The Curious Case of Jack and the Sea

The morning air crackled with anticipation as we bid farewell to our temporary haven at Bunjill and set our course for Geelong once more. Australia Day painted the streets with vibrant hues, but our hearts sought a different kind of connection—a reunion with our kindred spirit, Jack.

Jack, a fellow traveler whose soul echoed our own, had graced our Christmas with shared laughter and stories. Now, on the precipice of our next adventure, we yearned to rekindle that camaraderie before the winds of fate carried us further apart.

We ventured into the heart of the festivities, indulging in the savoury scents and boisterous energy that swirled around us. But it was within a tranquil park, away from the jubilant throng, that we sought true solace. Beneath the shade of our outstretched awning, shielded from the sun's relentless gaze, we found our sanctuary.

The Crew, a cooperative card game that had tantalised us with near victory during Jack's last visit, beckoned once more. Joined by Jack's new partner, Nic, and their spirited foster greyhound, Odie, we immersed ourselves in the intricate dance of strategy and teamwork.

Laughter echoed through the serene park as we navigated each challenge, our minds united in pursuit of a shared goal. Though victory remained elusive, we emerged with hearts alight, vowing to reconvene in the wilds of Tasmania to conclude our epic quest.

As the day surrendered to twilight, we embraced the bittersweet farewell, knowing that our paths would soon intertwine once more. The Crew awaited its final chapter, and the promise of shared laughter and adventure whispered upon the winds of anticipation.

The port beckoned like a gateway to adventure, a mere ten-minute drive from our eager wheels. The Spirit of Tasmania, our trusty steed across the notoriously restless Bass Strait, awaited our arrival. We clutched our cache of motion sickness tablets like warriors preparing for battle, determined to weather the tempestuous crossing.

A dance of motorhomes, campervans, and caravans converged upon the vessel, each carrying dreams of wild Tasmanian shores. Our hearts echoed the collective hum of anticipation, for this journey had been five months in the making. The moment held a surreal edge, as if we were stepping into a long-awaited tale.

Like sardines packed within a tin, we surrendered our freedom of movement to the gentle thrum of the ferry's engine. Our humble two-bed cabin, a sanctuary amidst the floating city, welcomed us with open arms. A shower, a luxury long absent from our nomadic life, whispered promises of rejuvenation.

As the sun dipped its celestial canvas into the ocean's embrace, it painted the Victorian shoreline in hues of molten gold and crimson farewell. The mainland, bathed in the ethereal glow of twilight, whispered a poignant adieu as we embarked on a 12-month odyssey to the wild, untamed heart of Tasmania.

We retreated to our cozy cocoon, seeking solace in slumber before the open seas unleashed their fury. But the ocean, a restless beast, would not be denied.

At the witching hour, we jolted awake, tossed amidst a tempest of five-meter swells. A few more tablets became our peace offering to the churning waves, granting us a fragile return to slumber's embrace.

Morning dawned with a touch of vertigo for Sal, a lingering souvenir of the night's tumultuous dance. Yet, as we disembarked onto Tasmanian soil, relief and elation intertwined. We had weathered the storm, and a new chapter of adventure lay before us, ripe with possibilities.Read more