29 September 2013 - Abel Tasman Caravan Park, Devonport, Tasmania

Taking a late checkout turned out to be a good decision. The wind blew all morning at 45 kph, gusting at least 70 kph; I wrestled the washing on the line and ended up exhausted from the experience. Chris washed both the landcruiser and the caravan, a task I thought impossible in the rain, however he won his fight with the wind, but when it came to taking the carpet out of the caravan and doing the floors, another task on my list of to-dos, the thought of further battle was all too much. So we spent the greater part of the day reading the weekend newspaper and watching the first half of the AFL Grand Final.

Our WA neighbours had returned at about 1.30 in the morning and true to their word, had remained quiet. It was not until late in the morning that the first of the party emerged looking rather seedy to say the least. On live television we could see tens of thousands already queuing at the gates of the MCG while those next door were far from ready. We wondered where they would park their huge transport in order to see the game; the problem was duly solved when a couple of taxis turned up to take them away just before midday. And so they disappeared from our lives, clad in every style of purple garment one might find in an emporium.

When the television was eventually switched off for our own departure, the Freemantle Dockers were down by 23 points.  I thought of all the sad purple people there would be in Melbourne, however we were later to learn that the visitors came back strongly scoring a valiant 62 to the Hawkes 77; not such a wipe-out after all. The bus crowd would still be able to proudly fly their banners all the way back across the Nullarbor.

We finally left our camp at Rockbank at 4.20 pm, later than planned, but all for the best. By then the fierce winds had abated and the high section across the Westgate Bridge was not a problem at all. We arrived minutes after 5 pm and joined the queues of caravans, motorhomes and ordinary cars for loading on the ferry.

There are two identical ferries that ply the transport route across the Bass Strait, one the Spirit of Tasmania I and the other the Spirit of Tasmania II, and it was this latter moored up against the wharf appearing to all intents and purposes, ready to take us immediately.

The Spirit of Tasmania I, and its identical twin, each have a gross tonnage of 29,338 tonnes, an overall length of 194.33 metres, travel at an average speed of 27 knots and complete an average of 800 crossings per annum. The distance covered from Melbourne to Devonport in 232 nautical miles or 429 kilometres, hence the fact the trip takes all night.

How wrong we were to think that the boarding process would be speedy and efficient! First there is the security check where they poke around in the caravan looking for refugees under the bed and ask about hazardous items. Our little gas bottle was confiscated as was our hatchet, tagged and carried off for separate collection on arrival. Now we can understand concern about gas bottles, although how they are any safer in a separate hold with a whole lot of the same, I have yet to understand. But the hatchet which rides under so much other “stuff” in the back of the landcruiser! Bearing in mind that the vehicle holds are locked during the journey, how could this be a danger, unless we were carrying it in our hand luggage? Signs everywhere warned of the strict quarantine restrictions so there was no excuse for non-compliance. We had made sure we adhered to this, cooking up the last of the potatoes and onions; Chris has become quite adept at making up batches of stompot for later eating.

Finally after an hour of much stuffing around, we were on board, the vehicle ready for chaining down by those in the know and us ascending the many stairs to the passenger service levels. Both Chris and I were very pleasantly surprised by the standard of the ship, but then I guess our measuring stick is not a very classy one. We have travelled across New Zealand’s Cook Strait several times with our motorhome and each time elected to use Bluebridge; (1) because it is a privately owned company with rather tenuous roots to my home province and (2) because it is so much cheaper. But then you invariably get what you pay for and believe me, there is nothing classy about the Bluebridge service! Had we travelled on the Inter-islander, we may have been able to compare apples with apples; perhaps the Spirit of Tasmania is just normal for such vehicular ferry services?

Queuing for the ferry

I have mentioned before that Victorian school children are currently on holiday, and many of them were crossing with us, however we managed to avoid them over dinner, finding a space on a long table with mature diners like ourselves. It had been suggested to us by an earlier traveller at the Rockbank Caravan Park that one could economise with dinner on board by taking two plates at The Captain’s Table, one under the other, then fill just one, pay for one and then share it once seated. Standing in the queue, we took note of the very diminished plate size, both large and small, and decided we would both go for the larger. It is standard smorgasbord fare, tasty enough but not special. I was happy enough with my hotch potch of culinary delights but Chris not so; he suggested that we make other arrangements for the return trip. I suspect they will cost more than $25 a plate, but I will be happy to oblige.

We spent some time in the excellent little Information Centre on board and left there armed with dozens of pamphlets about Tasmania, a wonderful large map and a National Park’s Pass to cover us for our time in Tasmania. The woman in front of us had purchased a Pass and while we agreed in theory that we should do the same, we were shocked that it cost her $60 and was valid only for the next eight weeks. However on learned that each entry to any Tasmanian National Park costs $24, we soon realised that it was indeed the most economic option by far.

The meds I had taken to ease my passage had kicked in some hours before; I was as happy as a sand boy and not at all perturbed by the rocking, albeit gentle, of the ship as we headed out across Port Philip Bay. When we finally went upstairs to find our “recliners” we found a large dark room well populated and no indication of where our allocated seats were. With some help and direction from some holidaying adolescents, we finally tracked down our own recliners, complete with hygienically packed blanket and disposable pillow, behind those who had well settled in and reclined fully. This did not make for easy access.

The night passed surprisingly well; I slept far better than I had expected although the same cannot be said for my poor husband. We were woken with brightening lights at about 5.45 am this morning as we neared the northern Tasmanian shore. After eleven hours of sailing across the treacherous Bass Strait, we arrived safely and docked without event up the Mersey River at Devonport. I will certainly dose myself up with Phenergan on our return; what a difference it makes!

The unloading was much quicker than the loading, despite the thorough quarantine inspection through our fridge and freezer. Even the reclaiming of our rarely used hatchet and gas bottle went smoothly and we were off into town to find a flat space to park up, turn the gas fridge on and wait for the shops to open.

Did I mention it was raining? In fact, as we had emerged from our sleeping chamber and out onto the cold windy deck, we had seen very little; everywhere was shrouded in heavy rain mist. It was not the best day to be arriving in Tasmania. Parked up on the waterfront, we looked out toward the Strait, the weather conditions little changed and watched too as the locals carried out their Sunday morning constitutionals in raincoats and under umbrellas.

A wet arrival in Devonport

We breakfasted and then soon after 9 am, headed up to the local Coles supermarket and restocked with fresh fruit and vegetables, bread and dairy products. I had read in a brochure that the tourist will be "delighted by the fruit and vegetables, so reasonably priced and so very fresh, just picked five minutes ago and there in the shop for your consumption". There was special mention of carrots in this promotional spiel. I was therefore expecting some produce to be far cheaper than in Melbourne. Oh silly me! Everything was no less than the big smoke and mostly more expensive. On the mainland, Coles will have one line of apples at a reasonable price, the rest all within cooee of each other. Not so here; all at the higher price. And local? My foot! The carrots which are supposed to be locally grown if the tourist brochure is correct, were the same as you get on the mainland and more expensive! And to add insult to injury, diesel is at least 10 cents a litre dearer here too. I do hope our experience here will not continue to be one of moaning about cost; we had enough of that in Western Australia. I will try to be more positive, I promise.

It was after 10 am by the time we arrived at the gates of this caravan park, booked a couple of days ago on-line, not my normal style, I must say. We were greeted in a very friendly manner and I got the impression that they would not have minded if we had turned up immediately after disembarkation, even though the arrival time on the confirmation email stated midday. The park is less than a kilometre from the ferry terminal on the eastern side of the river. This may seem a plus, but as we wanted to replenish our supplies and not arrive too early, we had to travel with the caravan in tow up to the bridge and around to the CBD which is more or less directly across from the park on the western river bank. However that was our choice and it all worked well.

After lunch, we laid the large map of Tasmania out on the table and plotted our journey, then decided we would call in to the local Information Centre and seek their opinion. The girl behind the counter (not really a girl at forty, I guess) was most helpful, however said that at this time of the year, it was really a matter of tossing a coin as far as deciding the direction one should take from Devonport. We had decided to travel anti-clockwise to begin with, heading to the north west and on down the west coast. She checked the long range weather forecast and gave us reason to flip our plans on their heads which is what we have done since returning to camp.

We headed for the Regional Art Gallery to see what they had on offer and were duly rewarded.  The gallery is situated in the old Baptist Church, originally constructed in 1904, but first converted for use as the town’s library in 1969, and since 1983, the art gallery. It has more recently, in 2004, undergone further refurbishment and is now an excellent building to host exhibitions; the current one is the RACT Insurance Tasmanian Portraiture Prize, having opened just two days ago. We were delighted with the entries adorning the gallery walls although we would have selected other winners than those having been given the appropriate honours. But then, as I so often say, what would we know about art?

Back home we re-plotted our journey and I planned tomorrow’s tour out of here, weather permitting. We still have another day to change our minds about the direction we will take, however I am feeling very comfortable with our decision and look forward to filling the next six weeks with Tasmanian travel adventures.