Tag: Hobart

Tasmania Pt 2

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.

Melbourne and Tasmania Pt 1

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.

A reminder of the whaling days

But more awaits.

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