9 October 2013 - Freycinet National Park, Tasmania

The day could not have started better, the sun shining and the forecasted strong winds yet to arrive. We set off with our lunch in the backpack ready to do as much walking as time and our legs allowed.

The Freycinet National Park covers an area of 169 square kilometres, was established way back in 1916 and now attracts over 200,000 visitors each year. The walks we were planning are among Tasmania’s Great Short Walks and I think it would be fair to say that the Wineglass Bay Lookout is one of Tasmania’s geographical icons, although Chris assures me that the Cradle Mountain Lake St Clair is the only real icon, for he still holds his historical trek very dear at heart. I imagine we will also include the Franklin-Gordon Wild River region into that iconic status too, so in all, my earlier comment might seem rather ignorant. I can say though that people of reasonable fitness, the un-fat and in good health can all do the Lookout Walk. It just might take some longer than others.

We set off for this first, described as a one to one and a half hour walk, up a manicured steep gravel track, geared toward the tourist, even with an arched stone bridge over one small creek. When we finally reached the lookout platform above the saddle between Mt Amos and Mt Mayson, we joined over a dozen others doing the same. Everyone was snapping photos of the Tasman Sea and below, gorgeous Wineglass Bay. It was there in the bay that the Queen of England, Elizabeth II was taken for a picnic on one of her visits. Sadly I imagine she was surrounded in a massive entourage and was hardly able to enjoy it all as we did today. I imagine too that she was not handed her Tupperware sandwich saver and apple to enjoy as she gazed out beyond the glistening white beach to the glistening sapphire blue water. Alas, such is the lot of a Queen!

High above Wineglass Bay

Chris had been very non-committal about how far we should walk; he cares for me well and is very cognoscente that I do overdo it sometimes and ignore the fact that I am supposed to be wheelchair bound on oxygen by now. Bugger that, I say! “Let’s press on down to the bay”, I said. And so we did although this was much steeper and the track not quite so manicured. We passed three trampers carrying heavy packs who had been walking far further than we contemplated, having overnighted at one of the isolated camps on the peninsula. They were young but still struggling with the uphill climb.

Wineglass Bay

After checking out the beach, I assured Chris I was fit to carry on and complete the Wineglass Bay / Hazards Beach Circuit, supposedly a five hour eleven kilometre walk. I was not keen on the thought of back tracking up over the saddle again and ignorant of that to come. We crossed the isthmus back to Great Oyster Bay on the western side of the peninsula, passing lagoons and a couple of scatty wallabies. The trees, banksias, tea tree and eucalypt, were stunted by salty sea winds but still quite beautiful. The mosquitoes were plentiful and hungry; we stopped and doused our bare patches with repellent Chris was fortuitously carrying in the backpack. Reaching the coast, we walked for a kilometre up the high tide line, with the waves chasing us further from time to time beyond. The wind had come up and we walked straight into it. I had my broad brimmed sunhat on, the one I can wear tied tight under my chin in an altogether dorkish fashion. With my head bent down, it acted like a shield against the sand being whipped up although I could only follow Chris’s footsteps in doing so.

Metallic Skink

When we reached the northern end of Hazards Beach, we followed the track up into a sheok forest and found a fallen log to sit upon for our lunch. Out of the wind, we were much happier, and happier again to eat despite the fact it was not quite midday. We had met few walkers, although two passed us here and another had overtaken us as we retreated from the wind on the beach. Apart from the skedaddling wallabies (or pademelons) we saw only Metallic Skinks and very little bird life.

From here it was just a simple matter of walking the six kilometres back along the coast to the car park, or at least simple if one were to glance casually at the map. The undulating track was well marked, dipping up and down into gullies, across rock faces and ancient slides, through shady forest and low scrub and past the most beautiful of little bays, secluded from all but walkers such as ourselves. Quite frankly, I was glad to arrive at the car park, although we were soon ready to head off and explore the rest of the park. We had taken just short of four hours to complete the circuit and that included twenty minutes for lunch. Not bad for two not-so-young gypsies!

By now the car park was crowded and I remarked to Chris that the powers-that-be would be making a killing with their $24 per vehicle today, and this was only a Wednesday! There were a couple of small wallabies hanging about the car park, subject of many photographers and I thought as I watched the tourists that I had become a bit blaze if I could not join the excitement and shoot away too with my camera.

There are two gentle walks available to the old and infirm, accessible by taking the Cape Tourville Road toward the east coast of the peninsula. We drove the five and a half kilometres to the end and took the short twenty minute circuit around the rather unassuming lighthouse on the point. What the lighthouse lacks in attractiveness, the coastline both north and south of the lookout makes up for. Four of the offshore islands known as The Nuggets, sanctuary to seabirds, were visible directly below us. Rugged and beautiful, Tasmania is certainly proving to be every bit as beautiful as suggested.

The unmanned lighthouse was constructed in 1971 and the tower of 11 metres stands 126 metres above sea level. It replaced the Cape Forestier Lighthouse on Lemon Rock, which was decommissioned that same year. Here we learned that if we were to travel in a direct easterly line for about one thousand kilometres, we might arrive halfway down New Zealand’s South Island’s West Coast. Just in time for tea with Cousin Harry?

Sleepy Bay

The Cape is named for a French Admiral who was a maritime hero, sinking many ships in his time. His exuberance probably stemmed from his unfortunate first name: Anne. I was reminded of the old Johnny Cash song, A Boy Named Sue.

Part way back along this terrible road, sealed but very steep, very narrow and with appallingly soft or non-existent edges, we pulled into Sleepy Bay, walking only the short distance to the lookout below the car park over another beautiful little bay. I declined the suggestion to walk a little further down to the beach; I reckoned that we had done enough walking for one day.