Wonders at the Southern Edge

As the wheels of our trusty bus crunched over the last stretch of bitumen, giving way to a muddy track that wound its way through the Tasmanian wilderness, a sense of anticipation bubbled within us. We were finally embarking on the journey to Cockle Creek, the southernmost point one could drive in Australia—a destination that had eluded us months earlier during our tour with Grammy and Fran. Now, with Andy by our side, we were determined to reach this remote corner of the world.

To our right, mountains loomed, their peaks shrouded in mist, while to our left, the vast expanse of the Southern Ocean revealed itself in glimpses through secluded bays. The landscape seemed to hold its breath, as if aware of the significance of our journey.

As we rolled into Cockle Creek, the weight of its isolation and raw beauty settled upon us. We scanned the area, searching for the perfect spot to call home for the coming days. Once found, we set about establishing our camp with practiced efficiency, our excitement barely contained despite the ominous weather forecast of high winds and rain.

The first days passed in a haze of contentment, our souls soothed by the untamed wilderness surrounding us. Cheeky Currawongs swooped overhead, their calls a constant reminder of our wild neighbors, while adorable Paddymelons hopped cautiously at the edges of our camp, their curious eyes studying our every move. Though our chosen spot wasn't ideal for solar power, the sheer magnificence of our surroundings more than compensated for any minor inconveniences.

Our inaugural hike along the Fishers Point Trail was a testament to the raw power and beauty of nature. We found ourselves playing a precarious game with the tides, timing our dashes across the beach to avoid the encroaching waves. As we neared Fishers Point, the protected waters of Recherche Bay gave way to the full might of the Southern Ocean, its waves crashing against the shore with thunderous force.

Pausing to catch our breath, we turned to look back the way we had come. The sight that greeted us was nothing short of breathtaking—snow-capped mountains of southern Tasmania pierced the sky in the distance, their peaks playing hide-and-seek with low-hanging clouds. The afternoon sun, breaking through gaps in the cloud cover, bathed the scene in an ethereal light. We stood transfixed, drinking in the juxtaposition of turbulent ocean and serene mountains, knowing we were witnesses to a moment of rare, untamed beauty.

The return journey brought its own adventures, with the still-high tide forcing us to adapt. Anth, in his crocs and bare feet, became an impromptu ferry service for Sal, who clung to his back as he waded through the incoming waters. Laughter and shrieks of excitement echoed along the shoreline, our joy amplified by the wild surroundings.

Our discovery of a secluded spot with unobstructed bay views prompted a swift decision to relocate our camp. The new location felt like a gift from nature itself—better solar exposure, a private toilet, and the gentle lullaby of waves to soothe us to sleep each night. As we settled into our improved accommodations, we felt a deepening connection to this remote paradise.

Each evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, our little Paddymelon friends emerged to keep us company. Their presence, along with the mysterious Tasmanian Devil tracks we spotted along the beach, served as a constant reminder of the wild heart beating at the core of this place.

Our second major hike—a 16km round trip to the southernmost point of Tasmania—was a journey to the edge of the world. Halfway through, a chance encounter with a kindred spirit—a young hiker exploring Tasmania's wilderness—added an unexpected layer of camaraderie to our adventure. As we trekked on, the forest around us came alive with the haunting calls of black cockatoos, their warnings echoing through the canopy like ancient spirits guarding their domain.

The moment we emerged from the forest onto the cliff top of black sand and rugged sandstone was nothing short of magical. Before us stretched the vast Southern Ocean, an unbroken expanse of water reaching all the way to Antarctica. We sat in reverent silence, overwhelmed by the profound sense of being at the very edge of our continent, the furthest point from home we could reach by land.

As our time at Cockle Creek drew to a close, we found ourselves reluctant to leave. This remote haven had become more than just a campsite—it had become a home, however temporary. The familiar faces of the wildlife, the rhythm of the tides, and the ever-changing moods of the sky had woven themselves into the fabric of our daily lives.

Packing up camp for the last time, a bittersweet melancholy settled over us. Yet, as we pulled away from Cockle Creek, our hearts were full. We carried with us not just memories, but a piece of this wild, beautiful place—a reminder of the raw majesty of nature and our small but significant place within it. As we set our sights on new horizons, we were buoyed by the knowledge that someday, somehow, we would return to this edge of the world that had captured our hearts so completely.Read more