Abel Tasman discovered it in 1642. Matthew Flinders and George Bass circumnavigated it in 1798-99 and found that it was not part of the mainland. In 1803, it was colonised by the British as a penal colony and became part of New South Wales. In 1856 it was granted self-government and the name was officially changed to Tasmania.
Kim and Mike took the easy route on the ferry and after a
bit of mucking about with metal fatigue causing problems with the fuel in the
LR, had a really lovely evening at Port Huon.
Next day it was back into Hobart where a new part had been located and
was fitted. Once more we were ‘all
systems go’.
It seemed as though we’d been chasing about all over the
place and decided it was time to have a quiet day. Kim decided that a town called Ross would do
nicely and so we set out on minor roads, winding our way through hills and
valleys until we joined the Midland Highway where the road climbed steeply to
St Peters Pass.
As the sun emerged, the problem was diagnosed. An electrical connector had been knocked and loosened
as the new parts were fitted. Vibration
had caused it to come adrift and power to the fuel system had been lost. A simple tighten with a pair of pliers and we
were on our way. If Todd and Grace get
to read this, our grateful thanks for pulling us clear of a dangerous piece of
road.
And so on to Ross with no more dramas (as they say out
here).
The camp site was in an excellent position, close to the
main street and the pub, and next to the river.
We set up the full rig creating a two storey tent. If the weather is good we often don’t bother
with the enclosing ‘skirt’, but as we were staying for a couple of days, it was
worthwhile to give us a bit of extra privacy.
Another advantage is that with the door flap down, the bugs are not so
attracted to the lights.
As the light faded Kim wandered off to take some photos of
the bridge whilst Mike checked that the fridge temperature on the beer was
still correct. It was an amicable
arrangement.
Next day, this was the beginning of a long weekend in
Tasmania known as the ‘eight hour day’.
We could not understand the meaning and checked with several of the
locals, none of whom understood it either.
“If in doubt” we said “go and have a coffee”. So we did, at the Tasmanian Scallop Pie
Company. Now scallop pie seemed as
dubious as the eight hour day, but at least it was tangible. We agreed that scallop pie was ’interesting’
but remain unconvinced that it will catch on as part of recognised
international cuisine. The coffee was
good though.
It was a joy to have nothing to do and all day to do
it. Mike pottered about replacing the seals
on the front flaps of the Land Rover and Kim poured over maps and the plethora
of brochures she’d hoovered up from the information centres. The day ended with an excellent roast dinner
in the Man O’ Ross pub, washed down with a couple of pints of Guinness. Not sure why but we had little difficulty
going to sleep.
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