Birtles vs Tasmania

platypus121

Tour Pro

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A little to the east of Derwent Bridge is The Wall.




Unmarked on my Hema maps, set back off the main road and with little signposting, it would be easily
missed by the “round Tassie in six days” crowd.

No photographs are allowed, but then, standing before it is the only way that it can be appreciated.
Descriptions can only sell it short. Even the official website, good as it is, does not prepare you for its impact.
No artwork has moved me as this one did (and still does). It makes me happy. It makes me sad.
I am incredulous before this still-growing dream.

Going to Tasmania and not seeing The Wall would be a greater mistake than going to Rome and
not seeing Michelangelo’s frescoes in the Sistine Chapel.

http://www.thewalltasmania.com/index.html






Campsite at Hamilton.
Yesterday the place was overflowing, today we have it to ourselves.








Behind the tent there’s a brook that bubbles and gurgles, lulling me off to sleep.








Its pools are said to be home to platypuses. Going by the number of signs they must be around …
… walking …




… playing …




… and getting impregnated.








Trying to get to Strathgordon and the vertigo-inducing Gordon dam, we make it only to this pass, about
half way there. We were well dampened down and the cold was getting to me - couldn’t wait to get back
into the snugness of the tent.








Which was the only thing in Hamilton that I could get into !








The Lyell Highway passes through land reminiscent of inland NSW.








After New Norfolk there’s a long stretch of first gear work as we claw our way up Collin’s Cap, decide to give
the even steeper Collin’s Bonnet a miss, and then descend through Collinsvale, over definitely non-collinear roads.
A brief stop at Glenorchy to recover from altitude sickness, then it’s down the coast to Kettering where the
ferry takes us, for a mere five dollars, to Bruny Island. The D’Entrecasteaux Channel is narrow and quickly crossed,
but there’s time enough to consider that we are going to be on an island / off an island / off an island.

We first met Graham at a riverside campsite in Isisford, Queensland, last year and he has invited me to stay at his
place on Bruny for a few days. Birtles explores all the roads on North Bruny before crossing the narrow isthmus
to bigger South Bruny and finding Graham’s house south of Lunawanna.

The view from his verandah isn’t too shabby.








Just down the track a few kms to the lighthouse ...








... where a fire inspector has opened it up to check its extinguishers, so I am able to nip in for a quick squiz.








Lighthouses do not appeal to everyone. This young couple, for example, completely ignores it, preferring 21st
century mating rituals - you show me your iPhone and I’ll show you my iPad. When they get more even intimate
and start exchanging apps, I take my leave.








Bet none of their apps are as good as this …








… or as good as the beach on Labillardiere Peninsula.








Lunawanna jetty








Adventure Bay








All the running around has drained Birtles’ tanks.
Guess which pump is mine.








As I said, the view from Graham’s place isn’t too foul at all.








Leaving Bruny …





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platypus121

Tour Pro


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Over the hills towards Cygnet where we see a building technique new to us - bales of hay used as wall insulation?







Dover’s old jetty is closed to all but the gulls, waiting to plunder the next fishing boat.







Someone is burning garden rubbish when I arrive in Dover. That night the pub burns down.
Police suspect either a careless gardener, or a CT.110 without a spark arrestor.




No kidding ....




http://www.abc.net.au/news/2013-04-17/fire-engulfs-dover-hotel/4634064





Sleepy Lune River …







… but beware, Nessie is patrolling.







Ida Bay Railway needs track maintenance, so the Friends of Ida Bay Historical Society (FoIBHS for short,
but not by much) are petitioning Canberra for funding. I explain that I am not a local; worse than that, I am not
a Taswegian; and most unforgiveable of all, I am not even a bloody Australian, but this does not matter
to the Friend with the clipboard. He just wants signatures, any signatures, so I sign his sheet and head for the hills.
As we leave, Friend is inking a passing dog’s paw and pressing it onto the petition under where I have
signed ‘Francis Birtles, Melbourne’.







More bush tracks. They narrow and blend gently into the bush. They do not suddenly stop - they slowly fade out
as if what created them became smaller and lighter until it too faded out of existence. Spooky. They lure us
further and further until turning around is difficult.







Bush + Water = Tasmania







The road between Dover and Southport is undulating, twisty, and a real hoot. It is ridden three times with
Birtles hitting a GPS-verified 86.42kph. Whoo-hoo!







In Dover there is a backpacker’s hostel that is in desperate need of a woman’s touch, much like some
of the residents. There is also a large skating area. The graffiti at the former are humdrum and not worth the mention,
but at the rink they are a different story. Not The Wall, to be sure, but it is a mile above the “pose-art” I saw in Broken Hill.








Dover’s old Steam Museum, where the old steam from the Ida Bay Railway is kept in big glass jars.







Cockle Creek.
Great camping spots …







… and as far south as we can ride.


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goodie

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Great write-up, brilliant photos, Bernard! Thank you for letting us take part in your trip - even if it's only from the distance.
Tassie is one special place!
 

Eagle-lady

Getting the hang of it
Thanks for the pics
Especially of cockle creek.
I grew up there spending all my holidays as a kid. My great great and most likely great grandparents actually built the original road into cockle creek.
It never was on any maps for years. Geeveston was also founded from my greats the geeves.
Lots of fun memories and still have families with shacks handed down generations.
Just don't get down there now I live on the north west coast
 

glitch

Mapping the next ride...
Staff member
Thanks for the pics
Especially of cockle creek.
I grew up there spending all my holidays as a kid. My great great and most likely great grandparents actually built the original road into cockle creek.
It never was on any maps for years. Geeveston was also founded from my greats the geeves.



Absolutely love it, love it, love it!! What brilliant yarn....and those pics are just fantastic. Find myself going back to the start and going over it again and agian. :thumbs::thumbs:



@Annette :eek: Sounds like your family knew all the good and scenic spots then, it's one of the most beautiful parts of Tassie down there. And with all that as a heirloom, what are you doing in the north? (not that it's that far behind the Deep South, though):bow:
 

platypus121

Tour Pro
Thanks for the pics
Especially of cockle creek.
I grew up there spending all my holidays as a kid. My great great and most likely great grandparents actually built the original road into cockle creek.
It never was on any maps for years. Geeveston was also founded from my greats the geeves.
Lots of fun memories and still have families with shacks handed down generations.
Just don't get down there now I live on the north west coast



It's probably a bit busier down there these days than when you were there ... but not by very much !!
A really quiet, peaceful place - great place for the summer holidays.

Here's a couple of extra pix from the area to encourage you to get back down there again ...







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platypus121

Tour Pro

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We’ve run out of Tasmania, so we head back north, and without spending days hill-bashing there’s just one way,
the A6, which is not as busy as its name suggests. North of Grove we divert to Longley and Ferntree, only to find this
alternative is busy, it seems to be a favourite of Hobart-bound trucks. Still, it’s a pleasant road, and it spits us out
onto Hobart’s Southern Outlet road where we turn left instead of right and end up at the Royal Tasmanian Botanical Gardens.

Now, they may very well deserve their regal title, but the misjudged turn has not put us in a mood to test that,
or to enjoy the thirty-seven varieties of hydrangea (thirty-eight if you count the one awaiting classification).

To be honest, it’s not the navigation error that sours the mood. Nor is it the Garden’s tardiness in sorting out a
decent moniker and position in the plant kingdom for poor old hydrangea #38. No, these are mere bagatelles to avoid
having to describe the real culprit, because that is difficult. How can I describe the waterfall that has started hammering
down on us, when all I am used to at home is a fine sprinkling of raindrops that gently splash upon smiling, happy
faces, upturned to welcome and enjoy Nature’s gift?

No gift here. When we force back into it, the sharp rain whips us and makes us wobble as we cross what might be, with
luck, the Tasman Bridge. A fog of watery shrapnel makes sign reading impossible, but that is of no importance as
the visor is fogged on the inside and there is a water feature playing on the outside. Just follow those red lights in front,
just keep moving, it’s got to stop soon. This is Tasmania where the weather changes by the hour, right?


Wrong.







We shelter in a factory loading bay and explain ourselves to a huddled group of smokers, lepers of the workplace,
banished to remote and desolate places. Inside, anti-smoking zealots flare their nostrils in the hope of catching
a whiff of tobacco so they can demand the lepers go not only outside, but across the road as well. (“Yes, it’s raining,
but nobody makes them smoke, do they?”).


There are others inside with flaring nostrils. Nostalgic ex-smokers, desperately seeking second-hand tobacco
haze … just for old time’s sake, you understand, and only so they can see how really silly they must have been to have
enjoyed smoking, ohh, so very much, back in those good old days.

Fearing re-infection, we find a gap in the traffic, if not the rain. The Tasman Hwy becomes the Arthur Hwy and the
semi-circle of our day’s route takes us south again, down the Forestier Peninsula to Eaglehawk Neck.
Here I know there is a backpackers that soon will have riding gear spread over every flat surface and all its heaters
will be on maximum.

This is a day for mistakes. A sign on the gate shouts a four-letter word starting with F ....... F-U-L-L
Luckily, another four-letter word comes to our rescue ...... M-I-C-K

Mick runs a diving school with accommodation for student groups. There are no students at the moment, so the whole
place is ours for a token charge There are heaters enough to accelerate climate change, and a choice of twelve beds.
Gear dries out, the sun returns, and all’s well.







The Tessellated Pavement reminds me of the time I concreted a driveway.







Sphinx guarding Pirates Bay.








Tasman’s Arch and the Devil’s Kitchen need high seas to be impressive, but the views at Remarkable Cave are … remarkable.
There we meet Cat and Kev who are on their way around the world on BMW’s, though at the moment they are using
a campervan until Cat’s arm heals after a nasty off. http://rtwadv.com









Price of petrol (or possibly my weight) from 1970 - 2013, as graphed by the Remarkable cliff face.






The Port Arthur convict area is on my list, but regimentation at the visitor centre has me standing to Attention! even
before I buy a ticket. They have ways of ensuring you ‘enjoy’ what they want you to enjoy - shackled together, marching
in step, obeying the platoon leader’s every command, group walk, group boat ride, group lunch, ‘interpretive talks’
delivered at five-year-old level.

Not for me - all I want to do is wander about and chip a bit off the cell blocks as a souvenir.
I save myself $37 and About turn! Forward march! … … out of there.

At ease! … we spend the time more enjoyably by riding.
We find piles of sneakers, sandhills and gnomes … (and one lonely Mexican gentleman) …







Back at the diving school, the clock that times how long divers can go without breathing encourages me stay longer …
Your mission, should you accept it, is simply to watch this video for a full “minute”, if you can, and think of
those poor sods holding their breath for that long.

http://youtu.be/isgPvGUrezQ





… but, it is time to move on, breathlessly, through the recovering vegetation of post-apocalypse Dunalley.







Into the back-blocks again to Nugent. No, Nugent isn’t large; Nugent doesn’t even qualify as small; however,
Nugent might be Guinness Book of Records material if there is a Tiniest Village category. The sign marks the top
end of the village while the arrow points to its mate at the other end of the village - one corner and literally a
stone’s-throw away. For the record, I check this but the stone clatters onto a roof and we make our escape before
either one of the villagers comes out.







More “ye olde” as we cross the Tasman Hwy at Buckland before going bush through Woodsdale and
Mt Seymour to Oatland and Ross.







We missed the un-missable bridge at Richmond, but the one at Ross makes up for that.







A solid, well proportioned structure with intriguing detail, but then, the convict builders had plenty of time for titivation.







Time for reflection at the Ross cemetery where elevated grave markers are a final display of literal one-up-man-ship …
or are they to stop the wallabies leaving gifts?







Hard to resist the obvious comments…







How times have changed. A shop window sign is evidence that present day Ross females have got their men-folk
figured out. They know what men like, or perhaps what they are like.







Back at the campsite, connecting to the internet is impossible. The modem is mounted on the shower block wall
at a convenient shoulder height but has a non-standard connector.







Dang, there go plans for spending the rest of the day on Facebook, Twitter, Google and You Tube … what can I do now but eat?
The rumour is that the bakery in Ross is like the bridge, unmissable, but wait …. there are two bakeries!
Coffee and savories at one, coffee and sweets at the other. Both are unmissable.

Tasty food, rusty relics, a substantial bridge, pregnant women, no internet - what more could anyone want ?


I like Ross.

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twowheeler

two wheels are best

The Port Arthur convict area is on my list, but regimentation at the visitor centre has me standing to Attention! even
before I buy a ticket. They have ways of ensuring you ‘enjoy’ what they want you to enjoy - shackled together, marching
in step, obeying the platoon leader’s every command, group walk, group boat ride, group lunch, ‘interpretive talks’
delivered at five-year-old level.

Not for me - all I want to do is wander about and chip a bit off the cell blocks as a souvenir.
I save myself $37 and About turn! Forward march! … … out of there.

I took the family there recently. There's no obligation to join a tour group - I loath them too - you can wander off and do your own thing.
 

Eagle-lady

Getting the hang of it
@Annette :eek: Sounds like your family knew all the good and scenic spots then, it's one of the most beautiful parts of Tassie down there. And with all that as a heirloom, what are you doing in the north? (not that it's that far behind the Deep South, though):bow:
The more sane ones moved to the North West:glu:glu:glu
It all Too governed now. "Guess we couldn't keep it to ourselves forever:thumbs:", but it was great with no phone, no shop, Mobile shop come in once a week.
The old caretaker "Bluey" was like every kids granddad, was happy to throw the kids in the back of his ute to take for a drive.
My mum, siblings and family still go down(even in winter)
Family even ran the old coal mine (I think it was coal) on your way down.
Cateraman bridge, brown looking water but use to have great night fishing
 
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