Goodbye Tasmania

When Bill booked our flights the dates were just numbers on the calendar that had to be, if possible, synchronised with the best fare deals. It was only afterwards that he realised we would be flying back to NZ on Easter Sunday.

Bill had arranged accommodation near the airport for the Saturday night, to avoid having to return the camper van and gallop, breathless, to the 'plane. And that's if there isn't an issue with the vehicle or a queue at the depot or ... Again, the public holiday was not a factor in his planning. It was Eve who pointed out that we would need a campsite on Good Friday when throngs of campers would be out for the long weekend.

And it was Eve who found a campground just where we wanted to be on that evening. No formal booking, but an assurance that “We'll fit you in somewhere.”

Morning mist over the dam at Cradle Mountain Fishery and Camping.

The last place on our 'must see' itinerary was the Huon Valley, recommended by near neighbours in the Motueka Valley. This is Southwest of Hobart and we had just left Cradle Mountain National Park in Tasmania's Northwest.

Once again we needed to visit a dump station and, as happened a few days previously, the nearest one was in Sheffield. At least this time we could drive straight to it. And afterwards we knew exactly where to get very good coffee. Does two visits to Bossimi's Bakehouse and Cafe qualify us as regulars?

Then we entered the destination campground into the satnav and off we went. It chose main roads as the quickest route, of course, and since it was Good Friday there wasn't much commercial traffic. The main roads took us close to Launceston before turning South onto the Midland Highway towards Hobart.

This is probably the nearest Tasmania gets to an inter-city motorway, but it certainly isn't a motorway. Tasmania doesn't do by-passes; the road goes straight through the centre of the towns along the way. The state isn't keen on rest areas either. We were resigning ourselves to parking on any piece of gravel beside the road when we did find a rest area at St. Peter's Pass. There were picnic tables in the shade of the trees and picnic tables in full sun. There were toilets. Very pleasant.

Nearing Hobart, navigation became tricky. There were road works with diversions and, we suspect, new roundabouts that our satnav did not know about. However, the signposting was good enough to keep us going in the right direction, and the satnav recalculates the route very quickly when its chosen path is unavailable.

The lack of by-passes applies to Hobart. Through traffic has to mix it with the crowds in the city centre. Even on Good Friday the streets were busy.

The campground that had promised us an unbooked site is the Huon Valley Caravan Park in Huonville. They were busy, but they had room. It is their proud boast that no camper has been turned away in 12 years.

We had arrived in time for the Tasmanian Devils to be fed. What? Another wildlife sanctuary? It turns out that when the captive devils are too old to breed any more, the sanctuaries place them with another organisation as a kind of retirement home. And the caravan park was one of these retirement homes. We've previously seen devils being fed at 3 sanctuaries so we skipped this opportunity.

Family camping was the order of the day. Children of all ages were enjoying activities without close parental supervision. Kicking a rugby ball to each other was a favourite.

Although there was a large grassed area there weren't many birds about. A couple of ducks appeared briefly, but probably decided there were too many rugby balls flying around. A pair of Sulphur-crested Cockatoos flew overhead, screeching. Bill picked up the camera, but they refused to come back and, instead, perched in a distant tree. Bill had to try more ultra-long range photography but the result wasn't nearly as good as the sea-eagle in Macquarie Harbour.

This is a Sulphur-crested Cockatoo with its crest erect.  Truly!

For our last night in the camper van we decided on takeaways. We drove into Huonville's main street and selected a place near where we parked. It was a major disappointment. Eve selected a burger and Bill went for fish and chips. He didn't recognise the fish species being offered and the serving girl recommended the “flake”. This was probably a fiction to avoid saying “gummy shark”, just as in England “rock salmon” means “shark”.

The shop didn't seem overly busy, but they mucked up our order and only cooked the burger. So we had to keep on waiting until the fish and chips were prepared. In fairness, we should mention that we were presented with a crab stick each in compensation.

By the time we got back to the campground the burger was lukewarm. Bill's chips were OK but the fish was not at all to his liking. It had neither taste nor texture. Oh well, you can't win 'em all.

In the morning we (Eve) swept out the van and tidied it for its return later in the day. Bill emptied the toilet cassette.

Then we set off to drive the Huon Highway. It mainly runs alongside the Huon River and is very picturesque.

One of the settlements is called Franklin. Franklin is Eve's maiden name so we had to stop and have a coffee, didn't we? The lady in the coffee shop was very pleasant, but the coffee was nothing special.

Boats moored in a side channel of the Huon River.

We followed the highway through Dover, where we could see no cliffs of any colour, as far as Southport. The towns really don't look anything like their English counterparts.

Kingfish Beach, Southport.

Back up the highway for lunch in Huonville. There was a crowded little cafe beside the entrance to the Woolworths supermarket. It retrieved something for Huonville's hospitality reputation. In the supermarket we bought a ready meal for the evening.

To return the camper van we had to recross Hobart, and for some reason it was easier in this direction. We also had to fill the gas cylinder and the fuel tank. We fill our home gas cylinders at a local petrol station, but in Tasmania petrol stations only swap bottles and the camper van's bottle is a different size. Refills are available from camping stores. We had the address for one near the airport. But the satnav only got us to the general area, not the actual retail centre. Much time was wasted before we located the centre and the camping store. Bill went inside the store to see exactly where gas filling took place and found an apologetic sign to explain that they had run out of gas and could not fill bottles.

We were running out of time now, so we filled up with diesel and hastened to the depot. The lady who did the inspection was not concerned about the gas. “Is the bottle empty?” “No.” Apparently that was sufficient. The trouble we had in Bicheno with the fictitious 'open door' warning was no surprise. The lady knew exactly which sensor was to blame and how to clean it. The various little dings in the bodywork were satisfactorily tallied with those we took over at the beginning of the hire and we got our full bond back.

Our Easter Saturday night accommodation was in a Big 4 campground, but this time in a cabin. A very comfortable cabin in a very orderly campground. Eve had ascertained via the Internet that the campground had a laundry and exactly the coins we needed to do a load of washing. Wash, tick. Tumble dry, oops. Not dry enough – and we didn't have the right coins for another go. A lady in the laundry room offered to give us her coins, but that would still have left us $1 short. So we asked the family camping next to the laundry room if they could change a $5 note. They were really helpful. Between them the 3 adults had $5 in the right coins so we gave them our note and left them working out how much they owed each other.

The ready meal saved a long walk to the nearest restaurant in a Travelodge Hotel. It was easy to cook and tasty. A good option.

As we settled for sleep we heard noises outside the cabin. But no-one knocked at the door and after a minute or two they ceased so we didn't worry about it. And nor should we have. In the morning we discovered that the noise was preparation for an Easter egg hunt. Of course, it was Easter Sunday. Excited children, accompanied by smiling parents, were following clues around the camp and one of the hiding places was behind our cabin.

When we dragged our luggage to the office to check out we found that Happy Easter had been chalked on the car park in huge letters and the Easter Bunny was there for high-fives and photos. The camp staff must have put a huge amount of effort into making sure the kids had a wonderful Easter Day. As a last image of Tasmania it would be difficult to beat.

The reason we had chosen this location for our last night in Tasmania was its proximity to the airport and the fact that it offered a shuttle. Off we went for a long, unexciting day spent in airports and aeroplanes.

In Hobart we checked in with Qantas and then had breakfast in the airport. Our flight didn't take off until midday and then we had five hours to wait in Sydney before the flight to Christchurch. As in Melbourne on the outward journey, transit passengers are prisoners and the price of refreshments is very high.

The international flight took off on time and landed early, but Qantas's knee-crippling seats made sure we did not get any worthwhile rest. It was well after midnight NZ time when we emerged from the airport building to look for a taxi. We were surely ripped off. $35 for a 5 minute journey! But we were too tired and groggy to argue at the time.

The Lylo Hotel at Christchurch Airport has a 24-hour reception, so our anti-social arrival time didn't matter. NEVER STAY AT THIS HOTEL. The 'room' was hardly more than a cupboard. The bed could only be entered from one side, so that if Eve wanted to get out she had to climb over Bill. And it wasn't cheap. $180 for the night. What a welcome back to New Zealand.

In the morning an Uber to Russell and Ivy's house in Halswell, where we had left our car, cost us $32.

Cradle Mountain

Strahan certainly seemed big enough to deserve a petrol station, and the BP site was there where the map indicated it, but there were no pumps and the building was closed. Very odd. So we drove on to Queenstown. There was no petrol on the main road we arrived by, which was also odd, but the satnav indicated some options. A tiny forecourt on a side street offered the usual range of fuels and we replenished the tank.

Our destination for the night was Tullah Rest Area. There are no signposts and we had to hunt for a bit. (We only worked out later that the camping app will zoom to show every street. We could have followed its map.) There was one other camper van parked there; a lady with two dogs. One of the dogs was 19, ancient for a dog, and she didn't come to greet us. The other dog was very friendly. One of the small-with-a-squashed-face breeds, it took a great liking to Bill. Yet another oddity. Bill and dogs generally ignore each other.

The rest area is adjacent to the Tullah Jetty on Lake Rosebery.

An evening view from the jetty.

Not all the wild mammals are marsupials.  Tasmania has a rabbit problem just like New Zealand.

The next day's adventure was Cradle Mountain. It's a huge national park, with trails from 10 minutes to several days.

Before we got there we invested some time at the Black Bluff lookout.

That's probably Cradle Mountain in the distance.

Most visitors have to park at the information centre and take the shuttle, or use their feet. It was the only time we were asked to present our parks pass. We prepared ourselves with a coffee and filled our water bottle from the water station.

The first 'stop' on the shuttle route is the Interpretation Centre and Ranger Station. For our first walk we took the easy trail to Knyvet Falls and Pencil Pine Falls. It is nearly all boardwalk, so it is not arduous and the forest is lovely.

Along the way.

A coral fungus.

Moss.

A branch laden with red berries.

The Pencil Pine Falls

We had been told that wombat droppings are shaped like cubes. We were sceptical. What kind of intestine and muscle arrangement would generate cubes. The Cradle Mountain Park is well populated with wombats and they provided plenty of droppings to examine. In the event, they are regular-sized pellets, but without sharp edges and corners.

Where else do you get nature photos like this?

There is a boardwalk to Dove Lake. The information centre recommended the section from the Ranger Station to Ronny Creek as a good path for observing birds. It's advertised as a 40 minute walk. Eve decided that her hip joints were in good enough order to tackle it.

In the event, we saw hardly any birds except a few Forest Ravens, but we did see lizards, a large dragonfly and other insects. Again, the boardwalk made the journey easy and, even at our relaxed pace, it only took 40-45 minutes.

A Metallic Coolskink

Eve on the boardwalk admiring the button grass.

A nice flower stem.

The dragonfly, trying to fool us by imitating a piece of wire netting.

Another stretch of the boardwalk.  Note the blue sky and the absence of Tasmania's famous rain.

A stretch of the Dove River.

A long walk for unreliable hips, but the end is in sight.  There are two blue shuttle buses at the Ronny Creek 'stop'.

There are picnic tables by the Ronny Creek car park. We took advantage of this for a lunch stop. There was a fizzing sound when we unscrewed the top of the water bottle. The water station at the information centre had dispensed sparkling water. What a lovely surprise. 

Lunch attracted birds; numerous Forest Ravens and a trio of Native Hens.

A Forest Raven looking for a handout.

These ravens have exceptionally massive beaks.

One of the Tasmanian Native Hens.

The boardwalk carries on to Dove Lake, but we took the shuttle. There is a moderately difficult 8km circuit around the lake, but that would have been risking too much aggravation from the hips. And at 2 hours it was too long for Bill to happily leave Eve on her own. He did go to the boatshed and back and took some photos.

Directions at the meeting point of several trails.

The boatshed on Dove Lake.

Part of the lake.

The classic view of Cradle Mountain across Dove Lake.

There and back should take no more than 20 minutes, but Bill got into a conversation. It started with cameras and carried on into travel and .... I hope Eve didn't get too anxious.

Every trip on the shuttle the driver reminds the passengers that the last shuttle back is at 5:30. It would probably be very crowded and what happens if it overflows? We opted not to wait until the last shuttle. But Bill did want to have another look around Ronny Creek, which is advertised as a really good place to see wombats in the evening. Since we saw platypuses in broad daylight maybe we would also see wombats in the sunshine. The bus driver reckoned we would. “There's always wombats at Ronny Creek.” As the bus pulled up he indicated two groups of people staring at something. “They're watching wombats.”

And they were. We shouldn't complain, since we definitely saw wild wombats, but the wretched marsupials either crouched down in the grass so we could only see their back, or they faced the other way so we could only see their backside, or they put themselves right in front of the sun so that their face was in deep shade and invisible in the photographs.

Turn around, damn you!

All the wombats we had seen previously had been grey, but these were brown. The field guide only includes one species of wombat in Tasmania, the Common Wombat. Subsequent Internet research reveals that wombats can be sandy to brown, grey or black.

We boarded a shuttle bus back to the information centre. It wasn't the last shuttle, but all the seats were occupied and Bill had to stand. It had hardly driven 200m when the driver called out, “There's a wombat”. He helpfully stopped so all the passengers could get a good look. Bill still had his camera around his neck so he got a couple of photos.

In shade, but at least we can see its face.

The closest campground was full, but the information centre directed us to another one not far away. Cradle Mountain Fishery and Camping offers a piece of level ground and a couple of Portaloo toilets. It also offers, for a fee, the chance to catch a trophy trout. We parked the van in a spot overlooking the dam (artificial lake) but we didn't go fishing.

It had been a lovely day. The sun had shone. It wasn't too hot or too cold. We could very happily revisit Cradle Mountain National Park and walk more of its trails. But we only had two more days in Tasmania. We had to move on.

West Tasmania. We saw Platypuses!

From the Tamar Wetlands we headed West. To do this we had to go through Launceston, but that was OK. We had some shopping to do. We located a supermarket on what looked like, and turned out to be, our route to the West. The idea was to park on the street, but we didn't see a suitable length of free kerb. Luckily, the supermarket's car park did have space to park the camper van without any tricky manoeuvring and no-one stopped close to us while we were inside so the departure was equally straightforward.

Our destination was Mole Creek, where we had a campsite booked. According to our field guide there are no moles in Tasmania, so the choice of name seems a bit odd. 

We stopped for a late lunch at The Hearth of Chudleigh, an establishment that describes itself as an emporium, cafe and event space. It's certainly unusual. All the books, bric-a-brac and what have you on display are for sale. The cafe delivered good quality food and coffee, and bookings were being taken for a Japanese dinner that evening. No, we didn't double back from Mole Creek to try the Japanese food.

A little further long the road was the Trowunna Wildlife Sanctuary. Hadn't we seen enough marsupials already on this trip? Obviously not. We were just in time for the afternoon education session. Well, we only missed the first couple of minutes of the talk, illustrated with live examples.

The wombat was carried round so that everyone could touch it and understand the texture of its fur.

The Eastern Quoll is rather more strokeable, with soft fur.

NEVER do this at home.  The keeper has been handling this Tasmanian Devil ever since it left its mother's pouch.  

Amazingly, it is so used to being handled we were able to touch it and feel the different textures of the fur on its back and on its tail.

Most of the animals live in cages or pens.

Most Spotted-tailed Quolls are a chestnut-brown colour.  Only a few are black.

Quolls are the size of cats and, like cats, they are predators.  For larger prey they drop on the victim from a tree and bite through the spinal cord.

A wombat.  Like a teddy bear on 4 legs.

Feeding times are varied so the animals actively look for food at different times of the day.  This Tasmanian Devil's ears are red because, we are told, it can smell meat.

And of course wild creatures come and share the attention.

An Australian Shelduck

Black Swans with a late cygnet.

Cape Barren Goose

The Mole Creek campground was quite small for a commercial one.  We had booked a powered site. It advertised that there were platypuses in the creek that flowed through the campground, but all the creekside sites were unpowered. We were directed to likely areas for a sighting and asked not to walk uninvited though other people's campsites.

All directions for platypus spotting recommend starting half an hour before dusk, since they are generally nocturnal and crepuscular creatures. So we used the late afternoon for doing laundry. We had the necessary coins to operate the washer and dryer but it was a frustrating exercise. The design of the washing machine was unfamiliar, the instructions were a bit obscure and we have to admit to not reading them carefully enough.

We studied the stream before sunset, after sunset and again in the morning. Not a hair of a platypus did we see. A lady on the same errand told us that she had seen some at Geeveston, in slower-moving and deeper water. Clearly she was sceptical that this was genuine platypus habitat.

Something the campground didn't offer was a dump station. Living in a vehicle requires positive action to get rid of waste. There is grey water from washing dishes and bodies, and black water from using the toilet cassette. We had been told by another camper, not by the rental company, that it was OK to simply empty the grey water on to the grass. After that we often witnessed the practice and followed suit. We even stayed at a campground that specifically asked campers to do so. Black water is definitely not to be poured onto the ground. Sewerage has to be disposed of at specially constructed dump stations.

The nearest one was in the nearby town of Sheffield. In fact, the app showed two dump stations in Sheffield. Only there weren't. The first one was a complete fiction. The local tourist information confirmed the location of the second one and we were duly able to empty our cassette. We reported the error in the app, but it is still appearing.

After properly disposing of our waste it was clearly time for a coffee. We drove back into Sheffield and parked by the first cafe we could find. Bossimi's Bakehouse and Cafe was indeed a find. The coffee was excellent and the accompanying snacks good enough to persuade us to buy filled rolls to take with us for our lunch.

By now we had visited 3 wildlife sanctuaries in Tasmania, but no gardens. Bill suggested we visit the Tasmanian Arboretum at Eugenana, knowing how interested Eve is in trees and plants. When we arrived, however, Eve said that first of all we should visit the lake as the information about the place said that platypuses could be seen there sometimes. When we began to walk around, we saw a couple of women standing on a bridge pointing at something which duly turned out to be a platypus! We watched for some time whilst having a pleasant chat with the women who were in Tasmania for a car rally. 

It was very difficult to make out the shape of the platypus as it swam just below the surface, every now and then doing a sort of hunch and dive. Eve remarked that it looked like it was “doing a moonie”. We watched for quite some time and then decided to walk around the lake to enjoy the scenery and the flora.

When we came back to our starting place some time later, the two women had returned and were once again watching the platypus’s movements. Eve couldn’t resist and said to them, “You see those big trees over there?” They nodded and so she said, “Well, there’s a man in there with a remote making a mechanical platypus move about for visitors!” They looked stunned for a moment and then began to laugh. Gotcha!!

There are two reasons why this post is not accompanied by poster-sized pictures of a platypus:

1. Bill had the wrong camera for wildlife photography. The Canon is an excellent camera for landscapes, trees, close ups of leaves, etc. but does not have the zoom power of the lens attached to the Nikon. And at maximum zoom the focussing is less reliable.

2. The progress of a swimming platypus can be described as submarining. All you can see from a distance is some ripples. Maybe there is a nostril or two just above the surface, but nothing of substance. If it's not too far away you can make out a blurry shape. Then, without warning, the animal hunches up in a 'duck dive' and you see some brown fur before it goes deep.

This is the least worst of the pictures we got. The duck-bill is coming towards the camera. The lump at the back is presumably a rear foot.

At the far side of the lake is a hide for watching the platypus and water birds. If they bother to label the hide in that way maybe the resident platypuses are regularly active in the daytime. We saw another two on that side of the lake.

We almost forgot that an arboretum is a botanical garden devoted to trees.  There are many trees to be admired.

We heeded the warning, but didn't encounter any platypuses out of the water.

By the time we decided we should move on we hadn't learned much about trees, but we had certainly enjoyed ourselves.

Our destination that day was Stanley, near the NW corner of the island. Most of the driving was on a busy main road. It was a good surface without tight bends, but the constant need to keep an eye on following traffic, which generally wants to pass you, is a stress. Then there was a very long roadworks, with stop-start traffic. Taking a short detour to a Table Cape lookout gave a breather, but then we had to turn around in a very narrow road. All in all it was a relief to arrive in Stanley. 

The campground was opposite the Stanley Recreation Ground. No facilities, but heaps of level space and a lovely view over the bay. Across the road the local Aussie Rules team was training. They looked awfully young and fit.

Sites aren't marked, so we left a camp table to mark our spot when we went in search of a meal. One of Stanley's attractions is the Hursey Seafoods restaurant. The Hursey family owns a fleet of fishing boats so the food has to be fresh. Lonely Planet was a bit sniffy about the lack of ambience in the restaurant (“The locals prefer the takeaways”), but it seemed OK to us and it was certainly more comfortable than squashing into the camper van. We splurged. The seafood platter for two is $90, but it comprises battered gummy, crumbed striped trumpeter, crumbed scallops, salt ‘n’ pepper squid, oysters Kilpatrick & natural, marinated octopus, salad, chips, tartare & seafood sauces. Eve doesn't like oysters so Bill swapped some his scallops, octopus and squid. Perfectly cooked. Possibly the world's best fish and chips.

They offer crayfish, of course. On the day we were there the prices were North of $100. We both like crayfish, but there is a limit. In New Brunswick 5½ years ago it cost us about $17 each for a lobster dinner. On a nearby table an Asian family had ordered crayfish. The family included possibly the fattest man we have ever seen. He was clearly enjoying his luxury meal.

In the morning we considered the Nut. This is an old volcanic plug that dominates the town. There are said to be nice walks on its almost flat top. To get to the top it is a 20 minute strenuous climb or a chairlift ride. Neither was terribly appealing. And in the event, the chairlift didn't seem to be operating that morning.

Our mission for the day was to drive to Strahan. We had booked a boat tour for the following morning. Nowhere in Tasmania is more than a day's drive from anywhere else in Tasmania, so it wasn't a gruelling trek. The first part was retracing our route towards Launceston, but for some reason there was a lot less traffic and it flowed steadily through the road works. There were even fewer vehicles sharing the road once we turned inland, but the road got narrower and there were plenty of corners to be taken slowly. There was also rain. This is entirely usual for Tasmania; in fact what was unusual was the absence of more than the odd shower on every other day.

A pause in Tullah during a break in the rain. Random bits of mining machinery are displayed for those interested in the industrial history of Tullah.

The Henty Dunes Picnic Area was just off our route. It was only about 200 metres, but the road was unsealed and a mess of potholes. The dune(s) is/are enormous. We didn't attempt the climb to see the ocean and whatever else was beyond.

The staff at the Big 4 campground in Strahan seemed uncertain about our booking, but found us a site anyway. We asked where the boat tour left from. “About 10 minutes that way” with a vague wave of the arm. We asked about parking and were advised that, “There's no meter maids so you'll be all right if you don't pay.” Some of us have a more ethical approach.

It was a long 10 minutes walk, but we found the wharf and a tourist information office. The nice lady there indicated the boat tour office. When we asked about parking she explained that there was a charge for the big car park that we had just walked past, but we could park outside the information office for nothing.

So in the morning we got ready early and parked ethically outside the information office, collected our boarding passes and looked forward to our cruise.

The Gordon River Cruise had been strongly recommended to us before we left home. Folk we spoke to in Tasmania also warmly endorsed it. And advised that we book early. Our main deck window seats cost us $200 each. The upper deck was offered at $350!

In the event, the day we took the cruise was not fully booked and everyone could go outside onto the viewing decks without congestion.

The tour of Macquarie Harbour and the Gordon River is well presented with commentary and the European history of the area. Much of it is done by actors dressed as figures from the area's past and relayed on large screens.

When not otherwise in use, the screens displayed the skipper's chart plotter.

We learned that Macquarie Harbour is the second largest harbour in Australia, and six times the size of Sydney Harbour. Was there a little dig at Sydneysiders in the latter factoid? Much of the Northern part of Macquarie Harbour is very shallow. A nineteenth century engineer, whose name we have forgotten, built a training wall that altered the natural currents to carve a navigable channel. The same engineer built a sea wall at the remarkably narrow harbour entrance.

Part of the sea wall.

The entrance is called Hell's Gates. At the time our vessel was there the hazards were very clear. There are lots of rocks either side of the channel that were barely covered by the ocean. Many ships have hit these rocks, and the sad tale of the only fatal disaster was related to us.

The rocks adjacent to Hell's Gate.

The Entrance Island lighthouse is inside the rocks, but anything to help establish your position is a boon to the mariner.

A special announcement: a sea-eagle was in view. Bill, of ourse was there with his telephoto lens, but even a big bird is very difficult to photograph at two or three hundred metres.

Even at maximum zoom this is what the camera saw.

After cropping nearly all the surrounding forest you can see that it is a White Bellied Sea-eagle.  Not a competition quality photo, but very pleasing.

Macquarie Harbour is home to a few salmon farms. We were given a close-up view of one of them.

The salmon are raised in huge cages.

The local sea lions gather round to catch any escapers.

Once in the Gordon River the diesel engines were turned off and the propellors were driven by electric motors. Gliding silently up the river was very nice.

A section of the bank.

Taking a bend.

Trying to follow the commentary from the top viewing deck.

Moss-laden twigs.

Much is made of the lunch provided on the tour. It is a buffet, but very nicely presented and you can have as much smoked salmon as you want. Bill went round for a second helping.

We disembarked for a guided view of the forest … at Heritage Landing in a World Heritage Area. How very appropriate.

This hard-to-read sign tells the visitor that they have arrived.

Listening to the guide.

A ball of moss.

Life on a fallen tree trunk.

A bracket fungus.

Small brown fungi.

Whiteywood

The skipper turned the boat around very efficiently and headed back to Macquarie Harbour. Once again a sea-eagle was spotted and once again it was a long way off.

Another long distance photo that came off.

The last destination was Sarah Island. This was another penal colony. It was where the convicts were sent when they broke the rules at Port Arthur or one of the other penitentiaries. It was the harshest, most brutal place where a convict could be sent.

For some years it was a shipyard with convict and thus essentially slave labour. The last ship built was stolen and used to stage an escape.

What's left of the bakery oven.

Our guide was well informed and presented the history with energy and humour. At the end of the tour he advertised a performance of The Ship that Never Was, a play based on the ship that was stolen. Back on board the tour boat Bill asked him which part he played. Sometimes you can tell when an actor is performing.

Back in Strahan we bought some souvenirs and started our journey towards Cradle Mountain.