Mists and Memories

As we traced the familiar route past Devonport and southward into Deloraine, our hearts echoed with memories of Grammy's presence, her laughter still lingering in the corners of our minds. The landscape rolled past our windows like pages of a cherished photo album, each vista stirring thoughts of how our journey would transform once we returned to the mainland. Tasmania had taught us the profound beauty of revisiting places, of letting them seep deeper into our souls with each passing encounter. Yet we knew that the vast expanse of mainland Australia would call for different rhythms, new patterns of exploration that would challenge our newfound comfort with familiar paths.

The ascent into the Central Highlands felt like coming home, this realm of wild beauty that had claimed a special chamber in our hearts. Here, where the air grew thin and crisp, the dolomite outcrops emerged around every bend like ancient guardians. Though we had passed this way before, the landscape seemed to reveal itself anew, as if nature herself was offering us one more gift of discovery before our departure.

At Pine Lake, we paused to honour one of the sixty short walks we had previously left unexplored. The Pencil Pines stood as living monuments to Tasmania's uniqueness, their twisted forms telling tales of centuries passed. Each gnarled branch and weather-worn trunk spoke of resilience, of finding beauty in adaptation - a lesson that resonated deeply with our own journey of transformation through this wild isle.

The Great Lake yielded to familiar roads, leading us once more to Penstock Lagoon - a place that had become sacred in our Tasmanian story. This fifth visit felt different, touched by the bittersweet knowledge of our approaching departure. Finding our usual lakeside haven occupied, we discovered unexpected joy in the spot Anth had previously scouted, tucked away from the water's edge but embraced by the bush's tender arms. Sometimes, we reflected, life's sweetest moments come from embracing the unexpected, from finding peace in plan B.

Morning arrived wrapped in fog, its tendrils weaving through the gum trees like memories made visible. In these quiet moments, watching the mist dance its slow waltz through the branches, we felt the profound weight of impending farewell. Two nights passed like whispered prayers, each moment precious in its transience. Though we harboured hopes of one final return before our ultimate departure from Tasmania, the pull of Hobart and waiting flights reminded us that all journeys, even the most beloved, must find their natural conclusion.

This place had become more than just a favourite camping spot; it had become a metaphor for our entire Tasmanian adventure - wild yet welcoming, remote yet familiar, each visit adding layers to our understanding of both the landscape and ourselves. As we prepared to leave, we carried with us not just memories, but profound gratitude for how this place had shaped our understanding of home, belonging, and the beautiful impermanence of nomadic life.Read more