ice at Beachcombers had not been
replenished so we made do with bagged ice and a few other supplies. Then we all
sat outside and devoured some truly wonderful pies. It’s not as though we
aren’t eating well on the boat but somehow the thought of purchased food made
it all the more exciting.
On the way through the channel, we noticed a local fishing
alone right on the edge of the channel. He seemed to be pretty cagey about us
seeing whether he was catching anything so we decided that spot was worth a go.
Sure enough, it yielded quite a few king george whiting, of
which four were size for us and five for Bill and Mary. Plenty of quality fish.
At 30cm size limit, a legal sized king
George is a respectable fish and yields a lot of flesh. We settled back into
the shallows between the back of town and Rabbit Island for the night, which
was very comfortable and quiet.
8th February – We had a fairly lazy day, getting
up late and lingering over breakfast until around 9:30. Bill and I headed off
to the sand flats on the falling tide and collected some cockles for whiting
bait, easily managing enough. Once we had them opened and ready for the hook,
we headed back to the spot on the edge of the channel and picked up some more
nice fat whiting. Served as crumbed fillets with some fried rice they should do
the trick.
It is almost time to consider pulling out. We have explored a lot of Coffin Bay and pretty much experienced what it has to offer. As with our last visit, finding enough seafood to live on is not hard, the water simply teems with life. Water supplies are holding out but need watching, fuel is still good, with about 100 litres of 200 litres used having covered around 65nm. The toilet will need emptying soon, not something that can be considered in a big inlet where oysters are cultivated. Perhaps we will go to Port Lincoln tomorrow.
9th February – We did our homework on the tides
and found that we had two key timeslots; either pull out by 9:30 or wait until
after 2pm. We rose before sunrise at 6:30 to make sure that we had time to
prepare for haul out at 9am. The cars and trailers were at the caravan park ($3
per day storage in a secure spot) which is about 1.5km from the ramps so we
devised a plan to drop the girls off near the caravan park so they could drive
up to the ramps with the trailers while we motored back. All went well,
although the tide was already very low and getting the inflatable ashore with
the girls was touch and go.
The tide was hammering out, creating a strong current across
the jetties at the ramps. The current was assisted by the breeze so coming
alongside was tricky to say the least. I messed up the first approach and even
the bow thrusters couldn’t rescue me so I pulled back and went about for a
second shot. Bill’s approach looked spot on until something happened at the
last minute and he ended up broadside across the space between two jetties. I
managed to slip straight into a berth on the second attempt and went to help
Mary haul on the lines to straighten their boat. By the time we had that under
control, the tide had dropped more and finding enough water for the trailers
was getting harder. I sank mine as much as I dared and drove on but only got half
way up before there was the horrible grinding of the prop hitting the ramp.
Christine backed the trailer even deeper and with the motor heavily tilted I
got the boat onto the trailer, the prop showing signs of needing a good filing
to reduce the scars. Bill managed his onto the trailer with the help and advice
of a couple of locals.
We spent about an hour at the excellent wash down facility,
cleaning some of the salt off, emptying Bill’s holding tanks and our Porta Loo
and generally readying the boats for the road trip to Port Lincoln. There was
also quite a lot of chatting to other boaties around us, something that always seems to happen when blokes and
boats get together.
By the time we had crossed the 47km and booked into the Port
Lincoln Caravan Park it was around noon, so we had been pretty efficient in our
work. Coffin Bay had lived up to
expectations.
Days on the water – 7
Distance covered ~70nm / 130km
Fuel used ~120L
Water used ~ 100L from tanks + 20L
additional
Issues – Ongoing problem with fuel
supply cutting off until engine reaches operating temperature of 150°F
/ 66°C.
We had to disembark our charter yacht in Trogir by 9am and had time to kill, with a flight out of Croatia to Rome leaving at 3:50pm. Toni at the charter office allowed us to store our luggage so at least we were free to wander around Trogir, find a coffee, eat more snacks than we should have and generally sit to watch the world pass by. Helen still has a bit of trouble with too much walking so we left Helen and Mario to get some steps in to burn a few of the many calories our bodies had in reserve. The day past quickly enough and by 12:30 we hunted down a maxi taxi to take the four of us and our luggage to the airport (called Split Airport but in reality it is far closer to Trogir). Then there was the long wait to get on the Vueling flight. The flight across the Adriatic is ridiculously short and we didn’t make the mistake of ordering a drink. It is a case of fasten seat belts, go up, then go down. The poor attendants are on the run the entire time.
The luggage took an age to come and we eyed the clock nervously, knowing that every minute meant more night time driving on the 317km trip north to Poppiano in Chianti. The Avis car rental people were efficient enough and finally we were off, with Mario driving and me on the GPS to negotiate our way onto the Autostrada and join all the other cars doing speeds well in excess of 130km/hr. Mario handled things extremely well and managed to avoid driving on the wrong side of the road (except once when I gave him bad instructions) and the long drive was accomplished surprisingly quickly. Even after the Autostrada was behind us and we began the twisting and winding drive through the hills of Chianti Mario was up to the job and we arrived safely at our Air BnB by 9:15pm. Our host, Suzanne, arrived shortly afterward and we explored the enchanting apartment, one of three in an old stone building complete with the genuine hand milled cypress beams and terracotta floor tiles. We were in Tuscan heaven.
Our Apartment is Top Right
For our first day in Tuscany, the forecast rain arrived,
just a little bit early on and light enough to suggest that a driving
experience was called for. We picked out a couple of spots on the map and
decided to let the GPS do its thing and simply explore. The countryside was
even better than the countless published pictures suggest, with gorgeous
rolling hills, pockets of verdant forest and cute olive groves. Having
experienced the far less populated hills of Piedmont before, I was surprised at
how heavily populated the region is for a rural area. Clusters of buildings are
dotted everywhere and hilltop castles abound and appear somewhat newer than
those in Piedmont. We passed through village after village, almost without
sighting any other people, apart from those practising their racing car skills
on the narrow winding roads. Our local castle was all quiet, the next couple we
tried to visit had no public access and any attempt to find a wine tasting or
cute little cafe seemed fruitless. Sunday is rest day (as is Monday it seems).
Castle Poppiano – a little way down the road from our apartment.
The forecast of heavy rain with damaging winds and large
hail proved to be over the top but the rain did come and driving and navigating
through the hilly Chianti district soon became very difficult. Mario was up to
the task but it wasn’t much fun. We found a couple of towns but they weren’t
all that exciting, probably because the rain made stopping and exploring too
hard. We stopped in one place at one of the few bar/cafes we saw open and were
served a local red wine. However, it was poured from an already open bottle and
was more on the vinegar side than fine wine and none of us could actually drink
it. The owner was embarrassed and refused payment.
Our second day was partly a repeat of the first, with very
heavy rain making travel impossible. We did manage to get in a good session at
San Gimignano with only light rain falling, before the heavens opened in
earnest. With navigated our way to Volterra but couldn’t even get out of the
car. Most roads had rivers running down the sides. Thankfully, the temperature
is perfect, in the low 20s each day and the cloud at least protects us from the
sting of the sun.
Key Places We Visited:
San Gimignano – this spectacular 13th Century walled town once boasted 72 stone towers although today only 14 still remain. They created a wonderful skyline as we approached. The towers were largely a status symbol among the patrician families, the higher the tower the higher the status. The town is full of produce shops, displaying the wares of the district, wines, cheeses, sauces etc along with some beautiful arts and crafts. Wandering the cobbled streets and window shopping, or stopping for a snack is an excellent way to spend some time, even in the rain. The crowds would not want to be any greater with the streets and piazzas busy but not impossible to move through. We lunched on panini in a bakery that had the most amazing array of sweets and chocolates.
San GimignanoSan Gimignano
Florence (Firenze) – We have been told by others that Florence is THE place to visit in Italy so we had very high expectations. We were actually disappointed, not with the grandeur of the D’Uomo or the Church of San Maria Novella, but rather with the general town itself. The buildings seem to be quite a jumbled mix of old and ugly 20th Century, with a crazy road and pedestrian system adding to the chaos and confusion. The streets were crowded and seeking the safety of a piazza seemed to be the thing to do but even there we were not safe from cars, trucks and motorbikes that came across any paved area at high speed. To save ourselves problems with parking, we drove to Villa Constanza in Sandicci outside of the city and caught the relatively new tram into the city centre. After a few fights with parking tickets and the tram ticket machine we made our way in, crossing the Arno River and alighting at the central rail station. From there it was a short walk to the Church of San Maria Novella, a huge 13th Century church situated in a large piazza. The facade was unlike any church I have seen before and is distinctly Tuscan in design.
Church of San Maria Novella
From there, we made our way to the amazing D’Uomo, with its huge dome that dominates the skyline of Florence. The main facade is absolutely beyond description. The whole building is clad with white, black, green and rose coloured marble and the carvings and statues are so numerous and intricate that we spent a long time simply standing in the one spot and finding new wonders to admire. We gave no thought to going inside because the lines extended several hundred metres and did not really seem to be moving. The nearby Baptistery dates from the 5th Century and is said to be the beginning of the distinctive Florentine architectural style. Strangely, the style did not spread to other parts of Italy and so remains a symbol of Florence.
The D’Oumo and Baptistery in Florence
After a wonderful lunch of wood fired pizza, we made our way on to the Palazzo Vecchio (now a museum) and the Piazza della Signoria, which is a huge open air art gallery of renaissance statues. Marble naked bodies, cherubs and Roman soldiers were in abundance.
Piazza della Signoria
Further on, we found the river and crossed the famous Ponte Vecchio, a shop covered bridge almost completely filled with jewellery shops. Each shop had huge heavy wooden shutters to close up with, reflecting the value of what lay within.
Ponte Vecchio
All the walking had taken its toll and we were unanimous in our decision to make our way back to the tram, Florence by no means beaten but we had done enough. We did not get to see the Michelangelo’s Statue of David but the thought of paying $A33 to see the real thing held little appeal anyway. Mario was very tempted by some soccer shorts decorated with the lower part of David’s anatomy. I’m not sure where one could wear them.
Fattoria Corzano e Paterno – We followed up on our host’s recommendation and visited this wonderful family owned winery for a tasting session. It was beautifully situated down the end of a long unsealed track and had breath taking views of the vine clad slopes. A charming young girl led us through each of four wines, three reds and one white, plus four of their own cheeses, each made from sheep’s cheese. The cheeses were matched with the wines perfectly, becoming stronger with each wine and each one delicious, except for the gorgonzola, which only Mario managed to appreciate. We learnt about the Chianti controlled wine production, with a wine designated as Chianti requiring not only location but at least 80% Sangiovese grapes with the rest being made up with Cabernet Sauvignon and/or Merlot. We had noticed that the vines throughout the region only had a few bunches of fruit hanging from the bottom of the vines. This is deliberate through pruning to keep the fruiting small and therefore of high quality and to keep too much sun off the grapes as they ripened. The Sangiovese grapes are among the finest grapes we have ever tasted but their small size and large seeds makes them unsuitable for the table. We left the winery, contented and far more knowledgeable. A wonderful experience.
Wine Tasting at Fattoria Corzano e Patern
Volterra – We had two attempts to visit Volterra. The first time, was after our trip to San Gimignano and by the time we arrived, the rain was torrential. Huge rivers ran down the sides of the steep climb up to the walled city and we decided to give it up and return another day. We were so glad we did return because the town is absolutely beautiful, certainly the equal if not better than San Gimignano. As with most of the walled cities, it dates from the 13th and 14th Centuries but underneath all the medieval stonework lies not only a 3rd Century BC Roman city but also an earlier Etruscan city. It seemed a little less tourist dominated than San Gimignano and many local people still live and work within the walls. We wandered and stuck our heads down cute little alleyways, photographed vistas over the farmlands spread below and tried to imagine what life was like here 600 years ago. The remains of a Roman Theatre and Baths are laid out below the walls of the city and present a spectacular sight.
Volterra
Roman Baths and Amphitheatre
The Etruscan ruins are less obvious, set in a large parkland but being more represented by a series of foundations rather than actual buildings. The excavations recouped a big treasure of Etruscan artifacts and the culture seems to have influenced the design of much of the local jewellery on offer for sale. After an hour of wandering, we settled in to a beautiful restaurant where Christine and I had a beer and Mario and Helen had a local pasta with amazing fresh mushrooms freshly plucked from the fields. We started out not feeling hungry but their food certainly looked good.
Volterra is a must visit place.
Pisa – What trip to Italy could be complete without visiting the famous Leaning Tower yet, amazingly, we had missed it on two previous visits. Helen and Mario had seen the tower on a quick tour from a cruise ship but had not really toured Pisa before. As with Florence,we elected to avoid parking issues and caught a regional train from Cascina, about 5kms out. Once in Pisa, we located the offices of “Smile and Ride”, a bike hire company to pick up bikes for the day. Pisa is very flat (rare in Tuscany) and the streets are wider than many places, making riding comfortable. Our bikes came with a self guiding tour app for the smart phones so navigating around was also quite easy. The good thing about self guided tours is we could ignore some of the detail about artists and architects and also wander off the marked path when the whim took us.
Pisa is a pretty place, with pleasant vistas and interesting
streetscapes, especially along the river banks. We came across a few lovely
parks, rode alongside the ancient city walls, gazed upon the usual array of
medieval church fronts (it’s amazing how quickly one becomes blasé about
inspirational architecture) and bought a few bits and pieces from tourist
stalls.
We parked up and securely locked the bikes (this is Italy) and walked the short distance to the “Square of Miracles”, which houses the famous Leaning Tower, the massive D’Oumo and the Baptistery. The cathedral would command respect in its own right but the nearby tower gets all the attention. It looks for all the world as if collapse is only a day away. The building itself is magnificent, even if it was upright, and the quality of the marble cladding all the structures in the square is outstanding. Most of the crowds was just standing or sitting in the one place, staring at the sight and taking it all in. Sometimes, one of the “bucket list” items proves to be a disappointment but this one fulfills expectations.
Siena – Siena is
the most southerly of the major Tusan attractions and the change in both
countryside and architecture showed. The hills around were generally less
populated than further north. The town looked quite different to San Gimignano
or Volterra in that brick seemed to predominate over the stone. The builders
showed incredible skill in extracting almost as much flair as they do with
stone.
The biggest attraction in Siena is probably the Piazza del
Campo, or Horse Plaza, an enormous brick clad piazza that is really unusual in
that the central part is gradually recessed to form a kind of inverted
amphitheatre. Twice a year, in July and August, a horse race called the Palio
is run around the perimeter of the square. Each horse represents one of the
provinces of Siena. It is a mad scramble and accidents are common. The square
is jam-packed with spectators on these occasions. We sat and had a beer on the
edge of the square and looked at pictures of the event on our phones to try and
draw up the experience. Siena is a beautiful place to wander around in,
especially if one is after higher class shops. Fashion, jewellery and leather
shops were common and business looked brisk.
Ristorante da Buzzanca – We discovered an absolute gem of a restaurant on 2kms away from our accommodation in nearby San Quirico. The restaurant is in a large farm complex that dates back over a thousand years. The family bought it 40 years ago and run a wonderful establishment. The building is full of ambience and the menu is amazing. They have an incredible ravioli with pistachio pesto that is the best ravioli I have tasted. Helen and Mario each had osso bucco that was melt in the mouth while Christine had a duck linguine. On the way out, the waiter (part of the family) took us down into the ancient cellar, where dust encrusted wine bottles were stored and water poured down through a rocky culvert. It was a view into times long past. We went back for a final Sunday lunch and discovered the joy of baked cod with an amazing tomato sauce. Mario and Helen tried a mixed grill and were presented with two big platters of grilled meat from every animal that graces a farmyard. They worked for over an hour to demolish the lot and showed no signs of joining the popular vegan movement.
A week and a bit in Tuscany is highly recommended. Vistas of rolling hills, scattered castles, vine and olive covered slopes and the always present cypress trees are everywhere one looks and all is surprisingly green at the end of a summer. The grapes ready for harvest add to the attraction. The narrow winding roads and crazy-mad drivers are not so wonderful and the habit of closing up and staying closed can get trying at times. Most restaurants around us did not open Monday to Wednesday and often not until 7:30 or 8pm. Oh well, when in Rome….
Mario handled the arduous job of driving very well, rapidly adapting to
the conditions. Navigation was not so smooth at times, with the GPS
letting us down on more than one occasion but mostly, we managed. For
us, it marks “Italy complete” and although one could never truly say
that, we have now done enough to move on to fresh fields.
The drive back to Rome was completed with now issues, except for one slight hiccup at the airport where we had to complete a bog lap of “Arrivals” to correct a wrong turn. The car was handed back with no dings or scrapes and we settled in to the arduous process of check-in, immigration, security etc.
The much awaited day of boarding our two week charter yacht arrived. We were not due to board until 4pm so we had plenty of time for last minute supplies and a general relax. Fortunately, our Air BnB hosts in Trogir were happy for us to stay as late as we needed. With all the gear and provisions, we deemed it best to get transport to the marina. While we were in the process of getting an Uber, our host kindly offered a lift in her mother’s car. Christine, Helen and all the luggage were squeezed into the car and Mario and I walked across the island to the ACI Marina.
We entered the charter office in high spirits but the end of
a long summer charter season was reflected in the manager’s eyes, along with
dollar signs. He skipped through the necessary papers as quickly as possible to
get to the money part, where huge piles of cash seemed to mount up in front of
him, all of it ours.
We located our boat, aptly named “Aquaholic” and met our
skipper, who announced that we were sailing in half an hour. This was news to
us because our instructions were that we were to spend the first night in
Trogir. In hindsight, this would have been the best thing because it would give
a good chance to thoroughly go through all the things about the boat while
there was at least a slight chance of having problems rectified. One of the
difficulties in chartering at the end of a season is that the little unattended
maintenance issues mount up and as the cruise progressed, we were to discover the
hatches that leaked, the lights that didn’t work and the plumbing issues that annoyed.
As a whole, the boat was very good, with three double cabins and a set of
bunks. With Lucy and Alex no longer able to join us, we had the luxury of the
bunk room to use as storage and a changing room. The galley was well equipped
and the fridge big enough to keep us going without the need to buy ice. Talking
to others along the way, the condition of our charter boat was much on a par
with others, with everyone having a list of things that need attention.
Aquaholic had been recently fitted with a new main sail and
new bimini and dodger so things looked trim. She sailed very well and was
extremely comfortable even in quite big seas. Our skipper was always happy to
put the sails up and make use of the wind whereas we noted that many boats
simply motored a lot. It is always a lot more comfortable with the sails up.
Our skipper, Lordan, was a middle aged Croatian national who spends the season skippering charters with some time away working oil rigs. He had done 14 weeks straight to date. He has a wife and two children so I guess he doesn’t get to see all that much of them. Still, the whole economy seems geared up to work flat out in the summer and back off for the winter.
Our first night was in a small cove near Maslinica on the island of Solta. We motor sailed in light conditions and picked up a buoy near last light. This was to be our introduction to the system of anchorages in Croatia. Basically, there are five choices for spending the night.
Anchor. Our skipper dislikes this option for
anything other than a daytime swim because the water is often very deep and the
anchor is OK but not brilliant. I concur with his assessment.
Take a buoy. Some buoys are owned by restaurants
and they will let you stay for free as long as you go to the restaurant (they
tend to be expensive). Other buoys are owned by the local port authority. Buoys
can cost anywhere between $45 and $100 a night depending on location. Staying
on a buoy means we have to use the dinghy to go ashore.
Back on to the harbour pier. This is convenient
but more expensive, costing between $75 and $120. It can also be a noisy night
or a fun night, depending on your neighbours.
Go into a marina. This is the most expensive
option, with most being over $100 a night.
For our first night, we had little choice, the skipper
pre-arranging a buoy owned by a restaurant which proved to have a limited and
rather pricey menu. All in all, the crowds and number of boats are so much
bigger than we anticipated that in the end one has little choice and you just
go with the flow. Backing on to a wharf is probably the preferred option
because it gives us complete freedom to explore the towns at will.
Life over the two weeks of sailing was so relaxing and
enjoyable far beyond our expectations. Most people charter for one week only
but we were so glad that we had organised two weeks because as the first week
came to a close we all knew that we would have been upset to get off. After initially
fussing a bit over our exact itinerary, we came to realise that everywhere was
good and yet everywhere is different. Most towns have an “old town” with
medieval origins but each has its own unique character. Each port is also quite
unique and although the actual facilities differ, most are adequate for at
least an overnight stay.
The actual itinerary was mostly out of our control, with the
skipper coming up with a whole raft of reasons why we could not go where we
wanted to go and should, in fact, go where he wanted to go. The motivation for
these conflicts was hard to fathom. At times I leaned towards the negative
viewpoint that he wanted to go where things served him best (he had a friend he
wanted to catch up with, his brother was going there, he knew a restaurant
owner, etc). Sometimes, the positive view held and we considered that he was
just trying to do his best by us. The weather was often used as a reason why we
could not go to some place we nominated. It is impossible to argue with a
skipper when they play the weather and safety card because they are ultimately
responsible. However, we had many dire predictions of horrendous storms and
winds, none of which ever eventuated (just as the online forecasts predicted).
I would show him the predictions but we would just shrug and suddenly his
English would get worse. The overall consensus is that it is probably a mixture
of everything. Sailing people around the Croatian Islands for 14 weeks straight
would test anyone’s integrity. It was strange though that his brother kept
popping up everywhere we went in the first week.
Skipper Lordan had a strict daily routine. He would rise at 8:30 no matter what and would wander off either along the wharf or in the dinghy to find coffee. He would return an hour later bearing an assortment of sweet breads to sustain him through the day. We would get underway between 9:30 and 10am, even if he had previously announced an “early start”. On big sail days, we would pull in somewhere in the early afternoon for lunch or a swim, which meant that it was time for Lordan to retire below and sleep. The time after lunch and a swim was mostly spent waiting for Lordan to wake up. Once we reached our destination, Lordan would head off to catch up with acquaintances before returning for a quick nap. This guy could sleep. He did dine with us on the boat a few times and sometimes at a restaurant. The terms state that we were responsible for feeding him so when he did accompany us to a restaurant, we paid. He usually ordered the most expensive meal of all of us. Still, he was a jovial character with a good sense of humor. His English ability was good but his hearing not so, resulting in some difficult conversations at times. A question along the lines of “How far is it to Stari Grad?” might get an answer of “There is a bit of cloud so you can’t see the stars.”
Skipper Lordan
Whenever practical, we sailed and shut down the engine. Our
skipper was good that way. A boat load of New Zealanders we spoke to were
peeved that they had been out for five days and hadn’t put the sails up. The
boat sailed very well indeed and the few times the sea got up a bit she showed
that she could handle bad conditions if needed. Fortunately, with the
relatively light winds and the many islands that provide shelter, we seldom had
much of a sea to contend with.
We swam most days, with the water a little chilly on entry but otherwise a good temperature. The water clarity here is amazing, it often being easy to make out the bottom in 40 feet of water. The fish life is limited and restricted to small fish and there was no coral growth. The sea grass beds look to be in reasonable condition but the bottom in areas where yachts had been anchoring was often a garbage tip with bottles, cans, clothes (mostly undies), plastic pegs and assorted bric a brac.
As always on our trips, we ate like kings, both on the boat
and at restaurants. The waistline damage is yet to be fully assessed but it
won’t be good. We had some excellent meals cooked on board, with Helen’s
beautiful pork dish, Christine’s amazing chicken and a decadent meal of
mussels, purchased from a floating mussel farm on the way up the Krka River to
Skradin. One of the memorable restaurant meals include one in the old town at Stari
Grad in an old three level building that reeked of ambience and boasted
outstanding food. At another restaurant in the little cove of Senjska on the
island of Solta we had a local dish called a Peka. This was a delicious mix of
beef and lamb cuts with potatoes, carrot and cabbage slow roasted over coals in
a large iron pan with a big iron cone acting as a lid. It was tender, packed
full of flavour and equally full of calories. Of course, home made bread was
used to soak up the juices. In Sibenik, we enjoyed a marvellous seafood mix
with sardines, red mullet, shrimps and squid. There was so much food that we
took home a “doggy bag”. Icecream excursions were common, with so much cheap
and top quality icecream available. Bread was a bit of a mystery. Bakeries are
common but they focus on sweet fare or long French style sticks. Occasionally,
we managed to find some good rolls or loaves that suited but the next stop would
be different again. The supermarkets tended to sell packaged white bread only
suitable for toasting. The bakeries did sell some delicious pastry pieces that
were filled with pork mince, a type of cheese curd or cheese and feta. They
were excellent “munchy food”. We usually lunched on the boat and things seemed
to build up from just a sandwich to huge spreads of continental fare, pickled
octopus, olives, three types of cheese, salami, mortadella, tomatoes, etc.
After a few such lunches we checked our waist lines and went back to the
sandwiches.
Interaction with fellow cruisers was surprisingly limited,
with few English speaking groups around and many European crews being insular
to the point of not even returning a wave. Very noticeable was the number of
boats crewed by large groups of young German men, who were almost universally
loud, drunk and extremely late to bed. Tying up in the vicinity of such a party
boat is not recommended. We did come across a boat of New Zealanders who would
shout out “Hi Aussies” across the water when we met up. They were fun and far
more friendly than most others. One group of young German men had few
inhibitions about showering on the rear deck after swimming. Helen and
Christine were particularly interested in one young man who was very generously
proportioned. Much over rated I’m told. Mario and I were somewhat put out that
males appear to outnumber females by about 10 to 1 in the cruising set.
Life did get to be dominated by toilets. We were all surprised to find that our boat, and many others, was not fitted with a sullage holding tank and that the toilet was a straight “pump out to sea” type. Of course, use of this in a port for “Number 2s” is definitely not on and so regular trips ashore were required to find a land based toilet. The quality of the shore toilets varied widely, as they do with caravan parks and long waits for a shower or cubicle could result in peak times. The boat did have a couple of showers, although one had very poor pressure. One of the two toilets also wasn’t functioning correctly. We all ate high fibre breakfasts and focussed on regularity.
Places we visited:
Maslinica – a small town on the north end of Solta. We used a restaurant buoy in a small cove to the south. A pretty little stop.
Kut – on the east side of Vis. Two small towns occupy a lovely deep cove. Kut is the old town and Luka the newer town. Restaurants abound, along with a few small swimming beaches. We took a buoy and enjoyed an afternoon and morning wandering around the villages and admiring the many big expensive boats entering the harbour. We were delighted to find a pretty little foreshore restaurant in Ku that was used for the filming of Mama Mia 2.
Kut and Luka on Vis
Palmizana – The Pakleni Islands are a beautiful group of isles made up of the tops of a submerged mountain range and so create a myriad small bays and coves, most filled with boats at anchor. We took a buoy in a cove called Palmizana which has a restaurant and bar, both very reasonably priced and with a varied menu. It was a short walk across the island to the ACI Marina, from where it was possible to catch a water taxi to Hvar Town on the nearby island of Hvar.
The Pakleni Islands
Palmizana on the Pakleni Islands
Stari Grad – Stari Grad is a very old town situated on the east coast of the large island of Hvar (pronounced Kwar). It was first settled by the Greeks in the 3rd Century BC but most of the old town dates from medieval times. The town is situated at the end of a long deep inlet, which contains a ferry terminal and a hotel resort complex. We moored stern on right in the middle of the old town where we could watch all the preparations for the upcoming traditional boat festival. The old town itself is simply gorgeous, with a labyrinth of tiny cobbled alleyways separating the many beautiful stone buildings and secluded courtyards. Walking through the alleyways at night with the soft glow of the street lights reflected off the marble and stone walls is one of the best experiences we have had. We enjoyed an amazing meal of local food at a three level medieval restaurant that simply dripped with ambience.
Stari GradA magical restaurant in Stari Grad
Hvar Town (Pronounced Kwar) – We caught a bus over the island to the popular tourist town of Hvar Town. The town was the usual collection of old stone buildings but had a large and vibrant front quay that was full of ferries and tourists. Hvar is often called “Britain’s Bali” and has a reputation stained by the sometimes poor behaviour of the younger set. We found it charming and a trip to the Spanjola, a massive fortress that overlooks the town. Not fancying the walk up the hill, we taxied up and down and spent an hour taking in the spectacular views over the town and the nearby Pakleni Islands. A visit down into the ancient dungeons opened our eyes as to just how horrible things must have been in times past if one was to fall foul of authority.
Hvar Town
Bobovisce – A little village on the northern end of the island of Brac. We tied up on mooring lines and used the tender to go across the inlet to the one restaurant and bar for a afternoon drink. Although small, the village was pretty and provided a cheap night anchorage.
Bobovisce on Island of Brac
Primosten – a very old island fort town just off the mainland north of Trogir. We moored stern on alongside some huge luxury yachts and took in to beautiful surrounds. The town is a very popular tourist resort, boasting three excellent beaches on different sides of the town so no matter what the wind direction there is a good beach. Being a Friday night, the town pumped up with a live band in the town square. The music went on until 5am and life was a lot slower the next morning. There are lovely walks around the island and up to the large church at the top of the town. Primosten would make a great holiday destination.
Primosten with its beautiful beaches
Sibenik – A large town and port a short distance into the Krka River system. The town features a long waterfront and promenade. Three fortresses of varying sizes look out over the town from the hills above, an indication of the strategic importance of the town in times past. The large Church of St James dates from the 15th Century and dominates the skyline with its gothic domes. As with most of the old towns there is a maze of lesser roads, alleyways and small piazzas. We backed onto the town promenade and explored the city, coming across a wedding in full swing at St James church and stopping for a beer at a small bar deep within the old town. A superb evening dinner was had at one of the many restaurants that line the foreshore. We found the seafood to be abundant and surprisingly cheap. The serves were very generous so we ended up taking home a “doggy bag” of assorted seafood.
Sibenik
Krka River – We motored up the Krka River from Sibenik to Skradin. The river snakes through a series of spectacular gorges and lakes, becoming progressively fresher. Oyster and mussel farms are common and we stopped to buy 5kg straight from the farm. Two huge bridges span the river.
Krka River
Skradin – this is the town that gives access to the beautiful Krka lakes and waterfalls. The town itself is little more than a village. There are a few harbour side moorings available (if you know the harbour master) or a well equipped but expensive ACI Marina. We tried to get a spot on the wharf but were rejected and sent to the marina. On the way up the Krka River, we had stopped to buy 5kg of fresh black mussels so it was mussels on the boat for dinner. We stayed for two nights and the second night we secured a spot on the town wharf, more than halving the cost and increasing the ambience no end.
Skradin with mussels for dinner
Krka National Park – this large park covers 109km2 around the Krka River. It is most famous for its lakes and waterfalls and attracts a huge number of visitors each year. The main area to visit is the Skradinski buk, a large series of waterfalls surrounded by walk trails through beautiful lush forest and a small hamlet. We accessed it via a boat trip from Skradin, access by yacht being impossible due to a low bridge upstream of Skradin. Swimming is popular but we didn’t bother due to the crowds and concentrated on enjoying the walk and the magnificent scenery.
Skradinski buk in Krka National ParkKrka National Park
Rogoznica – A quaint little fishing village and tourist town south of Primosten. It lacked the appeal of Primosten but had the usual line of waterfront restaurants and a couple of beaches that were more concrete than sand. We came across a restaurant called Restaurant Mario so we felt we had to give it a go. It was very good fare and a pleasant atmosphere.
Rogoznica
Senjska – A very pretty small cove on the south side of the island of Solta. The only buoys available are owned by the small family restaurant in the cove and they can be used free on condition one dines at the restaurant. Unfortunately, we occupied the most inshore buoy and the slight groundswell was funneled down to the end of the cove and we found the anchorage to be very rolly.
Senjska with a delicious Peka
Trogir – The last two nights were spent back in Trogir, as rain and strong winds suggested that Milna, our last destination, was full up with most people electing to stay in port. We were happy enough after two weeks at sea to take in a bit more of beautiful Trogir.
What was the pick of it all? Probably the lovely town of Stari Grad with its gorgeous maze of alleyways. The sail from Vis to the Pakleni Islands was wonderful, with a great breeze and a steady 6.5 knots. We came across a few dolphins but the best site was a school of large tuna feeding on sardines, leaping from the water across a large area of ocean.
Would we recommend the experience? Absolutely. The bucket list was well and truly served. Great company (thanks Helen and Mario), amazing cruising and an unforgettable experience.
After lunch, we set out again to follow the crowds up towards the cathedral. The crowds had now swollen enormously, not just soccer fans, but large groups of locals who seem to come to the city on a Saturday and walk or buy lunch. Near the Central Station and cathedral, the crowd became almost difficult to move through. There were hens party groups in tutus, bucks party groups downing copious beers, tour groups from the many river cruise ships and family groups out and about, all heavily rugged up of course.
We continued the walk to Cologne Deutz Mess Station and caught the tram home, well content with a lovely day in the sunshine. With an early start planned for the next day’s move to the Netherlands, we started the process of packing. Cologne has been well worth the visit.
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