Red Rocks and Hot Cross Buns

We drove south from Policeman's Point with the convoy intact, the corrugated road shaking the bus until it finally relented into bitumen just before St Helens. The town was louder than it had been the week before. Easter Saturday had filled it with families and four-wheel drives and the particular energy of people determined to enjoy a long weekend. We passed through without stopping and continued south toward The Gardens, at the northern end of the Bay of Fires.

The Red Rocks were worth the crowd. The granite here is covered in an orange lichen so vivid it looks painted, and the boulders sit along the shoreline in clusters that glow against the white sand and blue water. Grammy and Fran had not seen them before, and the two of them moved from rock to rock with cameras raised and the unhurried pleasure of people encountering something that lives up to what they were told. Easter visitors were everywhere, claiming every flat surface for picnics and towels, but the rocks held their own against the traffic. Some places are large enough to absorb a crowd without losing themselves.

From The Gardens we swung back to Swimcart Beach, which already felt like returning rather than visiting. We sat at a seaside table with hot cross buns and tea, the four of us looking out at the same bay we had spent a week beside, and the familiarity of it felt different now, shared with Grammy and Fran in a way that made the earlier stay feel like a private rehearsal for this one.

Both vehicles refuelled, we turned south and put the Bay of Fires behind us. Grammy had booked a boat tour to Maria Island from Triabunna, a gift she had arranged before arriving, and the drive down the east coast had the pleasant forward pull of something good waiting at the end of it. We covered the distance in easy stages, the Hiace keeping pace behind the bus, and by late afternoon we had pulled into the free camp at Aulichs Beach near Iron House Brewery, a night's stop with Maria Island now close enough to plan around.

Grammy sat in the Hiace doorway that evening with a cup of tea and the quiet satisfaction of someone whose plan was coming together. She had been on the island of Tasmania for two days and had already fed us waffles, survived corrugated roads, claimed a campsite on Good Friday, and organised a boat tour. The pace she intended to set for the next three weeks was becoming clear.Read more