A new day dawns for two Tassie tourists ...

I am a really slack blogger

2010-11-14T21:36:00.000+11:00

I apologise to those following this blog ... and I am amazed at how many there are ... for being so far behind with daily reports. Sadly many places in Tasmania have poor internet coverage and often to download pics takes hours with constant service provider interruptions. It gets very tiring and frustrating. But I promise to bring it all up to date when we get home after 9th December. Just check back after that please. Gordon and Barabara. And we still miss you heaps GUS!

The trout that got away …

2010-10-18T06:45:00.003+11:00

Having held a fascination for me over many years, I finally got to try fly fishing for trout when I moved to Melbourne in August 2009 and discovered I was very close to the headquarters of the Southern Fly Fishers Club at Highett.

Most of my life I have been a salt-water fisherman of sorts … starting in 1943 at age 5, when my mother and new step-father commenced annual camping holidays. They would fish from beach and/or rocks at places like Jerry Bailey (renamed Shoalhaven Heads in 1955), Huskisson /Jervis Bay and Coledale …all great ocean fishing spots on the NSW (Australia) south coast.

Fishermen always have hard luck stories to tell, but before I write about my most recent here in Tasmania, I want to relate not so much ”fish that got away” stories … more situations and events that occurred while on fishing holidays with my parents.

In February 1943, living conditions in Australia were tough because of the Second World War. Basic foodstuffs such as butter, flour, sugar and tea were in really short supply and only available on the production of government-issued food ration coupons.

In my step-father’s 1929 “Bullnose” Morris Cowley tourer just like this: (picture, courtesy Unique Cars & Parts)

we drove from Bondi Junction to Jerry Bailey ... a long, tough drive given the design of that vehicle and the condition of the roads.

My parents were expecting the fish they caught to be our primary food source, supplemented with locally grown vegetables.

However it was stormy all the first week, which put paid to any fishing success, and the only vegetables available in the area were SWEDE TURNIPS!

For the whole damned week, our breakfast, lunch and dinner consisted of nothing but boiled Swede turnips and stale unbuttered bread. I have never again in my life been able to even LOOK at a Swede turnip without wanting to dry wretch!

The second of my “fishing” tales is one of great tragedy. My step-father married my widowed mother when I was 4 years old. By the time I was 11, I had come to loathe him (an attitude that did change in time I must confess)

He was a miserable penny–pinching man who intensely disliked children. Because of this, we never holidayed as a family during designated school vacation time … that would be more expensive and bring him into contact with “too many noisy bloody kids”.

So my parents’ annual vacation was always in February when schools had re-opened after the six week Christmas summer break. In February of 1948 and ‘49 we camped at Coledale, south of Sydney, north of Wollongong. (Picture courtesy Surf-Sisters)

On both occasions I was enrolled for three weeks at the Coledale Public School, which sat atop a cliff overlooking the beach-level camping ground. I hated it. The local children did not like “strangers”, and the school’s curriculum, handled by one teacher taking three grades, was totally foreign to me.

The worst part however, was sitting at my desk, looking out the window and seeing both my parents enjoying themselves fishing off the beach or the northern rocks!

They didn’t do this on Wednesday 23^rd February 1949 however. The weather that day was absolutely filthy … gale-force winds, rain squalls, low cloud and ferocious waves pounding the beach.

And those on the beach that day were certainly not fishermen. They were frantically trying to launch the Coledale surf life boat into mountainous seas with little success. Several times the boat was flung high into the air and its hapless volunteer oarsmen thrown into the boiling ocean only meters from the beach. Further out to sea, just discernible in the haze, a Catalina flying boat circled low and dropped a flare.

Can't you can imagine the reaction to all this of a classroom of 9-11 year-olds. Not much school work done that day. Only late in the afternoon did we learn of the capsize during the night of the tiny (500-tonnes) blue-metal-carrying coastal freighter, “Bombo” (Photo courtesy United Divers- see link below)

with the loss of 12 of her 14 crewmen. I urge you to read the story of this disaster via this link. Use your computer’s zoom facility to make more readable the long lines of very small type. It is worth the effort because it is a true story, well told with a diver's video of the sunken Bombo.

I recently re-visited that school which occupied only 6 weeks of my life, but created memories that are forever burned into my brain.

But, back to my hard-luck trout fishing tale. Before coming to Tasmania I met Roger Butler, the principal of Red Tag Trout Tours who operates out of Kingston, a short drive south of Hobart.

He did a presentation on trout fishing in Tasmania to about 70 Melbourne enthusiasts at the Pro Angler shop in Bentleigh

After seeing what Roger was offering I couldn’t wait to get to Tasmania quickly enough to have him guide me to the big ones.

Now I must say at the outset that Roger’s service is not cheap … but let me assure you, he is worth every cent that he charges.

He picked Barbara and me up from Snug caravan park and drove us to a private dam of about 7 acres (3 hectares) with a depth of about 70 feet (20 meters) at the dam wall. The dam was well stocked with brown trout and rainbows.

Even though I had tuition with the Southern Fly Fishers, Roger first proceeded to revise what I had learned and demonstrated the correct techniques for casting under various situations.

He soon had me casting well 80% of the time and untangled the “wind knots” I created with the other 20%.

Part of Roger's instruction (all set out in a thick folder he presents to each client) is the technique for identifying the lure or "fly" most likely to attract the trout on that day. In this next picture is a live nymph Roger found under a log at the water's edge and the imitation nymph concealing a tiny hook we used in an effort to fool the fish.

After a "Red Tag' lunch, we were ready to take on the "big ones". At the deep end of the dam Roger had me casting with a dry fly, and in the background, seated in a folding chair Roger had provided for her, Barbara had the camera aimed and focused right on the lure.

Without warning, there was a huge explosion of surface water and my line tautened. (In pic above, by enlarging to full screen, you can see the fish's big tail and half his body high out of the water) Through lack of experience with fly fishing gear, I failed to raise the rod butt vertically and haul on the line in left hand at the same time ... compounding my errors by taking backward steps. For a brief moment I felt this enormous strain on the line and then nothing ...

nothing but that emptiness in the gut a fisherman feels when he realises he has "dropped" a special fish.
And it was all the more painful for both pupil and teacher when the series of shots Barbara had managed to capture were reviewed ... a much more skillful performance with camera than with rod. Score: Barbara One - Gordon Nil.

But that is the wonderful thing about fishing ... there is always tomorrow ...

Was I happy with the first day of Roger Butler's Red Tag Trout Tour? You bet your sweet bippy I was. I can't wait for the day we do the fast running stream section as soon as the weather is right.

And for this lucky couple touring Tasmania ... tomorrow a new day dawns

Where were you on 7th February 1967?

2010-10-13T07:12:00.002+11:00

(Elvis calendar courtesy a1dvorin.com)

7th February, 1967 eh?

Well, if you are 42 or younger, you hadn’t even been born.

And if you are aged 43 to 52, your memories of anything around that time are not likely to be very vivid … unless of course you were living in Tasmania on that day!

I have a pretty fair idea where I was.

Being a Tuesday, I would have been in the city working my butt off as an advertising rep for Radio Station 2SM, Sydney. I'd have been selling "time"in the new Mike Walsh "Two-Way Radio Show" ... the first REGULAR talk-back program in Australia. I had to work hard because I was supporting a wife and a son aged 6 years 4 months, another son just turned 4, a third aged 2 years 8 months and a daughter not yet 9 months old.

We were living in a dreadful three-bedroom weatherboard cottage on a huge area of land (by suburban block standards) at 24 Vine Street Hurstville, NSW Australia.

That was right in the heart of St.George Rugby League territory … a club, on that day, still basking in the glory of its history-making 11^th straight Grand Final win just 4 months earlier.

In that tinderbox-dry, 80 year old, house with it’s rusty corrugated iron roof, my wife and kids would not have stood a chance had a fire broken out … it would have burned to the ground in minutes.

So I am sure the risk of fire would have been right there, to the forefront of my mind, on the 7^th February 1967.

Yet today, 43 years later, for the life of me, I have absolutely no recollection at all of the holocaust that engulfed ¾ of the State of Tasmania that day.

Sixty two men, women and children lost their lives, and more than 900 others were injured. To comprehend the full extent of the horror, click on this link to Wikipedia and read the section headed “Death toll and damage”.

(Photo courtesy Huon Valley Council Tas)

It is all quite unbelievable.

I have wracked my brain trying to understand why I have no recollection of the disaster at all.

However, I soon realised that, back then, we did not have the level of TV news coverage we have today.

To give you some idea of how “primitive” things were, color television did not commence for another 7 years after the Tassie fires.

And come to think of it, man's first setting foot on the moon on 20^th July in 1969 was a huge black and white TV spectacular!

(The photo above is the property of Eric Berry whose permission to publish we gratefully acknowledge)

So why would I remember the Tassie bushfires? I wasn’t a regular newspaper buyer (couldn’t afford them, and had no time to read them anyway ) and I sure as hell couldn’t afford one of "them new fangled transistor radio thingies".

What was it then that triggered all this awareness of the 1967 Tasmanian bushfires now?

It was the self-drive tour Barbara and I did of some of the "Huon Valley Trail" on 30th September. Tourism Tasmania are so good at providing visitors with comprehensive maps and background data about the various geographical regions of the State.

Later on this page you will see how that trip brought home to us jut how bad those fires must have been. From our home-base at the excellent Snug caravan park, we drove south on the Channel Highway to Kettering, which is the D'Entrecasteaux Channel port for the huge ferry that services both North and South Bruny Islands.

A stop here gave us the opportunity to check out ferry times and prices for when we move across to those fascinating islands.

At this early stage of the drive we had still not come face to face with the reality of the 1967 fires, even though Kettering must have been in the thick of them.

Further south on the Channel Highway at Woodbridge we were able to engage in a rewarding conversation with a grandfather and grandson thoroughly enjoying their time together fishing off the pier. It was bitterly cold and there was lots of green cabbage weed to strangle their hooks. At least they had a small but legal-size flathead to show for their dedication.

Unfortunately we arrived on the wrong day to gain admission to an important teaching facility on the pier which forms part of the Woodbridge Public school ... namely the Marine Discovery Centre.

Sign boards tell of the wonderful benefits Tasmanian students gain from their study of marine life and the related career successes gained by former students of the school.

We were curious to also learn about what appeared to be some kind of recycled diving bell moored at the pier, but did not feel like interrupting our fisherman friends again with more pesky questions!

Our next stop was Middleton, and once again we had the opportunity to engage in an entertaining conversation with a local ... a little more entertaining for us than her apparently ... so we didn't stick around!

Two bedraggled bystanders were invited to have their say, but "no cormorant" was all we could get from them!

It was a walk along the road beside the Channel at Middleton that finally focused our attention on the ferocity of the 1967 fires.

Along the path, Kingborough Council, with the support of the local Ratepayers Association, have erected at least three informative display panels detailing the early history of the region and the devastating effect the fires had on the community. We suggest you use your computer's zoom function to view the images and read the text in the next few pics. It's fascinating stuff!

The two remaining "slip" cottages built about 175 years ago

From Middleton, the Huon Valley "Trail" next took us 4km to Barbara's favorite little spot in Tasmania ... GORDON! (Well I think that's what she said ... something about little anyway!)

If you have been following our blog you would know I love to photograph birds and at Gordon I had so much joy getting up close and personal with this tern ... he was such a poser! Could some ornithologist please leave a comment as to which race of "Sterna" it belongs.

A short distance further we found ourselves at Randall's Bay where the D'Entrecasteaux Channel is at it's widest. This looked like an ideal spot for Gordon to try once more to catch a sea trout from the beach.

Check the slide show on the right as Barbara catches Gordon in the act of being caught by a unexpected incoming wave ... talk about the Dance of the Sugar Plump Fairy!

We didn't need to look across at the the Hartz Mountains to be reminded how unseasonably chilly it was for the last day of the first month of Spring!

But the tranquility of the landscape overlooking Randall's Bay and the Channel made it all worthwhile.

With tummies grumbling about a lack of sustenance, it was time to head back North to the charming township of Cygnet, where we had heard about a very popular eatery called "The Red Velvet Lounge".

It's reputation was well deserved! The ambiance was warm and inviting ...

and the gateaux ... certainly not for "waist watchers"!

So when you find yourself in Cygnet, Tasmania, "swan" on down to The Red Velvet Lounge. You'll love it.

And for these two Tassie tourists, tomorrow a new day dawns.

The Apple Isle’s changing face

2010-10-06T15:45:00.004+11:00

(Record of activities on 27^thSeptember, 2010 but posted on above date. Apologies to regular readers for the delay but internet access can be very difficult in some places we stay)

While once famously known as the “Apple Isle”, that tag is no longer appropriate for today’s Tasmania. Changing markets and an increased diversity into other industries has seen to that. But somehow the “Atlantic Salmon Isle” just doesn’t have the same “crisp” ring to it, and, in fact, sounds decidedly “fishy”.

Aquaculture (marine farming) has for almost 20 years been the buzz word here, and whenever you are close to the mouth of any of the mighty Tasmanian river systems you are likely to find huge floating cages chocka-block with Atlantic Salmon, or other seafood delicacies.

Tasmania’s clean mineral-enriched water is just perfect for the prolific production big healthy specimens and the world demand for Tassie-grown seafood is going through the roof.

The pictures above were taken on 27th September, 2010 en route to our major destination for the day.

It is along time since Tasmania had such a cold wet September. And while everyone understands the need for rain, especially when there has been a long drought, it sure puts a damper on tourist activities.

Faced with a forecast of yet another day of cold wind and scattered heavy rain, inside somewhere seemed the best place to be, but with plenty of room to stretch our legs. Where more suitable than the largest cave complex in Australia, the Hastings Caves, north of Southport in the fabulous Huon Valley.

Mind you, the forestry road from the Huon Highway to the caves parking area (a quite considerable distance) after a long spell of rain meant "Ranndy" really getting down and getting dirty and the 4WD option certainly aided straight line forward progress!

The walk to the caves entrance from the parking area passes through magnificent rain forest, so much of which we have experienced on this trip.

I never ceased to be captivated by it, and my eyes always stray to any stream my ears have told me is concealed somewhere close by. I feel sure in that sound there is a trout whispering, "Catch me if you can!"

A guide is on hand to take visitors on a 45 minute walk through a small portion of the total underground labyrinth ... the section known as the Newdegate Cave, estimated to be 40 million year old.

In our case, the guide was Jason, whose love for the caves and passion for his work was just so obvious. Can you imagine, five to seven times a day, shepherding 30 gawping tourists, constantly blazing away with flash cameras, up and down hundreds of steps along a kilometer or so of carefully laid walkways, while you keep up a witty, yet seemingly, ad lib commentary? You would HAVE to love the work with a passion, wouldn't you, especially when the temperature is a constant 9 degrees Celsius!

Jason told us that the entrance to the caves was not found by Europeans until 1917, when timber-cutters stumbled upon it. By then, white settlers had been in the region for nigh on a century.

Over the almost-100 years since, an extensive labyrinth of caves reaching over 40 kilometers in length has gradually been explored ... only a fraction of which is accessible to anyone other than carefully-vetted permit-holding speleologists, so significant is their archaeological and paleontological importance.

I wonder if we were to go way, way, way back would we find "ole Nick" himself?

I'll bet all these people who were on the tour with us would just love to know!

Welcome to Tahune Air Walk

2010-09-30T21:39:00.093+10:00

(Record of activities on 26^thSeptember, 2010 but posted on above date)

On television shows like "Getaway", I have often seen segments on "air walks" in different parts of the world, and thought to myself, "Wow wouldn't it be great to be up there with a birds-eye view of the forest".

So it was with a great deal of excitement that I headed for the Tahune Air Walk in the magnificent Huon Valley, about a 25 minute drive past Geeveston.
The visit commenced on a slightly sour note however.
As one approaches Geeveston, there are signs very clearly indicating the way to the shopping centre to buy entry passes for the Air Walk.

Believe me ... those signs are really prominent ... you cannot miss them. Only trouble is ... the prominence stops there! I drove at snails' pace (much to the chagrin of other drivers) round the shopping centre loop several times, craning to find the actual ticket sales location. Finally Barbara spotted a piddling little sign, 5 meters above street level on the wall of the sales office. Sorry Forestry Tasmania ... not good enough! Doesn't quite meet your "consistent, clear and uncluttered signage" criteria.

Once the entry passes were sorted out, we drove the 17 or so kilometres to the Air Walk site and had ourselves "branded". Like little kindergarten kids, we presented our right wrists for an ink stamp to prove we had paid our money.

I won't bore readers with my gripes about this stupid procedure, and the time we wasted just standing around in a queue at the Air Walk visitor centre because of it, but I sure as hell will be sending a strongly worded email to Forestry Tasmania.

One of the star features at Tahune is the Eagle Hang Gliding ride. Naturally, dare-devil Barbara was busting to take the ride, but she graciously agreed to step aside so I could go.

The ride is an add-on cost to the walk, but it is worth every cent.

First you have to be kitted up with safety harness ...

and then it's off on a slow 400m climb, suspended from a steel rope strung high over the Huon River.

In the side bar on the right is a slide show of 19 in-sequence shots taken by Barbara, as I was raised over the river, and then suddenly released for an adrenalin-charged high speed return.

Another "flight", at slightly slower speed, gave me the opportunity to be the photographer:

Two children who had been waiting for their turn to "fly" were so relieved when this old guy with a grey beard finally got off. To compensate for their patience, I promised I would feature them in this blog. There you go kids ... now you can skite to your friends on Facebook you are blog stars!

Our almost 620m trek high in the tree tops, including a "H{AIR}Y WALK" out on the springboard-like cantilever section 48m above the river, is recorded in a series of pictures in another slide show in the left panel.
You'll also see photos taken along some of the magnificent trails that took us alongside and across the Huon River via two swaying suspension bridges. Barbara just loved those sus... sus ... sus ... pensions .. NOT!!! Now she cannot wait till we visit the Cataract Gorge Reserve near Launceston (yeah sure!)

So, tomorrow, a new day dawns.

One of the better kept secrets

2010-09-29T11:51:00.009+10:00

(Record of activities on 24^thSeptember, 2010 but posted on above date)

Today I am asking myself this question, "What would be the percentage of people who come to Hobart as tourists, then leave without ever setting foot inside the Australian Antarctic Division (AAD) building at Kingston, just a 15 minute drive from the CBD?".

I'll bet it is a HUGE percentage! And that's a great pity because in that building is one of the most outstanding collections of photographs, historical items, artifacts, memorabilia and interactive displays relating to Australia's long-term role in valuing, protecting and understanding Antarctica.

And the best part is that admission is comepletely FREE.

What surprises me is that it is almost impossible to find any tourist-oriented material publicising this venue. The only really worthwhile reference I could find after hours of searching the net was this from Australian Explorer.com

This short reference is all I could find in a search of the official "Tourism Tasmanian" web site:

"There is a rich collection of Antarctic memorabilia in the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery’s Islands to Ice exhibition, and our Maritime Museum; and at a small museum in the Australian Antarctic Division Headquarters in Kingston"

Even a really exhaustive search of the AAD's own website (click on link above) failed to unearth a single reference to the museum and display area at Kingston.

Had we not moved our "base camp" from the caravan park at New Norfolk to the delightfully named little township of SNUG, we may well have missed visiting the place ourselves. But when driving back and forth on the Channel Highway to inner-city attractions, we just happened to see a sign on the AAD building advertising a cafe ... no mention of "a museum". It was only our desire to learn more about the giant ice-breaker, Aurora Australis, berthed in Hobart Harbour, that triggered our interest in visiting that cafe.

Ironically it was at the AAD cafe that we found this simple brochure advertising the venue:

Talk about taking coals to Newcastle!

All the images associated with today's edition of the blog that show items inside the building (including images by other photographers) were taken over a period of 90 minutes just before closing time. Our shots go nowhere close to revealing the many wondrous items on display.

To conserve space on this page, there are 20 more images in the slide show on the side panel to the right.
When you are visiting Hobart, do your senses a favour and head for the AAD building at Kingston.

Before we visited the AAD Display Centre, we had been to Harvey Norman, 171 Murray Street, Hobart, to buy an 8GB flash drive to save all the shots we have taken with our Canon EOS 1000D (almost 2500 of them). Here we were taken care of very competently by Kirsty in the camera department (damn, didn't get a shot of her. Sorry Kirsty, but we'll make sure Gerry Harvey gets to read this anyway!)
While talking with Kirsty, we were lucky enough to have a gentleman on our side of the counter introduce himself. He turned out to be Chris, a Canon representative, and for the next 10 minutes he passed on to me some of the best tips about using my camera I could have ever learned.

Thanks Chris ... and now you have proof positive to show your sales manager that you really were in Harvey Norman Hobart at around 11am on Friday 24th September, and not at the local pub!

Later I was able to use my newly learned skills at Kingston Beach to record some great shots of one of my favourite bird species .. the sea gulls. Here are just two of them:

"Jonathon Livingston" was a most co-operative model, happy to pose for many shots close to my feet, while Kae Harradine of Canberra was a very popular visitor with the locals ... they reckoned she was extremely "gullible"!

And tomorrow for two Tassie tourists at least, a new day dawns ... it has been promised thus:

Reviving the Tasmanian Tiger

2010-09-28T10:08:00.006+10:00

(Record of activities on 22^nd September, 2010 but posted on above date)

Do you know which brewery is Australia's oldest?
If you don't, let me enlighten you ... it is Cascade.
Being perfectly honest, until Barbara and I did the grand tour of their historic premises in South Hobart I had no idea myself ... and didn't really care! Who does?
Most beer drinkers seem to have a favourite "brew" that is readily available and appeals to their taste buds and they just stick to it!
As it turns out, even before visiting Tasmania, Cascade Light was my favorite (when I can't get Guinness on tap that is). So to be able to see, taste, touch, and smell all of the ingredients that go into MY beer, then see how it was produced and packaged was an opportunity I wasn't going to miss. The more so because I was then going to be sampling it in its most fresh condition.

Tours are conducted 7 days a week pretty much all year round, but you must book in advance to be sure of a spot as they really are one of the most popular of all Tasmanian Tourist attractions. The genial Jenny Hamblin, was our guide on this particular tour.

Jenny has guided thousands of visitors through Cascade brewery over the many years she has done the job and claims to have the fittest thighs in Tasmania. I wouldn't doubt that, given the up-hill walking and stair-climbing involved. You sure as hell need a cold Cascade when it's over!
Of course before setting out there is the now obligatory donning of vests and goggles, and the run-through of factory safety precautions. The one thing you don't want to do is stray from the main party. It seems the head brewer eats alive any visitor who does.

The facts and figures Jenny came out with leave your head spinning. Can you imagine this: the factory works 365 days a year, employs a work force of fewer than 150, yet produces 4 BILLION litres of draught and packaged beer annually. She offered no statistics on the number of hang-overs that represents.

As brewing requires the highest degree of sterile processing conditions, visitors don't get to see that side of the coin. We could smell the process, of course, with that unmistakable hop aroma, so characteristic of a brewery, swirling around our nostrils each time we reached ground level. For some on the tour, ground level was where they really preferred to be. While I was shaking my head in disbelief at the size of the fermentation and holding tanks we viewed from a very safe walkway high up in the 'gods" ... there were others not enjoying the open grating underfoot quite so much.

Also present on our tour was "Pepper" or "Peppa" or "Pepa" (unlike me, I neglected to ask her for the correct spelling of her name, but that is what it sounded like anyway). She was an "official photographer" taking shots to be used on Cascade's web-site. At the rate I am getting through my intended DAILY blog pages, her shots will be well and truly up on the web before mine.

Our party's arrival in the packaging department coincided with the commencement of a new run of "long-necks" just arriving from the filling and sealing section to be labeled. What a sight! Like a battalion of toy soldiers marching to victory. I found their cacophony not unlike a forest full of cicadas on a hot summer's day.

Our inspection nearing an end, we quickly made our way past a high traffic area where even a robot "sweated" as it loaded barrel after barrel onto pallets ready for shipment. One can only imagine how many hard working men its invention would have made redundant in an era long gone.

With Hobart chilled to the marrow by the recent snow falls on Mount Wellington, it was wonderful to get back to the comfort of the Cascade Visitors Centre. Snow, by the way, is the source of the crystal clear mineral-loaded spring water Cascade still use today in the production of all its beer. Those cascades of pure water was the reason Peter Degraves, the brewery founder, chose the site on which the brewery still stands.

The story of Peter Degraves and the events leading up to, and following, the building of the cascades brewery makes absolutely fascinating reading. I strongly recommend you click on this link to see a page which, even though still under construction, tells the story.
Curiously, the web site on which this page appears was created not by Tasmanian historians, as one would expect, but by three "Banana Benders" ... Greg Jeffrys, Brad Horton and Dr Cliff Rosendahl. And haven't these talented, learned and very intelligent individuals dug up some great Australian historical material. I just love their work and so too will my good friends Colin and Jill Parker of Kew in NSW who are avid readers of my blog. With all this great research material on the net to read, is it any wonder I get so far behind with MY blog posting!
All the walking and climbing we had done meant we had worked up a real thirst. From behind the enormous bar, Jordy, a zoology student-cum-barman was happy to serve us with any of the eight beers on tap, plus an explanation of how they were different to one another.

Five of these beers are available on tap in many bars on the Australian mainland, but three can only be bought in Tasmania. Some recipes call for unique locally grown ingredients which, because of their short supply, prevent the production of large commercial quantities. And wouldn't you know it ... these were the ones Barbara and I really enjoyed most.

One brew ... "First Harvest" ... is in such short supply it is available only from the brewery itself. It contains the first crop of green flowers to come off the local hop plants each season. I have never enjoyed a beer so much in my life. This could be the catalyst which causes me to move permanently to Tasmania. (Only kidding family) Naturally, because of its short supply even in Tasmania, it is more expensive than the mass produced products.

On the walls of the visitors' centre are some great historical photos and other artworks. A legendary character from the very earliest days of the brewery was Fatty Appleton.

Our visit ended with a walk around portion of the 3 acre gardens which form such a lovely part of the Cascade Brewery.

Here we found "Tommie", the Cascade cat.

Like every feline I have ever had anything to do with, he remained totally aloof, refusing to engage in direct interaction with me.

Before departing, we just had to head back to the merchandise sales desk to buy a supply of "First Harvest" to take back to the van. Here we met the the delightfully chatty Emily ...

and before long we were exchanging ghost experiences ... she has some great ones to relate about her several visits to Port Arthur.

Now, you probably haven't noticed that not once have I made reference to the famous Cascade Tasmanian Tiger that prowls threateningly the area behind the visitors' centre bar.

I have left that 'til last because of an item I found on the web when I Googled the question "Is the cascade tiger real?" One reference that query turned up can be seen by clicking on this link. Despite my background in marketing and advertising (many years ago I admit) I had never heard of Landor or its founding father Walter Landor. I was fascinated to learn of their part in the success of Cascade as a brand today. Without Landor's intervention early this millennium, it seems Cascade may well have been headed for the same fate as their famous trademark, the Tasmanian Tiger.

So now for these two Tassie Tourists, a new day dawns.

Remember “… Old Smokey, all covered in SNOW”?

2010-09-26T07:16:00.000+10:00

(Record of activities on 20^th September, 2010 but posted on above date)

Yes, we all remember the old folk song “On top of Old Smokey, all covered in snow” … and the many parodies, including “On top of spaghetti, all covered with cheese”.

No one knows for sure who wrote the original lyrics, but I can tell you for certain that, on top of Mt Wellington today, it wasn’t CHEESE Barbara was throwing at me.

Damn, that woman played clean when I was totally defenseless with both hands on the camera.

I would have climbed the cairn that holds aloft the trig point, but I was terrified of being blown off. No …It had NOTHING to do with me being 73 years old … honest!

Hobart town sits right at the feet of Mt Wellington. On Tuesday 14th September and for the next few days, an unseasonable cold snap dumped a mass of snow on the mountain ... so much that authorities had to close off the road to the summit to allow huge plows to clear a path. We spoke with residents of Hobart aged 50 and over and they said it was only the third time in their life they could recall Mt Wellington having fff-fresh s-sssnow the sss-second week of S-SSSpring!

We felt it best to wait 'til after the weekend so that holidaying Tasmanian children would be back at school, and to avoid the weekend rush of locals and tourists who turned the dangerously narrow and steep road into one continuos car park. Naturally by the time we got up there much of the snow had melted, but it was still a wonderful sight.

Near the summit, and overlooking spectacular views of Hobart and huge expanses of the Derwent River,

there is an enclosed viewing area

housing many informative plates. These detail history of the early European settlers' love affair with Mount Wellington. One reports Charles Darwin's struggle to it's summit on his celebrated visit to Hobart in February1836. Unlike most however, Darwin was not at all impressed, complaining bitterly about the ten-hour hike, and the ineptness of his guide.

From the relative warmth of the enclosed viewing area we were able to walk down to a viewing platform suspended over the cliff face. Barbara and I found no difficulty walking out there but we heard many, especially older women, saying there was no way their vertigo would allow them to step onto to that platform with its surpringly low safety railing.

Sadly, as happens so often on the 1,271 meters high Mt Wellington, the clouds suddenly enveloped us, wiping out all the wonderful views, and leaving us to conclude that, tomorrow a new day dawns.

Gordon visits his namesake river and lake

2010-09-23T23:36:00.010+10:00

(Record of activities on 19^th September, 2010 but posted on above date)

We could not justify a visit to the West Coast of Tasmania without traveling to the hydro town of STRATHGORDON and on to the Gordon River Dam, taking in the breathtaking expanses of water that are the Gordon and Pedder Lakes.

Minus the van, we left the New Norfolk caravan park well rugged up. The grey skies and cold drizzling rain suggested the forecast of possible further light snow falls was a distinct possibility, and in fact, proved correct.

The 120km route from New Norfolk to Strathgordon took us past the entrance to the Salmon Ponds, about which I wrote in an early blog (Tassie “tigers” extinct?) and on to quaint whistle stops like Bushy Park and Maydena. On a fine day we would have also diverted slightly to take-in the lacy Russell Falls in Mt Field National Park, but the bleak conditions caused us to defer that ‘til our return trip when, hopefully, better light might prevail. (It didn't and we missed the falls ... buggar!!!)

Exiting Maydena, we were highly amused to seen a sign out the front of the town’s last house

Climbing into the high country, the landscape changed dramatically

But soon, our first glimpse of the huge Lake Pedder, that was brightened briefly by the temporary addition of a rainbow. You have to look hard!

Lake Pedder is so large and so often shrouded in mist, authorities installed navigation markers to guide boaties.
Here is one of the markers embellished by a wag who is obviously a fan of that other code of football ... Rugby League. "Para" is, of course, a rap for the Sydney-based club, Parramatta.

Closer to Strathgordon, we were surprised to come across Ted’s Beach.

Ted's Beach!!! Hundreds of kilometers from the ocean and there's a beach? Surely not!
But yes, a sandy beach, easily accessed from a low-cost camping/caravan/RV site, overseen by Tasmania National Parks.

At one-fifth the cost, the facilities here are better than some of the listed caravan parks we have encountered ...

... however a sign in the camp kitchen advises that all National Park camp fees will increase to $13 per night on 1st December this year.
I included that little piece of information especially for the benefit of Ian and Dianne, fellow members of the Australian Caravan Club, and for any others who are planning a trip similar to ours.

The details relating to the “birth” of Ted’s Beach is best told by another sign on that wall and I suggest you use your computer’s zoom facility to read this most fascinating little snippet of recent history.

Soon after leaving Ted’s Camp we arrived at Strathgordon … not exactly a ghost town, but, at this time of the year, certainly a very lonely place. Again I recommend you use your “zoom” settings to read this most informative sign we found among the deserted buildings.

I was tickled by a rhyme on that sign which some 2,000 former Strathgordon residents loved to recite:
“Dirty days hath September
April, June and November
February is quite alright
It only rains from morn ‘til night
And if any month had thirty two
They’d be bloody raining too"

Down the road apiece, we came upon the first sweeping views of the huge man-made Lake Gordon, with patches of sunlight struggling to showcase it at it’s very best

– and then – there it was – the mighty structure holding back all that mass of water – the remarkable Gordon Dam – tallest in Tasmania.

If this picture of Barbara does not truly indicate how damned cold it was ...

I reckon this next one will:

When I suggested we walk down to the dam wall, Barbara took one look at the method of access and said:

“No way, Jose”. Even the threat of dobbing her in to Dr Frank had no effect this time.

So, like Scott of the Antarctic, I set off alone

In this next picture you gain some sense of the enormity of this massive wall, as my seemingly ant-sized body gazes at the floor of the ravine 140m below.

Plum-faced and gasping to fill my lungs with the near sub-zero air, I finally made it back to “Ranndy” and the cosy and warm Barbara. “Told you it was madness” she sputtered through peals of laughter.

Since we have been here, we have had some marvelous interaction with interesting locals and the drive back to New Norfolk triggered yet another. About 27k out of Maydena on the way to the dam we could not possibly miss a make-shift camp site, festooned with signs, protesting the intended clear felling of rain forest in the Upper Florentine Valley coupe.

Now I have a confession to make. In my younger days, I watched, with disgust, the TV news coverage of, what I considered at the time, to be the harebrained actions of a bunch of unwashed dole-bludgers chaining themselves in tree houses 20m above the Tasmanian forest floor. Once their whacky protests disappeared from my TV screen, I gave no further thought to them.

But here, three decades later, I had the opportunity to come face-to-face some of these “lunatics” and find out exactly what they were/are all about. How pleased I am today that I did that.

Meet “Ces” Edwards … possibly the most caring, loving, compassionate, committed, human-being I have ever had the privilege to speak with.

About to turn 50, Ces has spent the majority of the past 30 years manning the “front line” of the non-violent protests against the destruction of Tasmania’s old growth forests. Spend a couple of hours with her and any negative attitudes you might have previously held about the protests and protestors will be dispelled forever.

How dedicated must a person be, to spend the whole Tasmanian winter in this make-shift marquee through which the wind whistled like a banshee the whole time we shared a cup of “char”.

Prior to our cuppa, Ces had guided us for a half hour along a “secret” walkway deep into the adjoining rain-forest (pictures of that walk can been seen in a slide show in the side panel on the right)

This walk brought us out on a Forestry Tasmania access-road, bludgeoned out of the virgin growth by enormous machinery that flattens everything in its path. Much of the depressing piles of debris you see in the slide show is the remains of huge trees - many of which were hundreds of years old - just like the one you can see in the slide show, adorned recently with prayer pennants by visiting Buddhist monks.

We happily donated some much needed funds to Ces’ cause, which is detailed on this site. We hope you might consider doing the same.

And for the record … there is absolutely no truth to the ridiculous rumor we heard at New Norfolk caravan park, that people manning the barricades at the Upper Florentine protest site are paid $25 an hour for their presence. You don’t have to speak to Ces Edwards for very long to realise that such a proposition is absolutely preposterous!
If only it WAS true, you’d have a smile like this all the time, wouldn’t you Ces!

And tomorrow, for two Tassie tourists, a new day dawns.

Hobart Saturday is Salamanca Market Day … what else!

2010-09-21T12:14:00.760+10:00

(Record of activities on 18^th September, 2010 but posted on above date)

We left our caravan site at New Norfolk early today because we know no one ever spends their first Saturday in Hobart without a long visit to the world-famous Salamanca Market.

To give you an indication of just how popular this market is take a good look at this photo taken at 8.10am:

Now look at a photo taken from virtually the same spot at 12.10pm … just 4 hours later:

I confess to not being a great fan of markets. Barbara loves them and visited every stall offering Tasmanian wood products like cutting boards and fruit bowls, looking for something different as a gift for a special friend. I just find markets dead boring ... full of kitschy souvenirs, ornaments, jewellery and mountains of other merchandise I would not buy in a fit!

But I don't deny I enjoyed the atmosphere of Salamanca ... I especially liked the voice of this young baritone, singing to music from a cheap-looking tape recorder, and listened to by a guy (in foreground) I will swear was an American tourist. Let's face it ... who else would dress like that on a cold Hobart morning!

But the buskers who really struck a chord with me were these talented kids calling themselves "The Pyjama Brothers" {at Salamanca Markets to create a Google reference} . If we don't see them on a future episode of "Australia, You've Got Talent" I will be most surprised.

There were a few items for sale that caused me to chuckle out loud. My friends know of my love for animals and BIRDS so the following pics will not surprise (especially not Don Hopkins!):

Whoops ... how did THAT one get into this family-friendly blog! I have to admit I really wanted to buy THAT T-Shirt, but Barbara said "What's the point. You want us always to be together, and there is no way known I am going out with you if you are wearing THAT!"
From the market our next destination was Salamanca Square, a ritzy area surrounded by up-market eateries. Sadly the one we had been recommended to visit, Mr Wooby's, had not, it turned out, been in existence for two years.

So we headed for Constitution Dock and the legendary Mures Seafood Restaurant, marveling along the way at Australia's enormous antarctic ship, Aurora Australis This towering focal point of the Hobart waterfront was launched 21 years ago this month.

Just one year earlier the replica Lady Nelson had been launched. The contrast in size of the two ships is dramatic. Given we had only recently learned of the role the original Lady Nelson played in the transportation of settlers and convicts from Norfolk Island to Tasmania in 1807/8, we were in awe of what those poor wretches must have endured in such cramped conditions.

Having missed breakfast in order to get to the market early, our tummies were now really grumbling as Mures came into view.

With an icy wind howling down off the unseasonably fresh snow blanketing nearby Mt Wellington, we were delighted to find a wonderfully cosy sunny spot on the ground floor. I was instantly captivated by a magnificent sculpture of a fish school

But sadly, that is where my romance with Mures abruptly ended. My crumbed trevalla was over-cooked, dry and tough, and the french fries were more what one would expect to be served at a truck stop in the outback. Hugely disappointed, I toyed with the idea of asking for a refund but decided a little bit of adverse publicity might be a better way of having Mures management think more seriously about their quality control. We later spoke to a couple at the caravan park who concurred with our thoughts. They said they had been disappointed on each of two visits and certainly would not be recommending the restaurant to anyone.

The Royal Botanical Gardens was next on the agenda and certainly no disappointment here. The camera shutter worked overtime and these are just three shots from a great portfolio we gathered.

The other shots can be seen in a slide show on this blog's side panel. (as soon as I can remember how to add it ... lol).

A drive over the restructured Tasman Bridge to the suburbs of Bellerive and Battery Point resulted in a different perspective of the Aurora Australis and Constitution Dock.

In the icy wind I referred to earlier, the local seagulls put on an exciting precision airshow for us ...

before slaking their thirst from muddy riverside puddles ...

After taking the time to admire one of the many luxurious dwellings that front the Derwent River ...

it was time to point "Ranndy" in the direction of New Norfolk Caravan Park.

And what a joy to come across another ornithological picture opportunity ... a Black Swan pen and her clutch of day-old cygnets. Only problem ... the cob has a passionate dislike for the paparazzi and let me know it in no uncertain terms ...

Not totally convinced "hubby's" terror tactics would work on me, "mum" headed for the river with the kids in hot pursuit

Satisfied his family were now safe, the cob sailed off majestically to join them.

And tomorrow a new day dawns!

Unbelievable ... two weeks gone already

2010-09-20T07:30:00.013+10:00

It's Friday 17th September (even though the date above will show 20th September, which is when I finally found time to post this page) and we have been on Tasmanian soil for two weeks. So many great activities happening all the time I am struggling to keep up with the daily posts.

We went on a tour of the NORSKE SKOG paper mill at Boyer (near New Norfolk) this morning. As the tourist season proper hasn't yet started, we were the only couple there. As I wrote in my last blog, no cameras or mobile phones were allowed on the tour, but I sneaked a couple of lasting images from outside beforehand.

Our guide, Denis is a really down to earth local bloke (from New Norfolk), approaching his 70th birthday. He was a worker in the chlorine plant at this mill for 30 years, back in, what he described, as the "bad old days" when the mill was doing huge environmental damage with its processing methods. After the giant Norwegian conglomerate Norske Skog took over and modernised the plant to eliminate those practices, Denis was one who took a voluntary redundancy package. After being retired and bored for some years, the company offered him a part-time job as tour guide and that he has lovingly done for the past eight years.

The "feel good" news story about Norske Skog's Boyer Plant is (like the plant) far too big for me to tell here, but if blog readers would like to know more about a company that really is doing the right thing by our environment, then this link will provide a "little" insight. But "little" is the operative word here. You will probably need to go to your "zoom" setting to read it ... the pictures and the type are so damned small! (To do that, go to "View" on your browser tool bar and click to reveal the drop down menu. Scroll down to "Zoom" and click to reveal "Zoom In". You may need to do this several times)
In a nutshell, at Norske Skog, Boyer, they turn the item on the left into the item on the right in just three hours and at no stage is any damage done to the fragile Tasmanian environment

The afternoon was spent exploring the delightful township of New Norfolk, so named after the residents of Norfolk Island in 1806/7 ... both convicts and free settlers ... were forcibly moved of that tiny island and transported to this place. Everywhere there is evidence of those early residents.

This is the Toll House and it features a roof design that was repeated frequently around New Norfolk. That roof style caused us to investigate this place which can be seen from a distance as one approaches New Norfolk from the direction of Hobart.

It turned out to be Corumbene ... a nursing home.

But to get to Corubene we had to drive through streets, on either side of which were old hospital-like buildings and a chapel in the process of being demolished. We estimated the whole area of this bomb-blitz like site to be at least one hundred acres. In the absence of any explanatory signs, our curiosity at what the place could have been, was soon satisfied by a lady picking up her child from a modern day-care facility slap-bang in the middle of all this devastation. It seems this was the infamous Royal Derwent Hospital, or as previously known, the New Norfolk Lunatic Asylum.

My son Glenn would have been in his element had he been with us. He is fascinated by the paranormal and even though I am ambivalent about such things I confess to experiencing a very queer feeling the whole time Barbara and I were on the sight. If you go to the Royal Derwent Hospital link above, Wikipedia has a whole lot of interesting stuff about what is said to be "the most haunted place in Australia". Also look at this link.

The day ended with a call at Inland Fisheries headquarters where I was able to collect 22 different maps detailing the trout fishing regions I am hoping to visit.

And tomorrow ... a new day dawns!

Tassie “tigers” extinct?

2010-09-17T07:54:00.002+10:00

What nonsense! We came across about 50 of them today! Admittedly they were only little “tigers” … 5 years old to 8 years old … and they were from Blackman’s Bay School Services Vacation Care Unit.

They all arrived by bus at one of Tasmania’s best known tourist destinations … the Salmon Ponds.

It was an absolute mongrel day weather-wise. Tasmania is currently experiencing freak Spring conditions … heavy snow falls blocking roads … unbelievably strong winds sweeping in from the Antarctic … and along the coast line, waves 17m high being recorded. How would it be at sea, being confronted by waves as tall as 5-storey buildings?

Especially in weather like this, kids, with both parents working, need some way of safely getting through the current Tasmanian school holidays,

and Bev Gibson is part of a team of jovial helpers who do a great job of keeping them entertained.

The Salmon Ponds (quoting straight off the hand-out leaflet) is the oldest trout hatchery in Australia.

After a number of failed attempts to transport them, the first live salmon and a small number of trout eggs arrived at the ponds in May 1864 … almost 150 years ago for those not too good at simple arithmetic.

Today the Salmon Ponds supply over 1 million trout per year to re-stock Tasmania’s lakes and dams.

As well as feeding the fish, visitors can feed themselves

at the famous “Pancakes by the Ponds” café … and aren’t those pancakes mouthwatering ,

especially when Sue Hutchings is in charge. What a character she is.

Between breaks in the rain, I was able to capture a few good shots

as Barbara flicked special fish feed pellets into six different ponds containing Rainbow Trout, Tiger Trout, Albino Rainbow Trout, Brown Trout, Atlantic Salmon and Brook Trout.

Can you imagine the squeals of delight as the kids walked alongside the pools doing the same thing … with huge fish breaking the surface just meters away to gobble the food.

After spending several pleasant hours observing the activity in ponds and enjoying the beauty of the magnificent English gardens from the warmth and dryness of the café, we headed for another warm dry spot … the Hobart Bowls Centre. This is a magnificent indoor facilty, about 10 years old,

at Derwent Park, and is managed by the genial Shaun Woodward.

He was able to organize a roll up for us against a couple of the local lads, Barry Young and Russell Spur. These boys really tested us and we had to produce our very best bowls to secure a win.

Actually, Barbara and I felt a little guilty about the score line especially because of the cap Russell (on right) was wearing. Go the mighty Saints tomorrow night! Thanks Shaun, Barry and Russell … it was great to meet you and we will be urging our many lawn bowls playing friends to pay you visit when they are in Hobart.
On our way back to New Norfolk caravan park, we passed this enormous building across the Derwent River we will be inspecting tomorrow ...

... the Norske Skog paper mills. This is one of the few photos we we will be able to show on the blog, as, for some reason, security is incredibly tight there, and no cameras or mobile phones are allowed on the tour. Mind you, if we had to PAY for the tour, there is no way I would be going there ... but hey, I said I would stop carping about "The Wall" didn't I!

Before going to the van for dinner, we decided to call in and have beer at the historic Bush Inn just a short distance from the caravan park. Australia wide, the Bush Inn is the oldest continually licensed hotel operating on the same site and in the same building. (Building 1815, license granted 29/9/1825).

We fronted the bar with a wonderful open fire blazing away behind us,

and ordered a couple of pots of Boag’s Draught. “We don’t sell Boag’s Draught, mate, only stubbies” was the gruff retort from the barman. “But you advertise draught out the front”, I meekly protested. “Oh that’s only a sign mate” came the barman's reply. Now I ask you ... how classic Tasmanian is that!

Then I spotted the Guinness tap. We would much rather drink that anyway, and it’s not on tap at many Australian pubs.

Invited to stroll through the many rooms that comprise the inn, we came across some incredible antiques. Barbara pointed out some delightful old brass light switches,

and what about the signs ... I just loved the “Ladies Toilet” sign pointing ladies directly to the “Sitting Room”.

But the highlight of our day was getting into conversation with a couple having a quiet beer in a room away from the main bar … a room dominated by a huge open fireplace.

In the coziness of this cloistered room and in the spellbinding hour that followed, we gained the most chilling insight into an individual known to all Tasmanians and to most Mainlanders. One of them came into daily contact with this individual and what they were able to tell us was just so disquieting. For privacy reasons I cannot write more or show photos, but for the rest of our lives, Barbara and I will carry in our minds knowledge possessed by very few other human beings.

CADBURY'S ... it's all CLASS and a HALF!

2010-09-16T01:34:00.004+10:00

(Record of activities on 15^th September, 2010 but posted on above date)

Don't look for a page dated 14th September as I didn't do one. Barbara was again unwell with a bad headache, so we spent a very quiet day in the van at New Norfolk caravan park, one of the better parks we have stayed at since we took delivery of our unit in Melbourne last February. However in the afternoon she went to massage therapist Rachael Aspery of "Joy", who had very wisely left leaflets offering her services at the caravan park office. It seems many people ... especially "gray nomads" ... suffer back and neck pain after the arduous trip from Strahan to New Norfolk. Rachael spent a whole hour working on Barbara's neck and shoulder muscles ... and voila ... today she is a new woman. I won't tell you how much Rachael charged in case she is swamped with too many clients all at once!

So today off we went to Hobart, and where in that city is the first place two "chocoholics" like Gordon and Barbara are going to head? To the Cadbury chocolate factory at Claremont of course. What a classy place that is ... CLASS AND A HALF in fact.

It cost us $7.50 each to be given the full Cadbury experience, several dollars of which we recouped immediately in gift chocolate bars. While waiting our allotted half hour "tour" to commence we just had to try a hot chocolate at the Cadbury cafe.

Our host was Al Fabian and does this man know how to make a great hot chocolate!

Barbara had the White, while mine was the Dark. In the past, any hot chocolate I have had was made either of Bournville cocoa or chocolate syrup. Forget that ... Al Fabian makes them out of genuine white and dark chocolate. He says to make them at home you just freeze your chocolate bar then put in it the food processor. This will give you fine particles of your chosen chocolate which you then spoon into a large glass. You add in enough to about 1/3 fill the glass. Then you top up with very hot frothed milk (your home cappuccino machine is ideal for this). Oh man ... is that ever a great hot chocolate!

As you would expect, everything about Cadbury's is spotlessly clean. I was so impressed to find in the public toilet a sheet on the wall, beside the exit, logging the numerous times the cleaner had worked in there that day. Each entry was countersigned by a supervisor who had inspected the work. What a contrast this was to the disgusting public toilets Barbara and I experienced at the Bega Cheese factory when we visited there before coming to Tasmania.

We left Cadbury's a whole lot wiser as to how their chocolate is produced through the efforts of some 600 obviously very happy and loyal employees like Al Fabian. Naturally we were laden down with chocolate, purchased at ridiculously low prices because we chose to buy stock that was less than perfect in shape ... good in every other way of course.

It will be obvious to readers of this blog that there was absolutely no restriction on us taking photographs inside the Cadbury building. I am still smarting at being denied that opportunity at "The Wall" the other day but promise not to harp on that subject again in this blog.

Just near Cadbury's was a little reserve teeming with ducks and geese. We stopped to photograph them and immediately made ourselves about 40 new "friends". Once out of the car with camera in hand they were following me around like little puppies.

From there we headed into Hobart CBD and were enthralled to see gardens chock-a-block with brilliant pansies used as road dividers.

What a sight!

After some shopping in the heart of town we headed in the direction of Bridgewater, which was sort of on our way to the caravan. I was busting to have a cast of a plastic lure in the Derwent River, having been told by Ted, the caravan park proprietor, that this was the ideal time of the year to catch big sea trout as they chased migrating whitebait.

I fished for an hour but, as usual, had no success. The stop at the fishing spot did however give me the opportunity to photograph what I assumed to be ...

... the Tasmanian version of a water taxi!

Ah well ... at least for us anyway ... tomorrow a new day dawns.

PS: today we added a new regular reader to the blog ... the "softest touch" car salesman in Australia ... Malcolm from Southern Mitsubishi at Moorabbin in Melbourne. I bought Ranndy from Malcolm, and, oh my goodness, was he a push-over. I screwed him down for an unbelievably good deal, and I reckon if I can do it, anyone can! So, if you are after a good deal on a new Mitsubishi, go see Malcolm.

Gordon ... it's SNOWING!!!

2010-09-16T01:30:00.010+10:00

(Record of activities on 13^th September, 2010 but posted on above date)

That was the excited call from Barbara at 7am as she pulled back the curtains and looked out the caravan window from her sick bed.

All the previous day she had had a fierce headache and finally at 7pm she called urgently for a plastic wash basin and was violently ill. Not the sort of thing you want when you are 10 days into a 14 week tour of Tasmania.

But is there any prettier sight in Nature’s elements than snowflakes drifting and swirling to the ground and laying a blanket of purest white on anything that is exposed? It’s magic! I had seen snow on the ground before, but in all my 73 years I had never seen it falling, and it was such a thrill.

Despite Barbara still not feeling well at 9am, and really needing to spend the day in bed, we decided we did not want to spend another $35 (plus $2 for showers remember) at Lake St Clair so I went through to painfully cold process of hitching “Ranndy” to “Canndy” in the snow fall.

The moment I stepped outside the van, a cheeky currawong rushed up to me looking for a feed (he was probably a cousin of the one we met yesterday at Lake Burbury). I know you are not supposed to feed the bird life in National Parks, and I could probably be sent in chains back to Sarah Island if caught, but I could not resist the photo opportunity. For all the Tasmania NP people reading this … and I know some of them do and I appreciate that … honest guys, I only gave him two small crusts of bread!

Once hitched up we left Lake St Clair with the snow still falling. It was such a beautiful experience to see the branches of the trees frosted over as on English Christmas cards.

Our next intended stop just a few kilometers down the road was “The Wall”. We had heard so much about this tourist attraction that we were full of anticipation. What we hadn’t been told was that you pay your $8.50 admission and leave your cameras outside!
To hell with that! If I am going to part with my hard earned dollars as a tourist in Tasmania, I am going to damned-well have some photographic record of it … MY photos … not crappy post cards of some wombats, or a book costing $22 with pictures of “The Wall” taken by a professional cameraman. I can’t put that on my framed slide show when I get home!

I have included a link to the web page of the creator of the “The Wall” and I invite you read what he has to say . Notice that nowhere on any of the site’s five or more pages are you advised that you cannot take photos. Sorry Greg and Tourism Tasmania … just not good enough!
Very angry and disappointed we drove on towards Hobart and discovered, what I consider, to be the real gem in the crown that is the Tasmanian Southern Highlands ... TARRALEAH
Let me make a general observation here. The drive from Strahan via Queenstown to New Newfolk may not look all that hard when you examine a map. Under normal driving conditions, 255k in a day would be “a piece of cake” for most drivers towing a caravan. But hey, these are NOT NORMAL driving conditions. This is a very tough drag. If you leave Strahan around 9.30am and do all the usual touristy things along the way, by the time you get to the signpost that indicates you need to take a bypass road to Tarraleah, most people are pretty tired (and I know for a fact this includes our new found friends, Peter and Colleen Eathers) and are likely to say "Let's give Tarraleah a miss and press on for New Norfolk"
BIG MISTAKE!

The hamlet of Tarraleah is without doubt the prettiest place we have seen so far in Tasmania. I am not going to fill up this blog page with my words trying to do justice to it. I have linked to the web page of this 300 acre privately owned village which will tell the Tarraleah story so much better than I could. Take a really good look at the site if you are contemplating a visit to this part of Tasmania. Especially check the page "Cottages at Tarraleah" and see pictures of the homes that line the main street. They are adorable. And keep this in mind ... Tarraleah has a magnificent caravan park. On the web site home page click on the "Accommodation" link and when that page appears again click on "Accommodation" and a drop down menu will appear. On the drop down click "Highland Caravan Park" and there you will see a great summary of the caravan park facilities ... and note the cost ... $26 for a powered site. Why would any caravanner stay at Lake St Clair, when this beautiful place, with magnificent facilities, is available for $11 a day less???

And you see those beautiful jonquils which grow in the front gardens of many of the Tarraleah homes? You know what I reckon they are fertilised with? The dung from these blokes:

or maybe they collect this pooh:

It is to be found everywhere on the town green and comes apparently from the dozens of wallabies and wombats that can be seen there any evening.

Reluctantly we drove away from this delightful place wishing we had stayed overnight here instead of Lake St Clair. Later that afternoon there was a very clear promise in the sky of good things to come:

You know the old saying "A rainbow in the morning, a shepherd's warning. A rainbow at night, a shepherds delight".
Tomorrow ... a new day dawns!

Moving on to Lake Burbury and Lake St Clair

2010-09-16T01:27:00.002+10:00

(Record of activities on 12^th September, 2010 but posted on above date)

We left Strahan around 9.30am and headed for Queenstown and beyond, on a highway of one thousand bends … or so it seems.

Towing a van on such winding terrain calls for 110% driver concentration which, let me tell you, is really difficult to achieve when one is passing through such spectacularly distracting terrain.

I am really glad “Ranndy” and “Canndy” (the pet names for our “tug” and van) measure only 11.10m overall, with “Canndy” taking up just under 6.00m of that. How the owners of those monster 8.00m+ vans, dragged by 5.00m+ tugs, can enjoy driving on such roads is beyond me! There are just so many tight 35kpm, and even tighter 25kpm, bends.

Mind you, fine weather would have made the journey a whole lot more relaxing, but don’t expect too much of that in this region of Tasmania. We are told that Strachan receives 3.00m rainfall annually delivered on 300 of the 365 days of the year! Boy, did those “piners” ever do it tough … wet to the skin almost every minute of the months at a time they spent in the rain forests harvesting the green gold … Huon Pine. We were unlucky enough to strike one of the 300 days, and the wipers on “Ranndy” were blinking more often than human eye-lids.We did manage to get some great shots on the way into Queenstown,

but on exiting the town, the road was so steep, so narrow and so winding it was impossible to find stopping places to safely take pictures. I would so much have loved to get close ups of some of the rock faces only feet away from the passenger’s side of the car. The colours were breathtaking. Quenstown has long been

associated with hillsides that resemble a moonscape. Since a young man I can recall seeing photographs of this region, denuded of top soil and all vegetation by the mining of copper and other precious metals. While the “greenies” may decry the rape of what was once such lush countryside, I for one could not help drinking in the strange stark rawness that now is the countryside surrounding this resource-rich town.

Oh yes … before I forget again … here is a tip. if you are coming to this part of Tasmania, leave your mobile phone at home, unless you have Telstra 3G. While Barbara’s new Garmin is a fantastic piece of equipment, it is absolutely useless here powered by Optus.
Our stay in Queenstown was only long enough to shop at one of the two excellent IGA supermarkets there. On a Sunday morning there is not too much activity in old Queenstown.

The much touted and reputedly very good value Galley Museum, even though advertised to open at 12.30, did not ‘til 2.00pm, catering for the influx of tourists on the scenic mountain train trip from Strachan.

So, with lousy weather damping our desire to do walks we might otherwise have done on a sunny day, we moved on. And here’s another tip … if your fuel tank is down a bit at Queenstown, fill up at the Caltex in the centre of town because there are no more fuel stops you can count on being open on a Sunday for quite a way!

From Queenstown the bendy roads continued for many kilometers before finally straightening out somewhat

close to the enormous man-made Lake Burbury. Here we did a left off the main drag to inspect the almost-free ($5 a night) lakeside camping and van grounds.

This is an ideal cheap alternative to normal $25 a night caravan parks for those of us set up with shower-toilets and “gennies”. Trouble is, at this time of year the ground is so sodden it doesn’t make staying here very pleasant at all.

Our visit did provide a moment of black comedy however. After shopping at Queenstown, Barbara had restocked an overhead grocery cupboard, and, for the first time ever, neglected to close the door latch properly. On arrival at Burbury camp site, she opened the van door to be greeted by sticky gherkin spread all over the floor, and the shattered glass jar everywhere. She cleaned up best she could and put the mess into a plastic bag which I duly took to the nearest rubbish bin.

In seconds, an enormous currawong landed on the edge of the bin

and proceeded to dive in to forage for the contents of the bag. His antics were hilarious and at one stage he almost managed to pull the whole plastic bag out of the bin …

no mean feat given the weight of the jar and its spilled contents. His attempts resulted in strips of plastic being ripped from the bag, which he ingested. At this point I had to retrieve the bag lest he suffered harm from swallowing more plastic.

Further down the road we came to Nelson Falls at a time when there was a break in the weather. Here we met up once more with Colleen and Peter Eathers, who had also been our neighbours at the Strahan caravan park. A short walk through unbelievably beautiful rain forest took us to the most spectacular waterfall I have ever seen.

Obviously the recent higher-than-average rainfall contributed to its beauty, and for me, this was the very best eye-candy of the trip to date. Most reluctantly I walked back to “Ranndy”, wishing I could stay close forever to such breathtaking beauty.

I was also salivating at the site of those babbling streams that rushed away from the falls, certain that such waters were harbouring trout just begging me to cast a red tag in their direction. Alas, the weather and a nasty headache that had plagued Barbara all day long, meant such action was impractical.

At this point it is worth making mention of the really functional timber and wire mesh walk-ways the Tasmanian National Parks people have built in most of their rain forest reserves. These guarantee safe comfortable access in always wet conditions.

After leaving Nelson Falls we continued on the Lyell Highway in the direction of Derwent Bridge and were thrilled to see snow on the mountains immediately to our north. We were unable to identify the mountains specifically but suspected they were Mount Alma, Mount Gell and Mount Arrowsmith. Little did we realise the significance of these sitings.

With no caravan park at Derwent Bridge and not wanting to rough it on a “freebie” site because of the bleak icy night expected at a time when my lady was not feeling at all well anyway, we headed the 4k off-road to the Lake St Clair camping and van site.
My first reaction was “Wow … look at this place!” Huge coach, caravan and car parking area leading to massive TNP visitor information centre adjoining a coffee shop big enough to rival the Burnie Makers Workshop.
However, my eye-brows shot up an inch when informed that a powered site was $35 … the most expensive by far we have encountered anywhere we have travelled in this State or Victoria and NSW.
But again because Barbara was by now quite unwell, we really had no choice but to accept.
And guess what … on top of the $35, it was going to cost us $1 each for a coin operated hot shower.

Look, I know we are in a World Heritage Area, but frankly $37 per couple to park on a mud-heap site with no water, no TV reception and an amenities block built in the 1980’s … and showing it … really is a bit rich and I strongly urge all Tasmanian visitors with vans or RV’s to give it a wide berth.

But, tomorrow, a new day dawns!

STRAHAN is just STREWN with HUON

2010-09-16T01:23:00.002+10:00

(Record of activities on 11^th September, 2010 but posted on above date)

Yesterday we arrived in Tasmania's Western-most township, STRAHAN, world capital of the remarkable Huon Pine industry. As a result of our visit, our outlook on life has taken a major turn. We now have a whole new respect for the resilience of human kind.

This came about as a result of taking the World Heritage Cruise and encountering two memorable Strahan identities … Andrew Marshall and Richard Davey.

The "Eagle's" steering wheel

Andrew is a ship’s captain entrusted with the job of piloting the “Eagle”, a 5.5 million dollar purpose-built luxury catamaran on its daily tourist journeys from Strahan jetty out to the entrance of Macquarie Harbour (known as “Hell’s Gates”) and then up the lower reaches of the Gordon River.

This magical 6-hour adventure also takes in a close-up look at several fish farms (an absolute boom industry in this State) and a tour of the infamous penal colony, Sarah Island. It also includes a walk through world heritage listed rainforest, the home of the mesmerizing Huon Pine trees. For at least three of the six hours we were afloat, Andrew reeled off a most fascinating and informative dialog that held our attention for every moment. Now, describing Andrew Marshal was quite easy for me. However ...

finding words to best describe the ebullient character that is Richard Davey, and what HE does, is quite a different matter!
Actually the name “Richard” provided a cue … a theatrical cue. Soon after watching Richard Davey in action, the name “Richard Burton” leapt to the forefront of my brain.

You see, Davey is the quintessential thespian ... an actor par excellence … and his performance as tour guide on the convict hell-hole, Sarah Island, was simply awesome and in itself worth every cent we had outlaid for the day.

I confess to having never heard of Richard Innes Davey before today and in researching background for this blog I was not at all surprised by what is written about him on Wikipedia. A click on the preceding hyperlink will reveal much more than I was able to learn in my conversation with him after the Sarah Island tour.

Well done Richard Davey and Andrew Marshall ... you have both made a real difference to our lives. Through your colourful and very professional presentations we have come to appreciate and respect the extraordinary hardships that were suffered, first of all by the convicts who laid the foundations for Tasmania's Huon Pine industry, and then by the free settling "piners" who followed them.

A visit to Tasmania MUST include a World Heritage Cruise from Strahan. But a word of advice ... there are two cruise operators offering this trip up the Gordon River from Strahan. Make sure you choose the one with the RED boat. Why? Well just ask any long-time resident of Strahan ... they will tell you!

Even BAD days are GOOD in Tassie

2010-09-16T01:18:00.004+10:00

(Record of activities on 9^th September, 2010 but posted on above date)

Today was a bad weather day in North West Tasmania. It rained constantly, quite heavily at times, and it was bleak and cold. But all that crappy weather managed to do was prove to us that even on bad days Tasmania still gives you something to feel good about. As enthusiast photographers, we captured some wonderful softly lit misty scenery. The following were taken as we travelled the Murchison Highway from Somerset to Waratah via the Hellyer Gorge.

At the Gorge there is a delightful free camping site just a short walk from the Hellyer River Bridge.

It was here that we made the acquaintance of fellow caravaners, Peter and Colleen Eathers from Townsville

in Queensland and shared a great morning tea pow-wow with them. They too had been to Stanley and climbed "The Nut" and were as gob-smacked as us at the paper mache sculptures at the Makers Workshop, Burnie.
At this camp site there were more beautiful little birds than I have even seen in one location in my life. While I cast a red tag in the hope of catching a brown trout, Barbara manned the camera and got some great shots to add to our growing ornithological picture gallery.

I am so proud of Barbara for this one. I chuckle ever time I look at this beautiful close-up of a Superb Fairy-wren hen (or male juvenile). I think it is the cutest bird shot I have seen in ages and if you zoom it to full screen size I am sure you will agree. Next, another of Barbara's shots, this time the cock Superb Fairy-wren.

And for good measure here is a bird I still have never seen "in the feathers" ... the Flame Robin. This little guy was so much harder to get into sharp close-up focus because he flitted all over the place and had disappeared by the time I came back from my luckless fly fishing attempt in a river flowing way too fast.

Peter and Coleen followed us to Waratah where all four of us were fascinated to see this sign:

The Eathers then headed off in a different direction to us, but we will keep in touch. That is one of the great joys of caravanning ... the new friends you make along the way. We decided to make our way to the mining town of Rosebery, passing through Tullah where early Australian Prime Minister, Joseph Lyons had, for a time, been Headmaster of the local school

After unhitching at Rosebery CP, I tried a spot more fly-fishing in the near-by lake of the same name.

Still no damned luck but who cares ... tomorrow a new day dawns!

OH BURNIE … you little beauty

2010-09-16T01:09:00.009+10:00

(Record of activities on 8^th September, 2010 but posted on above date)

Today it was brought home to us with a vengeance why we need every moment of the 14 weeks we have allowed for this Tasmanian tour. Take a look at these two photos:

Had someone suggested to us before our departure that we should set aside at least a couple of hours to explore this stark, austere shed-like building near the waterfront in Burnie we would have said they were crazy.
But once again the old cliche “Never judge a book by its cover” has proven to be true, and accordingly I apologise to Terroir (the Architects) and Tamara Donnellan (the Project Manager) for my first impression description of their pride and joy.
The Makers Workshop is a MUST when you are in Burnie. Inside its uninviting facade (oops ... sorry again Tamara) is an absolute treasure trove of beautifully presented historical exhibits relating to Burnie and the north west region of Tasmania. But that’s only the beginning. As the name “Makers” would suggest, here you’ll also find studios occupied by real local craftspeople creating, displaying and selling their unique wares right there before you.
I was absolutely blown away by the beauty of the handcrafted jewellery in sterling silver and art glass produced by ex-Argentinian compatriot Carmen Reuter. Look at just two of the magnificent pendants and earrings on display in her studio.

I have to confess I just could not resist buying Barbara some of Carmen’s work and the expression of joy on my darling’s face was matched only by the look on mine when Carmen revealed the price. I was expecting her to be asking hundreds more ... but I still had the temerity to ask for a Senior’s Discount ... and to my surprise it was readily granted. Before we arrived a milliner had been demonstrating her skills and my camera refused to go past her studio until I allowed it to feast its lens on these mouthwatering pieces:

Burnie of course built its name primarily on wood pulp and paper manufacture so it is appropriate that some of the most awe-inspiring exhibits in the Makers Workshop are the life-size paper mache sculptures created by Pam Thorne and Ruth Rees. The photo which follows is portion of a poster in the building and I humbly acknowledge the photographer who took the shot of these two talented ladies.

There is also a coffee shop (great cappuccino too), a Visitor’s Information Centre, plus a gift shop selling both the usual Chinese made kitsch such touristy outlets always pedal, and some surprisingly beautiful locally made keepsakes as well.
I left that place with its ugly facade (oh, sorry once again Tamara) absolutely exhilarated and so glad we had taken the time, against our better judgement, to walk through it's doors
Tomorrow ... a new day dawns

WOW … what an HONOR!

2010-09-16T00:59:00.008+10:00

(Record of activities on 7^th September, 2010 but posted on above date)

This blog has been in existence for less than a week and today I received an email from Gerald Englebretsen of Tourism Tasmania in which he says:

“Gordon – your blog is really interesting. Your pics and observations are a great read. I would be very pleased to see you craft a few words and pics for our 'Tasmanian Experiences' site
http://experiences.discovertasmania.com/
from the perspective of a (cara)vanner”.

How about that! Of course Barbara has placed an immediate ban on me appearing in any future photographs for the rest of the trip. She says my big head would look absolutely stupid and all out of proportion to the rest of my body.

Being a latter-day Melbournian and a former New South Welshman I have long been envious of the job Tourism Tasmania has done and is still doing for this great little State. Once Barbara was fully into retirement we just couldn’t wait to get here. So when I have “crafted” that special piece for Gerald, I will let you all know so you can check it out.

As for right this minute … we are about to have dinner of scotch fillet with mashed potato, onions and carrots; meat purchased from two incredibly genial guys at Hygienic Butchery in Somerset shopping centre, just up the road a bit from that town’s Beachside Caravan Park.

Now, if you know your map of Tasmania, you are going to immediately say … “but hang on Gordon, that’s less than two hours drive back towards Devonport from whence you originally came. You are never going to get all the way around and criss-cross Tasmania in the allocated 14 weeks at this rate”

I know … I know … but you see … we stuffed up. When we left Melbourne, we forgot a vital piece of computer hardware that allows us to use our laptop as a TV. A friend has mailed it to us care c/- Burnie Post Office, but we suspect the delivery man is swimming Bass Strait with it strapped to his back! So we just have to hang around ‘til it arrives.

Before we left Stanley we called in to the office at the caravan park to thank the proprietor for providing such a lovely “home away from home” for us since we arrived last Friday afternoon. We cannot recommend this park highly enough. Their location and facilities are definitely 4-star and their rate represents great value for money. Thank you so much Louise.

On the way to Somerset we stopped in to Rocky Cape National Park for an out-of-the-van lunch. What a delightful secluded beach we discovered there. It offered some great experimental photo opportunities with tight close-ups of colorful rock formations, beach pebbles and even bees on pollen-laden flowers. Barbara gave full vent to her “arty farty” side here.

I'll find a way to add a slide show of other pics we took which is eluding me at the moment

Finally we called around to have a look at Burnie Bowling Club’s new 3.5 million dollar council built indoor/outdoor complex. Holy cow …. fancy being lucky enough to be a sports club in Burnie Tasmania. Not only the bowls club, but also the footie club, the cricket club, the tennis club (and one other I have forgotten for the moment) have all had new facilities provided for them by the local council. And isn’t that going to be good for the future of lawn bowls in Tasmania. For example all the local high schools now have introduced bowls as a sport and kids who once scoffed at bowls as an old man’s game are discovering what a great sport it really is. We are going to have a roll up there tomorrow.Here are some shots of the complex:

And before closing, at Barbara's urging, I am adding a bit of "dunny" humor to the page. This morning while killing herself laughing, she insisted on photographing me attending to my "favorite" caravaning task. She says she wants her girl-friends Caroline, Patrice, Janine and Tess to see how well she has trained her little "Pooh Bear". YUK!

We did it … we climbed “The Nut”

2010-09-07T04:17:00.010+10:00

If you visit the town of Stanley in the North-West corner of Tasmania, a journey to the top of one of the island’s best known landmarks, “The Nut”, is a MUST.
For years there has been a chair lift, which really is needed by a large percentage of seniors, the infirm, and all of the down-right lazy. However that service is only available during the “tourist season”, and due to the appalling weather, this season’s opening was deferred from last weekend to next weekend, and of course we will be gone by then.
Despite Barbara’s protestations that the climb to the top (up a mostly 1 in 2 gradient pathway I should point out) was too hard, I eventually shamed her into making the effort, with a reminder of our promise to our doctor, Frank Rhodes of Moorabbin, that we would strip off at least 5kgs of avoirdupois by the time we returned to Melbourne.
The weather was absolutely perfect for the excursion ... bright sunshine … little wind … just a great Spring day. With so many scenic panoramas, naturally I took the Canon EOS 1000D. However we had already climbed the first third of the steep pathway to the top before I realised I really did need the second of the camera’s two lens, so I went back down to where RANNDY was parked and drove back to the van to get it, leaving Barbara sitting on bench, surveying the breath-taking scenery that surrounded us. She was also able to shoot pictures of the car going to and from the caravan from her vantage point. In a slide show in the blog’s side bar are all the pictures we took on the day.
To see them all in full screen size, just use your mouse pointer to click once or twice on the slide show and you should be taken to the Picasa website where you click on “View All” then “slide show” and key F11 should bring them up full size.

The picture above was taken on Sunday afternoon when it was wet and cold and the wind was so strong I was forced to sit on a bollard to prevent being blown into the water. Now here is a shot from the slide show taken from up on "The Nut" looking down at that bollard.

How’d we ever find time to WORK!

2010-09-06T01:11:00.003+10:00

Here we are, end of Day 3 in Tasmania, and already we are plunged into so many fun leisure activities we wonder how we ever found time to go out and earn a living. Two months before we came over here we bought a Canon EOS 1000D digital single lens reflex camera. What it has to offer keen amateur photographers like Barbara and me is just mind blowing.

But … and here’s the catch … this camera has so much great technology built into it, that, to discover it’s truel potential, you must spend hours with it in hand while referencing the 195 page manual. Without investing this time and effort, you may just as well have spent the purchase price (around $1,000) on jewelry or a new TV set.

So, while three days have passed and we have moved no further west than the fishing port of Stanley, (a mere 125 kilometers from our landing point at Devonport) much of our time has been spent taking hundreds photographs, then culling them until we finish up with a catalog of what we hope will prove to be better than average shots.

For example, I love to photograph birds (now come on Don Hopkins … you know damned well I mean the feathered variety!) and to capture good close-up shots can take hours. Here is what I believe to be a Little (Brush) Wattlebird.

This one kept coming to land on a sawn-off tree trunk just meters from our van and I needed many shots over a period of hours before I got one I felt worthy of showing. Shortly I will post a number of other bird shots I have enjoyed capturing. Many of the birds I am seeing I have not seen elsewhere.

On a different tack … today we were looking through a tourist guide book for the Stanley area and we came across a recipe for pan-seared Stanley scallops (everyone has head of Tasmanian Scallops and most seafood lovers have tried them battered). The recipe sounded so delicious and so easy to make we just had to try it.

Ingredients per person: 8-10 good sized scallops (roe on), small amount of olive oil, 30ml Pernod, 80ml pouring cream, sea salt ground pepper and finely chopped parsley leaves to season.

Method: 1) Heat a small frypan with a little olive oil over a hot gas flame until the pan is barely smoking, 2) add scallops and toss quickly for a few seconds being careful not to burn, 3) add Pernod and flambé, continually tossing the scallops until there is no longer flame from the pan and all the alcohol is burned off. 4) add the cream to coat the scallops generously and poach them in the pan by reducing the heat to medium at this point, 5) add the salt, pepper and parsley. 6) Reduce the cream by about one-third until the sauce is thickened. This whole process should take approx 3 – 5 mins. 7) serve with freshly baked bread and a glass of Tasmanian Sauvignon Blanc.

You will find a slide show of Gordon preparing this mouth-watering dish in the blog side panel. Tap your mouse pointer on the slide show and be taken to the Picasa website when you can view the pics in full screen size. Tomorrow … a new day dawns.

“You’re doing WHAT!”

2010-09-04T23:45:00.004+10:00

"Barbara and I are touring Tasmania in our caravan for 14 weeks.”

“And what are you planning to do on the SECOND day?”

That was the reaction most often encountered when we first told friends about our great adventure to the littlest State of Australia.

We had booked a twin berth on the Spirit of Tasmania, and when the freight costs for our Mitsubishi Outlander and Adria 432PX van were added, we were out of pocket to the tune of $1,500. Hence our decision to stay 14 weeks on the island; with such a hefty initial outlay, we are highly unlikely to ever make the trip again.

Planning mode had lasted for months. There were essential requirements such as house/dog-sitters for the Gus boy, the safe care of an ailing Eileen, the automatic payment of recurring bills, plus numerous other chores, not the least of which was the weight-conscious selection of clothing, provisions and equipment for the trip.

Of course special attention had been given to the greatest fear both of us had … the dreaded ‘mal de mer’. Bass Strait has a reputation for bringing out the best in people … the best breakfast, the best lunch, and so on. So we spent up big on Blackmore’s “Travel Calm”, plus “Kwells”, and even glace ginger as well. Not sure if all that medication worked or whether it was just a low-swell sea on September 2, but thankfully we crossed the ditch without the slightest hint of nausea.

Neither of us had been on the “Spirit” before so we were really impressed by what was on offer. The highlight was the dining room meal … prepared, quite obviously, by a very talented chef, plus the magnificent Pinot Noir from Tasmanian winery “Ninth Island.” We can’t wait to get to their winery in the Tamar Valley region to stock up on that red.

Embarking and disembarking was an interesting exercise. First there were the security checks on the car and van. Would you believe I had 3 litres of petrol in a proper plastic container designed specifically to prevent fumes and spillage? But was I allowed to take this on board? Uh uh ...

“Tip the petrol into your vehicle’s tank please sir, and then fill your plastic jerry can all the way with water.” There must have been 50,000 litres or more of petrol slopping around in the fuel tanks of the vehicles on board and they are concerned about my miniscule 3 litres sealed in a can specifically designed for its safety. What a joke!

On the advice of several people, we held back a distance at the Melbourne sea terminal to observe the loading of vehicles from 5pm for the 7.30pm sailing.

By doing this we were able to be one of the last on and first off. Fat lot of good that did us when we lined up for the sniffer-dog quarantine check in Devonport … the inspectors pulling vehicles out of the line behind us and pushing them through ahead of us. A case of whom you know rather than what you know?

But the wait was worth it. We decided to start our tour of the Island in the North West corner and headed along the Bass Highway to Burnie, Wynyard and all points in that direction at a leisurely pace.

Having been roused from our bunks at 5.40am and with little time for food before we took up station at our vehicle for the 6.30am roll-off, it seemed like a great idea to pause for morning tea in the delightful little sea-side township of Penguin. The bakery there had gateaux to die for and we devoured them with van-brewed coffee … savoring with appreciative tongues the whipped cream that clung to our lips.

At this point Barbara decided that the toilet in the van, which had worked so well on all our previous breaking-in trips, was the next stop she needed to make. Shock, horror … the lever that slides the cassette lid open just would not budge! Oh great! Just finished sponge cake and whipped cream and I have to drag the toilet cassette from its housing and try to release a jammed lid. Try as I might, the damned thing would not work.

And this is where a great relationship with the van dealer at Frankston, Scott Webster of Melbourne and European RV’s, proved so worthwhile. I rang Scott, told him of my huge Tasmanian dilemma and was delighted to hear him say, “No worries Gordon … we’ll get help for you. I will ring you back in a few minutes and tell you where to take the van.”

Oh boy … how many kilometers is this going to add to the trip before we have barely got under way I wondered.

True to his word the mobile rang after 10 minutes:

“OK mate … do you know where the town of Penguin is?”

“Do I what … we are parked in the main street!”

Of five agents listed in Tasmania, Scott had made contact with one about 800m from us.

“Go to Penguin Composites, see Julie and she will get the job done right away and send me the bill.”

A half hour later we were relieved to be on our way again … Barbara especially so! Scott, you are a champion … you can expect to get plenty of customers referred by this happy couple in the future.

So Tasmania is famous for its narrow winding roads, eh. Those who hold that image dear must never have travelled from Devonport to Stanley. Dual 110kph highway most of the way thoroughly enjoyed by us who never go over 85kph towing the van anyway.

Because of our unhurried relaxed itinerary we were able to call into the delightful little seaside village, Boat Harbour and the even more beautiful Sisters River where the Penguin Bakery’s sour dough bread was the basis of some scrumptious sanwiches.

While the radio was telling us that Victoria was copping a deluge, the skies over North West Tassie were starting to look decidedly threatening and with rising wind gusts tugging the van around a little bit, we decided the 4-star rated caravan park at Stanley seemed a good option. And that is where this first episode of our blog is coming from.

Stanley has the reputation for giving up some of the best crayfish (lobsters) in the world, and isn’t that reputation deserved. Before the rains came we went to fish co-op and bought a cooked-that-morning .7kg specimen from their huge stock of live crays, and I have to tell you, never have I enjoyed lobster so much. Mind you, we won’t be outlaying $70 for just one denizen of the deep too often … but how could you visit Stanley, Tasmania and not try their specialty. And so that covers our first day on the Island.

Our second day was spent sheltering in the van from non-stop rain and wind, but we would have suffered that fate in Melbourne anyway and not enjoyed ourselves anywhere near as much. Tomorrow … a new day dawns!