Van Dieman’s Land

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.

All was going well, despite the low clouds, intermittent drizzle and a cool-ish morning (we had the heater on) when we came up behind a rather small ute towing a rather large boat and making very slow going of it.  With a clear road ahead, it was time to drop down a gear, accelerate and pass.  No problems.  Vin Rouge had been running sweetly all morning.  As we pulled alongside, power failed and the engine died.  We managed to maintain just enough momentum to get to the side of what was a narrow main road going up a steep hill when we came to a complete standstill.  Of course, this was the time that a whole procession of vehicles came by and there was no doubt that we were a traffic hazard.  Bonnet up and the first thoughts were ‘this must be a fuel problem’.  But all looked OK.  There were no leaks and all the new bits looked to be in place.  Just then a head appeared around the side of the car.  “Gotta problem mate?  Need a tug?  Saw your Hannibal tent and thought we’d stop”.  Sure enough, he had a Hannibal roof top tent just like ours.  Todd, and his girlfriend Grace had a strap on before I’d even got to the back of Vin Rouge and towed us into the next village and right into the yard of the local mechanic.  

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.