Finally, it's November! Welcome to Tasmania!

Tuesday, November 1– Tasmania at the end of the world (at one time)

Grumpily, we got up and had to take a long time getting out of there as they have serious plant and animal restrictions entering Tasmania and they check your engine and trunk for smuggled goods. We then motored down to Hobart, Meg doing some napping but both of us bleary-eyed and cranky. The GPS got us close but couldn't tell us the exact location of the restaurant where we were to meet Pamela (Carolyn's twin sister). We looked around the site of the MONA (Museum of Old and New art) and it said it was closed, so we drove down the road just looking for places to eat. This was the sort of random operation that seems like a good idea when you're over-tired. More sensibly, we called Pamela and organized an alternative destination in downtown Hobart.

We had heard that the roads in Tasmania were small and hazardous, like the ones off the beaten track places in New Zealand, but the main road into Hobart was fine. We found the main tourist strip, which reminded me of the Halifax waterfront. Lots of old buildings preserved in a row with mostly touristy shops and a nice cobblestone pedestrian plaza. We found a good bookshop to wait at and then spotted Pamela and went to a fancy place for lunch. The restaurant was attached to a store that was apparently responsible for keeping salmon on the Tasmanian agenda, so we picked some up for dinner. The restaurant provided us with a delicious lunch, very gourmet, and then we took the 45 minute trip out of town to Pamela's shack.

“Shack” was her word, it was a cottage to us, being compact and less than a minute away from a beach. We arrived there and then had a delightful nap in a bed thick with soft sheets and comforters. After a solid nap, there wasn't enough daylight to start anything ambitious, so we went for a walk along her beach while she pointed out some landmarks. It was beautiful and unfortunately far too cold for a dip. The air in Tasmania is supposed to be the freshest in the world. We got a good lungful and it helped us to wake up. One disturbing aspect of our walk was a sign warning us that the land used to be used by the army and there was the possibility of unexploded ordinance. Not surprisingly, we kept to the path!

Back at the shack, we watched the Melbourne Cup and the winner was my second choice, quite thrilling. I'd never seen a race with more than 20 horses sharing the field, very crowded. Pamela cooked the salmon along with a few other fancy restaurant worthy dishes and we had an excellent meal with good wine and a fine view of the sunset. Being on the water, her place was designed to take full advantage of the scenery, so the place is largely window.

In spite of our nap, we were well ready for bed, thus we slept.

Wednesday – Witnessing History at Ye old Hobart Woman’s Prison

We woke up in our delicious bed and felt almost human again. We took our time over breakfast, planning our tourist moves for the day. We decided to go for a dramatic history presentation, “Louisa's Walk” (being big fans of this kind of thing- something we share with our nephew Eli).

History via two actors, pretty good way to spend an afternoon.

We got to the brewery where the tour originated and saw a woman in period costume hanging around outside with two people, we were in the right place. The venue was outdoors mostly in the grounds of the woman’s prison, using existing benches and the trees and bridges- the piece was written by the two actors who preformed all the roles and props were carried in a basket by the actress- very simple yet effective. This was the story of a young woman who came to London from Ireland and was arrested for stealing a loaf of bread. She played the lead character and another guy played all of the male parts. We followed her as she was taken from her children, moved onto a prison ship on the Thames, shipped to Tasmania, put in a local prison, did forced labour with cruel punishments, worked as a servant in the home of an abusive man, served in the home of someone a little better and got married. Meg called one of the male characters a cruel bastard and the actor defended himself in character (“I gots a job and I'm just doin' it.”). With the rain holding off and a nice small group, it was a really good look at the history of the island from an angle we were unfamiliar with.

Next, we drove back into the city and showed up at a restored old movie theatre just in time to catch “The Hunter”. This was shot and set in Tasmania (around Cradle Mountain- where we were heading) starring Willem Dafoe as a contract hunter looking for the last Tasmanian Tiger. It was atmospheric and a great tourist ad for the place but wasn't really a satisfying film.

We drove back to Pamela's place and the narrow winding roads began to wreak havoc on Meg's belly. We took a quick look at the attractive community of Opossum Bay but then sped home so that Meg could be on stable ground.

Pamela heated up some wonderful scallop pies for dinner and we had a good chat afterwards. I got to bed at a reasonable time but Meg and Pamela got talking family and so stayed up much later than they should have.

In the footsteps of the original inhabitants...

Thurs. - Their late night meant that we got off to yet another slow start. Meg took her Gravol so that we were safe going up to Opossum Bay. We drove until the road ended and Pamela told us of the . Planned golf course that she was supporting that would be built on the open land (she is a keen golfer-not sure that plans would be approved as it appears to be native land and thus pretty controversial, especially given the history of aboriginal genocide in Tasmania). We walked along the beach and looked at the layers of shells spilling out from the eroded sides of the dunes (these shell middens would be evidence of ancient aboriginal settlements). We started up into a field and then decided we wanted to stroll somewhere with more of a beach. We drove to South Arm, where there was a pull-off spot from the road that led to a short path to a long, sandy beach with views of the local islands. We went for a walk along there, enjoying the sand and wishing once again that it was swimming weather.

Pamela needed to sleep, as she was on night shift. We drove into town looking to pick up a copy of Meg’s book for Pamela. Said book was historical fiction from an Aboriginal perspective on the elimination of Aboriginals (a.k.a. genocide,ed.) from Tasmania called Dr. Wooreddy's Prescription for Enduring the End of the World. The bookshop told us it was out of print, so we hit several used book stores. This was dangerous, as we were always trying to avoid books, as we were inclined to pick them up, but they were heavy and took up space. Meg picked up a copy of Enid Blyton's “The Naughtiest Girl Becomes a Monitor”, a classic that I know our readers will be lining up to peruse when we get back. The mission of finding the book was unsuccessful (ABE Books solved this problem later) but it gave us an excuse to wander around downtown Hobart. We stuck to the historical area, which was very similar to Halifax with its mix of fancy shops on the streets and more raggedy ones down alleyways. Lots of hills, too.

We hit a grocery store on the way back as we were on for dinner that night, our famous pasta puttanesca. We cooked, Pamela returned and we fed her and all was fine. We went to bed early as the next day would involve much travelling.

Friday – Port Arthur Prison ...where Star Fleet would have exiled Khan (where the worst of the penal colony criminals were locked up)

We got up not too early and ate a simple breakfast while we packed up. Pamela returned from her shift and we said proper goodbyes to a fine host.

Our destination of the day was Port Arthur, the infamous penal colony that the criminals who were repeat offenders went. It looks close to Hobart on a map but really is quite far and the road kept getting narrower and twistier as we continued along it. We were amused on our travels by a local Tasman Peninsula radio show with a man reading off long lists of small events in an affected tone. He went on at length about going to a local lady's house for a dinner party, using a thesaurus of superlatives about her green salad. He then provided an avalanche of praise for a particularly large banana she brought out, amusing us greatly.

Marveling at "Tessellated Pavement", a natural stony grid.

We stopped along the way at a series of land formations along the coast. A short walk from a rutted parking lot led us to the shore of the tessellated pavement site, a rocky shore area where the stone had broken into a series of near-perfect rectangles. There were signs along the path explaining the natural phenomenon. We drove a little way further to a coastal lookout and then assured ourselves that we would have time to see the others on the way back, as they were just off the road.

Our radio station had now resumed --with overtly enthusiastic descriptions of fairly tedious events (a tax workshop in a community hall basement does not fall under my definition of “an afternoon not to be missed”), but it helped us to pass time as we got onto road where two cars would have to slow down to pass each other. We had arrived at Port Arthur.

Our hosteling cards got us a good discount and we sat down to a decent, if overpriced lunch of soup. With our tickets they gave us each a playing card, which was to be used in the first display. They started you off through a room with mannequins depicting the process prisoners went through, from England to cramped quarters on a ship to lousy conditions in Tasmania. Each playing card corresponded to a convict's story, so you followed yours through (mine was weak and died in a labour camp, sounded like he really was a habitual thief). The information was good and a theatre ran a 15 minute loop going through the parts of the camp with description from those responsible for them.

We caught the film on the way out, as it was time for our guided tour when we spotted the theatre. The guy giving it was a real pro, as we were a large group of about 50 and he needed no amplification to be heard. He went through the areas and history of the camp, which had a section for “normal” townspeople to serve as role models for the prisoners. You had to wonder about some of our fellow tourists, as there were some kids getting bored and the parents had them play loud games right next to the guide, rather than steering them away.

The guide gave us good general information and then we headed off on our own. We went to the quiet prison, where they used psychological warfare to try to break the prisoners. Their cells were reminiscent of monks', not too bad at first sight. The thing was, they were alone in them all the time with only an hour of exercise a day where they paced around a small courtyard with bags over their heads, forbidden to speak. They were to be called only by their numbers. The chapel was set up so that each prisoner stood in a space where they could only see the priest. There were stories about how they would use the singing of hymns to communicate as it was the only time they had noise to cover up conversation.

Meg at prison church - keep away from the other worshipers!

Prison isolation cells, very much like a Kubrick film.

Information was abundant. They had databases for finding relatives (of which one was mine- the latest trend- Australians used to be ashamed of having convict ancestors, now we're proud, ed.), many profiles, explanations of the applied prison rehab theory (which came from an American prison model, always the leaders in making imprisonment even worse), and another movie. We moved on to the hospital, which was little more than a shell of a building. We walked through the guard's area to the commandant’s house. This house had details about what all of the wardens did and how they lived. Many weren't happy to be there and focused more on their gardens than their jobs at Port Arthur. Next was the main prison building, which is under renovation and held together with giant clamps. There was more information there, including how one punishment was to chain prisoners to giant climbers (like evil stair-masters) that ran water mills for 8 hour shifts. If one fell or slowed down during a shift , one could be crushed or killed.

We hurried over to the ferry for our complimentary boat ride. This took us around an island which hosted a boys' reformatory and a smaller one which was a cemetery. The guide tried hard to make it interesting but Meg still had a fine nap (and Owen had a beer).

After that we had to get a move on if we were to make it to our hostel before dark. We walked by the Canadian Cottage (built of materials donated from Canada, not something to be proud of, under the circumstances) and caught the movie on our way out. In retrospect, there's a lot to see there, so spending the night there would have been the thing to do. We hastily skipped the Tasman peninsula sights and just barrelled on. This was a very narrow, twisty road and Meg slept through a lot of it to avoid carsickness. There were very few towns there so we sometimes lost track of where we were, as we turned off the GPS after it kept detouring us onto tiny country roads. Several coastal spots had really nice views, particularly around Catherine Island, but we had to motor on.

We pulled into the peninsula drive just as the sun was going down and we hit Coles Bay with light fading. The Iluka Holiday Centre office was supposed to be closed at 6pm but there was still someone there so we got checked in without difficulty. We reheated the leftover pasta sauce and planned what we wanted to do. A group of women were there having an annual getaway with tons of food, wine and a birthday cake. They were friendly, and out for a good time, yet considerate of other guests. They had lots of experience in the park and so were quite a valuable resource in deciding what to do. We slept pretty well that night.

Sat. Barefoot on the Beach/ Tricky Trekking up Mount Amos...

We got up feeling pretty good and decided to go for a run before breakfast. We'd read about Friendly Beach, a very long stretch of sand 15 minutes back up the road. We drove there to find that it was part of the Park and required a permit, but there was no way to get our hostel discount so we risked it and went ahead anyway. The road soon turned to dirt and headed steeply downhill to a parking lot. Several cars were there already and a cluster of people were watching some surfers do their thing. We ran past them and had pure sand except for one small rocky point for a good 45 minute run. Running barefoot on sand give a low impact run with beach views and wave-dodging to boot. A fine way to start the day.

The rangers didn't catch us so we drove back to the hostel and had breakfast. Meg had decided that she needed a day off, so she lollygagged around the place while I went off to enjoy nature. From our conversations of the night before, I decided to take the Mt. Amos path. It was steep and not too long and was supposed to have some amazing views at the top. When I got my permit they said the day was perfect, as any rain at all closes the trail, but there was no chance of precipitation that day. The drive to the trail-head was treacherous as the road was very narrow but people coming the other way would just speed around corners and expect the other vehicle to shove over.

A long way up...

Wineglass bay, mountaintop view.  Better than your beach?

At the start of the path was a “last chance” water tap and a trek registration book so that they could go hunting for your corpse it you didn't return on time. I was very soon on my own, as few people take this route. I met one couple close to the start of the trail and that was it until I got to the top. The trail was steep but well-blazed for about 15 minutes and then a sign warned you that it got much worse after that point. From then on there was precious little shade and you were hiking over rock face that was often set at a steep angle. The blazes were few and far between and several times I thought I'd have to turn around due to lack of path. A few times the arrows pointed straight up smooth rock face and I chose to ignore them and use a nearby crack in the rock to go up. Still, there were sections where you were hugging the cliff-face and putting up one limb at a time, hoping that something less strenuous was around the corner. I often had to try spotting arrows in the distance and work towards them. In the end, I made it to the top, where an initial summit gave great views back towards the peninsula. I noticed how much of the coastline was sandy beach, including a long one near town that I hadn't noticed.

On more steep, 5 minute climb and the summit was reached, with great views in all directions, including the famous Wineglass Bay. As I sat up there eating my lunch, I heard a couple below me checking out viewpoints. I hadn't noticed them behind me on the way up so either they were quick climbers or they knew of another path. They moved off before I finished chewing so I'll never know.

I had lots of time coming down, so I was cautious as I knew this was where most injuries happened. I slid on my backside on the steepest bits, always keeping a tree or rock or something to break my fall between me and the bottom of the hill. It went fairly quickly, as it didn't require as much effort and the arrows were easier to follow. Towards the bottom I met a family going up and they were only slightly discouraged by my description of what they were about to tackle. Other than that, I met no one else and was very glad to return to the parking lot and refill my bottle. Definitely, it was the most difficult short hike I'd ever done and I felt tired but satisfied at having completed it with no more damage than a scuff on the back of my hiking shorts.

Lighthouse view along the peninsula, nice n ' rocky.

I was saving the main trail for Meg to enjoy the next day, so I decided to check out the other sights in the area before returning. To get to the lighthouse I had to turn off the road to one even narrower, and I took it slowly, honking around corners and going up slopes that made the car strain. The lighthouse itself had an easy, wheelchair-accessible boardwalk that took about 30 minutes to walk around. It had a great view of The Hazards, the collective name for the short mountains at the beginning of the peninsula. I was able to look out to sea and see something grey splashing around and a pack of kayakers paddling around a rocky island. The lighthouse itself was nothing special, but the views up and down the coast were. I finished my sandwich and enjoyed them.

On the way back there was another stop at Sleepy Cove. This was a slightly longer trail that went by a cove with bright blue water and came out at a rocky beach where the rocks had been strangely hollowed by erosion. A nice walk but nothing special.

I drove back along the narrow roads to meet Meg back at the hostel. She wasn't there and the weekend women had no idea where she went. I checked the laundry area and then gave up and headed down to the beach I had noticed from Mt. Amos. There was a wharf and a long beach with lots of people hanging out and a few kids braving the cold water for a splash. Meg met me here and we picked up some beer from the local (overpriced) shop and headed back to the hostel to hang out, this being a down day for her and I had earned a break.

As we sat around, a very loud group of South East Asian youth came to the hostel and got lunch amidst much shouting and few of the younger males trying to impress everyone by shouting over everyone else. They went away on a tour and we spoke to a French fellow (with an Asterix moustache)who lived there and would look at you if you spoke to him and then say nothing for awhile. Meg started talking to this guy from Queensland (who fulfilled many of the Victoria stereotypes about Queenslanders) drinking port from a box. He bragged about not paying park fees and complained about how the park ripped him off at Cradle Mountain (giving information that we later found to be completely untrue). He then went on about the Aboriginals in Cairns, how they raped and robbed everyone and could never be arrested because they all looked the same. I cruelly left Meg alone with the guy but she soon slipped away herself and when I looked into the TV room he was sharing his port with the French guy.

We spent the end of the afternoon lazing about and then got dinner together around the loud group of youth, who had returned and still didn't appear to have a supervisor. After eating we went for a walk on the beach to watch the sun set. After that we had some of our own (superior) port and worked on the computer until bedtime. Sleep was difficult that evening as the youth were up late in the common room shouting and banging. Meg spoke to them once and then a second time ordered them all to go to bed and surprisingly they did. They were loud in their bedrooms but eventually went to sleep.