Tassie Part 14

Wed 17th, Day 15:
A relatively short drive on the coast road up to St Helens.
Not impressed by the town. It is a bit touristy and has a harder edge to it, I feel. From the traffic it looks like the most common first destination for those who take the Spirit of Tasmania. It was the most expensive place too - both accommodation and food. The seafood place was a rort.
Google Maps did me wrong and placed our caravan park on the north of town. We drove passed the same roadworkers about five times trying to find the place and resorted to going back to town to the info place.
The caravan park was south of the town.

Tassie Part 13

Tue 16th, Day 14:
C: Would you like eggs?
H: No.
C: You're just afraid of having blue eggs.
H: Fine! I'd love eggs thanks.
C: Too late. Only women are allowed to change their minds.

Drove out to Freycinet National Park. The Aunt was asking again about the 600 steps to get to Wineglass Bay Lookout. Instead of the six hundred steps we went to the Friendly Beaches and the lighthouse on Cape Tourville. Spectacular views, including rocky islands that host a large number of breeding seabirds: ten species (see photo of info board).

Made it back to the vineyards in time for three tastings. 'Freycinet Wines' were all very acidic. Not good. 'Coombend' at the start of the same driveway was much better. They also had the tastiest green olives ever. Bought a bunch of stuff there. And the last was when we turned up at 'Spring Vale' after the guy had locked up, but let us in and we got quite a lot there. Caroline found a rose she particularly liked.
Some excellent lookouts on the way home. The land to the north east of Hobart could be anywhere in Australia - dry and yellow.

Tassie part 12

Sun 14th, Day 12:
No sign of Caroline this morning. She was charging around the foothills squeezing terrified chickens trying to get the freshest eggs possible.
It did seem we were on a mission to buy things with two gs in them.
'What did you do in Tassie?'
'We bought eggs and grog.'

We went to check out the produce market in Geeveston, but it was little more than a garage sale. The Aunt did buy some eggs though - some of which with shells quite blue. A mystery.
Picked up some wine to say 'thanks' to Allan.

We spent the late morning down in Southport. We marvelled at the blues of the water and white of the sand, and found large mussels on the rocks. Lunch by the sand.

(These photos are on the previous post. shrug.)

And I don't think we did a hell of a lot in the afternoon. Maybe we went to the new vineyard just to the north - St Imre. Set up by a Hungarian couple about five years ago.

H: I have decided that Ellen shall call me 'My Balding Adonis'.
C: Why?
H: Because it's funny.
C: Look, she's clearly not in a good state of mind (ie going out with H) but she'll come crashing back to reality soon.
H: Hey, if you want to prop up your fragile psyche; get your own blog. This is mine!


Mon 15th, Day 13:
Farewell Dover. A long drive today up to Swansea in the east. Stopped off at the bookshop to give the two bottles of nice red to Mary. She insisted it was too much and pressed two enormous frozen salmon steaks on me. These are from escapees from the large amount of salmon farming in the area.

Stopped off in Hobart on the way. I bought some Japanese handbags for Ellen, and Caroline picked up some presents for her relos.
Morning tea/early lunch at the Sorell Berry Farm about 30ks east of Hobart. Picturesque place with an interesting array of pickles and berry products including liqueurs: tayberry (hybrid of raspbarry and blackberry) and jostaberry (gooseberry hybridised with black currant), jams etc etc The food was very nice.

Swansea. We didn't learn our lesson of exploring a town properly and missed the main street again until the next day.
Moved the TV down to the table from the neck-crickingly high kitchen cupboard.

That night watched the muttonbirds coming into their rookery.

Swansea looking across Cole Bay to the Freycinet Peninsular

Tassie Part 11

Sat 13, Day 11:
Drove to Huonville to check out their produce market - the Aunt has a hankering for chicken. On the way I stopped at the second-hand book shop for a poke around.
The Aunt got talking to the owner, Mary. Expressing a desire to do some fishing while in Dover, Caroline was offered a tinny and Mary's partner, Allan, for a fish in the afternoon.
The road out of Dover has many splendid vistas down valleys to the river. All very beautiful, and slightly temporally displacing. It can't have changed much in many decades.
The market is staffed by loud pleasant young women. I find haricot beans for which I've been searching for ages so's Caroline can make her well-regarded baked beans. After the cries of joy and delight that met the puy lentils, this was even more of a coup! What an awesome nephew I am.

We were going to do the Tahune airwalk but had been talked out of it by Mary who hates Gunns (the forestry people). So instead we decided to meander back. I parked the car slightly in everyone's way under the shade of a stringy bark so we could eat at a slightly fancy looking restuarant called 'Petty Sessions' by the river just outside Port Huon.
It was here we met the Slithery Waiter.
I honestly thought he was stoned. He was about 30, well dressed with a long apron and did everything slowly. The Aunt was convinced he was mincing a little and elegantly swishing his way around the restaurant because he knew he was good looking. We ordered a scallop pie for me and um a sandwichy thing for the Aunt? He suggested a Boags beer called 'Wizard Smith Ale' so I got one of those. Food eventually arrived and he slithered over to us. By this time I think Caroline was making slow motion dancing gestures from the golden age of Hollywood and giggling.
She graciously allowed me another beer and volunteered to drive us home. I chatted to his Slitheriness about local beers for a while. After he'd left the Aunt suggested that he thought I was lovely and I was flirting with him. I was still of the opinion he was stoned and that explained his languidness, or maybe that's just how they were round here.
'Nope', says the Aunt, 'He's gay. And I think he liiiiiiiikes youuuuuuu.'
Honestly!

The Aunt noticed a very long caravan being manoeuvred around the car, and that our car was now standing in sun.
'Either the sun's moved or the tree has!' she observed.
Not really engaging my brain, I turned and surveyed the scene.
'It's the sun that's moved' I tell her.
She cracks up.
I blame the book on quantum physics I'm reading.

I read a book many years ago written by a Lancaster bomber pilot called 'The Eighth Passenger'. The eighth passenger was fear.
The TV serial killer, Dexter, has his 'Dark Passenger' - his killing urge.
I had a second passenger - the sausage.
This was the, well, actually two sausages, that I'd bought in Hobart to the amusement of both Ellen and Caroline. I had been dilligently eating a bit each breakfast and the occassional snack during the day, and now it was the time for the sausage to come into its own!
I can sing the praises of the sausage if I want.
The Aunt keeps referring to bread as The Staff of Life.
'It's in the bible!' she says.
Yeah? Well, so is shutting the hell up.
We were going to use the sausage as bait. Hah!

That afternoon we went boating where occured The Incident.
We went fishing.
The Incident happened.
"And _that's_ why you don't wear your good clothes to go fishing' said Aunt Caroline.

I confirmed every impression a seafaring country type can have about incompetent city-slickers. Allan laughed quietly to himself the whole time I was demonstrating that I didn't actually know how to row. I knew the theory, but I got an oar end caught in my shirt at one point; and I had generally to do two strokes with my left for every one of my right. With much encouragement from the Aunt ie 'You're going the wrong way!' I managed to move the boat so Allan could lay two gill nets in vaguely the right spot.

Then we drifted and I presented Allan with the bait. His face said that we clearly had no idea what we were doing. But we showed him! Well, the Aunt did, at least. She caught an octopus which quirted energetically in all directions but mine. We let him go and within fifteen seconds The Aunt caught a good sized flathead (or 'flaired' as it is pronounced by Northern Beaches locals). Allan told us many anecdotes - including jumping into the lion enclosure at Taronga Zoo in the 60s to get better pictures, and being evicted from the zoo after jumping into the hippo's pen for the same reason. We chatted happily and entertained each other thoroughly. My hat blew off into the water.
Allan took over the rowing, and retrieved a mullet from the gill nets.

Coming ashore: The Incident.
Allan and I had stepped off the stern because he'd reversed it in. The Aunt, however, decided to misjudge the depth of the water and stepped off near the bow into thigh deep water. One leg was still in the boat, and this presented a problem that I didn't recognise.
Instead, with a strange look on her face, she started pushing the boat away from her with her dry leg. Confused, Allan and I swung the bow back to her from the stern end.
Once more she slowly and steadily pushed the bow away before emitting one short 'Aark!' and falling straight down into the brine.
Shrieking with laughter (being the gentleman I am) I went to aid, but she was laughing too hard to stand up, so Allan was presented with a tableau of two lunatics howling with laughter - one with tears rolling down his cheeks and quite uselessly holding the arms of the other one who was happy to stay sitting in frigid water to her waist.
Eventually we got it together and Allan scaled and filletted the fish and gave us both, which was very kind.
He showed us his shack and then we headed home for a change of clothes.
My notes read "C fell in, in a strange way."
Relating The Incident to her second daughter a few days later, Caroline was told, 'But you NEVER ask for help, mum!' thus letting me off the hook.

I have a note here of 'C stung by some fiendish Tasmanian bug'. Evidently nature took a shine to her.

Tassie Part 10

Fri 12, Day 10:

I drove Ellen to the airport for the first flight out.

Dover.
We drove via the wide peninsula bounded by the Huon River to the west and D'Entrecasteaux Channel on the east. There was a sheep cheese place at Birchs Bay we wanted to visit.
Good spiel by the guy but very expensive products. They did have a nice pinot noir spread ala quince paste. A TV chef that Caroline hates was doing a segment to camera on the balcony. We each bought a small peice of the vine leaf wrapped harder cheese.

Drove on coast road all the way road - great views. Caroline was fixated on picking up a cucumber for the salad. Before the road joined the south road at Huonville we stopped at an honesty-box booth and picked up a whole swag of fruit and vege and some eggs.
Getting back into the car I was told "We've got a cucumber - that's the important thing."
She was also very happy about the eggs. If anyone is at a loss for a present for the Aunt then a dozen fresh laid free-range eggs are a sure fire winner.
South on the other bank of the Huon River. Beautiful peaceful beds of rushes. The road is slightly elevated with hills to the west. Orchards and vineyards on both sides of the road in a strip that goes down to the riverbank and up the nearest hills. Taller ranges just beyond these are forested. Near Waterloo we spot cherries and stop to sample them. They are enormous and flavoursome - bursting with trapped sunlight and drool. The old farmer is a character. I say we are in the state for another ten days. He says 'Well, you'll need two kilos, then!' Certainly for $15. Done. The Aunt starts expressing doubts we can eat them all, but I am up for the challenge.
The farmer suggests the scenic drive to Dover by taking the turn off to Police Point, as the main road cuts through the hills.
Drive, drive, drive. 'Oh, not another picturesque seaside-slash-rural village with beautiful aspect!' I moan.

At Dover, Caroline once again kindly upgrades us to a bigger cabin with large beds - we are staying three nights after all. It is still early enough in the afternoon to go searching for the supermarket. We drive around and through the town leaving it on three roads without spotting a supermarket. We do see the second-hand bookshop in an old church and other very nice weatherboard buildings, and eventually go back to the quasi general store where the Aunt picks out some disappointed greens. On the way back to the caravan park which is on the north side of the town, I manage to take the wrong road at a five-way intersection and end up instantly in the carpark of the enormous IGA we'd missed because we were too busy being entranced by pretty little weatherboard buildings.
So, even when we made an attempt to explore the town properly we still managed to miss key points ie what we were actually looking for.

Tassie Part 9

Thurs 11, Day 9:

We had a walk in the clouds on Thursday afternoon much of the way up Mt Wellington. We marvelled at how wonderfully close this beautiful forest is to the city. We agreed we could live happily in Hobart.
Wursthaus haul for lunch in our apartment. (Here I also found puy lentils for the Aunt).
Drunk Admiral that night.

.

Tassie part 8

Tues 9, Day 7:
Drove down the Lyell Highway through Queenstown and back into the lush ferny forests of the Wild-Rivers Area. Zoom, zoom, zoom.
Stopped just after Derwent Bridge to check out the new 'Wall in the Wilderness' which is a barn-sized private gallery for an expert wood carver. The main work is going to be 100feet of 15feet tall wall panels showing colonial life of the area. It is astounding - a must see. He specialises in carving totally perfect clothing out of wood. Never seen so many 'Do not touch' signs in my life. Check it out online. There is an astoundingly cool rusted metal sculpture of a cyborg eagle out the front. It looks like a cover illustration from one of the Iain M Banks Sci-fi novels about The Culture that I read years ago.

Lunched near Tarraleah power station.
We got mobile reception for the first time in days a short distance out of New Norfolk where we were staying the night. Caroline texted her daughters to assure that we were both alive even although I didn't deserve to be.
New Norfolk is on the Derwent River and the last town before it flows into the flooded river valley that leads about fifty kms away to Hobart.
We were staying in another pub I'd chosen - the New Norfolk Hotel. I'd rejected the two other suggested by the Lonely Planet as not up to Aunt-friendly standard, and even congratulated myself on how far off the Highway it was. And it was cheap too, so I'd booked one of the two ensuite rooms for the Aunt.

Wed 10, Day 8:
Now, they always put these ensuite rooms at the front of the hotel to maximise the impact of passing traffic. I slept well in my $35 single room at the rear of the hotel and woke early all excited because Ellen was meeting us in Hobart in a few hours time.
I made two cups of tea and took one to Caroline's room.
She had slept for fourteen minutes and three seconds.
A horrible night.
"Dear God!" she groaned, "He's in a good mood!"
I leapt in, spilling tea liberally, and coaxed the old girl into action.
No, I didn't. I left her to it because, for once, she actually did look like the Wrath of God.

We parked in Salamanca Place in Hobart at about ten, otherwise known as morning coffee time. In her efforts to get a cheap and early flight from Melbourne Ellen had woken at 4am or something stupid like that.
After their caffeine hits, both women had resumed human form and pleasant temper, and they were more than happy to wander round all the little jewellery shops, art galleries, book and gift shops of Salamanca Place. It's a gorgeous little spot. We ate lunch in an Italian restaurant and drank great wine.
Then it was time to check into the flash serviced-apartment Caroline had booked for us on one of the piers in the harbour. A wooden sailing ship was moored next door.
We ate and drank and ate and drank and ate in Hobart. It is a gourmands' paradise.
We had spectacular Greek at Mezethes; found an awesome deli called Wursthaus where we splurged on delicacies for lunch; and ate the second night in the Drunken Admiral. We were on a mission for seafood and passed up two places on the wharf and tried the Drunken Admiral at my suggestion.
The place is kitsch. The entryway looks like one for a themepark. It is crammed with nautical crap including mannequins dressed as pirates, barrels hanging from the ceiling, rear ends of boats and over all this a reasonable sized antique shop has exploded. The Aunt looked profoundly dubious but the place was packed, so the food must be ok, right?
The food was great! The wine was Pinot Gris. Very happy with that.