City's Rush to Nature's Hush

The hum of the engine mingled with the ranger's farewell as we steered our trusty Coaster towards Geelong, a day earlier than planned. A parcel from the kids, filled with forgotten necessities, awaited us at the post office, and with the ferry to Tasmania departing on Australia Day, there was no time to waste.

After weeks of remote camps and empty roads, Geelong's bustling streets felt jarring, a cacophony of noise and movement after the tranquility of the bush. We navigated the city's pulse, gathering supplies and eagerly anticipating the peace of a nearby free camp.

The campsite, Bunjil's Lookout, perched upon a verdant valley, embraced us with open arms. A tapestry of greens stretched below, woven with the textures of a distant quarry, vineyards, grain fields, and charming homes that shared in the valley's majesty.

At first, only a handful of caravans surrounded us, but as dusk painted the sky, more travellers joined the silent symphony of nature. The cool night air lulled us into a deep slumber, only to be awakened by the fierce duet of rain and wind. It was a daunting prelude to our upcoming journey across Bass Strait, a notoriously turbulent stretch of water.

With a mix of anticipation and trepidation, we faced the tempestuous day ahead, our hearts a blend of excitement and uncertainty. The Spirit of Tasmania awaited, and only time would reveal the tales woven upon the waves.Les mer