It didn’t take too much searching through the local bus timetables to realise that exploring the “real” Tasmania requires independence, and that only comes with a car. After playing off the various hire car companies we settled for a local player who offered us a cheapo Toyota for just 39 bucks a day. The Corolla we opted for might have clocked up an unhealthy 333,000kms, but the boss was trustworthy and the car looked good. “Deal”, we said, and signed up for 10 days.
It had always been our intention to head south from Hobart to the Tasman Peninsula, a region famed for its 300m sea cliffs, delightfully remote beaches and arduous treks. We sped across the harbour bridge and continued south down the treacherous Arthur Highway where the staggering amount of road kill we passed came a distant second to the masses of wreaths laid in memory of motorists who, for whatever reason, had overshot the tight turns.
Port Arthur was the first port of call; a small settlement established in the early 1830s to house some of Australia’s worst crims. In the modern era, however, the township is perhaps best remembered for the 1996 massacre when a loony gunman went berserk and shot dead 35 people (many of whom worked at the Port Arthur historic site). To put this tragedy into perspective, today the town is home to less than 200 inhabitants many of whom were personally affected by the shooting. The memorial garden struck a chord with Kris, who on reading the names of those killed thumbed the name “Zoe Hall”. Ironically, his sister Zo, had visited Tassie the very same year, which kinda makes you think about life’s inevitabilities.
History wise, Port Arthur was established as a major penitentiary for convicts who’d committed further crimes while serving time in Tassie’s other numerous prisons. It was connected to the mainland by a slice of land called Eaglehawk Neck (less than 100m wide) named so because a line of rabid dogs, chained by the neck, stood between escapees and their freedom – few made it across. Between 1830 and 1877 some 12,500 convicts served sentences at Port Arthur and the conditions in which they were housed was, well, shit to be frank. Mind you, there was worse to come; head east towards Lime Bay and there are what’s left of Tassie’s first coal mines tunnelled by, yes you guessed it, those few convicts who some how skipped the dogs at Eaglehawk.
It had always been our intention to head south from Hobart to the Tasman Peninsula, a region famed for its 300m sea cliffs, delightfully remote beaches and arduous treks. We sped across the harbour bridge and continued south down the treacherous Arthur Highway where the staggering amount of road kill we passed came a distant second to the masses of wreaths laid in memory of motorists who, for whatever reason, had overshot the tight turns.
Port Arthur was the first port of call; a small settlement established in the early 1830s to house some of Australia’s worst crims. In the modern era, however, the township is perhaps best remembered for the 1996 massacre when a loony gunman went berserk and shot dead 35 people (many of whom worked at the Port Arthur historic site). To put this tragedy into perspective, today the town is home to less than 200 inhabitants many of whom were personally affected by the shooting. The memorial garden struck a chord with Kris, who on reading the names of those killed thumbed the name “Zoe Hall”. Ironically, his sister Zo, had visited Tassie the very same year, which kinda makes you think about life’s inevitabilities.
History wise, Port Arthur was established as a major penitentiary for convicts who’d committed further crimes while serving time in Tassie’s other numerous prisons. It was connected to the mainland by a slice of land called Eaglehawk Neck (less than 100m wide) named so because a line of rabid dogs, chained by the neck, stood between escapees and their freedom – few made it across. Between 1830 and 1877 some 12,500 convicts served sentences at Port Arthur and the conditions in which they were housed was, well, shit to be frank. Mind you, there was worse to come; head east towards Lime Bay and there are what’s left of Tassie’s first coal mines tunnelled by, yes you guessed it, those few convicts who some how skipped the dogs at Eaglehawk.
On the agenda had been a two day return hike to the southern peninsula’s most southern tip. But that meant a lengthy back-track, and there’s nothing worse than trekking for kms only to have to retrace every step. Instead, we hiked down from Remarkable Cave (less than remarkable – it’s another cave) to Mt Brown where, on arrival, we spotted a big black front moving in from the Southern Ocean. “Shit”, said Marit, “we’re gonna get wet”. And we did, soaked actually, not to mention battered by the southerly wind which didn’t half pack a freezing cold punch. We gave up seeking refuge in the towering dunes, preferring to make a run for it across the aptly named “Safety Cove”. If ever there was a reminder that Tassie’s weather can change in a second this was it, but the momentary views of Cape Raoul and Tasman Island were worth the shitting of pants!
Hidden some 15kms down a “gravel road” just north of Port Arthur lies Fortescue Bay; wow! It took patience nursing our wee Toyota through the twists and turns, but shit was the drive worth it! The bay itself was both stunning and secluded, while the just-about free campground was the best we’d found yet. If that wasn’t enough the bay posed as the starting point for a five hour trek, through the bush and over the sea cliffs, toward Cape Pillar, where the views were jaw dropping. Clinging to the fragile bush while peering down at the ocean some 300m below was thrilling – the sheer drop really did take your breath away!
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