Author: lizmiketravels

Geeveston is a grey-nomad’s dream: A small historic town on the left bank of the Huon River with two low-cost reserves for self-contained vehicles (i.e. not reliant on amenities like toilets and showers and fitted with a grey-water tank). Laundromat, library, post office, and supermarket in walking distance; a lovely, relaxed vibe; and a platypus walk along a shady creek. After staying at the equally lovely (and cheap) Franklin Foreshore, we decided to base ourselves there to explore the southern tip of Tasmania.

Chatting with the caretaker of our place about where to go food shopping, we got an interesting reply: “At Geeveston. You won’t get anything further south.” What about Dover and Southport? No shops there. Really? Were we again at the edge of civilisation?

A 1-hour drive down the coast takes you to Cockle Creek. And the end of the road. In the west is the Western Wilderness, to the east Recherche Bay, and to the south the Southern Ocean – next stop Antarctica. Other travellers had told us how amazing it was to stay in one of the free campgrounds along Recherche Bay. However, it was the middle of high season and online reviews described that the area was very crowded.

We decided to leave our camper in Geeveston and drove through the familiar scenery of the Huon Valley with its green valleys and misty mountains. After Southport, the road turned into a dirt road. Sooner than expected. A few 4WDs came charging towards us with caravans in tow billowing dust clouds behind them. Man, it was dusty! The ferns and bushes at the side of the road were covered in it.

As the reviews had said, the place was packed. It was incredibly scenic but every possible nook and corner along the bay was occupied by people, kids, dogs, and the extended family with their caravans, tents, trailers – all looking a bit hot and dusty. Okay, instead of camping, we would just drive as far as possible and go for a walk. We expected hordes of people having the same idea but no: there were only a handful of hikers and the beaches that were part of the track were deserted.

Walking in beauty. Seeing, feeling – and maybe swimming? The water was cold. Too cold? We hadn’t thought about bathers… A woman in a canoe encouraged us to take the plunge regardless. We will be grateful to her forever.

For months it seemed like summer will never come to Tasmania. Yes, we had a “heatwave” before New Year’s eve: one day 33 degrees Celsius, the next day 15 degrees and storms. But when we arrived in the Huon Valley, summer came. Look at this photo taken at Franklin Foreshore 15 km south of Huonville:

This is Mike having a tea break – looking at the Huon River in front of him:

And this is the view behind him:

We loved the small town of Franklin with its Wooden Boat Centre, it’s old theatre Palais, its little shops and cafes, and the dreamy river with its many moods. We loved it so much that we started singing to it each time we drove to it. We took a song from the Avett Brothers called “Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in” and changed it to “Franklin, Franklin take me in”.

We also loved the tiny blueberry stall at the side of the road. Truly, the best blueberries in the world.

We’ve been immersed in nature but after Christmas an exciting event brought us to the Hobart waterfront bang in the middle of the city. We were camped in the Margate Hills 25 minutes south of the CBD. Instead of leisurely mornings at the campsite, it was now all about getting there early enough to get a parking spot.

It took a bit of getting used to: driving down the A6 into town, towards people, towards action. On our first morning on 26 December all carparks were full already. Then we found Argyle Street carpark. An old concrete council carpark with low beams (so low our aerial hit the ceiling) and maddening traffic up and down the worn-out ramps. It became our city base. Just a few steps down Argyle Street towards the harbour: the best bakery in Tasmania (Pigeon Whole Bakers, we became devotees fast), the best secondhand store for ladies clothes (Goodbyes), TMAG (Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery), and then Constitution Dock!

The sailing weather was great and the super maxis were on their way for an early finish. Andoo Comanche was expected to cross the line first in the early morning of the following day. It was hot in Hobart; we stumbled around like country folk not used to the city and had very expensive coffees and croissants at a touristy coffee shop at Salamanca Markets.

Next morning when we arrived at the dock, the first few maxi yachts had arrived with Andoo Comanche the first to cross the line. But the weather changed dramatically. The middle-sized yachts would have to battle it out against a storm.

The place was buzzing with energy. One yacht after the other arrived – some with torn sails. All received a warm welcome. Eager viewers were lined up at the quays, clapping and cheering. Happy, tired, elated sailing crews stood on their boats as they came in glad that the ordeal was over and ready to celebrate their arrival – no matter which place they had made in the race.

Several people had told us that we could go up to a boat and chat with the crew. We gave it a go and boy, were they ready to talk! Hundreds of yachts had entered the race, so the arrival continued for a few more days. The last boat made it across the finish line on New Year’s eve just in time for the fireworks.

Imagine walking through an archway of tree ferns lit up by shafts of brilliant sunlight under towering ancient eucalyptus trees. The smell of the forest, the earth, the creek. Waterfalls you can hear but not see yet. The hidden life of the Tasmanian forest: birds, insects, snakes, marsupials, frogs, and more. Sudden flocks of white cockatoos high above screeching at top volume. Then you come to a bend and see Russell Falls.

No photo can do justice to Russell Falls. Coming down hundreds of metres in tier after tier, it must be experienced in 3D with all your senses switched on. Visitors are scrambling to get a good shot or do selfies. The contrast between the dusky ferns and the intense sunlight reflected in the water makes it quite hard. We managed to get a pic at the smaller horseshoe waterfall.

Then we walked through an area with giant trees. So high you think you are hallucinating.  There is also an alpine region of the national park. We went up on a gravel road for 4WDs to see stunning vistas of the valleys and highlands reminiscent of Cradle Mountain.

In the lower alpine range, the waratah were blooming. Their large crimson blossoms stand out like signposts in the forest tapestry of grey, green, ochre, and brown.

Beyond Mt Field national park starts the large South West Wilderness of Tasmania. Miles and miles of untouched forests, mountain ranges, peaks, and huge lakes. Hardly a soul, just one dead-end road in to the ghost town of Strathgordon and the Gordon dam. Such vastness and silence that it’s hard to find words for it.

Read part 1 here and part 2 here.

Our hike the next day was quite different. We walked around Wombat Pool and then up to Crater Lake. It was sunnier and the path had numerous steep sections, some quite hard, but the vistas were incredible. We could see across several lakes all the way to the peak. Spring blossoms everywhere.

Lots of flowers but also a lot more people: tours, families, and bands of serious trekkers setting out on the Overland track (6 days through the Cradle Mountain and Lake St Clair National Park). The path was busy. When we left for the day, the huge carpark at the visitors centre was full.

Later relaxing in our caravan, legs stretched out, feeling happy in body and soul. The weather forecast for the next days predicted gale force winds and snow again. What would it be like for those people on the Overland track? Maybe we will return – with warmer weather – for another visit towards the end of our stay in Tasmania.

Haven’t read part 1 yet? Click here.

We arrived at the visitors centre before 9 am, got our shuttle tickets, and lined up with the other people. Our shuttle was full, but emptied out at stop 3, the stop for the Overland track. We went on to stop 4 – Dove Lake. The moment we got off the shuttle, we needed all our gear: Even though the sun was shining, the wind blew in piercing icy gusts. And whenever it was covered by clouds, the temperature dropped considerably.

But what did it matter, when you were surrounded by awe-inspiring mountain scenery? Dove Lake sits right at the base of the Cradle Mountain peak. The path around it is mostly a board walk, quite easy to walk, with a few more challenging sections. The estimated time for a full circuit is 2 to 3 hours and not everyone wants to walk that long. So we had lots of space to walk this wonderland by ourselves.

It was spring time and many shrubs were flowering. One plant in particular stood out – the Tasmanian waratah with its large crimson flowers. The rainy mood made the place even more beautiful: the brooding peak, the silvery water, the white and yellow spring blossoms on the shrubs. The shady, mossy trees. The unexpected vistas. The silence. The sounds of our steps on the path.

To Part 3 of our journey to Cradle Mountain