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.

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.

The Great Ocean Road

We left Bruthen in a steady drizzle and made our way in a generally southerly direction to, of all places, Stratford which according to the promotional signs on the outskirts of the town is on the River Avon.  Of the Stratford on Avon bard we saw not a jot, but we did find a Dutch cafe, complete with Delft tiles, model windmills and Dutch music in the background.  Somehow it didn’t seem too out of place that the lady serving was Chinese.

The River Avon wasn’t up to much, being little more than a trickle of water in a large bed of sand.  We moved on.

The most southerly point in Australia is a place called Wilsons Promontory.  As usual it started to rain as we approached Tidal River, the furthest south it’s possible to drive.  Declining the 15 kilometre walk (each way) to a pile of rocks that marks the most southerly tip, we checked out the loos and came away, heading firstly north and then west, arriving in sunshine at Phillip Island.

Phillip Island is famous for its Little Penguins, the smallest of the species.  At just a foot tall, they’re cute little critters that come ashore at night after a full days fishing at sea, to feed their young who are waiting hungrily in their burrows in the soft sand.  They come ashore in groups as protection from predators and waddle their way up to half a mile inland.  We watched fascinated as group after group made their way past us, some stopping for a rest, to socialise or to preen.  It was a truly magical experience.  Unfortunately we can’t show you pictures as it’s dark when they come ashore and photography is banned as flash damages their eyes.  So instead, here’s a picture of a sign in the car park!

We made camp in the dark, another new experience, and hit the sack dreaming of little penguins.  Next day we drove directly to Melbourne.  With all the rain we’d been though, Vin Rouge had been leaking badly which we’d traced to the front vents, the seals of which had perished after 18 years.  Craig Leiberman at Ritters arranged to have the parts ready and so they were.  I happened to mention that the fan belt had been squealing and in a trice Craig had the bonnet up and had traced the fault to a seized idler roller spring.  This he changed in double quick time and then advised that he’d spotted a fuel leak.  He reckoned that a couple of copper washers were causing the problem and so these were ordered to be collected the following Monday.  All good and we were delighted with the expertise and the service.

Leaving Melbourne, we fought our way through the early evening traffic, making a short stop at Torquay which is the first town on the Great Ocean Road.  we found this road to be most interesting.  It literally follows the coast for about half its length before turning inland for a while and returning once again to the coast.  The views were very special and we found a delightful camp site at Kennett River.  

Taking an evening walk we spotted three koalas in the trees.  These were the first we’d seen that we not in some form of sanctuary.  I’m hesitant to call them ‘wild’ as koalas don’t do a lot and the adjective somehow just doesn’t fit.  Of the three, one was eating gum leaves and the other two were asleep.  They were still there the following morning.

Continuing the Great Ocean Road, which was built in memory of the fallen in the two world wars and is the world’s large war memorial, we dropped off at the Twelve Apostles (some rocks) although we could find only nine of them, and London Bridge, which has an arch missing.  That fell down in 1990 stranding a couple of visitors on the new ‘island’ who were eventually rescued by helicopter.

We’d arranged to spend the weekend at Port Fairy (at the far end of the Great Ocean Road) with Peter and Carol.  Mike worked with Carol in London some years ago so the weekend naturally included some reminiscences.  Mike also had an interesting conversation with a new friend, as did Peter.

We stayed in a converted railway carriage and made full use of our time to visit, amongst others, Kate Smith, an artist who specialises in pastels and John Condron, a photographer of outback scenes - and for once enjoyed unbroken sunshine.  Altogether it was a great weekend and a good time to bring this episode to a close.  Thanks Peter and Carol for a splendid weekend, even though we did gatecrash Peter’s birthday.

Over the border

The early morning chill woke us before it was properly light.  Snuggling under the duvet offered temporary respite but soon the demands for a cup of tea forced Mike to brave the outside.  Goodness was there a morning dew!  Much more and it’d be possible to sail over it.  Everywhere was dripping and the outside of the tent was saturated yet again.

Kettle boiling and two dozen lads from a school in Canberra, who had been camping nearby, trudged past, setting out for their day on the mountain.  None of them looked very enthusiastic.  Then two other lads who were camping for the first time got into their car and drove off.  Their camping gas stove had exploded with spectacular effect the previous evening and despite the offer to use our stove, had chosen to return to the comfort of a hot meal at home.

The sun eventually peeked over the mountain but it was a watery affair with little warmth, so once again we packed up a wet tent.  Not only that, but the damp had penetrated our storage boxes, condensing on every surface that had any residual warmth.  After a couple of “oh dash bothers” and the use of the ‘facilities’ we were packed ready to go.

Heading out past the small town of Thredbo on the Alpine Way, we were immediately in the mountains again.

Our first stop was at the Murray 1 hydro electric power station, part of the Snowy Mountains Scheme.  Construction of the Scheme began in 1949 and was completed in 1974.  Seven power stations, 16 dams, 80 kilometres of aqueducts, 145 kilometres of tunnels and a large pumping station comprise the Scheme.  The Murray 1 boasts ten turbine driven generators creating enough power to supply almost a million homes.  We thought the whole thing very impressive and can report that half a dozen spinning generators make a lot of noise, as well as a lot of electricity.

We drove the length of the Alpine Way.  At 65 kilometres in length it’s possible that as much as 400 or so metres do not have some form of bend.  The road hugs the mountainside, first climbing a valley side, then through a mountain pass, descending into the next valley, then climbing again for a repeat performance.  The views were spectacular, glimpsed only when there was time to take your eyes off the road for a second or so.  Even with a low gear engaged we eventually had to stop to let the brakes cool and the smell of burning to disburse.  Vin Rouge is heavily loaded and for the first time uttered a few complaints about it.  But after a short rest we continued.

As we climbed higher into the Alpine National Park and crossed the border into the State of Victoria, the clouds thickened and darkened.  

Soon there was lightning, then came the rain.  Now we’re used to tropical rain in Queensland but this was on an entirely different scale.  It fairly blasted down, turning the roads into rivers and washing mud, rocks and bits of tree down from the mountain sides.  Visibility dropped alarmingly and at times speed was reduced to a crawl. The splendid scenery just wasn’t to be seen.

 Eventually we came through the storm and arrived at the small town of Tallangatta in the Murray Valley.  The rain subsided and finally stopped as we set up camp at the side of Lake Hume.  The lack of recent rain was evident as the level of the lake was at least 20 feet lower than it should be – and Lake Hume is a very large lake.

Him Upstairs put on a magnificent sunset, presumably by way of atonement for what we had endured during the day.  According to the locals, the rain was the first for nearly three months and they are very glad of it.

Next morning was mild and dry, although high clouds were building over the mountains.  We lost no time in packing up camp and just as we’d finished the heavens opened.  The whole day was spent in rain, sometimes light showers, sometimes heavy downpours.  Will it never stop?

The drive was ‘challenging’.  Twisting, wet, greasy roads littered with debris and visibility often down to 30 metres.  It seemed to go on for hours.  Finally, after looking for somewhere to stay and getting nowhere, we stopped at the next pub, the Bruthren Inn where we checked in, had a meal and a few beers with the locals.  Four star is was not, especially as the place had built in water features coming through the roof.  However, the room was dry and we crashed out.

The forecast is for more rain tomorrow and better weather after that as we leave soggy February and go into what we hope will be sunny March.  We can’t wait.