Crimson Skies at Periwinkle

Northward we journeyed along roads that whispered memories of past travels, each bend and vista holding echoes of moments shared both alone and with Grammy. The familiar landscape rolled past our windows like pages of a well-loved book, each scene stirring deeper connections to this wild corner of Tasmania that had become so much a part of our story.

Approaching Marrawah, memories of our previous visit - when the bustling Green Point campground had guided us to the welcoming embrace of the Inn - danced in our minds. Despite knowing the unlikelihood of finding space during peak season, we felt drawn to revisit the free camp, pulled by the invisible threads that so often weave through our nomadic life.

As expected, the campground buzzed with the energy of countless travellers, their temporary homes dotting the landscape like a village born of wanderlust. Yet amidst this tapestry of strangers, a familiar sight caught our eye - the distinctive silhouette of Ben and Kerry's Conquerer Camper van, a recurring character in our Tasmanian story. What started as a simple plan to leave a note transformed into another chapter of our evolving friendship as we discovered Kerry working away in their mobile sanctuary. The warmth of connection deepened as Ben arrived with their boys, the children's presence adding a vibrant energy to our impromptu reunion.

As we shared our thoughts about the crowded campground, fate played its hand through a stranger's casual suggestion of the day use area at Periwinkle Beach. This fifth encounter with Ben and Kerry felt like both a confirmation of the beautiful randomness of nomadic life and a gentle nudge toward our next destination. Our farewells carried the weight of shared experiences and the lightness of knowing that Tasmania's roads might yet bring us together again.

The short journey to Periwinkle Beach revealed a stark contrast - from the bustling energy of Green Point to the profound solitude of our new haven. Here, where the rocky beach met the edge of civilisation, we found ourselves alone with the elements. The northerly winds, nature's wild breath, transformed the usually imposing waves into gentle rhythms that rocked our bus like a lullaby, reminding us of nature's ever-changing moods.

As day surrendered to evening, the west coast orchestrated a farewell symphony of colour that took our breath away. The crimson skies painted the world in hues so intense they seemed to set the very air ablaze, a final gift from this wild coastline that had become so dear to us. In these moments of natural splendour, we felt profoundly grateful for the way our nomadic life continuously led us to such perfect moments of solitude and beauty.Read more