HOBART TO SOUTHPORT
So, early in the morning we set off for Southport, a couple of hours from Hobart. It was going to be a long day as we only planned to stay the one night and had a lot to cram in. In hindsight, this is place deserves a couple of nights at the very least.
It’s a nice drive full of little surprises, my favourite being an apple farm with a fridge, an honest to goodness honesty box and the best apples on the planet. For a couple of bucks you get a great big bag of apples the like of which I have never had. Perfect apples. I know, that’s a big claim, but seriously, as someone who thinks apples are a bit ordinary, it was a revelation. I would return to Southport just for those apples.
We arrived mid morning at that night’s roost, a van park hidden behind the Southport Hotel and Caravan Park. The pub/park is reasonably priced, with basic amenities, powered and unpowered sites and a couple of cabins for those lacking the mobility of a trailer. I quickly setup the Jayco Penguin just enough to make some lunch for later and lock it all up. Soon we were off again, heading 30 km south as far as the road would take us, to a place unironically called The End Of The Road.
As you approach the End of the road you pass through Recherche Bay Nature Recreation Area, where vans and tents and camper-trailers are stacked and packed like tins on a supermarket shelf. This is the wild west of camping, with people taking up whatever square inch of space they could, and bugger personal space. Everyone seems to be in a sort of gridlocked arrangement. I look at them and wonder how anyone in the second row, let alone third, fourth and fifth, were going to get out. I imagine people packing and shuffling to let vans on the inside out, like a giant complicated game of magic tiles.
I had originally planned a night amongst the hoard, but the idea of eking out a few square feet for the van with hundreds of other free campers was unappealing, as would be the smell after a couple of days, and I was glad we were staying back at the pub. Beyond the crowded camp grounds is the end of the road, The End Of The Road.
There’s a bridge over Cockle Creek which marks the end of civilisation, and below it, on the sand flats, we were treated to a parade by the locals.
Strangely, the road extends a few hundred meters on from the End Of The Road sign, past ruins left behind from the whaling days of old. At the end of the road is a sculpture of a whale, now revered for more than its byproducts. I like to think it’s a testament to how far we have come, but it’s more like a reminder of how far we’ve got to go in our appreciation of all nature has to offer.
Not far from the Whale Lookout, is a track that meanders over sand and rock and low scrub, then through a magic forest to the old pilot station ruins at Fishers Point. Along the way are a myriad of shells, birds and trees both living and skeletal.
This is as far south as an old fart can get these days. If you’ve got a young person’s stamina, there’s a track to the southernmost point, and it runs along the rugged southern coast, but it’s a three day journey one way. They recommend you organise a boat or chopper to take you out afterwards. For me I think I’d need an air ambulance.
This is an amazing part of Tassie, where everywhere you look is a postcard-esque view waiting to be photographed. Every turn has a point of interest whether it be nature, people or history, Tassie has something for everyone.
We returned to the pub and the Jayco Penguin and had an early dinner. Then, at last, I got a chance to wet a fishing line. Now I’ve been fishing since my grandfather took me to Iluka when I was 10. First I tried the wharf at Southport, but the wind was against me and the fish uncooperative. Next I found a sheltered spot, which I will share with you lucky people.
First catch was a small rock cod, spiny nasty little creatures. But the the Red Cod, (a different fish) came on the bite, and dinner was caught.
With venomous spines, not for eating or touching. Red Rock Cod.
Another, much nicer Cod. Red Cod
Secret fishing spot.
Our time at Southport was over, and next day we’d be returning to Hobart, where Tassie turns up the adventure to 11.
But that’s next post.
Honey and Hopping Things, or Welcome Back To Hobart.
Travels With An Old Fart 