Tasmanian Forecast - "Batten Down the Hatches, Mate!"

Well, I'm being a bit dramatic, but it certainly felt that we were in the middle of a full blown gale at times!! Welcome to life in Tasmania. The country itself is beautiful, a sprawling terrain of rugged mountains, jutting snow peaks, yellow and green patchwork farmland, and soft sandy beaches. Aside from the breathtaking views, the weather is another topic altogether. As soon as I arrived, the rain gods decided that they would treat me to the best they had to offer. It drizzled, it snowed, it poured cats and dogs, it blew in sideways, it sprinkled, it hailed, it sleeted....I think we went through just about every type of precipitation known to mankind. My feet were always wet, I wore the same five layers of clothes the entire time (simply because that was all I brought with me) and, by the end of the trip, I would have gladly stuck pins and needles under my fingernails than spend another night shivering and trying to sleep in the backseat of our station wagon. On the other hand, I had a truly fabulous time and we honestly found more humor in our cold-can't feel my fingertips or toes-there is ice on

Our classy night at the art show opening

the end of my nose-living in my scarf,hat,and gloves situation than misery. Given the opportunity, I'd hop back in our green machine, nicknamed DeeDee, in a minute and do it all over again (except with a parka and three pairs of wool socks).

The tales are true. Tasy's scenery is magnificent. Sure, at times we had to struggle to see sights like Mt. Field through thick cloud cover or stand under a tree's shelter in hopes of a rare glimpse of Cradle Mountain. There were a few rare moments of sunshine. During these interspersed opportunities, one must be prepared to jump out of the heated car, rip off warm gloves and hope that fingers don't freeze while taking a few pictures. Saying this, I only brought my camera out when the rain, drizzle, fog, etc. had lifted and, well folks, that didn't happen very often. So, with the ideal pictures perhaps forming in the back of your minds as you read along, just use your imagination as I guide you along on our eight days of Tasy holiday.

Our Tasmanian adventure actually started off on the right foot. I met up with Gwenda who arrived at the Pickled Frog hostel the previous evening. I, on the other hand, caught the earliest flight available the next morning. My Melbourne hostel had a freak flood evacuation at 1 a.m. and my check in time was before the sun rose so I was desperately needing some sleep. That didn't happen. After meeting a sweetie from Manchester named Karl, the three of us trooped down to the town square in hopes of hearing live music. The band chose that particular night to take a musical break and we were left to wander around Hobart until the pubs got a bit livelier. At that point, we stumbled upon an art show opening, where, low and behold, they were serving free wine and appetizers!!! Well, as any backpacker knows, you never pass up an opportunity for free drinks and food, even if you are looking quite dingy in cargos and fleece hoodies. The rest of the "artistic community" of visitors were prepared for the night, decked out in jazzy clothes, pearls, and suit jackets. Although we looked a bit out of place, we had some wonderful conversations with many of these locals. I met a guy from Iowa who is now operating a berry farm in Tasmania (how he managed that change of career, I'm not quite sure). I'm ashamed to admit that Karl, Gwenda, and I were the very last to leave the art exhibition. We spent quite some time happily toasting the bartenders and chatting very frankly with the artist about her choices of perspective and medium. I think she found us oddly entertaining but she was probably a bit tipsy as well.

Saturday was spent preparing for our road trip. We quickly trotted down to the famous Salamanca market to sample various local cheeses and free fudge. Hobart is a homey, cute town and reminded me of the Falkland Islands. There were several fishing boats tied off at the docks, barges serving fresh fish 'n chips, and a comforting chill in the air. Gwenda tempted me with a sausage roll and I'm now a huge fan of the greasy, cholesterol filled, breakfast food. In addition, there were many items for purchase, including some cozy, wool sweaters and fun jewelry. However, the rainy weather soon had us back in the hostel, curled up on the couches with some twenty odd other backpackers, complaining about the gray clouds and watching old DVD's for the rest of the afternoon.

Sunday morning arrived too quickly and we loaded up our darling ocean green, 1950's station wagon. Our plan was to travel south to Port Arthur, up the east coast and across the top before making a circle back to Hobart. Port Arthur is an interesting, historical little place. Since Tasmania is Australia's only island and is isolated from just about everywhere else in the world, it was the ideal place to set up penal settlements. When it became a bustling penitentiary in 1830, tales of shark infested waters and patrolling guard dogs were created to deter a prisoner's escape. Between 1830 and 1877, some 13,000 convicts served their sentences in Port Arthur, many for petty crimes such as thievery or 'extreme drunkenness.' It was an captivating site with many old, crumbling buildings overlooking the bay area. By the time we arrived, the last tour had already left for the day but we were allowed to sneak through and snap a few pictures.

Freycinet National Park was the location for our first night camping. Details aside, I think Gwenda and I both slept a total of 45 minutes that night and climbed out with actual bruises on our hips and shoulders. The back of the station wagon wasn't exactly the softest place to sleep. We did, however, have a beautiful sunrise over the beach which, combined with a cup of coffee, made everything much better. Our night of tossing and turning was soon forgotten and we were on the road again. After a bit of discussion we decided to search for some sort of additional padding for our sleeping area - anything to cushion the various nuts and bolts in the backseat. We came upon a carpet shop where the owner was too happy to give us some foam underlay. I think he felt so sorry for us that he would have gladly taken us home to his wife and kids for the evening. Instead we trudged off with our underlay tucked under our arms and assured him that we would be just fine (little did we know the horrors to come)!!

I drove us north through Bicheno, a very odd little town often used by whalers and sealers during the thriving fishing times. Believing in the kindness of humanity, we asked a local hostel if we could wash our dishes and were surprised to be given a firm no. "Sorry girls, our insurance doesn't cover dishwashing." Uh-huh - that one went over my head. Instead we went to the bottle shop and picked up a 4 liter goon bag (backpacker lingo for really cheap wine). With Bicheno behind us, we headed for Wine Glass Bay. This well know Tasy icon is often captured on all of the postcards, books, and every travel brochure ever published. We had to climb a rocky little stairway to the lookout to get the proper viewing, as did about 100 other chattering tourists. The view was gorgeous - a sparkling little circular bay framed by a white sand beach. We waited our turn to snap some pictures and headed back to the car to find a spot along Cole's Bay for the night.

Another restless night followed, going something like this.....grumble, sigh, groan..."are you awake"....."yup, this really *@#*".....grumble, groan.....turn the car on for a bit of heat....shiver, shiver......"*#@*%"......"@#*%@#" ......roll over....add another layer of clothing...and on and on. I wish we had a video camera to capture the true feeling of the night's events. We could win some big money on America's Funniest Home Video's. At times I was actually getting angry at my sleeping bag.

The sweeping beaches around the Bay of Fires were our next destination. Legends say it was named when early explorers saw aboriginal fires along the shores of the bay. Here, we spent our last night of clear skies and fair weather. Gwenda and I sat on the beach for hours, enjoying the star filled skies and lapping lullaby of the waves. We spent much of the time laying in the sand trying to find the southern cross, a famous southern hemisphere constellation. Never found it. I'm convinced it was in hiding for the night but perhaps the wine impaired my judgment.

The following morning, the weather took a turn for the worse. During the next four days, we were constantly told that it was unusual weather for Tasmania and we were very unlucky to be stuck in middle of it. Oh well - life goes on. We arrived in Launceston to angry clouds and driving rain. The consensus quickly decided the weather wasn't fit to see Cataract Gorge, one of the highlights in the northern region. Instead, we snuck into a hostel for a quick mid-week shower and then spent three hours driving in circles on the various one way streets of the city. Apparently I can't navigate. After finally finding our much needed gas for our camp stove, we sped out of the city and headed north. There were several chocolate factories and cheese farms along the way, each offering tasty samples. We probably took more than our allotted share, but - really, offering free chocolate to girls is just a crime!

From that point on, I think we were thrown into the twilight zone. I half expected some little man playing the banjo to greet us as we motored west through little towns along Highway A10. The radio reception stopped working. At various points along the way we could pick up either an Israeli talk station or the Tasy political, voice your opinion in a very monotone voice radio station. There were several adds and invitations for quilting bees and line dancing lessons along the way. At one point, we seriously considered attending one of cooking and canning lessons in the little town of Zeehan. What one will do for a little excitement!!!

One rainy afternoon we stopped at an information center to make some inquires. It looked like a house but we walked up to the front entrance and rang the bell. A sweet gray haired lady answered the door, holding an equally gray poodle. She kindly informed us that the reception office was around back, wished us a pleasant evening, and slammed the door in our faces. Odd - but we shrugged and made our way through the bushes and over the wire fence to the fuchsia painted, plastic garage door. Yes, RECEPTION was clearly painted across the top. I buzzed the bell and we proceeded to spend five minutes stamping our feet like horses to stay warm while various thumps and bangs came from inside the 'office'. Guess who finally popped out from the raised door? She had taken the time to add a scarf to her leopard print pajamas and slapped on some orange lipstick, but it was our dear lady from the front door. Her attempts at fashion were much appreciated, especially since she was just smiled and said, "my, you girls look cold and wet."

We tried to be strong, but the rain won the battle. One evening we gave up the hard core camping and huddled by a roaring fire in Strahan, a quiet fishing village on the west coast. We came in with intentions to dry off by the fire before moving onward. However, we soon started conversing with some local, boisterous sailors. After a dozen pints of Boags beer, additional logs on the fire, and some Abba in the background, we decided to spend the night in good ol' Strahan. Many of the sailors kindly offered their boats to us for the evening. Their offers were temping but we declined and spent the night in the deserted carpark down the road. When we awoke the next morning and stiffly climbed out of DeeDee's trunk with our sleeping bags and various paraphernalia, the entire carpark was crowded with the day's entourage of tourists. We certainly had some stares and stifled giggles thrown in our direction that morning.

During our journey, we managed to cover most of the hot spots in Tasmania. Cradle Mountain was beautiful. We arrived in the midst of a snow storm, but waited out the wind and flurries while eating cheese and crackers in the car. The sky cleared for a minute five minutes and we rushed around to take some pictures and enjoy the scenery. Our enjoyment didn't last long before black clouds again covered the glorious snow covered peaks. Snow seemed to be our downfall this trip. While camping in Mt. Field, we awoke to ice covered windows. I'm not sure what we were thinking for we attempted to drive to the top of the mountain that morning. I got us about 3/4 of the way up, started skidding around in the five inches of snow, and decided it would be best to come back down before we seriously got stuck.

Over the days, we eventually developed a system of borrowing blankets and comforters from various hostels and hotels, using them for the night and then returning them early the next morning. Many were only too happy to help and we had several nights of semi-warmth, cuddled up with cozy quilts or duvets. This worked quite well until we arrived at New Norfolk. What a crazy place! We arrived with high hopes since it was our last stop before Hobart. We parked in the lot outside of a backpackers hostel and soon returned to the car with our arms loaded with blankets. After a quick dinner of Thai rice that we cooked in the parking lot, we ventured off to a local play. It was called "Women of the Willows" and told the background behind many of the women that were detained in New Norfolk's insane asylum during the 1800's. It was entertaining, but had an odd ending, especially with the various 'ghosts' wandering through the shadows. By then, we were in the habit of trying to stay awake as long as possible to avoid the long nights of attempting to sleep. Little towns in Tasy don't have much to offer in the evenings so we went for a few drinks at the local pub. Lucky us - there was one with a fire just down the road. A few hours of talking with some local Rugby players sped by quickly. They were on their way to a footy disco party down the street and tried to convince us to go dancing for the night. Warding off their match making attempts, we hiked back to the car and settled under our borrowed blankets for a night's sleep. Unfortunately, the sweet girl at reception spoke too soon and make a tiny mistake. To make a long story short, we were approached by security and flashlights at 11:00 pm., demanding the return of the sacred blankets. Obviously, the owner of the hostel didn't agree with her employee's kind hearted decision. At that time of night, there was no point in trying to sleep with our feather light sleeping bags so we gave up and decided to drive back to Hobart.

The night didn't improve. Our petrol tank was on empty so we hurriedly pulled into the only open gas station in New Norfolk before getting on the highway. Just as we hopped out of the car, the station's lights shut off and the attendant ran outside exclaiming that he had just closed for the evening. We tried to feign ignorance and apologize for being two minutes late, hoping that we could get a sympathy vote. He didn't fall for it. Instead he wished us good luck in hopes that we wouldn't run out of petrol on the dark, deserted highways between there and Hobart. To make matters worse, when we finally arrived back at the Pickled Frog after 40 kilometers of white knuckled, staring at the fuel indicator, praying for a miracle exasperation, reception was closed and we were left to sleep on the couches in the lobby.

That completed our road trip around Tasmania. We slept for much of the next day, simply because we had real beds and fluffy blankies. Gwenda and I were both flying back to the mainland the following afternoon. For our final night we treated ourselves to some fresh fish and chips down at the barges. Delicious!! I'm still getting use to the whole idea of using vinegar and had to make repeated trips to the counter to ask for more packets of tomato sauce for my fries. They finally just handed me a few handfuls in order to satiate me. We spent the rest of the evening enjoying the finale of the Mountain Music festival. One of the local bars was sponsoring the final event, recognizing several of the local songwriters and singers. Much of it was a kind of folk, country type of music and there was a lot of foot stomping and clapping around the room - definitely a sort of mountain music.

Tasmania was great!! Gwneda and I had so many laughs and simply random, oddly surreal, and just plain silly moments along the way. Just my luck - the day that I flew out of Hobart, the weather warmed up dramatically and there wasn't a cloud in the hot, sunny sky. I was wearing a t-shirt when I boarded the plane and had my scarf, hat, and gloves tucked away in my bag. Isn't that just a bit ironic? We can't always have the best of everything though! It's back to Melboune for me. I have to pick up my big backpack and say goodbye to some friends. Then I'm headed up the coast where the sun is shining. Gwenda and I are meeting up again in Brisbane in a few weeks and plan to tour around some of the hot spots together. More updates to follow. Happy Easter to one and all! Eat lots of chocolate and candy for me since I won't be having a visit from the Easter Bunny this year!

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