More of the same

After a refreshing dip in the ocean and ice cool beer at the lovely Freycinet Lodge we were back on the road and headed north up the coast to the Bay of Fires. Much like what came before this is a stretch of coast where you pull over at will, strip naked and run into the ocean blue.

The turquoise water here makes for some awesome pics, but it’s the bizarre red stained boulders that frame the secluded bays that really make a visual impression. If the information supplied is anything to go by then the Bay of Fires derived its name from early European explorers who, upon approach of Tassie’s north east coastline spotted Aboriginal fires burning; large piles of discarded mollusc shells offer some evidence that this might indeed have been the case – who knows what was cooking! The region – designated a national park by the state government the day we arrived – stretches from Binalong Bay all the way north to Eddystone Point (this will change with the reserve becoming a national park, although, ironically, the much loved beaches have been overlooked under the review). We plumbed for Jeanerette Bay, and boy what a find. Solitude personified. Yet another roaring fire, complete with our very own “surf and turf”, cracking steaks picked up in the nearby town of St Helens – one of the few Tassie towns we’d come across offering something more than a pub and post office.

A wee detour some 50kms inland lies the wonderful Holy Cow Café, home to Pyengana Dairy Company, one of Tassie’s premier cheese producers. Here we watched the whole cheese making process at work, before indulging in a Ploughman’s platter from another world; everything is produced and prepared by various members of the same family, from the kids’ pickled onions to grandma’s mind blowing port figs. Time stopped as we laboured in the paddock, munching on marvellous cheddars, which we washed down with a fabulous bottle of Barringwood Park 2008 Pinot Noir – definitely one to remember for the future!

Suitably fed and watered we set off east in search of Mt William National Park, at the very north eastern tip. Driving was easy, that was until we reached a tiny shithole (there was to be NO stopping here for fear of what the circling bogans might do) called Gladstone, where the Tarmac vanished into thin air. Our camp for the night, Great Musselroe Bay, lay some 40kms north at the end of a gravel road that has to be seen to be believed. “Go for it,” said Marit, as we briefly considered the Corolla’s chances; down went the accelerator consuming us in dust.

Breakdown out here and you’re really in the custard. There’s nothing but wallabies and, well, dead wallabies. Tassie devils were once widespread in the park but the devil facial tumour decimated numbers, as it has state-wide. There were a few scary moments but “William” (we decided to name the car for his efforts) did us proud and shit was the painfully slow ride worth it. Coastal headlands lie in wait of those willing to make the effort, while the empty beaches were some of the best we’d ever encountered. Time for another naked swim!

While setting up camp we were amazed to find two resident roos who refused to budge from the spot. What started out as amusement soon became a battle of wits, the little buggers seemed intent on joining us for dinner! It wasn’t until two faces appeared from nowhere, thereby doubling the human numbers, that the stand off ended, and our menacing looking guests did an about turn and wandered into the bush.

Introducing themselves as Toni and Troy we quickly got yapping, pausing only to grab wine and scotch from our car boots. Living in Hobart they’d just returned from a year travelling Europe and were spending time exploring their own backyard. It was like we’d known each other for years, so much so that a drunken night in paradise ended with an invite to stay with them on our return to Hobart. And we will.