Crossing the sea to Tasmania is exciting – we felt as if we were off on an overseas holiday! Never mind that ever since 9/11 the Melbourne Ferry Port Security opens its gates two and a half hours before the evening sail causing no end of angst for those travellers with a van in tow. We’d been advised to leave Macedon Caravan Park 90 minutes before the gates opened. At our gentle speed with icy winds blowing we arrived in around 55 minutes and spotted a few caravans pulled up and parked either side of nearby Williamstown Road. Fortunately there was a place for us and we followed suit, patiently waiting out the hour. Later however, further down the road on reaching the turning circle we found a mighty queue backed up from the Ferry gates stretching down the beachside road. Impossible to move and almost impossible to join the end of the queue due to traffic lights! This daily occurrence must infuriate Melbournians locked into beach parks during peak season! It was frustratingly awful for us with the setting sun in our faces and engine running for well over an hour. Ten years since 9/11, has this problem of waiting to board been eased in any way or only growing? Fortunately once the ticket office opened we were processed slickly. No bleary eyed journey for us this time we’d booked a cabin to Devonport with a day sailing return in February. Soon after making our bookings we were contacted and told the day sailing had been cancelled and we’d be given a free armchair on the night sail unless we wanted to upgrade – we did, extremely happy with the bargain!
Our cabin was perfect, although it took time lurching across the Bass Strait to find our sea feet. Never quite know what to expect crossing as horrendous seas are possible! Arising at a generally unheard of hour for us – lights twinkled on the dry land as Spirit of Tasmania drew into dock within the very narrow heads at Devonport on a chilled but perfect day dawning. We were soon out on the open road for Port Sorrell arriving well before 8 to find caravan Parks had changed since we last stayed. This threw us somewhat and we drove aimlessly around the sleeping town trying to decide what to do, where to stay. Finally pulled up roadside for breakfast and a think! Accidently found an open IGA supermarket and yet again, changed plans. Grabbed fresh fruit and vegetables and made for Narawntapu National Park. Wombats in our favourite site – what could be more perfect! Mostly nocturnal, these wombats obviously found the cold too much and spent the day grazing and basking in the sun with little concern for Sunday visitors unless they approached too closely. That afternoon modem signal was enough to share animal stories with Ella and Finn over skype - Mango monkey’s antics and destructive ways plus tagging a new lioness in Niassa while we had a wombat grazing outside our caravan door. Intermittently, its back legs collapsed and a quick kip followed. Oh course our African grandchildren didn’t know what a wombat was... George took photos and e-mailed them.
This gentle landscape turf, kept mown by the wombats, wallabies and pademelons as we have known it from past stays had a large covering of water, an extension of the lagoon. No wonder we enjoy returning to special places and noting seasonal changes
As we strolled towards the water we listened intently to new sound -Distant drums? Jewish harps? No, the magnificent sounds of Eastern Banjo frogs (‘Pobblebonks) – we found them ethereal musicians.
We stayed three nights enjoying the peace and beauty. George took a hike - with wife’s utterings to ‘be careful out on his own as she’d be the one to cope with the fallout’ ringing through his head. So much so, in an area of thick bush he found himself planning what he’d do if he was bitten by a snake. No sooner had he laid emergency action within his mind (get to the beach and write ‘snake bite’ in the sand before collapsing) than a large tiger snake slipped over the path ahead of him. Coincidental thinking and two snakes caused him to relate the tale on his safe return!
From the top of Archers Knob overlooking the water filled plains of Springlawn.
We turned south to Longford Riverside Caravan Park, the closest to Launceston airport to await the arrival of Paula Baxter coming to see the western side of Tasmania with us. We set up overlooking the lawns down to the Macquarie River on quite the warmest and perfect evening we’d had in a long while but it wasn’t to last. As soon as we’d collected Paula the rain began, confining us to Getaway. Fortunately we had a lot of catching up to do and time didn’t hang heavy. Weather dependent - we decided to make further plans to stay or go the following morning. It was dry with a blue sky above encircled in distant cloud – we stayed another day, packed a picnic lunch and set off to visit Ben Lomond National Park, southeast of Launceston.
From Carr Villa we began ascending Legges Tor, the second highest peak in Tasmania. Ice on top of the saddle with a biting wind was enough for us. We retraced our steps and enjoyed a picnic on a sunny rock outside Carr Villa Scout Hall.
Highlight! Driving up Jacob’s ladder to see Ben Lomond’s marvellous points of view, reminding us all of Sani Pass, Lesotho. Thank goodness ski season was over as we’d hated to have given way to descending traffic!
As one of the oldest states in Australia, Tassie has a rich colonial heritage. En route home to Longford we stopped in Evandale; both are among the many National Trust’s classified towns. Evandale is famed for its annual National Penny Farthing Championships and while strolling through Pioneer Park incorporating the cemetery, we came across a man walking his usual mode of transport- a well kept penny farthing. Having been to Perth, Scotland and lived in Perth, Western Australia we couldn’t resist a slight detour through the town of Perth, Tasmania before reaching our site.
Departing Longford we drove Paula up the west side of the Tamar Valley and briefly crossed at Batman Bridge to show her one of our well used camp sites from the past. Nights are still too cold to resume freedom camping! We stayed higher up the Tamar River at Beauty Point. Beaconsfield known as the town Gold from as far back as 1880 came into the limelight in 2006 when a rock fall killed a miner and trapped two for fourteen days. We’d found the Heritage Centre most interesting so while Paula walked through that we walked the self guided tour of the town before taking the road through Holwell Gorge to Narawntapu National Park to share another three nights with Paula in our special spot.
Forester kangaroos curiously watched us pass as we took the Springlawn Nature Trail at evening time. Wombats either grazed unconcerned or scurried away while the pobblebonks strummed pianissimo!
While padding along the pathway that leads towards Archers Knob from the bird hide a succession of strange grunts and rhythmic splashing noises in the lagoon had us come to a standstill peering through the trees to see what in the devil was going on. There, on the fringe of a clump of tea trees was the dark shape of an animal swimming round and round, in pirouette fashion, splashing as it went. Could it be a platypus slapping its tail on the water surface? Had it been injured? Why the raised head and what on earth was the object hanging below its head, not to mention the spiny, porcupine-like tail we could see flapping in synchrony? All sorts of thoughts flashed through our heads as we tried to discern what was going on as George silently stared long and hard through his binoculars before eventually declaring it was a male musk duck involved in some sort of territorial display. He had never seen one before, nor witnessed such strange behaviour. According to Pizzey and Knight’s Birds of Australia “the male in display fans its tail forwards over its back and expands under tail covers like a powder-puff; bill raised, bill-flap expanded, rotates slowly in water, throwing foot-splashes with a loud ‘k-plonk’; simultaneously uttering a grunt and a shrill, far carrying whistle”. We had witnessed exactly this remarkably peculiar behaviour.
A strange duck indeed is the Musk Duck! Too far away to be photographed but with the aid of a rough sketch produced by George its basic appearance is as shown.
Each morning we took long walks, exploring the Park from the top of Archers Knob and along Bakers Beach. While evenings were enjoyed out in gentle landscape with the foraging creatures.
Along the beach at low tide, thousands of sand pebble crabs marched in regiments towards the sea that it took effort to try not squash them as we strode along. We also came across a good many ten-limbed starfish left high and dry by the tide. They seemed dead until we turned them over and noticed faint movement in their papillae.
For the first time we have observed an aquatic wombat wading back after a feed on a sedge bed. Even wombat courting behaviours and wombats covered in mange as a result of the excessive dampness in their burrows.
That last night George entered the caravan bubbling with excitement over an unexpected confrontation with a possum. He had been quietly cleaning the electric frypan at the caravan’s outside table when a dark brown shadow appeared from under the caravan and tried to climb up his leg then sniffed his ugg boot and nipped the toe while he stood stock still and watched all this activity. Not sure we quite believed him we piled out to see...
Sure enough possum posed! (Brushtail Possum) George was stung by the nettles he’d previously told Paula weren’t nettles in taking this photograph.
Narawntapu Park Staff had recommended their vehicle service centre in Port Sorrell and we headed there in readiness for the appointment George had made for early the following day. We were most pleasantly surprised to turn into Port Sorrell Lion’s Caravan Park (ignoring the entrance area which had initially turned us away) and discover wonderful beach frontage informally concealed in coastal bush. SKV’s service was completed in a couple of hours giving us unexpected time to explore and we set off for Latrobe with a picnic lunch. We soon found the Australian Axeman’s Hall of Fame and learnt much about Australia’s timber and wood-chopping heritage since 1891. In particular, we followed the Foster family story (father and sons) producing consecutive champions for ten years each over two decades.
After resupplying in Devonport, we followed the coastal route to Rianna. Barely had we settled in than minds changed about staying! We promptly stowed everything away for the second time in a day and left for Wynyard - drawn by the Bloomin’ Tulips Festival taking place the following day. Despite the wet forecast a lovely day dawned and we thoroughly enjoyed a day out on the banks of the Inglis River at the Tulip Festival with its variety of sights and sounds. At different times of the day we sat in the warm sun and listened to the municipal orchestra, an Australian country singer and Defence Mechanism (Army Band). Also watched tulip tossers of all ages, sex and size attempting record throws with tulip plants that more often went awry than somewhere down the length of a tape measure! Mid-day we drove up the prominent Table Cape landmark as far as the 1818 lighthouse.
We picnicked below the lighthouse with this view of the Table Cape Tulip fields.
Pink ladies on the track up to the Table Cape Lookout close to Frederick Alexander’s homestead (Alexander Technique)
On moving further northwest, we stopped at Crayfish Creek Caravan Park and found a pleasant site within a thick paperbark forest for two nights. As soon as we’d unhitched we set off to explore new area within a Forest Reserve and see its big Tree – a 400 year old Browntop stringy bark reaching 62 metres into the sky. We found a most beautiful Dip Falls marked within the reserve yet most strangely it doesn’t merit a mention in the Tasmanian Waterfalls book!
Not unusually tall but its circumference of 16 metres with plenty of bunions and burls is exceptional.
Not enough publicity is given these most unusual falls formed of hexagonal shaped columns of basalt. This is a vertical pan in an attempt to display the lace-like affect of the water falling over the rocks.
The second day at Crayfish Creek was wet, wet, wet! Never the less we drove to picturesque Stanley where the Begg two firmly stayed put in the relative comfort of SKV as we showed Paula around and watched her defy the elements especially in her climb up Circular Head better known as “The Nut”. Of course we ribbed her for being a ‘nutter’ while secretly admiring her fortitude. After checking on the Tarkine road status with National Parks we retired to the local Chippy to discuss our next move over warming fish and chips. Heeding the warning against taking the gravelled “Road to No Where” down the west coast, the decision was taken to follow the Bass Highway as far as Smithton after lunch and since George was keen to check out Montagu Park, 20kms NW of Smithton (‘ticked’ campsite 245) that was as far into the northwest we’d travel this time round in view of the notorious weather that regularly slams the West coast. Even in the wind and rain Montagu Park looked very nice for summer days not to mention fishing folk!
In view of the weather, we took the safer and less interesting inner western road from Burnie down to Waratah.
Brrr! We camped behind the clump of trees in Waratah Council campground. It must be said for a little place in a harsh environment the Council stands out for its extraordinary effort to make visitors feel welcomed and informed. No wonder we like returning here.
Revisiting Waratahs’ heritage with Paula was no less enjoyable than the first time and in between rain we managed a walk to the base of the Waratah Falls. As soon as lunch was over we drove through the mountainous wilderness area towards Savage River drawn by Luina, a mining settlement bulldozed out of raw bush in the 1800’s and at its closure in 1986, reduced to foundations and inexorably reclaimed by Mother Nature.
Sure was bitterly cold yet we were delighted to be given this wonderful insight over the Tarkine Wilderness. Lea felt this was a far better introduction to the Tarkine than the Road to No Where route!
A pan of the Tarkine Wilderness from Mount Whyte Lookout.
By evening, the banks of low dark clouds blowing in from the west cleared blue above us encouraging George to cook our sausages in the well protected BBQ hut. The break in the weather was short lived as during the night it worsened, with snow falls reported on the mountains. Certainly not worth risking icy mountain roads we stayed put in Waratah. Paula and Lea took a break from the confined space of Getaway in the local museum across the road. By late afternoon drier conditions enabled us to walk to mine scarred Mount Bishoff and fossick amongst the waste materials, roughly identifying from recall, the minerals seen in the museum. Iron ore, lead, some specks of amethyst and fool’s gold.
We couldn’t have wished for a better day for the short journey to Rosebery and as soon as we’d unhitched, left money under the office door for our site in an empty Rosebery Caravan Park - we made for another relic of the region’s mining history- Williamsford, a settlement in name only, over-run by wilderness. The plaque marking its mine site began “If it isn’t raining consider yourself lucky” We DID, in the full knowledge that many folk living within the West Coast’s inspiring landscape are still challenged by it, enduring a love-hate relationship with its climates of extreme.
En route to the Montezuma Falls following the historic NE Dundas Tramway built in 1890 – an incredible feat of engineering tenacity accomplished in hazardous conditions little knowing the alignment would live on in perpetuity, bringing three hours of deep pleasure to hikers walking the track.
Fifteen kilometres from Williamsford to Zeehan as the crow flies yet three times as far by tram to maintain a suitable gradient with lots of bends (approximately 60 in every 2 kms of line apparently!).
The 104m high Montezuma Falls, the highest in Tasmania with a narrow foot plate suspension bridge giving its finest view
We took the round route to Strahan via Zeehan. We were keen to refresh our memory of Zeehan as we’d last tent-camped here back in 2003 and we wanted Paula to see a fraction of the bleaker Tarkine coastal area. Although a chilly wind blew us into Strahan and the beautiful Macquarie Harbour it soon calmed down.
Walking the esplanade we soon found ourselves peeling off what layers of clothing we decently could. Turned out Strahan experienced a most unexpected mini-heat wave of 24degreeC that Spring day!
We were most keen for Paula to experience the World Heritage 6 hour cruise taking in Hell’s Gates (the Heads to the Harbour); stopping at the penal colony of notorious repute - Sarah Island in the middle of the harbour before going up the Gordon River for a circular walk in the forest of Huon and King Billy pines which we recommended, having thoroughly enjoyed doing the trip in 2003. A booking was made despite inclement weather apparently on its way. Hard to believe but it certainly came to pass with a sharp burst of thunder and lightning breaking our sleep followed by rain over most of the day. Never the less the catamaran, Eagle came up trumps for Paula and the rain hardly detracted- thank goodness.
A stop in Queenstown was on the agenda en route for Lake St Clair simply for the unexpected shock value it gives set amidst the vast wilderness beauty we have come to know. We were delayed another day... as soon as we’d hitched up for the mountain road in rain and wind - HAIL arrived topped by reports of snow at 600 feet to quickly dissuade us going any further! Although hail kept falling on and off throughout the day we managed a drive out to the Heads and a wind driven walk down Ocean Beach. Just too early for the arrival of mutton birds and their breeding season. Blue skies drew us up the mountain a day later with evidence of snow and ice edging the road- we’d made a good call!
En route to Lake St Clair we stopped a couple of times to stretch our legs and with the use of 60 Great Short Walks, Tasmania took in Donaghys Hill giving wonderful views of the snow capped peaks especially Frenchman’s Cap and Franklin River; while the second walk to Nelson Falls went through classical cool temperate rain forest.
“Nevermore, however weary, should one faint by the way who gains the blessings of one mountain day. Whatever his fate, short life, stormy or calm, he is forever rich”- John Muir – First Summer in Sierra. View over the Franklin Gordon Wild Rivers National Park from Donaghys Lookout.
The camp ground in the National Park was under major renovations- only a few sites without power and well away from the toilet block available. We wanted to enjoy the remains of a beaut day granted us in the mountains that we decided to brave a powerless night, made camp in the tall forest before setting off for the afternoon to do the short walks in the vicinity of Lake St Clair. Despite a long watch at the Ornithorhynchus Paradoxus Lookout we failed to spot a platypus! We all survived the Minus 2 night. In return, found a perfect day waiting to be enjoyed and couldn’t resist a last look at Lake St Clair before departure. Reluctance to leave was written across Paula and George’s face as we gazed up at Mount Rufus... Waste not a magnificent day, the decision to take the half day Shadow and Forgotten Lakes Trail was made by these two practised bush-walkers. Well worthwhile-they arrived back enthusing about their 13km experience.
An indication of the depth of the snow through which George and Paula walked as they neared Forgotten Lake with Mt Hugil in the background.
Lea, with her troublesome knee remained at base reading with a late lunch ready for their estimated return. All went according to plan and we made haste to Bronte Park in the historic Highland Hydro Village with a compulsory stop at ‘The Wall’ in Derwent Bridge to show Paula the remarkable skills of sculptor Greg Duncan not to mention our keenness to see the progress made, at the halfway mark – March 2010 in his planned ten year depiction of the regions forestry and hydro history carved from Huon pine panels. Once again we weren’t disappointed in our admiration and it was great to see work on display, belonging to his son, David Duncan, definitely following in his father’s talented footsteps.
Bronte Park was lovely- especially captivating were three tiny, historic cabins, each sparsely done up to mark a time lapse between first sight and six months later. The first, most daunting considering this harsh environment signed- Welcome to your new home for the next 2-10 years. While the following two, ‘Moving in’ looked so rough and basic and far from inviting and Six Months later with additional home comforts like wireless reminded Paula and Lea of many little items - gone with the past! The huge pipelines feeding the hydro stations in this mountainous region are a weird combination of feature and eyesore as we moved on to Wayatinah with its pleasant lakeside caravan park. Whew! Were we glad to pull in there almost hyperventilating from a horribly narrow escape from a grocery van taking a corner on the wrong side of the road. We recovered somewhat in the finely positioned site we were especially given, overlooking the lake for one night only! The Park was fully booked out as Tasmanians were descending in readiness for the extra long Show Day weekend. We enjoyed a blissfully hot day in summer gear. Late afternoon, ‘locals’ began arriving and setting up laagers and partying around their fires well past normal curfew hour!
Summer’s calling! We enjoyed dinner outdoors for the FIRST time.
Glad to leave yet full of qualms as to where we’d spend the next night we continued down the steep Derwent River Valley. Hamilton was too close to the highway but another of our favourite places, New Norfolk, was relatively empty with a landscape as English as they come. Snowlike May blossom dusted all the hedges while blackbirds chirruped and sang ever so sweetly. We counted ourselves extremely lucky and relaxed in a sunny setting just as if we were in England. We moved on to Howden, south of Hobart, taking up residence on cousin Alison and Amanda’s property – a perfect escape from the hurly burly of caravan parks over a long weekend.
Amanda, Lea, Alison and Paula halt for a team photo during the evening walk in the Peter Murrell Conservation Park adjoining their property. Minute orchids confined to the park were on show – all too easy to miss unless you know what to look for. We were shown the Bearded Orchid.
By Sunday, the thick cloud that had heavily shrouded Mount Wellington for two days began clearing and we decided a visit to this beautiful mountain would be on order that day. Alison was keen to share one of her favourite walks up there, ‘The Pipeline’, as it is an integral part of Hobart’s ongoing and historical Mountain Water Supply that began in 1861. Like the tramway track in Montezuma, the physical feats of laying pipeline within difficult terrain endure. Captain Cook himself was derogatory about the impenetrable forests on climbing the mountain. The labours of those pioneers add enormously to our pleasure.
The Pipeline, “The scenery along this track is lovely beyond conception... Those who wish to behold Tasmanian scenery in its highest perfection should traverse this track”.
The calmest outlook ever experienced atop Mt Wellington. This is the best place to understand something of Tasmania’s many fingered coastal topography.
True to forecast we awoke to a wet Monday putting us in two minds whether to begin the Huon Valley route south. Not wishing to tear up newly mown lawn George was keen to turn the caravan before the ground was completely sodden. Once that was accomplished we took off south for Bruny Island with its rich history and wild, spectacular landscape. We were taken aback by an expensive ferry crossing despite concession status. In fact, we have found costs in general have risen considerably since our 2008 visit. George checked his records and in every case park tariffs have doubled or increased by 30%. Almost every shower has had a timer fitted and incurs a user fee – understandably a water saving device that must have come about during the severe drought. However, not only is the added cost most irritating (particularly when it uses up carefully collected laundry dollars) it’s the aggravation that arises from chilly ablution blocks while in a nude condition and wasting your precious ‘time allocation in a battle to get the ‘mix’ right. Leaping around a small cubicle comes not from an effort to keep warm but avoidance to startling bouts of scalding or icy water. Water adjustment tends to be impossible and hair washing merely adds to the whole fretful performance. ALL is definitely not conducive to a quick, warming and relaxed ‘bath-time’.
We took a site for two nights in Captain Cook Caravan Park, on South Island overlooking Adventure Bay just as the weather began clearing enough for us to consider an afternoon drive up the steep forest reserve road of Mt Mangana (the highest peak on the island) through to Cape Bruny Lighthouse. After taking in the views and history from the Lighthouse station we left SKV at the Jetty Beach camping area and took to the Luggaboine Circuit giving us a beautiful walk through coastal heath, eucalypt forests and back along the southern coastline. Decent weather continued, enabling us to explore The Neck the following day and check whether Fairy Penguins and mutton birds (Shearwaters) were arriving for the breeding season – a few penguin footprints on the beach indicated a start. Thereafter we moved a little further north to enjoy the three hour return walk to Queen Elizabeth Cape - coincidentally the very day, Queen Elizabeth arrived in Australia. Late afternoon we followed the track out to Grass Point with its historical interpretation boards on the mind-boggling whaling history that took place in Adventure Bay.
Returning to the mainland we continued the Huon Valley Trail following the coast beside the D’Entrecasteaux Channel overlooking Bruny Island and lunched in our familiar Gordon Foreshore Reserve. Although tempted to stay the night, power in Cygnet won out and we moved on to this caravan park. The next day we took Paula to Huon Point telling her of the friendships that arose around the electricity pole last time we were here - memories of the Pole Gang characters flooded back. The campground was empty, we unhitched, plugged into the pole, packed up a picnic and left to spend the rest of the day up in the Tahune Forest Reserve. We discovered the walks had now been incorporated into the Tahune Air-walk Experience. We weren’t interested in the pricey suspended canopy air-walk; just wanted to do the river walks and see the remnants of the ‘old folk’ (Huon pines). Fortunately on enquiry, Paula inadvertently said she was a local in the Australian sense when they probably intended Tasmanian– and we were allowed to cross the bridge over the Huon River and enjoy the forest environment from the ground especially the Swinging Bridges Circuit.
Crossing the Wild Rivers of Huon and Picton via the swinging bridges
A map of Tasmania’s South and the Huon Valley Trail at Huon Point!
Back at Huon Point, the historical steamer port where cargoes of hand packed, premium Tasmanian apples in crates distinctively labelled, were once loaded and sent to the markets of London, Liverpool, Bristol and Birmingham until 1982 when Britain joined the European Common Market collapsing this Apple Isle industry, we found ourselves paying double for the pleasure of the view parking on the Yacht club campground this time round. Even received a warning that power was not included and should the Ranger come by we’d be fined even though they were aware we had not broken into the power box on the pole and there was no sign to the contrary! Providentially we’d just finished cooking dinner when the Club’s fee collector arrived and politely informed us. We removed our power cord although George was to quietly insert it later just to warm his bed despite being a mild night!
Continuing our travel between hills and sheltered waterways, past orchards, salmon fisheries and sheep farms we steadily made our way into the Far South on a very drizzly day to reach Australia’s southern-most Hotel, tavern and Caravan Park at the entrance to Southport where we took up a night. A rare and unseasonal sight was to find a park so out of the way virtually full due to a Winnebago Rally taking place!
From Southport, Queensland TO Southport, Tasmania - Home from home, Paula accomplished her mission although it is not always the destination but the journey that counts!
A halt in the sprinkling rain allowed us to show Paula what little there was to Southport and walk along the beaches. Southport is predominantly a settlement of fishing enthusiasts that have obviously been coming here for generations. Lobster and Abalone industries ply their trades off shore evidenced by a picturesque red boat tied up with a deck full of lobster pots and a refrigerated abalone truck leaving Southport. Not only did we find the surf slowly eroding the road platforms no doubt giving the council headaches keeping abreast of repairs, we found a line of owners with homes foolishly built on the shore side forced to safeguard their properties using boulders, sand and cement too little effect against the everyday high tide and inevitable rise in sea levels!
As the sea inexorably eats at foundations this owner has to keep patching walls after waves gnaw into the house.
A shocking day- unable to do much at all and not good for taking the dirt road into the far Southwest National Park to camp in our forest glade close to Gilhams Beach; we could only sit it out by spending another day in Southport relieved to see the Winnebago Rally members depart. We didn’t even dare consider the three hour Southport Bluff Walk despite an interesting ride to Deep Hole on the Ida Bay heritage Railway, as it warned of muddy sections at the best of times. We sat tight, caught up on the blog or read books and worked together on crossword puzzles. Rain clouds still loomed next day that we decided to leave the caravan in situ and spend the day down at Cockle Point before cabin fever truly set in. The gravel road was relatively good for all the rain and the day stayed dry as we made our way 43 degrees south to Cockle Creek which marks the end of the continent and is as far south one can drive in Australia!
As south as south as we can go!
As George has been longing to try cooking a pork roast on his camp oven out in a bush camp, he checked out the sites along the ‘end of the world’. All were rather soggy! Finn’s Campground not only attracted him by name it contained a possible site and we discussed returning there the following day. It wasn’t to be! The bitter south wind blew us back to Geeveston instead as we knew we could escape the chill by showing Paula how this little town reinvented itself, celebrating its forestry heritage with an excellent Heritage Centre and a Southern Design Centre. We happily whiled away a good couple of hours there. The last night of October was spent back at Huon Point and we tucked into George’s roast – a good way to celebrate Paula’s last night on the road with us. We return to the cousins in Howden and will spend Paula's last few days around Hobart.
