Much like the camp at Arthur River, we found another “world of our own” in Black River Campground on the sweeping bay between Stanley and Port Latta giving us a fine view of the odd volcanic rock formation, Circular Head, better known as The Nut under which is nestled the historic town of Stanley and at the opposite end of the bay an iron ore factory terminus with a long jetty jutting out into the sea sticks out like a sore thumb. At times we heard a camper rumbling up and down the rough track looking for a site amongst the dune thickets otherwise we were on our own. Even walking along Pegg’s beach we didn’t see a soul just the tracks of paddemelon. Weather was far warmer than the west side so that makes us happier! In those peaceful days George continued to work away with wood and Dremel developing his carving skills under difficult circumstances to that of a workshop. Irritating flies and fine flying dust swirling around his face added a little “colour”! Meantime, Lea recollects her childhood putting it all down on computer for her grandchildren. Time passing, is measured by Talia turning one at the start of this month. Hearts ache to be distant from these milestones as it does to hear of Otto’s wobbly tooth.
Once again shortage of water pushed us onwards to re-supply. Lea fancied Burnie Abattoir and Waste Water Treatment Plant for the night. Yes! You read right… George imagined nothing worse but Lea was insistent that we took a look. Almost unbelievable to find a place like this in a prime position on the ocean front of the Bass Strait. To our surprise there was no room for us… caravans and buses were lined up tightly on the grassy verge with its million dollar outlook while behind abattoir trucks pulled in an out. With no choice we moved on to Penguin, a pretty seaside town where we found a privately owned Caravan Park with equally good views. At the Abattoir they were virtually free here the seafront sites were expensive. We took a cheaper site and it was still well located. We would recommend this setting for a family holiday. The old school in Penguin hosts a market every Sunday with good ratings for its regional produce and we returned at the end of the week to check it out only to be disappointed by the lack of fresh produce.
According to the spin all this North West Tasmania was created from chaos! “The forces that shaped the coastline were among the most violent volcanic activity planet Earth ever experienced” … In its aftermath, a coastline characterised by steep bluffs, rocky platforms and fortuitous groynes outcropping to protect the coves and beaches. Inland a sea of undulating hills, occasional steep sided valleys with expansive views over a mixture of forestry and rural tranquillity. We found it heady stuff as we made our way through the Dial Range across Gunns Plains to the Leven Canyon Lookout where we holed up in the biggest patch of sunlight amidst the forest. That afternoon George suggested we walk down into the floor of the canyon which was great going down but quite another wending our way back home. Fortunately we found the sweetest black bramble berries and picked a hatful and enjoyed two nights of fresh berries for pud.
Creeping and crawling our way through this enthralling mountainous region known as Cradle Country we made our way to Wilmot. Once a bustling pioneer town the residents have turned to other means to entice folk through their little settlement by creating a “Letterbox Trail” and we found our selves keeping an eye out for the amusing letter boxes made of recycled materials. In the village we found the original Coles family general store with mural wings on either side depicting most of the mail boxes we had spotted. Coles is an Australian supermarket chain much like Tesco or Pick’n Pay.
Mailbox mural
We didn’t continue on to Cradle Mountain, as we had covered this most popular tourist destination in 2003. By now George was beginning to stress over the strain being placed upon Skiv restraining Getaway down interminably long descents. Tasmania is not the easiest place to tour with a heavy caravan. We had a bad one to contend with before the relief of coming to a stop for lunch in Gowrie Park. With wonderful close up views of Mount Roland – we could easily have believed we were in Cape Town, we stayed put for two nights. Walking in the foothills and forests was a pleasure. Our first night we were amazed how many campers rolled in onto the old tennis courts site – all lined up neatly, obediently following the plea not to park on the grass. The following day folk began turning in mid morning and deliberately finding spots any where but on the concrete! We learned this heralded a Rodeo and Ute Muster over the weekend, in what we thought was a small showground adjacent to us. Accordingly, these followers were making themselves at home in preparation for a weekend of mayhem. This signalled a departure for Sheffield the following day for us. In Sheffield, the residents took up the fight against economic decline in the 80’s by commissioning murals on its town walls. In the last week of March six artist have been invited to take part in a “Paint Off” in Sheffield. Each artist has to complete a mural in time for the judges, six days later. An ever growing outdoor Gallery has made this town! During the inevitable search for internet we spotted a beautifully groomed and charming alpaca taking tea with its owner, at a pavement table of Murray’s Scottish Scone Shoppe, an institution in itself! We were drawn here in 2003 for a cream scone and discovered it was a shrine to Australian Right wing politics. Just days ago we followed a documentary on Sir Joh Bjelke- Petersen, the highly controversial premier of Queensland for many years and this very place was established by his wife Flo. Strange how pieces of puzzles come together!The frustration of internet drove us on to Latrobe where we hoped to camp by the Mersey River. Amazingly, this was originally the Port town with ships sailing up the river to its docks until Devonport superseded it. We found the free campground had also been superseded by a caravan park, set well back across a road with tight sites of little appeal. Not for us! Keen to attend the Penguin Festival and Sunday Market we decided to go back to the coast and find a convenient place which finally had us end up 13 kms inland from Penguin. Riana’s Pioneer Park a pretty setting with hot showers for 20cents and a few power points proved a good choice to sit out a long weekend. A wet spot outside our door had us rearrange Getaway. As the weekend progressed we notice the original damp spot was more of a “dam” that George drew it to the attention of one of Riana’s volunteer Park carers. Our “powrtouch” which has lately become something of a white elephant despite being a veritable conversation maker, came into its own as George impressively and coolly moved Getaway out of the way, at the press of a remote control button! The underground leaking pipe – had probably been pierced by a tent peg and George helped the man mend it.
Devonport had to be our next destination as not only did we need to replenish our run down stocks, we had been notified of a ‘recall’ and needed to check this out with Toyota Agents. While Lea shopped, a voice called out “hello there”! Used to being an ‘unknown’ she almost didn’t look around… It was ‘other George’ our “Pole” friend from the Huon valley. Shopping was put aside while they found his wife Elaine and caught up on past weeks and direction of travel. Turned out they were comfortably set up at Port Sorell - our next stop. Having downed temporary roots at a caravan park with a site giving us a wonderful view over the mouth of the Mersey we returned with our supplies and sorted out the laundry before enjoying a walk along the river. Close to the “Spirit of Tasmania” tied up for the day, we found a small boat ferrying folk back and forth across the Mersey. Humming the old Beetle song we hopped on hoping we’d find a good film showing at the waterfront cinema opposite. As free spirits we rarely concern ourselves with time. When we do – we are caught out! “Bucket List” was on after the last ferry crossing home. Instead of a film we made do watching the imposing Spirit of Tasmania pass our site out into the Bass Strait on its nightly run. Pulling into the Lions Club Campground at Port Sorell we found George and Elaine watching out for us having reserved a spot alongside them. The day sped by with all the nattering, stopped briefly by the many visitations of a rabbit! Or were there more? Quite the dearest wild rabbit, seeming to know his quaint ways were most beguiling as he came up on his haunches, twitched his nose in Peter Rabbit friendliness as if to say I’m here. Sometimes he’d strike lucky with a slice of carrot from “other George”, if not, he‘d give the lawn a trim. We all managed to fit in a walk along the beach and found bramble bushes loaded with blackberries – the two Georges fed their faces and forgot to return later to gather some. Fortunately, George thought about it during the night and slipped off to pick a bowl full before leaving for Batman Bridge.
Peter rabbit visiting
Other George brambling
An interlude with spiders:
Batman Bridge will not simply be just another campsite for us … it is the location of a fascinating spider that we have never seen before nor know the proper identity of so, for want of a better term, we shall call them “roll-leaf spiders”. The roll leaf spiders lived in a flowering bush directly opposite the caravan door and attracted our attention after we noticed that suspended amongst the branches of the bush were the dried leaves of a different plant, those of an overhanging acacia. Closer inspection revealed that each of these leaves had been rolled into a cylinder, sewn together as it were, by silk and at the entrance of each cylinder was a small spider patiently waiting for something to fly into its web. The discovery led us to begin wondering just how it all begins. With the spider selecting its future home from the leaf litter; attaching the leaf to it a thread of silk; hauling the leaf upwards until positioned exactly where he spider wants it; securing the leaf by adding several other tie points to surrounding branches; then, by sewing the margins of the leaf together, slowly tightening these until the leaf assumes a cylindrical form. Only then we presumed, with its “house now in order”, would the spider create its fish-net like web of silk amongst the branches of the bush and retreat to its leaf, ensuring in the process that it took with it a number of silken threads to act as sensors in the event of something becoming entangled.
Roll leaf spider
The doorman's domain
It is the likes of roll-leaf spiders that add much to the joys of our travels. And, while talking of spiders, herein is another tale … that of the “Doorman” who for the past three months or more is a black spider that has taken up residence in the hinge of Skiv’s back door. Doorman travels with us wherever we go and has since been joined by another, who lives in the hinge of the opposite door. Now and again the Doormen get a bit upset with George for destroying their webs while he is giving Skiv a wash, but they soon rebuild them and in spite of the incessant dust and rattle of corrugations, seem to thrive as well as we do with their nomadic lifestyle. They are a furtive couple, very rarely seen, but they are definitely part of the team. It remains to be seen is just how long they survive and how much further they are prepared to travel!
Our socialising wasn’t over! Elaine had told us Tom and Kim, another of the ‘Pole’ brigade, were up Bridport way and we text-ed them from Batman Bridge. Timing was perfect and we caught up with them at the Georgetown Information centre for well over two hours the following day. Tom & Kim had come from the area we were headed towards making for a good exchange of information. As we talked, we became increasingly aware of the hot dry wind spilling from the mainland where a record breaking heat wave has been prevalent for the last ten days. By the time we reached our next destination we knew all Tasmania was experiencing an unusually hot day. Three nights were spent at Mathers Campground in the Waterhouse Conservation Area at the western end of Ringarooma Bay with a beautiful beach to walk on at low tide. Masses of stranded sea grass piled at the high water mark made it an uncomfortable spongy, squelchy walk when the tide was in. Although the author of The Cloudspotter’s Guide aims “to fight blue sky thinking” we couldn’t help revelling in waking to blue dome mornings after a long spell of clouded starts to our days.
An expensive night was spent at Tomahawk Caravan Park. An odd place, rather morgue like in George’s opinion as most sites are filled by unoccupied caravans with many annexes and wooden fences or high barricades around them which gave a feel of many mini Fort Knoxes! Not a soul around either. Tap water came on for 20 minutes, three times a day and you were forbidden to attach a hose to the caravan. Even the showers were an added dollar – barely was the water hot than the shower ended. It really doesn’t make for a pleasant experience when the charge is the same rate as fancier caravan parks. Power enabled Lea to bake a chocolate cake in readiness for Easter. However, George talked her into freezing one layer and dashed off to find icing sugar for the other’s immediate consumption. This sweetened the Tomahawk stopover.
We arrived in Mt William National Park, lying on the north easternmost corner of Tasmania in good time before Easter to secure ourselves a suitable campsite. Having had Stumpy’s Bay recommended we were horrified to find many caravans already there. Relief came when we realised there were actually 4 alternative campgrounds along the bay and we happily set up in the third, to spend a week. Tucked just behind a dune with the roar of the waves ever present on one side and behind us she-oaks, not only providing us with shade and shelter when required they also served as a source of food to Bennetts wallabies. George became very attached to one who regularly approached him as he worked on his snake carvings at a picnic table. Just before Easter, gale force winds slammed the coastline and kept us inside all day, wondering what the weather had in store for us particularly as Alison was driving up from Hobart for the long weekend with us. Moenie worry nie - Weather was superb! We walked miles of beach, talking and birding. We took a day trip to explore Anson‘s Bay and the beautiful Eddystone Point where we came over a rise and momentarily thought we’d come across a dreadful accident, such were the conglomeration of vehicles and boat trailers. Unbelievable pressure demonstrating the popularity of the boat ramp! Fortunately the lighthouse was in the opposite direction and it owned a real sense of place with wonderful views over the rocky coastline. Around the base of the working 1887 lighthouse we found carcasses of mutton birds scattered around and in the nearby bush discarded piles reeked. A sorry story that had Alison and George contemplating how this mortality could be avoided, considering these birds were colliding with the lighthouse whilst returning to their burrows at night from off shore feeding grounds.
Alison and Lea soak in the atmosphere of Eddystone Point
Later while sitting on the rocks enjoying the special atmosphere of the place, movement caught Lea’s eye and below our feet a bedraggled fairy penguin emerged. We wondered if this lone creature had been blown off course by the gales as this habitat didn’t seem typical.
Easter Sunday triumphed with Lea taking a dip in the briny with Alison while George resolutely refrained. That was a change for the record! Having seen 3 wombat-tanks dead on the Anson stretch of road we decided on a safari style ride atop Skiv looking for wombats. Despite ideal stretches of grassy plain, nought were seen. We did observe some good sized Foresters Kangaroos (Tasmania’s only true kangaroo) though. This Park was the first to diagnose the facial disease of the Tasmania Devil that currently threatens the wild population of the Island with extinction. We found tracks around Getaway that we suspected were those of a Tassie Devil. Later confirmed by the Ranger but not hide nor hair did we ever see!
Ranger David called at Getaway to check all was well and whether we had any questions… I ‘m sure he was sorry he asked that, as we had many! Especially about “spoor” which in turn apparently gave away our origins and led to David telling us of the close Rhodesian friend he’d made in the Northern Territory. George knew him. Not only had they been at school together, both had served in different branches of Rhodesia’s Parks Board and we had a photo of him on the computer! In a delightful turn of events, Dave extended hospitality in typical Rhodesian style to join him over a glass of wine that evening in his home, which we thoroughly enjoyed. Twice, he offered us the use of his house for the rest of the week while he was away. An offer we had to turn down as we were running out of time and had a few places we wanted to see before March ended. On our way out of the Park, Dave intercepted us with books and a magazine he thought we would find useful on our travels- how good it was to unexpectedly form a personal rapport with someone like Dave when least expected.
Of course we had to have a night in our Derby camp site by the Ringarooma River, which would enable us to catch up with Leta’s friend Paddy, whose daughter had just got married. We stopped at The Painted Door to invite Paddy for a drink by the river that evening just as scones came out the oven. Too tantalising to resist that we sat down and ordered them for our lunch. Joined by Paddy’s Zimbabwe friend Nonie who’d come for the wedding, we had the bonus of an update on the situation there and the upcoming elections. It was hard to drag ourselves away to set up camp by the river. Just as well we did as the little spot was very busy and we nabbed the last site. Our evening with Paddy & Nonie was all too brief as conversations ranged in different directions with plenty of banter flying thick and fast. Amazingly of all, Nonie had known Lea’s parents, Roger and Stella. Nonie’s sister had played hockey for Rhodesia with Stella.
Chilly winds and rain blew in during the night but we did not let the weather deter us from going to see the wood carvings at Ledgerwood. As in the case of the carvings we’d seen in Huonville, when pines planted on ANZAC day in 1918 had reached the end of their safe life 90 years later, their stumps were transformed with a chain-saw by Eddy Freeman into memorials to local soldiers who had lost their lives. Sunlight filtering through the mists and a rainbow backdrop added a heavenly glow to the scene.
One of the Legerwood tree carvings
The much needed rain didn’t let up as we pulled into the recommended Scottsdale campground for a particularly noisy night with log trucks hurtling back and forth in close proximity. So much for recommendations! We decide it is too cold to consider an inland visit to Mt Ben Lomond and head for Lilydale Falls. A high chill factor there prevents us staying overnight and in next to no time we were up the west side of the Tamar Valley after being turned away from Caravan Parks with no room for us until we reached Beauty Point, a caravan park in a lovely setting. As travellers we are always curious to see round the next corner and yet revisiting favourite places brings a familiarity we enjoy. At the start of our Tasmanian journey we began with Narawntapu and its wombat metropolis and we are drawn back to close off March. Autumn weather subjected us to a succession of cold fronts bringing much needed rain.
It is four months since our first encounter with wombats on the plains of the Narawntapu National Park so the first thing we noticed on returning was its dryness. Tasmania has had an unusually hot, dry summer so on our first evening’s excursion, wombat hunting, it was interesting to find our furry little “pygmy hippos” feeding in an entirely different manner. George, the professional wombat-stalker, was able to get some lovely, low angle pictures of them engaged in “rooting”.
Wombat stalking
Evidence of wombat tillage
Previously we found the wombats closely cropping the leaves of the short grasses that characterise the plains of Narawntapu. This time the animals are actively digging the grass out in order to get at the roots. While the warthogs of Africa and the feral pigs of northern Australia are chaotic, unsystematic rooters – the wombats of Narawntapu root in a far more orderly fashion. The straight, neat lines of upturned turf they leave behind suggest they may have had lessons in minimum tillage. Nonetheless, the plains of Narawntapu currently look as if they have just been used for a ploughing competition, so much so that we find ourselves wondering whether the grass cover will ever recover. On the other hand it may be perfectly normal and nature’s way of preventing soil compaction.
We’ll simply have to come back to see.
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