First Wheels-Up of 2026
January 6 in Australia ⋅ ☀️ 18 °C
It’s six days into 2026 and time to get this avgeek travel dork back into the air again. I’m gate-crashing Brigid and CK’s hiking holiday in Tassie for a few days while I wait to get back to work. It’s a beautiful day for flying south, avoiding the heatwave that’ll soon sweep across the mainland for the cooler climate of the Apple Isle.
Arriving at the airport this morning, I made the left turn into the Qantas Business Lounge — one of the last times I’ll do that this year as sadly I’m downgrading to… wait for it… lifetime Gold. I’ll still be Platinum until the end of Feb, after which I’ll be banished to the Qantas Club after flying around with too many non-oneworld airlines last year. #avgeekWhore The view from the lounge here of the Qantas apron is always a nice way to start any domestic trip, and a view I’ll miss when I only get Club access come March 1st.
Maria, the fixture of the lounge, was on hand this morning. Her ability to remember coffee orders is amazing — Google “Maria Qantas Lounge Melbourne” to learn more about her post–head injury talents. I obviously haven’t been flying enough though, as she didn’t remember my order this time around (although she has the past few times), or maybe she knows I’m now a grown-up and drink coffee — albeit still mixed with chocolate.
With mocha onboard, my pupils rapidly dilating as the caffeine awakened my central nervous system, I took my usual spot by the window for breakfast. The Spice Bar used to be lunch-only, but now does breakfast too. It’s basically an egg station like a nice hotel buffet, but a big improvement on the slosh of “scrambled eggs” the buffet offers. I grab poached eggs with chilli oil and a side salsa, followed by a croissant 🥐. It’s enough to fill the spot without getting bloated before the flight.
I watch the morning arrivals land on the western runway as domestic departures slowly come to life, shuttling holidaymakers and worker bees across the country. I love the number of A220s that now call Melbourne home — such a sexy plane. I’m not flying on one today though, instead taking another favourite of mine, the Dash 8, across Bass Strait to Devonport. I grab some snacks, make my way to the gate, board in Group 1 and take my seat aboard VH-84B “Winton”. This aircraft recently joined the Qantas fleet in January 2025 after a long flight from Canada following retirement from WestJet. The new QantasLink livery is still sparkling fresh on this bright sunny morning.
Onboard, the crew brief the exit row passengers — all of whom have clearly taken this flight many times before and seem to know the crew. It’s a bit of a role reversal as the passenger recites the exit row briefing back to the crew member. All the men on the flight seem to know each other — welcome to Tasmania, where everyone knows your name?
I’ve flown on the Qantas Dash 8 many times, and the only difference between this plane and every other Qantas one is that the seats recline! Winner, winner, chicken dinner. Not that I really need recline when the seat next to me is empty, but it’s a nice ex-WestJet feature. We push back about five minutes behind schedule, climb out of runway 27 from Melbourne, make a left turn past my old training airport at Point Cook, cross the bay and then head over Bass Strait. I remember the “turning base runway 35 touch-and-go” calls I used to make while practising circuits here many moons ago.
Flighty predicts 32 minutes in the air today — that northerly must be strong, knocking 18 minutes off the scheduled flight time. Once airborne, the crew offer to order taxis for anyone who needs one in Devonport — a classic announcement when flying into regional airports across Australia where transport options are a little different (aka sparse) compared to the big smoke.
We cruise at 19,000 ft as the crew serve banana loaf, tea, coffee and cold drinks on this short hop to Tassie. The first officer announces we’ll arrive five minutes ahead of schedule. “How do you have your tea, love?” I’m asked by the cheery crew member. “Black with one, please.” “Surely you’re sweet enough already,” she replies, adding that my can of Coke to go with it is “a breakfast of champions”. It’s these small, friendly interactions with crew that I love — reminders that life doesn’t always need to be serious.
There’s nothing but clear skies and blue ocean below as excitement builds for this short getaway exploring Cradle Mountain and surrounds with great friends, Brigid and CK. Other than a few pins on a map I’ve shared, I’m just going with the flow this trip. No planning, no expectations — just good company, hopefully beautiful scenery, and time to make new memories.
So welcome back to the adventures of this avgeek travel nerd Carl with his Tintin haircut, ready for the next chapter. As the Tasmanian coastline comes into view, the seatbelt sign illuminates and it’s time to leap into the next adventure for Travel with Carl.Read more
Devonport: Dull Street, Dramatic Coast
January 6 in Australia ⋅ ☀️ 19 °C
Before coming to Tassie, my friend Nathan said something along the lines of, “That part of Tassie is beautiful – but don’t bother with Devonport, there is nothing there to see.” Despite this sage advice, we did go for a brief wander through the main street of Devonport after Brigid and CK picked me up from the airport. They had taken the ferry across the day before and stayed at a local hotel by the river.
“How was the ferry yesterday?” I enquired.
“12 hours of boredom,” was the response.
This is why I took the 30-something-minute flight. Planes will always win over a boat for me – although I was extremely grateful that they took one for the team, as it meant we had wheels to explore Tassie with. Once checked out of their hotel, we made a quick drive down the main street of Devonport, which lived up to Nathan’s description. Not much there, not that pretty, but the pharmacy did have an auto-dispensing machine, making the prescription that I forgot to fill extremely quick to acquire.
Medication sorted, plus cool drinks and a coffee for us all, we headed towards the coast for a look at something that looked cute on Google Maps – the lighthouse. Perched looking out over the north of the island, the Mersey Bluff Lighthouse stands guard with its vertical red stripes facing the ocean. While I’m busy taking photos of the lighthouse, CK is off racing down the rugged coastline, potentially to his death below.
“Don’t fall in, CK – you’ve got the car keys!” I yell, as he disappears behind a rock somewhere down near the unforgiving, steep shoreline to Bass Strait. Spoiler alert: no CKs were harmed in this blog post, but Brigid and I decide to supervise from above rather than joining CK’s quest to get closer to the water.
The view from up here is stunning. Sure, it’s looking out into the ocean – which is always nice – but it’s the rugged, rocky shoreline that stands out for me. This lighthouse wasn’t just for Instagram; those rocks below would have been treacherous back in the day for those approaching the island of Tasmania. Everyone says this, but Tassie really is much more like New Zealand than Australia sometimes.
Reunited with CK, we wander over to the other side of the bluff to take in the view of the beach. The water is so clear, and quite a few people are already out for a swim. We’re tempted to join, but without towels it’d be a wet butt for the rest of the day – perhaps when we return to drop me back at the airport on Friday. A few scenic photos taken, and Brigid splashed a few times by CK, it’s time to head back to the car and start the road trip adventure.
Our planned next stop is the Tasmanian Arboretum, but it just so happens that along the route is the Don River Railway. With me being a train nerd (as well as a plane nerd), we decide to detour there next, leaving Devonport’s contrast of a plain, dull main street and its beautiful bluff and beach experiences behind us.
Next stop: trains.Read more
This Nerd Can’t Pass By a Train
January 6 in Australia ⋅ ⛅ 21 °C
While the arboretum was more of a planned, “next scheduled stop”, we couldn’t just drive past the Don River Railway without looking at it, at least over the fence. “I’ve already checked and they don’t run trains today, Carl,” said Brigid as we approached. It’s good to have friends who know my level of nerd and, as the kids would say, don’t yuck my yum, and instead entertain my nerdy enjoyment. So we drove past the railway and stopped for a quick look over the fence, which quickly escalated into buying tickets for all of us at a grand total of $15 to explore the trains and museum. When in Rome, why not. I like stopping into weird little museums when I travel, especially if they have a transport focus to them. Cue the armchair autism diagnosis from close friends right about here… lol. Embrace it.
With there not being any trains running today, we pretty much had the place to ourselves to explore. There were a few diesel trains hooked up to restored heritage carriages on the platform, which we boarded and evaluated. Brigid and CK rated one carriage as having “better seats than the Spirit of Tasmania”, so I snapped a picture of them posing on those for the archives. The endless mirror carriage was cute and great for a cheeky mirror selfie, but the older carriage with “Women” and “Smoking” compartments was the one that had had the most restoration work done on it. That leather seating looked brand new and like a much more comfortable way to ride than the current hard-arse seating found on the rails in 2026.
Interiors examined, we skipped across from the platform to the turntable, where a trio of steam engines in a lesser state of restoration were longing for some love. I climbed aboard the front of one of them for a nerdy selfie before Brigid and I climbed up into the driver’s cabin of the larger steam engine. Standing in the open cabin, big call Brigid asked me the big philosophical question of the day. “If you were born 150 years ago, would you have been a train driver or a conductor?” I like that these were the only career options for this avgeek travel nerd Carl 150 years ago, before aviation was even invented. Without hesitation I opted for the conductor option — “you’d get too dirty from all the coal and smoke being a train driver, I’d be the conductor.” On reflection, it wasn’t just the cleanliness factor that swayed me. The uniforms of railway staff back in the steam era had a certain level of flair and class about them.
The only real recollection I have of conductors is those working Melbourne trams in the 80s, with their side bags full of tickets to sell and hole punches to validate each passenger’s fare. And who wouldn’t want to shout “All aboard!” before blowing a whistle or waving a flag to signal the driver to get that train moving. Perhaps this is also why I love period dramas like Bridgerton and Downton Abbey — the clothes of the day would look good on me, I think. That assumes I was nobility though, and not a peasant… which is sadly the more likely of the two options.
Fantasy historic careers sorted, we had a quick look in the signal box with all its levers controlling every aspect of the rail yard. How times have changed, with this now all controlled from some windowless, dark control room instead of the iconic towers that used to adorn railway stations. Inside the museum I had a little play on the old telephone switchboard and a few other odds and sods before we grabbed an ice cream, some lollies, and sat outside in the cool shade of a tree. Like many museums of this nature scattered across small country communities, most of the labour and love comes from volunteers passionate about keeping this part of history alive. And good on them.
It’s such a cute little place to visit on our journey today — giving me a hit of transport nerd joy, and Brigid and CK a hit of country museum charm… and ice cream. Snacks consumed, it was time to continue our road trip deeper into Tasmania in search of platypus.Read more
Instagram Promised a Platypus
January 6 in Australia ⋅ ⛅ 23 °C
While still within earshot of Devonport, we were slowly making our way inland as our hiking trip of North West Tasmania got off to a stellar start. I proposed that we make a stop at the Tasmanian Arboretum as our next pit stop on the way. Is it because I love trees? Nope. It’s because I saw an Instagram reel of someone who swears that seeing a platypus here is guaranteed on each visit. His reel backed this up with multiple sightings, which he said took him about 15 minutes to spot. Having never seen a platypus in the wild, we were all keen to give this a shot. It was only a few minutes down the road and in the general direction of where we were going anyway, so we drove there through beautiful farmland of rolling hills for a chance to see the elusive marsupial.
We parked the car and paid our entry fees by tapping a random EFTPOS terminal attached to the side of the café — an honesty system for paying entry fees here, it seems. Walking around the arboretum was relaxing and peaceful, even if it was giving a bit of cemetery vibes with all the memorial chairs overlooking the lake and landscape. Brigid and CK got distracted from the hunt for platypus (or is the plural platypi?) by these ground-dwelling birds that we affectionately named Tasmanian chickens. I thought they looked like mini velociraptors from Jurassic Park, sans the small front claw arms. They were cute though — although there’s no way they’d make as big a parma as a mainland chicken would.
Following “Dawsons Creek” to the main lake (no flashback to the ’90s there at all), I started the hunt. The clear water made it easy to see the bottom of the lake — except when a duck swam past with its head underwater, creating a trail of mud behind it as it rummaged around for snacks. Wait… do ducks sniff? Or am I just comparing them to a dog?
My eyes scanned the lake from cute stepping stones, bridges, and even a couple of memorial chairs in search of the guaranteed platypus sighting — all to no avail. Granted, I don’t think I sat still for a full 15 minutes in one place to really test the Instagrammer’s claim of how easy it is to find them. But alas — no elusive marsupials were discovered. Instagram: 1. Travel with Carl: 0.
Giving up, it was time to continue our road trip deeper into North West Tasmania. This was, after all, a hiking trip — and so far we’d really let the car do most of the hiking for us. Even without a platypus sighting, the arboretum is a relaxed place to visit — or potentially to remember a loved one, given the cemetery vibes — but probably not somewhere I’d go out of my way to see again. Oh well. Onwards and upwards. It was time for lunch.Read more
Deloraine or Else: A Hangry Interlude
January 6 in Australia ⋅ ⛅ 25 °C
Leaving the arboretum and its lack of platypus (which I googled can be used as both singular and plural, although the Greek version platypodes has a nice ring to it), we moved on. Anyway, I digress — probably due to the growling of my stomach calling out for something to eat. Leaving the platypodes hunt behind us, it was time to find some lunch.
We decided on the town of Deloraine, about 20 minutes away from our Airbnb for the night and the largest town nearby. While the jury is still out on whether Latrobe or Deloraine was prettier — I was far too hungry to think clearly as we passed Latrobe — we stopped at the first pub we saw in Deloraine to grab some lunch. Granted, the street around The Little Green Men Brewing Co pub wasn’t the prettiest, but they had food, so they had my vote. Had we driven another minute down the street the town had quite a cute vibe to it - any many more eating options!
Walking from the car to the pub, Brigid and CK stopped to look at property listings in a real estate window. “You can buy property later — let’s eat first,” I sassily said, realising I was only minutes away from landing in full hangry mode. I know my own strengths and weaknesses, and getting hangry is very much one of them. We grabbed a table outside in the sun and I, the mostly vegetarian, ordered a southern fried chicken burger and a beer. 🤔
The beer went down beautifully — why are they so refreshing when you’re hot and thirsty? The burger was very much chicken, and having not eaten much meat in a while now, it took all afternoon to digest, but it kind of hit the spot. It’s a bit like going to the supermarket hungry — your eyes are bigger than your stomach and you end up with a cart full of stuff you don’t really need.
Refuelled, we then headed to Woolies to grab some dinner supplies and a few beers for the night before driving the 20 minutes to check into our Airbnb outside Mole Creek.
Time now for a mini nap to let that chicken slowly digest before we start exploring the region again later this afternoon.Read more
Alum Cliffs: Edge of Stillness and Power
January 6 in Australia ⋅ ☀️ 26 °C
Feeling refreshed after an afternoon nap, despite the chicken from lunch still slowly digesting, it was time to get the legs to work. I’d found us a short local hike to get us started on our hiking holiday. Only a 10-minute drive from our Mole Creek hideaway, we arrived at Alum Cliffs Trail, which advertised itself as a 40–50 minute walk. I’d seen this online and thought it would be a good starter hike. The fine print on the sign said it was an 800m each-way walk. Hang on — 1.6km in 40–50 minutes? That seems absurdly slow and somewhat triggered a competitive side of me to ensure I smashed that record. So, with many questions about how they come up with these timings, we headed off into the woods.
The first part of the trail was slightly uphill, with farmland on the right and bush on the left. As the farmland petered out and the bush thickened, we came across what I’m guessing is some kind of old sculpture. Three long logs of wood, each rectangular in shape and about the length of a telegraph pole, forming a smaller central triangle with the longer logs then darting off across each axis of the triangle. There wasn’t much info about it other than several signs plastered to it advising “Do not climb on structure”. Safety signs seem to be a Tassie thing — with signs advising how dangerous areas are rated from low to severe. This structure has been deemed at risk of collapse and injury should it be climbed, which to be fair is something I probably would have done if the multiple signs hadn’t told me not to.
But what was this thing anyway? It kind of looked as if it was either drawing attention to whatever may have once lain at the centre, or maybe some special place for a cult ritual. Without Google, we’d never know — but fortunately we don’t live in the dark ages anymore. A quick search tells me it celebrates the confluence of Quamby Bluff, Alum Cliffs Gorge, and Western Bluff at that point. With that explanation in hand post-hike, it does explain what is going on when you get to the lookout. Nice work to the artist David Jones on using natural materials to represent the viewpoint we soon see from the lookout ahead — perhaps a sign explaining that would complement the many warning signs.
What we now know is art behind us, it was time to finish off the walk to the lookout. I bypassed all the signs telling us about… well, I’m not sure, because I didn’t read them, excited to see the view and beat the trail time. Somewhat strangely, everyone we passed on their way back from the trail were solo walkers. Were they all together, argued, and then walked back solo? Or were they all just on their own little hikes? Pondering the relationship status of these fellow walkers, 12 minutes later we were climbing up stairs to a small two-tier platform overlooking the bluff and the Mersey River below. It’s only after the last couple of steps onto the railing of the viewpoint that the strong wind blowing through the gully and up the cliffs hits you, on what is otherwise a super calm day.
Despite being someone who throws down words in my blogs like they’re going out of fashion, I find it hard to find the right adjective to describe scenic views. The standard ones — beautiful, breathtaking, amazing, stunning — feel too generic and overused. I’m not saying the view and sensation up here isn’t all of those things, but the generic nature of them feels like it takes away from the feeling of the place. Kind of like ticking a box that says “meets expectations” on a performance review. So perhaps instead of using a single word to describe the view, it’s easier to use many words to explore the experience of being there, rather than just describing what it looks like. A picture does that anyway, whereas writing about the experience gives context.
The view aside, the feeling for me here was the contrast in the last few steps before reaching the edge. It was like there was an invisible wall separating the forest from the cliff top — the wind couldn’t penetrate it. Moving from the calm tranquillity of the forest to the rage and danger of the cliff edge. For those following along on the safety scale at home, this part of the trail was rated as severe risk — the highest category. I’m not an overly spiritual person, but it felt like the energy from the canyon below was pushing upward, trying to escape, only getting as far as the edge before the calmness of the forest soothed it, changing its energy from anger to warmth.
With that somewhat philosophical description of the experience complete, and windswept group selfies taken, we made the walk back to the car in another 12 minutes — thrashing the suggested 40–50 minute timeline with ease. I learned on the walk back that Brigid and CK are “twitchers” as they stopped to take in the black cockatoos squawking in the trees above. It was time to head back to the Airbnb, where I lay on the grass writing some blogs, enjoying a beer while Brigid read a book. CK meanwhile was taking care of us, cooking a delicious fresh dinner. Day one complete, I crashed into bed before the sun even set, happy to have shared this day with great friends.Read more
Butt-Powered Glow Worms 🐛
January 7 in Australia ⋅ ☀️ 25 °C
I decided to have a break this morning and ignore my grand plans to go for a long run before starting the day – I’m on holiday after all. I subbed the run out for a gentle walk along the country road, disturbing the local horses and cows as my presence interrupted their morning naps. I passed a cute farm sign, “R & D Kelly & Girls”, a refreshing change from the stereotypical farming “& Sons” signs.
The morning sun is nice and warm, yet the air is still refreshing, so when I return to the Airbnb I make my usual breakfast and take it to a table in the morning sun. The quiet stillness in the air, taking in the view of freshly cut hay bales, makes the scenery look like a country canvas painting. This is the way days should start, I think.
We’re venturing out into North West Tassie today, our first stop being Mole Creek township for a morning coffee. I’ve been on the mocha bandwagon since Christmas Day and am quickly realising that this is a gateway drug to the real stuff. I ponder how long it’ll take for me to ditch the chocolate and just go straight coffee as I feel the bitter kick of energy invigorate my body for a day of exploring. Coffee kick on board, we drive up to the Marakoopa Cave ticket office, join the queue behind a couple with an unfortunate smell of mouldy cheese emanating from them, and get tickets to one of the extra tours they’re running today due to high demand.
The Parks Tas staff seem genuinely surprised that it’s busy today. It is, after all, the middle of summer holidays. If not busy now, when would it be? I listen to the lady explain the way to the cave, the conditions in the cave, what you can and can’t do, where the toilets are, and what discounts you get on your ticket for the two people in front of us. To save her saying this speech again for us, I recite it back to her. “Oh, you’re on the 10:30 tour, you’ve got time to walk,” she responds, with a somewhat relieved look that I’ve saved her repeating the speech for the tenth time today.
The walk along the creek, with ferns galore protected by the higher treetop canopy, is a great start to the day. The cool shade of the mini rainforest and the relaxing sound of water flowing over the rocky creek bed create a calm, peaceful atmosphere for the ten-minute walk to the cave entrance. We’re early, so we sit in the sun away from the door, where a cold breeze flows out, dropping the surrounding temperature significantly.
Our group of about twenty is taken into the cave by our friendly and extremely rugged-up guide. It’s nine degrees in the cave, but she’s dressed like she’s heading off on an Arctic expedition. Inside, the cave is dimly lit but bright enough to not be scared of the dark or anything. If anything, it could be a tad darker to get a better view of the glow worms attached to the roof above. But that’ll come later.
I’ve done a glow worm cave tour once before in New Zealand. There’s possibly even a post about it somewhere in this back catalogue of blogs. On that tour we rode a boat along an underground river. This one has just a creek and no boats are needed as the guide explains the life cycle of the glow worms above – or, as she calls them, “the maggots that shine a line out of their bums”. There are no show lights in this cave like you see in other countries, or if you’d visited here in the ’90s. It’s all kept dim to help preserve the habitat for these cute little bum-shining maggots.
The stalactites and stalagmites produce stunning displays as we progress deeper into the cave. We’re about 120 metres beneath the surface, so as water over millions of years dissolves the limestone above, it trickles into the cave and, drop by drop, forms beautiful calcium carbonate features. “How often does each drop, drop?” asks one of the group. “Every two minutes and thirteen seconds,” the guide quickly responds. I get the feeling she may have just made that number up, as I’ve seen the stalactite in front of me drip at least twice already and we haven’t been here that long yet. Surely it depends on how much water is above, but anyway – cool fun fact.
Speaking to the one child on the tour, who must be under ten, the guide says, “If you come back here when you’re as old as your grandparents, the cave would look pretty much the same as it does today.” She goes on to explain that stalactites and stalagmites grow by about one centimetre every hundred years. That’s like a millimetre every decade. Talk about playing the long game. There are rules about what you can and can’t do to protect these fragile, slow-growing mineral deposits. Basically: don’t touch, or you might break off thousands of years of work.
We get a few minutes to experience pitch-black darkness as the guide recalls stories of the early white discoverers of the cave and how they would have struggled to navigate only by candlelight. Apparently a couple of teenage boys found it and kept it as their own secret hideaway for several months before adults became aware of the cave. She explains that we only have the post-colonial history of the cave to tell, implying – but glossing over – the tragic reason why we don’t have the Indigenous perspective here in Tasmania.
Before we leave, we experience full darkness again to observe the glow worms in their beauty as the guide explains their life cycle. In short, the maggots shine a line out of their butts for about nine months, catching bugs in silky webs, before going into a cocoon, hatching into a gnat, mating, and dying within two days. What a life.
Stepping out of the cave, the cool breeze on our backs meets the warm Tasmanian heatwave air, quickly warming us up from our cave-dweller temperatures. By the time we walk back along the creek through the rainforest to the car, we’re properly warmed again. I enjoyed this little cave tour, even if the glow worm density here was less than what I saw in New Zealand. With our time underground done, we drive away from the caves, heading towards Cradle Mountain for the next stage of our adventure.Read more
TravelerWhat a fabulous introduction to another adventure! I could read your blog all day. Factual, humorous & entertaining! Most blown away by the crew booking transport - have clearly never flown into a regional airport before. Such fun!