10 October 2012 - Spring Bay Hotel, Triabunna, Tasmania

We were away from the amazing Freycinet National Park this morning by about 9.30 am and soon back onto the main road heading south toward our weekend destination of Hobart. We climbed up and over Cherry Tree Hill, one of many hills this morning, but here stopping to appreciate the magnificent views back down Great Oyster Bay to the Hazards and Schouten Island which sits to the immediate south of the peninsula. Around us were more sheep farms, with the odd pocket of vineyards, and even smaller and less frequent olive groves. Aside from all this we found that gorse and blackberry grow as well here in Tasmania as they do in New Zealand, something not often seen on mainland Australia.

About ten kilometres north of Swansea, the small seaside town that sits on the western side of Great Oyster Bay, we came upon the walnut orchards mentioned in our guide books. Swansea, today with a population of a little over 500, was first settled by the Welsh in the 1820s and named Waterloo Point, and renamed Swansea in 1842. The area about is called Glamorgan and is the oldest rural area in Tasmania. There is plenty of evidence of that heritage in many of the old buildings still standing, not least the one that today houses the IGA store.

We were interested to check out the Bark Mill on the northern end of the town, which still operates if only to feed tourist curiosity. The complex is well set up with accommodation, a museum, a café and bakery, where we purchased a rather large fruit bun, big enough to last a few days. We had learned at the Freycinet National Park that the factory was established in 1885 and continued to operate until the early 1960s Today the restored fully working mills demonstrates how bark from local black wattle trees was once crushed for export across the world, providing an essential ingredient used in tanning.

Spikey Bridge

We moved on south not lingering here long, but did pull into the layby to admire the Spikey Bridge, constructed by convict labour in the 1840s with field stones and topped with ragged rocks along the top apparently to prevent sheep and cattle from taking off over the side. This seemed to us rather unnecessary, however it was the explanation offered on the interpretative panel.

The road continued south, hugging the beautiful coastline most of the way, from where we could see south to the high peaks of Maria Island. Soon we arrived at Triabunna, the gateway to that island national park and also the one place where Chris has sampled incarceration. I should explain before you think I am travelling with a criminal albeit a reformed one. Back in the days when he was hitch hiking around Australia, or more particularly around Tasmania, he and his companion arrived in Triabunna quite late and happened upon the local policeman, from whom they asked directions for accommodation. He duly informed them there was none but they were welcome to doss down in the cells if they wanted. And so they did thus making our stop here today something of a pilgrimage.

Triabunna sea front

We called into the Visitor Centre where we met Tammy who commutes from Swansea on her work days, is very warm and friendly and a mine of information. We returned to the caravan for lunch armed with as much information any reasonable person could possibly require to make a decision about visiting Maria Island. Firstly it depended on the weather report for tomorrow; not that great really, but not that bad either. Then it depended on whether we could free camp, because if we were forking out for commercial accommodation and the ferry tickets, it was all a bit much to justify the expedition.

The Spring Bay Hotel offers camping for self-contained campers on the back lawn all for the price of a donation to the Fire Service or the Royal Flying Doctor Service. Keith, the proprietor was lovely, most welcoming and invited us to park anywhere that took our fancy. In doing so, our fate was sealed and we went over to see Tammy again, this time to book our ferry tickets for tomorrow.

Old store houses for sale

After chatting for a very long time with her, seeing photos of her new house under construction, learning of routes we should take south of Hobart whence she once came, and dozens of other little snippets, we wandered about the town, admiring the few very old buildings, across the river to check out the dump site and see the wharf from another perspective, then popped into the pub to buy a bottle of wine; it seemed only the right and proper thing to do. Keith engaged us in conversation for some time, soon joined by his daughter’s mother-in-law, then the daughter and son-in-law, who were, within the hour, off to India to watch the Aussie play cricket as well as enjoy the rather wonderful tour we heard all about. Wasn’t it just days ago I said we don’t do pubs? And wasn’t it me who suggested we miss out on so much by not doing so? Here was evidence all within twenty minutes. What wonderful people Keith and his family are! And even the guy who was still holding up the bar from before midday, he was okay too.

So we are parked up in a corner of this old pub’s courtyard, in view of two very very old store houses, built in 1843, both for sale, and sharing the site with a couple of other small campervans. Perhaps more are yet to arrive.

We are looking forward to tomorrow’s adventure. I am not planning to take any of those seasick magic pills; the ferry trip is only thirty five minutes and there should be much to see. And I must remember to pronounce the island’s name correctly: Ma-rye-a, as in They call the wind Mariah.