Bay of Fires and Inland

We woke up in the Freycinet Golf Club campground to a frost. Not a major one, but a surprise after a week of pleasant, warm weather. The fine coating of ice on the windscreen quickly evaporated and coffee restored us to a comfortable temperature.

We set off to the North in our almost-new rented camper. Hardly more than 40,000km on the odometer. It was keyless ignition and a digital dashboard (“dashscreen”?). Very modern. This morning it demonstrated another feature – a warning sound. The first few times we saw nothing on the dashscreen to enlighten us. Then there was a flicker from the driving data to something else, but it was too quick to see what it was. The sounds became more frequent and finally the signal lasted long enough to see that the flicker was to illustrate that the side door was open. Only it clearly wasn't. As we drove through Bicheno the sounds became a regular torrent and the dashscreen constantly showed the vehicle outline with the side door lit up bright red in the open position.

The local petrol station came into view, where we planned to stop for fuel anyway. Bill pulled in and, his mind dulled by the beeping, pulled up by the pumps. We had to 'phone the rental company help number and might be some time. The man at the cash register was helpfulness itself. He had a parking space that we could occupy “for as long as it takes”. In the event, it was quite a short telephone call. If we shut the door really firmly the sensor would be satisfied. So for the rest of the trip we had to slam that door as hard as we could to be able to travel in peace.

Tasmanian pronunciation. Did you, in your head, pronounce Bicheno with a “ch” sound? So did we at first. The correct way to say it is Bish-a-no. And the island's 2^nd city, Launceston is pronounced Lon-sess-ton. It helps to get these things right.

Pleasantly surprised by the fuel economy of our chariot we continued North. A road sign showed our destination, Saint Helens, straight ahead. Saint Marys (the apostrophe abuse is copied from the towns' names) to the left. We opted to have a look at St. Marys. After all, we are tourists.

This was our first experience of what Tasmania can provide by way of narrow, winding roads when it puts its mind to it. Elephant Pass Road is an 'A' road – the A4 – and sealed for all 17km, but with scores of yellow diamond-shaped signs recommending very slow speeds for the forthcoming bend(s). Some of them particularly warn long vehicles. So it was with great care that Bill steered round hairpin bend after hairpin bend. Happily, we didn't meet any long vehicles coming the other way. By the time we got to St. Marys a coffee was sorely needed.

Saint Marys is a small town, but it has a bakery. A deservedly popular spot serving excellent coffee and very toothsome snacks. Compensation for the tiring drive to get there.

The way on towards St. Helens, the Esk Highway, is kinder to the driver's blood pressure, but not by any means a straight and level road. From signs we saw we suspect that it is the other side of Elephant Mountain, but our maps do not name the geological features of the area.

St. Helens is a base for exploring the Bay of Fires. The bay was given its name in 1773 by Captain Tobias Furneaux, who saw the fires of Aboriginal people on the beaches. The Bay is a region of white beaches, blue water and orange-hued granite (the colour of which is actually produced by a lichen). Much of it was out of reach to us, since the rental company restricts the use of unsealed roads.

It was only a short drive to Binalong Bay, where there is a gorgeous beach.

Very pleasing to the eye, don't you think?

Plenty of space for everyone.

Lovely!

Compare the colour of the sand to a white bird (a Silver Gull).

Some of the orange rocks.

Some more.

And even a rock pool.  The complete beach!

A stranded jellyfish on the sand.  There was one swimmer enjoying the water and he was too far out to tell him of our find.  He returned to shore unscathed.  Maybe we stumbled on a vagrant, solo cnidarian.

This osteospermum made a nice subject for a photo.

Time for lunch.

Back in the town we shopped for supplies. The prices in the Bottle-O liquor store caused great dismay until we discovered that many of them were for 2 or even 3 bottles. The store manager helped us with inexpensive wine and valuable local information. The most important was that our map was out of date in respect of the road to The Gardens. The road is now sealed and we can freely drive our vehicle along it.

So next morning we enjoyed a 2^nd instalment of the Bay of Fires.

The road to The Gardens is always close to the sea, without offering particularly good views. There are stopping places, but they looked rather sandy and not perhaps spots to park a large, heavy camper van. At least there was grass to park on at The Gardens, while we admired the area.

That just-above-the-water reef in the background must be a menace to boaties.

More rocks than sand here.

A nice view.

And another.

Beautiful scenery is never boring

An immature Silver Gull foraging at the water's edge.

To avoid the forbidden unsealed roads we had to drive all the way back to St. Helens before heading inland to Pyengana. Sorry, we don't know how to pronounce it. We got there at lunch time and happily there was a cafe. And there was a Scarlet Robin, but it flew away before we could pick up a camera.

The cafe was attached to a small cheese making business, so we not only had nice lunches but we also tasted and purchased some very nice cheese.

From Pyengana we headed to St. Columba Falls. We went past, but did not stop at, the Pub in the Paddock. It really is in a paddock and offers lunches, dinners most evenings and bed & breakfast. As well as being unattached to a town or village, which is rare for a pub, it offers the unusual entertainment of a beer-drinking pig. 

An information board at the Falls tells, “Mrs Terry, the valley midwife in the late 1800s, led by example and had 15 children of her own. Her six sons were more interested in drinking beer than farming, so they simply licensed their homestead! And so, in 1900 the Columba Falls Hotel, now known as The Pub in the Paddock, was born. The Terrys seem to have taken care of the social life in the valley. They not only converted their house into a hotel, but also their barn into a dance hall and picture theatre for Saturday nights. The venue must have had an interesting smell as the Terrys' pigs slept under the barn's floorboards and had to be chased out before dances could commence.”

The track to the Falls was only about 10 minutes and Eve managed it without much protest from her hip. The Falls are billed as the highest in Tasmania, but if you are looking for a mini-Niagara you will be disappointed. However, the track through the bush is most enjoyable.

The track to the Falls.

A stream beside the track.

Tree ferns are sometimes called man ferns in Tasmania.

St Columba Falls

Waterfall spray.

Our destination for the night was Northeast Park in Scottsdale. It's actually Southeast of the town centre but it is not named for geography. It's named after a Mr Northeast, who gave the land. The description we had was of a pleasant campground with toilets, adjacent to water where platypus may be found. No fee, but donations are solicited.

It's a popular site, of course, but we got there in time to select an easy place to park, and to help latecomers to identify vacant spots that would not annoy established campers. Bill took a camera to the adjacent water and was soon in conversation with other bird photographers. There were plenty of ducks, none of whom looked quite like the birds in the field guide. Bill's theory is that they are hybrids between mallards and domestic ducks, which after a few generations can look like pretty much anything.

Mixed ducks.

A duck with Muscovy in its ancestry?

Nothing like a good wing-stretch.

There was an information board to inspire hope that platypuses might reside in the area. 

After sunset we both went to look for one, but without success.