Just two days into my trip I could already feel the effects of the long drives, as I struggled to raise my head from the floor to begin day three. With a slow start, I enjoyed benefits of a paid campsite, having a shower and using the basic kitchen facilities. My current early morning lifestyle fared me well however, and meant I was on the road by 8.30am despite my ‘lazy’ morning.
Young sunlight trickled toward me while I wound through undulating woodland road. Grey clouds, not yet lifted, created a moody atmosphere among the distant hills as I crossed open landscapes. By lunchtime I was emerging from the hillscape, noting the increase in wind as the eastern coast drew near.
I stopped in the town of St Helen, gateway to the Bay of Fires coastal region, wandering the streets for a leg stretch and a coffee break. Quickly realising this was not quite the coastal location I’d had in mind however, I was soon back in the car heading twenty minutes north to Binalong Bay.
Here I stopped. Really stopped. For the first time since I’d set out in the road. I cooked my lunch on a picnic table, carefully watched by a couple of local seagulls.
Fed and watered, I then headed down to the beach where I found a wonderful flat topped boulder, another resting on its back at just the right angle to enable me to lean back in comfort. Then I let my eyes drink in the surroundings, following the water as it rippled back and forth, glistening in the sunlight. A quiet stretch of sand leading toward distant deep green hills.
After my serene and rejuvenating rest, I set off south along the coastal road towards Freysinet National Park where I planned to spend the night. A drive not to disappoint, there were frequent photo stops along the way. Still, I arrived at the national park early afternoon, with yet more time to just be. To contemplate the joy of my scenery, my life.
It has to be said, there were a few questionable moments as I’d tried to work decipher the odd shaped, subtley marked camping spots within the park’s sandy woodland. But with the camping spot sussed and crucial decision to sleep in the car to reduce sand-tent exposure made, I pottered down to the inlet below known as Honeymoon Bay (my front garden for the night).
I enjoyed sunset and sunrise in that little bay, my stay accompanied only by wallabies, a startling hiss from a possum and a curious robin. In wonderful solitude I admired stunning colours dance through the water, sandstone cliffs of deep orange and yellow layers bordering the view to the south and pastel squares signifying the small town of Coles Bay to the right.
Day four, the final of my little journey, was to take me toward Port Arthur. A surprise invitation from my friend Adele meant my final night in Tasmania, as my first night, would be spent in her warm hospitality.
Firstly, my journey to Port Arthur. This turned into an adventure of its own. Leading me down a C road, which turned out to be a lengthy dirt track. Taking me through deep rural, very sparsely populated land, it was made all the more interesting by a spontaneous torrential downpour which turned the road to rivers, a downhill turn creating murky yellow veins along the track. As I drove I pondered on this being the worst weather I’d ever driven in, and the hope that my little 2wd mobile could cope with the new conditions we’d found ourselves in.
I wasn’t exactly sure what I was going to see as I didn’t have the time to go on the tour which gave an opportunity to learn about and visit the old prison. I didn’t realise until I arrived that without doing this, there wasn’t actually a whole lot you could see or experience. Not wanting to be discouraged (and willing to humour my Spanish lady sat nav who was insistent I hadn’t yet reached my destination), I continued on past the tourist magnet, down yet another random country road, more and more sure the pointless dead end was soon to meet my eyes.
Said dead end did soon meet my eyes. So, however, did an amazingly impressive view, probably all the more brilliant due to the surprise that came along with it. I had reached the Tasman Sea, Remarkable Cave and a distant view of Cape Raoul.
The rare geological value of the cave results from the collision of two rock types. Molten dolerite heated sandstone, already earthquake scarred, resulted in strata rich in orange and gold of the sandstone, contrasting against the deep purple dolerite. A variety of resilient plant life clings to the sides, tufts of green above giving the walls a fluffy, big friendly monster feeling.
As my time in Tasmania came to an end, I noted an increased awareness of the variety and vibrancy of colours surrounding me in a way I never have before. As I take more time to tune into sights and sounds around me, it’s been hard to distinguish whether this is due to the state, or the state of mind, I’m in!
