Tramping tales for March 2008

Leaving the Tarkine, we stopped for a peep at Dismal Swamp which advertised starting a nature experience with a twist. This had George keen to see “the slide” that takes you 110m down into an old sinkhole beneath a forest canopy of beautiful blackwoods. The slide was interesting ($20 a go and includes helmet and a blanket with a pocket for your feet!) George thought it was a short lived thrill and not worth the price and we saw no one attempt it while we were there. However, the visitors centre, a tubular structure was architecturally most unusual and well worth the visit. Fortunately a fellow visitor called out as we left “don’t miss the toilets”. Popping in, we found that each seat had a superb panoramic view for contemplation.
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.

Tramping tales for February 2008

Dover Caravan Park met our household needs and George set off job hunting amongst the fish & fruit farming community within the radius of Dover. Our timing was out as cherry season was about to end and apple pickers would only be required in another month or more. No casual work going on the fish farms. Two days later we moved on to Port Huon in case there was work in the fish factory and to follow up on an advert for a wood-turner. We set up camp at Shipwrights Point, a ‘permit’ bush camp! Volunteers collect a small fee - with a limited 4 night special price (NOT adhered to!) on behalf of the yacht club just below us. They certainly weren’t consistent and most overnighters moved on before payment. We were told about a power point. Connection made no difference to the “permit fee” and as there was a space by the electricity pole we took advantage of this unexpected perk. The Local Council kept the toilets and picnic area well maintained and we developed friendships. Added together made for a very worthwhile stay of 11 days. Rolling stones gather no moss… Hand waves, greetings and perhaps the odd chat is the general way of things when you are always on the roll. “The Pole” was a uniting force… the owners of the four caravans around it would assemble of an evening and exchange stories, experiences and advice creating that special camaraderie. This unexpected meeting of like-minded folk is a wonderful addition to life on the road. How sad to all go our separate ways. However, we exchanged contacts and hopefully we will meet up again as we all circumnavigate Australia.

A bird's eye view of Shipwright's Point campground - Port Huon

Scanning newspapers and notice boards in our job search and submitting an expression of interest as assistants in a caravan park had us seriously considering spending at least another year on this small but very appealing island State. Nothing came our way throughout February. We refuse to be downhearted and as our daughter Justy reminded us “if a river gets blocked it finds a new path…”
The wide Huon River we looked out upon from our site at Shipwrights Point dominates the valley. Sadly, the ancient Huon pines that were synonymous with this mighty river are long gone and in the heydays of the 60’s the valley became an international apple growing centre. Now it has diversified into fruit growing and salmon farming, wine and growing tourism. We were told of one little farm and popped in there for the best apples, peaches and nectarines we have tasted in a long time – literally just picked!
One afternoon we drove up into the Hartz Mountains with the intention of strolling through the forests in the vicinity of the rather expensive “Tahune Airwalk”. Our plans changed when we picked up a heavily laden hitch-hiker – a Defence man from Canberra about to undertake one of the State’s most hazardous hiking trails up to Federation Peak in the heart of the South West National Park. Arrangements to do this trip had steadily fallen apart as his team mates dropped out and the promise of transport failed. So here he was, all on his own, determined to accomplish this long held goal when we elected to take him to the start of the trail, saving him at least 5 hours of walking. Wow! This was some journey winding our way along rough forestry tracks down into the Picton River valley, wondering at times whether we’d ever find our way back again. Not a soul did we meet in the dense forests, and in odd places where the track opened up we found lots of bee hives. All this tended to accentuate the impact made by the two areas where logging activities were evident.
How timber is cut and extracted from such phenomenally steep terrain, defied all our imaginations. The resilience of the forest in its ability to recover from such complete devastation was equally remarkable. A week later cousin Alison arranged with a work colleague pilot to fly Amanda, George and Lea over the South West National Park as far as Port Davey. What an advantage it was to see the self same area we’d been exploring on the ground, from the air. Apart from being able to recognise our camp sites we were spell bound to look down on this vast World Heritage wilderness such a mountainous terrain - Federation Peak very distinctive! Wonderful rugged coastline and on the button grass plains a surprisingly well defined hiking trail. The true extent of the logging operations became far more apparent from up here, as did the widely voiced concern regarding the sustainability of the industry.

We made many a wasted trip into Huonville, the biggest town along here to avail ourselves of an internet cafe with broadband, only to find an exasperated technician and a wi-fi system that remained defunct. Saving grace, however, was to come across “The siege of Ladysmith”. Coming from Africa it seemed an odd spot to find a memorial but we forget that many soldiers of the Australian Colonies fought as part of the British Imperial Forces. We discovered that back in 1902, the Short Family planted a row of trees along the Huon River to commemorate the local men who volunteered for service in the Boer War and the lifting of the siege of Ladysmith. One hundred years later, at the end of the “safe life” of these trees (a novel concept to us, I may add) figures were sculptured from the stumps of the trees to maintain this historic link.

Commemorating the siege of Ladysmith, Huonville

A night in Gordon had an overcast sky close in on us followed by wind and rain lashing the ‘van all night. Such a chill in the air by morning that we stayed in bed and watched a fuzzy TV screen listening to our new Prime Minister in a defining moment of Australia history say “Sorry” to the Aboriginal people. Reality isn’t cured by this often difficult to say little word but it goes a long way towards easing the pain of this Nation. We set off to spend a few days in Howden, looking forward to catching up on family news now that Alison was back from South Africa. En route we had to smile at the sight of a sewage truck emblazoned “Yesterdays Meal on Wheels”! The wet weather never reached Howden and we were able to turn our rig and set up home in the very dry garden without a problem. As for Keanu! She hadn’t been contained… A new and heavier gauged mesh was evident around the boundary and the cage. We learnt later that Keanu had eaten a hole through the chicken wire George had reinforced her cage with.

Cinnamon, Alison and Keanu - don't fence me in!

We have certainly thrived on quality time with family in Tasmania. Leaving this family base for the last time was offset by the knowledge we were going to meet up with another cousin in Lime Bay. Tim & Les Howman from Queensland, holidaying their way around Tasmania were persuaded to give up a couple of nights in a B&B to “rough it” with us in a bush camp. Fortunately the tiger snake we’d encountered at the toilet block, on our last visit with Leecy appeared to have moved on… We arrived a day early to prepare for them and were taken aback to find most of the sites taken. We squeezed our way to a front corner, right up against a rock boundary protecting a small promontory jutting out into the bay – utterly perfect! Next day, with beds all made up we eagerly sat back to await their arrival. Only George was asleep in Skiv and Lea’s nose was buried in the computer when they turned up! Time passed all too fast that first day that we leapt up to prepare for bed far later than usual. Tim shot out to the car for their luggage only to be surprised by a “creature” which turned out to be one of the many pademelons that appear as dark falls. Unexpected squealing alerted us to a veritable posse of possums scrounging around inside two elevated 44 gallon drum waste bins close by. We haven’t seen that before and it was an amusing note to end the night on!
Morning broke heralding a magnificent day and an obviously hot one! Before breakfast we had a visit from a Ranger warning of a total fire ban. Bang went our proposed barbeque that evening! Sea breezes kept us relatively cool throughout the day as we exchanged family recollections and walked the beaches. That night with wild life abounding on our doorstep it was only when the call for bed was made, that the balmy night with an almost full moon, enticed us to stroll the beach instead. Heavenly to say the least…

Howman conflab on the beach at Lime Bay

Time is always fleeting when you enjoy yourselves and our time with Tim and Les was up. They were going to spend the day at Port Arthur before moving through to Howden for their last two nights with Alison. We set off for two nights in New Norfolk to enable us to get all the laundry done, despite drizzly weather. Our last morning we returned to Hobart just to see the film “The Diving Bell and the Butterfly”- a true and very moving story making for an extra-ordinary film that we would hate to have missed. Back home in time for lunch we were able to ensure everything was ship shape in readiness for our trip west through the World Heritage Wilderness area. We stopped for lunch at Brady’s Lake up in the central highlands and were concerned to find our Battery charge control in the red and blinking! We’d never been that low before and at first we thought we must have a fault. However, over lunch we realised we’d been reliant upon solar power for over a week and with the fridge working over time our batteries were in need of a boost. Five hours of generator time sorted that out and we stayed put on the edge of the lake shore as the afternoon grew progressively colder and we slept to the sound of gentle rain.

Long stays in places have enabled George to set up a mini workshop on Skiv’s tow-hitch and begin carving Australian animals out of local timbers with his Dremel. Curious campers come across to see what George is up to and mention the wood carver at Derwent Bridge. With whistling winds and heavy grey skies we made our way to Derwent Bridge lying just outside the Lake St Clair National Park.
Wall in the Wilderness housed in a large, striking, corrugated iron building and set within tall eucalypt woodland showcased the incredible artistry of Greg Duncan, a self taught woodcarver who is busy creating a record of the region’s history on massive panels of huon pine. Entering this starkly beautiful place with its wooden floors and cathedral like high ceilings, a massive log fire blazing away and reception desk constructed out of the original wooden pipeline used on the first hydro power station immediately indicated we were in for a remarkable experience. The WALL is a privately owned and funded work in progress, estimated to take 5-7 years to complete the 100 metre length by 3 metre high panels - portraying 10 different subjects of history. Greg has completed approximately 38 panels since he opened in March 2003. Besides this magnificent Wall – no doubt his magnum opus, there are quite the most magnificent three dimensional sculptures on view. What we found so inspirational about Greg’s work is his attention to detail and ability to soften the appearance of wood. Whether it was a garment or a thylacine foetus the reality was unbelievable.

A copy of the wood carver at his Wall in the Wilderness

The weather was closing in rapidly and by the time we reached the Visitors Centre on the edge of Lake St Clair we knew we could not face walking any trails thanks to the intermittent sleet like rain. Our fears grew at reading their weather forecast for snow. Accommodation is always at a premium here and we were forced to move on through the grandeur of the Franklin-Gordon Wild Rivers National Park. A marvellous drive taken very slowly as we pulled up and dropped down the steep winding road, which gave us odd glimpses of deep valleys and mountain tops obscured by mist and rain. Eventually we stopped on the shores of Lake Burberry and took cover behind some trees for protection from the wind driven rain. Never the less it beat down on the caravan so remorselessly that we could scarcely hear the DVD we’d put on to distract ourselves from the plummeting temperatures. During the second story of “Lucky to be Alive” involving chaps trapped in avalanches the advent of hail and winds sufficient to violently shake the caravan did little to improve our frozen state of mind.
Out came the long johns and themals for more of the same next day, as we chased down a powered site from Queenstown through to Warratah. We just wanted warmth! Rounding a corner we caught a view of snow topping Mt. Murchison near Roseberry. We stopped to capture this mid summer madness on camera only for stratocumulous to conceal it again – if George is right with his “Cloudspotter’s Guide”!

All three Queenstowns we know are encircled by mountains. From the one in South Africa where church bells resounded in the valley as they rang out Christmas carols and Lea’s Great-Great grandparents lived (1820 settlers), to New Zealand’s Adventure Capital with its adrenalin rush of activities, to this Tasmanian one that has you coming through heavenly mountains into a hellish moonscape. Mountain slopes stripped bare of vegetation leaving multi-coloured scree slopes of mining waste. Even stream signs warn of contaminated water. All this thanks to a heritage of copper mining dating back to the 1920’s. Apparently locals resist any thoughts of rehabilitation on the grounds that it is what makes Queenstown different. We’d like to have lingered longer here only the caravan park was a tight squeeze and had no powered sites available. We ended up in Waratah, required four wheel drive just to get over the wet grass to our powered site and thankfully turned on the heat to warm up Getaway. No wonder it is important to record where you have been… We had puzzled long and hard over the route we’d taken around this area back in January 2003. As soon as George had warmed up, he switched into his Computer Diary to check. We had absolutely no recall of Waratah and yet we had stopped here to see the Mt Bishof mine, once the world’s richest tin mine found by Philospher Smith.
A reconstruction of the prospector’s hut, the original stamp mill and a museum are beautifully cared for beside our attractive Council campground despite it being very open to the biting winds that blow. More ignominiously though, the last two verifiably breathing Tasmanian tigers were trapped in Waratah and shipped off to die in a zoo in 1936.

Reluctantly we left power behind and moved on in quite the most roundabout way ending up negotiating the devilish of inclines to get back onto to the correct road for Hellyer Gorge. All that we can say is we saw more, rather than less, of the surrounding countryside. The steep climb down into the gorge had to be backtracked when we discovered the little place at the base was really only suitable as a day picnic spot. We could easily have done without it! In hopes the coast would bring better weather we continued to Wynyard where George was forced to use a memory stick to laboriously transfer our e-mails through an Internet Access Centre if we were ever to send off our backlog. Disappointingly, he was unable to collect incoming mail. Through bouts of sun and rain we continued along the coast through volcanic landscape passing many dairy farms at milking time which added to the vista, towards the Northwest point of Tasmania. Wearily, we stopped for the night on the calm edge of a beach at Marrawah. As the bush camp was full we pulled into the beach car park giving ourselves a wonderful outlook of the rocky outcrops and waves breaking on the sand below us. With the sun beginning to wane we dressed warmly and took a stroll along Green Point beach thinking of the 38 sperm whales that stranded themselves and died here this very month, ten years ago.

Moving on to Arthur River Parks and Wildlife’s Mannuka Campground, we spent the last days of February there. A male pademelon adopted us within hours of our arrival, curiously checking on all we did throughout our days then disappearing at dusk. We had intended to do “the road to nowhere” as conservationist called it in their unsuccessful fight to prevent a road (only dirt) being built down the eastern border of the Tarkine Wilderness to come here. However, we discovered the ferry in Corrina would only take rigs no more that 9 metres in length, knocking us out. We weren’t disappointed as we did it in 2003 and the little exploring we did from this end satisfied us.

Tramping tales for January 2008

“The Dog Fence” wasn’t working safely enough in Olearia Drive for the likes of escapologist Keanu. Plus she had hog-tied herself within her harness and chain while we out. Separately, we all came to the conclusion that a dog cage was the only way to bring about peace of mind. Paul, George and Alison worked like Trojans constructing an escape proof cage in the remaining time before Alison’s flight out to South Africa. Leading to her packing on the run with a missing camera and passport adding to the calmest frenzy! Meanwhile, the Puzzle Challenge took up many man hours and in spite of much sorting and shuffling we were a long way off completion by the time Saxon, Paul and Talia departed that we could only shelve it for a new team to continue…

Jigsaw puzzlers

We took Leecy up to Mt Field National Park following the Derwent River out of Hobart where we had to introduce her to The Possum Shed, a quaint spot on a gurgling tributary containing elusive platypus. This is another firm favourite from our first trip to Tassie. Naturally, a Devonshire tea was ordered and the huge and light-as-a-feather scones threw our meal time out yet gave us the energy to do the beautiful walk to Russell Falls with the sunlight filtering through the tall rain forest and tree ferns presenting wonderful shapes and lighting that captured the imagination of our artist Leecy. Back in Skiv we took an unsealed road that wound steeply up to Lake Dobson to do the Pandani Grove Nature walk through magnificent tree heaths that grow to 12m in height. Before we knew, the day was gone and leaving the pleasant coolness of the mountains to return to Hobart we soon became aware of a sweltering heat that we didn’t expect of Tasmania. Hunger and thirst drove us into the historic Salmon Ponds and in another attractive setting we enjoyed a delicious meal.

Sunday 6 January had us pulling out of Howden leaving the huskies and Amanda after a two week stable lifestyle within a home and garden to return to Seven Mile Beach Caravan Park, out at the airport, in readiness to collect Leta flying in that night.
Leta and Lea trained as teachers together while years later Leecy and Leta met while teaching in Harare. As a result there was much in common to catch up, chew over and clarify… Especially Leta and John’s romantic love story that began with the daily delivery of a single red rose to Teachers College and continued after their marriage, just after graduation, for seven years and then changed to pot plants! Adding further interest they shared an amazing life together, travelling widely, rearing two sons - Tudor and Saxon along with orphaned animals of all descriptions in Africa before migrating to Australia where they lived in many different parts before, distressingly at an early age, John died in Brisbane.

Our group of four set off to see the best of the East Coast with further explorations and many pit stops that had no considerations for waistlines… The first being Kate’s Berry Farm – her deep voice and friendly manner easily talking us into having her delish homemade ice cream and many other delights that all began in a tiny rustic pole and dagga hut that steadily extended into a most pleasurable eating stop on the Tasman Highway. Not far, was Friendlies Beach, where we spent the first night tucked in behind the sand dunes with far from friendly march flies and a host of friendly pademelons that appeared out of the surrounding undergrowth to feed. Coming across wallabies just out of the reach of waves, on our evening beach walk pleased us no end. A magnificent day dawned and with camping in the Freycinet National Park normally at a premium at this time of year we were keen to secure a camp site as early as possible. We found just what we were looking for at the Rivers and Rocks campground where we left Getaway and Leta’s tent set up to stake out our bush site. With a picnic lunch packed into a rucksack we set off for The Hazards, a series of prominent granite peaks that rise at the neck of Freycinet Peninsula concealing the spectacular white sands and blue waters of Wine Glass Bay. An hours walk up and over the saddle seems far longer due in part to the slow pace created by the queues of people making the climb. Fortunately most only go as far as the look out.

Wine glass bay, Freycinet NP

We continued down into the bay for our lunch and took refuge in the shade of scraggly she-oaks edging the beach and happily watched an experienced wallaby scavenging amongst picnickers. By the time we’d climbed back out we were very ready to indulge ourselves on the magnificent decking of Freycinet Lodge overlooking Coles Bay, the whole atmosphere reminding us of Lake Malawi in parts as well as life in Kariba. That night the Butler was put through his paces preparing hot bucket baths for the bevy of perspiring ladies. He is excellent! With all the L names he thought he aught to be renamed Leonard but Leo was a better bet to match his pride of Lea, Leecy, Leta! We liked our spot so much we stayed another day to enjoy shell collecting on Coles Beach and a return bout of imbibing at the Lodge. Much as we liked our lazy, lounging around there was plenty to see up the coast. Further up we popped in at the Douglas Apsley National Park where we found a waterhole that quickly had Leta taking the plunge. Her persuasive powers soon had George and Leecy in too. Leecy had been feeling very poorly all morning until the cold water revived her. Chain of Lagoons gave us another bush camp for a night and once we’d crossed between lagoons, a long expanse of beach to walk and enjoy Tasmania’s fresh clean air. The area’s landmark Elephant Pass Pancake Barn easily tempted us to forgo our regular cereal breakfast and head up the winding pass behind our campsite to sample their wares. Well worth the drive up considering the view, the witty signage and the tasty pancakes although we never got to find out how the Pass got its name! Eureka Berry Farm came up far sooner than expected and with our vivid memory of a “Berry Spectacular” that we’d consumed years ago we could not zoom past without allowing Leecy and Leta to experience this heaven. It wasn’t to be… Eureka Farm had almost been reduced to ashes in a dreadful bush fire that swept through the region barely a year before. The owners were bravely picking up the pieces of their prize winning berry farm and we were glad to support them but as you can imagine the ambiance we recalled was just not there.

On reaching St Helens we booked into a caravan park to sort out laundry, wash hair sticky from the waterhole, replenish our water supply and make use of a good sized supermarket. Leecy also spotted a repair man to hopefully remove the South Africa shaped CD stuck in our CD player that prevented us watching our Roo Gully DVD series at night. Yay! That was sorted and we happily moved on to Cosy Corner (North) one of many bush camps alongside the intoxicating Bay of Fires. There cannot be many places in the world where wilderness scenery such as this is available for free and semi deserted. The silky white sand squeaks underfoot as you walk towards outcrops of orange lichen covered granite boulders that line the many coves within the Bay.

Sundowners on beach at Cosy Corner

In the rays of the setting sun or early morning light the rocks assume a molten glow but it wasn’t this that gave the Bay of Fires its name. Early explorers were inspired by the many campfires belonging to Aborigines seen along this coast.

The artist eyes of both Leecy & Leta were enraptured by the beauty of this place and cameras worked over time even though passing clouds dulled the evening light our first day and smoke loomed large across the Bay the second afternoon. The threat of fire out here was enough to ready ourselves for a rapid evacuation if required. Fortunately the wind direction changed and the fire swept inland. We passed through remnants of the blaze the following day on our way to St Columba Falls. On leaving the forested surrounds of the Tasman Highway our minor road led us into a gently rolling valley of greenness filled with dairy cows where we rapidly drew to a halt outside Holy Cow Café. Attached to the café the making of traditional Pyengana cloth-bound cheddar cheese still takes place by members of a family dating back to 1895. We were able to watch the curd being stirred and “hand-torn” in grandfather’s original cheese vat and, inside the café, invited to a cheese tasting session that illustrated how the ageing process altered the flavours. Outside in the sun, revelling in the strong smell of cattle wafting up from the pastures below, we enjoyed a coffee break while Lea tried out a dollop of hand-made wattle-seed ice cream.

Now for the highest Falls in Tasmania… As we arrived at the turning circle we found cars parked in a line making it a tight squeeze for Skiv & Getaway to manoeuvre around. Seconds later a car shot ahead of us turned tightly into the remaining space and parked making it impossible for us to turn - Never mind the NO PARKING signs! This forced us to stay put and in turn changed the whole parking format! We hoped that on completing the walk to St Columba Falls all the cars would have moved on. Down the steep sides of the mountain we walked through rain forest with myrtle beech, celery top pine and woolly tea tree to a bridge over the Ringarooma River before reaching the picturesque outlook at the base of the Falls with mosses and epiphytic ferns adding an enchanted appearance to the scene. Back at the top the cars had all moved on except the critical one. We waited and after a while Leecy thought she recognised a person from the car – Yes! Murphy’s Law though, it turned out they had gone swimming in the river and lost their car keys. Who can quarrel with that! We eventually managed to ease past and be on our way.

Leta was given a reprieve from her lilo bed and the dust of tent life for a night with her ex Zimbabwe friend Paddy, now living in the historic township of Derby, running a delightful Gallery & café “The Painted Door”. We made camp a couple of hundred metres down the mountain, beside tennis courts and the Ringarooma river very happily. That evening we walked along the river back to the bridge into Derby to catch “Fish Rock” on camera. We’d caught sight of it as we’d entered this old tin mining centre from the 1870’s. Afterward we stopped for a pint at the East end of town before making our way along the length of Main street having a ‘sticky-beak’ until we arrived back at our rig.
Next day cappuccino and the tastiest, home made macaroons with Paddy set us on our way, covering more ground than usual, knowing we needed to reach Hobart in good time to tie in with Leta’s flight home. As things turned out the Heritage Highway or main Midland trunk road between Launceston and Hobart was a fast moving road and rather boring. Even the camp sites we’d planned to stay in proved so hot and dreary that we pushed on. We finally ended up in a caravan park in the historic village of Ross, beside the uniquely ornamental stone bridge built by two stonemason convicts, who were granted a pardon as a result of their fine work. We happily meandered along the leafy, heritage streetscape of Ross containing galleries, boutiques and coffee shops to the ruins of the female convict factory and up the hill to the bleak, wind swept cemetery before heading back through the churchyard to camp. Ross stole our hearts.

Now we were ahead of schedule and the decision was made to head for New Norfolk caravan park and enjoy the upper reaches of the Derwent River with our extra day. Which we did, thoroughly enjoying afternoon tea in Hamilton at the Garden Tearoom of historic Glen Clyde House with its Art and Craft Gallery featuring some fine sassafras wood work. Leta’s last night and after fighting a losing battle for dinner out, she ended up cooking us a wonderful meal of Tasmanian salmon.

As we couldn’t let Leta leave without a sighting of Hobart we packed up early with two loads of newly washed, wet laundry aboard, and made for Alison and Amanda’s home where we dropped off Getaway and hung out the washing. Ominously, husky Keanu was tethered within her cage! Lunch in the delightful Bloomfield Vineyard and a couple of hours on the Hobart Waterfront ended the closing hours of Leta’s holiday with us.

We returned to Oleria Drive and learnt of “Houndini’s” two escapes by squeezing through the sheep wire and the electrified boundary fence. Knowing we were dog-sitting for the weekend made us a tad twitchy. However, Keanu and Cinnamon behaved beautifully and George reinforced the entire cage with chicken mesh. Now we hold thumbs! Leecy’s holiday with us came to an end with a flight out early Sunday morning and we were left feeling bereft of good company, consoled by the huskies.

A new week and back to two, we set off South of Hobart down the Channel Highway which surprised us with marvellous views of the many bays and inlets of the D’Entrecasteaux Channel – “a great ocean road” hugging the shoreline in many places and almost free of traffic. Spent a night on the Foreshore Reserve at Gordon with a Western Australia Joondalup dog regularly checking on us and making gentle conversation! Continuing into the far South next day, we made camp in a small open glade within tall, dense forest at Gilham’s Beach overlooking one of the many coves of Recherche Bay. “So far from any where, time can lose its grip, if you let it.” And we did… lolling in the sun, reading and writing while soaking in the beauty that surrounds us. George even set up a workshop and did some wood carving.

Seven kms. further south is Cockle Creek (population 3) lying at the end of the most southerly road in Australia. We drove there before the week was out and walked to Fisher’s Point steeped in the history of whaling, coal mining and timber in this lonely harbour at the end of the world until the source base was depleted. The area since incorporated into the South West National Park- of World Heritage status.

Fisher's Point, Tasmania

In our coffee table “Round Australia” book it says this region is “For those intrepid souls who want to go to the southern most point possible in Australia, an unsealed (and usually corrugated) road leads south from the township of Hastings to Cockle Creek” Obviously the authors didn’t venture here – perhaps the sign warning of a narrow winding road was yet another inhibitor…. Come, Australia Day long weekend, you’d have been forgiven for thinking the “drive-in” cinema had just ended, as a line of variously aged caravans, campers, utes loaded with firewood and boats rattled past us. Our glade gathered in occupants and more kept coming that George’s eyebrows leapt up and down in growing consternation. When the last squeezed in with an inch to spare from our van he was ready to have an apoplectic fit.

Gilham's beach, Recherche Bay

Australia Day week-end invasion

On the positive side we could only be glad we’d arrived first and placed Getaway at an angle facing the sea and our door opening onto the forest. This mob seemed to know each other and their chatter went on long into the night. In the early morning, boats were eased out round the different camps and relative peace returned. With the likelihood we’d struggle to find a place elsewhere, we accepted the conditions. That night we walked along to a community centre to experience an Australia Day Tassie celebration. Two old bath tubs, fitted with long legs, were the centre pieces of blazing warmth and light. A well spoken, young bloke greeted us and made us feel welcome. Cooking snags and burgers served with fried onion on a slice of white bread typical Aussie fare and a one-man-band Trev Weaver, the entertainer for the night. No one clapped – not because he wasn’t good- just seemed to be customary in these parts! The inevitable firework display took us by surprise and added its touch authenticity to the celebrations. We sat on our own, eyeing all that went on around and as the night progressed, Mark approached us and nattered. He went off, only to return again and invite us to join his group. We must have passed muster! Turned out he recognised us from “their” camp site. Oops! They have all have been coming to our very spot for close on 25 years. Such friendly characters, particularly “Sniff” who dashed around finding out about work prospects for us and Ron who offered a spot in his large yard in Dover, as a base to search for farm or factory work. Next day, after a wild goose chase of well over 60km to find a mobile phone signal (in vain) we stumbled upon a call box and phoned Saxon for her birthday. Disappointment – we could only leave a message and returned to camp where another group gave us a big fillet of “snotty” (trevally) which we fried up for a most delicious fish dinner that night. Our eyes were as big as saucers watching them remove 14 fine sized crays from a cooking pot set upon a 44 gallon drum- Yes! We counted them 2 by 2, as they kept coming out from our seats in the furthest section of the camp site. How we could have celebrated Lea’s birthday with one of those instead of poached eggs! We hadn’t come prepared for an extended period of time and had to eek out our provisions. The longest time we have spent in any one place, speaks for itself! How large the glade seemed after the Tasmanians left. We stayed on in our place of tranquillity until the month ended and we ran out of water…

Tramping tales for December 2007

Reluctantly we left our new found friends in Mt Clay State Forest pulling our rig away from the coast in land to Cobden through magnificent dairy country with dry stone walls made of basalt stretching in different direction. Many times a likeness to Wales flashed through our minds. Although there are water restrictions in the urban areas the land looked so good.

Tired of scenery, Lea was keen to look around Geelong and perhaps find a Sunday Market. With heavy traffic on the outskirts we pulled off to Barwon Heads for our lunch, enjoying wide views of the coast from the Bluff. Sheltered estuary waters and long beaches all busy on this hot day. Plus the flies were out in force! On our way to Point Lonsdale we passed a very quiet caravan park in a lovely setting. We weren’t planning on staying out on this beautiful Bellarine Peninsula but the temptation was too great after looking out on the Port Phillip Bay where the sheltered waters of this huge bay meet the surging swells of Bass Strait with its infamous rip. The Royal Caravan Park turned out to be Shire run and only opened for the season the day before. Jan & Bluey were the warmest and friendliest caretakers we have ever come cross. In the off seasons they take to the roads less travelled around Australia.
That night, we walked the promenade along the foreshore thinking the flies had retired. No such thing, they rode shotgun on our backs and rose in swarms around our faces if we disturbed them. Walking back, our eyes were drawn to the sight of our first Christmas tree for this festive season – a massive Norfolk pine glowing colourfully midway down the sweep of Phillips Bay that we had to walk the opposite direction too, for a closer look. We could easily have lingered longer in this Park but we needed to get closer to Melbourne in readiness for our planned day ferry crossing on the Tuesday. We had a most enjoyable loiter around Geelong’s waterfront awaiting Saxon’s call with our booking. By mid afternoon we realised we’d been caught out by the time differences and we decided to check out our night stop in Little River. A roadside reserve we’d been recommended to stay in as it made for a stress free entry early next morning to the Ferry Terminal.

Finding a ‘no camping’ sign at the entrance to the reserve had us wondering where to next… when Saxon phoned with the news that there was no room on the ferry for a 14m long rig (like ours) for the next 5 days! The soonest crossing was 8th December and even then, we’d have to go overnight instead of by day! John Lennon said “life is what happens when you are busy making other plans” – during our ponderings and feeling a little thrown, we were “rescued” by a most amiable, cherubic-like little Italian man who suddenly appeared at Lea’s window to ask if we were OK and whether we’d like some water since he lived just across the road! “Stay! Stay, it’s alright”. We did!

Looking at options we decided to reduce fuel costs by moving to Bacchus Marsh and base up in a little caravan park and catch up on our Christmas mail.
That afternoon we popped into the town hoping to find an internet café and discovered “The Avenue of Honour” a superb example of overarching elm trees. Market gardens backed onto the avenue and tucked into spots along the way were produce stalls. Seventh heaven for Lea, as we picked our own golf-ball sized strawberries and bought, bought, bought the cheap produce! That evening as we read our ferry booking confirmation, our hearts sank at the information regarding NO fruit or vegetables. Strawberry jam, homemade lemonade, potato salad, tomato puree and stewed apples became the cooking schedule…. How could we have forgotten a State border crossing in our delight to have FRESH?

During our days in The Grampians, Lea had been disappointed not to exit on the East side as she’d been keen to visit Ballarat, simply for the reason that when we’d lived in Perth, our Napier Street Party ‘rotating dinner’ had led us to a house with three little girls. During the meal, the story was told of the youngest, ‘Bella, when sitting quietly as her father spoke about his trip to Ballarat, suddenly chirped up most indignantly “Bella not a rat! During our recent bout of socialising at “koala camp” a discussion on The Labour Party win arose which led to “True Blue – Terry” telling us about the Eureka Flag and the Rebellion that had taken place in Ballarat. Strange how the unexpected can come to pass! While highlighting our route map, George realised that Ballarat was just up the freeway from Bacchus Marsh. We skid-daddled up to Ballarat for the day, keen to follow the history of the Eureka Stockade and the origins of the blue and white Flag of the Southern Cross. A cause won, for the battle lost by gold miners taking exception to the Government’s insistence to impose unfair mining licences in 1854. Giving rise to the Spirit of Australia - namely “a fair go for all”!
Stirring stuff… from the tale of a Pikeman’s dog howling in grief at his dead master’s side to acknowledging the unalienable right of every citizen to have a voice in making the laws he is called on to obey.
Our picnic lunch in the Botanical Gardens led us to the Australian ex Prisoners of War Memorial. Black Granite etched with the names of 35,000 people incarcerated over the years beginning with the Boer War… To George’s delight he spotted 4 people with the name Begg and yet another buried in the Old Cemetery.

With everything up to date we caught the train into Melbourne on our penultimate day in Bacchus Marsh. A stress free way to do this big city with its tolls, trams and left hooks! Victoria Market, Federation Square and the Yarra may have been on Lea’s mind BUT George wanted to be sure to find a cinema showing “Into the Wild”… Federation Square helped in that respect so it was ticked off and, we got in some window shopping as we walked the blocks to the cinema. We missed the most suitable time by 20 minutes and with disappointment written across George’s face we bought tickets to the next viewing… marking time with a bite to eat and browsing books! Fortunately “Into the Wild” was more than worth it. It was Jon Krakauer’s story of Chris McCandless alias Alexander Supertramp that inspired us to take our leap of faith and become “rubber tramps”. A book that marked us deeply followed by a film that didn’t let us down had us hopping on trams back to the station happily!

We were allowed to sit out our ferry day in the caravan park beyond the set departure time. Well before the hour to leave approached, nervous restlessness set in and off we went encountering an easy trip to the terminal, thanks to all the instructions we’d been given because there certainly aren’t many ferry signs. Hey! Hey! Sax had booked us Ocean View recliners - looking out the back of the boat on three sides. Very similar to being on an aeroplane, yet infinitely better! Personal electronic key cards to the lounge with toilets; friendly folk surrounding us; a smooth crossing with a little churning as we crossed the Rip; we even pointed out our Pt Lonsdale Christmas tree to everyone. Lea has always hankered for a recliner, particularly in Getaway. Not any more! The angle of the leg rest affected her circulation and with cold feet and constant leg cramps she felt the worse for wear by morning! The Early hour of a Sunday morning had us rolling out the bowels of the ferry, through Devonport to Naranwtapu National Park in record time and champing for our breakfast. Downed in double quick time Lea fell into bed and slept deeply. George followed later for a power nap before we could face the day. We took a 3 hour walk through thickly wooded dunes brisling with wildlife. The distinctive warning thump of wallabies and scuttling pademelons on hearing our footfalls, so close to where they were resting in the undergrowth, made us feel as if we were walking a hairline on a dog’s back with fleas jumping in all directions… an unusual occurrence for us, capped - as we climbed up to Archer’s Knob, by the discovery of a large echidna, semi-concealed beneath a dry tuft of grass, busy scratching away.

The first of many Tasmanian echidnas we were to find

From the top we looked out onto a magnificent view of the coastline and the plains at Springlawn where wombats are reputed to abound. We’ve never seen a wombat in the wild despite every effort. In leaving Tasmania in January 2003 George spotted a book “The secret life of wombats” and promptly bought it for Colleen because of the similarities of the underground lifestyles of wombats and honey badgers. The author James Woodford had raved about the number of wombats to be found in Naranwtapu so here we were…

A downpour followed our walk and we felt dismay as chilly drizzle set in upsetting our plans to look for wombats come evening time. Later, George braved the weather to check for any signs of their presence and came running back with a beam from ear to ear to say there were “walking black mounds” all over the place. Out we dashed and sure enough across the plains, bathed in soft evening light as the sun re-emerged were WOMBATS.

Female wombat and youngster grazing

We followed a track for closer scrutiny. Watching all the wombat activity through binoculars until a mother and her youngster came waddling ever closer to us as they busily cropped away at the fine turf. Unaware of us until they got downwind and moved off. George cut across in the direction they were headed and soon was lying on his stomach capturing close ups on camera. What a fulfilling day of wildlife encounters. Next day we wombled the beaches! Remember the TV kids series “The Wombles of Wimbledon Downs”? Well, when we womble we collect litter!

On leaving the National Park we kept East taking a short cut via a dirt road that wound its way through steep forest country to Yorktown and then along the ridge of the Tamar Valley to Beaconsfield. The world beamed its light on this little mining town in 2006 when a rock fall occurred underground taking the life of Larry Knight and two other blokes - Todd Russell and Brant Webb were entombed for two weeks before being miraculously rescued. We spent a pleasurable couple of hours in the Grubb Shaft Museum overlooking the ‘famous’ headgear and shaft where Russell and Webb surfaced after their ordeal. Dipping down to the Tamar River for our lunch alongside the Batman Bridge we found quite a few tents and caravans set up and happily set ourselves up there for the night too. A conflict has been raging over the potential impact of a proposed pulp mill in this beautiful Tamar Valley and as we travelled upriver to Launceston the next day we spotted many anti pulp mills signs daubed across various structures.

Knowing we’d be in Launceston again in weeks to come we simply passed through and ran parallel to the Great Western Tiers making for Lake Parangana. We just had to stop en route at the Honey Factory in Chudleigh to sample their wonderful and varied selection of honeys. We finally agreed on raspberry flavoured honey for our ice cream and chilli honey for baked camembert. The drive through fertile farmlands was very reminiscent of the Natal Midlands and as we neared Lake Parangana set within a steep-sided valley we marvelled at the sight of all the tree ferns in the understorey of the forested slopes. A peaceful night followed beside this loch like man made dam on the Mersey, before we retraced our road back to Deloraine stopping for a walk to the Alum Cliffs to survey a wondrous view over the Mersey River canyons.
Deloraine had a pretty municipal caravan park beside a river ideally situated close to shops and internet enabling us to see to all our needs while the laundry dried. That night a mighty rumble had George rising from our bed in consternation at this strange noise! Late that night a very l-o-n-g log train rumbled past within a couple of metres of our heads - An extra loud clash on the rails almost had George fall out of bed in fright and “blue air” followed…. Fortunately this was the only one to head down the line.

It was a slow climb up through the Western Tiers Mountain Range onto the Central Plateau with its Great Lakes, bleak moor lands and smatterings of snow gums.
We’d arranged to meet up at the Pumphouse Bay campground on the edge of Arthur’s Lake in Central Tasmania with Lea’s cousin Alison Howman who would travel up from Hobart for the weekend. Alison works for Hydro Tasmania and she is responsible for overseeing the environmental management of these lakes. All of which were at an exceptionally low level due to at least 5 years of subnormal rainfall. A stimulating weekend of “taking shop” followed for George as she took us to see one of her problem lakes, “The Lagoon of Islands”. It had been so grossly interfered with in the past that its waters were on the verge of turning toxic.

Alison beside Lagoon of Islands

Did fiddling with the water affect them both? That evening after Alison had returned home George took to his bed feeling dreadful. No better by morning, Lea insisted he rest up dreading sickness over Christmas and we stayed put. Unknown to us Alison had also suffered and required a visit to the doctor! The following day - Tuesday we wended our way southwards towards Hobart’s airport and found the nearest caravan park, close to Seven Mile Beach, to await the arrival of Lea’s sister Alice (Leecy) from Kilcare in New South Wales, early the next day. We last saw Leecy at Saxon and Paul’s wedding thus the TALK flowed incessantly on meeting that we decided to negotiate another day in the caravan park and keep talking...

The three of us set off for the Tasman Peninsula with a walk down to show Leecy the naturally formed Tessellated Pavement on the coastline and stopping at the Dog Line. A statue of a vicious looking hound straining at his chain marks the line of 18 ferocious dogs that once extended across the narrow isthmus at Eaglehawk Neck to prevent convicts escaping from the Peninsula. We stood awhile here, aghast as we reflected on plaque before us “These out of the way pretenders to dogship were actually rationed and borne in the governments books rejoiced in such soubriquets as Caesar, Pompey, Ajax, Achilles, Ugly Mug, Jowler, Tear’um and Muzzle’um… There were the black, the white, the brindle, the grey and the grisly, the rough and the smooth, the crop-eared and lop-eared, the guant and the grim. Every four-footed black fanged individual among them would have taken first prize in his own class for ugliness and ferocity at any show!”
Arriving in Lime Bay for the night you can imagine our consternation when a neighbouring camper came over to warn us about the deadly Tiger snake that had taken up residence at the toilet block! Leecy and I often spotted it basking between the two ramps up to the toilets on our nervous visits. Continuing our loop of the Peninsula next day we briefly stopped at Port Arthur but as George and I had previously visited this beautiful historic place (in spite of the shocking massacre a lone gunman went on a good decade ago that most people immediately think of now!) it was decided that Leecy should visit it with Saxon & Paul when they arrived after Christmas. We moved on to the Tasman National Park at Fortesque Bay for the afternoon, plunging down steep gradients on a gravel road which gave rise to concerns on the condition of Skiv’s brakes after all the ups and downs of Tasmania’s terrain. Nothing alerted us to the fact that this Park wasn’t suitable for caravans and we battled to find a turning circle. Late that evening we made our way to Alison and Amanda’s home, south of Hobart. Their 3.5 acre property on the Tinderbox Peninsula adjoins the Peter Murrill Nature Reserve. Their house looks out onto native bush lands on one side and the distant Snug Tiers on the other with close proximity to the sea. For two weeks we had a prime view from Getaway and we could observe the resident paddymelons and potaroos foraging. To be confronted by a high Johannesburg style security fence and find it electrified may have seemed daunting! This dog line supposedly protects the wild life from the two huskies Keanu and Cinnamon. Never mind that diagnosed cancer patient Keanu very recently accomplished two Houdini escapes in which she molested a goat and slaughtered four chickens. On both occasions this put her on death row at the Dog Pound!

Family togetherness over the Festive Season made for a special end to the year especially with the arrival of Saxon, Paul and our highly mobile grand-daughter Talia on Boxing Day. As a gang, we enjoyed many of the tourist spots of Hobart from the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race; renowned Salamanca Market; ascending Mt Wellington for 360’ spectacular views and spending time at The TASTE - a week long showcase of the best of Tasmanian food and wine.

Recovering after The Taste (from left - Leecy, Talia, Paul, Alison, Saxon, Lea)

Alison had a list of outstanding chores, as long as her arm to see to before she departed on her holiday to South Africa. Delightedly, George leapt to the fore between them, all were accomplished and more, even a jig-saw board was made and Alison threw down the challenge for all to complete a complicated 1500 piece puzzle! Songwriter Neil Murray was a highlight of a musical evening at a local winery for some. We all took a ferry to Bruny Island to revisit “The Hothouse” a wonderfully eclectic tomato tunnel turned into a restaurant with superb views out over the narrow neck between North and South Bruny. Although it has since changed hands and lost its somewhat arty ambiance it is still a very special place and we had a blissful day in the sunshine with copious amounts of wine and good food. A nature walk and a visit to a rookery shared by Little penguins and mutton birds (short tailed sheerwaters) – all out at sea at the time, added to the pleasure of our day. And, while seeing in the New Year around our BBQ fire Keanu, the escape artist, curtailed our celebrations at 2.30 a.m. when we discovered her absence! A frenzied search ensued until a muddy grey shape guiltily slunk in the open gate trying to avoid detection… So ended 2007!

Route maps

Western Australia
South Australia
Victoria