Christmas Day Tassie Style
You can see the joy on Rob’s face as he unwraps the ram, the amazement as Bron and Ken read about their bee hotel we bought in Coffs Harbour, my surprise and delight with Ken’s marine-scape acrylic painting of the hidden rising sun spreading its rays in a stormy sky with its familiar focal point of the tiny yacht, created, I believe from a passion for and understanding of the environment similar to that of John Constable and Elve’s smile at the challenge of her new tablet and the welcome communication with family it would bring. Bron is skilled at producing hard back books of their many adventures which are full with photos and brief explanatory text and we will treasure the one she gave us and look forward to showing our family and friends the story of our shared Vanuatu experience together.
Helping prepare lunch and the table arrangement on the rear garden veranda brought its usual pleasure and sometime in the morning Rob, Elve and Ken went to fetch her husband, Bob, whom she married in 2004 after 20 years of widowhood and is now in a home due to his dementia. He is the one in the photo wearing a yellow shirt with Elve to his right. It was momentous for them to be together again.
We were thirteen for lunch that day, a lucky number for us amongst friends and Ken’s relatives. They all brought a dessert dish on which we feasted, diets held at bay for the day.
Early Boxing Day, when the weather was fine once again we made an early start back to Hobart with Bron while Ken took Elve off to the airport to meet up with her friend and start her travels. Leaving the shores of the lovely Tamar River Valley we climbed the Highland Lakes Road passing more fields of white poppies, others with sheep gently grazing, rivers of rock, towns with such curious names as Cressy, Poatina and Cramps and a familiar named hotel, The Melton Mowbray. The blue water of dammed lakes and lagoons glistened in the sun looking beautiful but we were saddened by the number of wallabies from the previous night’s roadkill. Nevertheless it made a pleasant alternative to the Midland Highway we had used on the way up a few days before.
I know for a fact that Rob could not wait to get on with fitting the ram and checking the Watt&sea generator. We had to delay our departure south until at least 7th January because Nial was coming back on board on the 6th to fit a new positive cable from the engine to its dedicated battery, the existing one crackled as we bent it and we wondered when that would have let us down had he not noticed it.
As Greg had advised, Rob fitted an Allen key into his drill and then into the propeller boss of the water generator and when he started the drill turning the propeller, I could happily report from my companionway step vantage point that there were no more flashing red lights and the purple light was as it should be when charging. Some more negative wiring was required by Nial before we could tell if power was going to the ‘house’ batteries.
Roundabout Hobart
Ken and Bron arrived at the marina to scoop us up for lunch at Bellerive Waterfront with one of Ken’s four sons, Hamish who is a horticulturalist by trade and is in the process of building his home with his partner. This pretty suburb of Hobart was bathed in warm sunshine on the day as we chatted our way through an al fresco meal.
Then we moved on to Kangaroo Bluff where Hobart decided to build itself defences in the form of a five cornered battery. But interest seemed to lacklustre very quickly and the site was run more as a testing ground for guns and training for its volunteer military than a serious attempt to ward off invasion. My attention was attracted by the mention of the Armstrong Guns with their innovative loading system designed to keep the soldiers manning them safe and out of sight. Do you remember Armstrong’s Disappearing Gun on the Otago Peninsula in the South Island New Zealand? He is the same W.G. Armstrong, the Scottish Victorian solicitor com amateur armaments expert who resided at Cragside in the Lowlands.
From the battery we went to Bron’s daughter, Karyn’s home on Midway Point which juts out into Pittwater where we were to spend a few days bringing in the New Year. After a welcome cup of tea we returned to Zoonie in the kind loan of Karyn’s car as she and hubby Luke and his daughter, Taylar were off to the popular Falls Festival for a few days.
Back on board Rob fitted the fridge parts and found a home for Ken’s painting in the aft cabin while I pottered about in readiness for an expedition the next day to Port Arthur, the world famous penal colony.
On the Road to Port Arthur Exotic Coffee
Why is a Rock Loaf not a Pan, and what is the Key to the Eaglehawk’s Neck?
It was fun to drive over the canal swing bridge at Dunalley where previously we had passed through the same Denison Canal in Zoonie, then stop at a fine view point overlooking Waterfall Bay and the Tasman Sea, the part we hadn’t sailed in Zoonie. The day’s blend of coffee at the little kiosk was Ethiopian and Brazilian and it lived up to its reputation and was delicious accompanied by a shared raspberry brownie.
Onward to the Tessellated Pavements. A short walk down a sandy track brings the visitor to some more remarkable geology in action. Nature’s paving stones have rock ‘mortar’ between them. If the rock formations are away from the shore the surface is more exposed to the eroding effect of salt water leaving the harder ‘mortar’ raised around the pans. Whereas nearer the water the pavements are more exposed to erosion from sand in the seawater which grinds away the ‘mortar’ leaving the loaf raised up, quod erat demonstrandum.
The use of the word ‘Key’ as a metaphor by Commandant Charles O’Hara Booth to illustrate his power both to free and imprison convicts was overturned when Martin Cash looked down upon the camp at Eaglehawk Neck after he had escaped, in his rare case taking away that power. Guarding the narrow Eaglehaw’s neck seemed to provide an ideal place for a convict camp. But it wasn’t as easy as the officials thought.
The ‘little rickety wooden house’ is still there. Once the officers’ accommodation it now tells the story of the prison camp and the barbaric use of the Dogline, where escapees across the narrow neck of land to freedom were likely to be torn apart by angry underfed dogs and the Black Line, an invention of the Governor Lt Arthur to drive the aborigines from their hunting grounds onto the peninsula and leave the settlers in peace.
We had a brief respite from learning about mans’ inhumanity to man at the blowhole on the other side of Waterfall Bay and watched the waves crashing against O’Hara Bluff. The Sydney to Hobart Race leaders were out there somewhere and we scanned the horizon whenever we could for the tall, charcoal coloured sails. We saw them crossing the estuary to Port Arthur outside Maingon Bay and we planned to take a look see in Hobart the next day.
Position Update 43:40.51S 146:32.02E
An Afternoon at Port Arthur
It is not surprising the site is so well organised as it was recognised as a place of ‘historic interest’ over a century ago. It is impressive in many ways, not just in size, more than 30 historic buildings, ruins and restored museum houses and gardens fill the 50 plus acre site, but also in the quality of maintenance and the skill of the guides to convey the history in ways palatable to all ages. But that is all since it closed.
Young lads, often of Irish descent, born in the slums of London who were coerced into stealing by Fagin types were sent here to the boys prison on Point Puer Island where, despite or perhaps because of a strict regime they were educated and taught trades so that 75% became successful in their chosen trade and never re-offended. Rob felt strongly that teaching trades in the form of apprenticeships guides youngsters away from a life of crime and I agree with him. We could do with lots more of that policy at home.
The construction of the buildings and many industries including logging, brickmaking, ship building, gardening, clothes and furniture manufacture were all done by the prisoners.
Various philosophies were employed including, obviously discipline and punishment but also religious and moral instruction, classification and separation, training and education. I liked the fact that bumptious Lord John Franklin, referred to as ‘old granny’ by the inmates was married to the enlightened Lady Jane who set up a ‘ladies society’ for the reformation of female prisoners. Oh to have been a fly on the wall when they were having dinner.
Our entertaining and informative American guide, Andrew listed the origins of the prisoners from NZ, Hong Kong, Singapore, Malaysia, India, South Africa, Mauritius, Aden, Gibraltar, Malta, Canada and the Caribbean in other words our colonies, but mostly from the UK. You can see him standing in one of the 136 tiny cells on the ground floor which housed men in heavy irons in the long building that started life as a flour mill and granary and was designed to be water-powered. When the water supply was found to be inadequate prisoners walked the treadmill, one of the harshest punishments at Port Arthur.
The white building is the most prestigious on the site to reflect the high status of the Commandant. I wandered the wattle fenced garden before I went in and found the delightful story of unreformable Ebenezer Brittlebank, who, after many counts of stealing was given the opportunity to work in the garden. Not one to learn from his mistakes he was then caught stealing leeks and turnips and sent to the invalid gang to make broom handles instead.
I wonder how effective the new style lunatic asylum was that set out to heal mental disorders with kind treatment and a pleasant environment. At least it wasn’t physically brutal as they had been previously.
The last few photos show the beautifully laid out restored gardens designed for the free people to find relaxation and sanctuary. The ruined building in the penultimate picture is the ruins of the Broad Arrow Café where in 1996 a gunman slayed 20 people, he killed another 15 around the site and injured 19. The area of flat paving and the raised shallow geometric pool are part of the garden created to allow peaceful remembrance and reflection of the tragic events of that dark day.
Things Hot Up to the New Year
Hairdryer Weather
The build-up of 40’ heat in the atmosphere and the increasing power and threat of the growing towers of flame that we knew were destroying everything in their path, combined to create a compression of emotional intensity towards the end of the dying year that was new to me. How will we reflect upon these terrible times in Australia and how will the events and statistics change the thinking of those in power I wonder?
Closeness to anything watery gave us some relief. A wander around the Sydney – Hobart Race Yachts and ducking into the food hall of ‘The Taste of Tasmania’ Festival on Constitution Dock distracted us for a few hours. The area was beautified with flowers as you can see making it a very colourful place to be. We chose our plates and drink and sat down at the tables to chat with fellow diners. The dessert was as delicious as it looks and not too sweet. As we left we couldn’t resist the fresh fruit pies and took one of each type of fruit to Ken and Bron’s for supper.
A few yards away Salamanca Market is a great place to buy fresh local produce and the fine sandstone building is part of a parade of colonial buildings, culminating with the Parliament House that were destined for demolition before the intervention of some foresightful minds that valued history.
By early afternoon we were at the historic town of Richmond with all its parallels to the UK version not the least of which is its evident affluence. Relief from the heat was found in the garden Jacuzzi where I had to sit forward on the plastic seat because if I relaxed back my chin, mouth and nose would be submerged, as I found out the hard way in a cloud of bubbles!
Position Update 38:20.77S 141:41.63E
(see how far north we have come!)
The Last of Hobart and the last days of the Old Year
Those days seem a long time ago now as I write this from Portland Marina back on the mainland in the state of Victoria. They also seem surreal, where we lived so comfortably with our friends, Ken and Bron while the smoke from the mainland and Tasmania’s own fires surrounded us as we travelled and explored and sat in the Jacuzzi, and walked the lovely dogs, and swam in the pool at the house where Ken and Bron’s French friends were house minding.
The young couple, Martin and Gwen, live in Noumea in New Caledonia on their boat, ‘No Souci’ and Martin’s brother Alex and their parents Genevieve and Daniel come from Brittany to visit them. The older couple have arranged house exchanges in various parts of Aussie including the west and are enjoying an amazing time looking after homes and animals for residents while they take in what is Australia. I’ve always believed that a home should also be a source of income and have taken lodgers and foreign students and have rented my house out for 15 years now, so the idea of exchange is very appealing maybe for later on.
The pretty little town you see is Cygnet, where we sent the Ebspacher Heater for its health check. It has since decided that despite a superficial bill of health the internal circuit board only allowed us two sessions of toots warming early morning heat and will need to be replaced at some stage.
We found a cottage garden venue for lunch and just behind our table on which you see the shared smorgasbord a local lady had her spinning and weaving studio creating award winning scarves, shawls from her own alpacas and any really soft wool from possums etc that friends would give her. The garment you see is priceless, it is so soft I could hardly feel it, has won numerous awards and was crocheted by a friend of hers in such a way as it takes the shape of the wearer in the most lovely way.
Outside I rejoined our friends for an iced coffee and shared snack before photographing the pretty garden, a window on an English cottage garden over the ages.
On our way home you can see the approaching forest fire smoke and the wind that was fuelling it driving the water up over the low level roadway that took us back to Hobart. There were fears of dry lightning strikes as we approached the last day of the old year.
All this extreme weather is caused by four things we learned from a radio interview with an expert on meteorology. It is not just the usual seasonal change or the long term warming of the climate but also two things I had never heard of before; the natural phenomenon known as the Indian Ocean Dipole brings strong winds from the west. When these winds get to the red hot centre they heat up dramatically of course and head on to the east coast. Fourthly the Southern Annular Mode which last year forced the winds in the roaring forties further north, rather as the jet stream we know in the UK can affect our weather depending on the latitude it is occupying. So much dry wind on an already drought ridden country with the inevitable results. Climate warming is a major part of the destructive equation but not all of it.
You may have read that an estimated 500 million animals have died in the fires, well fortunately Professor Chris Dickman of the University of Sydney who came up with the original figure of 480 million animals said they were affected, not necessarily killed. Today we hear that around 8000 koalas are known to have perished because they seek refuge at the top of the very trees that are burning, but reptiles can seek the insulation of the earth in their underground homes and birds and kangaroo can get away. The figures will rise with the loss of habitat and lack of water but there are many efforts to feed and water the wild animals once the fire has moved through. It should also be mentioned that 100,000 sheep and cows are also thought to have perished. There is now a challenging job for humans to clear up the aftermath. And February is likely to be even worse.
Last Days in Hobart and the arrival of Nichola
We stayed on in Hobart until the 6th January as Nial was coming back to finish his re-wiring job and Ken and Bron were sailing Nichola from her home base in George Town Marina on Tassie’s north shore where we had spent Christmas, down the east coast to Hobart so we could start out on our shared adventure around the south of the island to the west coast and the wilderness area of Bathurst Harbour and Macquarie Harbour.
But before we set off I thought you might like to read two heart-warming stories that have surfaced in the media world since the end of the Sydney Hobart Race. First the pretty double-ender, Katwinchar that sailed all the way from the UK in 1951 to take part in the race the year before I was born, 1951, into a different world then compared to now. Since then she has been restored from her derelict state to take part in this year’s Cruising Yacht Club of Australia Sydney-Hobart race and did rather well, coming third in the Veteran Division, second in Division 7 and first in the Grand Veteran Division, although I cannot report whether that was by virtue of her sailing skill, her age of 114 years rendering her the oldest, or both.
The second story is right up to date with the first ever entry of the indigenous racing yacht Tribal Warrior. What an inspiration to the aboriginal people and what an achievement for China and Naomi and skipper Wayne Jones.
It was exciting to sit somewhere comfy on Zoonie’s deck and await Nichola’s arrival. We had kept touch through Messenger and it wasn’t long after her little mast could be seen in the fairway beyond the moored yachts creeping around towards us before we took her lines and exchanged big hugs.
We left on our adventure to one of the world’s last true wilderness areas hours after Nial had finished his re-wiring. For us it is always exciting to depart because our odyssey along the homeward path can continue and this time we had the added enjoyment of sailing with fellow cruisers who are the greatest company. Spoiled or what.