What A Difference A Day Makes!

I know that I have written a post with this title before, but literally, there was no other appropriate title compared to the fiasco of yesterday. I was feeling so very depressed yesterday, with my 'luck of the Irish' - to be honest, my Irish luck has been giving me quite cause for grief and whilst I have been enjoying my journey, I can't honestly say that I have loved every minute. I realised today that I have never actually travelled for so long on my own - surprising, I know, bearing in mind all the trips I have done - but the majority of them have been with others, it was really only a handful on my own, and certainly never longer than 6-7 days. Now don't get me wrong, I have enjoyed travelling on my own - but when you are doing a 13 day driving holiday by yourself, where you must make all the decisions with regards to what to do, where to go, how to get there - and then do all the driving, navigating, photographing and 'enjoying' yourself - well that is a pretty tall order! Couple that with the fact that for the majority of the time I have been out of phone / internet range, and in hostels by myself (with the exception of Launceston and Hobart I have had the entire dorm to myself and there has been very few other people in the hostels with me), it has been quite lonely at times. But I think I have done quite well.

Anyway, back to the difference a day makes. On Wednesday I was really feeling very low. Having had a terrible night's sleep at Cradle Mountain (remember the killer possum?), and then with the weather being so poor when driving to Strahan, so that I missed all the beauty that the Murchison Highway has to offer, the final straw literally was the non-event of the Gordon River cruise. I would have to say that Wednesday was, without doubt, the worst day of my trip.

So it was wonderful to see, when I woke up on Thursday morning, that the sun was shining, there was no dreaded mist or fog, and the weather was actually pleasantly warm. And, for the first time, seeing as I have literally done all the things I desperately wanted to do on this trip (well, those I could do out of the things that were actually running or able to happen regardless of inclement weather), I had the opportunity of just driving and seeing where I ended up at the end of the day. No time pressures today. No need to beat the sunset. Or so I thought...

I set off after meandering about Strahan for a bit, enjoying the quaint, fisherman atmosphere of this lovely little village. After this I leisurely made my way towards Queenstown via the lovely Lyell Highway - sun shining, birds singing - and spectacular views! I even found time, which I hadn't really until now, to stop off for a quick cuppa in Queenstown. Like, actually get out of the car and have a cuppa without the worry of 'quick, got to get driving again'...!

The girl in the hostel in Hobart had said that Queenstown was really a waste of time, but I didn't find that at all. In fact, I would have to say that I thought the buildings were just as quaint as Richmond - ok, they didn't have that lovely sandstone or Georgian look, but there was a real heritage feel to this little town, and I enjoyed wandering about there very much. But all to soon it was time to hop back in the car and press on towards the goal...

The views climbing the mountain out of Queenstown were easily some of the best I have seen on this whole trip - and that's saying something. Whether or not it was the fact that the sun was shining, I don't know - but the views were literally spectacular, and this continued for the whole of the journey towards Lake St Clair.

I decided, with the disappointment of yesterday in being unable to cruise the Gordon river, that I would most definitely today make sure that I would go to the Franklin-Gordon Wild Rivers National Park. At one of the national parks I've visited I picked up a little book called "60 Great Short Walks" and I was really pleased to see that there was one in there that would take me exactly where I wanted to go. In fact I was really pleased to see that there were several walks that I would be able to do today along the Lyell Highway.

So off I set, aiming hopefully to hit Lake St Clair by evening at the very least - or if things went really well, to be back in Lonnie with a whole day up my sleeve. I kept stopping off to take photos, the view was just so magnificent along the Lyell Highway. My first major walk (all of 20 minutes, granted!) was to Nelson Falls, along the Lyell Highway.

The first thing that strikes you about this walk is, having entered the 'Franklin - Gordon Wild Rivers National Park', which of course requires that you have a park permit (either for yourself if you are carless, or for your vehicle), is that despite the signs telling you the cost, there simply wasn't anywhere to actually buy a pass. At all. Hm. So I did the next best thing, not wanting to be caught by the rangers - I displayed all my previous Park passes on the dashboard with a note saying that if the ranger would provide me with a location where I could buy the pass, I would. Doubt it would stand up in court, but hey, what else could I do?

This was a pretty little walk, but unfortunately it was spoiled by one small, yet significant thing. Why is it that people, when experiencing the wonders of nature, feel the need to add their own little aroma to the proceedings by... smoking! If you were to pop off, well, that's one thing - but spoiling the atmosphere for all those who unfortunately happen to be walking behind you by puffing on that vile little cancer stick, well. Its a travesty. It spoiled the whole experience.

After Nelson Falls, I hopped back in the car and stumbled across walk number 2 - Donaghey's Hill. Apparently this one was to be a 40 minute walk. I achieved it in significantly less time. Another pretty little walk, this one afforded quite spectacular views of the Franklin river valley. Very impressive.

Back to the car, and a little further on I came across the "Franklin River Nature Trail" walk. Now this one was one I definitely wanted to do. And again, I was pleased I did. It was so very beautiful - yet terribly cold and damp - not that it was raining, but the air was very cold and wet. In looking around you, all you could see (other than trees) was like a green carpet. The moss was everywhere! But again, it was very beautiful.

I would have to say I think I enjoyed this walk most of all. All too soon though, it was over and I was back in the car. Stopped off at a few lookouts (again, such spectacular scenery!) and by about 2.30 I had made it to Lake St Clair.

What a lovely day's drive I had had! With such beautiful weather, it certainly made a huge difference to my spirits! Until, of course, I went in search of accommodation...

I couldn't, for the life of me, find the piece of paper with the contact details of backpackers in Derwent Bridge / Lake St Clair - but I thought I remembered reading that the caravan park at Lake St Clair had some sort of backpacker accommodation, so I went in and asked.

The woman there was as dull as a wet week, and as thick as a pile of bricks. And yet she still managed to take me for a ride. I guess it really proves the point that to be prepared is to be armed.

When I approached about backpacker accommodation, she hummed, harred, and said she didn't think she had anything. Really? Everywhere else I've been has been vacant - including Cradle Mountain!

The reason she thought she had nothing was that the manager was on holiday, the cleaners hadn't been in for 2 weeks, and she didn't think any dorm room was made up - but if I liked, I could stay in the double room for a reduced price. And as I wasn't sure of anywhere else in the vicinity, and as I really wanted to do some of the Lake St Clair walks before it got dark - including watching sunset over the lake - I took it. And was promptly ripped off.

Because the room in question was little more than a bed in a box. For $40. My most expensive room of the trip. She didn't even have proper sheets for me - she rustled up "free of charge" (it would want to be, love!) a single doonah - but even with the poxy little heater in the room running all night, I was still cold. But no matter - it was a roof over my head.

I took the deal, dumped the sheets in the room and high tailed it to the Lake to do some walks. They were really pretty too - especially as there were parts of the track that hadn't seen any sunlight for days obviously and they were still covered with frost. The birds were singing too, and it was all very beautiful.

But again, time was running away if I wanted to see the sunset. I had asked the ranger at the visitor centre where would be the best place to view the sunset - and he had recommended the boat ramp. What he had forgotten to mention was that we're in the wrong position to really get a good sunset anyway.

No matter. It had been a lovely day - such a complete contrast from the day before! Thank goodness...!

Stranded In Strahan

Having spent a terrible night at the Discovery Parks, Cradle Mountain, when my alarm finally went off this morning I really was not prepared to face the day. When I saw the weather, I was less inclined. It was pinging it down with rain.

I got up though, had my breakfast and made my way back to the visitor centre. The mist though was very heavy and it was still raining a bit. After talking to the woman there I decided that it really wasn’t worth it to pay another $16.50 to go down to Dove Lake, spend 2 hours walking in the rain, and then have to hoof it over to Strahan, so I decided to just make my way west.

The weather was absolutely diabolical the whole way, and I really didn’t get to see anything at all. It was terrible. I was apparently driving on one of the most beautiful roads in Tasmania, and I couldn’t appreciate it because I could barely see a few feet in front of my face on account of the fog. Terrible.

So as a result I didn’t really deviate much from the plan, only stopping off to have a little look at Mackintosh Dam, which really wasn’t anything. I then decided it was more important to get to Strahan, on the off chance that there might be an afternoon cruise running or something. So I was quite pleased when I arrived around 12noon.

But then I discovered that the cruises which go up the Gordon river and to Sarah Island leave each day at 8.30am and return at 2.45pm – and that’s basically it. So no chance of a cruise today, unless I wanted to spend an exorbitant amount of money on one to Bonnet island to see the penguins or something. I found out that there were only 2 companies offering cruises of the Gordon river, and one of those (World Heritage Cruises) was running its last one of the season today – and was currently out on the water – so that company was a write off. I went to the other one, Gordon River Cruises, where the woman there informed me that they were still running cruises, but unfortunately they had a computer chip malfunction and it was doubtful it would be fixed by tomorrow! Hm. Not the outcome I was looking for.

The seaplanes aren’t running. The helicopters aren’t running. There’s no chance of any cruise. What does one actually do then in Strahan?

Fortunately I discovered that the jetboat was running. It’s a bit of a tour, (if one can actually have a “tour” on a jetboat, amidst the spins and tail flare outs that jetboats are wont to do), up the King River. Ok, its not the Gordon, but its better than nothing – and it is my only option if I want to do anything in Strahan. So I booked it – but as it didn’t start til 3.00pm, I had to entertain myself until then (some 2 ½ hrs!). But no cafes or restaurants are open; and there’s precious little to do other than a bit of a walk about the town. So off I went, wandering about the town, and then I made my way out to the People’s Park, where there was a nice little walk out to Hogarth Falls. These falls were quite pretty.

By the time I got back into town some of the shops and cafes had started to open up, so I had a very yummy seafood chowder in a sourdough bread bowl for lunch, and then moseyed on back to the Gordon River cruise woman to see if there had been any further developments. There had – she informed me that they definitely were NOT running tomorrow. Crap. So I went and paid for the jetboat, and then made my way to the dock.

The jetboat “tour” actually was fantastic, I really enjoyed myself and got to see quite a lot, considering. The Macquarie harbour is, if I remember correctly, the largest in Australia and it is really very pretty. The King river is quite interesting if only for the fact that nothing lives in it – this is because of the railway which was built between Queenstown and Strahan, which goes alongside the banks of the river. Apparently copper seeps into the river somehow from this railway (which was used to transport a lot of the copper from the mines and so on) and as a result, nothing lives in the river. They’re trying to clean it up but it will take some time.

We went up as far as the Teepookana Bridge which is part of the old railway line between Strahan and Queenstown. En route we happened across the steam train travelling back to Strahan – it was an impressive sight. We came across Huon pines that were 800 years old, and saw some very beautiful scenery – but it was such a shame that, despite having seriously ‘rugged up’, it was still so very cold on the back of that jetboat!

When we got back I decided to thaw out by journeying over to Ocean Beach, a beautiful stretch of beach a few kilometres from Strahan. I could have stayed there for sunset but I decided to try my luck once more with the Gordon River cruise people. You never know, there might have been a change… but alas there wasn’t. So I went back to the World Heritage Cruise company to see if by some miracle they had decided to run one more day in light of the fact that no other cruise was running. Alas, no, there had been no change – but the woman there suggested that I go back to GRC and ask if they were taking their small boat, Sophia, out. She said it seats 12 and that they might be tempted to send it out if there were no other cruises operating.

So back I went. Literally the woman rolled her eyes when I walked through the door again. She was actually quite rude. Anyway, I asked about the Sophia, and then she informs me that it is running 2 cruises tomorrow, one at 8.30 but only to Hell’s Gates, and the other at 11.30 out to Sarah Island. So neither cruise is taking in the Gordon river, but no matter, I was interested. So I enquired about the price, and she was extremely vague. She said, at first, that it all depended on how many people were going – on the first they already had 7, and on the second they had 4. But she didn’t volunteer a price, and I had to keep digging. You could tell she was getting more fed up with me, but I didn’t care – if the price was reasonable I would do it. So she got her colleague involved in the discussion, who said that I would have to split the boat hire cost with the others on the cruise, and that it was about $550. Fine, $550 split between 5 of us would work out at slightly cheaper than the original cruise price. Let’s do it!

Unfortunately that wasn’t the case at all. No, it wasn’t a case of splitting the tour price between all the people on the trip – no, it was a case of splitting the tour price between all the ‘parties’ of the trip – so I would have to pay $275! How illogical is that? Wouldn’t you think you would just split it between all the people, rather than their group?

Suffice to say for $275 I was not going to get a cruise that only took in half of what I wanted anyway. So I left – but then I got a bit miffed. That woman knew how desperate I was to do a cruise, and never once suggested to me the option of the Sophia. Now I know I didn’t take it after all, but how dare she assume just because I’m on my own and I look a bit scruffy (I was in hiking kit after all) that she shouldn’t even give me the option? How rude!

So meanwhile, the sun has now set, and I have no real reason to be in Strahan any longer – but its too late to go anywhere else. I’ll have to try and sort out some accommodation…

Cradle Mountain and The Attack Of The Killer Possum

Trust me, this is a true story…

Today I spent a glorious day at Cradle Mountain doing lots of the walks. I had left Devonport very early so as to give myself the most amount of time at Cradle – for which I was very pleased. I got to the Visitor Information Centre about 1030 am and then after buying my National Parks pass ($16.50) I got the free shuttle bus to the Dove Lake Car Park. Unfortunately the weather was inclement, but that didn’t dampen my spirits – I had a great time, doing a range of the walks. I sort of started off doing the Dove Lake walk, but then saw the signs for Marions lookout and headed up that way. That took me past Lake Lila and Wombat pool where I met a couple walking in the opposite direction. By this point the weather was literally pinging it down, and you could barely see a few feet in front of your face, but it was just magical. They suggested a walk down to Crater Lake, which I did, and which I was pleased about. There was a cute little hut there and I sat down and had my muesli bars and coffee there looking out over the lake. At this point it had stopped raining so it was quite pretty. I then made my way down towards Crater Lake falls, which were also very pretty, and then around towards Walheim – where I encountered the same couple again. After this I made my way back to Dove lake, and literally just popped up over a slight incline and boom! You could actually see the mountain! How spectacular! Although I didn’t get to see it in full view like you do on the postcards (it was still quite misty) it was so beautiful. I then made my way back to Dove Lake and did a bit of the walk around there before getting the shuttle bus back to the Visitor Centre.

With reports that the weather might actually clear tomorrow, I had decided early on that I would spend the night at Cradle so as to have the option of further walks the next day. So I checked in to the cheapest (and so far most expensive accommodation of my trip) bed I could find – at the Discovery Parks caravan camping ground, where they also have bunkhouse beds for $32 per person per night.

Because when grocery shopping the other day I had forgotten to get (a) soy sauce or (b) noodles, I was faced with the prospect of yet another evening of chicken pesto pasta, instead of the stir fry I had hoped to prepare, having all the other ingredients. Now I don’t know about you, but after 7 or so consecutive days (pretty much) of this dish, I really needed a change. But with no means to purchase the missing ingredients – we are in the middle of a national park with no Woolies next door – I was facing down the barrel of pasta yet again.

But then I remembered that just up the road at the Waldheim Spa Resort they had a tavern serving evening meals. And a lovely, warm, fireplace – just the thing on a rainy night like tonight. And people… So let’s weigh up the options – chicken pesto pasta, cold room to eat in, rainy evening, and solitary confinement, or – a choice of menu, a lovely, warm, fireplace, maybe a tv, conversation going on all around you (maybe I could get in on a chat too?)… yep, it was a no-brainer – I went down to Waldheim.

And had a simply smashing meal – lovely lamb stew with sourdough bread – gorgeous fireplace – and I would’ve had the Christmas pudding with brandy custard but for the fact that it cost $9.00 and also there were people waiting for tables, it was so crowded, and I didn’t want to be hogging one any more than I really needed. So I hopped up with the idea of maybe ordering this dish and finish my coffee at one of the upturned kegs they had placed as like a bar table, when suddenly this couple came over, sat by the fire and then started chatting with me. We had a lovely chat, turns out I don’t remember what he does – but I remember his name was Giovanni – and I don’t remember her name, but I remember she teaches Art 2 days a week at a primary school and is a top equestrian trainer the rest of the time. But we talked about the walks they’d done today, ones he’s done in the past, bureaucracy and stuff within teaching, the weather… you name it, we chatted on it. I spent a few pleasant 30 minutes or so with them. Then their meals arrived so I said farewell, and seeing as it was still too crowded and there weren’t any more seats by the fire, I decided to head back to the bunkhouse. It was now 8pm after all and so with a spot of blogging, in no time it would be bed time.

When I got back to the bunkhouse I decided that, as I had missed out on the Christmas pudding, I would crack open some of the Ashgrove cheese I had bought the other day. Because the kitchen was a little cold, I thought I would bring it back to my room – there’s no one else there after all – and have it whilst typing up more blog entries. I have a pretty good heater in my room anyway so it would be all nice and snug by now.

As I left the kitchen, suddenly out the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of a huge, black blur running past – then felt a big bump on my leg, followed by clawing. What the?

It was the most gigantic possum (or maybe a quoll – I don’t really know) that I have ever seen. To be honest, I think it was too big to be a possum – if indeed it was a possum then he had obviously mutated into something enormous. He was quite heavy and quite strong too – I tried to flick him off my leg and he wouldn’t go – it took a very forceful kicking action to actually get him off – and immediately he pounced back. I was shrieking, flicking my leg and desperately trying to get the key in the door – but what to do once I got the door open? I didn’t want him coming in my room.

With one last superhuman effort, I flung my leg wildly out into space and he was launched a couple of feet away just as the key turned in the lock. Lickety split I was in that door and had it fully shut just as he fully sprung for me again – thud!

Can I just tell you, I was terribly shaken. Here is this giant possum thing scratching at my door for my Ashgrove cheese! I pulled back the curtain to have a better look at the window and he jumped over at me! Scary stuff – attack of the mutant possum!

So I turned off all the lights, lay low there in the dark, silent, watching, waiting, listening for him to leave. When I thought the coast was clear I tried the window again – with the light off – only to see him staring back in at me, perched on the handrail!

I can’t actually leave my room! If I need to go to the toilet, or do my teeth, I won’t be able to – he’s still out there, waiting – at one point he went further down the verandah, away from my room, and when I opened the door he literally flew back at me!

What to do? I’m prisoned in this dorm by a killer possum, desperately hunting a bit of cheese… I’ll have to wait it out to morning – but alas, I am starting to feel the after effects of that second cup of coffee…!

In Search Of Stanley's Nut

So I awoke Monday morning in the backpackers at Devonport after the luxury of a small sleep in. Knowing that I had booked 2 nights at this backpackers, I was aware that today did not have to be a mad dash in order to try to see everything, unlike other days have been.

The backpackers I’m in, Molly Malones, is about the only backpackers at the moment open in Devonport. To be honest, whilst I have enjoyed travelling in Tasmania in the winter, it has been a bit of a drag to try and do this on a budget, as many of the backpackers have closed for the season. Nonetheless, I’ve still managed somewhat. Anyway, Molly Malones is a backpackers above the Irish bar, Molly Malones. To be fair, its been probably the best backpackers I’ve been in this whole trip. Whilst the carpet is a bit psychedelic, the rooms are quite spacious, and even have their own vanity. Plus, despite the comments online about the hostel being cold, I’ve found that (ok, you had to hire your own doona) the rooms had a little portable heater in it which did the job quite well. The only downer has been the fact that I am the only female staying here, and there are about 5 or 6 boys here too – and their version of cleanliness, especially when it comes to the kitchen, is at the very least, questionable. So I’ve needed to wash the dishes before I actually use them.

Anyway, I digress. The good thing about Molly Malones is that I have been able to wash my clothes here – without having to pay for laundry detergent, too! And the dryer actually worked as well!

But back to the story at hand. Having determined that it would be best to stay 2 nights in Devonport – so I could see the North West but then be within striking distance the next day of Cradle Mountain – I set out at a reasonable hour en route to firstly Ulverstone. There is an interesting town clock there. After this, I went along the scenic old Bass Highway to Penguin, where the bins are shaped like penguins and there’s a 3m penguin statue on the beach. It was all very cute – and the scenery magnificent! I couldn’t believe that here you could have farms and beach residing together in complete harmony – and then there’s also a railway line right by the highway too! It really was very pretty.

After Penguin I popped in to Burnie, where unfortunately the lovely café with a view was closed, as recently has the paper mill which made Burnie so famous. Also I saw there though the milk processing plant for Cadbury’s chocolates – complete with sign saying they have no sales of chocolates there!

After Burnie I did a quick (since when is anything quick in Tasmania?) detour out to Fernglade. Apparently at this riverside walk they have a lot of platypus sightings – unfortunately today though, I devoted an hour of my time to this, and didn’t get rewarding with any platypus visuals. But the scenery was pleasant enough.

Alas, as has been the flavour of this trip, the time was fast getting away from me, and I was still quite a way from my goal – specifically, Stanley, and the rock there called “The Nut”. So it was back on the highway en route to Stanley – with a quick (hehehe) detour to Wynyard. At Wynyard I did a side trip out to the lighthouse and went past some of the tulip farms – but didn’t stop, as really, in winter, what is the point?

But after this there was no more dilly-dallying – Stanely was the goal, specifically the Nut, and there would be no more deviation. I arrived there about 1.30pm which gave me good time to climb the nut. The unfortunate thing was , I wasn’t really equipped for the steepness of the climb. I was wearing jeans, and not my hiking pants. Not a good look when climbing a mountain! I could have taken the chairlift but hey, you know me , I like the challenge. So I thought I’d climb up it, and get the chairlift back down. Once I got to the top, hyperventilating all the way, the views were magnificent. Its surprisingly big, the Nut – took about an hour to walk all around it, with views out to the Bass strait and along the cliffs. Spectacular. Also astonishing was the fact that there were little gullys and valleys within the Nut – lined with rather tall trees – quite beautiful.

When I returned to the start of the circuit I was quite ready to take the chair lift down, only I had forgotten my purse, having left it in the car – or so I thought. In reality I had it but didn’t know this at the time. Also, I couldn’t see anyone at the start of the chairlift and I didn’t want to get to the bottom and have to pay a fine or something – so I walked back down. It wasn’t so bad – except for the fact it was so terribly steep!

With there still being some daylight hours, I decided to put them to good use, by heading out to Highfield Point for a better view of the Nut. I did a bit of a drive around here, and then decided to head back – but detoured out to Mawbanna to go to the Blue Hills Honey farm. There I met a very lovely, very informative farmers wife who explained all the different honeys to me in great detail, and gave me a tasting of each. They were yummy! She also suggested a drive out to Dip Falls and the Big Tree, where there is a tree that is about 400 years old. It was all very interesting, but by now it was starting to get quite dark by this point, and unfortunately I still had quite a way to go to get back to Devonport.

Some 2 hours later I was back, and began to cook my tea when one of the boys started to talk to me. Turns out he was a backpacker from Germany who had been travelling around Australia for 8 months. He was a sweet young boy. We had quite a nice chat.

Again, it had been a lovely day, but boy I was bushed! I literally fell into bed, exhausted…

The Magic Backpack

There is a phenomenon, when travelling for any length of time, that enables you to continually re-wear items of clothing without the need for laundering them. This phenomenon is known as the ‘magic backpack’.

Essentially how it works is this – you wear a piece of clothing, put it back in the ‘magic backpack’, and voila! A few days later you take it out and it is ready to be worn again – clean!

Of course I’m being sarcastic, although I do know many backpackers work on this theory – that of relative cleanliness – and I myself have been trying to do the same thing for the past few days, but I have literally got to the point where there is no more denying it, the clothes have to get washed. I just can’t recycle them anymore.

Luckily at the backpackers at Devonport they have a washing machine – but unluckily, I need to wash everything – which means what do I wear whilst waiting for it all to wash? So there I was, sitting in front of the TV in the common room in my pyjamas – no mean feat considering that all the other clients at this hostel are male – and with my waterproof as a dressing gown. What a sight I must’ve been!

Can I just say though, there is nothing quite like the smell of freshly laundered clothes when you have been forced to recycle them for several days? I tell you, it’s the simple things that give the most pleasure…!

An Open Letter To Ashgrove Cheese Farm

Dear Ashgrove Cheese Farm, As an avid cheese fan, I was looking forward to my upcoming visit to you. My heart would race, and my palms would sweat at the mere mention of your name. Not because I am a fan of your wasabi cheese (although I seriously am, it is purely divine – but I can buy that at Woolworths Nundah), not because my brother in law requested that I pick up for him some “cloth matured cheddar” – no, that’s not the reason I am a fan. I’m a fan because you are the only stockist of my all-time most favoured cheese, the cheese I dream about, the cheese I simply can not buy in Australia – Wensleydale. This is without doubt the greatest cheese on the planet.

So picture the scenario. Me, a lowly Brisbane gal, have travelled thousands of kilometres just to get to your door, to taste that wonderful Wensleydale. Last year my sister brought me some back from your farm, so when I knew that I would be visiting you, my mouth was literally salivating. How much Wensleydale will I bring back? As much as I could carry? Of course! And to make that all happen, I diligently packed my little Wensleydale coolbag and little Wensleydale freezer blocks which I had purchased many years ago at the epicentre of the cheese universe, the Wensleydale Creamery in Hawes, Yorkshire. I was so terribly excited at the prospect of finally having another taste.

So excited, in fact, that I rushed through all the great Tasmanian sights as I raced up the Heritage Highway from Hobart all in one day to get to your doors on my quest for this hallowed cheese. Arriving with 30 minutes to go before closing time, I was worried I wouldn’t have enough time to make my selection.

I shouldn’t have bothered. I shouldn’t even have gone to your farm. Why? Because as I fervently scanned your shelves, desperate for that glimpse of the prize, an impending sense of doom came upon me. I couldn’t see my cheese…

Heart and pulse racing, palms sweating, I nervously approached your sales woman to enquire as to the location of the holy grail. At which point she informed me that you NO LONGER MAKE WENSLEYDALE CHEESE!!! ARE YOU MAD???!!! How can that be? What level of bureaucratic fool made that decision?

So now, as I have no other real reason to expound your delights, I shall instead delight in telling all not to bother with your little farm, until such time as reason and sanity return to the management, and you resume your production of Wensleydale cheese.

Oh what a sad, sad, day it is. And no, your "cheerful" painted cows in the front yard did very little to lift my spirits.

I remain, a terribly disappointed and heartbroken ex-customer,

Yours sincerely,

kmuki

On The Heritage Highway

On Sunday I finally left Hobart bound for Devonport. I decided to travel via the so-called ‘Heritage Highway’ because that would enable me to continue my current convict theme, and visit places of early Australia heritage – places such as Richmond, Ross, Oatlands, Campbell Town. All these locations can be found along the one stretch of road between Hobart and Launceston.

Knowing as I do that distances are deceptively large in Tasmania, I set off very early on Sunday morning, and arrived in Richmond at around 8.30am. This was no mean feat for me, I can assure you – it is holidays after all! But the problem in arriving so early is that nothing is open, so its really hard to get a feel for a place when there is no action at all. I decided to follow one of the walks in my “100 Walks in Tasmania” book, which took me past quite a lot of heritage sights – plus gave me a lot of background information to the town. For example, did you know that the district was first explored in 1803 and by 1815 settlers had arrived? Hm? Did you?

Or that it houses the oldest bridge in Australia, built in 1823 of sandstone by convict labour? Hm? All jokes aside, I found it to be a very charming town, thoroughly enjoying my walk – especially out to old St John’s Catholic church – if you have a wander through the graveyard there you see some very interesting gravestones. But I would have to say that the thing I enjoyed most about this town was the lolly shop in the old Richmond Arms hotel. You see, as kids Dad would promise us, if we did this chore, or that job, he would take us down the road to the milk bar and we could have as many malted milks as we could drink. Of course we could never ever finish even one, but we never remembered that – our little eyes would light up as we planned what flavour we’d have first, then next – and you’d better watch out, Dad, you’ll be up for a lot of malted milks! So it was with great delight that I discovered this little shop sold traditional malted milkshakes – I simply had to have one! It was just wonderful, and for just a few minutes, there in that special little town with so much heritage, I had my own little trip down memory lane. Priceless.

After that though it was on to Oatlands. En route I took the backroads, deviating off the so called “Heritage Highway”, and was treated to a magnificent array of gorgeous farmhouses and farmlands, set against a backdrop of lovely rolling hills. A little of piece of England right here in Tasmania.

Oatlands is renowned for being the town with the largest collection of Georgian sandstone buildings in one village. It was simply gorgeous. I did a quick little walk around there too, out past the old gaol (of which all that remains is the gaolers’ residence) and then around the bend to the famous Callington Mill. I met an old wino sitting outside the BWS, clearly off his face at 11 in the morning, who proceeded to tell me all about the mill, in heavily slurred speech. Hmm.

But the most pretty thing about this town was all the topiaries. They depict scenes of everyday life in Oatlands – so you get sculptured bushes representing farming, shearing – things like that. Very pretty.

Further on down the road and it was the turn of Ross to shine. My favourite part of Ross was the bridge – it, too, having been built by convicts – but they had created some interesting little carvings on the side of the bridge. I had a quick wander about that town too.

After this I then encountered Campbelltown, famous for its ‘red bridge’ – also built by convicts, and also, like the other bridges beforehand, still in use today. Them convicts, they knew how to build stuff to last, eh?

My next stop after Campbelltown was Evandale. Being a Sunday, the Evandale markets were in full swing – actually they were starting to wrap up when I got there but I still got a bit of a taste of it. Nothing on Salamanca though! The thing I really liked about Evandale was again how English it was. Narrow little streets, several churches, several pubs – all you need in a town, right? It was very quaint-looking.

Alas I was starting to get a bit of a panic on, as the afternoon was slipping away and I was still quite a way from Devonport. The thing that was starting to worry me was that I had planned today to visit the Ashgrove Cheese farm en route to Devonport – but I wasn’t sure what time they closed. How disappointing would it be to come all this way and find they were shut? What could be more disappointing than that?

Well to find out what was more disappointing than that, read the next post! Meanwhile I felt then the need to console myself with a visit to Anvers House of Chocolate, where I drowned my cheesy woes in a cup of Aztec Chili Hot Chocolate, complete with decadent gateau. Yum!

Finally I arrived in Devonport. What a long day driving! I can’t believe I left at like 8.00am and with all the stops, finally arrived about 6.00pm! I was absolutely shattered...

You Know You're Staying In A Backpackers When...

1. You need a key to go to the toilet at night – to get into the toilets! 2. You enter your room and it smells like dead dog (from the other guests backpacks!) 3. You need to make up your own bed before you can sleep in it 4. Your clothes smell of B.O. and it’s not your own 5. You are awakened ridiculously early in the morning by a bunch of Japanese faffing about rustling plastic bags 6. You are sleeping in a room with a heap of strangers and none of them speak English 7. You take a shower and the handle falls off the tap 8. You don’t get any sleep because there’s always someone with a terrible snore 9. You’re awakened in the wee small hours of the morning by a bunch of drunken hoodlums returning to the dorm – to discover the most unco-ordinated of them is sleeping in the bunk above you 10. You go to the kitchen to cook your dinner and can’t find any clean plates or utensils because the hostel is full of mostly boys who clearly don’t know how to clean up after themselves, unfortunately are not eye candy at all (alas) and who have very a dubious sense of hygiene! Yes people, I have experienced each and every one of these things on this trip!

Salamanca Saturday

Saturday in Hobart can only mean one thing – Salamanca Markets!

Beck had absolutely raved about these to me, and to be fair, I wasn’t really expecting much – I personally am not a fan of markets and didn’t really think that there would be anything special about these ones. However I was pleasantly surprised.

Whilst there still was the usual market tat that you can expect at this sort of things, there was such an array of interesting foods to try, that I found that there was plenty to occupy me. Knowing that the markets run from 8.30 – 3pm, I decided to get there early because, as I have discovered, time goes very quickly here on my TTA, and I really wanted to capitalise as much as possible on the full daylight hours. Therefore I arrived at the markets bang on 8.30am.

This was actually a bit silly, as there were still lots of stalls setting up – so even though I had a strategy about how I would walk around the market, I still ended up needing to go back over my steps at the end because new stalls had opened up which I needed to see. No matter, it was very enjoyable anyway.

I should’ve realised there would be lots of nice foods to try before I came to the market – if I had done that, I wouldn’t have had breakfast before I came! But it didn’t really matter – I managed to squeeze it all in. I’m getting a bit worried though about our upcoming cruise – having literally eaten my way across Tasmania, I’m sure my hips are expanding with each waking moment – causing issues for my cruise wear… There will be much pain and suffering I’m sure back at the gym with Andy my personal trainer! If I’ve learned one thing its this – if you gain, you pain!

Anyway, at the market I tried lots of different fudges, cookies, nougat, lollies, tempura mushrooms, dim sums, a wonderful raspberry meringue thing served with cream and coulis, and even dutch donuts (which can I just say were to die for!). I literally ate my way through the market. Soooo yummy. And still soooo much more I could’ve had. Then there was the crafts – wooden objects made of Tasmanian huon pine, knitwear, your standard Indian saris and so on, little knicky knacky noos – lovely. Plus Tasmanian honey, mustards… divine! I was in heaven…

After this, I really needed to do some exercise, so I got out my trusty “100 walks in Tasmania” book, and lo and behold, there was one for Hobart! So I checked out the Georgian buildings in Battery point, wistfully looked in the windows at the lovely Jackman and McRoss café (but being too full of market to partake), enjoyed walking through St Davids park (even reading the gravestones there which have been laid into a walkway there), then heading down to the wharves – again, I don’t see the point of Constitution Dock – then heading past the Art Gallery and National Museum, the Town Hall, Franklin Park and the GPO. I can’t believe how English Hobart is. For that matter, I can’t believe how English Tasmania is – its more English than England! Beautiful Georgian and Victorian architecture, gorgeous farmlands, luscious hillsides – add in a few drystone walls and you’ve got the Yorkshire Dales! I guess that’s why I’m loving Tasmania so much… it is just so beautiful.

Anyway, I found myself now with an afternoon free, having explored the city as much as I could. I therefore decided to make my way up Mt Wellington, seeing as the weather was actually very pleasant, and quite clear. I figured there would be some good views of the city and the harbour from up there.

It was just magnificent - except for the fact that it was practically arctic! Ok, that’s an exaggeration – as there wasn’t any snow – but seriously people, it was freezing! Of course it didn’t help that I had left my beanie in the hostel… lucky I had my gloves, fleece and coat!

Mind you, I did see some complete lunatics up there – like the Maoris who thought it ‘cool’ (literally) to take off their jumpers and take photos just in a singlet top, shorts and thongs! Clearly a few sandwiches short the picnic there!

After this, I debated whether to go to Richmond, or to take on the Huon trail. In the markets I had tentatively booked a tour of Bruny Island tomorrow – so that would mean Sunday night in Hobart still. If that was the case, then I would most likely have to skip the Huon trail – as Sunday would be Bruny Island, therefore Monday, I could achieve Richmond en route to either Strahan or somewhere north. So I decided, on Grandma’s advice, to have a look around the Huon trail. The Huon valley is a very pretty part of Tasmania. Obviously this is where they get the Huon pine from for the timber products they make, but there are also some very beautiful valleys, lakes, rivers and farms in the region. Unfortunately I didn’t have enough time to travel down to Hastings to see the caves and the glow worms, which I would have liked, but still I was pleased with what I saw.

When I arrived back at the hostel the dorm room was full. I met an interesting woman there who had lived for a time in Norway, and then in England, and was now back in Melbourne. She had an English affected Australian accent. She was much like many Aussies that I meet in backpackers – they either fall into the ‘I’m from Australia the greatest country in the world and I’m here to convert everyone else to how fantastic it is’ category, or they’re from the ‘I’m from Australia the greatest country in the world and I’m here to tell you about all the fantastic places I’ve been which are way better than anywhere you’ve been’ category. She was from the latter. I let her, for a time, have her moment of glory – and then I let her have it. Trust me, I’m from the latter too – and having visited some 52 countries of the world, I usually can win this argument. That pretty much well shut her up. That being said though, she had been on a very interesting tour of Tasmania and I managed to glean from her a new suggested itinerary for the next few days. Which of course, when I got up the next morning, I promptly changed!

But I’ve had a brilliant time in Hobart, and am really looking forward to the rest of my TTA.

Chocaholics Anonymous

When I left off yesterday basically I was en route to Hobart from the Tasman Peninsula. I had been to Port Arthur in the morning, and then made my way around the peninsula, stopping off at Tasman Arch, the Devils Kitchen, a Blowhole, and the Tasmanian Devil conservation park. I also stopped off for a quick look at Eaglehawk Neck, as well as stopping at a few lookouts along the route, which gave spectacular views of the cliffs and the bays of the Peninsula. Such spectacular views!

Tasman Arch

Cliffs at the Devils Kitchen

I actually found myself making good time into Hobart, such a change on this trip. This was just as well as I had realised pretty early on that, being Friday, today would be my best opportunity to visit the Cadbury chocolate factory – as it is, according to my guide book, only open Monday to Friday. I doubted very much that I would still be in Hobart come Monday as my fortnight would be half over and I had hoped to be heading towards the West coast by then.

The Cadbury chocolate factory is like a childhood dream come true. Literally, from the second you step in the doors, a feeling of madness takes over, as you are transported into the magical world of chocolate – like a child in a candy store. Everywhere you look is chocolate – well not literally, but there is a lot of it. The first step in transporting you back 20 – 30 years is the display of TV ads by Professor Julius Sumner Miller – famous for his totally random experiments and then linking these scientific elements to the goodness of Cadbury dairy milk chocolate – with its famous ‘glass and a half of full cream milk in every 200g block’! I mean, these days, knowing that its full cream milk – well, that’s a problem for those of us with weight watcher backgrounds. You need it to be skim milk! The second step to the madness is the actual Cadbury store itself. Its completely nuts, you go in there and you see totally mad specials everywhere – and suddenly money becomes immaterial, as you think instead about all the savings you’re making – sample bags for $6.50 (and you get to fill them yourself), 2-3 200g blocks of a variety of flavours for $6 (compared to the $3 you’d pay for just 1 in the shop!) – its just madness. So of course, I went completely overboard – buying this, that, and everything for my nephews, nieces, sisters and so on – and then I suddenly realised that I hadn’t actually bought anything for myself! Suffice to say I spent an obscene amount of money on chocolate! The thing is, if you’re buying lots of 200g blocks of chocolate – well 5 of those make a kilo, and there’s a limit to how much weight you can carry on the plane – so how to get all this lovely chocolate back for the family? Cadburys, in their wisdom, have sorted that out too – with postage and packaging deals for boxes of various sizes. That’s actually quite ingenious, because what happens is, you end up whacking more chocolate in there as you figure, well, if I’m paying for a medium size box, then I should fill it! So hence I am seriously broke after my visit to the Cadbury factory.

The thing I really liked about the factory, aside from the chocolate shop, was the presentation. Although entry to the factory cost $7.50, and you don’t actually get to see them make the chocolate, they do give you a little presentation and demonstration of how they actually make the chocolate. And they give you tastes of it at every stage, as well as lots of free samples. So it really was worth the experience – even if it cost a packet! Hopefully the nephews, nieces, sisters, and their husbands will be appreciative of the little gifts coming their way…

Surprisingly, all this took about an hour and half, and I literally left the factory at closing time (3pm in Winter). At this point I debated about heading to Richmond to have a ‘quick look’ at the buildings there – but knowing that sunset is at 4.45 or so, I figured it wouldn’t really be worth it, so I headed off for my hostel – the Tassie Backpackers @ The Brunswick Hotel.

I had thought I was being quite smart booking centrally in Hobart. That was until I realised that, the downside of that is that there is no parking. Normally for me this isn’t a problem – but I have a hire car – so I had to be a bit creative. Fortunately 2 streets away from the hostel there was a parking bay that was paid until 5pm, and thereafter was free until Monday 9am. This wasn’t the case in front of the hostel – paid until 5pm and then charging again from 9am on Saturday. So I took everything out of the car, locked it, and said a quick prayer that it wouldn’t be damaged or so on whilst I was in the hostel 2 streets away. Luckily all was good!

The hostel, whilst being quite drab on the outside, and with very dated décor inside, was quite clean (except for the kitchen – clearly people were capable of washing up their dishes but incapable of putting them away!). The dorm I was in had six beds and was quite tiny, but fortunately for the first night there was only two of us in there. The second night was more of a challenge – as it was full – and with international students who were long term in Hobart – so they had a load of luggage!

Downstairs there was the actual Brunswick Hotel – a bar with a woodfire, which made it quite cosy to sit in there in the evenings and do internetting – especially as their wifi was free.

My first night in Hobart, after checking in to the hostel, involved walking around seeing as much as possible. I headed down to Constitution Dock, which quite frankly was a bit of a disappointment – I don’t see what the hue and cry is over it really. I did however partake of fish and chips off the trawlers there (a bit overpriced in my opinion, but still quite nice). I sat on the chairs outside the trawlers and got attacked by seagulls hoping for a sliver of fish!

It soon got too cold to stay out however, so I fairly quickly headed back to the hostel for a relatively early night. After all, tomorrow is a big day…

Face To Face With The Devil

I woke up early on Wednesday in Swansea with really only a vague idea of an itinerary. Having slept on it the night before, I decided against Mr DIY Motorbike's suggested itinerary of Lake Leake (I'm sure its very pretty) in favour of pressing on towards the goal - Port Arthur. But en route, I wanted to stop off at Triabunna and find out whether there was any chance I could get a ferry to Maria Island in the next few days, as I had read about the walks there and the convict history of the place. I thought that would be a nice introduction to Port Arthur. Of course, before I even left Swansea though I had to do a bit of a walk about town - and was glad I did, as it was very picturesque. My favourite bit was when I reached a sign called Loontitetermairrelehoiner - an ancient Aboriginal walking track around the Headland - of course I had to do that!

Alas, upon my arrival in Triabunna, the Visitor's Information Centre really didn't know much more than I had been able to glean at the free internet I'd happened upon at Swansea. I know, there was a sign indicating that the internet cost $3.00 for 15 minutes or something, but seriously people, if you're going to leave a open-ended LAN wire around, you got to expect someone to plug it in to their laptop... plus Mr DIY Motorbike had even told me to do it. He reckoned he was mates with the manager and that it wouldn't be a problem. Well, I'm not one to look a gifthorse in the mouth now, am I? Especially as my USB dongle thing wasn't picking up a signal in Swansea.

Anyway, at Triabunna the VIC told me that the ferry would be running on Friday. Ok, so I quickly hunted down the backpackers in Triabunna to see if they had vacancies for tonight (Thursday night). Then common sense struck - what was there to do all day in Triabunna - wouldn't I just be better to head on to Port Arthur and re-evaluate my position from there, having confirmed the ferry sailings with the ferry company (as the VIC had advised me to do)? So I pressed on, past the lovely Orford (sooo pretty, especially the bridge crossing the Prosser River in the heart of the town), and then suddenly realised, yet again, that time was fast getting away from me, as by now it was getting on to 1230, and I was still some distance from Port Arthur, and obviously you need quite a bit of time at Port Arthur to really see everything...

I arrived at Port Arthur at about 1.40pm, and immediately it became apparent that this was way too late. As part of the "Bronze" tour pass, you get a free introductory walking tour and a free harbour cruise - but for me to be able to do both, I would have to do the last ones of the day - 3pm harbour cruise and 3.30pm walking tour... interestingly if I had been but 10 minutes earlier I could have made the 1.30pm walking tour which would have been much better. Alas, its no good crying over spilt milk, in this case, that which you cannot change, so I took a deep breath, rocked on my heels a bit, and bang! off I went to try and see everything I possibly could.

Of course, I couldn't see everything in that ridiculous time frame, but I gave it my best shot. I have to say though, the whole time, whilst I was looking at some very beautiful buildings - they are quite attractive - I felt a strange, oppressive feeling - just like I was face to face with the Devil. And in reality, when you think about all the atrosities that took place there - and I don't just mean the convict era, but also the whole Martin Bryant thing - its not surprising, is it? What acts of evil took place there! What horrors has that area seen? I felt strangely cold, and oppressed.

The harbour cruise and the walking tours were very informative, and the buildings were very interesting - and sad - especially the separate prison with the lunatic asylum attached - and even the church was quite oppressive. I did as much as I could in the daylight hours allotted, but still I hadn't scratched the surface. And of course, having literally flown down the peninsula - there were still many more sights to see... and I had, for the first time this trip, pre-booked my accommodation in Hobart...

The only thing for it, was to see if I could get accommodation on the peninsula, and then cancel Hobart. Which I did. I found a cheap bed at the Port Arthur Caravan Park - in their "bunkhouse" - for $28 or something, phoned Hobart and sorted it all out.

The bunkhouse, though, literally was a prison. Imagine a cold, dark, lino floored room, with 3 sets of triple bunk beds, and one poxy little heater. No common room - the closest thing was the camp kitchen area a short walk away - which had a TV that only operated one channel, and a fire place which didn't emit much heat. Suffice to say I cooked up my dinner, had a steaming hot shower, and jumped fair into bed.

At which point my mind started to carry away with me. Here I was in Port Arthur, the epitome of evil - what awful things could happen to me? I assure you, I did a lot of praying that night!

It was sooo cold there too, in that bunkhouse - the doonah barely doing anything to ward off the cold - so I didn't get a really good night's sleep.

The next morning I got up early and was at Port Arthur right at opening time - 8.30am - and I whipped around and finished seeing all I needed to see. I was glad that I had stayed.

After this I made my way towards Hobart, stopping off at lots of very interesting places en route - including a town where all the properties have the word "Doo" in their title - so you get "Doo Little", "Doo Drop Inn", "Doo Write" - and my favourite - "Doo F@#! All". I saw a very interesting blowhole near there, the Maingon Blowhole, as well as the Tasman Arch and the Devils' Kitchen. It was really spectacular.

And then I went to Taranna - where I came face to face with... the Devil. For real.

Yes, I saw my first Tasmanian Devil. In fact, I saw quite a few of them - at the Tasmanian Devil Conservation Park. They actually are quite cute - until you see them eat! They are capable of chewing clear through, and digesting, bone. It was quite gross...

Whilst I enjoyed my time on the Tasman Peninsula, having come face to face with the Devil on a few fronts, I can safely say that I have no desire to meet him again...

TTA Day 4: In Search of The Wineglass

I have been desperately trying every morning to get up early and get on the road quickly. So far, it hasn't happened. This is simply because, when I wake up, its just too cold to get out of bed, so I snuggle back in under the doonah for a bit. When I finally get up, its 8 o'clock or something - actually not so late when you're on holidays - but by the time I have breakfast and get on the road - its gone 9am.

This wouldn't be a problem but for the fact that everything obviously closes earlier in Winter, and also the sun sets quite early too - and obviously you don't want to be driving in the dark, because then you don't get to see anything. What's the point of hiring a car and driving around seeing Tasmania if its dark and you can't see anything?

So every night I go to bed telling myself that tomorrow will be different, I'll get up earlier and get going earlier - and every morning its the same story! Just. Can't. Do. It.

Anyway, I digress. So I finally got out out of the hostel about 9.15am - no mean feat as the boys were still asleep, and I had to be sooo quiet because the kitchen is next to their room. In fact, me being Miss Super Courteous, I didn't even use the kitchen - I went into the building next door where there was another kitchen and made my breakfast there. How considerate am I? Just wish others would be when staying in hostels.

So, I left the hostel at 9.15 and made my way down to the beachfront. I wanted to do a walk along the front there, making my way to the Whaler's Lookout and to the Bicheno Blowhole. According to the book though, this little jaunt would take 2 hours. 11.15. Half the day gone already.

So pretty early on I realised I wasn't going to be able to do the whole walk I had intended - not if I wanted to do Wineglass Bay today - and trust me, I did. I therefore hoofed it back to the car and then drove to the Whaler's lookout and the blowhole. The blowhole was kind of cool, a bit of a puff really, I had expected something a bit more impressive. But its on the list of things to see, and I can say, I saw it.

From Bicheno I headed south on the road to Freycinet (pronounced fray-sin-ay by some locals, and fresh-nay by others - so I still don't know how to say it) National Park, where the famous Wineglass Bay is. I made it by about 12.30 ish, went in and got the lowdown from the National Park people, and then headed off on the track. Being Tasmania, I was prepared for anything, so I had my day sack packed with waterproofs, water, food, fleece - and I had my walking stick too. I must've looked quite a sight! Within minutes of being on the trail all the layers had come off, it was so hot. Whilst I love bushwalking, I am not a fan of going uphill...

That being said though, it was a pleasant walk up to the lookout, and I really enjoyed it. I especially enjoyed the views over Coles Bay en route too. There really is something to be said for being out doors enjoying nature. Just love it.

Anyway, I made it to the lookout in relatively good time, and when I got there I encountered a cute Englishman and his friend who I got to take my picture. Had a nice chat to them, then they left and I sat down for a quick cuppa to enjoy the view. I can't stand how some people race up to see the next big lookout, or important sight, and then never take any time to actually appreciate it. Whilst I was enjoying the view a young couple from Geelong approached, so I dutifully took their pictures for them and had another chat. So much for a quiet enjoyment of the view.

After this, I made my way back down the track to the turn off for Wineglass Bay beach. According to the sign this was going to take 1.5 hours - and it was now getting on in the afternoon - but I decided I wanted to do it. Why come all this way and then not do as much of the walks as you can, to truly get the full experience?

The walk is very steep down to the beach, and the steps (which are just rocks spaced apart) are really large. Upon arrival at the beach I discovered a couple of wallabies. They were relatively tame and obviously used to humans - in fact one group of people were feeding them (bad people!). I wandered up the beach, marvelling at the crystal clear blue water, and then walked over to the rocks on the other side of the cove. I don't know how it is they get their beautiful orange colour, but it is very pretty.

All too soon though the afternoon was getting away and it was time to go. That's when I truly felt the pain of the journey - that is one terribly steep hill! Eventually I puffed my way up the hill and then made it back to the car - the next plan was to find a nice place to watch the sunset. I had realised that it wouldn't be good to watch it at the Wineglass lookout because the sun sets behind the back of the look out - so you can't see anything. I thought I found a good place, at Oyster bay - but then, the sun went behind some clouds and it all just fizzled a bit, so I gave up. Before this though I had made the trip to the lookout at Cape Tourville, which was pretty - some lovely views back over the bay.

Alas, the sun set again way too early and I found myself still about an hour away from my accommodation at Swansea - which meant another journey in the dark -soooo not what I wanted to do.

Upon arrival at Swansea Backpackers I literally went up and down the road several times and could not find the place. I eventually had to resort to asking in the local garage - and clearly many others had too, as he quickly drew a mudmap and told me to turn in the drive of the Bottle Shop next to the Bark Mill Tavern. And so I found it.

What an amazing backpackers! The Lonely Planet describes it as a 'flashpackers' and really, it is. Its been recently renovated so everything is very fresh, very clean, and very new. Again, I had a room to myself - a choice of 5 beds - so I well and truly spread out. I also nicked the doonah off another bed too to have a double layer, as it was quite chilly.

The clientele at this backpackers was a real mix. There was a group of Koreans who were playing Cluedo - sounded quite funny to hear "blah blah blah blah blah Professor Plum blah blah blah library"! Then there was the German hostel manager - a bloke all of about 12 - who had a few mates staying there so they were cooking up their pasta and having their beers. Then there was - and this is the only way to describe it - a derro who obviously lives there long term - long, dirty, straggly blonde hair, drunk at 530 in the afternoon, chatting up anything remotely female and breathing. Suffice to say it was lucky me who had the pleasure of his company whilst eating my dinner. Actually he wasn't all that bad, he was relatively harmless, just clearly a late 30- early 40 something year old who has never grown up - he took great delight in telling me all about this motorbike he'd imported from Japan and assembled himself.

Fortunately he got a call from his 18 year old "friend" and then went out - and I went off to bed, exhausted. Another top day...

Day 3 of TTA: Bridport to Bicheno

So when I left off, I had made a very late dash to the YHA Bridport after seeing the Fairy Penguins at Low Head, because there wasn’t anywhere backpackerish to stay there. BTW, you may be wondering about my title - TTA - well now in true kmuki style, you can't have an adventure without having a name for it. So 3 years back it was the BEAMET - Big Europe And Middle Eastern Trip - then 2 years back the MUSAC - Mexico, USA and Canada - and now the TTA - Trans Tasmania Adventure. Actually I wanted to try and name it TAA - but Tasmanian Awesome Adventure sounded just a bit lame. Oh well.

So back to the blog. I didn’t however get to tell you about the people I met in Bridport. There actually were 4 of us staying in the hostel – how they make a profit, I don’t know, but still – I was grateful that the hostel was actually open. It’s called a Youth Hostel – but none of us were youth. I think I was the youngest there, and I’m 38! I didn’t get the other people’s names, but there were 3 others – 2 men and 1 woman, and they were all on some sort of contract-type / seasonal work in Bridport. I spoke mostly to one man who was quite old and who was there with the woman (his business partner) fixing sheds or something. He told me they were from WA and every year they come over to Tas in the off season, buy a cheap vehicle, and go where the work is, staying in youth hostels on the way. Fair enough. Anyway, he gave me some suggestions for itineraries as I was trying to figure out what to do.

So the next morning I got up, sorted out some breakfast and then made my way to Scottsdale, as per the gentleman’s suggestion (to be honest, it was the only way I could go anyway). Once I got there though, the weather was absolutely miserable! Rain was literally pinging it down, as if God had suddenly decided to have a pressure shower! It was awful. I went to the Visitor Information, which is in the Forestry building, literally a ‘building within a building’ and the woman there waxed on about how it was the wrong time to visit Tas, yada yada, and then proceeded to tell me that there was no way I could do the walk I wanted to do with the hire car I have, because the road is unsealed and I just wouldn’t be able to get there. So I left the visitor centre unsure what to do.

In the visitor centre, however, amongst the brochures she had given me was a suggested driving itinerary for the region. I decided to follow that for a bit. My first stop though took me 4-5 kms down a gravel track, to a little town called Legerwood. Here there are a load of wooden carvings of scenes and soldiers from WW1, which make up the town’s War Memorial.

It was quite interesting. From here I continued back along the Tasman highway to Branxholm, site of the Red Bridge – a bridge honouring the Chinese workers who worked in the mines in this area. The area is tin mining country. The next little stop was Derby, where I was astonished to see so many ‘for sale’ signs, including one on the Anglican church and hall, which actually was quite beautiful. Here also is the oldest timber bank building in Tasmania – also for sale. After Derby I started to realise that time was again, fast getting away from me, so I pressed on towards Pyengana. En route, though, I couldn’t resist the so-called 15 minute ‘rainforest’ walk at Weldborough. Here the rainforest is made up of Myrtle ferns. It actually was very interesting, if not very wet.

Finally, about 2pm, I arrived in Pyengana. The reason for coming here was several, but mostly, because there is a cheese factory here. Not having had lunch, I decided I would stop for the quickest of bites – at least it would have been, if the waitress hadn’t blanked me because I was on my own. It was either that, or the fact that she was on her own – I don’t know. I don’t see how it makes sense to be making lattes and so on for people who are already sitting down, and ignoring the one who is in the middle of a cheese tasting session. She literally said to me, when I asked to try one of the other cheeses, “I’ll be right back” – and then went off to make several coffees and a milkshake for customers who were already being served. Very odd.

I had for lunch there some cheese and chive scones with a lump of Pyengana Cheddar. In the cheese tasting I tried several of their cheddars, including their “Devilish” cheese, which is a mild cheddar made with spicy chillies – which I ended up buying. I don’t really know why – its so blinkin’ hot!

After Pyengana I was pressing on towards St Columbans waterfall, when I came across the “Pub in the Paddock”. Literally, in the middle of nowhere, there was a pub, smack bang in the middle of some paddock! It was very unusual.

By this point, the rain had stopped somewhat, and I was able to appreciate much more the countryside I was seeing. I can not believe how much it looks like England, specifically, the north of England, my favourite part. If you added in some drystone walls, you would have the Yorkshire Dales (my all time favourite place on the planet). I couldn’t travel very quickly because around every bend there was another photographic sight!

Finally though I made it to St Columbans Falls, the longest waterfall in Tasmania. I did the quick walk down to the waterfall, which was very pretty, and then when I got to the falls I couldn’t see a thing for all the spray on my face! But I enjoyed the experience anyway.

After St Columbans it was time to hoof it to the next location – St Helens. I arrived there by about 4pm, but then started to think. Its always a worry when I do that. I began to debate with myself whether I should stay there for the night, or try to press on further down the coast. Of course I should have just stayed, but in the back of my mind, always, is the fact I only have 13 days here, and although jokingly I have, to the people in the visitor information centres, ridiculed those who try to cram in all of Tasmania in one go – I am guilty of trying to do the same thing. So I hummed, and harred, and hummed and harred, and then, as I haven’t had mobile reception for 2 days, went to the payphone to see where the nearest hostel might be outside of St Helens. Turns out it was Bicheno.

In speaking to the man I discovered that should I go to Bicheno, I would be the only person in the hostel. I should have, at that point, politely thanked the young man on the phone and hung up, but there is something attractive about being the only one in the hostel. And I did feel a bit guilted to go, on account of I had bothered to phone and so on – so I accepted the deal. That’s fine, its only an hour or so away – but sunset is around 4.30pm and who wants to drive in the dark? You can’t see anything that way.

So stupidly I hoof it off to Bicheno. That really was a waste as I didn’t get to see much of the lovely beaches en route – I saw some before the sun set – but not all. I arrived in Bicheno and struggled to find the backpackers, which was not in the position the GPS said it was. When I got there, there was no one there, and all the lights were off. Not really a good sign, but the guy had told me to go to the payphone outside reception and dial 8, which would connect to him. I did so, and he advised he’d be there in 5 minutes – but it was more like 15. I got inside eventually and sorted out my stuff. The guy had told me of a few suggested eating places, and although I had my pasta to cook, I decided to go see if I could see the penguins (who also burrow in Bicheno) and get something to eat.

When I got back to the hostel, I was quietly watching TV and using the internet when I heard someone at the door. I got such a fright when it opened and in came two burly (but cute) South African guys carrying a carton of beer over their shoulders. It really freaked me out! Turns out they had checked in not long after me, as a drive by, and had then also gone for food.

Ended up having a long chat with them, which was lovely. I particularly liked the older one! Alas, I was unable to get his number – probably just as well, as he is only visiting from South Africa…

Anyway, it had been a lovely day, but was well and truly time for bed.