We’re going to go to Freycinet and Wineglass Bay today! It is warm and fresh and good walking weather. Trina promises me a bun from Banjo’s in Sorrell (pronounced sor-RELL, which doesn’t trip off the English tongue) and we set off for Wineglass Bay.
Sorrell isn’t very big, but Banjo’s is a little bit like Costa. They have coffee, places to sit, and many pastries and buns. I choose a Vegemite and cheese scroll (rather like a savoury Chelsea bun – yum!) and Trina looks slightly revolted… Vegemite is very similar to Marmite; you love it or hate it… I think it’s fantastic myself!
Armed with buns, we head onward; it’s the best part of 200km to where we’re aiming so not a short drive. We pass many glowering hills and tall mountains, looming, tree-lined, hazy blue in the distance. It feels like Scotland, or possibly the Peak District. Hobart Bay is pretty as we pass by; the sun shines off the blue water.
There are various interesting things to look at on the way: Downham Orchards, which seem to produce cherries; Webster’s Walnut Farm; vineyards aplenty, some of which have Cellar Doors, which we don’t unfortunately have time to investigate; Frisian horses, which look as though they’re wearing spotty jumpers and stripey trousers; a couple of sleek Morgans, which they seem to like driving here; and two squashed Tasmanian Devils, which makes us both sad. Tassie Devils are carrion-eater carnivores, not hunters, and they are attracted by all the free grub flattened on the road. Sadly, they are not terribly observant when it comes to seeing cars, and car drivers don’t tend to see their little black forms against the tarmac… when it is too late. Tasmanian Devils are rapidly dying out. They could be extinct in the wild in as little as a couple of decades, owing to the roadkill, the uncontrolled dogs and, more recently, something called Tasmanian Devil Facial Tumour disease, which is a viral cancer spread through saliva and cuts. Given that Devils often gape and snap at each other in greeting, challenge or play, the virus is easily spread and is invariably fatal in under a year.
I am amused by the number of signposts we pass which are to English places: Buckland and Orford are the first ones which catch my eye. By the time we get to Wineglass Bay we have passed signs to all of the following British places: New Norfolk, Kettering, Margate, Derwent, Hastings, Chigwell, Cadbury, Claremont, Brighton, Richmond, Tunbridge, Apsley, Melton Mowbray, Bothwell, Kempton, Broadmoor, Goodwood and Lindisfarne. We also pass signs to Jericho Jordan, Bagdad [sic] and Bangalore. It’s as if someone stuck Britain in a blender, with some global seasoning and Tassie was a glass of the rich resulting cocktail!
We also pass other interesting placenames, which are unmistakeably local: Tea Tree Rivulet, Nine Mile Beach, Wet Marsh Creek, Bust-Me-Gall Hill, Break-Me-Neck Hill, and various little rivulets and creeks, all with similarly inspired names, like Blackman’s Creek – no prizes for guessing which of the original locals turned up when they were exploring that one!
We arrive at Wineglass Bay and it is a little grey and slightly chilly. There are glowering clouds on top of some of the mountains and we are glad we didn’t decide to go up that high today. We set off to walk down to the Lookout point and beyond, to the Bay itself. We park up, and get
ready, with sunscreen and bug-repellent. On our way to the path, there is a small wallaby sitting forlornly in the car park. Apparently they do this a lot in the hope that people will give them picnics, but there are warnings about feeding them as, although they are friendly little things and don’t mind being patted and tickled in the least, to feed them is unfair as processed food gives wild wallabies something called ‘lumpy jaw’ which, frankly, sounds thoroughly unpleasant, so I just talk to him instead. He sniffs hopefully at me for a moment and then hops off on tail and forepaws to ask someone else.
I am enchanted all the way down to Wineglass Bay. There are so many different types of gum tree, various little white, honey-scented flowers on the bushes, the occasional tiny pink spire and fantastical boulders of every shape and size. Some of the gum trees look as though they are wearing a gigantic stripey sock, especially when the branches are at an angle and the bark has rumpled around it, just as it would over a carelessly bent knee. They shed their bark regularly, something to do with their flammability and the need to have their seeds germinated in intense heat, and as a consequence look quite scruffy and have different layers and different colours (silver, yellow and grey) all along the trunk.
The lookout is lovely; a vista of blues out over the ocean and the wineglass shape spread out below, sloshing lazily against the rocks. There are also some great boulders which can be scrambled upon. Good moment for an Armageddon pose!
Eventually, after trotting down many steps, and dreading the return journey as we pass sweaty, tired people on the way up, we reach the beach. It is a long curve of silvery sand, decorated here and there with seagulls, blue fish, shells and seaweed. There are one or two little wallabies (paddymelons) sniffing about in the dunes, who tolerate our presence.
We decide to scramble over some rocks to the left of the bay to have lunch. We sit and watch the other people on the beach (of which there are few).
There is a small swirl of seagulls circling over a precise point in the bay and we notice that there is a pod of dolphins, corralling fish in the bay. They are a fair distance away, but they are clearly dolphins, with their sleek, grey bodies and curving fins. How exciting!
We take a turn along the beach after lunch, and look at the view, and the creatures, and dodge the waves as we follow the line of the surf in the sand. There are fairy martens here, which dodge past us and zoom over the surface of the dunes, catching sandflies.
On the way back up, it seems rather a steep climb, though not as bad as I was anticipating, fortunately! The bushes of white flowers seem to be more honey-scented than they were before, and I notice more little pink spires and interestingly-shaped trees. A bumble-bee stops to investigate me and I peer at him; he is an ordinary yellow-tailed bimble whom, finding nothing of interest on my fingers, buzzes happily off into the flowers again. There is so much craft here, it feels as though it has been carved or painted by some proud, anonymous artist. The wind ruffles the trees gently and it is peaceful. (This is despite our wheezing as we haul ourselves back up the hill again!
I need more exercise!) There are more stripey sock trees here as the path flattens out, and we can see the rocks on the other side of the valley; they look as though they have been baked on, like meringues or chocolate marble cake with drizzled icing… A bird calls above us, it sounds like a teddy-bear squeak, and is persistent. There is a wagtail-type bird with a blue haze to it, it’s like a mutant long-tailed tit or blue wagtail, if such a thing exists. There is also the obligatory LBJ (little brown job) which is terribly hard to spot, but sings so beautifully. I wonder if he/she/it is a passerine. The light through the clouds turns the sea at the horizon spangled silver.
Sorrell isn’t very big, but Banjo’s is a little bit like Costa. They have coffee, places to sit, and many pastries and buns. I choose a Vegemite and cheese scroll (rather like a savoury Chelsea bun – yum!) and Trina looks slightly revolted… Vegemite is very similar to Marmite; you love it or hate it… I think it’s fantastic myself!
Armed with buns, we head onward; it’s the best part of 200km to where we’re aiming so not a short drive. We pass many glowering hills and tall mountains, looming, tree-lined, hazy blue in the distance. It feels like Scotland, or possibly the Peak District. Hobart Bay is pretty as we pass by; the sun shines off the blue water.
There are various interesting things to look at on the way: Downham Orchards, which seem to produce cherries; Webster’s Walnut Farm; vineyards aplenty, some of which have Cellar Doors, which we don’t unfortunately have time to investigate; Frisian horses, which look as though they’re wearing spotty jumpers and stripey trousers; a couple of sleek Morgans, which they seem to like driving here; and two squashed Tasmanian Devils, which makes us both sad. Tassie Devils are carrion-eater carnivores, not hunters, and they are attracted by all the free grub flattened on the road. Sadly, they are not terribly observant when it comes to seeing cars, and car drivers don’t tend to see their little black forms against the tarmac… when it is too late. Tasmanian Devils are rapidly dying out. They could be extinct in the wild in as little as a couple of decades, owing to the roadkill, the uncontrolled dogs and, more recently, something called Tasmanian Devil Facial Tumour disease, which is a viral cancer spread through saliva and cuts. Given that Devils often gape and snap at each other in greeting, challenge or play, the virus is easily spread and is invariably fatal in under a year.
I am amused by the number of signposts we pass which are to English places: Buckland and Orford are the first ones which catch my eye. By the time we get to Wineglass Bay we have passed signs to all of the following British places: New Norfolk, Kettering, Margate, Derwent, Hastings, Chigwell, Cadbury, Claremont, Brighton, Richmond, Tunbridge, Apsley, Melton Mowbray, Bothwell, Kempton, Broadmoor, Goodwood and Lindisfarne. We also pass signs to Jericho Jordan, Bagdad [sic] and Bangalore. It’s as if someone stuck Britain in a blender, with some global seasoning and Tassie was a glass of the rich resulting cocktail!
We also pass other interesting placenames, which are unmistakeably local: Tea Tree Rivulet, Nine Mile Beach, Wet Marsh Creek, Bust-Me-Gall Hill, Break-Me-Neck Hill, and various little rivulets and creeks, all with similarly inspired names, like Blackman’s Creek – no prizes for guessing which of the original locals turned up when they were exploring that one!
We arrive at Wineglass Bay and it is a little grey and slightly chilly. There are glowering clouds on top of some of the mountains and we are glad we didn’t decide to go up that high today. We set off to walk down to the Lookout point and beyond, to the Bay itself. We park up, and get
ready, with sunscreen and bug-repellent. On our way to the path, there is a small wallaby sitting forlornly in the car park. Apparently they do this a lot in the hope that people will give them picnics, but there are warnings about feeding them as, although they are friendly little things and don’t mind being patted and tickled in the least, to feed them is unfair as processed food gives wild wallabies something called ‘lumpy jaw’ which, frankly, sounds thoroughly unpleasant, so I just talk to him instead. He sniffs hopefully at me for a moment and then hops off on tail and forepaws to ask someone else.I am enchanted all the way down to Wineglass Bay. There are so many different types of gum tree, various little white, honey-scented flowers on the bushes, the occasional tiny pink spire and fantastical boulders of every shape and size. Some of the gum trees look as though they are wearing a gigantic stripey sock, especially when the branches are at an angle and the bark has rumpled around it, just as it would over a carelessly bent knee. They shed their bark regularly, something to do with their flammability and the need to have their seeds germinated in intense heat, and as a consequence look quite scruffy and have different layers and different colours (silver, yellow and grey) all along the trunk.
The lookout is lovely; a vista of blues out over the ocean and the wineglass shape spread out below, sloshing lazily against the rocks. There are also some great boulders which can be scrambled upon. Good moment for an Armageddon pose!
Eventually, after trotting down many steps, and dreading the return journey as we pass sweaty, tired people on the way up, we reach the beach. It is a long curve of silvery sand, decorated here and there with seagulls, blue fish, shells and seaweed. There are one or two little wallabies (paddymelons) sniffing about in the dunes, who tolerate our presence.
We decide to scramble over some rocks to the left of the bay to have lunch. We sit and watch the other people on the beach (of which there are few).
There is a small swirl of seagulls circling over a precise point in the bay and we notice that there is a pod of dolphins, corralling fish in the bay. They are a fair distance away, but they are clearly dolphins, with their sleek, grey bodies and curving fins. How exciting!
We take a turn along the beach after lunch, and look at the view, and the creatures, and dodge the waves as we follow the line of the surf in the sand. There are fairy martens here, which dodge past us and zoom over the surface of the dunes, catching sandflies.
On the way back up, it seems rather a steep climb, though not as bad as I was anticipating, fortunately! The bushes of white flowers seem to be more honey-scented than they were before, and I notice more little pink spires and interestingly-shaped trees. A bumble-bee stops to investigate me and I peer at him; he is an ordinary yellow-tailed bimble whom, finding nothing of interest on my fingers, buzzes happily off into the flowers again. There is so much craft here, it feels as though it has been carved or painted by some proud, anonymous artist. The wind ruffles the trees gently and it is peaceful. (This is despite our wheezing as we haul ourselves back up the hill again!
I need more exercise!) There are more stripey sock trees here as the path flattens out, and we can see the rocks on the other side of the valley; they look as though they have been baked on, like meringues or chocolate marble cake with drizzled icing… A bird calls above us, it sounds like a teddy-bear squeak, and is persistent. There is a wagtail-type bird with a blue haze to it, it’s like a mutant long-tailed tit or blue wagtail, if such a thing exists. There is also the obligatory LBJ (little brown job) which is terribly hard to spot, but sings so beautifully. I wonder if he/she/it is a passerine. The light through the clouds turns the sea at the horizon spangled silver.
We pause on the way back to Hobart at a little place called Honeymoon Bay. It is quite delightful. The water here is fairly still, moving only with a gentle swell, not crashing waves, and it is clear and fresh. There are barnacle-covered rocks and a few little rockpools where there are chitons, bladder-wrack of some kind, tiny fish and many periwinkle-type molluscs. It is gorgeous here, small in scale, but infinite in charm.
We begin the long trip back – tired but satisfied. I feel odd here, in Australia. It’s as if I’m missing whatever energy it is I draw from the earth when I’m in my England and it has been replaced with something different, something alien and powerful. The pulse of the earth here is stronger, the depth richer. It is almost as if it is too strong for me. It is primal and pure and feels like the difference between eating red meat and eating fish.
Anyway, there is the thought of jacket spud for later, and we will be there soon. We pass through little towns, small places, with a few scattered houses. Everyone has a different mailbox; some are kerosene cans with a slice cut out for the mail, others are little bird huts with slots, some are little more than a plastic canister on a pole. None are locked. I wouldn’t have sufficient trust to leave my mail out at the end of the gate, far from the house and unlocked!
Tasmania has many different faces; four seasons in one day in fact, as well as the different geography and types of bush. We drive back through a cloud, which wets the window and wisps past the car in little drifts. The light shafts through the clouds and touches the trees lightly.
We pass through a little town called Ross. It is very sweet, quaint and very English. It has a bridge, one of the oldest in Aus, built by freed convicts, and it looks like something out of Derbyshire – it would not look out of place near Chatsworth! I take a photograph and chuckle at the bridge in the foreground, a very English spire in the background, and right in the middle, that most Aussie of inventions, a Hills Hoist! We leave this small puddle of Derbyshire and head back into Tassie to return home. We pass topiary dancing bunnies and cows and random silhouettes of men, horses, dogs and emus. Clearly someone thought it would be fun, and his neighbours all eventually followed suit. Apparently some of them wear Santa hats at Christmas.
We are nearly there now, and the vast vistas of hills are still visible everywhere, as far as you can see, hazy in the distance. A few lazy sunbeams dance slowly across the hilltops. I feel sleepy so get fed a very sugary, fudgy sesame bar. It is very tasty, rather like a sesame snap that’s mated with a bar of gooey fudge.
We sing all the way back.
;)
I discover I like an Aussie band called ‘The Living End’ whose album is called White Noise. We see a falcon of some kind circling above the road, presumably looking for small, squeaky or hoppy things. It has a neat shape and turns sharply on a warm air current. There is a plover too, further down, strutting by the verge. Black swans sail serenely on the water near Kingston as we return. Sadly, the potato shop has just shut, ten minutes ago, so we grab a KFC (far nicer in Kingston than the last one I had – I might be tempted to try it more often now!) and sit and watch TV and chat. I see some of a comedy show I’ve only heard about called ‘Summer Heights High’, which is a very clever sketch show, depicting a revoltingly snobby girl, a gay drama teacher and a disruptive but endearing kid. They are all played by the same guy, with accompanying teachers and real kids. It’s very clever – he is an adept character-spotter, and the tone of it is rather like The Office, but currently seems to me to be fresher and funnier. It is distinctly Aussie and I can see how it has achieved cult status here.
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