8 October 2013 - Freycinet National Park, Tasmania

Sunshine greeted us this morning and as we drove along Georges Bay away from St Helens, the glistening sea on our left, we almost regretted that it was time to leave this delightful seaside town. We retraced the route travelled a few days earlier, over the St Helen’s Point peninsula, down along the coastline past Beaumaris and Scamander, then turned left at  the cross roads where we had previously joined the coast road after descending from St Mary’s.

The beaches of Falmouth and Four Mile Creek are apparently popular with surfers, perhaps on every day but today; today the sea was far too calm for such activity. The escarpment, here in Tasmania called “tier”, rose steeply to our right, the sea forever on our left. Chris remarked that it was rare for us to be travelling while towing, travelling with the sea so placed. We have travelled mainly anti-clockwise, with the coastline more normally on our right.

At Scamander, we had passed the Henderson Lagoon, and there were many more lagoons as we came on south, even more near a small seaside location aptly named Chain of Lagoons. The coast land we drove through, apart from one relatively new development of grape vines, was well populated with sheep. At one point I thought we had come upon dog trials in progress, the men and utes all gathered in one place and a small flock of sheep being managed by man and dog a little to the side, then we realised we were witnessing the beginning of a docking day; the pens erected in the upper corner of the paddock and the extra hands contemplating the scrummage yet to start. Memories of helping with the docking came flooding back, an interim of at least forty five years.

Seventy six kilometres south of St Helens, we arrived at Bicheno, a charming seaside village on a small headland. Chris’s memories of his first trip around Tasmania are rather patchy but he did recall being picked up by a retired chap who still drove a school bus part-time, who invited him and Stan back to his house for the night. They were most appreciative of the accommodation; it was preferable to sleeping on the beach. It was this generous gentleman who had directed them to Bicheno’s famous blowholes which in those days, over forty years ago, were not as clearly signed as they are today.

Tasmania’s tourist brochures tend to promote the restaurants, accommodation and products for sale rather than facts about each destination. Of course that should be the whole thrust of tourist information, however brochures and booklets on the mainland manage to offer a balance, still promoting the products and services for sale and also explaining the whys and wherefores of each destination. And so it is of Bicheno, only a small hint of the history and natural charms but not enough to encourage me to plan a stopover. Fortunately I had also consulted  our Explore Australia and learned a few more tantalising facts.

Bicheno's lovely coastline

Bicheno was set up as a whaling and sealing centre in 1803, predating the official settlement of Van Dieman’s Land (aka Tasmania) by a few months. Like many depots for men of such occupation, it became a den of violence and abuse. It was proclaimed a township in 1866 although the hinterland was established for farming in the mid-1840s. Coal was discovered in 1848 and six years later, the harbour was expanded to provide port facilities for coal mines, however the coal history was short lived  and Bicheno declined to a sleepy little fishing village.Today there are still less than one thousand inhabitants and yet the commercial area is as vibrant as a much more sizeable place would be. Perhaps it was something to do with the school holidays and sunshine?

We found our way to the blowhole area, parked up and had lunch before venturing out onto the large granite rocks where deep slits create the blowhole effect. We walked along the shore, about halfway of the Foreshore Footway, for about half an hour, as far as the boat launching ramp just across The Gulch from the Governor Island Marine Reserve. From the shore we could see several guano covered islets, crowded with the contributors of the cover as well as a couple of large barking aggressive seals. I say seals because of the past history of the place, yet they may well have been sea lions; we should have had our binoculars with us.

Clear waters of The Gulch

Bicheno is a delightful place, especially pretty today in the sunshine and with little wind. For us, it provided an excellent lunch stop which was how we had thought matters would pan out. We had no idea where we might end up for the night. I was keen to visit this National Park, however was also aware that we had but four or five days to cover the two hundred and fifty kilometres between St Helens and Hobart.

Eleven kilometres south of Bicheno, we turned south onto the road to Coles Bay, travelling down the eastern shore of the Moulting Lagoon, a RAMSA wetland. As we approached the very small settlement of Coles, we could not help but notice the spectacular peaks rising up from the Freycenet Peninsula, Mt Amos at 454 metres, Mt Dove at485 metres, Mt Baudin at 413 metres, Mt Parsons at 331 metres and Mt Mayson at 415 metres, all known as The Hazards, all caught in the sunlight, towering barren giants across the bay.

Coles Bay

We had rung ahead son after midday to check availability and so were expected. The Ranger allocated Site 15 to us in the powered camping area, between the Visitor Centre and the bay. We made our way down to our camp only to find someone already there; a commercial hire campervan with no one in sight. I walked back up to the Centre while Chris stayed with the rig, and explained the situation. The campervan people were supposed to have moved across to another site having decided to extend their stay. Perhaps they were walking somewhere in the park? That was little help to us. I returned to the camp, armed with a list of other sites we could take instead if we were not willing to await the return of the trespasser, but found Chris in conversation with him and his partner. They had emerged from the van with their lunch and would be happy to move after they had finished eating. Such arrogance! The Ranger up in the centre had described the tardy tourists as “naughty”; my husband had other words and phrases far more appropriate; “ignorant bastards” just one of them.

The Hazards

We set up on another site and even after we were completely established, the dining couple were still lingering over their late lunch. It was nearly 3 pm.

A walk along the shore seemed good therapy for such frustration so we set off along the sand and around a small rocky headland, along to the end of Richardson’s Beach where a rather smart looking lodge sits offering accommodation for the more discerning. The bay was so very calm, the water so very clear and the organic scent of rotting seaweed so very pungent. 

Soon after our return, another rental campervan pulled in beside us to share the intimate camping site, each made for two parties. The cost of a powered site for two is $16 which we consider excellent value for all services; water and sullage facilities are also on site. Of course there is the matter of the $24 per car per day Park Pass which lifts the tariff somewhat, however we can forget about that, having paid for our eight week pass on arriving in Tasmania. The pain of payment is almost forgotten.