Kicking back in Tassie

It’s fair to say the five of us clicked and it wasn’t long before we’d requested a ride down south from Hobart to the state’s remote far south. By bus, which was our original plan, the trip would’ve taken forever but with a modern day campervan anything is possible. Arrangements were made – namely how many slabs of beer we needed to buy – and we were soon on our way, meandering through Huonville, the state’s major apple growing region. Our destination was Cockle Creek, a secluded bay tucked away at the bottom of Australia’s most southern road. It was to be our first taste of “minor” Tassie roads, namely no surface just gravel. These are okay so long as you’re sat upfront, but if you’re stowed away amid the packs and cooking gear like Ray and Kris the twists and turns can be tough to take!

There’s nothing at all in Cockle Creek, it’s simply where the long and arduous South Coast Track spits tired hikers out after some 10 days carrying their life on their back (it often involves being flown in by propeller plane and dumped in the wilderness which is the Southwest National Park, a world heritage site). For us, it offered a snapshot of the trek, the final day of which we undertook as we traipsed our way for four hours to South Cape Bay, where the land slips dramatically into the great Southern Ocean. There’s nothing too amazing about the beach on which you stand, but it’s somewhat inspiring to know that some where straight ahead sits the continent of Antarctica.

Not too long ago these small bays and coves were teaming with whale life, but the over eager Europeans saw fit to that by hunting the Southern Right Whale to the point of extinction, all for the sake of the fat – apparently the oil burned longer in lamps. That night we got our first taste of bogans, or “two-headers” as Ray likes to call em. These are locals who (a bit some of the Kiwis we encountered, especially in the southern reaches of the South Island) tend to look a little too much alike. “It’s coz they always shaggin each other”, said Ray. “If people are gonna do that, then sooner or later one will pop out with two heads!” And he’s right, in the far reaches of Tasmania there are indeed groups of people who, for whatever their reason, prefer to “keep it in the family”. It ain’t right and, while we failed to spot anyone with two necks and two heads, we did see all too many folk that looked worryingly alike!

It wasn’t that we felt threatened by the bogans, it’s just that they’re strange – they make strange noises at night! So the next morning we packed up and headed for Ida Bay, an idyllic little cove where it would just be the five of us. While there’s not supposed to be any fee camping in this area we weren’t going to let the national park authority have the last say, and watched in amusement as Marit pulled the “no camping” sign from the earth and dragged it far out of sight! A roaring fire, plenty to eat and drink and, well, what more do you need when you’re sat under the gleaming stars a million miles from the nearest bogan!