The next chapter of our mini Tassie road trip continues…
Thankfully the possums hadn’t followed us and there were no more possy performances from above to keep us awake last night. We just had the cacophony of kookaburras to herald a new day, but at least they waited until 5:30 before they started laughing at us. That’s a little more respectable and we could cope with that.
Today was to start with another golfing expedition, this time to the Tasman Golf Club at Port Arthur. This course has a particular hole that is quite special, so it was worth Steve having a round and me going along for a nice walk. It was a very nice place for a stroll. Peaceful, lots of bush and views to the water and then…the 8th tee. This was amazing. A par 3, but this required driving uphill over a chasm between two cliffs. Steve had started the day saying, “The aim of today is not to lose any balls, I’m getting short on balls.” As he stood on the 8th tee, he said, “I’m about to lose some balls here.” Sure enough, his first shot decided to take a dive, straight down into the waves below. He nailed it on his second attempt and the ball sailed over that awesome gap and landed gracefully just short of the green. It was certainly a top spot to play golf / go for a walk and it was a nice, easy way to start the day.
To continue our morning perambulations, we tootled down the road to inspect Remarkable Cave. To get down to the cave, there were long, steep steps, 120 of them in fact because yes, I counted them! The viewing area for the cave would once have been part of the cave itself, but over time with erosion, the roof had collapsed, so we were standing in the open looking down into the cave, as the water rushed in. The cave itself wasn’t anything especially remarkable, but what was very cool was the noise it made. As the water crashed in, there was such a loud rumble, exactly like thunder and then equally loud crackling, as rocks were dragged in the wave’s backwash. I’d never heard waves or caves make such sounds. After taking in the audio visual spectacle of this very interesting hole in the cliff, we trekked back up the 120 steps and then continued on for a walk out to the Maingon Blowhole. As we walked along the track, we had sweeping views out to the ocean, across the peninsula and along the spectacular cliffs. It reminded me of the cliff top walk we did at the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland.
“We live in an awesome place,” commented Steve as we walked along. He’d been thinking along similar lines to me because he continued with, “the cliffs of Moher get such a big wrap, but look what we’ve got here.”
“We really are lucky,” I said, “we have so much of what other places are heralded for, but we have them all here, neatly wrapped up in a little island package.” We continued on, taking in the beautiful rugged landscape of the peninsula and could even see some yachts on the homeward stretch to the finish of the Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race. When we reached the Blowhole, it was, I have to say, a tad underwhelming. The sea mustn’t have been pumping enough because yes, it was a hole, but it wasn’t doing too much blowing. More of a gentle sloosh really. No roaring waves erupting out of the hole below us, just a civilised lapping of waves around the edges. Oh well. Still, it was worth the walk. The walk back was equally as speccy and we made it back to the car feeling a renewed sense of gratitude for our little place of Tassie.
Our onward journey was heading towards Jeanerette Beach, where we’d drop in on Steve’s mum and dad at their shack and stay for a couple of nights, but we took some detours along the way to see what we could discover. We motored into Doo-Town, a small coastal town with all the houses being named with the word “doo”…Doo Nuthin, Toucan-doo, Make doo. I’m guessing it got harder the newer your house / shack was, to come up with a creative doo-name that hadn’t already been taken. We called in to see the Tasman Arch, which was an eroded arch in the cliff, then on to Marion Bay, which was more spectacular coastline with turquoise water and white beaches and plenty of campers enjoying the beach life. Next was a stop at Spiky Bridge, a little piece of history on the side of the road. It’s a convict built bridge, which in its day was part of the old convict built coach road that connected the towns of Swansea and Little Swanport with the east coast road to Hobart. The bridge was originally called Lafarelle’s Bridge and it’s not known why the spikes were incorporated in the design on the top of the bridge walls. Maybe the designer wanted to discourage folks from taking a snooze along its walls? Maybe he was paying homage to his favourite dinosaur, the stegosaurus. We shall never know.
After a long stretch of driving, we stopped off in Bicheno to stretch our legs and take a roam around. Bicheno is a popular summer holiday spot, so it was a busy little place, but we strolled down to the water and through the park and there I discovered a very surprising and interesting memorial that left me giving the folks of Bicheno a little round of applause. An Australian Merchant navy memorial stood at the end of a park and at the end of the memorial wall was a large and very prominent plaque recognising Waubadebar, with the words “Legendary Aboriginal heroine of the seas who died at sea and after whom the bay, beach, gulch and street are named. She was taken from her tribe at Great Oyster Bay into servitude of grief and sorrow and lived in “The Old Fishery” for many years. No greater admiration.” Her grave and headstone stood nearby, with another plaque that reminded us, “This place on which you are standing is Aboriginal land, lutrawita. From beginnings of creation palawa people welcomed the sun and moon rising above these waters…Waubadebar was of the Oyster Bay nation. As a young girl she was abducted by sealers. She was believed to be a strong swimmer and once rescued two sealers in a storm. While sailing from Hobart to the Furneaux islands, Waubadebar died and the crew buried her here…In 1855 the community of Bicheno erected this headstone on her gravesite. Waubadebar is the only Aboriginal woman in Tasmania known to have been commemorated in this way…This place and Waubadebar’s memory are still tended to by the community of Bicheno today. Her memorial and grave remind us of the atrocities that were part of invasion and the continuing strength of palawa people.” Well, I was suitably surprised and impressed. So often I think and comment on the continual exclusion of any real recognition of our First Peoples here. Tasmania sells its colonial and convict history very well, but doesn’t do a very good job of acknowledging the traditional owners of this place and their version and place in its history. So, to have a community recognise a young Aboriginal woman in this way and continue to keep her story known, was really refreshing to see. Well done Bicheno!
We motored on for the final push to Len and Pauline’s, sending a message along the way to “put the kettle on.” We arrived at their magic spot by the beach, heaved a sigh after a big day of travel, settled in for a restorative brew and catch up, before calling it a day.
Today we were reminded again of what a special place this little island state is. “Top spot, the Peninsula,” was Steve’s review of our trip around the Tasman Peninsula. Indeed. We continue to find examples of scenery or features that we had waxed lyrical about when encountering them in other countries and here we keep finding we have the same, of equal measure, right here in Tasmania. Rugged and wild coastline, pristine beaches, quaint historic villages and the list goes on. While we take a hiatus from our international adventures, we are finding we are quite taken care of with our short trips around our own “back yard.” Yep, lucky we are indeed, with a large side order of gratitude.
Run. Ride. Roam. 
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