Down to Tassie

We had a fast run back to Melbourne stopping a couple of times for the essential caffeine top up and then collected the special washers from Ritters, made our way to the docks and boarded the Spirit of Tasmania II ready for the nine pm sailing to Devonport.  Once Vin Rouge was secured below we made our way to our cabin, dumped our gear and progressed to the restaurant.  We’ve found on the UK cross channel ferries that it’s usually worth going to the restaurant in favour of the canteen.  The food is better, there’s waiter service, it’s relaxing and only marginally more expensive.  The Bass Strait proved to be the same.  However, Kim called me a snob as she perused the wine list.

An excellent dinner was followed by a tolerably good night on the relatively smooth crossing.  The Bass Strait can be one of the roughest passages but on this night it was relatively calm, just a swell of a couple of metres.

The early morning call woke us in time for disembarkation, after which it was a matter of being checked in case we were illegally importing fruit and vegetables.  We collected the gas cylinders and made our way to a suitable hostelry for breakfast.  Once the shops opened we stocked up on supplies and took a short stroll around the town where an unusual piece of sculpture informed us that Tasmanian poppies supply half the world’s medicinal morphine and codeine.  

We headed south towards Hobart.  Arriving at the small town of Ross, we stopped by a bridge that had been built by convicts in 1838.  Not quite the oldest bridge in Australia but pretty close.  So well was the stone masonry executed that two of the convicts were granted their freedom on its completion.

We’d noticed a smell of diesel.  A look under the bonnet confirmed that there was indeed a fuel leak and it was getting worse.  As we’d stopped for a mid morning cuppa by the bridge, I thought it a suitable time to do the fix.  In a shady spot next to the river, out came the tools and the washers were changed.  However, the leak was now ten times worse.  After some poking around and removing various bits, it became apparent that metal fatigue had affected one of pipes and it was full of small hairline cracks, all of which were leaking.  This was turning into a bit of a problem.  After a cuppa and a think, the pipe was wrapped tightly with some special tape that I’d bought in a moment of weakness at a show.  Given that the pipe was of a small diameter and miraculous claims at shows are not always reliable, I had some doubts.  However, the ‘bush fix’ worked and stayed in place for the next three days until we could obtain a new part in Hobart.

 Finding a delightful spot at Port Huon we set up camp on the banks of the river and watched the sun go down over the water.  

Half a dozen wrens were flitting about nearby, one of which was particularly keen on picking up any crumbs we might have dropped and seemed completely unafraid as it pottered about around our feet.

Our next camp was close to the small town of Richmond.  One of the earliest settlements it looks much like an English village with it church spire, small shops, village green and ducks on the river.  Richmond boasts the oldest bridge in Australia, built in 1823, again using convict labour.  Nothing like as elegant as the Ross bridge, it does have a rustic charm with few straight lines due to movement over the years.  They must have done a good job on the build for it’s still standing and taking modern day traffic.

The rest of our day was spent in Hobart where we were especially taken with the paintings on a Veterinary Hospita.

Bush fires had broken out and as the sun faded we could see the red glow and smoke on the distant hills.  We watched the helicopters dumping water but they became unnecessary as the evening turned to gentle rain.