5 October 2014 - Big4 St Helens Holiday Park, St Helens, Tasmania

Neither of us was too excited about our exit from Launceston; from the camp it is an immediate climb straight up from nearly sea level to over one hundred metres, on a cold non-turbo engine towing two and a half tonnes. We crawled up in second gear; I had lectured my husband on moaning about the slow climb so he kept his lips zipped. Cars and utes, some pulling trailers and most not, whizzed past us on the dual carriageway, so the driver’s stress levels thankfully remained low.

We continued south on the Midland Highway toward the State’s capital, passing through the settlement of Perth, a small rural town with a population of a little over 2,200, just twenty kilometres beside the South Esk River. Here and all along this river which we followed for much of today’s journey, we saw evidence of flooding, the waters spread out wide and unlike the North Esk, tamer and happy to hang about for a while in that swollen state.

Here and all the way south today, the very wide valley of beautiful farmland delighted us, supporting sheep farming in the main and bordered by the ranges that include the Ben Lomond National Park to the east and to the west, those that include the Great Western Tiers.

Fifty seven kilometres south of Launceston, we  turned east onto the Esk Main Road, continuing to follow the South Esk River. The valley narrowed, the sheep farms still evident but hemmed in by the steep slopes of the mountains and ranges.  Still the river was in flood, even so far upstream. The South Esk is the longest river in Tasmania at 245 kilometres, rising in the mountains near Fingal, one of the small places on our route.

Twenty six kilometres up this road toward the east coast, we arrived at Avoca, which offered little for us but public toilets, and the confluence of the South Esk and the St Pauls River, substantial in its own right. The valley opened up again providing wonderful fertile lands and surely a treasure to those who first came this way. We pressed on a further twenty seven kilometres, intending to stop and explore the next settlement, that of Fingal, first surveyed in 1824, established in 1827 as a convict station and subsequently becoming the headquarters of the state’s coal industry.

As we drove into the town, there appeared to be no particular place to stop and learn more about all of this, although there were several heritage building scattered along the road for a distance of about a kilometre. Although we had also been following the rail line, still obviously in use, Fingal seemed to be closed for business, industry or even living. According to the 2011 census, there was then a population of 366. Even that was hard to believe, and yet as we sped up again abandoning any plans to hang about, we passed a yard full of piles of coal, apparently waiting for transport. It was satisfying to learn later that 51.3% of the population counted in that census were fully employed, 33.6 employed part-time and 5% unemployed; not too different from Australia’s average, which just goes to prove Fingal is not the backwater it might appear at first glance.

Subsequent research also revealed that just last month the Tasmanian government announced approval for a major new coal mine in the Fingal Valley which is expected to generate more than a hundred new jobs. The mine is touted to produce more than a million tonnes of coal a year, worth an estimated $100 million. The $50 million development of the mine will create more than eighty construction jobs and begin before the end of this year. It was pleasing to see that conservation groups have not ground progress here in Tasmania to a complete halt.

Payable gold was first discovered in 1852 at Mangana, about ten kilometres to the north-west of Fingal, and then in areas within twenty kilometres of the same, but by 1930 all the mines had run out of gold and closed down. This all adds to the history this island state teems with and could keep a keen historian busy for several lifetimes.

But for us today, we neglected the remnants that might have thrown more light onto the past of this area, satisfying ourselves more with the geography of the landscape, which continued to delight, with the peaks of St Paul’s Dome standing 1,026 metres ASL, Mt Nicholas 868 metres, the conical St Patrick’s Head at 694 metres ASL, to name but a few.

We arrived at St Mary’s, for us significant because we had to be sure to take the northern route down to the coast, not the apparently hideous Elephant Pass to the south. This small town of little more than five hundred folk sits at 258 metres ASL, a surprising height obviously arrived at with the most gradual of climbs over the intervening one hundred and thirty kilometres from Launceston.

We were so intent on taking the right road, we paid little attention to the facilities and services offered by the town; a craft gallery, bakery, supermarket, hotel.

Soon we were driving along the side of the escarpment above the east coast, not unlike those in Queensland or just south of Sydney. The road was very narrow although wide enough to be divided by a white dotted line, the edge of the road barricaded by a low metal rail although I am not sure how effective it would have been had one been nudged off the road. Traffic accumulated behind us; there was absolutely nowhere to pull off, and then the last of the nine kilometres dropped steeply down to the coastal road and we freed those trapped behind us.

A further six kilometres around the Henderson Lagoon and we arrived at Scamander, a seaside village at the mouth of the river of the same name. I had emailed a couple of caravan parks for tariffs and checked out another advertised only in Camps 6, this latter offering a powered site for $27. It was windy, incredibly so; we were not encouraged to walk along the village, the seafront or any other part of the place. Instead we parked beside the river crossing in an attempt to shelter from the wind, and pulled out the computer. There was neither internet nor cellphone reception, so we were unable to check whether the caravan parks had bothered to respond to yesterday’s communication. However it was not just that which decided us against staying at Scamander, but the unpleasant wind. We looked again at the map and decided that our original planned destination might just offer that refuge from the weather.

We drove on up along the coast, the Salamander Conservation Area between the road and the sea for most of the time, past Diana’s Lagoon which offers free camping for the free spirited, over the Peron Dunes peninsula and down into the sheltered Georges Bay, at once glad we had decided to continue on.

There are two caravan parks here at St Helens, this Big4 and the other which would have cost us just thirty cents less after our Big4 discount, however we assumed correctly that we would have good internet and television reception here at the park and that there would be a guaranteed standard of facilities all round.

After setting up, I did a load of washing and then spent twenty minutes fighting with it and the wind concentrated about the washing lines. We then drove on into the town centre, walked about, bought a couple of bits, then checked out the Information Centre and the waterfront where two fish vendors offer their wares. Chris is thinking fish and chips for dinner tomorrow; I will go with the flow.

St Helens is the largest town in the north-east coast of Tasmania, known as the game fishing capital of Tasmania and is also renowned for its oysters and crayfish. In the early 2000s, the town was one of the fastest growing areas of Tasmania and reached a population of just over 2,000 at the 2006 census. We can understand why; it is absolutely charming.

Fishing wharf at St Helens

In the early 19^th century, St Helens was first a whaling base, then when tin was discovered in the surrounding area in the 1870s, it became the shipping port for the mines. Today its income is mainly derived from tourism, fishing and timber.

The area was first known as Georges Bay, but then renamed St Helens in 1882. At the height of the tin mining years, from 1874 on, over one thousand Chinese moved through the port. When the mines finally closed, the miners moved to the coast and many of them settled in St Helens. The port slowly changed and today it has a major fishing fleet which is supported by boat building, ships chandlery and other related activities. Of course tourism compliments all of this.

Back at camp most of the washing had dried, so I had another round with the wind and returned having won the battle, but exhausted. Hopefully tomorrow the wind will have abated and we can enjoy the area in the sunshine. We have realised that tomorrow is going to be rather muddly; daylight saving kicks in overnight, the Wallabies are playing their last test for the season, against the Pumas in Argentina (morning our time) and the Rugby League finals are being played out tomorrow evening in Sydney. Chris suggested that we do only short trips tomorrow which means we will have to extend beyond our two days paid so we can still do the big drive tour I had planned to explore the area to the north and north-west of us here.