Gables Park

Wanderlust tugged at our hearts, whispering promises of distant shores and family reunions. A chance to bolster our travel kitty for a later visit to our eldest son in Japan presented itself, a detour to Hobart beckoning. Though it meant veering off the beaten path, our untethered souls craved adventure.

Bidding farewell to Chris's cozy shack, we plunged southward along the Western Shore, the rugged coastline unfolding like a breathtaking storybook.

Couta Rocks, nestled amongst a community of weathered shacks, stole Sal's breath away. The tempestuous sea, whipped by onshore winds and rain, crashed against the rocks in a mesmerising display of raw power. We lingered, capturing the untamed beauty on camera, the wild symphony of nature playing out before us.

Freshwater serenity replaced the ocean's roar as we reached Lake Rebecca, a hidden gem behind the dunes. This indigenous site whispered tales of resilience, where communities thrived on the life-giving water and bounty of the land, seeking shelter in grass huts that braved the harsh winters.

Camp Elsewhere, a name both playful and literal, marked our final coastal exploration. Enticed by the promise of solitude, we ventured into the campsite, a haven of tranquility amidst untouched nature. Though the allure was strong, our journey called us onward.

Eastward we turned, the roaring forties wind now a fuel-efficient tailwind. Farmlands, our companions for weeks, gave way to the Tarkine Wilderness, a lush tapestry woven from the world's second-largest temperate rainforest. Each stop along this verdant path unveiled hidden wonders.

At Kanunnah Bridge, spanning the tannin-stained Arthur River, we became unlikely heroes for lost tourists, guiding them to safety with dwindling fuel and no signal. Sumac Lookout offered a fleeting glimpse of the same river through a veil of clouds and rain, a testament to the ever-shifting moods of nature.

The Julius River rainforest walk was a portal to a forgotten world. Moss-carpeted earth, ancient ferns, and gurgling brooks whispered secrets of time untold. Lake Chisholm, a flooded limestone sinkhole, reflected the sky's moods, while the Dempster Plains stretched out in a vast sea of button grass, whispering of windswept journeys. The Tarkine Sinkhole, a dark mirror reflecting the heavens, held us spellbound with its enigmatic beauty.

Though our hearts yearned to delve deeper, Hobart beckoned. This was just a taste of Tasmania's magic, a promise of a future year spent exploring its every nook and cranny. We would return to this place.

Back on familiar roads, we reached out to Terry, a kindred spirit we'd met weeks earlier. His invitation to join him at the Berry Patch, nestled between Ulverstone and Devonport, was a beacon of warmth. We arrived just before dinner, greeted by his open arms and the true spirit of nomadic camaraderie.

The next morning the first train whistle sliced through the pre-dawn quiet, Sal awoke to Terry's gentle words, serenading his two cockatiels as they chirped their morning song. We began with shared coffee and laughter, the aroma of homemade pizzas and banana pancakes filling the air as a token of our gratitude. Terry, ever the generous soul, helped with errands for our bus.

With heavy hearts, we said goodbye to Terry, our journey leading us halfway to Hobart, up into the embrace of the Tasmanian highlands. The road ahead held new adventures, but the warmth of friendship and the untamed beauty of Tasmania would forever be etched in our memories.Read more